Evening Star Newspaper, August 1, 1926, Page 82

4 TO THE RESCUE - By Albert Payson Terhune Several Kinds of H HE big collie was making gallant fight of it. Nesta_had beheld the entire scene. She was walking along the River road, in the frozen slush of that muddy byway., when first the rabbit flashed across her path and scurried out on the frozen su face of the stream. Hard at bunn heels galloped a half-grown hound puppy. Out upon the treacherous early March ice the pup followed his fast- escaping prey. Then. 30 yards from shore, a patch of rotting chaunel ice swayed and cracked and disintegrated under the young hound’s feet. In the gray expanse appeared a patch of black water. pup was floundering helplessiy Once and again the puppy reached the broken edges of the water hole and strove to lift himself up to safety But ever the decayving channel Tlce kept crumbling under his wildly claw- ing fore feet, and he slumped back, his whole head submerged. Then something brushed harshly past her toe. She looked to see what it was. A collie had come upon the scene from nowhere in particular and was dashing across the firmer shore ice toward the exhausted puppy. As he neared the ragged gap the ice began to bend and crack under him. He came to a sliding halt at the edge of the hole and braced his white feet, leaning far forward to *catch the frantic puppy by the scruff of the neck and to draw him out of the water. Before his jaws could close on the wriggling victim the ice had given way under him. The gap was larger than before. In it now two dogs in stead of one were struggling. The collie secured his hold on the pup's neck. With an effort that car- ried his own head and shoulders far out of water, he swam to the edge of the hole and fairly thrust the hound upward over the edge. Perhaps here the ice was less weak than at the point where both had fallen in. At any rate, it did not break under the puppy's fore feet. With a last effort of strength, the little fel low clawed his way to the surface of the ice and dashed off at top speed | for shore. The impact of the youngster's jump drove the collie’s head far under. He came up beneath the ice. tnstinct or by luck or by brain, he swam up stream a vard or so. Once more his head appeared in the gap. dripping_and gasping. To the edge of the hole he swam, at the place where the puppy had clambered to safety. But his own weight was far greater than the hound’s. The ice broke under him as he heaved himself up. Down he went, far below the surface; only to rise and strike out for another point Twice he had lifted half his tawny body over the edge and was drawing | up his hindquarters when the ice col- lapsed with him. The fourth time he came up, more feebly, yet undaunted, his white paws cut and bleeding; and he swam from end to end of the gap a8 though seeking some firmer spot for his next effort. * x % % T was then that Nesta Boyce, through no volition of her own, found she had left the road and was hurrying out onto the frozen river to- ward the hopeless battling collie. Common sense bade her turn back. But the strange glint of hope in the dog’s eves, as he saw her come to his help, outweighed sanity. Yet she kept enough presence of mind to stoop and up-end a long plank which some boys had left lying on the ice when they had been seek- ing bonfire material. Nearing the gap. she placed the plank in front of her on the ice. and crawled face downward along it. The rotting ice cracked and heaved but, thanks to the distribution of leverage, it held. Presently she was able to reach forward to the dog. The collie had swam close to he sidle of the gap; and as she reached he made one supreme effort to lift himself over the edge. The ice crum- bled again under him. But this time Nesta had firm hold of his ruff. The iee groaned and chuckled and bent as she pulled him toward her. Right valiantly did the dog second her efforte. Scrambling. heaving, writhing, he drove forward and up- ward as she tugged him to her. And now both of them lay on the flat plank—panting and worn out. Then, inching her way. Nesta he- #an to retreat toward shore. still on the plank. Even after she had come to the landward end of it, she con- In the middle of it the' Whether by | THE eroism, With a The water was freezing on his shag- &y coat: he was bieeding from ice- cuts on paws and chest. le was pant- ing and tired from the terrific ex- ertion. But his care seemed to be wholly for the woman who had saved him from death. Through her own daze of self-astonishment, Nesta ob- served this. She caught the look of utter worship and gratitude in his deep-set dark eves. It gave her an odd feeling of happiness. And again | she fell into a wonder at herself. The puppy had scuttled away as soon as he had gotten out of the water. But the collie did not stir from the girl's side. Up into her face he was looking with adoration. A wry smile twisted Nesta's lips. “You're wasting your time,’ she told him, unconsciously speaking as if to another human. *I got you out of the water. That's all I can do for vou. There’s no sense in your hang ing around me any longer.” * k%o S she spoke, she resumed he | homeward walk. The | plumed tail had wagged apprec ly at her tart words, whose purport meant nothing to him. Now he fell into step at her side, once re ac- | commodating his pace to hers, thrust ing his cold muzzle lovingly into hek cupped palm. The touch startled Nesta, 50 tender was its caress and so full of trusting affection. She stopped short, eying the dog bemused- ly.” Then she sald more sharply: Go home. I don't want you. 1 told you there's nothing more to be gotten out of me. A man wouldn't have needed to be told that twice. A man didn’t need to. You're only a dog, so you're stupider than he was. Go home Steadfastly the collie gazed up into her face as she harangued him. His look gave her a queer feeling that he was not deceived by the crossness ¢ { her words, but that he read past them {into the lonely soreness of her heart The fantastic notion would not be {laughed away. Moreover. as she moved on he trotted again at ide. | "I don’t like dogs,” she told him grumpily. “I don’t want you with me. Go home.” As before, she felt he was disre. | garding her command because he read | past it and because of thé unhappi- | ness in her heaft. She shrugged her | shoulders and Walked faster. Pres- ently she stopped before the gate of a shabby bungalow, deep in a shady lawn. “I live her tive. she said, turning on the collie. ow that vou have seen the house, perhaps vou'll be enough to do as the man I told vou about. He called here only once after we had to move down to this place from the Terrace. Once was enough.” . | _She hurried up the frozen walk. |On the veranda steps she paused. | “I'm a fool!" she announced to the dog. “If I wasn't I'd drive you away | with a stick. And if you weren't a fool you wouldn't wait to be driven |away. Come in, if you want to.” She unlocked the front door and passed into the living room. An elderly woman glanced up at her from a chair beside the fire. At sight |of the collie the woman stared in | blank astonishment. | “Ernesta Breen!" she exclaimed. |“You haven't—you surely haven't been wasting your tiny income on— on a dog”" “No, Aunt M answered Nesta, “I only Wasted a chance of drowning. Nothing as precious as money. 1 pulled him out of the river. ‘He fell jIn trying to save another dog from | being drowned. I don’t know wi | bothered to fish him out. But I did. And he seems to think that he be- longs to me. I didn't ask him in. He came." “But _you're never him? Why, a great, that eats as much a “As the people who forget to come and see us since we weit broke? Per- | haps he does. But he's ever so much more welceme to it. I never thought | about keeping him’ till you spoke of it. But I am going to. If he'll Stay-—i-b For the first going to keep big brute like time in a long vear Nesta Breen found something to be keenly and non-morbldly interested in. Despite herself, she realized she had a genuine affection for the great dog she had saved. In her gross ignorance of canine nature, the collie’s quickness of brain astounded her. She had no way of guessing his name. After trying in vain to make him show recognition of such hack- neyed appellations as Towser and Tige jand Rover and the like, she named him anew. She chose March, her | wise | A dog man would have classified March merely as a well trained collie of high type, with all a true collie’s brain_and pluck and gentleness and | humor. But to 2 | embodiment of everything marvelous. Her fivst careless fondness for him | &rew to a devotion. He was her in | separable comrade, idoors and out: her guard and chum. The lonely girl's heart expanded under his companion- ship. Her hard-acquired youthful bit- terness softened strangely under his splendid normaley. She ceased for days at a time to brood morbidly over her loss of money and position. Summer o ox % IO B nd March were swinging morning in early a along the river road, the dog trotting some yards ahead. A cloud of heralded a motor car chugging labori- v toward them down the stretch of unsurfaced byway. As always, the slght of the distant car made March drop back to his misiress’ side. Nesta drew to one side of | to avoid dust the road I the oncoming motor's dust The car lurched onward over rut a | bulge. 1t was passing the girl and th collie when A stout man on the rear seat, called to the chauffeur to stop. By the time the machine was at standstill he had jumped out onto the road and was hurrying back toward Nesta A glance told her that the stout in truder was nobody she knew. So, with only the mildest curiosity, she awaited him. /But as the man came closer March growled softly, far down in his | throat, and took a warning step for ward. ' The man stopped with ludi crous suddenness. Apparently he was enough of a dog expert to read the quiet menace aright. He stood there {in slience for ‘an Instant, studying every line and aspect of the collie. | Then, lifting his hat in gesture whicn | held only the most rudimentary civil |ity, he demanded of Nesta i What dog is that?" It is my dog,” she made answer, | voice and eye level in spite of a sink’ }ing in her heart. | “For months she hdd had an unde- |fined fear lest March’s owner mignt | some day appear and claim him. It | seemed impossible that the possssor {of such a marvelous chum would not scour the whole world in search of | him “He is mine,” she repeated, turning away as if to continue her walk. “One minute, please,” he said ping after her and then halting with great suddenness as March spun about |and faced him with a louder growl and a show of eye-teeth. “Late last Win ter 1 was driving along this road, on |my way home from New Haven. Wt |had a blowout. Vile road then, as it is now. the tonneau while I got out to help my chauffeur. The dog slipped his colls and jumped out after me. I didn't see him do it; but I found the collar and |leash when I got aboard. T suppose he wandered off and you found him. Yes, that's the dog.” |~ For a moment Nesta was tempted to run, calling March after her. But she stood her ground. “You are mistaken,” she said care- lessly. “This is my dog. I am sorry vyou lost yours, but—" “He wasn't mine,” corrected the stout man. .“If he had been, he wouldn’t have run away from me. I vouldn't have had to tie him in the r. That kind of collie sticks by his master. He- “If you don't even claim “he Is yours,” began Nesta in polite con- tempt, as she made as though to turn away once more, “I——" “He belongs to a_ cousin of mine,” safd the man. “My cousin bought him from an English kennel, and had him sent to.a handler, to take on a circult of the American shows. He'd won his championship in England before he came to this country. Won it at 18 months. He completed his American champlonship at the New Haven show this vear. He is Inter. national Champion Harrowgate Peer: less. His kennel name is ‘Squire.’ My ousin paid $3,500 for him in gland. His American champion- ship makes him worth an easy $5,000. This dog here is one of the greatest collies on either side of the Atlantic. He—u" “This dog of mine”" querfed Nes innocently. m glad you like him. But 1 thought you were talking about an English collie tha ¥ “Same dog!” snapped the man an- noyedly. “I can taKe oath to that. 1 saw him at the Madison Square Garden show—Westminster, you know—in February, and again at New Haven. I made a close study of him both times. My cousin had to go to “*‘HE BELONGS TO YOU! CRlEb ROYCE, HIS EYES ALIGHT.” i tinued to lle face downward, arms out and work her way toward the bank in that fashion, until she felt neath her the thicker and rougher Ycee on which she had made the first part of her short rescue journey Then only did she venture to stand up and to make the rest of the few yards on foot. She was sick and shaken and dizzy. But, most of all, she was astounded at herself and at this insane thing she had done. She could not understand it. Throughout the shoreward trip the collle had ascommodated his pace to her snail-like gotions, remaining close at her sides 7 | trom the month wherein she met him. Then, studiously, she set to work to ! teach him the new name. To her | amazement, in less than a day he had learned the name. 3 | In like manner he picked up with bewildering speed and much enjoy- ment every simple thing she-tried to | teach him. Already she found he had been trained as a house dog, and to | le down and te shake hands and to perform other ordinary feats. He was wise and gentle and unobtrusive; eagerly playful when she was in the meod to romp with him, yet ready to lie quiet for hours at her feet while ; me read or wrote. i ) Europe the morning of the New Haven show. 8o he asked me to take charge of his dog after the show and bring him home. My cousin lives at Paignton, about a mile ffom me. About five miles from here. 1 got the dog from the handler and tied him in my car. T've told you how I lost him. Pretty position I was in when my cousin got back to America and found 1'd let his $3,500 dog get away! I've advertised all over. And now here I blunder on him by sheer good luck! I— 4 “You seem determined to think—or tend to think—that this is your interposed Nesta, a trifle wearily. step- | I left a valuable collie dog in | SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. Struggle for Happiness and an Example Spurned, Then Followed. “I have told you he is mine. that is all. Come, March!" “Squire!” called the mar. At sound of the name. March quiv- ered and turned about. “March!” sald Nesta softly. Instantly the collle wheeled and ran {to her, thrusting his nose into her hand and wagging his great plume of a tail. You see,” commented Nesta, as she moved off. I see, I think retorted the man hotly. “T see he recognized his kennel name when I spoke it. He- " “You saw he answered to the name of ‘March, " corrected the girl with amused tolerance. “If he showed interest when' you called Wim, it was because vou stepped forward as you spoke. 1 really wouldn't advise your | coming any nearer. Mr.—Mr.— “My name {s Vanden,” sdpplement- ed the man, as she hesitated. “I'm acting in this for my cousin, Mr. Derek Royce. This is his dog. And," stubbornly, I saw he recognized his | name of ‘Squire.’ Not that I needed any more proof. I suggest vou give him to me now and save trouble.” o INJESTA did not reply. The lust part 'of Vanden's speech had gone unheard. Her attention had stopped short and jarringly at Derek Royce's name. She stared stupidly at the stout man. He repeated more trucu lently “I suggest you save yourself trouble giving him to me at once.” “Certainly!” retorted Nesta, a gus! of rage sweeping her. “Certainl. If you want him, take him. March! At the anger and appeal in her volce the big collie stiffened. Facing Vanden, he crouched slightly, his lips upturned from his white tusks, his eves ablaze, his mighty body tensed as for a spring. Nesta laughed in nervous excitement. “If he's yours or your precious cousin's,” she taunted “shrilly, “take him. If 1 give the word, he'll take vou! If vou want him, take him This is the last time T shall give you | the chance to. And if yqu follow me or try to get him, T'll say only one | more word to him. That word will be enough. Now, do you want him or_don’t you?" Vanden looked at the collle. March had begun to move stealthily toward him in a sinuous motion that carried a world of menace “Call him bac by said the man assented Nesta. “'Come, She walked away, along beside her. upon his chauffeur. “Drive me to the post office,” he commanded, *“and then to one or t of the shops. It ought to be easy to find out who she is and where she There can't be two women in suburb with such a dog. Any one ought to be able to tell me who—" “I can tell you, sir,” said the chauf- feur, “and save you all that trouble. She’s Miss Ernesta Breen. Lives down on the Wyckoff turnpike, about 2 miles gonth. Used to live up on Park Tervace till her father died. Folks thought her dad was worth all the cash in the Treasury. just about flat broke. She and her aunt went down to a bungalow of his to live. They—-" “How in blazes d'you kn, " asked Vanden In surprise. knew It when I drove for Mr. * answered the chauffeur, “be. fore I came to work for you, last Autumn. He used to be at her house a lot of times when she lived up on the Terrace. I only drove him there once after she moved down to the Wyckoff pike. He——" “H'm!” mused Vanden, his face clearing. “That ought to make it easler. Let him go there himself and get his dog. It's past me. I'll tell him about it when I go home.” with * % % 3 N the first time she ESTA was hurrying on March. For realized how dear the collie had be- come to her and how much of her lonely and loveless and embittered life he had come to fill. She had no doubt at all that Vanden had spoken the truth about him. She knew, also, that Derek Royce would have ' no trouble at all in proving possession. ‘‘March,” she said presently “March, they're going to try to take you away from me. They shan't have you! They shan't have you! Do you hear, March You belong to me. 1 gambled with death for you, and you're the only friend who hever went back on me. = Nobody's going to get you away from me, March, We'll fight this out together."” Her words meant nothing to the collie, save the freqient repetition of his own name. But her voice told him she was wretchedly unhappy. Whin under his breath, he licked her ind laid his head against it, pec. ¢ up worriedly into her sor- rowing face. hey'ra not going to take you from me, March,” she repeated, this time with a new hope. “I don't know’ how I'm going to prevent it. But I am. It would be bad enough if you were going to a stranger. But vou'll be £oINg to the most despicable man who ever ljved, March. He made me think he cared for me once. And he made me think I cared for him. We weren't engaged, March. But I was sure we were going to be. Then dad died, and all the world fell down around my head. ‘And when I.crawled out of the wreckage, March, I was in the bun- | galow, with just enough to keep me | alive on. ““He came to see me there. Just once. That v all. He never came again. 1 don't even know why hs came there that once, March, unless it was to quarrel horribly with me and make that an excuse for never coming near me any more. But he let me see he had no use for me, now that 1 hadn't any money or any position or any friends. He was just like all the rest of the people I had known, Only they hadn't pretended to cate for me, and he had. No, March, vou're not going to him! I'd sooner shoot you. We'll fight this out, we two."” LR ‘HE fight began sooner than Nesta feared. As she and March were walking through the rose garden alongside the bungalow, after lunch, a car stopped at the gate. Nesta looked up, hervous and apprehensive. Derek Royce was coming across the patch of lawn toward her. Already he had cut off her retreat to the house. thsl' hand on March’s ruff, she faced im. ‘““How are you?" Royce greeted her, seeming not to see that she ignored his half-extended hand; then speaking to the dog with a cheery ‘‘Hello, Squire, old boy!” This time March did not stiffen nor curl up his lip as when Vanden had approached him. Instead, he viewed | Derek with friendiy courtesy, waving his tail in salutation. True, he did not yseem overjoyed or excited at en- | countering his long-lost master. Yet he was politely glad at the meeting. Nesta saw his amicable greeting of the loathed Derek, and her heart sank March bounding Vanden turned | all But he died | i that within her. Her miserable gaze strayed to the car at the gate. In the tonneau lounged Vanden and his thick fingers idly toying with a dog collar and leash. The action, and all it implied, set the girl's temper ablaze. “My cousin told me he met you and C., AUGUST 1, Bquire on the River road this morn- ing,” Royce was saying. “So I ran over to see if the dog s really the. one I lost.” “‘He isn't,” Nesta made answer, her volce curiously muffied. “He is my dog. And you aren't going to take him away from me.” For an instant Royce did not reply. He was looking from the girl to the collie. March had discovered a hop- toad in the grass and with pricked ears and head on one side he was fol lowing gravely the toad's frightened hops. Then Derek said “When 1 went away from here the | last time I told myself I should never come near vou again. 1 didn't care | to go through another such evening | or hear things said to me that you said then. I've spent a solid vear trying to forget them and to forget you. Then, today, when I found a iegitimate excuse to bring me back, I came to you as fast as I could. I'm afraid I am a rather poor apology for a grown man.’ “T am afrald that is the kindest thing you can say of yourselt," returned, adding: “And now, will 3 please go?” N refused Derek, “‘not quite vet, if you don't mind. I have been doing a good deal of wondering this past year—especially at night. Then, yes terday, in my woods I found a spar- row that had got caught by one wing in a mesh of vine tendrils. He was | half dead with pain and fright. 1 set him loose. But as soon as I touched him he pecked furiously at my hand. I understood why. He was so terri- fiad and harrowed that he thought the whole universe was his enemy. He—" “I am not interested in ornithol- ogy,” she intervened, “or in poetic speculations as to the heart throbs of sparrows. Will you please ——" “That made me wonder if I hadn't found the key to something else,” pur- sued Royee. ‘1 remembered how bit- ter you were when a crowd of worth less parasites dropped you after your —your misfortune—and how you got to looking morbidly for slights, even | you still angrier. | and hinted that perhaps I might care | to drop awa | derstood what it | Then I got to wondering how I had 1926—-PART 5. when there were no slights to find You were sick with grief over your father's death, and you were incredu lously angry over the way some few toadies had treated and you got to thinking the whole universe’ ‘was ltke those toadies i ? “May I ask you once more to— “No, not yet. 1 called here when things were at their worst and when you were most on the lookout for siights. You blazed out about some mighty good friends of mine who weren't in that category at all. .I de fended them, I remember. It made You turned on me , too, since I could stand | up so_eagerly .for other people who did. That started our silly, red-hot quarrel. T suppose I said a lot of rotten things; and I know you said things that made me vow I'd never see you again. The sparrow pecked at my hand when I was saving it from that vine tendril. I wasn't angry at the sparrow, because I un- must be suffering. been such a fool as not to understand why you—-" W FROM the gateway was Issuing a most prodigious racket. March had toad across the grass to the gate, where the toad ended the chase by slipping into a hole under a post. Vanden, from the tonneau, had viewed | the slow approach of the collie. Into the stout man's braln seeped a really brilliant idea. How simple to end the whole dispute by lifting the collie into the tonneau and bidding the chauffeur drive off! Royce could get a taxi from the village station to take him home. On his arrival he would find his dog in his kennels. Posses- slon was nine points of the law. While March was engrossed with his toad-trailing Vanden got to the ground, collar and leash in hand With great swiftness he swooped down on March from behind, selzing him with one hand by the nape of you afterward, | | potent | gazing down at the dizzy Vanden and followed the hopping | . h the neck and lifting him bodily over the fence. Skillful was his grip; and {t render- ed the growling dog impotent to bite or to escape. It was this growling that attracted the notice of Royce and Nesta. By common consent they started for the gate at a run. Vanden heaved the dog aloft to thrust him into the tonneau. The man's toe stubbed against the corner of the gate post, throwing him off balance. He thrust out both arms 1{ nctively to right himself. The collie tore free from the loosening ‘fingers. * ok * % CARCE had March touched ground when he was at the man who haa sought to kidnap him. himself roaringly at Vanden. latter, his balance still The roadside ditch. Like a furry avalanche, March was after him. Half stunned by the im- pact of his head against a stone, Van- den lay helpless, his throat exposed to the ravening jaws. Then, almost in midair, the dog checked his charge. His foe was down and no longer could defend him. self. March ceased his attack on an enemy who had been rendered im- and prostrate. He stood making no move to reriew the charge. ““Good sportsman, Squire!” applaud- ed Royce, vaulting the fence. “Good, clean sportsman! You're too clean to punish him when he's down and out. Get up,” he went on, far less ap- provingly, to his cousin. “Get up and climb back into the car. Why on earth did you do such an abomin able thing? “And now,” said Nesta, trying to speak calmly, “will you please let go of my dog and go aw —* “Her dog?” snorted Vanden, scram- bling back into the safety of the car.” “Her dog? We can get a hun dred reliable witnesses to prove— “Shut up!” ordered -Royce. can’t do anything of the kind. your description 1 thought maybe this dog might be Squire—my Cham. He hurlea ! uncertain, | slipped and fell with a crash in the | “THE ROTTING ICE CRACKLED AND HEAVED: BUT, THANKS TO THE DISTRIBUTION OF LEVERAGE, IT HELD.” plon Harrowgate Peerless. That's why I came here. Well, I came on a wild goose chase. 1 didn't get—I didn’t get anything I came for. The dog looks a bit like Squire. But it isn't Squire. I never saw this dog before. So—" “You're crazy!” shouted his cousin, aghast. “Why, I saw Squire time and again! I can swear to him.” “He was my own dog, and I saw him much oftener than you did,” de- clared Roy “And I can testity this isn't the dog. We've made fools of ourselves by coming here after him. I never saw this dog before, I tell you. Miss Breen, will you try to forgive my intrusion if I promise never to repeat it? I congratulate you on owning such a fine colife. Good-bye.” He got into the car, forbearing to meet Nesta's wide-staring eyes. As the chauffeur made ready to start. Derek heard a stifled little voice beg- ging tremulously: “Will—will you please come back here—just a minute?" Unbelievingly, Derek stared down at her. Then he was on the ground and following her into the garden. As soon as they- wers out of earshot from the car, Nesta turned to face the eager man. “Take him,” she sald, her eyes on March, who was standing protectively beside her. ‘“He's your dog. You lied. But it—it was a beautiful lie. 1 lied, too, when 1 said he was.mine. And it was a disgusting lie. You— you and March—I mean Squire—you two aren't going to be the only clean sportsmen in the world. I've—I've been learning something—from both of you.” “He belongs to you!" cried Royce, his face alight with a wondering hope. “I won't take him—without you. I—I—" “Derek Royce!” sobbed the girl, her hands tight in his, but her tear-misted | eve focusing on the fat figure in the car, “Derek Royce, did any one ever tell you—you have the most atrocious | taste in cousins- | (Copsright. 1926.) Government Finds Tougher Material For Use in Producing Its Paper Money BY C. MORAN. APER money that will wear longer, to offset the strain of rapld circulation and careless handling, has been put into circulation here recently by the United States Treasury. The life of a $1 bill formerly was around 20 months. Now it is 6 months, not because of inferior stock but because of greater use, due mainly to the smaller quantity of things it will buy. The use of paper currency has increased three-fold in the past 156 vears. More than a billion new bills a year are required to replace worn-out currency, at a cost of around $4,000,000, Treasury Department 'officials be- eame concerned over the huge annual outlay involving costly additions to its paper-currency printing plant They engaged the services of Govern- ment sclentists in several Federal di partments to inyestigate the situa- tion and to develop stouter bills to meet the demands of modern use. The scientists now have developed cur- rency paper that it is believed will reduce materially Uncle Sam’'s costs of manufacturing money. The Bureau of Standards found that the relative weakness of the bills in use was, due in part to the all-linen fiber composition of the paper. An admixture of 25 per cent of cotton fiber was recommended, as it was thought the softer fiber would give greater folding endurance. The change was of{P(‘(zd with satisfactory results, as demohstrated on testing machines at the bureau’s Washing- ton laboratory. ‘The machines subject the bills to strenuous treatment, simulating its wear in actual use. One device folds the money repeatedly until the creases break. Other machines grip the bills at both ends and pull them apart, strength need to do so being record- ed automatically. Another machine, called a ‘“bursting’” machine, blows holes in_the center of the bills; still another measures the force required to tear the money lengthwise and across. . The tests indicated that extensive technologi research should be made on both theé paper manufactur- ing and printing processes. Modifica- tion of the nature-of the beating treat- ment was found to have a marked in- fluence on the strength of the paper. By brushing out the fibers well and leaving them long, paper of satisfac- tory printing quality and having at least double the strength of the paper in use was produced with no increase in manufacturing cost. Trial printings were made experiment lot of paper. It was found that surface sizing of the printed bills adds to their life, as it protects the currency from surface abrasion, glves it better water resistance and makes the printing more permanent. Formerly animal glue alone was used a8 dzing, but it was demonstrated increased resistance to wear could be obtained by hardening the glue sizing with formaldehyde. Other substances such as nitrocellulose, al bumen and varnish have been experi. mented with, but, although they are satisfactory in respect to surface pro- tection, they make the bills brittle and add an undesirable glos Service records of the paper cur- f each rency composed of 75 per cent linen and is per cent cotton show that the average life of the bills has been in- creased to 10 months, an improvement 8 TESTING PAPER MADE FROM A NEW CHEMICAL PROCESS IN THE FOREST PRODUCTS LABORATORY OF THE DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE. of more than 50 per cent. The in- creased life is attributed mainly to re- sumption of glue surface sizing by the Bureau of Engraving and Print- ing and the fiber modification men- tioned. It is expected that the 100 perF cent increase in strength of the new type of paper now in use, to- gether with the improved surface siz- ing, should result in further material increase in the life of the bills. The Forest Products Service of the Department of Agriculture has been experimenting a number of years with the problem ‘of using wood sub- stitutes in manufacturing paper for all purposes. It is estimated that 90 per cent of the paper in use is manu- soda used in the process. New meth- ods have been devised for producing ground wood pulp, with a reduction of 15 per cent in the manufacturing waste. In the wrapping-paper fleld meth- ods for utilizing the Southern yellow pines, hitherto regarded as unsuitable for the commercial production of paper pulp, has been developed. What this means in the way of increased production i indicated by the fact that one of the largest lumber com- panies in the South has turned its woods and mill waste into paper pulp at the rate of some 60 tons a day. Progres has been made also in work- factured from woed, the supply of {ng out methods of using Southern wl’é:h is steadily decreasing. The paper industry employs 110,000 per- sons, has ‘an annual output valued at $850,000,000, and consumes each year some 6,000,000 cords of wood. ‘Tests on the suitabllity of some 50 species of American woods for the production -of chemical pulp, and of some 25 species for mechanical pulp have shown to what other woods we can turn as the supply of those now in use gradually become exhausted. In fact, the practicability of substitu- tion has already been demonstrated {by actually printing newspapers on stock made of some of the more prom- ising speci Improved methods for cooking chemical pulp have been vised, resulting in & reduction of 30 per cent in the steam used in cooking, and making 1: easler to recover the pines, such as shortleaf, in ‘mixture with hardwoods, sudh as red gum, for the production of hook paper. All of this work, say Forest Service officials, has tended in the direction of forest conservation by opening up new sources of supply, introducing more efficlent methods of manufac- ture, and developing a market for material previously wasted. Studies have heen made looking toward a further saving of material, with an estimated value of $16,000,000, lost through the decay of pulp wood and wood pulp while in storage. ° Another means of decreasing the drain upon the forests for wood ]Lulp is said to be the utilization of hull fiber and second-cut cotton linters for paper pulp. It has been demonstrated that these productions, which were now | previously of little value and of which some 200,000 tons a year are available, ocan be made into high-grade paper. Several large plants for the utilization of this material have been established, with a potential dailly production of 300 tons, having a sale vaiue of $15,- 000,000. ‘There is a word of cheer for motor- ists also in the Forest Service chemi- cal experiments. It Is the utilization of wood waste for motor fuels by converting sawdust and other forms of mill waste into ethyl, or “grain, alcohol. From 20 to 25 gallons of 95 per cent alcohol can be obtained from a ton of dry coniferous wood, such as Douglas fir or Southern yellow pine. This is more than can be ob- tained from & ton of sugar-cane con- taining 75 per cent juice, of which 14 per cent is fermentable. No great stretch of the imagination is, required, say Forest Service offi- clals, to look forward to the day when ethyl aleohol derived from wood will | be one of our impertant motor fuels. | Already, as the supply of gasoline is becoming more restricted, alcohol, which is a more efficient fuel, is be- ginning to be used in snmll propor- | tions as a substitute. Present sources of supply, of which cane and beet molasses are the most important, are. utterly inadequate to meet th enormous prospective demand without) turning .to s, potatoes, or other starch-containing materiais commonly used as food.