Evening Star Newspaper, March 14, 1926, Page 94

4 THE Polly’s Short Month By Phyllis Duganne She Was That Difficult Combination, a Very Tall and Very D as of the galloping of Iry sounded up the of the Kendrick ula Kendrick turned from the task of painting the shelves in the old nursery in time ‘o see her two elder brothers. flicking imaginary horses with equally imagi- nary whips, draw up and dismount at the threshold “He has come, your highness!” they panted in unison, Polly dipped her brush into the paint can and looked at them indul- gently. “Who has come?" she asked them “The Highly Improbable He," Bil! answered, crinning We have wasted Wally assured were unroliing him we passed the two cars—lengthwise. of cours Polly leaned her elhow on the top unpainted shelf and looked at two of Jlarvard’s most promising studenis disgus-edly. “Would you mind telling me what_you're talking about?” she demanded t moment,” “We thought he'd come with a cir- | cus at first,” Bill said illuminatingly. ut then we found that he was & mere amateur—come to visit Fr: Knigh “He's seven feet tall, if he’s a yard.” Wally continued, “and we felt it only you that— object nearest her hand was nt can, and her two brothers as they saw the dawning of that light in Polly’s deep blue eyes whi b meant that she was going to some:hing. recily an opportunity ‘you everloole. Poll” Bill said in sticking his red hes ahout ~ner of the docr :rame for an ¢ and w: hdrawing it quickly. se ‘over:wnk’ in its fizurative tood lister siruing, hat 10 nave i ge, but il only 4 her about it so. 1f d as her mind re- Inescapatle if. wasn't 5 feet 11 inches ng to * K kK NTIL her (welfth birthday Polly Kendrick had been a normally happv and contented Mttle girl, A lit- tle girl! But in the year which fol- lowed, some careless drug clerk must ipped a dose of Alice’s Drink- M= into one of the sodas she was so constantly consuming. Something of the sort. For in her thirteenth vear Paula Kendrick performed the almost it seemed to her fam friends that they could actually Poll grow. And she had continued growing! Even now, at 19, she sometimes slipped off her shoes and stond tremulously against the family #easuring board in the old nursery to make certain that the growth was over. It was over; for three years Polly’s height had remained constant, but there was small satisfaction in that—a little late in the day. The fact that Wally and Bill out- stripped her by two inches each gave them neither brotherly sympathy nor understanding. “A likely story!" Bill would quote, sotto voce, to Wally apropos of noth- Ing at all. “She says she's a little girl! I've seen a good many little girls in my time—"" At that point some arti- cle, well directed and with the force oi a long. muscular arm behind it, usually hit Bill upon the nose and quorations would cease for a time. Wallace Kendrick, senior, was quite as bad; that there lay tragedy in a surplus of inches seemed an incom- ehensible fact to the male sex. olly’s father went even so far as to carry in his wallet a picture he had eut from the Nationa) Geographic Magazine, a picture of a young giraffe feeding. It reminded him so much of his little girl, he would explain casu- ally. * ok koK MRS. KENDRICK alone saw that tragedy outbalanced humor the series of outbreaks which follew=1 Polly’s putting up her hair. Until that exciting moment Polly’s height had heen her pride. but with hairpins and lengthened skirts arrived the time ‘when she no longer wanted mere re- spect and fear from the opposite sex. Polly—that tall Kendrick girl!—be- Zan to want beaux. Came that occa- sion when she was discovered, a series of angular lines beneath a pale blue chiffon dress. like a many-bladed jack- knife, sobbing convulsively in the dressing room of the country club, while the un‘eeling dance progressed merrily without her. “Wh-why didn’t you kill me—in- gtead of le‘ting me grow up to be a fuf-freak?” she wailed bitterly, re- eisting ma‘ernal sympathy. It had been her first blow, that; the occasion when Arnold Ware, whom she adored with a whole-hearted love, had come up to her where she was sitting against the wall watching the dancers and made his masculine apol- ogy. You'll excuse me for not danc- ing with you, Polly, won't you? I'd Romantic Girl. like to, but you're so much taller than I am that it makes me look ridicu- lous.” *Oh, bitter, bitter blow! Love was blown out like a candie flame—and tears flowed in the dressing room. Painting the nurserv shelves with broad, sweeping strokes, Polly re- membered that incident and chuckled. It w : easy to laugh about it now; after all, she had carried her height for three long years now and should be Rccustomed to it. It was still annoying, of course; annoying, in rains, to have other girls, from the mug complacency of five feet and few inches, ask her to reach down uitcases from overhead racks; an- ving to have to spend her life in flat-heeled slippers. to have to eswear even the prettiest of striped | material. But it was not quite so hard as she had thought at first. There were in the world short men whose dignity was not so assailable s Arnold's had been, and—for which polly thanked Heaven whenever she met one—there were men taller than <he. Though, with appalling unrea- in | water from a_fountain. sonableness, these fellow giants in- varlably seemed to prefer feminine companians of almost pocket-size. And Polly Kendrick was pretty. Sometimes it seemed to her almost bsurd that her yellow-brown hair should curl in little ringlets around her face, that her eyes should be as deep blue an. lashed as any baby vamni urd—but Polly he could laugh about her height now; quote those more pertinent passages from “Alice in Wonderland” with the best of them, #nd refer ‘o herself, even as her brothers always referred to her, as a great girl. It didnt hurt so very much. * * Xk ok AND 50 a companion giant had ar- rived in Millbrook! Frances Knight had <aid something or other about 2 man whn was coming to spend a month. Polly shrugged. After all, at did it matter? She didn’t know how much it could matter until ‘rom the veranda of her heuse she saw Alan Nelson swinging down Elm street accompanied by Frances Knight's 5-year-old sister. He was so tall—so ery tall—and the used face which he bent down to- ward the little girl was so likable! The sun shone on his uncovered blond head and he looked to Polly—and, for that matter, to girls far shorter than Polly—like a young Greek athlete, a statue come to life. Polly Kendrick was not romantic— what great girl ‘of 5-feet-11 would dare to be’—but as she looked at Alan Nelson conversing so earnestly with his diminutive companion she knew that it had happened. There was no doubt about it, Polly had fal- len in love at first sight. She rose, almost_hypnotically, from the hammock and advanced to the edge of the veranda steps to stare after him. Gosh, he was good look- ing! And so tall, so gloriously tall! All the resentment for her undesired inches welled up in Paula Kendrick, those hated inches which stood be- tween her and feminine charm. It was at that identical instant, Polly Kendrick, sending a last glance after the figures of a tall young man and a tiny girl, lost her balance and fell the scant 4 feet from the veranda step to the ground—fell and, instead of picking herself up, turned white, even to her lips. 1 / (77 “‘1;//"/ Sympathy from Bill was too much. Tears started in Polly’s blue eyes and she turned her face against the pillow angrily. “Oh, you never mean anything!"’ she sald. “You think that being the world’s tallest woman is f-funny! You- » Her shoulders moved spas- modically. “Give me a handkerchief, Bill. I'm all right. A great thing like me crying like a baby!" Bill gave her his handkerchief and sat down beside her. Funny! Polly hadn’t cried through all the pain, but now—— “You know Polly’s a game kid,” he said to Wally that evening: “We ought to do something to sort of en- tertain her while she 2 up. maybe—" That night they completed the transforming of the old nursery into a sitting room for Polly. And the next day, when she was installed there on the couch, they brought Frances Knight and Alan Nelson around for a chess game. * ok kX I IT had been love at first sight, it was equally love at second sight and third for Polly Kendrick. She leaned back against the stack of pillows, her cheeks flushed, deep-blue eyes luminous with pleasure, and studied the thoughtful face which Alan Nelson bent over the chessboard. “Guess you've got me again,” he ad- mitted finally, and looked up at her She smiled and dropped her eyes; not for long could Polly meet the gaze of Alan Nelson without giving away the secret which was growing daily more difficult to hide. “You're ever so nice to come in and amuse a poor invalid like this,” she murmured. “Don’t be idiotic!” Polly swelled to the masculine dominance of his tone. “Put it'll be nice when you're up. Fran says you play a speedy game of tennis.” He grinned. “And I'm really male enough to have a horrid desire to beat you at something. Supremacy of the sex must be maintained!” “What makes you so sure you'll beat me?” Polly inquired. “I'm pretty good, you know. He laughed. “So'm L. And while the female brain may be quick, re- member I've got it ail over vou in reach and length on the tennis cour Polly started. Reach and length— Because she wanted so much to be lit- tle and helpless before this tall young man—and because nothing under the sun could ever make her really iittle and helpless—the old defense of mock- ery sprang up in her. Her lips parte to remind him that after all she was the female giraffe of the tennis court, when he spoke again. n and I played a set yester- ¥ he said. “You really should have seen it. About half the balls went over the poor little kid’s head.” “But I'm taller than Fran, you know,” said Polly, wondering why the picture of Frances Knight facing Alan across the net of the tennis should make her feel so bit- His tone was yes!" IT WAS ANNOYING TO HAVE OTHER GIRLS, FROM A SMUG COMPLACENCY OF FIVE FEET AND A FEW INCI ASK HER TO REACH DOWN SUITCASES FROM OVERHEAD. mensely casual, and in that instant realization dawned upon Polly. Alan Nelson did not know how tall she was! Alan Nelson had never seen her standing up! She looked down at the silk quilt which covered her neglige, down at the bump which was at_ her feet. “‘Alice’s Right Foot, Esq., Hearthrug, Near the Fender—'" If only that ab- surd book wouldn't always rattle through her head! And, as a matter of A small sound of pain escaped her! fact, her feet didn’t look half so far tightly pressed lips and all the Sum- mer world went inky black. The tragedy of measuring 6 feet 11 inches! If a small girl had fallen from a great height and broken her leg, sympathy would have flowed like But when a great May-pole of a girl falls 3% feet and breaks her leg thoroughly and conclusively, humor lurks behind condolences. “If you'd fallen from the roof, now, Polly, I'd understand!” Bill suggested, looking down at, her where she lay with a frown of anxiety wrinkling his forehead. Bill didnt mean to be brutal; it was he and not Alan Nelson who had found her lying in a still heap on the grass; it was he who had stood by in silent admiration of her courage when old Dr. Beech was busied with setting the bones. “Oh shut up! said Polly, and closed her eyes against the pain. This was what came of getting ro- mantic! Not only would she be con- fined to the house for at least the ex- tent of Alan Nelson's visit, but, to make it even worse, the first thing he would hear of her was her ridiculous feat in making the world’s short-dis- tance record at leg-breaking! “I'm sorry, Polly. I didn't mean—"" s away when she was lying down. He didn't know how tall she was! Perhaps he pictuced her as rather short, even. Certainly there had been ever since their first meeting a pro- tectiveness in his manner which few men have toward big girls. Perhaps — Polly turned her eyes toward the wall. Perhaps he didn't like tall wo- men! She gathered strength slowly to pursue that terrible thought. “Fran's so little and cunning,” she sald in a flat sort of voice. Little and cunning! She was fllled with a sud- den cold hatred of Frances Knight. “I always feel as if I was out with a walking doll when I go anywhere with her,” Alan agreed. “It would be so much simpler for us both it I could pick her up and perch her on my arm. *‘Yes,” said Polly dully. A walking doll! She, with her five feet eleven inches was like a loosely strung marionette. She had never inspired any man to pick her up in his arms. ut you do expect to be up pretty soon, don't you?" asked Alan. Polly shook her head slowly. “It was pretty bad break,” she sald soberly. “I may not be up for—oh, for vears and vears and vears!” Dr. Beech was genuinely worried. “Of course, she made a pretty tm ough job of it,” he told Mra, SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, “but even so, I think she ought to be able to get about on crutches now. It's almost as though she didn't want to get up.’ Mrs. Kendrick frowned. “She's been 80 crazy to be out again! And with the dance coming in a week, too! Of course every one has been awfully nice to her, but lying flat on one's back for three weeks—do u think we'd better nave an X-ra Every one had been awfully nice to Polly, even as her mother said, but lying flat on one’s back for three weeks—Polly had plenty of time to consider things. She couldn t doubt, even in the dark- est moments, that Alan Nelson was genuinely—well—interested in her. No young man spends a considerable por- tion of every day at the bed- side of an unrelated person unless that invalid at least interests him. There had been moments during this third exquisite week when Polly had felt that his feeling for her was even more than interest. No, she really could not doubt that—but, belng in love, she naturally had to doubt some- thing. So, in those long hours when she lay alone staring up at the cell- ing of the old nursery a different doubt grew steadily in size and mag- nitude. Alan Nelson would not feel the same toward her when he found out how outrazeously tall she was! He would be disappointed. perhaps shocked. even. He had—well, she might as well say it'—fallen in love with a pretty face. But when he saw that pretty face perched high at the top of five feet eleven inches of girl—Polly the pretty face in her pillow and in- dulged in deep misery. £ “Polly, you've got to buck up! he sald to her four days before Fran Knight's dance. “I'm golng home in less than a week, and——" He hesi- tated and suddenly, unexpectediy seized her hand and kissed it. “Oh, no—you mustn't!” cried Polly, ulling it away. e \'E\' not? Oh, Polly—"" “No!" Polly said frantically. Oh; 1f this kept up, she'd have to tell him And— “1 can't tell vou!” she walled He sat up quickly and eref} down at her. “Can't tell me what? “Please don't ask me, Alan. I— This, then, settled it. Paula Ken- drick would never rise from her couch until Alan had left Mlllhroo\s behind him! Left it carrying away a dream of a blue-eyed girl whose pret- tiness was unsmirched by any enor- ous height. m"[ talk‘gd with Doctor Beech today, Polly. He says if you'd start with your crutches now we might be able %o carry you over to the dance. Just to be there, Polly. Won't you try— now Il put my arm around you ou can—" ' anf!o’;!, no Oh, Alan—I wish you'd away!” ‘oAlan &Nelson stood up and ‘l‘ooked at her with troubled eyes. _Polly. I wish you'd tell me if there's any h— re?-l!g hesitated, checked by the alarm in her face. “I've got to g0 home next week, Pol But I can come s And— s You mustn’t ever come back! Alan—" She didn’'t want him ever to come back! Of course she didn't! This would be the one perfect month of her life, a precious month, to be al- ways cherished—a month in which a man had felt toward her as men feel toward very little women—tender and dominant and protective— “Oh, Alan!” Polly murmured, heart- broken—but she didn’t murmur it ntil after he was gone. ¥ But it wasn't to be such a flawlessly happy month after all. Not all of it. The four days before Fran's dance were miserable days—miserable when Alan was with her, looking at her with those troubled, questioning eves, and even more miserable when she was alone. SR 'HE night of the dance came, dark- ening the end of an afternoon during which she and Alan had played chess moodily and silently. Bill and Wally had promised to bripg home a crowd after the party for s:]px:lr in Polly’s room, and unenthusiastl- cally Poyily let her mother arrange the folds of a new white neglige; watched her prepare the room Wwith flowers and candles. “Don’t you want to try to sit up tonight, Polly?” she asked casually. Polly shook her head languidly. “No, mother.” Mrs. Kendrick bent her head over the supper table. As the days slipped bv her alarm was increasing. In an- other week, she had announced to her husband that molrnl-;:ng, she was going call in a specialist. m’l'he house prang with noise while Bill and Wally prepared for the dance, w depressingly quiet after their departure. Polly lay on her cough and thought miserably of the great room at the Knights', of the music, the girls in evening dresses and satin slippers—satin slippers with high, curving heels! Mrs. Kendrick opened the door of the room. “Alan's here, Polly.” She adjusted her daughter’s pillows, pulled up a chair for Alan. “Poor little baby girl!” Polly’s eyes smarted suddenly as her mother leaned over to kiss her. “On; mother—"" If Alan had not entered the room then, she would have told her mother. Mrs. Kendrick always understood, somehow. Alan sat down quietly and was si- lent for a moment, while Polly looked at him unhappily. B “I don't want to go to the darned dance, Polly,” he said moodily. “I've got to go back some time, I s'pose. But I sha'n’t until the very end. And Please, hid |’ 'Powe!l welcomed the D. 0, MARCH 14, by ,‘h‘.ul'.{‘ Al ALAN NELSON STARED AT HER. “KNOW YOU WERE T. 1926—PART 8. N S s ik 4 I don’t care whether you want me here or not!"” Polly wished her mother hadn't kissed her so tenderly, hadn’t called her baby girl. Tears still smarted, un- shed, behind her eyelids. “Oh, Polly, what is it that's trou- bling you? Is it another man, Polly?" She meant to nod her head. It would simplify things so. But some how she couldn’t tell that lie. She shook it vehemently and a ringlet of yellow-brown hair “slipped from be neath a_ hairpin and tumbled against her flushed cheek. “Polly!” He bent toward her and stopped, alarmed at the sudden tears which wet her face. “Polly, please Do go back to the dance, Alan. —I want you to.” * *x % X LAN NELSON got up wildly and walked up and down the floor of the old nursery. “I won't go back to the dance! I don't like dances! They always give me a stiff neck. And I want to be with you.” He looked at her angrily. 1 “Why won't you tell me what's the matter? Why won't you get up? I don’t believe there's anything the mat- ter with your leg at all any more. The doctor said——" He paused, knelt be- side her bed. “If you knew how I wanted you to be up and about with me, Polly!” he pleaded. “If you just knew how 1 wanted you every minute, lly, but this dance tonight is the first dance I've ever looked forward to in my life—because I thought I could dance with you—dance with a girl I could talk to without having to stoop over like a blinking hatrpin—" “Alan!" Polly sat up abruptly, erect. “What do you mean?" “I mean that I love you, of course. And—- , not that!” It's Polly’s eyes grew dark with excitement. “I mean— about dancing—with me.” He looked at her hopelessly yne of us is crazy,” he said. 0. But, Alan, did you know T was—tall N E ed at her. vou were tall? What are vou talking about?” | Ll I li L? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” “Why, look at you!" Gbediently Polly looked down at her long outline on the couch; looked back at him. “Ot course, I know you're tall. You're probably the taliest woman T've ever seen outsids one reason why I was so interested in u—at first. To be with a female who's pret me look like a totem pole! Paula Ken- drick, have you any idea how tall T am? He had risen and suddenly one of his arms shot upward. He rested his hand flat upon the cefling and looked down at ‘her. “Let's—let’s measure on the family measuring board?" sald Polly. While Alan towered beside couch, a sort of cartooned caryatid Polly swung one foot in a hated heel- less satin siipper to the floor. He stared speechless while the other foot followed gingerly—stared while Polly rose, a_straight, slender figure of girl, in falling folds, like a voung Venus. And, like the Greek Venus rising from thé foam of the sea, 118 mfll L a circus. That's | and who doesn’t make | w | q I !‘ e N she pushed aside the fluffy folds of the silk coverlet and stood for a me ment erec before the knee of 1! broken leg sagged suddenly and si swayed toward him. 'Polly!"” Alan Nelson's arms went about | protectingly, and FPolly's flushed brushed against his coat. a little shaken by the weakn Polly looked i an's face, Oh-h-h®” said Paula Kendrick turously. For the first time in her life, | spite of the tremors of pain whict shot through her bandaged leg, Pol raised herself on tiptoes. 2 bent his head t. Polly closed her eyes. It v hought to flash throug! great girl's head at such a momen: yet it made her heart lap even mo- strangely than it had been leaping. When Paula Kendrick walked dovn aisle of the church to join Al & n b('ful;(' the ar she wou ‘ wearing white satin slip) s—witi nigh heels! FRiSE . (Copyrizht, 1926.) Washington’s Octogenarian Artist Tells of Need of Color in Modern Life BY GEORGE PORTER. E all get tired of talking “shop.” No matter how fascinating one’s vocation may be, there are times when he would rather talk of something else. The politician wearies of discussing taxes, the busi- ness man delights {n verbally repl ing his golf games as a_relief from conferences on commercial topics and, whether he will admit it or not, the artist often becomes “fed up” on art. when the writer interviewed V. Powell, dean of the Wash ington painters, the conversation was largely about matters of interest to every one. and only touched on art occasionally and that because Mr. Powell is so thoroughly wrapped up in his work that it is almost impossi- ble for him to talk an hour or so with- out bringing up that subject. Although ke is still at work in his 80th year and attributes his truly | remarkab'e vigor and activity to the | love he bears his profession, Mr. nportunity to give his opinions about the ever- pressing problems of life, and to dis- cuss current questions. He was vouthtul in his enthusiasm as he spoke on such diversified subjects as the immensity of life, the difficult problems of the farmer, the present- day styles and the close kinship be- tween music and painting. A From the living room of his tempo- rary residence, near George Washing- ton University, this energetic little | man was looking out, after a busy day with his brush, at the long line of students hurrying to late afternoon classes. ~ “There are so many people,” he be- gan, “one wonders how they all get along. 1 have traveled extensively, and often, as I enter a city by night and see the crowds under the artificial lights hurrying back and forth, I am overwhelmed with the immensity of life I realize that it is impossible to know many in such a multitude. Yet there is an undeniable attraction in throngs that draws men to cities. I like most citles. I particularly like Washington. But I also like to get away, after a while, to the seclusion of my farm, in nearby Virginia.” The point was made that there has been a widespread effort recently to understand the grim beauty of the city. It was apparent in literature | and In art. It seemed natyral, even if | it was “talking shop,” to ask which he considered the best training ground for a young artist—the country or the city. “One is almost as essential as tl:m other,” was the prompt response. ‘A painter must go to nature for his in- spiration, and this can only properly be done in the country. However, he should profit by the experlences of others, which ordinarily means he must visit the city and associate with brother artists. Then, too, if his work | 1s to fulfill its proper mission, it must | be sold or displayed. As a rule, there is neither a market for paintings ncr a place to exhibit them in the coun- try.” | “Much as I love the country,” the artist continued, “I know all about its handicaps to the ambitious youth. As a boy I worked on a farm for 50 cents a day. I was industrious, but I saw that even an industrious boy could not get very far on such wages. I was small, and a little crippled, and not well fitted for manual labor. But from my childhood I could always draw. used to make pencil sketches that had real character. It was not until later that T had any paints to work with. Perhaps it was because I did not have colors at my disposal in the beginning that I used them so enthusiastically after I obtained them. “We are beginning to realize that color is not confined to painting. It should be an integral part of life. Nothing is so unbearable as a so-called ‘qull’ existence—and that term is ex- pressive. The effort to bring color, variety, brightness, whatever you wish to name it, into our lives can be seen on all sides. Have you observed the large amount of color in women's dresses of late? It is a small item to be sure, but significant.” The fact ~hat Mr. Powell is able to paint with his singular skill at his age constitutes an lmpressive lesson portance of choosing the Ee heartily believe my profession is responsible for my being alive to- d ho asserted. “There may not be anything new under the sun, but ihere are aiways pienty ol thiigs ui- der the sun that are new to the indi- vidual. Though 1 have been paint- ing for well over half a century, I still find new und engrossing features to my work. It keeps me youthful in body and spirit.” Upon being told that to many men painting a picture or composing a score of music stood out as the apex of human accomplishment, and as sermons in themseives upholding the instinctive belief in immortality, Mr. Powell was reminded that there was LUCIEN W. POWELL, THE PAINTER, IN THE lery, the National Gallery, the Amer- ican University, Geovgetown College, the Congressional Club and the (ol orado Bul Scores of pri individuals in the District are a proud possessors of specimens of his work, foremost among them being Mrs. John D. Henderson, who has bought nearly two hundred of the elderly artist's pictures and heralis him as “the Michelangelo of Amer- jca." The late William A. Clark, whose priceless art collection was given tc the Corcoran Gallery last Spring. bought all his paintings, as most rich men do, through a dealer, and con- fined his purchases to works of de- ceased artists, but on one occasion told Mr. Powell that, though he did 1g. IFORM OF A STAFF COLONEL OF THE CONFEDERATE ARMY. only one other profession that ever appealed to him. “T have often thought that I should have liked to be a musician,” he con- fessed. “Music and painting_are closely allied in v any respects. Most musiclans appreciate good paintings and, conversely, most painters ap- preciate good music. The world is full of pictures and songs. It is the function of the artist to see the pic- ture of the composer, to ‘catch’ the melody for the peopie. Both are in- spired by similar influences, the basis of which is harmony.” Several of Mr. Powell's pictures are on permanent publf® display in the Natfonal Capital. If it is true that by knowing a painting one knows the artist, then hundreds of ‘Washingtonians who have never met him must know Mr. Powell. One of the largest pictures he ever made, and which has the Grand Canyon for its subject, hangs in the reading room, of the Public Library, while in the main hall of the same building are two of his Venetians, one of which . John Singer Sargent pro- nounced as the best he ever saw. Other paintings of Mr. Powell in this city are housed in the Corcoran not exactly wish him dead, he surely would like to have some of his pic- tures. Knowing his work and his ideas, little can be added by a recital of the facts of Mr. Powell's life. The story of the eventful 79 years he has .en- Joyed can be compressed into a single paragraph without detracting from its significance. He was born in Virginia, December 13, 1846. After spending his early years on a farm he became a pupil of the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, in Philadclphia. and later studied abroad—in London, Rome, Venice and Paris. He traveled far and wide 1o the purposes of making sketches from nature, and his work everywhere at- tracted the attention of the leading art patrons. His visits to the Far ‘West resulted in the production of several masterful canyon pictures, one of which hung in the White House during President Roosevelt's admin- istration. He is especfally fond of Venice, the canals of which he often reproduces on canvas. His trips have also taken him to theHoly Land, Italy Switzerland and most of the other noted scenic spots and art centers of Europe. On one occasion he held an exhibit from a made a brought th replicas, n the returnini Who fn this world of our: In March first open In’days of peril firm and brave And wear the bloodstone 1o thelr grave 'HE bloodstone, representing the month of March in the list of natal stones, is symbolical of wisdom, firmness and courage. Its virtues are believed to bring safety and long life to its possessors, to stop the flow of blood and to serve as a protection against disease. It is thought to exer- ‘(‘ise a calming influence, to remove anger and discord and to endow its | wearer with the gift of prophecy. As late as the middle of the seventeenth century the bloodstone was used as a cure for dyspepsia, and when powdered and mixed with honey and the white of an egg was considered a remedy for tumors. A favorite use of the bloodstone {among the Spaniards and Indians in the early days of American history was to check hemorrhages. The best results were obtained when the stone was first dipped in cold water and held in the patient’s right hand. The ap- plication of any cold object would, of course, serve to congeal the blood, the logic in this was not recognize that time. The bloodstone, a variety of flint- colored dark green and mixed with spots of iron stain resembling drops of blood, has been the center of much legendary interest. One of the most striking traditions, perhaps, was the belief prevalent in Europe during the middle ages that the stone had fts origin In a dark-green jasper which happened to lie at the foot of the cross at the time of the crucifixion and upon which the blood of Christ fell, hence the red spots. This idea has been beautifully utilized in a bust of Christ carved in this stone, found in the French roya: collection in Paris, so executed that the red spots of the stone most realistically resemble drops of- blood. Another fine carving fllus- trating this idea is a head of Christ in_the Field Museum, Chicago. Heliotrope, the name commonly given the bloodstone by the ancients, is also the occasion of a striking tra- dition concerning this store. Helio- trope was derived from two Greek words meaning ‘“sun turning” and refers to the superstition that the bloodstone imparts a reddish hue to the water in which it is placed, so that when the rays of the sun fall |upon the water red reflections are given forth. From this fancy was developed the exaggeration that the bloodstone has the power to turn the sun itself a blood-red, and to cause thunder, lightning, rain and tempest. The best quality of this stone should have a rich, dark green color and the spots should be small and uniformly distributed. The supply is obtained almost wholly from India, especlally from the Kathiawar Peninsula west of Cambay. Fine specimens have, however, come from Australia and a few from Brazil. The bloodstone is not extensively used In jewelry other than for birth-stones, but outside the realm of jewelry it supplies a fine | material for artistic cups, small vases and statuettes. i New Serums. REVENTIVE serums against blood poisoning, erysipelas, puerperal fever and other ailments have been discovered by Dr. Sergius Zabolodny, professor of bacteriology at Leningrad University, says an announcement by the university. In preparing his serums Prof. Zabo- lodny uses what are descril »d as matic bacteria.” These are said to gusueu! the property of dissolving al= uminous substances in the body.