Evening Star Newspaper, September 12, 1926, Page 86

6 Debut of Battling Billson T BECOMES difficult, I have found, as time goes by, to recall the circumstances in which one became acquainted with this man or that; for I lay no claim to the sion of one of those hair-trigger And yet I can state that ihe individual afterward known as Battling Billson entered my life at ui-past four on the afternoon of -uday, September the tenth, two iys arter my twenty-seventh birth- day. For there was that about my tirst sight of him which has caused he event to remain photographically ned on the tablets of my mind. Not only was our meeting dramatic, but it had in it something of the quality of the last straw, the final sling or arrow of outrageous Fortune. It ~eemed to put the lid on the sadness of life I had been paying a duty visit to uncongenial relatives in the country, snd when finally T let myself into my lodgings in Ebury street and sought 1y sitting- room, the first thing I saw on opening the door was this enor- nous red-headed man lying on the sofa. Ile made no move as I came in, for | = was asleep; and I can best convey ihe Instantaneous impression I got of iis formidable physique by saving 1hat T had no desire to wake him. The ~ofa was a small one, and he over- flowed it in every direction. He had broken nose, and his jaw was the of a Wild West motion-picture One Jaw ar registering Determination. :nd was under his head; the other. | 1.anging down to the floor, looked like | strayed ham congealed into stone. e was something about him that emed to suggest that he might be | rather | of those men who are oss when they first wake up. crept out and stole softly dow: to make inquiries of Bowles, my land- lord “There’s some one in my room,” I © hispered. Mr. Ukridge's friend, sir. He sined Mr. Ukridge here vesterday.” ‘How do you mean, joined Mr. Ul ize here vesterday Mr. Ukridge came to occupy Jooms in your absence, imed that he had your approval vould there be anything further, “No,” I said. “Er—no. When do rou expect Mr. Ukridge back?” Mr. Ukridge informed me that he ould return for dinner, sir. He is ow at the Gaiety Theater. The audience w ive when I reached the Gaiety. I aited and presently was rewarded by the intosh “Hallo, 1-catherstonehaugh Ukr “When did you get bac of a time have you hac 3 “Never mind what sort of a time I've had. Who's the fellow you'v Aumped down in my rooms Red-haired man?’ ‘Good Heavens! Surely even you wouldn't inflict more than one on . _geniall What so Ukridge looked at me little ained a he sud. the steps of the Upon my Sam, youi me, old horse. you would object laying his head Tike down this ton Hole wounds thought t wur best frie vour pillow.” i don’t mind your head. At least I do, but T suppose I've got to put up with it. But when it comes to your taking in lodgers “Order two tawny laddie in all Ukridge, “and that. 1 had 1l along vou would want to know. It's 1 he ceded, when the arrived. “That to make my everlasting 1t ports, 'l exp i iden aii bout that k 1. can't he do it somewhere sxcept in my sitting room? You know me, old horse,” sai e, sipping luxurious] t. farsighted. The other d < in a pub down ‘Chelsea way and tellow came in smothered with enquirfes and found Tod Bingham's manager.” Who's Tod Bingham?" My dear old son, you must have eard of Tod Bingham. The new | iiddleweight champlon. And_ this hloke, as opulent-looking a bloke as ever T saw, was his manager. I sup- pose he gets about 50 per cent of everything Tod makes, and you know > sort of purses they give for big hts nowadays. And then there's “ichall tours and the movies and that. Well, I see no reason why, the thing at the lowest flg- 1 shouldn't scoop in thousand; =ot the idea two seconds after they “ld me who this fellow was. And it made the thing seem almost as t was meant to be was the coin- (ence that 1 should have heard only morning that the Hyacinth was don’'t know what you're talking " 1 said. “What's the Hyacinth? Pull vourself together, old horse,” said Ukridge. “You remember the Tvacinth, the tramp steamer I took ip a couple of years ago. cked in the Port of London the before I met this opulent bloke, had been meaning to go down wxt day and have a chat with the ads. The fellow you found in your woms is one of the trimmers. ~Not much conversation, but a heart of 1d. And it came across me like a thunderbolt the moment they told me ho the jeweled cove was that, if T could only induce this man Billson to take up scrapping seriously, with me as his manager, my fortune was made. Billson i, the man who in- vented fighting." “He looks it.” seen that man bar at M she d md 1 clean out a r 2 eille in a way that fas- cinated me-—a bar filled to overflow. ing with A.B’s and firemen, and all capable of felling oxen with a blow. Six of them there were, and they kept swatting Billson, but he just let them hounce off. and went on with the b ness+in hand. The man's & champlon, laddie, nothing less. And the amaz 1 bit of luck is that he was looking ior a fob ashore. It appears he's fa'len in love with one of the bar salds at the Crown in Kennington Not,” said Ukridge, so that all mis apprehension should be avoided, “the one with the squint. The other one. Flossie. The girl with yellow hair.” ‘I don't know the barmalds at the Crown in Kennington,” I said. “Nice girls, id Ukridge paternal- Iy. "'So it was all right, you see. Good old Billson fsn’t what you'd call a very intelligent chap, but I managed to 1ake him understand after an hour or so, and we drew up the contract. 1'm to get 50 per cent of evervthing in consideration of managing him. “We move to the White Hart, at Barnes, tomorrow, to start tralning. got Blllson in one of the prelim- down at Wonderland two weeks from tonight.” No: really?” I said. manage it?"” “How did you “I just took him along and showed him to the management. You see, the old boy's appearance rather speaks for itself. happened just when I had a few quid | tucked away. By the greatest good luck I ran into George Tuppe: very moment when he that they were going to muke him an indersecretary or something—I can't remember the details, but it's some- stairs | st beginning to | Thank goodness, all this | at the | ad word | THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON. D. C, SEPTEMBER 12, BY P. G. WODEHOUSE Ukridge Rechristens Wilberforce and Chaperons Him to the Prize Ring. thing they give these foreign office blokes when they show a bit of class —and Tuppy parted with a tenner without a murmur. Seemed sort of dazed. I believe now I could have had twenty if I'd4 had the presence of mind to ask for it. Still” said Ukridge, with resignation, “it can’t be helped now, and ten will see me through. The only thing that’s worry- ing me at the moment is what to call Billson.” Vhy not his own name: “His parents, confound them,” said Ukridge, “christened him Wilberforce. I ask you, can you see the crowd at Wonderland having Wilberforce Bill- son_introduced to them?” “Willie Billson,” I “Rather snappy.” Ukridge considered the proposal seriously, with knit brows, as becomes a manager. “How about Battling Billson?” “Go no farther,” I sald “The thing is settled. Battiing Billson is the name.” suggested. * ¥ X X | { JKRIDGE and his protege left next i morning for Barnes, and I saw no more of the Battler until the fate- | ful night at Wonderland. I had not supposed that it was pos- sible for a man to be larger than was Mr. Billson when arrayed for the street, but in trunks and boxing shoes | he looked like his big brother. Muscle: resembling the hawsers of an Atlan- tic liner coiled down his arms and | rippled along his massive shoulders. | He seemed to dwarf altogether the | by no means flinsy athlete who | passed out of the room as we came in. | “That's the bloke,” announced Mr. Billson. i | We understood him to imply that | the other was his opponent, and the | spirit of confidence which had ani- mated us waxed considerably. Where | six of the pick of the merchant ma- ! rine had failed, this stripling could carcely hope to succeed. “f been talkin' to 'im.” said Bat-| | tiing Billson. | I took this unwonted garrulity to' | be due to nervousness natural at such lan ey of that | bloke, tler. The obvious reply was that he was now going to have u lot _more, but be- fore either of us could make it a hoarse voice announced that the stage waited for our nominee. We hurried [to our seats. The audience seemed in excellent humor. All those who were not too busy eating jellled eels were babbling happily or whistling be- ween their fingers to friends in dis- tant parts of the hall. As Mr. Billson climbed into the ring in all the glory of his red hair and jumping muscles the babble rose to roar. It was| plain that Wonderland had stamped our Battler with its approval on sight. The andiences which support Won- derland are not disdainful of science. Neat footwork wins their commenda- tion, and u skilful ducking of the head is greeted with knowing ap- nlnse. But what they esteen most is the punch. And one sight Battling Billson seemed to tell them that here was’ the punch per- sonified. They sent the fighters off to a howl of ecstasy, and settled back in their seats to enjoy the pure pleasure of seeing two of their fellow men hit- | ting each other very hard and often. * ok ;Tnl»; howl died I looked at Ukridge with con- Was this the hero of Marseille, who cleaned out barrooms {and on whom undertakers fawned. | Diffident was the only word to de- | seribe our Battler's behavior in that | opening round. He pawed lightly at his antagonist. He embraced him like a brother. He shuffled about the ring, innocuous. The referee was speaking to him like a disappointed father. In the cheaper and baser parts of the house enraged citizens were whistling “Comrades.” Evervwhere a chill had fallen on the house. | With the opening or the second round considerably more spirit was in troduced into the affair. The same strange torpidity stil held our Battler in its grip, but his opponent was an- other man. During round one he had seemed a little nervous and apprehen- sive. He had behaved as if he con- sidered it prudent not to stir Mr. Bill- son. But now this distaste for direct action had left him. There was jaun- tiness i his demeanor as he moved to the center of the ring: and, having reached it, he uncofled a long left and smote Mr. Billson forcefully on the | nose. Twice he smote him, and twice Mr. Billson blinked like one who had had bad news from home. The man | who had had a lot of troubls learied sldeways and brought his right fist squarely against the Battler's ear. All was forgotten and forgiven. A moment before the audience had been solidly anti-Billson. Now they were as unanimously pro. For these blows, while they appeared to have affected him not at all physically, seemed to have awakened Mr. Billson's better feelings, as if somevody had turned on a tap. For an instant after the re. ceipt of that buffet on the ear the Bat- tler stood motionless, apparently in deep thought. Then, with the air of one who has suddenly remembered an important appointment, he plunged forward. Like an animated windmill, he cast himself upon the bloke of troubles. He knocked him here, he bounced | him there. He committed mayhem upon his person. He did everything to him that a man can do who is | hampered with boxing gloves, until | presently the troubled one was lean- ing heavily against the ropes, his lhead hanging dazedly, his whole atti- tude that of a man who would just as soon let the matter drop. It only |remained for the Battler to drive home the final punch, and a hundred en | thusiasts were pointing out to him desirable locations for it. | But once more that strange diffi dence had descended upon our rep- | resentative. He looked uncertainly | at his opponent and inquiringly at | the referee. | | "The referee, obviously a man of |blunted sensibilities, wanted his pa- | |trons to get good value for their! | money. He was urging Mr. Billson | to make -a thorough job of it. And finally Qfr. Billson approached his {man ‘and drew back his right arm. |Having done this, he looked over his | shoulder once more at the referee. It was a fatal blunder. The man | | who had hada lot of trouble may have |been in poor shape, but. like most |of his profession, he retained, despite | |his recent misadventures, a reserve store of energy. Even as Mr. Billson | turned his head. he reached down to | the floor with his gloved right hand, then, with a final effort, brought it | [up in a majestic sweep againat the | the angle of the other's jaw. And| | then, as the fickle audience, With | |swift change of sympathy. cheered | |him on, he buried his left in Mr. | | Billson’s stomach. | | Battling Billson dropped like a | !stricken flower, setiled slowly down |and spread himself out. He la peacefully on his back with out stretched arn fke u man in smooth water. a: waus done. A wailing cry of excited patrons of sp ing to explain to their neighbors a lot trouble, cern. | the man His rose above the din endeavor Q it had all happened. It was the voice of Ukridge mourning over his dead. At half-past 11 last night, as I was preparing for bed, a drooping figure entered my room. “How Is the poor fellow?” T asked. “He's all right,” said Ukridge, lis lessly. “I left him eating fish and chips at a ceffee stall.” ‘Bad luck his getting pipped the post like that.” “Bad luck!” boomed Ukridge. “It was just boneheadedness. Upon my Sam, it's a little hard. I invest vast sums in this man. I support him in luxury for two weeks, asking noth- ing of him in return, except to sail in and knock somebody’s head off, which he could have done in two minutes if he had liked, and he lets me down purely and simply because the other fellow told him that he had been up all night looking after his wife, who had burned her hand at the jam factory. Infernal senti- mentalism!” “What are you going to do about his future? Have you any plans?” “Nothing definite.” I did not see Ukridge for the next few days, but I had news of him from our friend, George Tupper, whom I met down Whitehall. “I say,” said George Tupper with- out preamble, and with a sort of dazed fervor, “they’'ve given me an under ecretaryship. 1 pressed hi tions,” I sa this from T on hand. ‘‘Congratula “I heard rumors of dge."" “I want you and Ukridge to come and have a bit of dinner with me to celebrate. How would Wednesday suit y at the Regent Grill then. Will you tell Ukridge?” | “I don’t know where he's got to. 1| haven’t seen him for nearly a week. Did he tell you where he was?" “Out at some place at Barnes. What was the name of it? “The \White Hart? “That's it.” ““Tell me Cheerful? “Very. Why?" “The last time I saw him he was thinking of giving up the struggle. He | had had reverses.” B PROCEEDED to the White Hart. The fact that Ukridge had regained his usual sunny outlook on life seemed to point to the fact that the clouds en- veloping the future of Mr. Billson had cleared away, and that the latter’s hat was still in the ring. That this was |80 was made clear to me directly I ar- rived. Inquiring for my old friend, T was directed to an upper room, from which there came a peculiar thudding noise. It was caused, as I perceived | on opening the door, by Mr. Billson. Clad in flannel trousers and a sweater, he was earnestly pounding a large leather object suspended from a wooden platform. His manager re- garded him the while with affection I said, “how did he seem? ate proprietorship. “‘Hallo, old horse!” said Ukridge, as T entered. “Glad to see you. The din of Mr. Billson’s bag-punch. ing was such as to render conversa tion difficult. We moved to the quieter retreat of the bar downstairs, where I informed Ukridge of the undersecre- | tary’'s invitation. I'll be there,” sald Ukridge. “There’s one thing about good old Billson, you can trust him not to break training if you take your eye toff him. And, of course, he realizes that this is a big thing. It'll be the making of him. We're on to a big thing raw, laddie, the dickens of a big thing.” “I hope you've made sure the other man’s a_bachelor. Who is he?” ““Tod Bingham.” “Tod Bingham?’ I groped in my memory. “You don't mean the mid- dle-weight champion ¢ “That’s the fellow.” “You don’t expect me to believe that you've got a match on with a cham- plon already?” “It fsn't exactly a match. It's like this. Tod Bingham is going round the East End halls offering 200 quid to any one who'll stay four rounds with him. Advertisement stuff. Good old Billson is going to unleash himself at the Shoreditch Empire next Satur- da Do you think he'll be able to stay four rounds?"” “Stay four rounds!” cried Ukridge. “Why, he could stay four rounds with a fellow armed with a gatling gun and a couple of pickaxes. That it DESIRE TO WAKE HIM. —— HE MADE NO MOVE AS I CAME IN, FOR HE WAS ASLEEP: AND I STANTANEOUS IMPRESSION I GOT OF HIS FORMIDABLE PH SIQU = i CAN BEST CONVEY THE IN- E BY SAYING THAT I HAD NO money’s as good as in our pockets, laddie. I don’t mind telling you in confidence, old horse, that in a year from now I expect to be pulling in hundreds .a week. Clean up a bit here first, you know, and then pop CHILDREN’S ROOM OF THE MOUNT PLEASANT BRANCH OF WASHINGTON'S PUBLIC LIBRARY. BY GERTRUDE RICHARDSON BRIGHAM, PH. D. HEN the City Public Li- brary, at Ninth street and New York avenue, this week reopens its young people’s room on the sec- ond floor, visitors will find a novel exhibition on_view there. It is the model of an Indian temple, designed by Charles Mason Remey after the world-famous Taj Mahal, and com- plete in every detail of the exterior and surrounding gardens, besides a section of the interior, with mosaic decorations in color. This Oriental novelty measures 16 feet at base and is of proportionate height, as shown at the top of the stairway in the lobby entrance to the room devoted to the younger patrons Before pausing to study in detail Mr. Remey’s beautiful original archi- tectural composition, let us make a short tour of the library, beginning with the juniors’ room, lately reno- vated. When this division was closed, about July 1, the librarian permitted the young people to withdraw 10 books each for vacation use. Over 17,000 books were taken out, the at- tendant says, and it was really sur- prising how many of them were non- fletion. Dr. George F. Bowerman, the libra- rian, pays great attention to the needs of all classes of reade: The public is perhaps unaware of the efforts made and the opportunities now of- fered by the library to reach the spe- clal needs of a wide variety of read: | ers. The entire force is keenly awake to the interesting problem of extend- ing popular education in an agreeable way to every one desiring it. Parents who feel that their own early education is inadequate to meet the questions and discussions of. theiy active-minded high school and college sons and daughters often confide al- most heartbreaking tales to the sym pathetic librarian, with a result that a special Service is maintained give them the guidance they desire in “keeping ahead” of George and Mary in their studies. Teachers, too, are ever seeking fresh information for their specialty, and it is an important branch of the library work to aid the professional mind in being abreast of the times. The general fiction reader, who rep resents another large class, is known as an inveterats devotee of the lighter reading—detective, love and adventure stories—but today an attempt is made to lead toward a more stable taste in literature by gently introducing him or her, to blography, the entertainin life stories of the great, or to history with its never-ending pageant—truth | stranger than fiction. ¥ EEEE 'HROUGH the information desk, where Miss Cecilla Franzoni and Miss Jean Macdonald assist in taking charge, a new aim has been inaugu- rated—to work with individuals, find- ing out the inquirer’s interest, making for him a short resume and advising as to courses of reading. The name and add are recorded, with a re- quest to report whether the books have proved beneficial or not. If no word is received within a cer- tain time, the advisor follows up the matter by a personal note. In this way many adults are continuing their schoo! or college studies, or special- ng in some hob dustrial or ar- | tistic. Of how these fields have developed, and of their far inz results, the ter learned in r 1 t < an en- tertaining chat - to | with Dr. Bowerman trade periodical how 'and his able assistant, Miss Gracg.Jekgant, . The 8%Kyice rendersd is patrone | next issus. Finney, and other members of the staff. The library exhibit for the Sesquicentennial at hiladelphia had been sent off, and a few of the spe- cial phetographs became available for this story Library work is no longer the old dull trade it used to be thought Nowadays it is a thorough profession | for all who undertake it, and each | employe must be well fitted for the | position occupled. Miss Clara W. Her- | bert, assistant librarian, holds each Winter a class for staff members, meeting every two weeks and reading between times. The subject this sea- son will be Greece, 'which will include the biographies of Greek heroes and every phase of history, literature and art relating to the Golden Age. Last year it was Egypt, and another time | the theme may be Italy, Spain, France and Great Britain, Germany and Austria. The Summer tripper through Eu- rope or the armchair traveler at home alike demand advice in their choice of reading, and the library is thor- oughly prepared to offer it. Ma tourists bring their travel itineraries to the librarians for expert advice a: to books. Resides the benefit ren- dered tp the reader, the advantage conferred on the youthful assistants is great, for each in time becomes a spe- cialist in the reading he or she en- joys most, and gradually develops as an authority in his chosen line. Thus library work loses its former drudgery and gains instead a new and absorbing pleasure. * % K ok ISS LOUISE P. LATIMER, in charge of the young people's department, is herself the author of | a_ book, “Your Washington and Mine,” which has made for itself a place in the schools, because it is so | attractively written and iliustrated, | and was prepared in order to answer | the many questions about the Na- | tional Capital continually being asked at the library. “We no longer say ‘the children's’ department,” explains Miss Latimer, | because we find ‘voung people’s’ di- vision a_more satisfactory name, Nor | do we try to limit the third-grade pupil to third-grade hooks. If a boy is keen for science, we try to give him everything on his particular field.” Teachers bring their classes to the ' library for talks about reading, en | tertaining and carefully prepared re- | views which awaken interest in the | rewer juvenile books as well as the old favorites, like Conan Doyle's “The | White Compa and Stevenson's Treasure Island.” These still remain near the head of the list, but no- body nowadays ever hears of the | Rollo books any more. 5 A small gift of money was made recently to_the young people's de- | partment by the Parent-Teacher Association. It was but $25, yet that | was enapgh to provide for a special | feature much desired—the printing of attractive lists which are offered to the visiting pupils to aid them in| the selection of books. Such a do- | nation was very welcome. A parent and teacher's room s/ maintained In conjunction with the juvenile department, and here may be found the handicraft books, play and song books: Often people come | in for advice in this room as to suit- | able gift books. | The industrial division, downstairs, | is another highly practical and useful feature, known as the technology de- partment of businesses and sciences. | About 20,000 books relating to theee | uk are cked F with 250 . including house or. | addresses, Exhibition of Indian Temple Model To Open at the Local Public Library | i | | | | | | 1 ized largely by specialists in different lines. The trade unions now require their members to study professionally and report back en the work. Mem- bers of the carpenters’ union have been patrons. Government depart- ment clerks and chiefs come here for advice. and often the librarian has saved these readers a considerable ex- pense. The officer in charge is Miss Ruth Todd. Lately, at an industrial exhibit, a real estate firm was discussing the purchase of a set of books costing about $150, when the librarfan, ,with an exhibit' next to theirs, ovefhead them and was able to supply them from the library. Readers are often so grateful for the help cheerfully given here that they return to thank the librarian, adding that money really could not pay for it. In the periodical room, on the first floor, Miss Emma Hance is in charge A great variety of indices are main- tained here, to give full information as to current literature, especially maga The drama catalogue is particularly valuable. Adjoining this room is the office of Miss Katharine Patten, who handles the she has collected every printed s of information about rveading The Star and rap Washingto other new: | papers daily for such articles, which | have been clipped and bound in vol- umes, yearly becoming more useful and entertaining to those who seek such material for historical writing « The story of the Washing. ton Monument, the women of the White House, the Rambler letters and many others fill large, carefully in- dexed books of clippings. # A bindery department is also in the Library for the rebuilding and renovation of books. This is in the main building, already overflowing with crowded rows of stacks beyond the reading rooms, ke RANCH different parts Mount Pleasant, Takoma Parl in the Southeast and elsewhere. They are all well patronized, as shown by photographs of the children’s rooms. Miss Marjorie Quigley, head of the Mount Pleasant Branch Library, is the author of a new hook. - Junior,” offering practic tion on manners and soci to_high school boys and girls. The art department of the Publ Li ry is under the direction of M Dorothy Stoke The collection i *lud more tha 61,000 attractively mounted pictures and an even larger number of unmounted ones. These have been derived largely from fllus- libraries are located of the city in at customs {trated magazines and books discarded by the library, but*a few sets have been bought.” No spectal appropria tion has -been made for this work although it would .seem quite worthy of a fund.. The pictures are care- tully arranged in filing cabinets, ac- cording to subject or artist, and may be borrowed by schools or individuals The circulation was more than 112.000 last year. 2 Sunday school teachers often cajl for the Biblical material, which adds much to the lessons, whether from the Old or the New Testament. Eng- lish and American literature are well illustrated in this department, as are geography and history, filling the two largest files. Commercial artists or advertisers frequently come for pictures, as do the newspapers. Sometimes these are hurry call's over the telephone, fol lowed shortly by a panting me r, in_haste *¢ zot the pleture b to his paper for reproduction in the ne articles o timely subjects. | Requests from Chicago, New York and Philadelphia have been filled by the picture department of our Wash- ington City Library. Two visiting con- ractors from Chicago borrowed every ailable picture of all types of houses from earliest times to 1900. Films were made from these to de- pict the evolution of the home, as an advertisement for the firm. In Win- chester, Va., one may see the Library's picture of Georze Washing- ton’s coat-of-arms as a crest over the doorway and on all the furniture—an !idea conceived by the architect. The | proprietor even wrote our Library for the history and significance of the coat-of-arms, from which he posted a short description throughout the hotel. | Willlam and Mary the fr ahout the the story of Capt | taken from our Library pictures. The | Silhouette tea room in Philadelphi i trade mark and decorated interior from the Library’s silhou- | ette pictures. In Virginia an artistic | windmill tea house wis developed by | an architect from windmill prints of | the Library. | A Washington advertiser _states | that he was saved a trip to Norfolk by obtaining a print of Hampton Roads from the Library. Pictures of steel and iron helped out two other | men, so that they were not obliged to | visit' the steel works at Pittsburgh. | A lawyer came to the Library for a pictuze of a dress with cording on it | aboul the date of 1879. His case in volv/d a suit between two men, both | claiing to have invented a cording machine. The picture was obtained and a dress was copied from it to ex- hibit in court. The lawyer later re- turned to-tell the librarian that he had won the case for his client. Laundries believe in advertising, and they often aim high in choice of subject. In their portraits famous men are pictured as wearing starched collars. Pictures of roosters, hens and ducks are sought by the men and women contemplating going into the business of raising chickens and ducks. A ¥ [¥ a tour of Washington, shops could be pointed out in nearl every business street whos s | have patronized the library for s ance. A jewelry store borrowed pic tures of Neptune for a naval order design. A shoe shop featured alliga- | {tors in its advertising. A candy place borrowed Dickens pictures.. The May’ flower Hotel on its magazine bears & design from “Mayflower” ship illustra- tions. Theaters and producers co-operate | . with the library, often borrowing ple- | tures, and in turn presenting sets of syphotographs or advance publicity to authors and actors. Margaret | Anglin in “Bleak House,” Julia Arthur | in “‘Saint Joan,” Sothern and Marlowe in Shakespearean repertoire, the mov- ing pictures of “The Ten Command- ments’—these were some of the suc- cessfully illustrated plays. One might go on detailing the calls for pictures, as recorded by Miss | Finney, who has tmade a careful study | of the scope and aims of this division. | The sets of famous artists are in con. | stant demand by the public schools ! and university clases. A new branch | of Orierftal art is now being started. | iss Finney also furnishes much other interesting information. The average monthly circulation in the | adult department of the library is| from 32,000 to 53,000 books. For the l (Continued on Sayenth Paged College has in dining room John Smith, i {barmaid at over to America and make an enor- mous fortune. I shan’'t know how to spend the money!” “Why not buy some sock running a bit short of them." “Now, laddie, laddie,” said Ukridge. ‘need we strike a jarring note? Is this the moment to fling your beastly socks in an old friend's face? A broader-minded spirit is what 1 would like to see.” * K X K ‘WAS 10 minutes late in arriving at the Regent Grill on the Wed- nesday of George Tupper's invitation, and the spectacle of George at the Piccadilly entrance filled me with remorse, ““Oh, there you are, “I say, it's too bad— “I'm awfully sor My watch—"" “Ukridge!” cried George Tupper, and I perceived that it was not I had caused his concern. sn't he comin, I asked, amazed. The idea of Ukridge evading a free meal was one of those that seem to rl?ake the foundations of the world rock. ‘He's come. girl with him!" “A girll” “In pink, with yellow hair,” wailed George Tupper. ““What am I to do?" “It's a weird thing for even Ukridge to have done,” I said, “but I suppose you'll have to give her dinner.” “But the place is full of people I know, and this girl's so—so spectacu- lar.” I felt for him deeply, but I could see no way out of it. Tupper sighed. He drew himself up as if bracing himself for a dreadful ordeal “Oh, well, T suppose there's nothing to do,” he said. ‘“‘Come along. I left them drinking cocktails in the lounge."” George had not erred in desc Ukridge's addition to the fe as spectacular. Flamboyant have been a suitable word. As she preceded us down the long dining room, her arm linked in George Tup- per's—she seemea to have taken a liking to George—T had tunity for studying her, from her pat- ent-leather shoes to the mass of golden hair beneath her picture-hat. Ukridge seemed to slight twinge of conscie “I have an idea, lidd'e, pered, “that old Tupp peeved at my bringin: e along If you get a chance vou might ju murmur to him that it wi mi tary necessity. “Who is she?” I asked. “I told you about her. the Crown ton. Billson's flance.” I looked at him in amazement. “Do you mean to tell me that you" courting death by flirting with Bat- tling Billson's girl?"” “My dear old man., nothing that.,” sald Ukridge, shocked. whole thing is, I've got a p favor to ask of her—rather request—and it was no good spr: it on her in cold blood. There had to be a certain amount of champagne in advance, and my funds won't run to champagne. the Alhambra after dinner. you wup tonight and tell about {t.” We then proceeded to dine. not one of the pleasantest meal; experience. The future Mrs. Billson prattled agreeably throughout, an. Ukridge assisted her in keeping the conversation alive; but the shattered demeanor of George Tupper would have taken the sparkle out of any banquet. It was a relief when Ukridge and his companion rose to leave. “Well'l—" began George Tupper, as they moved away down the alsle. I sat back to listen. * ok ok ok UUKRIDGE arrived in my rooms at midnight. His manner was ex uberant, “It’s all right,” he said “I'm glad you think so.” “Did you explain to Tuppy?” “I didn’t get a chance. He was talking too hard “‘About me?” “Yes. He sald everything I've al- ways felt about you, only far, far bet- ter than T could ever have put it.” Ukridge's face clouded for a mo- ment, but cheerfulness returned. “Oh, well, it can't be helped. He'll simmer down in a day or two. Tt had to be done, laddie. And it's all right. Read this.” I took the letter he handed me. Tt was written in a scrawly hand. I read. “ “Wilberforce." " “Who on earth’s Wilberforce?" “I told you that was name.” ““Oh, yes." I returned to the letter. “Wilberfores “I take my pen in hand to tell you that T can never be vours. You will no doubt be surprised to hear that T love another a A better man, so that it can never be. He loves me, and he is a better man than you. “Hoping this finds vou in the pink I'm said George. And he's brought a ihing would experience a s a Floss in . the Kenning- like ticular It was of my | s it leaves me at present. “Yours faithfully “FLORENCE BUR) “I told her to keep it snapp Ukridge. “Well, she’s certainly done it,” I re. plied, handing back the letter. “I'm sorry. From the little I saw of her, said A5 I thought her a nice girl—for Billson. | Do vou happen to know man’s address? Because it would ba a kindly act to send him a post card advising him to leave England for a year or two.” “The Shoreditch Empire will find bim this week.” “What!" “The other man is Tod Bingham." “Ted Bingham! Do you mean to ®ay that Tod Bingham is in love with Battling Billson's giri?"” **Ni 'S never seen her!" the other you mean?” sald Ukridge, “T will tel] vou all. Yesterday afternoon I found 0l Billson reading a copy of the Daily Sportsman. He fsn't much of a reader as a rule, =0 I was rather interested to now what had gripped him. And do you know what it was, old horse”” “1 do not.” vities | ample oppor- | ““The | rummy | nging | I'm taking her on to I'll look | you' all | Billson's | “It was an article about Tod Bir ham, saying what a good chap he w in private life and how he always sen: a telegram to his old mother after each fight and gave her half the purse. There were tears in that chump Billson’s eyes as he showed me the article. ‘Must be a nice feller! b said. Well, T you! I mean to say it's a bit thick when the man you've been pouring out money for and watching over like a baby sister starts getting sorry for a champion threc days before he's dug to fight him. A champion, mark you! 1 saw the onl way of counteracting this pernicious stuff was to get him so mad with Tod Bingham that he would forget all about his old mother, so I suddenly thought: Why not get Flossie to pre tend that Bingham had cut him out with her? Well, it's not the sort of thing you can ask a girl to do with out preparing the ground a bit. so I brought her along to Tuppy’s dinner It was a master stroke, laddle. There's nothing softens the delicately nur tured like a good dinner, and there's no denying that old Tuppy did us well She agreed the moment I put the thing to her and sat down and wrote that letter. T think she thinks it's all a jolly practical joke. She's a light hearted girl | “Must be.” “It'll give poor oxd Billson a bit of a jar for the time being, I suppose but 'l make him spread himself on Satubday night, and jge’ll be perfectly happy on Sunday morning when she tells him she didn’t mean it and he realizes that he’s got a hundred quid of Tod Bingham's his trousers pocket.” “I thought yon said it was 200 quid that Bingham was offering.” | dred,” said i Ukridse the letter doesn't ne. How i ham Why our int gence. Billsol Z to sit | cots t etter ien and He'll ngton ke Flo | nd then s away she will zive the whoie - quic ! S | Ana t wouldn’t | man, i yo Good n “But, laddie “And bless you * t added HE Shoreditch K house, but it w doors when I reache day night. A stout man in evening ped out from the win “Ladies and gentlemen?™ A voice, “Good ole Tod! itr) firmly wire is a roomy crowded to the on the Satur dress sten (“Chee-e dies and gentlemen,” repeate the announe Deeply regret to an nounce. Tod Bingham unfortunate | unable to appear before vou tonight A howl like the howl of wolves balk- ad of their prey greet “Wot's the matter manded the galler The announcer ward the prompt entrance E 'as 'ad an ident,” he ere to this 4 ortunate run into by ruck, sustainin bruises and contusions which render ‘im unfortunately unable to appear before you tonight. Ladies and tlemen,” concluded the announcer, stepping nimbly off the stage, “I thank you one and all.” 1 withdrew, and the audience started {to do the same. Out in the street a | knot of Shoreditch’s younger were hanging on the lips of an excited orator in a battered hat and tre < which had been made for a larger Some stirring tale which he telling held them spellbouna Words came raggedly through the noise of the traffic. “—like this. Then ‘e ‘its i another like that. Then they start de of the jor—-" along, there.” interrupted an official voice. “Come on, there, pass wit 1 self into its elements ) self moving down the street in com- pany with the wearer of the battered hat. He enrolled me at once as a nucleus for a fresh audience “"E comes up, this bloke does, just as Tod is goin' in at the stage door—— “Tod?” T que “Tod Bingham. as ‘e's goin' i and ‘e sa re ‘Yus” and this hloke ‘em up!” and Tod s and this bloke sars ‘Yer hands,’ and Tod says ‘Wot, me?—sort of prised. An’ the next minute they're fightin’ all over the shop." ; “But surely Tod Bingham was run over by a truck?” The man in the b veyed me with seorn. “Truck! 'E wasn't run over by no truck. Wot ‘ud ‘e be doin’ befn’ run over by a truck? 'E 'ad it put a im_br this red eaded bloke, las I'm tellin’ yer." i A great light shone upon me. | “Red-headed?” I cried. *‘A big man?" il a. S comes up just the stage door, and Tod sa ‘e says ‘Put ‘Put wot up at ttered hat sur <anie | “And he put it across Tod | ham?” {* “Put it acroes 'im proper. ‘Ad t» {0 'ome in a keb, Tod did. Funny a | bloke. that could fight like that blok | could fight "adn't the sense to go ‘th it on the stage and get money for it. That's wot I thi Across the street an arclamp shed its cold rays. And into its glare there strode a man draped in a | mackintosh. The light glea | his pincenez and lent a gruesome pal- lor to his set face. It was Ukridgs | retreating from Moscow. “Others,” 1 sald, “are thinking the same.” And I hurried dcross the road to ad- minister what feeble cons might. There are’ moments fellow needs a friend. (Covyright. 1926.) Binz 1 soms |