Evening Star Newspaper, June 6, 1926, Page 80

THE SUNDAY STAR, 'WASHINGTON, D. ¢, JUNE 6, 1 'NO SENSE OF HUMOR By Margaret' Culkin Banning Jokes and Tragedies Mingled in a Young Couple’s Life. AVING broached the matter of his marriage to Gale Mul- lin, her self-proposed hus- band stood on the hearth rug and surveyed his family with some amusement. “Seems to have surprised you,” he satd. His sister Norma, sitting on the davenport with the latest of the novels, which had gone a little fur- ther than any had gone before, made the first comment. “Gale Mullin is all right for some- body. But she’s so funny a partner for you, Bill. Of course,” she's or: dnined to marry. But why you? You're not her kind. The girl has absolutely no sense of humor, you know." “Gale Mullin—shke's the one who Yooks like a Dutch peasant or a Nor- weglan goddess or something, isn't she?” asked Mr. Pedler. “Nlc ing girl for a_model for but for holy wedlock isn't a bit_chill “What she just o vou intend to do with Gale Mullin in_this family?” asked voung Tom. “Who, except a Pedier, can_accept the spir a Pedler? married to old man Mullin's daugh ter. Old man Mullin had carried the plate up and down the aisle of Verona's Church for some 20 years at the proper intervals. Also he had held the same expert, unimportant bank position for 20 years. No Pedler had ever worked in a bank; certainly no Pedler had ever carried a plate up and down the aisle of any church. Yet the Pedlers were as well known to Cosmopolis as the Mulllns. The Mullins owned their own house and Mr, Mullin had all the | things necessary to respectability and irmnfur(. including a beautiful daugh- Iter. The Pedlers never owned a house, had rented a number of houses, held every conceivable job. been in on covery boom the town had had, been on ihe verge of fortune and never quite mode it. Everybody liked old Podler. Nobody would trust him with a cent. Everybody liked Mullin and anybody would trust him with his last cent. People liked Bill and peo- I ple liked Gale. Tt was the combina- {tion that seemed unnatural. 1t was only Gale and Bill who knew, while the rest of the world | talked of how unnatural this engage- | “We're oo Dickensian-— ! Too Rabelaisian?” e They spent an interesting min- | utes in discussion of themselves, seel:-| ing increasing ribald and extravagant adjactives. Mr. Pedler Sur\e\edv\l‘\em} with satisfaction. ‘When they fell into | one of these conversations, \\'!!lrh di: played their keenness of attac n Tirile vocabularies. he always swell- ed with pride as he observed them. Mr. Pedler always took the attitude ‘hat he might not have given his inotherless family much in a financial way except the ragged side of flnnnc; With the debts showing, but he had given them brains and wit. They Were sharp and occasionally brutal to sach other, but they all could hit back at each other mentally. Norma ana Penelope, Bill and Horace couldn't he matched anywhere, thought Mr. Pedler. He forgot for a moment that the subject under discussion was his eldest son’s choice of & wite, until| came back to it. : P!""sall;?xpfanrxy dies at me—that gu-l‘l T've seen her look at me when ssid something as if 1 were tsllklnl‘ Greek. 1 tell you she doesn’t ge! ings. BIL" g s o Gale,” sald Bill. ; He was very much in love, but he couldn't help feeling slightly superior a8 his family went on with their com. ents. They didn't sav anything vou rould resent, against Gale. She Waa good looking, lovely looking li 3\“‘ Hied; she was everything a girl coud be—except that she didn't have any sense of humor. That wag, what it €0 . Not a scrap. D ; (S‘::l:hg\)\ {he possession of {his sense of ‘humor seemed to put Bill on higher plane than Gale.. o Bill looked at his wateh and vealized (hat it had stoppad. at the iVIng-roon elock and saw that that was ooy ously not :l%m{h ince its merey tick. indicated that i ¥ DB gh it was evening. he went, to] v the kitchen alarm clock, which | was the only reliable l‘mfiy;\:c;x in the d discoverad h e ! oo hour late for an appointment | ith Gale, | thes erS, Somim mach. | idn’t distur’l . 5‘:’&%’3& of the house wiistling: cattle of comment s ;:‘:lu‘l':t:fl]}ing unheeded d i b 's(.:h:\:ls- ders. lle was used to banter after vears of it. Gale wa he drove \|lp in ¥ q“r“ Because they were €0 > had | y put on her hat. It was A‘} :lervell%atpnf powder-blue taffeta_and | Gale had adjusted it half an hour before in anticipation of Bill's com- ents. But the waiting had some- how taken a great deal of anticipa- tion cut of her. «were awfully What kept yvou?" Bill told her. “But don't right? How ments’ “It’'s a lot more fun nol. most appointments on time, Bill. ing for him when ackety little car. | late she had | late, Bil dear. 1 have clocks that are can you keep appoint- 10 keep * laughed He seemed to scoop her up under his arm and_half carry her to her place beside him in the car. They dashed away toward the city and the theater, which was half an hour from the district where they lived. Gale knew that they would miss at least a third of the first act and that the tickets were expensive. She thought of that for”a little, then succumbed to the delight of being with Bill, who was so big, so good-tempered, so gay. It took quite a while to find a place to park the car and finally they parked in a prohibited district. “1 often do it and a chance,” I; “you hardly ever get caught, a great lark to tell them you didn’t know it was prohibited. Gale wrinkled her forehead a little as if she was trying to get that. “Ot course, vou do know, though. You just said you did.” Bill laughed. “Oh, it's true about you. no sense of humor at ail. are adorable under that hat. adorable anyway.” They hurried, to stumble over peo- ple’s knees in the darkened theater and find their seats. Gale wondered a little why she felt tired. She hadn't felt tived when she dressed tonight. 1t was a drama of some sentiment and well acted. TIn the third act Gale felt the tears coming to her eyes. Horrid to see people who cared for each suffer like that. Horrid! Sup- pose it hai been she and Bill who were parted! She, sat a little closer to him and they f{vere very comfort- able until the lights went u “But you've been crying, said Bill. “It was so sad." Bill. who had felt a little tremulous himself when Gale had edged toward him in the poignant moments on the stage, laughed. “Sentimental child,” he called her; “it really is old-fashioned 10.20-30 stuff, fsn't it? Heroine getting thin when lover goes away. No friends. She'll be homeless pretty soon and then the tears will flo: And. sure enough, in the next act the girl was homeless and Gale's tears did flow. Not, she meant to ex- plain to Bill, that she didn’t see that it was a forced situation. But if it had been true and had been them- ;71\'(! it would have been too terri- . “I told vou she'd be on the streets,” said Bill in an amused stage whisper, and the people in front turned around to glare, and Gale blushed furiously. ““We really shouldn't have disturb- ed them,” she sald as they left the theater. “People like that ought to be dis- turbed. No sense of humor.” “That's what you say about me.” “'So I do, darling. Well. it's differ- ent with you. I don’t mind your hav- ing no humor. I rather like it.” “I don’t sec why if you admire it o much.” “You wouldn't,” laughed Bill. * Ok ok ok You have But you You're illy girl,” ‘T was announced—the engagement of Mr. Wiiliam Pedler and Miss Gale Mullin. There were those who said to Gale that it was an extremely {vious condition and went inot so serlously as insistently. ment was, that it was entirely nat- ural from the first moment they had met at one of the big charity bazaars to which Bill had gone for amuse. | ment and at which Gale had served froin duty. | Bill fell in love, laughed at his ob- after Gale Girls resisted the attentions of the Pedler boy They were all too fine ! looking and amusing. Gale had re sisted rather longer than Bill expect- | ed. She told him after they were en- gaged it was because she did not dare ; let herself carejfor fear she should care too terribly “Little safety) first,” said Bill. “Now that you do care Isn't it fun?” “Not fun exactly.” Vell—sort of first cousin to fun?” don't think it’s amusing at all,” said Gale. “I don't care what vou think. T only care what you do.” concluded Bill, “and 1 want you to marry me as quic] is humanly possible. I can't wait—nor will 1.” | But there were preliminaries. none | the less. Iven Bill knew that he'd have to have a future or at least the makings of one before he took a wife. | By great good luck one of his friends a really good friend—was going to California for the Winter, leaving a delightful apartment to be had fur- nished for a nominal rental. That set tled a dwelling place as far as Bill was concerned. So when he had al lied himself to an automobile agency as sales and advertising manager at a fair salary he felt that he had been extremely provident. “But of course they aren’t our fur- nishings.” demurred Gale, “and it Mr. Allen comes back in March instead of May we'll have to move then Wouldn't it be better maybe to get place of our own—not So luxurio but just a couple of rooms some where, for a little, and collect fur- | nishings as we can_afford them? | Mother can give me a few things and Uncle Rob is going to send me a check. We could begin to get our own furniture—" “I don’t want vou working hard just now," objected Bill. “Why, this apartment of Allen's is just a gift of heaven. It has the loveliest rugs, the best looking pictures three bedrooms——wait until vou see it. I want to enjoy vou for a little while. T want you to be a princess.’ The shy little smile that Bill loved flickered over Gale’s face and they decided to take Allen's flat. As theyv | were to be married in November it tided them over the Winter. * % k% | never 00 ALE spent several afternoons in the Pedler house and several evenings., They were all alike. At first when she entered the room or when a meal began she smiled and | looked charming. As the time went on she became silent and comprehen- sion went out of her face. The con- versation was too fast for her, as Norma. sald. As insults were hurling themselves jocularly to and fro, as people interrupted each other to get hearing for their egotisms, Gale had nothing at all to say. When one or another sald something about her and | her approaching marriage she in- variably crimsoned in a regular mid Victorian - fashion. “She is mid-Victorian,” said Nor a. “Early Victorian,” corrected Penel- P ow Bill is more Edwardian. He's at least one period Jater. o) famused the Pedlers. {up in pride or shame Some instinct fought against a caross which might be made a subject of jest later on. Iivery ono told her the Pedlers wereo “terribly clever” and she had no doubt of it after a few encounters, She knew that her wedding plans "They thought there was something funny in Biil's belng married before an altar in thp Church of St. Verona—something ter- ribly funny. They commented on that so freely and on the absurd picture Bill would make that some of the first feeling Gale had, of rather tremulous delight in the occasion, waned and changed into slight nervousness. In the presence of the Pedlers she never dwelt on her wedding. They thought all formalities extremely ridiculous. As for what Gale thought, nobody inquired. She and her mother pre- pared her lovely troussea “Bill is very nice but very disorder- eaid Mrs. Mullin to her daughte: vou must cure him of that. ile drops ashes all over everything, and he puts his cigarette stubs anywhere.” “Those aren't very important ‘ou mean--you haven't any job now?” asked Gale. Something in Gale's eyes held Bill's a minute. Then he laughed. » don’t want one either. T want to sound several things out. 1 have plans, Just wait and see.” ¢ gonig to need “Why, the monthly bills." “Oh those.” said Bill, "of course. I'Il look after those. How much do you need for yourseit?” - He trote her a check and that was all there was to that, except that the next morning, since t! ‘e was no need to go to work, he didn’t get up. When Norma Pedler breezed in, un- announced, for lunch Bill was atill in “Blil having one of his usual sprees of not working?” “His what?” asked Gale. “Oh, Bill just has to lay off every once in a while. lle’s bound to bored. We're all like that, Norma, half conceitedly. faults,” argued Gale. 0, unless they are indications of other kinds of disorderliness, which might be serious. 1 wish sometimes, darling. that you were marrying into a family more like our own. “I'd marry Bill no matter what fam ily he belonged to—if he wanted me. Besides, what does it matter? We're| to live hy ourselves. We set our own | standards. We'll make our own habits | of living.” “Just so vou do,” said her mother rather vaguely The days went on, with the Muilins sewing and arranging for wedding preparations which would come within the scope of modest expenditures and vet be adequate, and the Pedlers in- Ccreasingly full of amusement at the thought of Bill's approaching nuptials. Bill got into a way of being jocular about it himself, but he was very easy and pleasant through the ceremony.| Afterward when the afternoon train| was bearing them off to another city | he looked cross the compartment at| his wife and said, smiling | “Well, the great and often-frustrated | | f | attempt to live happily ever after has | once more begun.” W Then he saw Gale's eyes filling with hy, Gale dear. what's the mat - “Don’t make fun of being mavried,’ begged Gale, “not toda Bill took her into his arms and! soothed her. It occurred to him even | then that he was going to have his! own problem with a wife who cer tainly had no sense of humor. = But! he was kind | “You must learn to take a Jjoke he warned her kindly ou mustn't | be so horribly dead in earnest every | moment. And, darling, do try mnot| to drip tears all over, won't you ! At that something in Gale nd the tears| were gone. But it was, on the whole, a delightful wedding trip. There was no doubt that they loved each other | deeply. * x ok * MR, ALLEN'S apartment was an | Bill had known it would be. Tt was arranged charmingly, beautifully | convenient, and service went with it. | Gale, who had come from a home with one servant and with two Orl-| ental rugs which were taken seriously. found its luxury very interestin Her housework was nothing. All she had to do was to be sure that there was plenty of food and flowers about. The rest of her duties as a house wife or apartment wife were largely social. Bill liked people and, as he pointed out, it was a splendid chance to entertaln every one they knew. “Because heaven knows where we'll be living this time next year." “But shouldn't we be thinking about that?" asked Gale. “Oh, we will when we get around to it. Aren't you comfortable?” “Awfully. “And we've two months he at_the least.” Two months, Gale realized, seemed a long and settled perfod to Bill. To her, two months were only a frac- tional part of a yvear, which was the period over which most things should be arranged and budgeted. Doubtless that habit of mind came from her father. Gale had never worrled about what Jiving arrangements would be from | one vear to the next, and neither had Bill. but from different motives. However, when Gale realized that not only was their home temporary but that Bill considered his position as temporary, she began to have some meditative hours when she curled up on the end of the soft vel- vet “Edward was a gay rake, vou know, e | in spite of his being a prince. How do you like that, Gale?” Mr. Pedler contributed a few re- marks which made her redder than ever. “Conversation's a bit too free, my friends,” said Bill. They looked at Gale and laughed, and she, having no sense of humor and on a desire v one in Bill's family, stayed silent and red. The only place where Bill's arms interesting, but very erratic, family she_was getting into—those who said to Bill that she was a very nice girl, § b one could hasdly imagine him did not feel like protection was in the midst of his family. When he touched her in the Pedler living room she W AWSds Mishing he weuld & “YOU MEAN YOU'RE LEAVING ME?' vet divan in the library-living-room “Doesn’t it rather mix up finances?” Gale inugired. “Oh, doesn’t it! T suppose we are the only people in the world who have a sense of humor about finance When we have money, we have it: when we haven't, we haven't!” “But-——" began Gale Bill came out in a interrupted them. They had a g lunch and then Bill went out. Gale's mind soathed a little when he was gone. She felt things were restored 1o a natural basis. i * ¥ ¥ X H your T was several days after that when Mr. Allen, who owned the apart ment, sent them a telegram in which he explained volubly, with no regard for the expense of telegraphed word, that he had been married, that he would be bringing his wife home and that he was horribly sorryv—didn't want to turn them out—but that they could stay indefinitely as his guests. “Well, what do you know about that?” laughed Bill. "*'Old Bach' Allen stepping off! “Where will we go” “Why,” demurred Bill. “he says, we're welcome here as guests.” sale stood up. Why,” she cried, her breath com- ing in little gusts, “we can't stay here. Of course, we're going to get out this week. We can't stay and sponge on them.” ! “You don’'t want to be silly about it I think we'd be all right here till we look around. But do as you please. Only the family exchequer's a little low."” But you'll be working-- “Of course. I'll get in Davis & Eng. land's brokerage house, 1 guess. Ther a chance to make a lot of money around those places. | “I don't want a lot. Then we can | move? Shall we look for an apart- ment tomorrow? “You are in a rush. All right, old dear, we will.” nd how much do you suppose | we ought to pay “What we'll have to pay, foolish.” Gale had a little money of her own—only $18 a month—but she had figured that it would provide extra things for the house. At least so she had planned when they were mar- bathrobe and | | at_her. THEY LOOKED AT GALE AND LAUGHED, AM 926—PART 5. N ND SHE, HAVIN ONE IN BILL'S F FAMIL G NO SENSE OF HUMOR AND ONLY A DESIRE TO PLE. . REMAINED QUIET. ASE EVERY liveries, luxuries. the remoteness from eity Gale went through all the Jokes. She missed her trains and stood wearily waiting for others, while she wondered if the twins were | hungry, and if the occasional woman /| helper would want pay for an extra hour. She knew all about bad de liveries, but they never seemed funny to her. As for the remoteness, there were nights during the first Winter when Bill was away or remained in town rather late, and Gale stayed alone and was frightened—afraid of nothing but her own fear. She tried to tell Bill about it once, and he laughed and asked her what she could possibly be afraid of NO one wants to murder us and we've nothing to steal,” he said com- fortably, and kissed her and laughed ‘The only things that really amused Gale were her twins. 'l ere her only cause for laughter. With them s felt Ler spirits rise, but ey were asleep and she was alone with housework and bills and worry she grew more and more sober. So very sober that Bill, not knowing quite how frequently he did it, stayed in town oftener and oftener and came out on the late train. There was no use in coming out and then going back, as he told Gale, and she, rea- sonably, had to agree with him on that. ie had a new line of work | now which he felt sure was bound to | bring in more money. 1In the mean: | time. Gale’s tiny income took care of | the monthly payments on the house and Bill paid the monthly bills when he got around 1o it. * % & k NE Sunday night Norma came | out for dinner. She rarely came, for the suburb was distant and the twins were noiy. Besidds. she saw Bill in town. He went to the Pedlers for supper now and then. They ried. This month she thougkt she would pay the rent with it and some of the bills and surprise Bill. Only, she thought, she must be careful not to hurt his feelings. The flat she found was in great contrast to the apartment which they left. Bill was jocular about it. “From rags to riches and from riches to rags.” But Gale did not laugh. She looked a little harried as she set about furnishing the new home. * k% % IFE went on with Gale trying to see the joke of it—trying to see the joke the day the water was turned off because the bill was overdue! Bill, of course, paid it next day, but the sick humiliation of that dry tap lin- gered in Gale's mind for weeks. Bill thought it extremely funny that Gale had discovered the water was turned off just as she started to take a bath It wos also funny to surprise the landlord by paying the rent when he thought he was going to make a row because you didn't. It was funny to drop a fat little check into Gale's lap— and funnier yet to borrow most of it back two days later. Just as the Pedler conversation had been to fast for her, so the way she came to live bewildered Gale. She did not dream of forcing her habits on any one or of developing her old plans. In the effort to keep going she forgot them. Once in a while she found herself saying secretly over and over o her- self, “Bill loves me, Bill loves me," as if she were tryving to fix that fact in the front of her mind. Anything, good fortune or bad, honesty or eva- sion, only existed to the Pedlers as they chose to look at it. The turn of a phrase was magic to them—the humorous slant which one gave to a situation by looking at it in what Gale thought a very upside-down position. Bill was by no means constantly poor. There was the time when he made $600 unexpectedly and carried and thought how different this dash- ing way of marrying and living was from what she always imagined mar- riage would be—a slow acquiring, a delicious planning. And then she ‘would think how much more wonder- ful it was being married than she had thought it would be and put away regrets for things she had ined. ‘hey don't pay me enough at that place,” said Bill two months after off his wife to the nearest Winter resort for a week. Even while her conscience tingled at the thought of the bills she had left behind, Gale could not help getting the savor of his love-making. They made great plans and Gale determined to believe in them. 'l‘HIRTE N’ months after they were married the funniest thing in the.world happened. The baby was born and the baby ‘was twins. The Pedlers all rocked with joy. BIll eix e married was funny enough. But Bill, father of twins, unable to tell them apart, was funnier yet. All Bill's friends made jokes, and after he got over his first fright about Gale he matched them at it. It was Gale, lying so very still in her hos- pital bed, who again did not see any- thing funny in it. She did not think the babies, so alluring and small, were funny. She did not think the change in plans occasioned by the presence of two instead of one was funny. Tt meant that she'd need more strength and more clothes for them, and another perambulator— and they wouldn't take back the one she had perhaps—and another crib— and besides, twins had a harder time than most bables. No, Gale didn't laugh. Nor did_her mother laugh. And somehow Gale's dazed worry seemed amusing to the Pedler in-laws, though they did everything they could for Gale in the way of conver- sation and bringing her books read and offering to take care of Bill while she was {ll. Gale got well quickly. She couldn't bear to be sick when it cost so much a day, though her mother's present to the new bables had been a rather comforting little check. When she was able to leave the hospital the scene changed again. for the twins made the flat impossible. It had to be a house now, and Bill found a house in a suburb, a remote but their “nuptials,” as the Padlfir! still rather pretty little place which they talked, Norma and Bill, of man: things and among them of a par Norma had attended during the week Bill, it appeared, had also been there. “How did you like Hazel?" asked Norma. “Handsome, isn't she? And rather clever.” said Bill. “We had a great time together.” “‘She said she was crazy about you,"” Norma told him. “I said you were safely married and locked in by twins and she sent her sympathies.” Gale flushed. She felt a hot re sentment steam up all through her and settled in a round ball in her throat. “Who's Ilazel?” she asked. “A friend of TPenelope's, Norma, awfully nice girl; goo y sald “looking D. don't see why she pities Bill for being marrled.” said Gale. “That's a joke.” “It shouldn't be a joke.” They both laughed, the brother and sister. “Tell her when vou see her Wed nesday.” said Norma, ‘“that your wife doesn’'t approve of jokes ahout you.” ““Where are you going Wednesday?" “Oh, T meant to tell vou I'm hav- ing a party.” answered Norma. “Will vou come in and bring me some of your napkins? Nothing’s clean at our house, T suppose. 1 forgot to look them over.” “I never can go out Wednesday night,” sald Gale; “that's Mrs. Casev’s lodge night. She can't come to look after the twins.” Mrs. 's lodge night struck Bill as. being very funny. While he was laughing Gale wondered some- what grimly if he would go without be time for the last train. But she | heard the train come in. It took five | minutes to come from the train to | their house. After 15 minutes Gale realized that her husband wasn't com ing. It was 1 o'clock. There were | hours and hours before morning—be fore Bill would come. She thought of telephoning Norma, | but she could hear in imagination | Norma's laugh, the laugh of the imagined Hazel. There was nothing to do but lock the doors and go to bed as quickly as she could. Bed was not peaceful. She lay there listening to the breathing of the comic and unconscious twins, and every griev- ance of the last two vears, of the whole time of Bill's acquaintance, danced before her. And she thought it was all very well for them to laugh at miserable, lonely women who have twins, but it was not fair. It was not funny to have twins and not have money to bring them up, not to have vour husband have a steady job, tc be ashamed before vour parents, 1o have him laugh with other women about you. Bill was somewhat uncomfortable when he came home the mext morn- | ing. He had, now that he began to think, a picture of Gale being alone with the children all night. lle de cided he would o up to town again that day and reaily strike old Slosson for a job in his office. Old Slosson | had the only decent advertising firm in town. The only trouble was he wouldn’t pay you much till you'd been there a Year or two, and he worked you hard. Still, Gale would like it. ~Poor Gale must have wor- ried last night! Poor Gale met him at the door. * he said. ' said Gale. the prodigal son,” he grinned. As he expected, Gale did not smile. I can't get past you,” he said. re’s no need. 1 don’t want you use.” “What's this? “No--—I hope not. place for you here. You rcan catch the train back to town. You don't support us. You don't stay with us. A scene?” But there’s no Infants Vaccinated In Tuberculosis War| BY CARL SHOUP. MAGINE the following incident: The scene is the nursery of a maternity hospital. In one of ihe little bassinets lies a baby just four days old. It is half an hour before nursing time. A voung interne enters, accompanied by a nurse, who is carrying in a container some white fluid that looks like milk. “This baby is four da the interne. o “Yes,” replies the nurse. ‘All right, then—it's time he was vaccinated. = Here, give me that spoon.” A few drops of the white liquid are measured out and the interne then carefully allows the fluid to trickle into the baby's mouth and down its throat. That's all.” remarks the interne, “until the second and third doses later on in the week. Well, here’s another baby that won't get tuber- culosis, all right.” And perhaps we can fnagine an in- quisitive visitor walking in and de- manding what they were feeding the child. “Oh,” the concernedly, *‘that and some tuberculosis germs_whose ancestors have been bred for 15 years on sliced potato steeped in cow’s bile.” The visitor wouid probably call for the police, unless she had been read- ing the medical journals. In the lat- ter case she would know that this strange rite symbolizes a sclentific achievement that may completely transform, in the next generation, man's weary and so far rather un- successful fight against civilization's prime disease—tuberculosis. For the incident related above, no imagination at all would be necessary, were we living in France. New-born infants are being thus vaccinated against tuberculosis in and around Paris at the rate of 2,000 a year, de- spite the extreme novelty of the thing. The French government is en- forcing it _on troops recruited from the non-tubercular lands around the equator. Medical journals everywhere old” asks nurse would reply, un- a mixture of milk her on Wednesday. But before Wednesday other things went under the bridge. One of them was Bill's job. He had been adver- tising manager for a firm which sud- denly stopped paying salaries. Gale looked horrified when he told her. ‘“‘Please, Gale, don’t be so serious. Nobody's dead, you know.” “But vou won't get your salary these last two weeks.” 'Oh, well, I'll land something better. T've an {dea.” “Tdeas!” sald his wife scornfully. “Can we live on ideas?” X Bill got a little angry. “What do you mean by that Can’t you decide what you're go- ing to do and stick to it? My father had one position for 20 years.” Bill laughed. He couldn’t help it. But Gale’s head went verv high at that. When he tried to make it up, with her she was unresponsive. That was on Tuesday and on Wednesday Bill did not go to the city until after- noon. In the morning he plaved with the twins, rather ' disturbing their routine. Then he read the papers and finally after lunch drifted up to the city. le wondered ¥t he had for- gotten Norma’s party. She had not. Just before dinner Bill telephoned that if she didn't mind he'd stay in. Norma wanted him badly—needed an extra man. He thought he'd stay in town till the late train. [ “Very well,” said Gale and hung up. Bill wondered at her brevity, then took it for what it was. There was a cartoon in the evening paper of the same thing—a wife getting sore because her husband stayed in town. He went to Norma's, played with Hazel Dewitt and didn’t realize that it was too'late for the last train until it had been gone an hour. He meant to call up Gale, but, as Norma eaid, she would know what had hap- pened; and his head being weary with excitement and stimulant when the party broke up at 4 o'clock, he for- got to call his wife, tumbling into bed instead, in his old room. * ok k¥ N her little house with the twins Gale waited. There was no eve- ning paper to remind her with its car- toons of how very funny the situation was. It was storming outside: March winds and rain were doing their best could buy on a contract. There is a great urhs—ihe missed. stock of jokesabout sub 4 g to make the little house ghostly. The clock tortured her with its A Sher AS- are giving it editorial space, express- ing a mixture of wonder and hope and doubt. For if the French physicians, Calmette and Guerin, who have de- veloped the vaccine, can continue their phenomenal success, it means that tuberculosis can be stopped from getting even a first foothold in the human body. Perhaps many people have wondered why it wouldn’t be a simple matter to develop a vaccine, a preventive, for tuberculosis, as has been done for smallpox. Vaccination, of course, sim- ply means giving the subject a mild form of the disease by purposely in- Jecting some of the germs into the body, as is done in smallpox vaccina- tion, making the dose mild.enough so that it causes little discomfort, yet strong enough so that the body reacts to it and builds up in some mysterious way not fully known a more or less permanent resistance to any further attacks of the disease. ‘The trouble with tuberculosis has always been that any dose, no matter how mild, has caused far more harm than good. The tubercle bacillus sim- ply refused to be toned down to a moderato enough strength. It could be killed by heat or chemicals and then put in the body, but nothing at all would happen. The body would not bother to react to a dead bacillus, This was the situation 20 years ago when Calmette and Guerin, casting around for a life job in which they might enrich medical science, decided to find a way to weaken the tubercle bacillus just enough, yet not too much. The story of their long fight, like many another in medicine, is a mix- ture of romance and monotonous work. After several experiments they finally started with some very virulent tuberculosis germs gotten from a dis- eased cow. They allowed them to feed on bits of sliced potato soaked in bile taken from the liver of a cow. Not a succulent meal for any one but a dis- ease germ, certainly, but it suited the purpose of the French doctors exactly. The feedirig of prize-winning horses and blue-ribbon cats for long periods is a_common enough occupation, but the French physicians did something far more exciting. They bred tubercle bacillus and bred them for 13 years before they got the “blue-ribbon"” ulr:l;l.i Mln:urlnf“thou 13 years of | watching and waiting countless gen- erations of baeflius i appeared, Ticed potata or & WAl and died, Jexy- v ing descendants who repeated the | same uneventful life. “inally the time came when Cal mette and Guerin tried some of their | new brand of tuberculosis bacillus on animals—apes. rabbits and others. They found what they had hoped to | find, namely, that the long diet on biled potato had so weakened this, particular branch of the tuberculosis germ’s family tree that it was inca-| pable of causing infection when in- jected into an animal. And, equally necessary, it was not so weakened but that it could make the animal's body react and set up a resistance so strong that for the succeeding two or three years no tuberculosis bacillus, how- ever strong it might be, could harm | the body. The next step was to try the experi- ment on human beings. The big ques- tion was: Would injection of these weakened germs set up some strange disturbance hitherto unknown? This bacillus was certainly novel, and no one could predict exactly what would happen. But the French doctors had good reason to think nothing disas- trous would occur, and so in the first part of 1922 they infected the new germ (later labeled “BCG") into 178 new-born bables. Nothing heppened. In fact, nothing happened to such a gratifying extent that the latest reports show that of the 15 who have died since then not one has died because of tuberculosis, 80 far as can be determined. This is despite the fact that three of the chil dren have lived constantly with tuber- culous mothers. News of the vaccination spread that from July 1. 1924, to June 1, 19 70 new-born babies were given the treatment. Calmette and Guerin have received reports concerning 423 of these. and the results are impressivi as even the most conservative medical journals admit. In this group of 423 there were 137 constantly exposed to tuberculosis_infection, the disease be- ing in the family. Not one of these 423 children has died from a case of recognized tuberculosis, though the French scientists note with due cau- tion that there were {wo deaths from doubtful causes. What these results mean can be better appreciated when we realize that past records in France have shown @ child born of a tuberculous mother has one chance in four of dying of the disease within the first vear. Yet there are the records of 423 children (86 of them were born of tu- berculous mothers) of whom only two at the most have died of the “white plague.” Sclentists do not let even such a demonstration as this convince them, but the results can at least be called encouraging. The French government became in- terested in this achievement, and the natives of Annam, half way around | nnderstand | send your | for peace and order and the world, in French Indo-China, are as a consequence probably wondering what trick the white man is going to play on them next. Whether: they like this new magic rite or not, they must submit to it, for France has de- cided that recruits from those equ: torial countries that are free from tuberculosis might as well get a dose of “BCG"” before coming north to fight in the RIiff or parade in France, where the disease is common. On the west coast of Africa there are 218 native youngsters running around with red identification marks on their black shoulders. They, too, have had injec- tions of the new strain of tubercle bacilli, and there has been no bad | news about them yet. i Calmette and Guerin are careful to insist that this vaccination is not ef- fective for people who have already contracted tuberculosis. As this means practically every one beyond a few weeks of age, the treatment is re- stricted mainly to new-born children. In moderately crowded communities 90 per cent of the population is infected with tuberculosis hefore reaching adult years, The infection is, of course, in most cases only slight (otherwise the human race would not last long), but it is apparently enough to destroy the efficacy of the vaccine. -But if the new-born child can be caught before he contracts it, and if the vaccination is repeated, say, annually (although the effects of one treatment may last for two or three vears), tuberculosis may find itself, figuratively speaking, with its back to the wall. BT P S Experiments show that when the skin is exposed to ultra-violet rays the power of the blood to kill bac increageds There's no possible reason why veu should come into my house.” our house!" ‘Well, what's heen paid it what 1've paid or my family's paid “Is this a _joke?”" asked Bill _His wife looked at him. “Isn't time T mace a joke”" she asked. “For two vears I've listened to you being funny about everything 1 hold dear about my desire for a home, for a settled way of living, about my babies because there were two of them. 1'm tired of seeing you treat life like a farce. I'm tired of having ypu tell me I've no sense of humor. 1 don't want any sense of humor! Do vou I don't want any h band that comes home grinn when he ought to be at work clothes to vour fath house, but You can’t come in here e stood on the steps bewildered “You mean you're leaving me” No; you're leaving me.” answered Gale, and shut the door in her .hus. band’s face. It was in Bill's mind to force an entrance, but. after all. there were neighbors who might even from half a block away observe. He hesitated, waited for the door to open the twins wail on B | again, above and Gale's swift footsteps going | upstairs. He went back to town, blindly angry. outraged at what Gale had said. l the city time hung heavy on his hands. He went to his father's house for supper. No one was thera and much of the debris of the party still remained. Bill looked around tha untidy house and was suddenly sick le. couldn't mean it. After all, she had some grievance. lie telephoned her to apologize. Over the telephone Gale was still using that hard, disillusioned tone that seemed to have formed il a crust around her usual voice. Ye she did mean it. Just what she had sald. She was through with him, with everything that he meant. When he reminded her of the children she said that it was for the children's sake that she was doing it. Bill sat brooding in his father's Tickely chair when his father came n. “Well, here again? Where's Gale®" “Gale's home. Look here, father, can you lend me some money till T get on my feet? His father gusto, “What's the joke?" I was just going to ask you to lend me some,” sald Mr. Pedler. Bill gave him a dark look and did not laugh. Got to be going.” he grumbled. “Well, don’t wor: Don't get glum. Don't lose vour sense of hu- mor,” advised his father in lieu of the loan. _Bill spent the night in the emp- tiest hotel room he had ever been in, It was empty of all the things ha wanted, all the things he had taken for granted—love and care and his wife and his children. A horrible night, mate to the one Gale had had the night before. lie thought of Gale out in the suburb—alone. What it something should happen to her be- fore he could show her what he could do? What if she did something defi- nite before he saw her again? What if she got sick? What if one of the twins was sick now—dying? No one knew where n. was. * ¥ ¥ ¥ A MONTH later, Gale sat on the steps of the little house and faced her future. She'd have to tell her mother. she supposed. She wanted to live on in this little house and buy it and bring up the children Bill had taken her ultimatum. She hadn’t heard from him at all. She had sent his clothes to his father's house, and Norma and Penelope had both called up to ask what the trou- ble was. Gale had been curt. “Ask Bill,"” she had said. She was finding that she missed Bill horribly, missed his good temper. his way of minimizing worry, his teasing, all the things she had been accustomed to for two vears. It took determination and courage and all the persistence that had kept her father at one job for twenty vears, to keep from calling him back. But she reminded herself of the periods out of work. of the mythical Hazel She saw Biil growing more like his father, and her children like Norma and Penelope, if she should dle. No, she wouldn’t have him back. Just as she arrived at the decision for the fiftieth time. he came, swing- ing up the walk in his characteristic Tong-legged way. He made no at- tempt to touch her, but sat on the step below and looked up at her with & queer shame and pride and humil- ity in his eyes. “Why did you come?” asked Gale. “To stay.” . Gale shook her head. T haven’t changed my mind.” “All right,” said Bill. “I have. What's all this about nonsupport Yyou were going to divorce me for”™" He dropped one little wisp of paper into her lap and followed it by an- other. “Thé ERE laughed with great rst one is my salary—most of it. ¢oming every month like that. I'te signed a contract for two years with Slosson. And the rest is a little payment on a debt to you. ¥ borrowed it to pay you back for what you've been doing. It's all right. I got it from your father's bank. He signed the note. You can hold it as hostage until I pay off the other if you like, but I've lots of security. My job Slosson's—special feature jobs I'm going to be paid extra for a university extension class three nights a week.” “Put Bill, da u'll never stick ‘Won't 1. id Bfll, moving up a step and tal er hungrily into his arms. “Won't I? And if T don't just play anether little joke on me.” “7"{!!&-“3‘) ~ ng,” wailed Gale, S