Evening Star Newspaper, July 4, 1926, Page 36

T4 THE STAGE DOO Pullman who almost married, but at the last moment she told him gently but positively t il was over between them. In conse quence, he thought that his life was ruined, and when he next went on n was still so befogged by his” troubles that he sold the same space on the Seaward Lxpress to two different people. One of these was a voung man and the other was a girl, and they en tha crowded car from opposite ends ar eously at the on cunt se: miled polit together they said, in effect, sorry, but I think this is mine.” Then' they both smiled with even greater politeness, and said, in_con cert, “Are you quite sure?” They compared tickets. “But that's most extra said the girl, bewildered, mine yester once 18 nd va- . and “I'm dinary " bought When view ceded hers by could easily prove by the time-stamp. Furthermore, he had just heard a conductor remark that all the Sea ward Pullmans were booked solid, and that even in the day-coach there was only standing room. But Haviland was fundamentally a cavalier, and besides—oh, even so much besi the girl was exccedingly pretty. There fore he lied as a gentleman should 2L QOR the remainder of the after- noon Haviland either stood in the vestibule or else sat on an up-ended suit case in the smoking compartment, where he was a_ constant menace to navigation. He had no regrets what- soever for what he had done, but long before the train reached Seaward he did indeed regret that Seaward wasn't nearer New York. On the station platform he encoun. tered her again. She was just about to climb into one of the hotel motor busses, but at the sight of him she turned back ou didn" me to thank v with mild repr; so kind of you debted to you.” “Why. not in the slightest,” sald Haviland, innocently. “The seat was yours anyway." “But did you find another?” “Oh, easily!" Her glance to him held a trace of guspicion, but to his relief she didn't purst her. Instead sho sald, “Are vou spend ing the season here? At the Inn? Be- cause if vou are— “Why, 1 certainly hope o, Haviland. with a faint smile, “but The bustling head-porter interrupted them. “Now then, lady! Only one place left. Will you get in. please? Gentleman goes in the next bus right behind.” At the Inn. Haviland was personally received by the manager and invited into the private office, where he re- mained for 10 minutes and was not satisfled with the results. He was then shown the room which had been saved for him, and was satisfled still less. In fact, he intimated that he dldn’t know whether he'd take it or whether he wouldn't “Well, of course, Mr. Hav sald the manager, *‘we unde Your wire to be perfectly definite, but that's neither here nor there. We want to keep you, and we want you to be comfortable, but that's absolutely the best room I've got to give you. So let's do this: why don't wvou stay a day and try it, at our ex- pense? "After that if it, we simply call it qui e ugh ?' &plendid,” said Haviland “Only I warn you I don't expect to ke it.”" He dressed leisurely and came down to dinner—not in the maln dining-room, but in a much smaller one behind it. And as he approached the door from the left a girl ap proached it from the right, and they halted and stared at each other. “Why,” she sald, “I'm afraid you've fost vour way, haven't vou?" “What are you doing here?” Haviland. “Why, I tried to tell you—I'm not wait long enough for u properly,” she said, ach, “but it was ever ana I'm ever so in- said Is that fair said & guest; I'm the manager's secretary. Perhaps if you'd realized it—-"" “No,” he said, dryly, “it wouldn't have made any vast difference. You see, they sent for me to come down here and lead the orchestra. I'm a fanist.” she exclaimed. In reality, he didn’t look the part. “Oh, yes, I am!” he assured her. *So I haven't lost my way, after all. But I'll be darned!” She drew a long breath. 1 will, too.” “Well,” he said, “since my debut may also be my farewell appearance, is there any reason why I can't take you in?" “I think * k% % IT was a special service for the front of the house, department heads and the clerical and bookkeeping staff. The menu was excellent, and the company was endurable, but Havi- land wasn't talkative, and when Miss Warren asked him to explain what he meant about his debut and fare- well, he sald, in a tactful undertone, “pfterward!” And afterward they walked on the beach, and she heard all about it. “They want me to stay on,” he satd, (r*anad the salary’s all right, but I just don't know 1f T can stand it! I mean, I've got a room like an incubator, over the kitchens, and I've got to use the servant§’ entrance and the serv- The servants' stairs!” y she sald, thoughtfully, *“what of it? We aren’t guests, are ~we? And in a resort as fashionable ou_don't like | { be by themselves—and I don’t blame | them.™ “I've | he said, golng to be like. The rest of it's bad enough, but the idea of having to use the servants’ entrance——"" “But didn’t you say you'd once been audeville?™ I played accompaniments for .ver played in a resort hotel,” in ilev ch. ‘Didn’t you always use the stage v, ves, but—" that's all it | “One entrance for the another one for us.” . but will all these other rules and regulations Still,” he sald, aft er a pause, “I don't know avhy I should do my bleating to you. Tell me, how does it happen that a girl like vou is pounding a typewriter at the Seaward Inn—or, for that matter, anywhere at all?” “Well, why not? Don’t you pound a is,”” she said. audience and he said, with a whimsical but that isn't entirely my own “No? Whose is it then”" “Well,” be said, “it goes back to the time when I was 10. My music-teacher was quite good, and I was quite clever and mother was quite ambi- tious. So we all began to figure on driv ing Paderewski back to the movie: Mother sent me to Chicago and New York, and finally Paris. Then the war wis put on just as mother went broke, and just as I found out that I wasn't going to worry Paderewski much. So after the war was canceled I came back to New York and eventually got a job in a restaurant, and one thing led to another until—-" He stood attention and saluted snappily. “Paderewski—I'm Rere:” “But I don't see, 1f you've played in restaurants an & “Don’t forget,” he said, “that when I was playing in restaurants or in vaudeville my free time was my own—and as long as I had the price I could go anywhere I chose! But in this neck of the woods H snorted impatiently. “‘Well, that's that. How about yourself’ “I? Why, I'm afraid 1 haven't any excuses—even funny ones. I'm just a stenographer.” There was a_silence, “Y Haviland, speculatively, “I guess that punch was legal, all right.” There was another silence, during which she rapidly relented. ‘“No, it wasn't!” she said. “It was terribly rude of me! Because 1 know you were only being funny—and that makes it serious. Why, ‘my father was as- sociate professor of Latin at Columbia. But there were seven of us. So I went to Barnard, and then took a secretarial course, and then I was tired and wanted sea air so—-—"" She also saluted. “Neptune, I'm here! * % k% N the fo the mana ous objectio: decided ‘tc owing day he informed T that In spite of able detalls he stay at Seaward. “Ha! ha!" said the manager. I tell ou you'd find that plenty comfortable?™ To himself Haviland sald, on!” But what he said al T¥es, you certainly you've ainly been very fair about it, and I appreciate it.” The permanent difficulty was that Tiss Warren’s hours were from 9 to ind from 1 to 6. Haviland's hours, not counting the daily rehearsal: were from 3 in the afternoon until 5 (classical composers), and then from 9 until 1 (sheer strength and syncopa- tion, with an occasional saccharine waltz). But he could still sit beside her table, and now and then he could monopolize her after dinner, and on Sundays his contract bound him only to a concert in the afternoon. She said to him: “But what I can't understand is why vou don't give up music entirely. You tell me you've gone as far as you can—and I know you're not contented in this sort of position. T should think you'd go and do something else. Get into business."” He made a grimace. “At my age? How much salary do you suppose I'd get? And what would I do?” all your intelligence and had “Didn’t room “Dream ud was B hold on a second! Look at the facts. Suppose I advertised for a_commercial job, what could I say? ‘Young man, 28, now earning $70 a » I didn’t know what it was | NDAY | what lor car | gether?” He grinned. “Well, in view of the (Tll(‘nme. I guess it was sheer inspira- tion!" No, please be serlous! The ques- tion's how you're going to get out of this rut you're in. You're mak- ing a living, of course, but what is there ahead? And there simply must be a way out, if you could only just find it” the day we came down to- on earth made you take a par- |awfully good man for you to know." “I take it you're going out with him tonight,” he said at length. “For a little ride, yes. He drove his car down.” That night the other members of the orchesira found thelr leader pe- culiarly irritable; he was even irri- tated because a fat man, who didn't dance, sat as close to the music racks as he could get and applauded. And when a musiclan is irritated by ap- S HIS SUFFERING, HE WAS MYSTERIOUSLY AWARE VINE PRESENCE, WHICH SPOKE TO HIM FROM AFAR OFF AND IN A LANGUAGE WITH WHICH HE WAS UNFAMILIAR, As the Summer developed, his room became a fireless cooker. But the hardest thing he had to bear was that horrible rule which compelled him to use the servants' entrance. “What?" sald Miss Warren, amaz- d. “Haven't you got over that yet?"” He shook his head. *“No, and I never will.” “Infant!” she sald, Indulgently. “But I've been wondering. If your mother should come and live with you in New York, wouldn't that be cheaper, and couldn’t you save some- thing, and g “No use going any further, my child! She's 65, and she loathes cities. T wouldn't have the heart to suggest it. No, I've got to hang on, and”—he grinned obliquely—"and wait for my good falry to show up.” The good fairy, however, had ap- parently forgotten to reserve any ac- commodations at the Seaward Inn. But in August there materialized a malevolent demon. The demon’s name, on the register. was Irwin, and he was sald to be some one of considerable importance in a bank. It was Alice Warren herself who said_so. She had known him in New York; her father had at- tempted a dozen years ago to teach him Latin. The attempt had failed dismally, but the pupil had valued both the master’s effort and his per- sonality and had always Kkept in touch with him. “And for the last two or three years,” sald Miss Warren, “since father's been so feeble, he's been up to the apartment—oh, ever so much.” “Humph!” said Haviland. “He /THEY—;'I'ERED THE _CROWD. = ED CAR FROM OPPOSITE ENDS waN. AND ARRIVED _SIMULTANE. b OUSLY AT THE ONLY VACANT week as a musical failure, no other training except currycombing artil- lery horses during the war, seeks employment—preferably jhonest—in which his ignorance will be reward- ed by the same pay as at present.’ Can you see the offers flooding in and swamping the malils?” “Don’t be silly!” she said. “You'd have to begin all over again; you couldn’'t expect to make that much money at first. But you'd have op- portunity.” “The joke of it,” said Haviland, “is that I'd have to make that much money! I send mother §40 a week, and she neede it. Now do_you see what a blind alley I'm in? I haven't got a chance where I am—and I'm only good enough for this sort of dog-work—and I can't afford to take a chance on anything else.” She was very serious. “Oh, it's a shame, a perfect shame!” she said, vehemently. “It's like hitching a thoroughbred to a coal wagon! You weren't meant to be an obscure pro- fessional on the piano—you were meant to be a brilliant amateur and a business man. If you weren't so extravagant, you might have saved enough by this time to have got a fresh start.” Extravagant?” 3 “Why, ves. Your clothes, and odds . as this, the guests naturally want to'gld ends, and—why, for example, comes here regularly, for the Sum- mers, does he?” “Why, I think,” said Miss Warren ingenuously, hat he usually prefers the mountains. I'll have to ask him. But I've told him about you, and he's awfully interested and wants to meet you. He doesn’t usually dine until 8, and you and I are always through by 7, so we could make it 7 o'clock on the pler.” Accordingly, at the appointed time Haviland and Alice Warren emerged from the inn (stage door be blowed)! It was the servants’ entrance!) and went down to the pler-head. The demon was approximately 85, plump, vigorous and radiating pros- perity. His attitude toward Havilan was utterly natural and uncompli- cated; nevertheless, Haviland couldn’t help regarding him with a bilious eye. “Look here,” sald Mr. Irwin, after half an hour's slow promenade, *I've got to go and dress, but can't we have a little talk some time when neither of us is hurried?” Haviland sald: For Alice's sake, “Delighted.” “That'll be fine. And in about an hour and a half, Alice? Right.” Haviland and Miss Warren contin- ued to walk. “What have you been he demanded quizzically. ng to sell me a bank?" “Oh, not necessarily! But he's an d |11y, plause, there is really something the matter with him. The night following, Irwin took Miss Warren to dinner at Exmouth, 20 miles away. “He's only going to be here a few days,” she sald to Havi- land, “'so, of course, I want to see as much as I can of him.” “Of course,” he agreed. Then he added morosely: “But if he's such a tremendous friend of yours, why hasn't he found you'a place in his own office instead of letting you dub around a hotel?"” She smiled. “That's precisely why I wouldn't be in his office, hecause we are such terribly good friends. It wouldn't be businesslike. And then I told you I had to be near the sea this Summer.” “‘Oh! But the question’s come up, then?" “Why, naturally! But to begin with, he didn’t want me to study sec- retarial work at all. Haviland blurted: ‘“Oh, he didn't! ‘What did he want you to do?” “Why,” sald Miss Warren, quite simply, “he wanted me to marry him."” “Well—why don't you?" Miss Warren was abstracted. —I really don't know. I may, yet. At night he was more tempera- mental than ever, especially when the fat man came again to goggle and applaud. hy EIE R ‘HE next few days were the unhap- piest that Haviland had ever spent in his whole life. There was no one to confide in, no one to lessen his troubles by listening to them sym- pathetically. And whenever he saw Alice—and with few exceptions he saw as much of her as ever—he was tongue-tied. How could he match himself against a man ltke Irwin? Why, with his obligations to his mother, he couldn’t even support her! And so, finally, on Saturday eve- ning, when they were wandering along the cliffts which overlook the brisk little harbor, he said to her abruptly: “This can’t go on. It sim- ply can't go on. Let's get it over with.” “She put her hand on his arm. “Oh, please!"” He smiled painfully. “Did you know what I was going to say?"” Presently she lifted her face to him. “Yes. I knew.” “Good!” said Haviland thickly. “And I knew what you'd say. Only I just can’t go any further.” He halted and seized both her hands. “I've loved you —and you've known it. You couldn’t help knowing it. I can’t ask you to You couldn't. do it couldn't.” His fingers tightened. “And I know why not. I know all about it. You don’t have to tell me.. I don't blame you. I can’t blame you. Only—you really did like me a little, didn’t you?" She shook her head. *Not a little— very much.” }?;vilnnd released her. “If I'd been anything but a third-rate band lead- e “Oh, my dear, it you'd only been yourself!"" “You forget my mother!"” “No. I don't! When you first came back after the war, you had to take whatever you could get. But did you need to waste these five solid years? Couldn’t you have been fitting your- self, on the side, for something better —1instead of just drifting? In the long run, wouldn’t that have been kinder to your mother—and to your- self—and to me?” @ wet his lips. ‘“To you? How?" “Why,” she sald unsteadily, “if you'd begun to be kind to all three of us five years ago—and I weren't so afraid that in flve years from now you'll still be drifting——" Her" voice fell away to a murniur, and there was no end to the sentence, but he got the point. \ “It's too late to start now, is it?” t's—getting pretty late,” she said. ‘Oh, {t isn't merely a matter of money; it's a matter of self-respect. It's a matter of progress. And you Just don't seem to care. You talk about it, but you haven't done any- thing about it. Why haven’t you?” He coughed excessively. “I suppose it's Irwin, then?"” “Oh, T don't know,” she sald wear- “I just don't know." But at 9 o'clock she went to ride with the demon while Haviland went back to the'ballroom and the inevit- able fat man. During an intermission the fat man beckoned to him. ‘“‘Say, didn’t I see you down on the beach, a few nights ago, with Billy Irwin—Wall Street Trust?"” “Why, it's quite possible. “Know him, do you.” M"W‘hy\ not exactly—but I've met m.” i “Thanks.” That was all, but at 10 o'clock on Sunday morning Haviland re- ceived a message, signed with an un- familiar name. Would he please come STAR, WASHINGTON, D.C, to Mr. Hoffstot's room at his earliest possible convenience, on an affair of business? Mr. Hoffstot was the fat man. But to Haviland's astonishment, Mr. Irwin was also present. “Seddown, Haviland,” said Mr. Hoft- stot. “Cigar? Well, now, Billy, sup- pose you say all that right over again, g0 Haviland can hear ft." Irwin smoked thoughtfully. “Why, I was just saying to Mr. Hoffstot that when ‘a man can't capitalize his virtues he's got to capltalize his de- fects.” Haviland stiffened. “Yes?" “And I was saying that your own principal defects are two. You know good music, but you can't play it well enough to make big money at it. And £0 far as the popular stuff is con- cerned, you play it too well for your own good. Maybe it was a life buoy a few years ago, but today it's an anchor.” | “‘Yes, that's right,” sald Mr. Hoff- stot. “That's just how I sized it up myself. It's like this, Haviland, my line's paper. New York and New England Paper Co. Well, we were back of a music publishing house, and it's done gone bust. And we were in the whole for eighteen hundred. Had a wire Thursday. Well I got a hunch that we could take it over, and put the right man in to run it and get our JULY 4, 1926—PART b>. A Story of Summer, the Sea and Love at First Sight money back and then some. How does it strike you?" Havlland gasped. “Why—why what do you mean?"” “Why, I mean there's a fortune in musio publishing,” said Mr. Hoffstot, “if you pick the right stuff. These boys were bad pickers. They weren't good enough to know what was good, and they weren't bad enough to know what was better—from a sales angle, of course. So I was kind of upset, and then I got to looking you over, because I kind of liked your style, and then I talked to Bllly about you, and he sald—well, tell him yourself what it was you sald, Bllly.” Irwin leaned back in his chair. “I've told him already, haven't I? He's had enough theory to know what's really good, and enough practice to know what people really want. And he's got all the intelligence and imagina- tion that's required, and—-" He swallowed, perceptibly, and then smiled. “And in other respects his recommendations are Al. In fact, I personally believe he's your man, Hoffstot. He'll turn his defects into profits for you." The fat host nodded repeatedly. “Check. All right Haviland, here's the proposition, and you've got a week to think it over. We'll put up $25,000 cash and give the concern $25,000 credit. You go in on a salary of two hundred a month with a two- year guarantee and a quarter interest in the company. The technical and dis- tribution organization's all set. You're the editor and the boss. For your quarter interest you put up five thou- sand cash. If I didn’t trust Billy Irwin's Judgment, I'd said ten. How about 1t?" Haviland sat forward. “You said— how much?” Five thousand. Oh, I know what your salary {s and what your re. sponsibilities are, so I know how much you ought to have saved. That See? is, if you're the man I want. If you haven't got that much—or if you can't raise it—we’'ve made a mistake, because in this harsh and cruel world there’s just two things that show a man’s quality for business, his ability to save money and his abllity to make friends. Check, Billy?"' “Check,” sald Irwin. * %k k¥ IN the corridor, Haviland looked dazedly at the banker. “Good heavens!” he sald. “Five thousand dol- lars! “That was my own idea,” sald Ir- win quietly. “If it hadn’t been for me, he'd have let you in for nothing.” Haviland stopped short. *“What?" The demon, who had been march- ing ahead, turned back to him. “Yes,” he said. Baut there's no use trying it on him now. I've fixed it for good.” The band leader and the banker stood in the second-floor corridor and stared at each other. ‘‘You see, old man,” sald the banker, “life is real and life is earnest, and et cetera, and so on. I'm starting back to New York in about 20 minutes. I don't need to tell you why, do I? I mean, this is awkward, but we're both human, aren’t we? I've known her since she was almost a baby.” He put out his hand. “You'd have done the same thing in my place, Haviland. I've acted in perfectly good faith. She cares for you, but she isn't sure of you. Myself, I'm sure you're able— but not so sure you're stable. It's up to you to prove the contrary, if you can—and to realize that I'm only do- ing my best to protect her, until you or some other man acquires that right. Good-by, Haviland—and good luck!” She had refused the demon, then? Ah, but Irwin was a prince—a prince! But what did her refusal mean? What had she said to Haviland himself—not that it was too late, but that it was getting late. And Irwin had said: “She cares for you, but she isn't sure of you.” Then Hoffstot—Hoffstot who was ready to swing wide the gate of the future, but at so ghastly an admis- sion fee! He knew with clairvoyant knowl- edge that if he could meet Hoffstot's terms he could make a success. If! But with an “if" you could put New York in a bottle! Five thousand dol- lars? It might as well have been fifty! And he knew that both Irwin and Hoffstot would rest on their ulti- matum. He laughed insanely and began to stumble toward the hotel. In his acute concentration he stalked straight across the prohibited south lawn and up to the main entrance, where he ran headlong into the man. ager. ““Well, Mr. Haviland!" said the man- ager impressively . Haviland started, and earth, “Why—why— ‘“‘Please go around the other way,” said the manager. For five seconds Haviland was unde- cided. There were weighty words on his tongue; and his hands had never been so nervous and eager. But then hé remembered his position and re- laxed. He went around to the servants’ wing. A pace or two from the steps he paused and laughed. “The stage- door" he said aloud and bitterly. ““The stage-door! Enter, a scene-shifter!” And he went in and ascended the stairs heavily. Midway in the flight he was visited by a curfously insecure sensation, as though he had been walking on rotten ice. An instant afterward it was as though he had broken through. A vivid flash of darkness struck him, and there was a great roaring In his came back to BY HOLWORTHY HALL ears and unbearable pain, and them oblivion. A century or two later he open- ed his eyes, breathed deeply of a& sickly odor and made an Indeterminate squeak, and some one kissed him, and an officious voice said, “Get away from there! What are you trying to do— choke him? And then he was drowned again in pain. In another 100 years or so he woke up once more, to find himself gazing up at a large strange woman in nurse's costume, who clucked at him very annoyingly. “I fell downstairs,” said M conversationally. fuddled by ether. “The mischiet you did,” nurse. “Those stairs wera broken, and you fell through ‘em! Lie still.” “I hurt my arm,” said Haviland, sur- prisedly. “Hurt you arm?’ The grenadier nurse emoothed his forehead. “Why, I should say you did iland, He was still slightly said the Then, across his suffering, he was mysteriously aware of a divine pres. ence, which spoke to him from afar off, and in language with which he was unfamiliar. He wondered, vague. ly, if this meant that he were dead But the illusion didn’t last long, for Alice was too convincingly real. “Only—only what am I going to d0?” he said. “I suppose they'll have to pay me to the first of the month, when my contract’s up. but after that, what am I going to do?" Her expression as remarkable. “Pay you the first of tha month? Why, daring, when it was the hotel's fault—just plain negligence—and you're a pianist—and—and it'l bha such a long time before you can play again—-" “Can I ever play again?’ he whis- She didn’t answer him, but went on with her previous speech. “Whv, darling, I've been talking to the man. ager, and they'll compromise for §20,.. 000 right now!" “What,” said Haviland, and tried to sit upright and half fainted. “What did you talk to him for?” 8he kissed him. “Because I'm en- gaged to you, and I had a right to! But I said I thought you'd want twen- ty-five.” “Oh,"” sald Haviland. I get 1t?" She kissed him. The minute you sign a release. But I'm going to try to get you twenty-five. Why, what's the matter, darling?"” His eyes had suddenly fliled with tears. He was thinking of his future —a future for which he could now pay the premium in advance. He was thinking of Alice’s future, which was pretty well guaranteed. He was thinking of his mother, and he was thinking of Irwin, and he was think- ing, too. of his crippled hand. A man of Haviland's age can't break three fingers and play the plano too weil afterward. And he had loved to play. Alice’s arm was around him, ard she was saying “Can't you tell what it is, darling? Can't you “Oh, it isn't anything,” sald Havi- land. Only when a man's spent 19 years—10 hours a day—to master his profession—and then gets his chance by falling through a servants’ stair- = He stopped short and grinned. “But, by gosh!" he sald. “Wasn't it lucky the boss was there to throw me out of the main entrance and chase me around to the stage door? Wasn't it? But how can I—tell you about fi—if you—" He sighed beatifically. Conversation was too difficult, and it was Alice who made it so. Never mind; hadn't he a whole lifetime in which to share the joke with her? (Copyright, 1926.) “When would Death Came to Adams and Jefferson, American Patriots, 100 Years Ago Today BY JOHN FRAZIER. O no American of the colonial period does the Nation on this day, the sesquicentennial of its birth, owe a deeper debt of gratitude than to John Adams. And to make the remembrance of that debt more poignant, it need only be recalled that the stern old patriot died a hundred years ago today. Irascible, vain, stubborn, suspicious of men and almost wholly incapable of handling them, he was, withal, a patriot among patrlots, pure in heart, in mind, in motives. Once he had de- termined his course in the struggle between the eolonies and Great Britain, he proceeded by firm and un- faltering steps to the consummation of the physical fact that his mind had reasoned out as inevitable. From the hour that he heard Otis argue the writs of assistance in the general court for the colony of Massachusetts until the triumphant hour of adoption by Congress of the Declaration of In- dependence, he labored with all of his strength for an American nation. Others saw the form of liberty; Adams saw the substance of independ- ence. He was invaluable to the cause of freedom. A study of the times will reveal the aptness of men for particu- lar labors. Jefferson was superior at drafting resolutions; Franklin was a Nestor of wisdom; Sam Adams was a fury let loose upon British rule; John Adams was a tireless worker for inde- pendence and an organized govern- ment in each of the separate colonies, a general government for all. ‘He writes in his autobiography: “At the appointed time (5th of September, 1775), we returned to Philadelphia, and Congress was reassembled * ¢ ¢ almost every day I had something to say about advising the States to insti- tute governments, to express my total despair of any good from * * * any of those things which were called conciliatory measures. I constantly insisted * ¢ * that we should be driven to the necessity of declaring ourselves independent States, and that we ought now to be employed in pre- paring a plan of confederation for the colonies and treaties * *, ¢ to- gether with a declaration of in- dependence; that these three meas- ures, independence, confederation and negotiations with foreign powers, par- ticularly France, ought to go hand in hand, and be adopted all together. These, and such as these, were my constant and daily topics, sometimes of reasoning, and no doubt often of declamation, from the meeting of Con- gress in the Autumn of 1775 through the whole Winter and Spring of 1776.” Adams was listened to with great respect by his colleagues. His pure motives commanded it. To him defer- ence was paid in the debates on inde- pendence. His defense of the British sdldiers charged with the Boston mas- sacre, in the face of anjoutraged and infuriated public opinion, is one of the finest examples of moral courage on record. The “rebel” who could draw such fine distinctions between patriot- ism and abstract duty must have high conceptions of the rights and duties of man, argued his townsfolk. In the month of March, 1776, Adams writes to Gates in New York: “We have hitherto conducted half a war * ¢ ¢ But you will see by tomor- paper that for the future we to wage three-quarters of a war ¢ ¢ ¢ This {s not independ- ency, you know * ¢ ¢"; and with an astuteness that saw through the schemes of the ministry to salve the colonists he admonishes, “If a post or two ‘should bring you unlimited lati- tude of le to all nations, and a polite invitation to.all z’lons to trade row’s with you, take care that you don't call it or think it independency. No such matter—independency is an hob- goblin, of so frightful mien that it would throw a delicate person into fits to look in its face.” Adams was eternally wary. He was chary of the British and had many grave suspicions of their intrigues among the colonists—even the most influentfal. In April he writes his wife in the same vein that he wrote Gates. And in less than a month from this date there is introduced before Congress, and adopted, a reso- lution by him and R. H. Lee to the effect: “That it be recommended to the respective assemblies and conven- tions of the United Colonies whero no government sufficient to the exigen- cies of their affairs have been hitherto established to adopt such government as shall in the opinion of the repre- sentatives of the people best conduce to the happiness and safety of their constituents in particular and America in general.” ‘To him the labor was welcome. He was swimming with the tide, the cur- rent of which he had been laboring 80 long to direct. And when the hour came for the consideration and adop- tion of the Virginia resolutions he was ready. The goal he sought was in sight. The Americanism of Adams perme- ated his home life as completely as it did his public life. There has never been an American family reared on such Spartan-like principles of patriot- ism as was the Adams family. Al though eight generations of Adamses preceded John Adams on American soil, he is still spoken of as “the first Adams.” John Adams was fortunate in marrying a woman whose intellect and patriotic fervor were a match for his own. When the first gun of the Revolution was sounded in 1776, Abi- gail Adams marshaled her little fam- ily of four to the cause, the while she ‘wrote letters of assurance and en- couragement to her husband, fighting at his post of duty at Congress in Philadelphia. While letters full-of the little home happenings and overflow- ing with tender pet names _were flying back and forth between Washington and Jefterson and their families, Adams, from the halls where flashed the lightnings of debate, was writing to Mrs. Adams as “My dearest friend,” and gravely admonishing her as to the upbringing of their children. “Fix their hearts upon great and glorious obfects. Root out the little- nesses. Weed out meanness. them to scorn injustice, ingratitude, cowardice and falsehood. Let them revere nothing but religion, morality and liberty."” The spirit of resistance to tyranny possessed every member of the house- hold at the little New England home in Braintree. In all of the volum! nous Adams correspondence there is never a word of complaint from the courageous Abigail Adams, facing dangers and deprivation alone, Once only does she mention her personal comfort and that when she asks Adams to send her a “bundle of pins,” and mentions thlit the new leather | the shoes are rough on her feet, accus- tomed to the more refined “black calmanco” for shoes, Her finest utter- ance is sounded in a letter to Adams, separated from her by an ocean: “Dif- fioult as the day {is, cruel s the war has been, se| as I am on ac- count of it from the dearest connec- tion of life, I would not luhnio my country for the wealth of the Indies or be any other than an American, though I might be queen or empress of any nation upon the gl e How well the lessons of American- h | score years and 10. ism were instilled in the breasts of the young Adamses through their parent patriots is reflected in the ca- reer of the second son, John Quincy, whose education furnishes the most remarkable example of training for future statesmanship that any Amer- ican President has ever enjoyed. As Adams was determined to “love nobody and nothing but the public good” he did not revel in popularity. ‘There is a note of chagrin in his letter from Paris after he had rendered his first service there. ‘“‘As Congress seems to have no further need of me," he writes his wife, “'I shall come home and contrive to get some business at home." Home he came; but back he went. Congress was not through with him; nor was his country. The war over and peace reigning, he served first abroad and then at home as the first Vice President of the United States. One term in the presidency and he 'was defeated by Jefferson. The defeat was bitter to him, and he retired to his farm in Braintree. The year was 1801, after 26 years of uninterrupted service to the Natlon that he had helped call into being. ‘His prejudices, stubborness and bit- terness at defeat by his friend of earlier years made for a coolness to- ward Jefferson that lasted for 12 years. Thelr reconciliation is one of the most touching and beautiful epi- sodes in the private lives of those emi- nent men. They were restored to each other's confidences by the labors of Dr. Rush of Pennsylvania, co-worker with them in the cause of freedom. Adams wrote the first letter, send- ing two “pieces of homespun” to his old friend. Jefferson did not wait to recelve them, but wrote a graclous letter of acceptance and then began short discourse upon the manufactur- ing industry of the South. There was & bit of humor in the exchange, for Adams’ “homespun’ was not of goods but two recent volumes of his! The Joke was on Jefferson, but it was a blessed ome, for it opened the flood- gates of memories of the two aging souls, and furnished them an outlet for all of their speculative philosophy upon government and society. Adams rejoiced in the restored friendship and his letters at times are filled with sprightliness. The corre- spondence was never interrupted, and the last letters between them passed shortly.before their deaths in 1826. Mrs. Adams died in 1818, and how lonely must the years have been to the old man now nearing his four Bhe had ever been to him his “dearest friend”; they h: climbed the hill of life together and had journeyed far down the other side before death violated the unfon. He was now Massachusetts’ most dis- tinguished and revered citizen, living with his son, Judge Thomas Adams, who had come to make his home at the old homestead. John Quincy Adams became Presi- dent in 1825. It was & proud moment in the old man’s life. s son he had trained from youth to sit in high ml and adorn a public career had chosen for the highest office in land. His cup was full to over- flowing., His work for his country he might well consider done; he had hel, usher it into being and he seen {ts destinies entrusted once again into an Adams’ hands. But it was not to' be for long that he was to enjoy the glory. As the Spring of 1826 crept over the North- land, tingling the Massachusetts val- leys with green and flecking the land- scape with the white blossoms of ap- ples, the venerable old patriot began to fafl. As the Summer approached, death crept ‘) the doorstep of the old manse and bided his time. It seemed as though he was working under in- structions from some Higher Power. ‘There was one time more than an- other that the old patriot might pass fittingly to his fathers—the day on which, 50 years before, he had labored so_hard to make memorable. Far to the South, below the broad Potomac, lay his friend and ancient co-laborer; death, too. had a rendez- vous with him that day. As the hour of noon struck, that 4th of July in that Southland home, death ap- proached in the shimmering midsum- mer heat and lay his icy fingers on all that was mortal of Jefferson; the weeping throng he and speeding with furifous haste over mountain and plain, he fled northward to the couch of the feeble old man in Quincy, whers he lay awaiting his unbidden’ guest. The Leveler arrived late in the afte: noon, just as the crimson day was parting through the western hills, amid the first roar of cannon an- nouncing the celebration of the his- toric occasion, and once again his icy hand fell on mortal flesh. All is over. The mortal has put on immortality. The glow! stilled. “Grandsire John wont to be called in his last years, sleeps by the side of his Abigafl in the little stone church at Quincy, where they worshiped together for 50 long. Two beautiful mural tablets tell the visitor and the world of their virtues. But enshrined in the Na. tion's heart, John Adams still lives, eternally. Locomotive Speedometer. SPEEDOMETER for a locomotive has at last been devised. For a long time there have been experiments with belts, pulleys and gears on long. flextble shafts, but the vibration and swaying of the engine have made them inaccurate. The new method uses a magnetos generator driven from one of the en« gine wheels, with an indicator in the cab, and can be attached to almost any type of locomotive with hand tools. Pinwheel Auto Hub. TURNING automoblle hubs into Fourth of July pinwheels is the latest thing accomplished by the light. Ing experts. A four-camdle power elece ad | tric light with a green lens at the side and alternate red and white glasses on the edge 1s attached to the hub of the left front wheel, says Popular Me- chanics, the object being to avold a sidewipe of an approaching car. The signal is sufficlently distinctive to indi. cate the extreme outside of the car to an oncoming driver, even though he may be slightly blinded by headlights. ‘The lamp is said to be visible at 200 yards. Another Rny.. NOTHER mysterious ray has been uncovered. No sooner did Milli- kan come out with his annoyncement of the “ultra-x-rays” that will pene- trate 6 feet of lead, than a young Welsh research worker made public his discovery of a new kind of ray that transforms air so that it can con- duct electrically. It seems to lie in the mysterious region between the X-ray and the Millikan ray, and, if so, may prove a great help in investigat- ) ing the structure of levels in kertain ' atoms of which very little is known ! at present, % )