Evening Star Newspaper, May 5, 1929, Page 104

6 THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, MAY BN 1 ABSOLUTELY NO “IT” By Roya [ Brown Ann Was Such a Success in Business That She Didn’t Mind Being Pretty Much of a Failure in Other Ways. T\ YES and ears and nose, hair and lips and even toes. Such, de- scribed in glamorous detail, was the stuff heroines were once made of. But nowadays one word suffices. Either a girl has “It” or she hasn’t. 2 philosophy of sorts. As Ann Ran- colph, with absolutely no “It,” had hiecved her philosophy; this being, Dasically, that life was not going to “and her anything, even on a pewter platter, and ‘that what she got from life she'd have to work for. In brief, where other girls—such as Ann’s youngest sister, Marge, for in- stance—used their eyes or their dim- vles to subjugate the male, Ann used whatever substitute suggested itself to | T as most productive of results. Even | her elbows, if necessary. The way she 1sed them this night in late December | as she worked her way through the | crowded street car as it neared her | stop. | “Pardon!” she suggested to the bulky | pecimen who stood blocking her | progress. Her voice was not_the v | siren. It was crisp, eficient. Ann was | crisp, efficient. But it failed to pene- | rate as—well, as Marge'’s murmured 0o would have. “Ann,” was the way her mother put It, “is so sensible. Men just don’t in- | terest her. She’s not that sort.” | To which Ann retorted—but only to | herself: “And that’s what I call a kind | way of putting it. Anybody else would | fay I'm not the sort that interests | men. A flame for masculine moths, Marge. But not Ann. Ann had her health, a sense of humor and a good job. She was private secre- | ary to Samuel Benton, a patent lawyer ~ho spent half his time in Boston and the rest in Washington. He had two sets of grandchildren. | “L” he had told Ann testily, when she applied for the position, “can't be iorever breaking in new secretaries. If | you're just taking the position as a | stop-gap until you get married—" | Ann had disciplined an impulse to | grin. She had wanted the position | awfully. y There was a reason. Andrew Ran- | dolph, her father, gray and nearing 50, | received $1.800 a year. A pathetic, al- | most tragic figure. | “He wouldn't say a word—but he'd | feel like more of a total loss than ever, if he knew I was getting more than he is,” Ann thought. The only thing to do, of course, was to pretend that $30 a week could con- trive all the miracles $40 can be stretched to. Marge worked, too, but: “Goodness | oice of a| gracious,” she had protested, answering | ing. her mother’s suggestion that she might | contribute something for household ex- penses. “I've got to have clothes and | lunches and some spending money, haven't 1? the salary—' But then Marge was younger. Ex- actly 18 months younger than Ann. Not so much in time, but it had made | a big difference in Ann’s life, even if she never had realized that. ‘The first person ever to think about that was, curiously enough, Tommy Adams. Curiously, because, at first glance, he was pretty much the sort of youngster that Marge might be expect- | ed to bring home. A lean, lithe male of 28, perhaps, with & swift grin and | a car. Of course, I want to_help, , minute I' get a decent * K ok x 'HE car was at the curb as Ann| approached home, this night when | she had used her elbows to get out of | a street car. “Marge,” she thought, as | she glimpsed it, “must have a new man on_the string. | Which was why she didn't pause to give the roadster even a second glance. Instead, she ran up the steps toward the | front door. A moment with her latch- | key and she was in the hall, where | Marge had seized her. | “Wait a minute,” she commanded | and, cocking Ann’s hat on at a differ- ent angle, she added, “Why don't you learn to wear your hat at the right | 1® _— | Ann stared her amazement. “And,” added Marge, “you might powder your nose, now and then. Hold £till, dearest——" She produced her compact and powdered Ann’s nose. | “Well, for heaven's sake!” exploded | Now.” ‘What do_you t This Marge ignored. she commanded. “come in and meet the Prince of Wales.” Of course, it wasn’t the Prince of ‘Wales. It was just Tommy. “This,” announced Marge to him, | my sister. I'm sorry she has wool stocl ings on—but she's the sort that would, you know. But—Ilook for yourself.” ‘To Ann this was all as unintelligible as Greek. “How do you do?” said she, very coldly, to Tommy Adams. Ann disliked him. Just why she | could not have said. | At dinner Marge was explaining, as Ann slipped into her place, “He's some- thing or other with a big shoe company and he's on for the shoe show that opens next week. He was just telling what an awful time he was having to | get manikins to display & new line of shoes he’s interested in.” “Did he think,” interrupted Ann ly, “that you'd be interested in be- coming & manikin?"” “After he saw you,” said Marge imp- ishly, “he didn't think anything about me.” .. . BUT Ann was, nevertheless, surprised | by Tommy's appearance at her office the next morning. At the mo- ment Samuel Benton was in Washing- ton. He would return the following ‘Tuesday—January 3d. “And then,” he had told her when, at Christmas, he had given her a gift | of $100, “I want you to go away, for a week. A real spree—Atlantic City or | something iike that.” i Ann had no intention of going away, For various reasons, mostly financial This, however, was yet to be divulged | to him. In the meantime, there was the office routine to occupy her. It ‘was not heavy. Entering, Tommy Adams discovered her with a man on his knees before her. A swarthy male who, however romantic | his position, was engaged in commerce none the less. When the door opened, Ann glanced | around smiling. She thought it was the postman. But it wasn't the postman. ‘Tommy Adams! “I hope I'm not being a nuisance,” | he began directly. “I looked up your business address in the directory. I wonder if you could help me out of a ! hole.” Instantly her face settled into what Marge calied her office expression. Before, however, she could answer Tommy, Pascale with a final flourish | of his polishing cloth had replaced the tools of his trade in the little brass- bound box and, arising, was favoring her with one of his prodigal smiles. She must, of course, warm to him, glow swiftly if unconsciously, before turning back to Tommy. » “People interest vou a lot, don’t they?” he remarked surprisingly as the door closed behind Pascale. “Some people,” amended Ann. He grinned unexpectedly, charm- ingly. “I wonder if I could—a little, h- remarked. And went on quickly with, “I don't know whether your sister told you that 1 was on for the show next Week and looking for a mantkin.” id think,” commented Ann B And, if she hasn't, | 1e best she can hope for is to achieve | |1t | of manikf 1t was— | 7 “Oh, there are plenty of applicants,” | he assured her. He paused a second. | | Then, “Is there a chance in the world | | I could persuade you to help me out?" | he plunged. “It's only for three days, | next week.” “Me—model shoes?” gasped Ann. | ‘Why not?” he demanded. “Well, one of us is crazy,” replied Ann, “and it must be you, because I'd | be a perfect flop at that sort of thing. Marge would love it, but—" ‘I can get 50 persons of Marge's type,” he informed her. “It's you Who are precisely the type I want “And when,” she demanded, “did you | | decide that? You'—she had a swift flash of _intuition—"certainly _didn't | think so the other night, did you?” “No,” he confessed candidly. “And | vet I couldn’t get you out of my mind, | somehow. And I had an idea that i—" He hesitated, as if not quite sure of his ground. “Oh, I understand.” Ann assured him coolly. “An idea that I was like one of those girls you read about. Girls who don't know how to make the most of thelr good points. Then somebody | comes along and changes their way of doing thelr hair, or something like that, and they discover that they are really | pretty and begin to radiate charm and ev thing. That was your idea, wasn't “Something like that,” he confessed | as coolly. “But not just——" “Well, it wouldn't work,” she assured him definitely. And added fiippantly, “It's not a matter of clothes at ail. Either you have ‘It—or you haven't, and—" i 'HEY were interrupted there. The postman came in. depositing a sheaf of letters on Ann's desk. Ann smiled at him as if he were an old friend. He was. “Have you any idea just what ‘It’ is?” Tommy broke in abruptly, as the | postman withdrew. “Have you?" she retorted. “I have a hunch that what you need | is not new clothes—or a different way of doing your hair—but & proper perspec- tive on yourself.” “Really?” commented Ann, in a tone that suggested he was being very amus- ing, but not at all convincing. “Well. how does it happen that Marge has the proper perspective and—I haven't?” “That,” sald he, “is easy. She's the younger. You both grew up together but she developed in one way, you in | another. She diverted attention from | you while you were still a baby; got| the idea the world revolved around her | and that she could have anything she | wanted.” | “Nonsense,” interrupted Ann. “It's| just that she is naturally more charm- | Adams “That” replied Tommy coolly, “is a matter of taste. No woman who ever lived could take offense at that. But Ann chose to dis- believe him. Did he think she was silly | enough to let herself be flattered into becoming & manikin? | But he was going on: “Your sister, is a supreme egotist. Life has made | her so. I'm not criticizing—egotism is | not a bad thing. She knows she’s pretty, she expects attention and—she gets it. She’ll meet a man half-way— at least—while you—-" “While I?” gibed Ann, as he hesitated. “While you,” he Plunged deliberately, “are so darned afraid that any man will think you're chasing him that you | freeze up. You wouldn't lift a finger to “ attract his attention.” i “I wouldn't—not any man that ever lived!” blazed Ann. l “And.” he commented imperturbably, | “you ask me what ‘I’ is. Isn't it merely | to make yourself attractive—naturally, if. you can, provocatively, if you must? Your sister does—but you just won't.” ;‘lNever!" Ann assured him emphati- | cally. | “Except,” he grinned, “to Italian boot- | blacks and gray-headed letter carriers, | They find you attractive enough and like you.” “Oh, they're old and married,” ex- plained Ann.. “They like me because I'm lguruud in them and their prob- “I know what they like you for,” he informed her. “I—have eyes. You know | your interest won't be misconstrued, and 50 you let yourself be natural and— darned attractive.” His eyes sought hers and nice grin flashed again. “I'm not old,” he told her, “but I am married and I have problems. If I could per- suade you to take the same interest in them—" o e ek A CURIOUS thing happened then. Ann had never dreamed, some- how, that he might be married. She certainly had had no idea of his marry- ing her. And yet she felt—well, sud- denly and subtly defrauded. “Won't you?" he pleaded beguilingly. Ann wavered. “I—don't see what I could do.” “Could you possibly get three days off next week?” he asked eagerly. Ann hesitated. He was nice. And married, too. As he had said, that made a difference. He couldn't misconstrue her interest and—she was interested. “I could get the days off.” the ad- mitted, “but—oh. if it's a question of being a manikin, I simply couldn’t. I'm not_the type.” “I don’t want the ordinary type,” he persisted. “The styles I'm showing are new and. I hope, both distinctive and a bit revoluxuonlrv. I want the same type “I'd be revolutionary enough. any- way. “And that's the point. T couldn’t get you out of my mind—and neither could | the buyers. You'd stand out.” “I” Ann maintained, “would be car- | ried out. you mean. There would be lots of people there, and I'd simply shrivel up and die ” | Nevertheless, she was weakening, in | spite of herself. He saw that. | “Let me tell you a bit more,” he | begged. “I'm—well. I'm running a fac- | tory on a shoestring. It's an old estab- lished concern that has been going be- hind for years. A town syndicate has | been carrying it along and there was talk of closing it down. That's where I stepped in.” ~He paused, produced a catalog and showed it to her. “Specialty stuff,” he explained. “I sold the idea to the syndicate, now I've got to sell it to | the world at large. And—it's neck orj nothing.” i Already he had caught her interest. | A clever young man, Fommy Adams. T “It's not my own neck that's worry- ing me.” he assured her. “I shan't sink | without a trace, even if the thing does | prove to be a flop. But—do you realizz what it means to others? What a shoe factory is to a town?” | Ann didn’t exactly. But he made her | see it. Not as an ugly pile of brick and mortar, equipped with machinery and smelling of leather, but as the heart of | a little town. “We employ 150 men and women in | good times.” he enlarged. ‘“Some old, isome young. Some married, some thinking of getting married. Each with i his or her separate existence and prob- | lems—automobiles and babies, radios | and homes. It's—rather a pretty little town. And, if it goes as I hope—and this show will be a test—it will mean | a lot to these people. That's why I'm | | s0 crazy to put it across.” He paused, | ieved her expectantly. 8 | “If—if I could help I—I would,” she | said. “If you will, you can” he told hes | ctalty shoes should possess, | sample shoes. | down that runway. Well, she couldn’t So she let him have her hand—im pulsively. A *x k k X SIDE from such attributes as a suc- | cessful young manufacturer of spe- Tommy was, cbviously, well informed as to what the modern girl wears. “You'll need.” he told Ann, sort of ensemble, an evening dress, of course, and something that suggests sports and Palm Beach, too. And hats and stockings to match each costume.” “And where,” Ann demanded, aghast, “do you expect me to get them?" He grinned at her. “I'm just think- | ing out loud—I expect to provide them, | of course. “Good graclous!” Ann protested. “If you are running a factory on a shoe- string, as you say, I den't see—" “It's all charged up to advertising,” | he informed her serenely. “And this is | no time to pinch pennies.” | Of course, there had been no keeping it from the family. » If she had tried to, | | the first evidence of Tommy Adams'| . prodigality when it came to advertising, would have given her away. This was the arrival, not of a single pair of stock- ings, but a dozen pairs! And that was only the first bomb to explode in Mrs. Randolph’s presence. When the next package arrived Ann | wished she had opened it in her room. “Say,” demanded Marge, “what does he think he’s doing? Furnishing your hope chest?” Ann hastily placed the silky, slinky frivolities back in their wrappings. “I don't,” exploded her mother, “see any necessity of his sending things like that. I—I don't think it's nice.” e's one of the nicestymen I ever met,” flamed Ann, goaded to it. “And | married—very happily married.” “And isn't that too bad!" suggested Marge. This Ann ignored. ‘Tommy Adams was delightfully casual and he was ter- ribly in love with his wife. If she had doubted that, a letter he let her read would have proved it. | He let her read the letter, because, at the very last moment, she had stage fright. This was on Wednesday, January 4. The show was beginning. The fourth, the fifth and the sixth floors of the hotel were given over to the display of They—Ann and Tommy —were in a room on the fourth floor where his products—the shoes Ann was to model—were displayed. Footgear fit for a queen. Slippers such as Cin- derella might have worn. Ann felt absurdly like Cinderella her- self. Downstairs in the main ballroom was & runway. And a million people, more or less, waiting to see her walk | | —just couldn’t! “I—told you I'd be a flop,” she re- | minded him, almost tearfully. | | here. “Read the first page of that,” he sug- gested. The first page was in the swift firm writing that looked 5o like him. It ran: “Dearest: This will be only a short letter today to tell you how much I miss you and how I wish you could be 1 hope you are taking every pre- caution—this is bad weather for colds, you know—and that Doctor Crossman will sit on your chest, if necessary, keep you in bed. “Don't worry about me. mean big things for us. I've got exact the girl I want, you know. She hasn't the slightest idea how charming she is and she’s not the type that would do this normally. And that's just the rea- son she's going_to strike precisely ihe note I want. Shell make the others look like rhinestones. “As you can’t be here, I'm going to describe her a bit. It's going to | TO ANN THE RUNWAY SEEMED MILES LONG. HER KNEES SHOOK. SHE WAS CONSCIOUS OF MISTY FACES ALL AROUND HER, BUT TOMMY HAD AD- VISED HER NOT TO LOOK AT THE PEOPLE. I persuaded her | yesterday to go to the best coiffeur in | Bos ton. He has achicved a miracled She has the loveliest ears and she looks, somehow, as young Shelley must have. ‘That was all there was on the first page. As Ann finished he retrieved the letier, smiled down at her. “But—but that’s not me!” she gasped. “What do you know about yoursel{? he asked. And added teasingly, “I'll bet you don't even knoW your nose should be powdered.” Ann made no move. She couldn’t. “The first hundred feet are the hard- est” he said, helping her to her feet. “You'll get used to it after that.” To Ann the runway seemed miles long. Her knees shook. She was conscious of misty faces all around her, but Tommy had advised her not to look at the people. “‘Just move easily, naturally,” was his parting injunction. Easily. naturally . . . “She has no idea how charming she is . . . She has the | loveliest ears and she looks as young Shelley must have.” Ann moved as in a daze. In that daze she reached the end of the runway. And there was Tommy to greet her. “Thank you,” he said—just that. “Did—was I all right?” she asked. “I only hope they noticed the slip- pers,” he replied. ‘The other trips, as he had prophesied, came casier. tle black evening frock; othersin the smart little ensemble with its pafticular hat, or the littie white jersey suit with wrapped skirt and sport hat. So passed the day to dinner time. She had dinner with him at the hotel. She had wondered about dining with him. | Perhaps his wife—but she had checked | the thought. “Why shouldn't 12" she had demand- ed of some inner questioner, almost de- flantly. “It's strictly business with him.” “Is_it—strictly busincss with you?” the inner questioner persisted. Ann, however, refused to pay any at- Some she made in the lit- | | I dared hope for,” he assured her, at | the end of the third day. “How can { I ever thank you enough?" | * % ok Ok | "THE show was over; already the run- way was being dismantled. Ann herself had changed back to her own clothes. Sensible hat, sensible shces. The sort of frock and coat that would | be suitable for the office and good for |two years. The butterfly had crawled | back ‘into its cocoon. She was glad the show was over, glad that Tommy Adams was going away. She had reached that point. Cinderella was ready to return to her hearth. ‘This had all been in her mind as she | had shifted from the little black evening | frock she had worn last. “I hope you inherit that,” Marge had |told her—meaning that she, Marge, | would be glad to borrow it frequently. Ann, however, didn't want it. She | folded it carefully, left it with the other | costumes that Tommy's packer would | attend to presently. The show was over. | . “What is he paying you for all this?" arge had demanded curiously. “Don’t you wish you knew?” Ann had | evaded. . Actually Tommy Adams had neyver ‘mentioned paying her anything. She had supposed he would, sooner or later. At the end, anyway. Now she hoped | he wouldn't. It would be—well, awful She was all dressed up and the place | tention to that. He was much the nicest | to be paid. she was to go was plainly designated. But all she wanted to do was to find a hole to crawl into! Tommy Adams abruptly drew s letter from his pocket. man she ever had met and, of course, | she liked him. Who wouldn't? He was s0 generous in his appreciation of what she had done. “Just about twice as many orders as | And Ann knew why. “I might have | known,” she assured herself fiercely, | “that T'd go along for years, never Ithmklng twice about any man—and then make a fool of myself.” Well, he'd never guess that, anyway. And, of course, she must say good-by to him, So she confronted him. “Thank me?” she repeated. “Oh, it's been fun, truly. I = “I— began Tommy, with char- acteristic impetuosity, and then checked himself abruptly. He snatched up his hat and coat, adding, “I'm going to drive you home.” “Oh, you mustn't!” phrased Ann's ips. But the words did not come. He | picked up another coat, coonskin like his own. “Slip into this—it's cold out- side,” he commanded. They found his parked roadster and | he helped her into it. Traffic at once | engaged his attention; he was silent for a moment. Then: “You're a peach!” | huskily. = l“ He did not finish. zrl;;ped nt hm;rL e “I'm not going to let you say good- by,” he added. “I—can't. don’t want me to, do you?” “No!"” clamored Ann's heart, in spite of all the conventions in the world. She did't want him to walk out of But he must! tell him so. She lifted her head de- | terminedly, forced her eyes to meet his. And tried to force her lips to say what they should. But they rebelled, quiv- ered briefly. Sheipiy 'HE next instant, careless of traffic, his free arm went around her and drew her to him. He kissed her swiftly, ex- ultantly, as Ann never had been kissed Flood Control Dooms Town Louisiana Settlement of 1,500 Persons on Mississippi River Near New Orleans Makes Way for New Levee as Inhabitants Move With All Possessions, Bringing Their Dead With Them From the Town Cemetery. BY CALVERT STITH. AYOU GOULA, one of the old- est towns in Louisiana, a thriv- ing community with schools, churches mills, stores and many beautiful homes, is to be wiped off the map completely witihn the next four months in the United States Gov- ernment’s fight to curb the Mississippi River. Not only will the town's 1,500 in- habitants move with all their earthly possessions, but they will take their Bayou Goula Cemetery will be moved i to the burying ground of Point Pleasant, a nearby town which has extended hos- pitality on the departed. Bayou Goula 90 miles north of New Orleans and was the location of a settlement as far back as 247 years ago. * X on J beauty and natural advantages the site of Bayou Goula has long been regarded as ideal for a thriving com- munity, but for nearly a half-century the Mississippl River has been trying to get the town in its maw. Thre> times has Bayou Goula been moved back, each time a new levee being buflt’ farther in to keep off the en- croaching waters. But at last the Father of Waters has won the battle. The fourth levee is to be constructed through what is now Main street of the town. The town's residents will move to various settle- ments in the vicinity and start life over again. A few will seek to establish new homes as close to the old town as will be possible under the new arrange- ment. * Al ok LONG the banks of a little bayou just inland from the Mississippi r positively. He held out his hand. “Won't you—shake on it?” Ann still hesitated. But his out- ccu'd have no trouble finding stretched hand—to say nothing of something in his eyes—was compelling. the Goulas, neighbors of the Houma and Chitematches Natlons. They were there and were friendly at the time Robert Cavelier de la Salle expedi- tion descended the Mississippi in 1682 dead with them. Every body in the THE MAIN STREET OF BAYOU GOULA. | ' 2 from Fort Frontenac on Leke Ontario, | was one of the “live” towns | persons to be at the landing when boats and planted the arms of France on its banks near the river's mouth, claiming the country for France and naming it Louisiana after Louis XIV. In fact La Salle stopped with the Goula In- dians at Bayou Goula. Iberville and 1699 and received from the Goula In- dians letters and relics of La_Salle, thus substantiating the claim of France to the territory by establishing La Salle’s exploration. Thirty-five years ago Bayou Goula | of - Louisiana. It had a population of | | about 5,000 and was a hustling river | | trading center. It was one of the four | cr five most important stops on the | river, between Memphis and New Or- leans, and the proudest of the river packets, including all of the palntlgl River at Bayou Goula there dwelt long | his party ascended the Mississippi in | Anchor Liners, the second Robert | ago a peaceful tribe of Indians called | Lee. the T. P. Leathers, the J. M. White and other haughty craft includ- ing it among regularly scheduled stops. In those day Bayou Goula had dozens of shops and as many saloons and it was nothing for a thousand | of the better sort made port. The steamers used to “blow for the landing” when three or four miles out and the citizens could move lesurely for the dock and be in plenty time to see them come in. There was & sizable hotel in Bayou Goula in the old days. It was called the Bon Ton and it was operated by Henry Vretin, a famous bon vivant of his time. The hostelry was converted into a residence some years ago and is a2mong the dwellings which will soon be demolished. he announced | ‘You—you | 25, And she must | by any man; as she never had expected to be kissed. He had taken her by sur- prise. That might have been her ex- cus2. Only-—Ann was honest. “And that.” she commented. her voice savage in its bitteries, “is the sort of girl T am!” The car swerved as his startled eyes held hers. “What do you mean?” he asked. “The sort that will have an affair with a married man,” Ann went on. “Married?” he said. Then he grinned. “But—I'm not married.” Ann sat wide-eyed and open-mouthed “You—you haven't any wife,” she echoed dazedly. ‘But you sald—" He stopped the roadster short. That the moment, he no more than laid them over hers. t of girl. ‘;v:hst sort of girl do you mean?” she ed. “The sort that just has to freeze up | when you're with any man who isn't | old enough to be your father—or hap- ily married,” he explained. “I'm not ented a wife for myself. . “You can be nice to bootblacks and etter carriers—anybody who you feel uite sure won't misunderstand your BY STEPHEN LEACOCK. Vzfi;‘{ recently one of the most dis- “There never was a period in which there was such a contin- ued advance in social legislation as at the present day. Much of this prog- ress has escaped public attention, often for the reason that it has been effected rather by the revision of existing legis- lation than by the passage of entirely | new laws and the initiation of entirely novel reforms. Those who wish to ap- | preciate its scope and its beneficence must consult the statute books.” | _When I see a direct command like | that, I always follow it. If that dis- tinguished judge says I “must” consult the statutes, then I've got to do it. Just as when I see a restaurant advertising sign with the words, “Dinner now ready,” I feel as if I had to go in. | So I went into a public library and | asked for a few books of statutes and sat down to look into the matter. A very brief perusal-—not more than three or four hours—was needed to convince me that the great juri thing, understated the 1 nent wrote as follows: | | ! another with social welfare, and in each | | case was amazed to see the flow of light thrown upon it by this actual consulta- tion of the statutes. The vague ideals gathered from & casual persual of the newspapers were crystallized under the | clear light of precise legal definition. | T took first the question of immigra- tion. I knew in a general way that within the last year or so bills had been brought into Congress to limit immigra- | tion and to raise the standard of the immigrants, but I knew nof definite. | | I had heard, as every has, of the f | mous new law, called the Johnson law, | which is to do such big things, but I had never seen the text of it. Here it is—almost word for word_—or as closely as I recall it, though I'may be mis- taken as to the exact number and fig- ‘ures, but that's nothing. (1) It is hereby enacted that the act of Congress of 1910 regarding immigra- tion into the United States shall be amended as from May 1, 1929, so that all the words from “whereby and which- ever,” line 6, paragraph 2, down to. the | words “as often as and then some,” line | 8, paragraph 3, shall be deleted. and words “in all and every case,” line 4, paragraph 4, shall read “but not in ali and every case.” | (2) Clause 6 of paragraph 4 shall be | struck out and thrown away. (3) The full stop or period after line 7 in clause 7 of paragraph 4 shall be | changed into a semicolon. (4) In line 8 of the nnl"lernm&h |the words “freely admiti to 3 United States” shall be followed by words “I guess ngt.” It certainly is & wonderful and inspir- ing piece of legislation. The judge is right when he says we must go to the very text of the statutes. Here is another. This is taken from the new protection of children amend- | ment act (Ohio or Indiana, I forget | which). Certainly it breathes a spirit |of the broadest humanity and is far in ‘ndvl:mce of anything yet done. |to it: | “On and after the first day of the | month of November of the current year the word ‘shall’ is inserted in line 6.of paragraph 4 of Statute 4129, Stat. III, and the words ‘all and whatsoever’ shall | be added after the second semicolon in the fifth paragraph.” It is pleasant to read this over and {to think that so much has been done ! for the little ones. We might add to it {the recent language of the amended ;school act of one of the same States, {which is designed to safeguard the | health of the tiny tots in the elemen- ‘inbelow, subsection (d) and the west | kalf of subsection (f) are deleted and : hole left where the passages used to | . Looking over these changes that in- idicate the forward movement of free- | dom, one can gather here and there a better view of the actualities of history | than was hitherto available. Everybod | knows that the world-famous Declara- tion of Independence was not | in the form first drafted. It was amended and reamended, whole pas- sages were left out, and the punctua- tion submitted to radical change. We may visit the famous scene ienacted at Philadelphia — Jefferson | standing with the amended draft in his i hand, the fathers of this country sitting | around. him, their eager faces intent on | every syllable. “Gentlemen,” says the great states- “So I did,” he admitted. “But T lled. | But his right hand found hers and : had to. you see. Because you are that | Id enough to be your father, so I in- | guished jurists of this conti- | ist had, if any- case. I took & | number of topics dealing in one way or Listen | motives,” he went on. “But, if you hadn't thought I was married, you'd have made it plain to me—being you— that you wouldn't try to attract me for anything; that you weren't the sort of girl that would chase any man that as if you—needed to chase any man! he finished, huskily. as his lips met hers. “But,” recalled Ann suddenly, “you showed me a letter.” “Oh, that!” he explained, still hold- ing her close. “I bagged that idea out of a story I read. I wondered if you'd fall for it.” Ann's thoughts were already taking yet another twist, however. “It—it wasn't just the pretty clothes>” she broke in swiftly. “You're—sure it's left him with'both hands free, but, for me— “What else could it be?” he protested. Iy “But—but I've never had any ‘It'! His arm tightened around her. | “You are a little idiot!” he exploded. {“Why do you think I came to your | office? Because, of course, for all did your best to freeze me, I get you out of my mind. I couldn’t | understand it myself—but it that isn't | ‘It,’ what have you?” The searchlights of a car that was approaching illumined them briefly, but | of that. | man, “TI should like to move the final ! B';:rdlnl of our declaration, as amended, us: | “When inserting a comma in the course of human events comms it be- comes necessary for one people omit- ting five words and going forward to 3 to dissolve the political bands changing such to which without fur- ther change as from Powers of th* Earth down to life liberty and th- | pursuit ‘of happiness and striking out | clause (4) (8) and (13) and thus o¢ | deleted without change to the words i sacred honor.” ill you accept a semicolon lause 142" . 19200 | | Jefferson: 't we've got will carry.” Adams: “All right. ~Let us accept it as it is.” Or even further back in the twi- light of British and American history we may visualize the final ;);lghe Magna Carta at Runnymede in | _Archbishop Stephen Langton, stand- | L"ai d:gth the sacred parchment in his | “What say ve. my liege lords, shall | we make the king improve it mn‘r‘a: | | | | | by sticking in a point of in !in line 6, followed by a han of | fair _and ‘comely semicolons scattered in the text?” The Barons: “Hoo Roo! Carried.” i (Copyright, 1929 Geysers in Action. |'THE siant and the giantess ap- parently have come to the conclu- sion that things are a little quiet in | Yellowstone National Park and need | stirring wp. The giantess, in particu- lar, has been very subdued of late, but things are going to be different now. udging from the activities of these two famous geysers so far this year. The giantess played only once during | the Summer 1928, but so far this year has played twice, with a 22- | hour interval. The second eruption lasted four hours, although water was | thrown up for only 50 minutes in any Iqulntlty. ‘The water was thro be- tween 200 and 250 feet in the air at- | testing to the violence of the eruption. | _ The giant also has played twice this | year, one eruption lasting for 62 mlpuffi& erhaps the giant has been stirred to Ictlx by the advent of a new geyser, as yet unnamed, which is larger than the glant and has only | been exceeded once in size, the Excelsior which played out in 1890, holding the distinction of being the greatest of all. ‘The new geyser has been in eruption every 10 or 12 hours, even in the Win- ter. Its crater measures 90 feet by 140 feet and the tube has been measured | to a depth of 74 feet, one foot greater | than that of the Excelsior. | . Each eruption of four and a half | hours is estimated to result in 700,000 | gallons being hurled into the air., S i S £ Farm Indications. :REPORTS received by the Bureau of Agricultural Economics indicate that the planting plans of the farmers of the country will result in a well bal- anced crop for the coming year. The only unfavorable indications that the figures reveal are in connection with Spring wheat, burley tobacco and, in some areas, beans and cabbage, which are apparently to be raised in excess of requirements. Potato farmers who planted in in- creased acreage last year in the face of the department warnings and obtained a crop that broke the market appar- ently learned their lesson and the pres- ent prospects are that year's crop will be about 11 per cent below that of last year, a result, if accomplished, which will assure the farmer of & fair return on his product. Natural Gas Waste. Txl problem of what to do with large quantities of natural gas which are going to waste is troubling the Bureau of Mines. In many areas the gas cannot be transported for fuel and local condi- tions have prevented its being returned to the oil sands to form new oll. The result has beeh a tremendous waste. | i eco!