Evening Star Newspaper, July 25, 1926, Page 76

THE SUNDAY STAR Fugitive From Finley’s Alley By Agnes Sligh Turnbull A Story Which Involves Selfishness and Devotion, and in Which Some Vacation Plans Were in the Balance. E was a trampr-ragged, dirty, | a _pout. unkempt, with the helf- suspicious, halt-surly man- ner that comes from con- tinued painful contacts with life. His brown eves were all that save the lie to his general disrepu- able appearance, and most people did not trouble to look at them until they had given him a quick kick or cuff. Then it was too late, for the shaggy curtaln of his brows was drawn, and the snarl he had been forced to cultivate in self-def2ise wss revealing his white teeth in- stoad. Nobody but a stray child here and there had ever discovered those him- pid brown pools of absolute longing which were in his eyes. For in the strange cosmic scheme of things he had been perfectly made, this home- less, friendless tramp, for one end and one only-—to love, to worship, to serve loyally a master. And here among the garbage pails and ash cans of Finley's alley he slunk, furtive, watchful, ready to snarl and run at a danger signal, to fight for a bite of moldy or other questionable scraps— anything that would prolong his life and thereby prolong the quest which the speck of sentient matter within his tattered, tired little body never ve up. Somewhere,—vaguely, dumbly he sensed it—somewhere his god must be waiting, and he must seek to find him On this June morning he scudded 1t last out of Finle; alley, evaded 1+ hurtling stone by a hair's breadth, and turned into a road that led out of the city. He trotted alertly along until the weeds appeared at the edge of the macadam, and autos became less plentiful; then he ran close to the fences, nose sniffiing, eyes peering. Fven though he had to return to the Finley’'s alley region at night for a bite to eat, he would wander now in sweet-smelling _gr where sm s0ft, quick bodies were always da ing here and there. So ran the little tramp dog: his four bruised paws thudding softly, that tiny sentient spark within him pressing on yearningly, but no part of him suspecting that on this golden June day there lay wait- ing for him just around the corner Death and Fear and Fright and Free- dom and Joy Supreme, and the End of the Quest! * * * AT that moment, in one of the neat suburban residences which had been advertised as “Dutch Colonial, rooms, tiled bath, fireplace, ga- rage, cash depc balance as rent,” there was approaching a crisis. Dan Hastings knew it @s he slowly dressed for the day. He wondered if Helene realized it, too. She had been early astir, and without words, except that she must go to the city that morning to buy one or two last things, had hurried down to get breakfast. The bedroom was large, but it seemed to Dan to be choked with garments. A trunk, half filled, stood near the door; the trays, already vacked, lay on either side. On every chair were dresses, skirts, hats, shoes. The whole house, indeed., had had for a week the dusty, disordered laok which a house acquires when left en- tirely to care for itself. There had been shopping and sewing, and more shopping and sewing; there had been dinners hastily prepared and care- lessly cleared away; there had been quick words and still micre deadly silences. And all this because Helene was going to Maine. It was on a day in April that the letter had come from Helene's aunt Marcia. Dan had come home early to work in the garden, of which he was Inordinately fond. A home of their own! A garden! No boarding house stuff that Summer. Fresh peas and beans and lettuce of his own raising! And sweet peas and nasturtiums for Helene to gather for the house! He had begun to plan for the garden in January, to Helene's great amusement. He had pored over catalogues and sketched his careful diagrams long before it was time to turn over the first spadeful of earth. He had come home jubilantly this evening with six more packages of seed and a rambler rosebush for the porch, to find Helen walting for him, adiant. His heart leaped as it al- ‘s did at her bright beauty. Hair like golden mist; eyes like the sky! “Dan!” she had cried, without walting to look at the rosebush. BECAUSE THERE WAS NOBODY TO SEE OR DUSTY, RAGGED COAT AND LET “What do you think? letter from Aunt Marcia! read it!" Aunt Marcia wrote that she would expect Helene as usual, from the second week of June 'till the first of September, and Dan also for his two weeks' vacation the last of August. She did not expressly state it, but there lurked in the letter the sugges- tion that any girl who had kept house for six months, without a cook and a butler and two maids, such as Aunt Marcia herself had, must be a wreck, Helene was to reply promptly, so that the other girls who always came at varfous times through the Sum- mer to visit with her, could be invited and dates arranged. She was also to bring more party dresses this Summer than usual, because there were to be weekly dinner dances at one of the hotels. Dan stared in heavy amazed silence 2s Helenc finished the letter and eried, “Isn't it too glorious? I didn’t know whether she would keep on in- viting me now that I'm married.’ Dan still stood, look!ng down at her, the rosebush in his hand, the seed en- wvelopes protruding from his pocket. ‘But, Helene, you don’t mean for all Summer.” Hel lue eyes changed expres- ~ sion; her lips fef) rather too easily into i I've had a Listen, I'll gt The amuzement was now transferred to her face. oing! Why, Dan, what do you mean? Would you want me to stay here all through the awful heat,. just to cook your meals? And miss all this wonderful time just because you have to stay? Why, Dan!"—her voice was half reproachful, half indignant— “I never dreamed you wouldn't be delighted that I have the chance!” “But. . . the garden! You won't be here for any of the— What'll be the good of it now? And you know we were golng to get the awning for the porch and those chairs ... and fix the lawn all up. Of course I want yoy/to have a nice vacation. I'd counted on your being away a month; but, Helene, this is all Sum- mer!" They discussed it that evening; Helene, petulant and eager by turns, setting forth all the delights of the visit; Dan, listening, anxious, hurt, then repeating again and again his first amazed expostulations. In the end, however, Helene wept bitterly, and Dan kissed away the tears and said that of course she must go: he would get along somehow. But Dan lay awake for a long time that night, thinking. There was some- thing wrong. Marriage was not what he had dreamed it would be—a bliss- ful partnersiiip. There had been growing, he knew it now, all through the months, a vague feeling of some- thing lacking, something fine and sweet and essential. His loyal, loving heart had brushed the thought aside before. How dared he harbor it in connection with Helene! The little dancing fairy! Lovelier in his eyes than anything of which he had dreamed! Helene, who had consented—wonder past belief— to become his wife! It had been a brief and ardent wooing, climaxed by the resplendent wedding of last Fall. * ¥ ¥ % T wgs not till the tender, blind wor- ship of the honeymoon was over and they were settled in the Dutch colonial that Dan began to find a small wistful feeling growing. He had worked hard; he had put himself through college; he had made a place for himself in the world of business; it looked as though some day there might come real wealth. But never since his boyhood had there been any one to give him the little endear- ments, the foolish solicitudes which mothers give—and wives. He knew what it was to be homeless; to be very ill in a city boarding house, and have nobody to care; to be weary and discouraged when night came, and have no haven of sympathy and cheer, So, deep in his heart, as he gave all the strength of his love to Helene, he had kept certain shame- faced expectations, built upon what he imagined a wife would mean to him. But they were not fulfilled. Helene seemed to assume that husbands were made to serve and give and do, as a matter of course., It never ap- peared to enter. her pretty golden head that there was such a thing as reciprocity. One February night, when Dan and Will Carson, a neighbor, had walked from the station through a sudden drenching rain, the yvearning in his heart had grown greater than ever. “Holy Mackerel” Will had sput- tered, as he pulled his hat further over his face. *“Won't we be the cod- dled little boys when we get home? Gee, Amy will have me in bed with hot-water bottles if I don't stop her! ‘Women are all alike—always fussing over a fellow!"’ ‘Will’s tone had in it the proper mas- culine contempt for such weakness, but beneath it poor Dan caught the triumphant note of a& man who knew he was loved! Who, in spite of his lordly disclaiming of attention, would inwardly gloat over every preclous, foolish feminine fear for his health and safety. #elene on that occasion had not thought of the rain in his connection at all, though she showed concern later when she found his wet shoes on _the light bedside rug. 9 Of course, Dan stoutly maintained to himself it was a man’s place to take care of a woman and be sohci- tous about her. Any man who didn't carry more than half the burden was no man at all. Oh, he ridiculed him- self mercilessly. And yet—that long- ing, lonely corner of his heart! As Dan lay awake this Spring night his heart was sore. This visit of Helene's! How could she do such a thing? She knew how he had worked and planned for the garden! How could she go away for three months and leave him alone! Their first Summer! And without allowing the words to form, Dan knew in the back of his brain that, instead of a comrade, a woman, steady and true of heart, really out of her devotion to sacrifice something for him, as he was to love her to the uttermost, Helene, with all her bright beauty, was a child, with a child’s self-centered desires, a cHild's lack of sympathy and understanding. A child to be petted and caressed and served by him. Did Helene really Jove him? Was she capable of love? And, ghastly thought, if she was not, would his own love for her endure? Could it? Dan burled his face in the pillow while waves of bitter fear swept over him, - * ok ok K THE next morning Helene was bright, and full of. carelessly was any less aitentive now than be. fore they were married. - In the end, Dan wrote a check for the wardrobe that made him wince a little, and the price of the awning and the porch chairs went into Helene's beaded bag to pay for the trip and provide spending money during the Summer, Then, toward the midle of May, there came to Dan a hot, hard day in the office, a blinding headache, with the heavy weight still on his heart and the long, lonely Summer fore- shadowing him. He knew when he got home that something more than ordinary weariness was the matter. Even Helene was startled. But her cry, “Oh, Dan, you're not going to get sick now!” somehow did not ease the pain. The doctor came, pronounced it Summer flu, a light attack—a week in bed, possibly—not longer. Helene fluttered about. She told the doctor nervously, appealingly, about her trip. The old man, falling under the spell of her blue eyes, as most men did, patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Now, don't you worry, little girl! We'll have him out of here in a few days. You'll get your visit all right.” ‘The doctor’'s medicine was effica- cious, In a week's time Dan, rather pale and shaky, was out of bed. Helene had been a careful, if some- what distracted, nurse. There ghad been an afternoon’s shopping and a vast amount of planning, and deli- cate stitching on this and that. One day as she hurried past the bed with a collar and cuff set she was work- ing on, he reached for her hand and laid It across his eyes. Her cool, soft little palm! But Helene only said, “If your head starts to ache, I'm to give you one of the white tablets.” On the doctor’'s last visit he pre- scribed for the patient plenty of eggs and milk, with a ronnd of golf each morning before Dan started for the office, and very light work for some time to come. Dan felt weak. He hated himself for hoping, but each day, as he came home from his short experimental walks and threw himself down wearily on the davenport he hoped that Helene would come to him, would say the words that would knit their hearts together, establish the perfect bond, lift the barrier. But Helene was busy working on a hemstitched volle dress. She left it those days only to prepare their hasty meals. AS May moved brightly on its way to June Dan grew more and more quiet, as Helene grew more busy and ntrvous and frritable over her prepa- rations. After his first day back in the office he was exhausted. It was hard -to make himself eat. What would it be in a restaurant? “Helene,” he said slowly one eve- ning, “it's going to be pretty hard without you. You don’t suppose you could wait g few weeks longer, till 1 et a little bit more on my feet?” Helene's blue eyes went wide with distress. “Why, Dan, now when I'm all ready! You know Aunt Marcia wouldn't like it. She's having Maud ‘Warren there the first two weeks for me. It would be awful for me not to g0 when she has everything planned. And it would just break my heart to miss Maud, Why, Dan!" The voice was full of anguished reproach. “It you were really ili! But the doctor said all you needed wag to get out more in the fresh air and not work so hard!” So Dan went on keeping his own counsel. Each morning he drove duti- fully to the public golf course in Lock- wood Park. He tried to get back some of his old energy, his enthusiasm for the game, but he had to stop after three holes. He worked as little in the office as his consclentious soul would permit, and reached home each evening as dead tired as he had been the night before. He was not gaining strength. And in his dispirited heart he felt that no one in the world cared. One frail hope alone occasionally projected itself: Dan wondered in his earnest, just-seeking Soul, whether he might be misjudging Helene. Was it possible that far beneath her careless exterior there lay a tenderness asleep? Could it be that the petted, spolled, carefree years of her girlhood had imposed upon her merely a veneer of selfishness for which she was not n truth responsible? But this hope always flickered and ;vnn! out in the face of the dally acts. * Ok ¥ ok HIS FACE IN THE DOG'S HE BURIED TENSION BREAK. His outward relationship with Helene had grown mechanical. He tried to acknowledge with animation that her dresses were pretty, her new sweater becoming; he consulted time tables, ordered her reservation, prom- ised to write every day. He tried honestly to see her side—every reason for her going. He called himself weak silly, exacting. But under it all wa: the heavy fear that a crisis was com- ing—was almost here. A time when something dark ahd impenetrable would shut his heart away from Hel- ene's, and leave between them noth- ing but empty physical contacts, It was with this thought upon him that he dressed slowly on the morning of the day before Helene left. stil with him as he kissed her good-by and started for the golf course. She was going into the city as soon as he left, for the last purchase, so when . he brought the car back to the house 'she. would be gone. . Dan drove slowly through the happy plans for her trip. She would need new clothes, quite a number.'| Where would Dan take his meals? He could easily find some good place. mber, she wanted a letter every and a delivery on Sunday. She didn’t mnmme glrls to think he fresh, early morning air, Sweet odors were even on the traveled highway. It was a time for hearts to love and rejoice, And his own had never been heavy. H m;!" rugnd the links and e early th s it _was 8 men before him. He tried to interest himself in the teeing off; he con- centrated on following each ball. Suddenly, as the sixth man stood poised, there was a shout from the driveway that skirted the small lake and the woods. After the shout there was visible a emall ragged object, ears back, tail down, chest straining, coming like a dusty streak along the fi;l\'eA It was a dog, running for its e. Dan walked across the short plateau to see better. Another shout made up of unintelligible words came just around the curve, and after it, a policeman, sgout, red of face, glaring of eye, his fingers clutching a metal object that shone in the sun, Dan stepped quickly out on the road. Something in the small, forlorn, desperate figure, fleeing from the big policeman and the shining object, touched him. He whistled softly. He held out one hand and motioned gently. In one brief, amazed flash up came the limpid brown eyes of the little tramp dog. For the first time in his starved, friendless, knocked-about life, he saw a human haven of ref- uge. Swiftly as an arrow to its mark, the bruised feet carried him straight to Dan: he jumped up and licked the outstretched hand with queer, stifled barks, then cowered, shivering, close to/Dan’s legs. Dan picked him up as the red police- man approached. ““What's the trouble, Oficer?"” he inquired. The large man grew more apo- plectic. y “Trouble! 1 been chasin’ that darn dog all over this here park! 1 took him in them woods over there to shoot him, an’ he got away from me. I'll see to it he don't do it again. Much obliged for ketchin' him." He came closer. The dog trembled violently. Under the shaggy brow ;;ne brown eye, pleading, looked up at an. “What's he done, Officer? Why were you going to kill him?" Done! Why, he ain’t no good. He don’t belong to nobody. He's a tramp, he is; I'm goin’ to shoot him. He'll mebbe go mad an’ bite somebody."” “‘Well,"” Dan said, “I hate to hand him over to be shot. If there's notn. ing wrong with the dog except that he has no home I'l remedy that. I'll take him with me.” “I tell you he ain't no good! ,If he goes mad an’ bites somebody, 'l u.n'?\s[tx )‘nrl'J!hYou B\‘lnd that!" 5 ight!"” n said A “It's a bargain!" e The policeman put up his revolver, and Dan, carrying his charge, turned, picked up his golf bag and went to his car. A queer elation filled him. He had won in a sharp contest, and here was a small living creature that seamed to appreciate his efforts. * k¥ % As he drove back home the dog siiuggled close to him, rubbing against his arm, scarcely moving the hr}o{vrn eyes from his face. e put the car in the garage, lifted the waif from the seat and 1ed the way to the house. The little beggar was probably starved. It was a right good thing' Helene was gone, he thought, as he let himself into the kitchen. He brought cold meat and milk and placed them on the floor. WASHINGTO rage, where Dan left him with some sxtra food, before hurrying off to the atation. * % % % HAT day marked the crest of the early heat wave. Stifiing! Intoler- able! The city steamed and glared and blistered. Dan tried to work, but strange black spots kept dodging in front of his eyes. In spite of the pleasurable feeling In his heart caused by the dog, his mind kept traveling wearily In its old circles. Their life together—Helene's and his. What were they going to make of it? At 4 o'clock he left for home. At § he was starting up the street that led to the Dutch Colonial. He wondered how the new occupant of the garage had spent the day . . if Helene 1926—PART had finished packing . . . if she had time to prepare enything tasty for dinner. Not that it mattered much with the little appetite he had. He had come in sight of the house. He looked up at it, as he always did at this spot. Then he stopped, star- tled. He rubbed his eyes; he muttered to himself, then started hastily for- ward. Was there something wrong with hig head? One, two, three, four, from the corner—that was certainly his house. But why—how—what the—— This house he was regarding was not the one he had left that morning. This house had a lawn that had been freshly sprinkled. The steps that led to the front door were damp and clean. And the porch! Could it be? Instead of the bare, dusty spot of the morn- “I TELL YOU HE AINT NO GOOD. IF HE GOES MAD AN' BITES SOMEBODY, I'LL ARfiRflT YOU. MIND THAT!" ing, here was a cool refuge for a hot tired man. A wide awning of the very pattern he had admired gave a com fortable shade, a big green fern flanked the steps and, vet, bevond were two deep, easy porch chairs. Then his eyes caught last de tall. On the lowest step, one car cocked, waiting, eager, sat the small tramp dog. But, oh, no longer a tramp. A gentleman dog now, from his cloan-washed, shining brown head to the tip of his smooth brushed tail! He had caught sight of his master. Like a streak of ljving joy he came toward him. Dan’s heart fearful ecstasy. he reached the door. There, new hemstitched voile, was Ielene the was pounding with a| ¥ mbed the steps; | the eager brown head of the dog that hair like golden mist, eyes like the sky, lipg tremulously tender. She reached up and drew his head, hot, aching, city-grimed, down to th curve of her soft shoulder. Her cool little hands stroked his cheek. He heard her voice, the voice of a woman a wife who loves even as she is loved | whispering brokenly ‘Dan, dearest, I'm not going! I'm staying here with you . . . to make you happy . . . 1 loye you so, Dan v s . TINGTOU . ix And even in this, the great, shining moment of his life, as he held hia wite to him and felt again the thrill of love. confident and supreme, Dan remem bered to reach a hand down to meet in the | was raised to its (Copyright, 1926.) Ancient Sport of Archery Is Revived By Enthusiastic Washington Group T seems.impossible to get away from the “old"” things. Old songs, old dances, old sayings, old cus- toms, and even old games are constantly being revived—a cir- cumstance which often leads to the assertion that the world moves in cycles. Perhaps the popularity of the “old" things lies in the fact that | they have the double recommenda- tion of being old, yet new to the pres- ent generation. They bring with them all the tradition and sentiment of a bygone age, at the same time pos- sessing the fascination of a novelty to the people of today. And if you want to see a real en- thusiast you should meet some one who 1s responsible for the revival of an “ancient’” practice. There is at least one such man in Washington. His daily work has to do with the most modern method of locomotion And then, at last, the little tramp | known to mankind, but his hobby is dog knew beyond a shadow of doubt | one of the oldest games in the world. that he had come home! Home to the | end of his quest! Home to a master from whose hand he would be fed, whose hearthstone he would guard with his very life. And with only a glance at the food, he flung himself upon the man who knelt beside him. He licked his face, his hands; he leaped upon him; he barked his starved, lonely heart out in jovous yelping; he groveled in every form of worshipful centortion: he looked up at his god with brown eyes of wutter adoration. And as he watched something strange happened to Dan. He was physically weak: he was nervously ex- hausted; he was hurt and lonely and love hungry! And because there was no one to see or hear, he buried his face in’ the dog's dusty, ragged coat, and let the tension break. His shoulders heaved. He heard his own voice in foolish, choking sentences. “You little loyal mutt! You care what happens to me! You care! I know! You'll never leave me! You'll follow me to the corner in the morn ings and watch me out of sight! And ou'll be here when I come home eve- nings. You'll be looking out for me and be restless and anxious if I'm late. Then you'll run to meet me, and jump and whine and lick my hands!” Dan's voice broke in a great sob, as he held the small body to him. “You'll love m you loyal little mutt! You'll love Now, if the iceman had not been late and the milkman had not arrived with his bill that morning, there would have been no witness to this ex- traordinary scene taking place upon the kitchen floor, As it was, however, there had been the delays which every housekeeper experiences when trying to get an early start from home. When Dan drove into' the gara, Helene had only just closed lg: kitchen door and reached her room to change her dress. She heard the door open, and came to the landing on the back stairs and peered down. And then as she saw . . . and heard . . . her face grew flushed, and then turned deadly white. Her hands clutched the ling; her eyes, strained, intense, re riveted on tha scene below. Had the neat garden just outside!lived he had a been suddenly rent by an earthquake there would not have come upon Helene a more astounded terror than she felt at that moment! Dan, the strong, the unfailing, the self-contained! Quiet, - steady, un- changeable Dan! Who had never in all her knowledge of him lost hig selt- control or his fim poise by a hair's breadth! To see him now, broken, shaken, clasping to his strange, dirty dog! To hear his volce— Dan's low, sure, comforting voice— now sobbing! ng out for love, with that agon! loneliness. It was as though the solid founda- tiohs of her life given ;w?! It ‘was as though the great forces of pain and despair, which had been to her before but.vague names, were now beating upon Dan, under her very eyes, with strong, merciless, living hands; and with every blow she felt her own heart smitten, To save him! To shield him from these monsters! To bring back to him gladness ard strength! And oh, to lift from herself this new burden of crush- ing gullt! And with the thought something happened also to Helene. The springs of the maternal, that deep, undef fountain, welled up within her. Sud- denly the gtream of love such as every good woman knows for the man or the children who are hers, the love that comforts, that sustain that yearns over and cheers, that knows both the glad hope of the joyous day and the tender fears of the night ‘watches, the love that never such a stream came flowing through the arid, selfish little heart of Helene as mirac¢ulously as the water rolled from the rock under the rod of the nd, | ¢ n Vroghot! She took a quick step down, then turned and softly fied back up the|shooting stairs. Dan pulled himself, together at last, with the shame any strong man feels he has .m! way to his The dog ate greedily now, trotted happily behind him oty S faileth— He is Paul E. Garber, assistant cura- tor of the engineering division of the Smithsonian Institution in charge of air transportation, whose favorite out- door sport is the "noble exercise of archery. Mr. Garber has been an enthusiastic archery “fan” practically all his life. An old Indian chief attached to Buf- falo Bill's Wild West circus taught him how to use a bow and arrow when a boy. The chief had been left in charge of a wagon train—that was in the days befora circuses traveled on rallroads—at a. locality in northern New Jersey near the town where young Garber was visiting. The two became acquainted and the red man made a bow out of a wagon tongue for the boy. It proved to be by far the most fascinating toy the lad ever possessed. Contrary to popular belief, Mr. Garber declares, the Indians are not expert at hitting the bull's eye time after time at a fixed distance, Trav- elers from the Far West often tell of seeing Indians repeatedly Mlllng a small coin placed in a tree witl their arrows, but in such cases the afther ls invariably only a few feet away, explains Mr. Garber. Put the target 40 or more yards off, he says, and the Indian turns out to be an inconsistent shot. The reason is said to be that the red men are taught to shoot instinctively, which is neces- sary in hunting, but do not take aim, as is requisite in target archery. The local archerd use the English style of shooting, in which aim is actually taken at the target, the point of the arrow being utilized in the same manner for this purpose as the front sight of a rifle. But the bow- and-arrow devotees assert their game requires much more skill than rifle shooting, for with a gun the projec tile and the force behind it are fixed quantities, while in archery those factors vary. Having learned the principles of both. shooting and constructing bows and arrows from his Indian friend, Mr, Garber became an ardent archer from that time forth. As he grew up t became his hobby. Wherever he private range in his side yard in which to practice. He became well known in Washington as an authority on archery, often be- ing called upon to give public exhl- bitions mdmto h;lj];amnruu the Boy Scouts in thia su A About a vear ago J. G. Platt of the Department. of Agriculture and J. C. Nix, two men who were interested in archery, got In touch with Mr. Gar- ber, and the three began practice in the Smithsonian grounds. _Others joined in the sport, attended the “ghoots” regularly, and this group of modern merry men, under the leader- ship of “Robin Hood" Garber, decided to take the name ‘‘Potomac ers, The youngest member of this infor- mal organization is Toddy Winstead, an) 18-year-old youth, 7 feet tall, whom his fellow archers delight in calling “Little John."” ‘Watching them practice under the giant trees of that section of the Mall in front of the castlelike Smithsonian Building is like stepping back several hundred years in history. It does not require much effort to ignore the pass- ing automobiles on the nearby drive and to overlook the modern dress of the spectators while imagining one's self among a group of old-time yeo- men at a test of skill in some syl And to the trees themselves contests must be re. minders of the days of their youth when the twang of an Indian's bow and the deadly flight of his arrow were the only happenings that aver disturbed the forest's leafy tranquil- l'“”l’“ < traight shooting—that is, dis- charging arrow after arrow at the target in an effort to run up a big seore—often enliven their practices by fancy” rounds. One of v favorite thelr of | who J. C. NIX, J. G. PRATT AND PAUL E. GARBER OF THE SMITHSONIAN PRACTICE ARCHERY ON THE LAWN OF THE INSTITUTION. Copyright by Underwood & Underwood they confess that they often have to place a light over the target. Customs of this sort are survivors of old English archery traditions. This particular stunt of shooting at a bit of paper is an adaptation of the once popular “goose round,” which consisted of placing a live goose be- hind the target, inserting his head through the bull's eve and shooting until one of the archers killed the fowl, after which it became the main part of a feast which the bowmen en- joyed. Humane societies put a stop to this rather cruel custom, and the unhurtable “ffaper goose" was substi- tuted. The Potomac Archers think they have the best sport in the world, and put up a strong argument for archery as a body builder. They declare every muscle is brought into play in the manipulation ef a §0-pound bow. The game is said to steady the nerves, de- velop the lungs and produce broad shoulders. The drawing of the bow, the careful aiming and the walking, or running, back and forth from the target are epumerated as beneficial forms of mild exercise, which, if .in- dulged in wisely, will produ Just the right kind of “tired feeling™ that refreshes but does not fatigue. The upright posture or “stance” of the archer is the first thing a novice is taught, and this in itself makes for athletic development through teach- ing _the importance of good carriage. Mr. Pratt, one' of the FPotomac Archers, has calculated that the en- ergy expended in discharging 60 ar rows at a 40-yard target is equal to, and much more pleasant than, the work required to shovel 3 tons of coal. The local ‘archers have become as expert in the construction of their equipment as they are in its use, They make thelr own bows, arrows, bow strings and targets. The bow string is an important factor, and a great deal of care is put into its manufac- ture. Linen or silk is used, the threads being worked up in wax into strong cables and a particular kind of noose woven in at one end. The construction of the 4-foot targets is also a big task. About a bale and a half of straw goes into the make-up of each of them. The bull's eye and its surrounding circles are painted on oil coverings, Once it i{s made, the archery ‘“‘tackle” requires as much care as a maching must be unstrung when not in use so as to preserve their snap. All equipment must be rotected from moisture, as the Po- omacs learned early this Summer when a rainy spell resulted in an epidemic of bow The local those interested in the ancient Join {: ranks, but it recry fashion, bangs out the “Welcome™ sign to all elnw to ‘‘come around,” whether en 'S, club is anxious to have all | of the to aid each individual in improving his game. Although archery was once a. popu- lar pastime with women, there are no members of the fair sex among the Potomac Archers, and, as far as can be learned, no women in the District who shoot regularly. However, one of the local girls' “‘finishing” schools has taken up the sport and secured the gervices of Mr. Garber as coach for the coming season. Mr. Garber will also go to Philadel- phia in August to represent Washi ton in the national matches which are part of the Sesquicentennial program. The event is being staged largely through the efforts of Dr. R. P. Elmer of Wayne, Pa., who has held the American champlonship more often than any other one man. Dr. Elmer has arranged to have famous archers from all parts.of the world, including East Indian and South American na- tives, exhibit thelr skill at the Sesqui tournament, whichy will be one of the biggest ever staged. The matchgs will last two days. Each man will shoot a “York” round—the official champion- | ship round—consisting of 144 arrows a, day. The archers will be the. guests of Dr. Elmer at an old shooting lodge near Philadelphia during the program. Mr. Garber is the only member of the Potomac Archers whose bow and arrow experience is mnot limited to target shooting. He teils an amusing anecdote in connection with one of his hunting trips in a nearby State. He had spent the day in trlx'e flelds and woods and had “bagged” a few rabbits and quall. On his way home he encountered a warden who asked to see his license and gun. Declar- ing he had nelther, Mr. Garber pro- duced a letter from the chief game warden of the State announcing that in so far as firearms, were specified in the law requiring a hunting li- cense, and as the bearer did not in- tend using' them, he would not have to get one. There was a/ postscript to the effect that the game warden's office thought there was little danger of Mr. Garber hitting anything any- way, Upon reading the letter the warden commented that he had met many men that day with both li- censes and high-powered guns, but no who would pro:l‘:}ly feel prlt't‘y cheap" If they learn: a man who “had gone out with nothing but a stick and at least brought home enough for supper.” The extent of Mr. love for the sport can be gatl from his statement that, “though many prefer the waltzes of Wagner or the etudes of Liszat, to me there’s no sweeter musio in all the world than the sound arrow landing squarely in the heart of the target. 4 Archery was once the leading sport of England, and still is well patron. g in the United Kingdom on l. i in introducing the . into seqounts ¢ hunting adventures in several maga- zines about 1875 and those articles led to the establishment of hundreds of archery clubs in all sections of this country. One of these “toxophilite socleties,” as they were called, was formed in Washington, and three of its members still survive President’s Vacation, (Continued from First Page.) White House ever loved flowers more than does this lovely woman. . She goes about them with almost & child ish happiness and enthusiasm. Her charming smile is never more radiant than when she is darting about the flower beds, and there are innumerable beds and gardens scattered about the grounds of White Pine Camp. She enjoys watering the flowers and other- wise caring for them. She likes also personally to do the cutting of these flowers that are to be placed about the cabins. There is a little Alpine rock garden at one end of the camp grounds which was a revelation to her when she espled it. It is an in- formal spot, and, while it is not large in area, It contains 63 varietles of flowers not generally grown in private gardens. There is, fortunately, an ex- ceptionally skilled gardener at the camp—Frank Huette, a Frenchman— and already he is one of the most popular and important personages about the camp. During her spare moments Mrs. Coolidge invariably knits or crochets, She has little time for reading or lounging. The evening meal at the camp is at 7 o'clock. Corresponding with the meals preceding it, it is a man-sized affair, all of which would indicate. that the President at least Is a hearty eater. The way he describes It, he likes a comfortable meal. Not ecaring much for motoring, the President and Mrs. Coolldge do not drive about the countryside after the evening meal, as is the custom in Washington and other citles. = T= fact, they rarely go driving. Neither appears to care for it, and the several big White House cars which hays been brought to the camp are used only as agencles of transportation. A day with the Chief Magistrate of the Nation and his wife is not a very exclting occasion. There are no thrills. Theirs is a quiet, orderly ax-. istence, but they are at a place ideal for the purposes of rest, freedom ar? good fresh air, and they unquestion- ably will show the benefits whan they return to the White House nexi Sep- tember. B MRS S A New Aute Record. ‘HE world 24-hour automobile rec- ord was recently broken by Capt. John Duff, an Entluhfl at Linas States. b of i Sow and asrow |86