Evening Star Newspaper, April 7, 1929, Page 90

. LARKIN u = T was after nightiall in that part of New York which is, to the rest of the city, the top story of the house —where the servants sleep. And now, wheh the business dis- trict of the lower town was as dark as a deserted basement, the lights were lit in all these shining windows, and behind the drawn blinds clerks and bookkeep- ers, shop girls and working women laughed and chatted in their tiny cells and cubicles, Their rooms were piled up, in laver on layer, to form contin- uous blocks of houses, and these rose from the unbroken pavements with an appearance of standing ankle deep in a. pool of frozen stone—as if an inun- dation of fluld rock had hardened even- 1y over the streets and buried every in- equality of the green sod and brown soll of a suburb under a barren crust of |- asphalt and cement. Up one of the bare gorges of brick and pavement Larkin nu—utg:.d against all the winds of December it feught and jostled him, beating down the flickering gas lights until they gasped | him behind their rattling lamp glasses and puffing stiff blasts along the sidewalk to sweep the stones as clean as ice. Bending forward, with his chin in his collar and his shoulders hunched apbout his neck, he looked as if the vio- lence of the wind had pounded his head into his body and crushed his derby down on his ears. thrust into the breast of his overcoat at the aperttire of a missing button and his elbows were pre in against his sides; so that he seemed to be hugging himself against the cold, shrunken in on himself in an unwilling and shiver- ing discomfort, Yet when he Mngpfld in the light of a hall lamp to look up at the number of the door a package showed in the crook of his elbow to explain his pos- ture, and about the wrappings of that package there shone the gilt twine of the bonbon counter. His lips were con- tracted with the cold as if to the pucker of a whistle, and his simple face, glow- ing with the nip of the wind, was the sort from which an always cheerful | melody might be expected continuously to_pipe. He came up the steps'to pick out the name of “Connors” over an electric bell and he pressed the button heavily with the flat of his thumb. The lock clicked. He wiped his feet on the mat for a moment of hesitation and then blew a?ologeflcnlly into the thumb-crotch o Feclosed fist as he entered; but these wefe the only signs of any inward agi- tation at the prospect of making a social call, uninvited, on a girl who did not know his name and who might possibly not even remember his face. A little old woman in a shawl was walting for him in a doorway on the second landing. He asked cautiously irom the top step: “Miss Connors live here?” “She does.” She peered out to see that he was a stranger. “I'll tell her.” She disappeared. He prepared to wait at the door, but she came back at once in a flutter to invite him into the parlor. She asked him, with an apologetic warmth, to be | “ceated, He nodded, but he did not| speak. HE put his box of candies on the table and covered it with his hat, ‘There was & pink plush photograph al- bum under his hand with a scroll of gilt lettering on the cover, and he stood tracing out the design on it with a fascinated forefinger until he heard a swish of skirts and a patter of quick steps in the adjoining room. He looked up to see the girl stop short between the gaudy hangings of the doorway. Her lips, that had been ready i': a uma'ump:‘ru o!hwel!looma: s of surprise; her hands, m.a ha:‘m the shoulders * ok ok K He had one hand | Pol! \ - THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C., APRIL 7, 1929—PART 7. Story of a Man’s Love and Devotion. she replied with an air of pride in it. “The says lungs my ain't nodded at a crayon Mrs. Connors on the far well. “That's what they tol’ us.” ‘There was an awkward pause in the conversation until she said: * 're fi-i-ne!” bending over the candies. “Won't yuh try one?” She held out the box to him and he hed across the intervening space to take a chocolate drop. He put it whole into his mouth and rolled it over into the pouch of his cheek in a way that made it plain to her that he had not eaten candies since the days when he had sucked “penny lasters.” She nibbled a chocolate with a super- lative daintiness and watched him. He was staring solemnly at the wall. “I'm over in Bowler's,” he said. “Pipp's ln“t‘l;;,!enmylvmh office.” “We ust to go to school ther uj e. I came down to N' York wil “Did youh?” “Yep.” He nodded, sucking on the bulge in his cheek, “We sort o' ran away. I've known Pipp ever since he was about so high.” He held his hat out on a level with his shoulder and smiled askew, around the chocolate. lw:med yuh ust to live?” she asked tely. He named the little town upstate. He had driven his father's bakery wagon after school, and * " who was the doctor’s son, had ridden with him “for the fun of it.” stron He'. t of * ok k% she did not understand. It came with the memory of those sleepy after- noons in the wagon—the smell of fresh bread, always sweet, on its worn shelves, that were as clean and as warm as a baker's oven; the sun beating down on its heat-cracked top, and the yellowish- white nag, that knew its round of cus- tomers as well as he did, tacking from side to side of the road unguided. His whole manner puzzled her, and it was not to be the last time he was to leave her at & loss. He had one of those minds that seem to make stolid night marches and to arrive unex- pact at_the strangest conclusions wlcmz’ at all sharing the surprise they cause, He groped in his pocket to draw out a yellowed zhomrlph of his father's mphfip, tal ':n by sgme r.r:vell‘n‘{!phc; ler who made a speci y of “commercial business.” In the doorway Larkin was posed be- tween his parents, in a pair of knick- erbockers that came to the calves of his legs, and he had an air of acknowl- edging that, though his father was the original owner of the trousers, his mother had made them over for him. Miss Connors did not smile when he explained that his mother looked sleepy because she always sat up until the small hours of the morning to call the bakers to their work. He had also a tintype of “Pipp” and himself, grinning self-consciously in the gummy smile of youth. “He'’s pretty smart—Pipp,” he said admiringly. “We ust to be in the same class at school, but he got away ahead s a of m s Jollier, ain't he?” she said in the same to) ne. “Sure!” he laughed. “He was jollyin’ the red-headed girl today. He’s more fun'n enough.” She straightened back from the pho- iph with a change of face. “I don’t see such a much of him now,” he went on innocently, “ ‘cept at 12. He's mighty pop'lar, I guess. He has to go out 'bout ev'’ry night.” He turned the tintype over in his hand and sat looking at the blank back of it. She was stu g him. “D'yuh board together?” she asked suddenly. 3 ere, as if she did not intend to enter until he had explained himself. She was a small girl, with a head of coquettish black hair, and she wore one artful ringlet in the middle of her forehead. He fastened his gaze on it ‘while he spoke. “We heard 't yuh were sick from one o' the girls. I was—I was goin' past here an’ I thought I'd drop in an' were comin’ on.” said, with an affectation of recognizing him for ‘the first time. “You're Mr. Rattray's frien'?” He nodded. ACSaea gl e en ol 10 your 3 e n e t lunch ~ counter right see how yuh “Oh!” she nodded thought yuh'd like some choc'™- | He shook his head. “Pipp's moved downtown.” He put the . I forward with his forearms ‘on his knees, lool down at his hat an the floor. “N’ York's a big place,” he said. She smiled the smile of understand- 's pretty lonely, too, ain't it? Won't yuh.take off yer coat?” He rose. THBRI was & look in his eyes that | and put ;:u::fibummy bow of black ""I"'l‘l.l:t no one'll come, now I'm ready for them,” she said humorously. “They'd :&ol::'er catch me when I'm lookin® a %y ; , however, came the stroke ofm w{u s0 wrdhllngwm that he forgot for the moment to explain the parcel he had brought under his arm. He did not remember it until after he was sitting down. “I thought I'd better run up with it tonight,” he ex ed then, “She'’s got. to have it Saturday-—a at the ri?lunu.nm sald she liked it. name’s Larkin.” It proved to be a circulating library novel. He had borrowed it from some one in his boarding house. “Oh—oh, thanks!” she said. “I'm awful fond of readin’, ain’t you?” He laughed unexpectedly. “Well, I ain’t such a much. I saw some books over on Third avenuh 't we ust to read in the barn, one day, an' two o' them, but I didn't get flwflh the first.” “Didn't yuh?” She smiled at his sudden volubllity. “No. We ust to have great times in the hay loft. They cost 5 cents each— about Jesse James an’ the Indians. We ust to borr' an’ lend them—until Buttony Clark joined the Y. M. C. A. li‘lklflhlfl'd them all, without tellin’ us like. “Oh, any sort,” she said gaily, “as long’s it's & love-story. I guess you men don't read love-stories much” He shook his head uncertainly and then he smiled & broad grin. She turned the pages of the . “Except. when yuh want to jolly us along,” she added. 4 He hitched up his shoulder and looked roul “I don't know but what yuh look up a few pointers then,” she sald, and glanced up archly at him. He shifted uneasily. Og.p him!" she stopped him. *“I guess he don't do all the jollyin’; that's a game for two,” She leaned laughed rather harshly. “I guess you haven't been readin’ any of them lately, anywi “No-0,” he said. She bent down over the book again 80 that he could not see her face. “P'raps if yuh'd ever been in yuh would.” He was not so stupid that he could love “WE HEARD 'T YUH WERE SICK —FROM ONE OF THE GIRLS. 1 WAS—I WAS GOIN' PAST HERE AN’ I "HOUGHT I'D DROP IN AN’ SEE HOW YUH ‘WERE COMIN’ ON.” BY EARLE LUTZ. HE man who shared John Wilkes Booth's last meal has con- dented for the first time to tell his story in print. It was on the evening of Arrfl 25, 1865, that Dr. W. D. Newbill o then a war veteran of age, ate at the same table with the slayer of Abraham Lin- coln. A few hours later Booth was dying with a whispered message to his mother on his lips. Periodically there crop up tales sug- gesting that Booth was not the m: who was trapped in the barn in C: line County and who died with let in his throat. But Dr. Newbill 1s not one to give credence to such talk. The tragic features of the suffering cripple with whom he broke bread were impressed indelibly on his brain. Although he has recently celebrated his eighty-second birthday. is sti rect, one of is the father of Col. Willard D. Nefl)fll. United States approach of blue- him guess I better be goin',” he said. [—1 jus' dropped in—to see how yuh were.” He evaded her eyes by look.lafl into his hat, and while she was stammering an attempt to put him at to the door and his slip) . “‘Good-night, god-nhht." swered rr:-'f the Jower landing. * x ok ox as she crunched it. When her came in she bent down hastily to picl wine from i E f S i’egfgé’% fgdes 4 Ll 2 i and 5 her s her dusting ‘Toom. g § i 5 : i 3 £ utionary to bluff it success- i I 8¢ gl !-r.- i g 2 g 8 g £ 1 i i i | i i 2 g3 i1 g b i g 22§ e i i Saf i £ i i I L Egé : i i | fi & £ i §;§i’ i‘égg g ? : i B i i g' A i £7 4 By Harvey O’Higgins ‘n&tnmmhwmlithlfl- He not answer. B “Haven't yuh never been? Because, she went on without looking up, “I want to know if they do it right in the He rose slowly. “She wants 1t back Saturdsy,” he said. “I had better come fer it on—" She dropped the book, “Yuh're not goin’?” she cried. He mmd‘ "zn‘rnd the g‘o\;‘r'm She SprANgUp an front 3 “Now, Jou go away back there an; E of e o that. Go on, now! I won't let yuh 80, Go on back an' sit down.” He did so. e t sakes!" she said. “Your're as touchy as anythin',” . He been looking at her feet. He ullg;‘ ht‘i:.:l S bt:'hel‘-:h nowmbly and apol ly, with ane expres- sion, too—as dumb as the look of a dog—that struck her pale. It was a glance that did not last a second. It was followed by a long silence, during which her eyes were fixed on him in a stare that slowly cmn&:d from an ex- pression of surprise t was almost stupefaction to one of wonder and compassion that was not unmixed with shame. i it's kind o’ it?” she said at last. hurry up an’ get warm X He replied that he did not mind the cold, and the rest of the evening passed in a constrained conversation, chiefly abont his work in the wholesale house and hers at the “lunch counter.” When he rose to leave her she did not meet his eyes. 8he hurried off to bed on the plea | that she was tired. Her mother heard her coughing far into the night. * ok k¥ ON the following evening it was al- most 9 o'clock before Larkin ar- rived, and he was received by Mrs. Connors with a suspicious manner that thawed as soon as she saw how he took to heart the news that Maggie cold out, ain't T wish 't 'd bed. :dmc she gettin' better?” he whis- T pered. Her under lip trembled, her Ilittle sunken eyes filled. She shook her head, He & bag of peanuts from his pocket and lald me:ner ;a}_: the table. “Aln't she Ini bett “Not & b e sald under her voice; “not & bit. An’ I've had the doctor ev'ry blessed day, an’ drufl an’ dainties that's eat up the little bit I'd put by for us—ev'ry cent of it. I'm at my wits’ ends. I am that.” 8he began to pour out all the anxie- ties that she had been restraining for months. He listened, blinking at the bag of peanuts. “Thank Heaven, I got my own health, but I'm gettin’ old. I'm not good for much. r frien’s 's all got troubles of their own, heaven knows—poor souls! It's a bad way we'll be in if e's never to get strong again—a bad way.” She sat down and knotted her hard old hands together in her la) “An’ her such a bright girl, poor child. She sighed and shook her head. He turned his hat over in his hands and fmd&ed it. There was a miserable si- ence. “How d'yuh do, Mr. Larkin?" a voice chirruped from the door. He | started at the sight of her peeping around the hanging at him. She laughed. “Yuh're gettin’ so fash'nable I thought yuh weren't comin'.’ “I was huntin’ fer some peanuts,” he confessed. couldn't find & dler.” “Peanuts!” she cried. “Wait'll I get my wrapper on.” He turned to smile at Mrs. Connors. “They'll do her no hurt, cnyw:m" she concegzd, “I wish’t was port e, had been worse all day and had gone | back and | to SHE HAD APPARENTLY ACCEPTED THEli STURDY ASSURANCE THAT SHE WOULD GET WELL WITH THE WARMER WEATHER, AND THEIR EVENINGS WERE AS PLEASANT AS IF THEY ALL BELIEVED THAT THE IMPOSSIBLE WOULD HAPPEN, appeared. It was also calves’ foot jelly. And though Miss Connors made merry over them, her mother was visi- bly won. She relieved him of his hat and made him take off his overcoat. And having intervened to save him from her daughter’s teasings several times throughout the eves 3 e parted from him with reluctance at 10:30 o'clock and scolded the girl to bed. “There’s not many boys in Noo Y like hlm‘,.“ she said, “more's the pity. e “He's as slow as mud!” “What of it?” she cried. “It's the mud that sticks yuh. He's no fly- awa yway. He's a good boy; he is, now. Y’ ought to take shame to yer- self to be baitin’ him so. Yer own father was as like him as ever was, an’ he made as steady & man as any girl'd want. Mind yeh that.” “All right, ‘mither’” she laughed. “Let me go to sleep. I'll marry him in the mornin’” ‘“You might do worse.” “1 might do better.” * ook w 4 great progress with Miss Connors, he received every encouragement from her mother. She sent him one night to get a prescription filled at the drug store and even allowed him to pay for the medicine, when he insisted that he should—without letting “Maggie” know. Once having obtained thay privilege, he made it a permanent one; and from this beginning he insinuated his aid into the payment of some of the other household expenses, brought Mrs. Con- nors presents of tea and sugar, and finally slipped a part of his pay-day rickes Into her hand—when she was bidding him good night in the hall— “fer the doctor’s bill. “God bless yet, she whispered tearfully. “Don't mi Maggie, now. It's the way with the girls. She'll marry yeh when the time comes. Don't doubt {t." He fied down the stairs in such haste that he almost fell on the landing, but when he reached the s he overcoat and solemnly shook his head poor girl.' It was port wine the next time he before he went on again. Though he came every night, and He Shared Booth’s Last Meal JOHN WILKES BOOTH. sleep in a bed anyhow. Permission to ‘When nightfall came, Dr. Newbill and his friends were H 3 i g i 5 THI'RMH‘!R. if Larkin made no| stopped to turn up the collar of his| priest. He shut the door again, tiptoed heav-, ily downstairs to the street, and stood say for 3 him at the door maternally | herself ' him down pillows in an ted him witl p) ike!” although she knew was Tom. He would grin respectfull “Oh, greal tically. “Don’t I look {t?” She was, in fact, patheti and faded. ‘That's right,” he would guess we'll now. side of the room and smile and watch her. She had teasing him about when he came room she called out “Hello, he her door. And was at last steadily confined ‘hisper. sturdy assurance that she to_worry meanwhile. by ringing the bell if she when he came of an evening. One Saturday night when in. Some one was sobbi room. Through the han est. on the front steps until a Dr. W. D. Newbill, War Veteran, 82 Years Old, Remembers Incidents Which Preceded Death of Lincoln’s Slayer—Gives Denial of All Stories That Actor Was Not Man Who Paid Penalty for Crime. pant coming cepted him as one of the family and chatted with her mother about their neighbors and their household affairs without mmnfnnu change of topic When she was too weak to leave her even accepted an invitation to supper Sunday evening, he never had muc! Mrs, Connors received to and made about him and followed hall to the kitchen. his name and reply ‘How're yuh feelin'?" she would say sarcas- ically thin insist. “I have 't warm pretty soon He would sit down at the iven up she ac- Mike!” as when she to her bed she had the cot moved into the kitchen to be in the warmest room in the flat, and she received him there with a smile, even when her voice was too faint to raise her greeting above a She had apparently accepted their would get well with the warmer weather, and their evenings were as pleasant together as if they all believed that the impossi- | ble could happen and were resolved not He had been given her keys to the | flat, so that he might not disturb her ;L were sleeping | he arrived he found the parlor door unlatched and the room filled with women talking in Subdued tones. None of them knew him, and they all stared when he looked in the next he saw a policeman Booth with whom he dined. He ob- in his leg. Booth had a face broadcast when the search way, although he did not see he had reached his home on of the Rappahannock River. their home seem to support the wound, the dying man ;:{l my mother, I did what The detectives who troops were anxious to body was wra) taken to Wasl “identified” by a scar on teeth. The detectives were so suspicious that th gress took several yea: decision regarding the money. In “The Garretts were certain that the slain man was Booth,” says Dr. Newbill. “His words when dying on the porch of served the injured man carefully be- cause of his apparent agony. Even the fortitude of wounded men was outdone by the sufferer, who, if it was Booth, had been a hunted creature for 10 days, with the handicap of a shattered bone that would | by long be remembered, and Dr. Newiill recognized his likeness on the placards ‘was under them until the banks the identi- fication. As Dr. Omohundro bent over whispered, I thought Tell her I die for my coun:sn" t accompani get to the Cap- | was the ital and made a race of it to see which would arrive first with the news. The in a blanket and ‘There it was the neck, initials on the hand and fillings in the well satis- fied that they had their quarry, and with the greatest secrecy he was interred at night under circumstances that were almost caused fact, Con- the distribution of who was watching him came up to speak to him, He wandered off aim- lessly without answering. He passed and repassed the door sev- eral times in the night. At daybreak he saw the black streamer on the door- jamb, and he turned away. * ok ok x “ AH, don’t lea’ me, lad,” Mrs. Con- nors pleaded. “Sure, if te'd lived yeh'd 'a bees g 'n my son, Tom. “Tell 'm I'd a married him,’ she said. ‘SBay good-by to Mike,’ she said, callin® yeh Mike that way. ‘An’ tell 'm I'd & married him,’ she said.” Larkin shook his head. He knew better. - However, he did not go back to his boarding house. He sat in his old place in the kitchen until she made up & bed for him in the room that was now to spare, And when Mrs. Connors had gone, plaintively to bed he dampered the stove, tried the lock of the window that opened on the fire escape, and took up the ofl lamp that she used to save gas in the kitchen. He stood a long time gazing it the light in his hand. Then he went up the hall to the door of the room and stood there. Finaily he blew out the light. In the darkness he tapped on the panel and whispered, hoarsely, apologetically: “Maggie!” (Copyright. 1929.) (Continued From First Page.) tors said. Bell prayed for the coming of the judges. Soon they came, learned men, stroking flowing beards and carry- ing in their heads the culture hu- manity had spawned during the past century. They knew every worthy in- vention, every advance in’ literary and ym.lmphml thought, every movement or human improvement. Now, this gicnay!}:l:‘:c on ,M;t Blenull table was a de- m terest—well, othe 10011_.:‘ ]lkje d‘g %ell. ¢ e judges were about to pass on Wwhen, in a melodramatic mameg:, Dom Pedro, young Emperor of Brazil, fol- lowed by the plumage that goes with royaity, placed the receiver to his ear and uttered a cry that jolted the com- mittee of judges: . beG()d! It talks.” 0 be sure it did. At once the emi- nentos declared Bell's telephone to be one of the greatest inventions in the world, * ok ok % IVED in Bonn, Germany, Heinrich Hertz, professor at the Universit; of Bonn. fn 1877 he created elotm{ his laboratory. He then managed to prove that electricity flows in 'l'l\’!l. that it is reflected from suitable sur- ::gl much as light is reflected by mir- Hertzian waves! Spanning continents and oceans. Clrcumrld‘lllullx.' the globe. But the early scientists had reasoned, 'hat would be the practical ntage of tel g across space?” They sent it several hundred feet, as a mat- ier of scientific experiment. In Sir William Crookes lived the tem- perament of a dreamer. He dared imagine “a new and astonishing world! Rays of light will not plerce a London fog . . . radio makes a solid wall mnuau nt! “Here, then, s revealed the bewilder- ing possibilities of telegraphy without wires, posts, cables or any of our pres- ent appliances. . . . “What, therefore, remains to be dis- covered is a more certain way of gen- ent!nf electrical »ays of any desired wave eng.h. from the shortest, say, a few feet in length, to those long waves whose lengths are measured by tens, hundreds and thousands of miles. “Secondly, more delicate receivers which will respond to wave lengths be- tween certain limits and be silent in others. . . . 3 “Any two friends living within the radius of sensibility of their recefving instruments . . . could communicate timing the impulses to &;oduce long and short intervals in ordinary Morse code. ‘Thus a dreamer described radio com- munication before we had radio com- munication. But no one dared tread the magic space where new discoveries awaited. The professors drowned them- ves in books and the scientists harangued over old theories, waiting jfor a boy to reach his adolescence— | Guglielmo Marconi, half Irishman, half | Ttalian. h:le sent sparks from » 4 ey was up. In- visible telegraphic flashes shot back and forth. How simple. Inventing nothing new, Marconi assembled all the old ra- dio_devices and perfected radioteleg- Feeble voices in the air. Experiment- ers strained ears and shouted, “Louder!” Came De Forest. The Yankee invented I nd)| ' Patent Office Wealth sparks, flashes of artificial lightning, in | fe the last few years he has given off revolutionary device in the form -of “acoustic” gell which amplifies normal human speech and corrects reverber- ations in echo-ridden rooms. No less an achievement in his contribution to telephony, the transmitter. * x % ¥ WBAT good is knowledge and philos- ophy if it cannot be preserved? Formerly the answer was written on sheepskin, a laborious process by hand. Gutenberg made “movable” type, which was a wonder of his time. It appeared about 1450, and books became common and even cheap for those times. Then the “news” ks and newspapers. The Prankfurter Zeitung - was the first newspaper, founded in 1615. America's first news- paper was Publick Occurrences, started in Boston t'.rllnlflo.d St eyl ype casting and foun eveloped slm Ben Franklin tm! his hand at inventing a method of rapid duplica- tion but failed. was cast by hand until 1838, when David Bruce of New York patented a type-casting machine which did the work much faster. ‘Thereafter, American inventors per- ected practically all the improvements that made printing the vital industry of today. Just recently, in 1888, Henry Barth of Cincinnati invented the rapid type caster, producing 200 per minute. Frederick Wicks invented a rotary type caster, turning out 60,000 per hour. “Small type was not achieved until die cutting was perfected. L. B. Benton in 1890 cut the 65 words of the Lord's Prayer on a piece of metal one-sixth of an inch square—too small to print. Laboriously, thousands of typesetters bent over type cases and built up words, sentences, paragraphs and gnns. Wh they had to memorize 150 compart- ments in each case. Machines, unfor- tunatelv, have no memory. Besides, every line had to be “justified” so it would lock in the standard form. Mechanical typesetters appeared in- termittently, spasmodically. The “piano- type was used in England in 1840. About 1874 Charles Kastenbein's ma- chine was used to set the London Times. But these were not one-man ma- chines. Really, two machines and three men were needed to carry out the per» formance. James W. Paige, a real Connecticut Yankee, had begun working on a type- setting machine as early as 1873. He roduced & marvelous contraption. His aith was so boundless that he sank $1,300,000 in perfecting his inventien. Eighteen thousand parts! Mark Twain, a printer by trade, saw bountiful pos- sibllitles in Paige’s machine and lost a good fortune by helping.the Inventor. Alas! This same e entered a- Chi- cago poorhouse in 1921. The mortality of invention. ‘The mechanical typesetter lurked around the corner until it was routed out by Ottmar Morgenthaler. His first apparatus looked like a little church or- gan, because it had a series of vertical tubes, each containing matrices for the alphabet. In July, 1886, the New York Tribune used the first machine. White- law Reid, the editor, called it the lino- type. Tolbert Lanston, a Pension Office clerk, contributed the monotype. Today these two machines, the linotype and monotype, perform 90 per cent of the Nation’s printing. They cast brand-new type for each job. So no printer need fear that he will be out of a job when his type grows old, as was once said of Pranklin. Today we have typesetting by pmx‘y A corps of linotype operators sitting in a grid to be inserted between the glow- ing filament and metal plate of a radio tube. This was the throttle for radio. It coxllgd!!ednmergy or cut £ oflk,md!t magnified. you want the - speaker, said De Forest, add another tube. He magnified radio signals mil- lions of times. De Forest -tubes were W |impressed into the telephone service, so thé | volce became a reality. S| i s5gE szEiE that the transcontinental telephone ing from Washington to San Prancisco, a man’s voice is amplified 10,000,000,000 times. Shrivel space! Another fairy tale come true. Are'all madmen geniuses? The other day a savage tribe in Beluchoohooland sat_arcund a radio enforcing the eighteenth amendment. * * * x T eyiinger. "He vt by means of a crank and d & little lamb, Its fleece was: white as snow. -And everywhere that Mary went ‘The lamb was sure to go.” ER and heard Presidént Hoover talk about | Washington could sét type for every mewspaper in the United States simply zy linking them to one telegraphic sys~ m. * % x % TH! automobile was a steam buggy in infancy. William Murdock built & one-cylinder steam . engine modeled after Watt’s and fastened it to a chas- sis. He ran around Piccadilly Circus. in 1784 and his majesty's subjects had a panic. But a Frenchman, Nicholas Cugnot, Murdock by 20 years. While serving as captain in the French army, he sought some method . of moving icceeds in Steam was the axglnmd motive power for many years. Steam road coaches Hourien Tvo.ears & i