Evening Star Newspaper, December 13, 1925, Page 92

) THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. ©C, DECEMBER 13, 1925—PART 5. The Truce of God BY MARY ROBERTS RINEHART I'he Perennial Spirit of Christmas, as Shown in a Yuletide of Long Ago At Diass falsettc had Would 1o and vour not be well,” mper with the works of th rather for this miracl toward you vour So she had asked this boon st sastly. But clearly been heard So she wen 3 leather curtain which i , and he hard of §o she turned in the doorws in her reed le voice, inned the coll her voun, Lady, flower of all thing Rosa sine spin That bearest Jesus, Heaven-King, Gracta Divina But the song failed. Perhaps it was the wrong hour, or perhaps it was be. csusa she had not slept in the manger d brought forth the “Rlood of satler. ~our be o t r it ened him or not hid stirred m, so she made her ples “It is His birthday. to see v m 15 she could belouged. Terro: winged her f She had spoken a wor eep was gone from Charles the He lay in bed and though things that he wished wife he lad put away . she had bo him no son, of his great linds £0 to his cousin _Philip h ok Beard whom he hat f K the plain who weoed hi 2 es and whom he passed by n a dungeon . i SLOTILDE went back to bed. It 4 was clear th ging did not | often all heart ps she did not | atng very well. he bighop sald t after one had done a good uct, | ©ne might pray with hope. She de.| cided to do u good act and then to| Pray to see her mother; she would pray #lso to become a boy so that her tather might care for her. But the Bishop considered it a little late for er. sde terms with the Almighty. 1 do a good * she said, “on thie the birthday of Thy Son, and after that 1 shall for the thing Thou knowest of." After much thinking, she decided to free the Jew. And, being her futher's child, It was 4 matter of many cold stone | steps and much fumbling with bars. | Rut Guillem, the jailer, lay sleeping hy the fr time of the Truce of God, : lance was re- jaxed. Also Guillem was in love with & girl of the village, and there was talk that the selgneur, in his loneli- ress, bad seen that she was beautiful So Guillem slept to forget, and the Jew lay awake because of rats and ty. ?U’F;:.? {V(w arose when Clotilde threw he grating open. ke pirthday of our Lord.” <aid Clotilde, “and I am doing a good éoed wo that 1 may see my mother again. But go quickly.” Then she re. membered something the bishop had | d to her, and eved him thoughtfully s he stared at her # “But you do not love our Lord i The Jew smiled into her eyes. ‘Your Lord was a Jew,” he said. This reassured her. She threw the &oor wide and the he blessing of his en then, havinz sturted. he ck to her. th is something you wish . and I can secure it for bt two ge. ' she said. | a boy. only 1 fear it is 1o the square below, where the girl Joan moved like a mother of Kings. “You wish a woman for the castle, i father.” he said. ““Then a woman we | #hall have. Holy Church may mnot give me another wife, but I shall take one. And 1 shall have a son.” A HE child Clotilde stood at her win. dow and gazed over the plain us far sx she could see und us far again. i thera w:x her mother. She would ) to her und bring her back, or, per. haps. tail that, she might be al- {lowed to stay Here no one would miss her. The odor of cooking food filled the great suse, Joud laughter, the clatter of on hoard. Her old nurse was | below, decorating a boar’s head with ly duy for the |berries and u crown. top of the hill, | 1 down into the sunted, surround- his people, guests and soldiers, ng nobility. the house ie castle. And the stage it was his pleasure to give ger a cut with the whip and galloping. unridden. down he liorse was W ught Above stood atched Mnder of the h borne the Chris rode the bishop. 1en at arms were dr: 18 weapons at rest. From are below rose a thin gray ‘here the fire kindled for the But the crowd had deserted it. now &tood, eves upraised to the le: boys and men ready for their \erate enterp wo people stood by the steer—an 1an, almost blind, who tended the girl Joan, whom “The seigneur has ridden out of the her,” she said. Her color ted to her dark ks, She was . unlike the peasant 1 almost noble in her ting, a rare flower that Charles in rage and disappointment would nself. riord surveyed the plain be- ar as he could see and as far direction was m tithe of fat As far gain wa 2 man child, 1 2o to Philip, his coust rode his donkey “Idiots:" snarled the overlord, out | his distemper as he looked down 0 the faces of his faithful ones be | struck the gray a heavy blow. | S0 massive was the beast, so terrific he pace at which it charged down | hill, that the villagers scattered. | ched them with his Up curling. | he said. “brave men and true! Watch, father, how they rally to the charge!” And when the crea- ture was caught and a swaving figure 2 to the bridle “The fool has him!" cried Charles. ‘A fine heritage for my Cousin Philip, a4 village with its bravest man & sim pleton The fool held on. Many things went hrough his mind. The horse was his. He would go adventuring alons the winter _roads, adventuring and sing ing. ¥rom a dolt he had become a hero The dencuement sufted the grim mood of the overlord. It pleased him to see the smug villagers stand Ry | while the fool mounted hix steed. Side | by side from the parapet he and the bishop looked down into the town Now, it had been In the mind of the bishop that the day would soften Charles’ grim humor and that he might speak to him as man to man. Bug Charles not softened. So the bishop' gathered up his courage. You are young, my son, and have been grievously disappointed am old, have seen many things, and this 1 have learned: “Two things there are that, next to the love of God, must be greatest in & man's life—not war, nor slothtul peace, nor pride, nor yet a will that would bend all things to its end.” The overlord scowled. He had found the girl Joan in the market square, and his eyes were on her. “One,” @aid the bishop, “is the love of a woman. The other Ys—a child.” The donkey stood meekly, with repeated the bishop. “You grow rough up here on your hillside. Only a few months since the lady, your wife, went away, and al- dy ‘order has forsaken you. Your daughter runs like a wild thing, with- out control. Our Holy Church de- plores these things.” “Will Holy Church grant me an- other wife?"” “Holy Church,” replied the bishop gravely, “would have vou take back, my lord, the wife whom your harsh- ness drove away.” The seigneur's gaze had been bent &hould have gone at once, but he wait- Phillp, his cousin. Now hs ecuuse 1t was the Truce of God the gates stood open. She reached the foot of the hill safely. Stragglers go- ing up and down the steep way re- garded her with suspiclon. So she went through the square, past the rousting steer, and by a twisting strect Into the open country. The fool found her at the edge of the rive She had forgotten that 1 river. e was on his grest horse, and he rode up to the child and looked down at her. “It was 1 who captured him.” he boasted. “The others run. but I caught him so.” He dismounted to Mustrate “It is not because you were brave that vou captured him.” “Then why?” He ftood with his feet wide upart, looking down at her. “It iy because you have slept in a. manger on a Holy Eve.” “Aye,” he responded, “but that was a matter of courage, 10o. There were many strange noises. Also, in the middle of the night came our Lady hersel and said to me: “Thou shalt sing with the volce of an angel. “Think you,” sald the little mald, “if 1 elept where you did she would appear to me? I would not ask much, only to be made @ lad like you, and, rhaps, to sing.” But I am a stmpleton. Instead of wit, I have but a voice, and now—a horse.” “A l1d like you,” she persisted, “so that my father would love me and mother might come back again?” “Better stay as vou are,” sald the fool Anyhow, there will be no Holy Eve aguin for & long time. [t comes but once a year. ““Also, it is hard times for men, who must efther tight or work in the fields. I"—he struck his chest—"1 shall do neither. 1 go adventuring.” Clotllde drew her cloak around her “I am adventuring, too,” she said “Only, I have no volce and no horse May I go with you:" The boy was doubtful. He had that innate love und tenderness that fs given to his kind instead of other things. But u child! “1 will tuke you he sald at last 3ut where, little ludy To my mother at the castle of Black Philip.” And when his face fell—for Phillp was not named The Black only for his beard he loves singing. 1 will ask you to sing before her."” That decided him. He took her be- fore him on the gray horse, and they set off. And because it was the Truce of God the children went unharmed, encountering no greater adventure than hunger and cold and aching muscles. Robbers sulked in their fastnesses, and their horses -pawed the ground. Murder, rapine, and pil lage slept that Christmas day under the white flag They lay that night in a rutned barn. Clotllde eyed the manger wist- fully, but the holly eve was past, and the day of miracles would not come for a vear. Toward morning, however. she roused the boy. “She may have forgotten me,” she BUT ONCE IN THE COURT- YARD, CLOTHILDE® COURAGE BEGAN TO FAIL HER. sald. “She has been gone since the Spring. She may not love me now.” “She will love you. It is the way of mothers—to keep on loving.” T am still a girl.” 'You are still her child.” But seeing that she trembled, he {put his ragged cloak about her and talked to comfort her, although his muscles ached for sleep. * k¥ * ALL that day came peasants up the hill with their Christmas dues. The courtyard had assumed the ap- pearance of & great warehouse. Those that were prosperous came a-riding, hissing geese and chickens and grain in bags across the saddle. The poorer trudged afoot. Among the latter came the girl Joan. She brought no grain, but fowls only. And when she was brought into the great hall it pleased the young seigneur to be gracious. But he eyed her much as he had eyed the sreat horse that morning before he cut it with the whip. She was but a means to an end. Such love and ten- derness as were in him had gone out to the gentle wife he had put away trom him. 8o Charles appraised her and found her, although but a means, very beau- Jew went out. He |to the east, where lay the castle of | tiful. Only the bishop awey bis head, 14 said Charles, “do vou know why I have sent for you “T do, sire.” Something of a sardonic smile played uround the seigneur's mouth. The butterfly came too quietly to the net. We are but gloomy folk here, rough coldiers and few women. It has been in my mind——" Here he saw the bish op's uverted head, and scowled. What had been in his mind he forgot. He sald: I would have you come willing ly. or not at all At that she tilted her head and looke at him You kuow T will come,” she said. “I can do nothing >, but I do not come willingly, my You are asking too much.” bishop turned his head hope- “You are a hard man, my lord.” 1f she meant to anger him, she tafled. They were not soft days. A man hid such tenderness as he had under grimness. “I am a fighting man. 1 have no gentle ways.” Then a belated mem- ory came to him. “I give no tender. ness und ask none t such kind- ness a8 you have, lavish on the Child Clotlde. ~ She fs—much alone.” With a mentlon of Ciotilde’s came a vision: Instead of this splen- did peasant wench he seemed to see the graceful and drocping figure of the woman he had put away because she had not borne him a son. He closed his eyes, and the girl. taking it tor dismissal, went awav “I shall not stay, my lord " said the bishop. “The thing is desecration. No good can come from such a bond. It is Christmas and the Truce of God, and yet you do this evil thing." So the bishop went. And with him, now that Clotilde had fled, went all that was good and open to the sun trom the gray castle of Charles the Fair. - x x AT evening Joan came again, still afoot, but now clad In her best. She shivered as the gates closed be. nind her. Charles motioned her to a seat beside him, not on his right hand, but on his left, and there he let her sit without speech. But his mind was working busily. He would have a son and the King would legitimize him. Then let Philip go hang. These lands of his s far as the eye could reach ind as far agaln would never go to him The minstrels sang of war, and of his own great deeds, but there was 10 one of them with so beautiful a voice as that of the fool, who could ing only of peace. Their songs soothed his burt pride. 1If the bishop i not turned sour and gone, he would have heard what they sang. le might have understood, too, the raving of his warrfor soul for a war- rior son, for one to hold what 4 zathered at such cost. Back alw: © this burning hope of his. Joan sat on his left hand and went hot and cold, hot with shame and cold with fear. So now, his own glory as a warrior commencing to all” on him, Charles would have more tribute, this time as lord of peace. He would celebrate this day of days. and at the same time throw 4 sop to Providence. le would re leuse the Jew. He remembered Clotilde then. She hould see him do this noble thing. iince her mother had gone she had hrunk from him. Now let her see how magnificent he could be. Being not displeased with himself, he turned at last toward Joan and put a hand over hers. “You see,” he sald, “I am not so hard « man. By his Christian act shall 1 celebrate your arrival.” But the Jew did not come. The singers learned the truth, and sang with watchful eyes. The selgneur’s inger was known to be mighty, and o strike close at hand. Guillem, the jafler, had been walting for the sum- mons. News had come to him late in the afternoon that had made him indif- ferent to his fate. The girl Joan, whom he loved, had come up the hill at the overlord’s summons. So, in- stead of raising an alarm, Guillem had waited suilenly. Death, which vesterday he would have blenched to behold, now beckoned him. When he was brought in he asked no mercy. “He Is gone, my lord,” sald Guillem. He did not glance at the girl. one, earth clod? How now? Perhaps you, too, wished to give a hostage to fortune, to forestall me in mercy?” He turned to the girl beside him. “You see,” he sald, “to what lengths this spirit of the holy day extends itself. Our friend here—" Then he saw her face znd knew the truth. “Why, then,” he said to the jailer,” “such mercy should have its re- ward." He turned to Joan. ‘"What say you? Shall I station him at your door, sweet lady, as u guard of honor? Things went merrily after that, for Gufllem drew a knife and made, not for the seigneur, but for Joan. The troubadours feared to stop singing without a signal, #o they sang through white lips. Guillem, finally unhand- ed, stood with folded arms and waited for death. “It is the time of the Truce of God,” sald the seigneur softly, and knowing that death would be a boon, sent him off unburt. * % % % THE village. which bad eaten full. slept early. Down the hill at 9 o'clock came half a dozen men at arms on horseback and clattered through | the streets. Word went about quickly. “The child Clotilde is gone.” they cried through the streets, “Up and arm.” Joan sat alone in the great hall. For the seigneur was gone riding like a madman. He had but one thought. The Jew had stolen the child; there- fore, to fing the Jew. In the blackest of the night he found him, sitting by the road, bent over his =-=. Pae eyes he raised to Charles were haggard and weary. Charles reined his horse back on his haunches, his men at arms behind him. “What have you dome with the chilg?” “The child?" “Out with it cried Charles and flung himself from his horse. If the Jew were haggard, Charles was more so, hard bitten of terror pallid to the lips. P’ have seen no child. That fs—" he hastened to correct himself, seeing Charle’s face in the light of a torch— “I was released by a child—a girl. I have not seen her since.” He spoke with the simplicity of truth. In the light of the torches. Charles’ face went white. She re- leased you?” he repeated slowly. “What did she =ay?" The Jew faltered. He knew the gos- sip of the town. “She said—she gaid she wished two things, my lord. To be a boy and—to see her mother.” Then Charles lifted his face to where the stars were growing dim be- fore the uprising of the dawn, and where, as far away as the eye could reach and as far again, lay the castle of his cousin Philip of the Black Beard. And the rage was gone out of it. For suddenly he knew that, on that feast of mother and child, Clotilde hed gone to her mother. The castle of Philip the Bisck Wy In u plain. Also about the castie was a moat in which swam nolsy geese and much litter. When, shortly after dawn, the sentry at the drawbridge saw a great horse with a double bur- den crossing the open space he was but faintly interested. A belated peas. ant with his Christmas dues, perhaps. But when, on the lifting of the morn- ing huze, he saw that the horse bore two children and one a girl, he called another man to look “Troubadours, by the sound,” sald the newcomer. For the fool was sing Ing to cheer his lack of breakfust. “ ave come to wee my mother,” Clotilde called, and demanded admis slon, clearly. But, once in the courtyard, Clotilde’s courage began to fail her. Would her mother want her? Prayer had been unavailing and she was still a girl. And, at first, it seemed as though her tears had been justified, although they took her In the castle and offered her food and plied her with questions which she could not answer. “I want my mother,” was the only thing she would say. They offered her excuses, the lady mother slept; now she was rising and must be clothed. And then at last they told her, because of the hunted look in her eyes. “She is ill,"” they sald. “Walt but a little and you shall see her.” Deadly despair had Clotilde in its| grasp then. They were gentle with her, but never before had her mother “efused her the haven of her outheld irms. Besides, they lied. Their eyes were shifty. C s PHILIP, having confessed himselt | overnight, by candlelight, was at| mass when the pair arrived. He knelt My in his cold chapel, and made his | supplications; but was not too en-| zrossed to hear the druwbridge chains | 'nd to prick up his ears to the clatter | »f the gray horse. 8o, having received communion, he made short shrift of what remuined o be done. The abbot, whose offices | were finished, had also heard the irawbridge chains and let him go. When he saw Clotilde, he frowned and | then smiled. He had sons, but no daughter, and he would have set her on his shoulder. But she drew away haughtily So Philip sat in a chair and watched her with a curious smile. Surely enough to make him smile, that he| should play host to the wife and daughter of his cousin Charles. Because of that. and of a thing that he knew, Black Philip with a twinkle | 'n his eves, alternately watched the ~hild, and from a window the plain which was prepared against his cousin. | And, as he had expected, at 10 o'clock in the morning came Charles and six | men at arms. riding like demens. Philip, still with the smile under| his black beard, went out to gr&" them “‘Well met, cousin,” he called. “You | ride fast and early.’ Charles eved him with feverish eves. “Truce of God,” he said, sulkily trom across the mout. And then: “We seek 4 runaway, the child Clotilde.” 1 shall make inquiry,” said Philip. “In such a season, many come and 0. But in his eyes Charles read the truth, and breathed freer. They lowered the drawbridge again and Charles rode across. But his men ul arms stood their horses squarely on the bridge so that it could not be { raised, and again Philip smiled into| A good year,” said Philip agree fabiy. “Peaceful times, eh, cousin?” But Charles only turned to see that his men kept the drawbridge open,| and followed him into the house. Once inside, however, he turned on Philp fiercely. “I am not here of my own desire. It appears that both my wife and child find sanctuary here.” “Tut,” sald Philip good-naturedly, “it {s Christmas season, man, and a Sunday. We will not quarrel as to the why of your coming.” “Where s she?" Your wife or Clotilde?” Now all through the early morning Charles had longed for one as for the other. But there was nothing of that in his voice “Clotilde,” he safd. “I will make {nquiry if she has ar- rived,” mumbled Philip. So it came about that Charles was alone when he saw the child and| caught her up in his hungry arms.| As for Clotilde, her fear died at once in his embrace. When Philip returned he found them thus. “I have,” sald he, “another member of your family under my roof as to whom vou have made no inquiry. “1 have secured that for which I| came,” sald Charles haughtily But eyes were on Philip and a question was in them. Philip. how- ever, was not minded to play Charles' ame, but his own, and that not too | fa “In that event, cousin,” he replied “let the little maid eat and then take And since it is a Sunday and the Truce of God, we can drink to the Christmas season. Even quar rveling dogs have intervals of peace.’” So perforce, because the question was still in his heart if not in his Charles drank b his cousin : enemy Philip, but with his hand that small hand of Clotilde’s which was 8o like her mother's. self to the men at arms on the draw | bridge. He sent them hot liquor. for | the day was cold, and at such inter-| vals as Charles' questioning eves | S were turned away, he rubbed his hands together furtively as a man with a secret, “A properous vear,” | said Philip. Charles grunted. “We shall have snow before night,” said Philip ) “Humph!" said Charles and glanced | toward the sky, but made no move to go. *“The child is growing.” To this Charles made no reply what- Philip bleated mother’s body eyes and halr, uld stand no more. pushed the child away and rose to his Philip, to give him no tithe of advantage, rose too. “where is my Is she hiding Then Philip's face must grow very e and his mouth set in sad lines. ‘She 1s i1l, Charles, told you sooner, but you lacked inter- I would have “How—ill?" “A short and violent “All of last night the women e been with her, and this morn. - He glanced toward the win- T was right, as you see, cousin. It is snowing.” Charles clutched Rlm by the arm and jerked him about. s morning?” he roared. Snow on Christmas,” “prophesies ano “What abot mused Philf T prosperous year. his quarry arth, he showed mercy. “Would you like to see her?’ owed again, loubt if she cares to s a few words. true woman, Also it 1s a magnanimous | and showed the warm curve of her tread softly This i no time for a nade the concession - grace, but he made it. in Philip's eves grew « new admiration hulking cousin who ate his pride for a woman. | the door of an upper room he stood Philip's expansiveness extended it-| end the child in first 0 PHILIP went ponderously away | and left Charles to cool his heels As he stood there sheep- remembered many and the violence | of the last months, and the bishop's | For now he knew one | - of | INg eves and tender mouth and sane quiet room be that had fought | shame—Joan, Little cries came to him, Clotilde’s SO MASSIVE WAS THE BEAST. SO TERRIFIC THE PACE AT WHICH IT CHARGED DOWN THE HILL, THAT THE VIL LAGERS SCATTERED. doft weeping and another voics that thrilled him, filled with the wooing note that is in a mother's volce when she speaks to her child. But it wes a feeble volce, and its weakness struck terror to his soul. His world ehook under his feet. Iiis cousin and enemy was, willy-niilly, become hir triend. His world, which he had thought was his own domain, as far from his castle as the eye could reach and as far agaln, was in an upper room of Philip's house, and drying perhapa. But she was not dying. They ad mitted him {n time to mave his pride foy he was close to distraction. He went straight to his wife's bed and dropped on his knees. Not for his lif= could he have spoken then. Inarticu late things wers in his mind, remorse and the loneliness of the last months and the rhame of the girl Joan. “I have tried to live without you he said, “and death itself were better." When she did not reply. but la back, white to the lips, he rose and looked down at her. “I can see,” he sald, “that my touch is bitterness. I have merited nothing else. So, I shall go again, but this time, if it will comfort you, I shall give you the child Clotilde—not that 1 love her the less, but that you dr serve her the more.” Then she opened her eyes, and wh he saw thers brought him back to his | knees with a cry, “I want only your my lord, to | make me happy.” she sald. “And now | see how the birthday of our Lord has brought us peace.” She drew down the covering a trifle, close to his head arm “Unto us also is borm a e=on Charles. “I have wanted a son,”’ gaid Charles the Fair. “but more than son have 1 wanted you, heart of m heart.” Outside in the courtvard tha foo had drawn a circle about him “I am adventuring,” he sald. “Yes terday I caught this horse when the harsh words. | others ran from him. Then I saved a lady and brought her to her destina tion. This being the Christmas sea son and a Sunday, I shall rest here for a day.” He threw out his ches: magnificently. t tomorrow I cc tinue on my wa “Can you fight?" They baited “1 can sing,” he replied. And b threw back his head with its wandes Lady, flower of all thing Rosa sine spina, That bearest Jesus, Heaven-King Gracia Divina. (Copyright, 1925 ) Girls Who For BY DUFFY GILFOND. ITH no more radium cling- ing to the hem of her skirt than could fill the eye of & large darning needle, a woman nonchalantly marched out of a hospital recently, unaware that she was trailing $50,000 behind her. When Mme. Curie was presented with a radium gift by President Hard- ing trom the women of America, she might as well have recetved a raisin— in bulk. In value she was ghe recipi- ent of $100.000. . A man may add a dapper tuxedo suit and a durable everyday one with an extra palr of trousers (according to the latest advertisements) to his wardrobe for the price of a speck of this element. A concrete sidewalk was dug up in Minneapolis to recover, among the ashes underneath, a few pinheads of it. All the radium in the world, worth the caplital of thirty mil- lonaires, has not even the weight of a good-sized turkey wing. Two Washington girls are kept busy at the Bureau of Standards with a daily quantity of radium whose con- tainer might be the shell of an Indian nuct. But these young women are handling over $50,000 worth of the proauct. The American source of radium fs on the mountain tops of western Colo- rado and eastern Utah. No other product may boast such an expendi- ture of effort and money as procur- ing radium entails. It is hidden in the fla.surfaced rocks of the West, 7,000 or 8,000 feet above sea level, and more than 50 miles from a railroad station. It is embodied in an ore, so sparsely, that 200 to 500 tons of it are required to yield one gram or half a thimbleful of radium. * This ore is callec carnotite after the French sclentist, Carnot, because it was first discovered in this country by two Frenchmen. ‘Wherever this yellowish ore ap- peare it is examined for a possible radium content. Since it costs $1 to drill into a foot of mountain, an elec- troscope is utilized to detect the clandestine presence of radium before the ore is mined. To prevent a scrap of waste, cloths are spread to collect the small flylng particles. Once dug, it is placed in sacks, borne by burros or mules over trails which often have a thousand foot drep on one side and are 8o narrow that the loaded burro has less than 2 inches of leeway. Gingerly pur- suing his perilous path along these trafls the burro reaches the freight- Ing point after a day's journey. Tho ore is then transferred from the back of the mule to a truck, six horses tugging 28-hundredths of an ounce of radium. After this arduous expedition to the rallroad station, the carnotite starts on its eastern journey, to Pitts- burgh’or New Jersey, where the two large radium companies are located. Here it undergoes a reducing proc- ess which would stagger the stoutest and most assiduous aspirant of a sylph-like form. The process requires two tons of coal, one ton of chemicals and 50 tons of water for each ton of the ore. Off-hand, it would seem simpler to treat the ore at the mines than to hau! it across the country, but the m‘ht of the mining region prevents ‘W. H. Wadleigh, former chief of the Bursan of Standerds radium Measure Radium Particles Government Carefully Protected tory. who was sent to the radium mines by the Government, tells us that a good rainfall is but an annual occurrence, leaving no vestiges half an hour after its cessation. Water for cooking purposes is trekked by mules from the gorges 3,000 feet below. After belng crushed very fine, the ore i poured into huge tanks of water | where. gently stirred, it remains for Jus bromide amber salt. We have now reached where radfum is sent to Washington. Practically each purchaser demands Uncle Sam's stamp on the weight of this article. 10 days. By this time the particles containing radium will have floated to the surface, and one-quarter of an inch of water is drawn off the top. Fliced In heavy canvas bags, the water with its preclous content is sub. jecled to a hydraulic pressure where- by it Is squeezed out. Further drying | processes are followed by chem! THE RADIU! weeks, and yields crystals of a radium These compounds contain a major portion of radium. Rarely does this valuable mineral appear by ftself, for, unless it is hermetic combine with gases. aled, it will Mr. Wadleigh, 000,000 worth of seen it in its pure, platinum-like form where it is usually visible of radium, it resembles 95 per cent of the America must be measured treatment, after which the material [and labeled by the Misses Torey and must remaln in open dishes for eight | Brower at the Bureazu of Standards. M IS KEPT IN LEAD-LINED BOXES, IN A LEAD-LINED SAFE. THE LEAD ABSGRBS THE RADIATIONS, PREVENTING THEIR PENETRATION INTO THE BODY OF THE LABORATORY These grains of salty treasure are kept in a safe, under three combina tions. But, despite its value, radium is handled and toted with an aloofness such as is rendered a hot coal. A deserved treatment, nevertheless, for though its injury is not as apparent and immediate as that of the hot coul, this article with its burning rays i< equally as destructive. Without pre caution against them, the victim of their continued bombardment exposes himself much as the heedless bather disporting in the sun. Radium will burn and destroy the skin and massacre the blood vessels indiscriminately. Hence It is always handled by forceps, in a long-handled wooden carrier or in fiber buckets, and away from the body. It arrives at the bureau in sealed plaques, in match-sized glass tubes or in hollow metal needles, which look like phonograph needles except that each may accommodate a $1,000 ten ant. 8o potent are these radiations that the glass of the container, if soft turns purple, and if hard, become: amber. In opening the packages the girls stand behind lead screens, placed on the table and reaching the chest, to protect themselves against radiation Their arms extend around the screens, they wash the preparations with soap and water, for a particle on the sur face would affect the electroscope. They place the preparations in larger | Elass containers, marked for identifi {cation, and then into lead-lined boxes. All this Is done with forceps. of course. 8o heavy are these boxes, each lodg- ing less than a gram of radium, tnat only two can be carried at ence. Ina fiber bucket they are removed to the lead-lined safe. In measuring radium the girls use the method of comparison. Having a standard preparation of 16 milli- grams measured by Mme. Curie, they compare the reaction of the electro- scope to any unknown quantity with that instrument’s behavier to the above quantity. In Minneapolis a $2,500 tube dis appeared from a hospital. The elec troscope traced it to the ashes used for a concrete sidewalk. The street was dug up and the radium recovered Radium cannot disappear permanent ly. It has been retrieved even from the sewer pipe. Thus, we ses, radium compensates the purchaser for “the hole it burns in his pocket.” Not only is it easily reclaimed when lost, but it is prac- tically inexhaustible. Once It is bought it keeps. Only after 1,700 years will its value be cut in half. Radium gives off three kinds of rays, alpha, beta and gamma. These rays are not unlike those of the sun or the X-ray, except that thelr fre. guney is so much greater. Thers are 00 billion billion (20 ciphers) gamma ray vibrations each second. The gamma rays, being the most penetra- tive, are the most important. Such : ray with so many vibrations, when applied to the body, would naturall: shake the tissues to pieces and final destroy them. Which 18 exactly what is desired by the physician in the case of unhealthy tissue, e. g., cancer. Besides measuring radium, the girls at the Bureau of Standards test the of watohes that shine at