Evening Star Newspaper, February 14, 1926, Page 78

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASTIINGTON, D. C., FEBRUARY 14, 1926—PART 5. THE WAY HE HAD BY WILBUR HALL. She Promised to Accept the First Proposal That Came Her Way. fr the | overlooked | 4 ith t were green TODD ndow n v . wh or t Yes. 1 ternoon.” Without another | his gun over th | picked up the & into the trees beyond, arply and runn s in straight line imeon, for aimed. turned Know. 1 come up this we fence 1 he dropped vaulted it nd disappea the dogs bark 1 pleas- ahead, noses us Cali 11 prom an Lucia exc e | safe T man in that | wandering about with | She stopped at the b | she had s I the world!” wonder if it's condition to | gun?" | icksmith shop n on the day in the after- | | noon before, giving the mare her head and letting her drink from the ancient sparse | wotering trough that stood near the ad been “Good she said to the smith He was a brown young man, short, | uscular, with sweat on his face and | n sure of fire-tanned shoulders and chest that was as frank as o | Rus ian danc and proudly: she | “Howav! tstand: [ain’t you?” nut hair which | “I'm Lucia Todd.” Heavens, these boeb on the gen mely folks! You saw it on | simply never > in “plays of the soil.” Here i s in real life. “Can you tell me | who that young man is who is hunt | above here with two handsome | “Hound dog with black spots, rangy | with brown freckles on ig | Yes'm. Brent Brown.” | Eugene O'Neill had written | the_vernacular!) | “Is Mr. Brown safe?" | The blacksmith looked at her quiz- zically. “Oh, Brent's safe enough,” “How do you mean?” “He seemed strange. He stared so. And he talked rather disjointed. “Dud, w.a he The smith wiped | his nose with the back of his hand, | leaving a comparatively white track In the grime and sweat on his face | “Well,” "he added thoughtfully, “look ing at you, I ain’t surprised. I'm a | i yself; Brent ain't. morning, illy was his ia did not when you You're the admiral's ghl | . “but that | I am going n from anywhere fin of yours | he said. | miral retu wetting his pen- | 1 murmuring sven letters, n-m-m. d taken noon be ther had | er home- | ing at me? eon place. | pertinence.” out ten- | " “Ljkely not 1 Just how ' good-humored it she had | djan't you?’ it, she de- | He turned, reaching for the bellows- 1d occasional pyll, The fire on his forge-hearth sed to call | roared and shot a geyser of brilliant h she was convinced yellow, red and orange sparks through wrtburn, superinduced , cloud ot fine black dust. He plunged S, Was 10 ;5 rod into the heart of the fire. Then cla could see, looked back at Lucfa frankly, ad- rever e from | miringly. She fled the field. ton t t\\lrl‘ x k x % Sxprosiion i [ the atternoon, sitting at her win- L ULl s dow and wriing Agnes Clayborn~ oy oime 0 |a terse and graphic description of the e ‘e thrend. |Admiral's idea of a place in which to e e fhte | 1lant a marriageable young daughter, here the imhabi-| 1icia heard and then saw a dusty and cved peo ed old car drive up the winding road from the highway. She saw that it had once been a very good car in- deed. She wondered until she saw two |setters jump from a_wire b the running The shell-shocked young man cl! down. He lifted jout a’ divinely beautiful setter puppy, |azed probably 3 months. He started | for_the front door. | The country girl who acted as liaison officer between the front of the Fouse and the rear in the preposterous menage the admiral had organize against her coming rapped at Lucia’s dogs for |door and informed her that Brent | Brown was downstairs i “I'm not in to Mr. Brown,” Lucia y stared. Lucia won. {said_crisply. | weren't feeble-minded. | “You—what? But he's brought you | haps. A pity, too, be-!a puppy { You are a—looking at me! Look- I never heard such im- the blacksmith saia “But you asked me example. A Staring, with ced, long-leg- wky, with i nd teh- rs cocked and st of the shady fence * she said sharply, ak to a doorman or a | Are those d something wrong with him i dered he Shell-shock, / LSRN LD, “l SUPPOSE YOU'VE NOTICED MY EVE! | color d | | bled | politan at lea G CLOTHES,” HE SAID, SMIL Another for her. nigger said eh? A1 me. Alv cla waited car could speed on the higl 1o descended “Admiral Todd,” she cried lisgrace to the Navy! Y we to me! That man And gain, couldn’t swear iy one, Brown! Yes, ad to vou! the disreputable heard I'll say Soon! time. Come o the to the any co “you are ou ar Lunatic, my Tie's a_remark- ably young man. And throw ing pearls before—ahe minxes.” Lo me, admiral Ves'm! It's person 'meon! Did puppy for me?” “Yes, he did. And though I don't know much about s B 1y he was out the bang-upe gee-whizzical- est, smartest “He Is going to be ps ed s ght back to you N Iirown Why, the man {s not in his right mind.” The admiral el to hide n't he W hat ma yes'm. that too San leave a grin. think s0? I met him on the road this morn- ing. He just stared. He mum- “He told me," admiral rupted, chuckling. “He said asked at the blacksmith's if he v safe!” The admiral could not w hold his laughter. “If you'll be good enou; the joke, befure you plexy—-" “Yes, my dear. You thought he was simple. Well, it wasn't that! He says it was the sight of you. And I believe him, too. “Me? Are you mind, admiral?” “Not that th» retiring board could discover. Brown says you simply knocked him out for the « And what’s more, Lucia, my that he's going to marry Lucia sat down. “Oh, he did! “He did. I wi he'd do it, too certainly has a e ucla To Agnes Cl “This place, as I've written you, is insufferable. You can't imagine such people. “I must say loaf, though. I think was S for four or five yea t o haps Maria will r with the Philharr vears ago. I didn't love of a man, older than herself, but rming. Pittsburgh. Knows the Callendars and the Aldriches. They're qguite possible peo “The Boreens are near here. He is an etcher and she writes. Had tea there Wednesday d it's a ducky house—Chinese, with real temple pil. lars fn the living room and teakwood the Warburtons would sell their souls for. We talked books. I felt rather a ninny co: 1 with Mrs. Boreen. And a young Fordyce who was there. His uncle ws Senator from California in the neolithic age; they've got perfect mints of mon the F dyce boy writes one. plays and composes music which he executes rather nicely on the cello. “The Play-boy of th says he is going to n furny, my dear, but b these places I've mer they stand him is a my of course, he’s dimply impossible. [ the inter- you h to tell me fave apo- losing your own she said faintly aldn’t be surprised if This boy, ¢ with him there is leaven In the de Mills—her name )n—was in concert Mezzo. Metr e season, t0o. Pe »mber her singing onic about four s married a L ot Pacific still rry me. It's goes to all ned. How ery, because Not DOWN AT HER. | | on second look he was rather a | “That will do, Hester. I'm not in Fanasome vokel—very San Simeon, of | to Mr. Brown, nor to his pup. course, but handsome. “T'll call your pa, then. 4 “] asked if you want to sell one of | “Don’t do anything of the kind.” your dogs. But the girl was gone. Lucia heard The man took his hat off. He Kept | ner below ; staring “Mr. Admiral. Hey! Brent Brown's No,” he said very vly, as though | here. Miss Lucia says she ain't—— sonz for breath. ““They're not for | yyucia heard her father’s bellow—in- saie. But I'll give them to you.” cved.ble in 5-foot-6 of humanity. (Shell-shock, Lucia decided.) She listened for other sounds. There “Of course, T coulin’t think of ac- | was some talk. Laughter. Clinking cepting them as a gift. But I would |of glasses. Guffaws. The harp bark like to buy a good setter.” of a puppy. The admiral's profane “Are you at the hotel?” |admiration. Then: Tm Miss Todd, My| “Lucia! See here! Lucial Well, tathes—" you kunow how these girls are, Brown. & that, of course. But he wears cordu- roys and flannels and smokes a pipe constantly, and though he talks well I don't believe he has ever been out of the San Simeon Valley. “Tonight’s the Graysons' dinner dance. 1 know. I've been thinking abcut it. 1 would have worn my pearls and something gray and nun- Iike, and probably would have said ‘Yes' to Dick Henshaw im the con- servatory—I wonder if I'm sorry I'm not there to do it. This Brown person tainly has & way with him, as my low-born Irish father puts it. Except that I hate him he's not so—improb- able.” thanks | | Sealing that letter, Lucia Todd | looked down to see this Brown person rolling up in his disreputable old car. | | He swung his long legs over the end | of the seat, looked boldly up to her | | window and whistled. | “1f there’s one thing I despise more | than another, it’s being whistled for!" Luecia said angrily, burning her finger with sealing wax. She leaned toward he window. “I'm busy today,” she d ‘'m 1, Brent Brown responded cheerfully, smiling up at her. “I'm an hour late for the Appletons.” ‘Ihey're going to have tea and horse- | viding.” “Well?** | “wen, ridi tea."” I'm golng to do the horse- and you're going to drink the | re you going to break that sorrel | “If he doesn't break me. will you?" i She told herself she wasn't going a | step, but she did. He woudn't talk | alout riding wild horses. He wanted | to talk about roses. He had discover- ed a paw variety. She grew impatient with him | “I wish vou'd be intelligible,” she | ed. “You're as dull as a gar- | | rdening fsn’t dull,” he retorted. | “It requires imagination and helps me Hustle, | ed. e along. I read it to you when we come back.” | “You'll do no such thing! Poetry Mr. Appleton told me he considered | that sorrel dangerous.” | “Did he? It's the dickens finding anything to rime with Lucia.” | She half wished he would be thrown | at the Appletons’. But he wasn't. The sorrel was rangv long barreled, with roliing eyes and small ears. They had difficulty in getting a saddle on him. Appleton had the stable-boy out a very siff bit, but Brent Brown tossed the bridle and all aside aught the halter-rope {n his hand and trem legs ch vio 1t up and com it looked as though it might well crack the hor: man’s spine. He reared and threw himself. Brown was in the saddle as he scrambled up again He ran. He ran-—then stopped, with wren ng half-turn, ing again instantl bucked—ran. He surrendere Brent Brown rode him where the group sat, breathless, on a cabin porch “He's almost a lady's pet now,” he d. Lucia Todd, valked out ‘'m going to ride him a Brent Brown swung crowding the panting, sweating ani- ma' aside with his shc der as he came down—holding him firmly. ot for a million dollars!” he ex- claimed. Lucia eyed him. ! m not used to being told what 1 do,” she said in a dangerous sorrel stood a moment, trying to bite the: rider quick and steady. now,” she off hastily, an't oice, ‘It's high time you were getting used to it.” he replied. “‘Perhaps in a month this fellow will be ready to ride, but_not now.” “If you think I'm afratd of him—-"" “1 don't, my dear,” he interrupted. “That's just the trouble. How abouu tea, Mrs. Appleton?" Going home she would not speak to him. He did not seem to notice the fact. ‘The first day I saw you,” he said in an even tone, driving slow his arms resting on the big wheel, “I fell in love with you. I thought then that I could never love you any more than I did that first minute.” He aughed softly. “We tell ourselves :s like that. We don't know can we? I've loved you more and more every minute since. Until n ped the car abruptly. He swung out to the roadside, leaped up, catching the branch of a tree that overhung the steep canyon side, pulled himself up and jerked a long spray of | wild roses that Lucia hadn't seen before. He laid the fragrant, briar- | armed spray in her lap. | “They're like you,” he said, stand- ing there a mgment, devouring her. His hat was off and the breeze lifted his brown hair. He looked like a great, earnest, eager boy. ‘“They're like you—unbearably sweet, so sweet your™ heart aches; protecting them- selves with little thorns that don't nurt quite enoug She had impatient words for him— plenty of them. She could not find the: ‘Are you the same man who rode the sorrel at Appleton’s?” she asked as light as she could. Instantly he replied. “In one way, no. Because, riding, 1 had to give part of my mind to the horse. She couldn% beat him with words. But there were, she knew, other wi ® X % X HE tried the way of giving a party. She had been in San Simeon six months, and you give parties thert | at the end of six months, if you want | to. At the end of six days, when you | come to that! They were certainly i a homely people, ¥l i _She gave the party ostensibly ‘for, | Charlie Kent, who was in San Fran- | clsco on business, and who had wired | | her four times on the way West, and | ! had telephoned her twice from San | Francisco asking her to be ready to { marry him when he arrived. So she | | gave him a party. | But, all the time, she realized that | the paty was to find out what Brent | | Brown swould do. | On the invitation—very exclusive— | she had them engrave “formal” in distinct letters. Addressing Brent | Brown's, she obeved a vicious im- | | pulse. She underlined the “formal.” | There were 20 couples—all the pos- sible people about San Simeon whom | che had met. She had been surprised | to find how many of them there were. Charlie Kent was, as usual, perfect. Too perfect, and far too stiff, set and | molded than she had remembered. | They were all there by 9 or so. All but Brent Brown. She missed him, and confessed it to hedse'f. But she did not let any one guess it. Yie came In about 10. Lucla Todd choked down a laugh—or was it a sob? “He wore a_Gress suit of anclent vintage; it had wide shoulders, rolled lapels, braid on the cuffs, the walst. coat was of some sheeny material and the linen ever so faintly diseol- ored. His shoes were heavy and not conveniently black. Any one but Brent Brown would have looked gro- tesque. But he was too tall, straight. slim and easy to be grotesque. He danced with her just once. He was the test dancer present, but al' of them danced better than he did. She puzzled that out. He was a naturalborn dancer, but he knew simply nothing of steps—dances. He merely danced. “I suppose you've noticed my eve- ning clothes,” he sald, smiling” down at her. “J was going to get them anyway for your party, even without the br%edhl;iar.lt. She flus| “They are—you—look—I had mever l { Abruptiv HIM OVER THE PORCH RAIL. thought of you in formal dress,” she stammered. Lucla Todd stammering »pose they do look funny,” he think myseif. But I saw =oing to be late, so I just hatever they had. had?" she eaid puzzled. the place in the city. I rented few minutes later he disappeared She kept watching for him. She had planned make him miserable by giving Charlle Kent a ' of attentlon; it would look, as she had planned it, like fondness. The show was wasted Brent Brown was nowhere alout to see | Finally she went to find him was in ‘the admiral's den. wi*h the admiral and Mr. Mills and the Fellow man and old Mr. Harrson. The: were plaving poker. and Brent Brown had taken off his dress coat and pitched it Into a corner. The men stood up as she entered—all but Brown “I can't,” he sald. laughing cheer- fully. “You see. this suit was bullt for some wrliter. size about 28." He shrugged exnressively. The men ex. ploded. and Lucia backed out. Late in the evening he reappeared. he was at her elbow. “If that Kent man bothers you,” he was saying in his amiable, easy way, “I'll be glad to throw him out of a window. Lucia.” She sawung on_him. “Bothers me. Why. Mr. Kent and I have been almost ergaged for years." “That mav be,” Brent Brown said without a tremor. “but I notlced in that last dance that you seemed a little tired of him. Maybe it's the years.” She wanted to box his ears. she didn't. But *x ox % UPPER was served after midnight. Brent Brown had disappeared again. Presently most of the com- pany did likewise. Perplexed, Lucla heard faint sounds of merriment. In the living room the company was as- sembled. more or less careiess of food. Brent Brown had found that outiand- (sh, gangiing, vearling puppy of hers —the one he had given her on that fArst day—and he was training It to cetrieve. The pup was the life of the party, madly, flounderingly, pursuing some white objects that bounced and rolled. They were Brent Brown's cuffs. Charlie Kent left early the next He was singularly skent, not to say morose. It was hopeless to try to do any thing with a man like Brent Brown He was embarrassed by nothing. dis turbed bv nothing, annoyed bv noth- ing, discouraged and dissuaded by nothing. He was a new type to Lucia Todd She knew sketchily about his life and station. Western born and bred, he came of an iron-founder father and a mother who had been the daughter of a wealthy cattle man. Both were dead. Brent was reputed to have been wild, but there was no evidence | on that head that a court would ac- cept. He dawdled about, trading stock, buying and selling land, train Ing dogs, breaking horses, taking fivers In fruit, hunting, fishing. Maude Mills was positive that he never missed an opera season in San Franclsco, nor a symphony concert. except_for ducks or to doctor a sick dog. Lucia had grown very fond of Maude Mills, but in this she doubted Maude's veracity. “You're simply trying to throw hin at my head!” she said reproachfully. He | Maude Mills laughed, shaking her "k shock of curly halr, I should have supposed that you had discovered he doesn't need any ving. my dear’ she retorted. Well, this fs my last Winter in San Lucia declared. “I'm heart- ¢ sick of the whole place. Except f course——" “Oh, don't be polite, whatever you 10" Mrs. Mills laughed. “But I think | ou'll sta i e was non-committal | ~ensons for thinking so. | Lucia and the admiral had indv {in several fairly good-humored wran | the subiect of The admiral wax | nra e than usual But | usual, Lucia was gaining her w | The old admiral sighed. He was verv ‘ond of the place. Another year and as to her Out of a clear skv. compar | came the news that Dan Carr was ar | riving within the week to see them | Meaning. TLucla exclaimed sharply. to zee her. She sat for a long time that | morning Inoking out over the vallex | The admiral’s place stood on a little | knoll above the town of San Simeon | 1t overlooked as fruitful and beauti ful a vale as there is anvwhere in *his fruitful and beautiful world. For | miles the orchards stretched. touched now with a faint blush of color from rinening fruit. Ribbon-like roads ran | hither "and von: orchards: homes | nestled in clumps of ziant onks and avenmoree: to the north was the bay tively |“bout was made bv th mountain ranges and spurs | ‘Through her cpen window came {odors of iaemine, honevsuckle and | lavender: hees droned in the sweet {sflence: a crested fav hopped fauntily {about on the lawn below. cocking an | impatient eve at her: in the | ranca between the house and the | highway ma water beeches and madrones were vellowing leaves. The air was soft. warm and fragrant. athed deeply of it. | Danvers Carr was a most eligibie | vounz man. When she had been a* | schaol she had thought him the most | eligible voung man in America. From | the standnoint of those who use the | expression. he probably was. At least in the first ten. He was one of the Carrs. He had millions in_his own right and_more coming. He had » place on the Hudson, a place In the Catek'lls. a place in North Carolina | a little place on the Riviera—for starter. He was one of those fabu lously eligible voung men. There were onlv two things against him—he was shorter bv an inch than the ad- miral and inclined to pursiness. and Lucia did not love him one scrap or particle. Nevertheless Lucia calculated. as she thought quite dispassionately and coolly. The little old admiral, whom she adored would have evervthing his {rather simple, highlv nautical mind could wish., They would | with him part of the time in Cali fornla, if she cared to insist on that The rest of the time he would stream about in a yacht, have servants nc | end, be indulged ‘and pampered and | spofied. That was that. | She herself would have—well, there | was no way of settling that down. She would be denied nothing. She “could respect him—Dan Carr—with an effort'—and there were those who | maintained that respect is a more | stable foundation than love. Ther would be no more of San Simeon, a* any rate. | Danvers Carr arrived. | Lucla might not have ridges of little noticed ttle bar- | snug. | live | it herself; it was Carr who called' her attention, perhaps a shade rebuk ingly, to the fact that the San Simeon people all knew her, all spoke to her all seemed to like her. She » realized now that she wi ¥ weren't perhaps. and pl { with solid, | where to { Brown. | more {him. Carr ra at the & | Aind them. presented at Miss about afl” Ri “There's a port—Ii8 rooms— “Hey, there, M ket to our scho ne to give a play | _“saw Honkin Mauretania la | us to foin hir “Mornin’, Miss Todd! frons is beat out for y | vou want to dron by | No kin to the Carrs up at < |dro? No? Well, pleased to meet ur | with vou. other's anxious to do for you Worth's if vou'll run over. hefore the day——" How Buv We're our own selves. son Weaver on time over. He'd at Naples—"' ke Them and er in the =un, the horizon line all| double pink doing? | used to have ‘em | Warm Sorings 30 Worth-Sprin; and | duke fellow who married Nora are to on if you'l’ v the word. They're very | swank now— ‘Hello. Luc} Cruz fo etter come ¢ Mr. Carr? We're driving over the week end, s one. How-d"v-d Philade!phfa? You're | nephew. " then, of Jer « | thought Joe—he's brance—Toe knew h Dron in us. No tea. But Joo's got | fectly good’ Scotch, un fails me'" “Those reporter persons are Ring mother for news, but she s tight. You'd have the Park ave: place done over, of course. An story added, If vou like— " | “No. Miss Lucla, the bridge is still out. Take the Mission-San Jose road . . . How's the rear admt | Tell him I'll have those duck eggs for him in February Park avenue and Newport—London —and all. As though she'd heard of those in some other existence . . . San Simeon—as though she'd always lived there. On the third jeame to the po to me my n un on some per s my mind vening Danvers Carr t Lucia wasn't a bit thrilled | known she wouldn't be. But told herself so often that Carr would carry her aw: this, in splendor, to s splendor, that she had to go. “I know you do, Dan,” haltingly. It was, after more momentous than ized. “I—1 A man stood and phlox and del hands on the high porch-ra “‘Hello, Lucia!” said Br and ed the rail He sat down on | his corduroys She had she had | Danvers | out of all | endor, _for | t the ‘thrill | she said | all. much she had re in the shinium nasturtiums nd put his quite calml wet and bed gled | the from the flannel s 1 had to cr Dar flowers himself fr | honeyst that |r He made rather a dull speech of it. | | garden be at the p: “An e ejaculate he wen Iy. was th know wha Cross-Section of Real Life Is Revévé;liéd In the Great American Game of Poker BY DR. GEORGE A. DORSEY, As Told to F. Gregory Hartswick. ‘WAS introduced to_psychology in a hard school. “Four of us—I was 14 at the time—used to sit in a poker gome in a little town in Ohlo. We had our sessions each 1 Friday evening, after the meeting of the literary soclety. It was a small game, but ruthless. Among our group was a young fel- low, the son of a local banker. He nearly always won, and got a_reputa- tion as a very good player. One eve- ning we went to his room for the game and found he had not come home yet. We got out his cards and began to play a few hands. Suddenly one of us noticed something peculiar about the cards. They were not the regulation “Steamboat” deck, but had a special design on the backs. We took out all the aces and deuces and examined them carefully. It was not long before we found the secret. We had been playing with a_youth who depended not only upon skill but also upon marked cards for his success! I have said that was my Introduc- ton to psychology. I mean it. Poker is a_cross-section of life. The way 1 man behaves jn a pokér game is he way he behaves in life. And why? In a poker game a man has only one idea in his head; he's going home with ‘he other fellow’s skirt—or lose his wn. His success or failure lies in ‘he way his physical organism re sponds to the stimull supplied by the game. And that's life. The man who borrows a thousand dollars or & hun- |dred thousand dollars on the chance | that he can run it into a million is playing poker—business poker. No man who won't take an occasional chance can expect to get the big re- wards. But when he takes that chance be must be organized correctly. By “organized” I mean that his sys- tem must be concentrated on the thing in hand. Let us suppose that a man goes to a poker game. He has had to make some excuse to his wife in order to get away; he has solemnly promised to be home at midnight. The game runs high. Every move must be watched. But our man has some- thing hanging over his shoulder, so to speak. He cannot concentrate on the cards. Part of his mind is fixed on what he will say to his wife, or how he can stage a comeback with his time getting short. He is drawn Into a big pot with inadequate cards, his opponent bets out; he cannot remem- ber the draw: his pile of chips is low and it is a quarter of midnight. He cannot afford to take the chance, and lays down—perhaps the winning hand. 1 have played poker all over the world. In the Andes of South Amer. ica, in China, in Portugal, on ship- board, in our own Far West. And always I have noted the same thing: the perfectly organized human system s the winning one. I was playing a table.stake game in Albuquerque. Among the players was a_ shrewd, weather-beaten cowboy. There was a good pot on the table: I had three kings before the draw. I drew two cards; the cowboy stood pat. Caref! alid my cards back—I | caught my fourth king! I had pushed my whole pile of chips into the center of the or fifty dollar bet. After the chips I let my right hand where it was, in full view—purpose] Every one dropped except the cowboy He studied my hand carefully for some time. Then he grinned. “‘Well, kid,” he said, “you caught your fourth one, all right. 1 won't {call. You're overdoing that trembling- hand stufr.” And he laid down, face up, a pat straight up to’the queen. He had read me perfectly in my effort to con- vince him I was bluffing by letting my hand shake as I pushed in the chips. As a study of human behavior poker s un aled. In the group of friends with wlom I play th>se days are such men as I T. Webster and Clare Briggs, cartoonists: Arthur Somer: Roche, Charles G. Norris, author; Ewing Galloway, photographer. and Herb Roth, the well known illustrator. Each of these men has his peculiar- ity—not necessarily a weakness, but a physical or psychological factor that affects his manner of play—and his manner of life. chology divides behavior three classes—‘verbalized” be- havior, which includes speech and thought; “visceral” behavior, which is the action of the viscera and the glands; and “manual” behavior, which Includes the actions of the muscles. One of my friends is a clumsy deal- er. His manual behavior is not or- ganiszed along the lines of handling the , In a moment | hurts his ntrate exception { men | take | Another havio f lin the eve jattack of acut son mple tion sets “endocrine the stimuli of | When to the mus | ulate the | whatev trighte he man. The blood, le | triend’s stom: leaves digestion fu- complete: result, a severe headache. The verbalized behavior of severs men with whom I play affects th. game. Some men cannot talk an play; others keep up a rapid-fire con- versation from the moment the first hand is dealt. They are differently organized verbally. A woman. for in- stance, can knit and talk, but she cannot swee and talk. She is accus tomed to e and not to th othe Ju: 0 Some men can play and talk, while others cannot It is proverbial that women do (Contlnued on Fourth Page) the 1 which respond t inger, ha fear, inds r systen muscles to not