Evening Star Newspaper, May 12, 1929, Page 97

STORIES SPORTS The Pitcher Who Wasn’t Needed A Base Ball Story in Five Installments., l BY W. BOYCE MORGAN ] HE KEPT GRIMLY AT IT. d himself to throw speed and accuracy | about his father's farm. on High School in throw a Tom_Pol practice forts. howeve ing to pitch at a t; in_ an important game. playing in centerfield, the knack of throw- ing an outcurve suddenly comes to him. In fact, it comes so suddenly that his thro ins 'acquire the curve. being so wide that two runners score. The coach is angry, is retired to the bench o Tom Polonis that now that he has learned 10 throw tie curve he can't tDrow anything INSTALLMENT IV. Had it not been sich a serious mat- ter to him, Frankie would undoubtedly have seen the humor in the turn af- fairs had taken. Here he had been putting all his efforts into learning to throw the curve, and when success finally came, it was so complete that it ‘was really failure! What good was an outfielder who couldn't throw straight? For that matter, what good was a pitch- er-who couldn’t throw anything but an outshoot? With the exception of Coach Hag- gerty and Tom Polonis, hardly any one on the squad knew what was behind the retirement of Frankie to the bench. They merely knew that his three bad throws had almost cost them the Van- dérport geme, which Warmington finally won by a belated rally. Coach Haggerty said little more after his first outburst over the matter, but during the follow- ing week the substitute played Tegu- larly in centerfield. Frankie was in the very depths of despair. He felt that he was a traitor to his team and to his school, for by his stubborn desire to be a pitcher he had ruined himself as an outfielder, where he was needed. And now his heavy hit- ting was lost to the team, too. For three days he came to practice and scarcely spoke to any one. For three mornings he gave up his early practice behind the barn. But on the fourth morning he was up even earlier than usual and there was a determined set to his chin. “If I learned to throw this curve, I can learn not to throw it!” he muttered to himself. “Or better yet, I can learn to throw my fast ball again, and maybe a drop like Walter Roberts’, too. And then I'll be able to pitch some, as well as throw in from the field decently.” From that time on his cheerfulness returned, although he was still quiet during practice. Nobody but Frankie himself knew what went on in those early morning sessions, and nobody else could have realized the despair that soraetimes gripped him as he saw every ball he threw take that wide outcurve. But he kept grimly at it, and by the end of the week he thought he was be- ginning to get results. He had hoped to get into the game on Saturday, but the substitute played in centerfield. Finally, when a pinch hitter was needed in the ninth inning, he got a chance and delivered a single that was a big help to Warmington in puiling another close game out of the fire, but he got no chance in the field. The coach had scen enough of his throwing. As he was dressing after that game, Tom Polonis esked him how he was getting along. i the coach again,” said Frankie. “I'm trying to master that curve and my fast ball, too,” he answered seriously. “I think I can do it sooner or later, but, gosh, I want to be in shape to play against Rainier next Saturday, if the coach will only give me another chance!” Tom nodded sympathetically. The Rainier contest was one of the biggest games of the season, and he knew how much Frankie must want to play in it. “Well, I wish you luck,” he said. “If I can help you at 2'l by catching you, or anything, just say the word.” “No, I won't get you in wrong with “This is my own fight, and I'll go it alone.” More mornings of practice behind the barn. The days passed rapidly, bring- ing the Rainier game closer and closer. Finally at practice on Friday he took his courage in both hands and ap- proached the coach. “I just wanted to ask you, Coach,” he began desperately, “if you won't give me another chance. I've been practicing, and I can control the ball all right now. I won't throw any more wild ones.” The coach regarded him in silence for many seconds. Then he slowly shook his head. “I'm afraid not, Frankie” he said, in_a kindly voice. “You could have helped me a lot by keeping on being a good center fielder, but you chose to persist in trying to be a pitcher and ruined yotrself. I can't take any more chances with you.” Those words hurt Frankie more than all of the coach’s sarcasm. He hung his head, then raised it again. “I know,” he gulped. “I'm sorry. But Coach, I can hit, and we'll need hits tomorrow. Please give me a chance. Let me show you now. I can throw a ball as straight as an arrow.” “Oh, I believe you,” said the coach. “I suppose you can still throw the out- “Oh, yeh,” said Frankie, hopelessly. “And a drop. But—but what difference does it make?” The coach was silent, but he eyed Frankie closely. The boy caught his gaze and turned away, but the coach looked after him and there was a strange light on his face. “Who knows?” he mused. “Maybe the kid knows more about himself than I do. But he's got to take his medi- cine and he doesn’t start tomorrow.” At that moment & sudden hush seemed to fall over the field. The coach sensed something important and swung around to face the diamond where the regulars and scrubs were playing a short game. He saw a group of players around the pitcher's box where Waite Roberts had been hurling. Other play- ers were running over and the coach joined them, knowing instinctively that something was wrong. And something was decidedly wrong. Waite had tried to stop & stinging liner from the bat of one of the scrubs and, foolishly, had gone for it with his pitching hand. When the coach reached him Waite’s face was screwed up with pain _and his right wrist was already swelling. “And you were to pitch tomorrow,” said the coach grimly, as he hurried the injured boy to the dressing room for a closer examination of the injury. “Well, I guess it's up to Jack Sharp to carry the burden himself and if he can't stop Rainier, I guess we're sunk.” (To Be Continued Next Sunday) Banking Facts for Boys and Girls BY JOHN Y. BEATY Editor of the Bankers' Monthly To make your savings account grow ¥yeu ueed to have some money coming in more or less regularly. One way that boys and girls can earn regular to act as agents for various at people buy. gazines will pay you a good commission_if you secure subscribers for them. Some megazines will pay you for selling the magazine each Week as it is issued. Then there are a good many manufacturers who pay commissions to children for or taking orders, delivery to be made later on. Usually & boy or girl can serve as agent for three or four different things at the same time. This serving as azent is a good expe- ,rience for you in addition to being prof- itable. It teaches you how to approach|in a moderate oven. lling various articles or i | { first principles of business as you work at a job of this sort. It also_teaches you how to handle money. You will be offered bills larger than the cost of the articles being pur- chased, and you will need to make change. It is a good thing for a boy or girl to learn this just as early as pos= sible. So I can heartily recommend that if you can you arrange to serve as agent for something to earn money to build up your savings accounts. The Kitchenette BY AUNT HELEN Just loads of letters have come to | me telling me how much you girls like { The Kitchenette. I want to thank you| all for your letters and for the splendid recipes you have sent. I am trying to print them just as fast as I can, so try to be patient. Here is a recipe by Elsie Anderson: DATE BARS. ‘Two eggs, well beaten. Four tablespoonfuls milk. One scant cupful sugar. One cupful flour. | Half cupful chopped nuts. Half cupful chopped dates. One and a half teaspoonfuls baking | powder. One teaspoonful vanilla. Pinch of salt. Add milk and well beaten eggs to the sugar, mixing thoroughly. Sift to- gether the flour and baking powder and add chopped nuts and dates. Str this into the sugar, eggs and mik gradually. Add salt and vanilla. Bake ‘When cold cut Jolks, how 1o sell, and you leatn the into bars and ol in powdered sugar, THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, - D. C, MAY 12, 1929—PART 4 e BOYS and 'GIRLS PAGE Y \ (] Tamerlane Socught World Power Harold Lamb, whose beok and articles on Genghis Khan last year revealed to many for the first time the mighty history of that devastat- ing Mongol, here takes up the fasci- nating story of another great Asiatic conqueror. ‘The name of Tamerlare has resounded in poetry since Chris- topher Marlowe’s day as an epitome of Oriental magnificence, but little has been known of the facts cf his life. Mr. Lamb's report of his actual deeds overshadows poetic imaginings. BY HAROLD LAMB. IVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY years ago a man tried to make himself master of the world, In every- thing he undertook he was suc- cessful. We call him Tamerlane. In the beginning he was a gentleman of little consequence—master of no more than some cattle and land in that breeding ground of conquerors, Central Asia. Not the son of a king, as Alexan der was, or the heir of a chieftain, like Genghis Khan. The victorious Alexan- der had at the outset his people, the Macedonians, and Genghis Khan had his Mongols. But Tamerlane gathered together a people. One after the other he overcame the armies of more than half the world. He tore down cities and rebuilt them in the way he wished. <ver his rcads the caravan trade of two rontinents passed. Under his hands he gathered the wealth of empires and spent it as he fancied. Out of mountain summits he made pleasure palaces in a month. More, perhaps, than any other human being within a life he attempted “to grasp this sorry scheme of things en- tire . . . and then, remold it nearer to the heart’s desire.” ‘Tamerlane he was, and only as Tam- erlane is he known to-us today. In our general histories his empire is called ‘Tamerlane’s, although our ancestors of five centuries ago spoke of it as Tartary. Vaguely they knew him as a dominant and merciless figure, moving beyond thLe gates of Europe among golden tents and towers built of human skulls lighted at night by spirit beacons. Asia knew him well—both to its pride and its sorrow. And there his enemies said that he was a great gray wolf eat- ing the earth, while his followers called him lion and conqueror. ‘Tamerlane could not easily be classi- fled. He was part of no dynasty—he founded one; he was not, like Attila, one of the barbarians who harried Rome— out there in the limbo of things he built a Rome of his own in the desert. He made a throne for himself, but he epent most of his years in the saddle of a herse. And when he bullt he used no pre- vious pattern of architecture; he made & new one according to his own inclina- tions, out of cliffs and mountain peaks and a solitary dome that he saw in Damascus before he burned that city. This swelling dome of Tamerlane's fancy has become the motif of Russian design, and is the crown of the Taj Mahal. And the Taj Mahal was built by one of the Moguls—Tamerlane’s great-grandchildren. Tamerlane is the European rendering of Timur-i-lang—Timur the Limper. Timur means Iron, and this alone was his name until his foot was injured by an arrow and he was not able to walk without limping. The historians of Asia speak of him as Amir Timur Guri- gan—Lord Timour, the Splendid—and only as Timur-i-lang in the way of vituperation. In Tamerlane’s day Europe proper would have been 19 more than a prov- ince of Asla. A province of barons and serfs where the cities as a rule were no more than hamlets and life— so says the chonicler—an aflair of murmuring and misery. T WE know the setting of the Euro- pean. scene of that country, but not the man who rose to dominate the world. To those Europeans Tamerlane’s magnificence seemed unearthly and his power demoniac. When he appeared at their threshold, their kings sent letters and envoys to “Tamburian the Great, Lord of Tatary.” In the European pageantry of kings, ‘Tamerlane has been given no place; in the pages of history there is only a fleeting impression of the terror he aroused. But to the men of Asia he is still “The Lord.” After five centuries it is clear to us that Tamerlane was the last of the great conquerors. Napoleon and Bis- marck are secure in their niches; we know the details of their lives. But the one died a failure, and the other triumphed in the political leadership of a single empire. Tamerlane created an empire, and was successful in every campaign he undertook; he died on the march toward the last power strong enough to oppose him, To understand what he attempted, we must look at the man as he lived. To do this, it is necessary to put aside the histories of Europe, and close our eyes to modern civilization, with its prejudices. And to look at Tamerlane through the eyes of the men who rode at _his side. ‘We must penetrate the veil of terror and go beyond the towers of human skulls, past Constantinople, and over the sea into Asia—along the highway of the Land of the Sun, on the to Samarkand. The time is the year of Our Lord 1335. The place is a river. “It 15" the good knight Clavijo said, “one of the four rivers that flow out road | could keep it. “SAY TO: THY THAT THE Ll e of Paradise. And the country is very| bright, gay and beautiful.” A cloudiess sky overhead—blue ridges of mountains in the distance, rising to the snow peak that was called llll‘l Majesty of Solomon. The rolling foot- hills were covered with meadows, and the streams raced down still cold from | the chiil of the higher ranges. In these uplands sheep grazed, watched by the out-shepherds on shaggy ponies. Cat- tle clustered lower down in the lush grass of the glens near the villages. The river twisted among masses of limbstone. More sedately it flowed out into a long valley dark with mulberry trees and the tangle of vineyards. Channels led from it_into fields of rice were Tatars, long of limb and big of bone. Bearded, sun-scorched, they walked—when it was necessary to walk | at all—with a swagger and without | turning aside for any one, unless a Tatar greater than they. ‘The lot of the Barlas clan was bad | because it had no_ chieftain. Taragal, once head of the clan, was a mild man full of dignity. He had listened to the | expountders of the law of Islam, and had withdrawn to a monastery to medi- tate—Taragai the father of Tamerlane. No one lived in the white clay palace outside the Green City. “The world,” Taragai told his son, “is | no better than a golden vase filled with | scorpions and serpents. I am tired| and melons and rolling barley—irriga- | of it. tion ditches where cracking wheels raised the water slowly. They called the river the Amu. And it had been from time immemorable the border between Iran and Turan—be- tween south and north. To the south lay Khorassan, the Land of the Sun, where the Tranians spoke Persian and cultivated the soil. They were wearers of turbans, gentlefolk and beggars of | elder Asia. * K Kk % BEYQND‘ to the north, lay Turan, out of the depths of which the nomads had come, the cattle-breeding, horse- raising races—the helmeted men. Ex cept for the river, there was no frontier. ‘The land to the north of the river was called Ma-vara'n-nahr, “Beyond the River.” Shut in by the hills was the Green City where Tamerlane was born. His home was a house of wood and un- burned clay, with a walled courtyard and a garden within the wall. It had a flat roof with a parapet, where a boy could lie unseen and listen at dusk to the muezzin's long call to prayer, while the sheep and the cattle were driven in from the fields. Here, too, came bearded men in flam- ing silk robes who spread their sleeping rugs and talked of caravans and hap- penings, and always of war. For the shadow of war lay over the valley of the Green City. “Erein mor_ nigen bui"—Tamerlane heard this phrase often. “A man's path is only one.” He did not bother his head about it much—or the gravely intoned verses from the Koran. The words of the elder men were law, but the boys liked to watch their weapons, and speculate upon the cutting edge of a sheathed tulwar, or the meaning of a broken r-shaft. hese boys grew up among horses, and matched their steeds in the clover meadows across the Samarkand road. With their bows they hunted quall and foxes, and their trophies they kept in a castle of their own among rocks be- neath the overhang of a cliff. Here they played at siege, while their dogs slept and the horses grazed. Tamerlane was the leader—he had no more than three or four companions—in this game of mimic war. He was gravely purposeful in play, and he never laughed. Although his horses were not as good as some of the others, he was the best rider of his troupe. And when they were old enough to be given hunting swords, he soon established his mastery with the weapons. Perhaps this seriousness was bred of his near-solitude. His mother died while he was young, and his fatner, a chieftain of the Barlas Tatars, spent most of his hours in talk with the green-turbaned holy men who had visited the shrines of Islam and gain- ed sanctity there. The son had his falcons, his dogs and his companions. But there were only two servitors in the house, and the horses did not fill half the stable. The father was not a reigning chieftain; he came of a line of men distinguished in war, but he was or. ‘The boy rode afield and sat much in his eyrie, looking at the Samarkand road. Down this highway road caval- cades of wealthy Persians, with armed guards about their veiled women—the ‘latar women did not veil. Lean Arab traders escorted horse trains, with loads of brocades from Cathay and raw silk and rugs from the northern looms. Moving through the yellow dust came also slave caravans, and beggars with staff and bowl, and holy men looking tor disciples. At times there appeared a Jew with his mules or a slender Hindu voicing tales of Afghan robbers. At the hour of dusk they raised their tents among the animals and the cook fires. And, knecling and sitting back on his heels outside their circle, Tamerlane listened to their talk of prices and the world of Samarkand. When his father scolded him for sitting with the caravan men, he made answer: A “A man’s path is only one.” * K ok x THE valley and all in it was the heritage of the Barlas clan. It could not be said that they owned it. ‘The right of grazing and cultivating land, with its fat caitle and vineyards and pastures, was theirs so long as they The Khan beyond the | mountains had given it to their an-| cestors long since, and they held it as the clans of Scotland held their lands, At this time Timur—we cannot very well call him Tamerlane—was a young gentleman of leisure. And leisure with Timur meant activity. He was powerful in body, a fine physique, wide-shoul- dered, long-limbed. His head was large and splendidly poised—a high forehead and full dark eyes that moved slowly ( and looked directly at a man. He had the broad cheek bones and wide sen= sitive mouth of his race, evidences of the vitality in him. The energy in him was little less than ferocious. A youth of few words, a deep and penetrating | voice. He had no love of foolery, and | Lnj a}'l his life he never appreciated| a jest. In this early world of Islam, hospi. tality was an obligation to be accepted as such and returned only in kind. The Tatars were great wanderers, and Timur had the freedom of every tent and courtyard from Samarkand to the Land of the Sun. With his handful of com- panions he might travel a thousand miles in a fortnight, through the moun- | tain tracks or down along the desert’s edge—carrying nothing more with him than his sword and a light hunting bow. The Arabs of the caravan camps talked to him, being hon.red by the presence of a chieftain’s son; hillmen, washing river gravel for particles of gold, told him their legends and gossip of their horses and women of other clans; he played chess with the barons of the clans in their citadels. “Kazgan, the King Maker of Sali Sarai, has asked for thee,” they said. And so Timur joined the camp of warriors without a king. It seemed that there was in him a spark of sheer eagerness that made him love a risk for the sake of its danger. But, more than that, in a crisis Timur remained quiet and thoughtful. “A breeder of action,” the bahaturs said. His overflowing physical energy made light work of long rides and sleepless nights. Timur had the qualifications of leadership, and he liked to lead. Hoke FTER a while it occurred to Kazgan to give Timur a wife. And he chose one «f his granddaughters, who was also of the reigning family of another clan. ‘The chronicle tells us of Timur's bride that her beauty was like the young moon, and her body graceful as the young cypress. She must have been about 15 years of age, because she had been allowed to ride to the hunts with her father. Her name was, hereafter, Aljai Khatun Agha—the Lord's Lady Aljai. At that time the women of the Tatars went unveiled. They knew nothing as yet of the seclusion of harem, sanctuary. in the saddle, from an early age, they accompanied their lords through the varying fortunes of journey and cam- paign and pilgrimage. Being children of conquerors, they had their share ot pride, and the vitality that comes from life in open country. Their great-grand- mothers: had had the care of all the family property, including the milking of camels and the making of boots. ‘The Tatar women of Timur's day had had property of their own—marriage portions and gifts of their lords. Wives of the greater nobles were mistresses of separate establishments, having quarters to themselves in the palaces and individ- val groups of pavilions on the march. Unlike their sisters of Europe, they did not occupy themselves with the embroid- ery frame or the tapestry or rug loom. They were companions of warriors, their duty the care of their young children; they took their places at the banquets of rejoicing, and, if their lord’s enemies prevailed over him, they were part of the spoils of defeat. Princess Aljai came down from her home on the northern border escorted by her kinsmen and slaves. She pre- | sented herself before the King Maker, and there for the first time she saw the face of the man who was to be her master—the lean and bearded face of Timur who had come in from an excur- : sion with the bahaturs {o be present at 1his wedding. While the men mixed spirits with their wine to get drunk the quicker and Aljai walked between them, impassive of face, erect and frightened, the King Maker scattered fistfuls of pearls among the throng, and at his summons the nakars _thundered—the bronze-bound | saddle drums that were the summons to rejoicing or war. Daylight faded and slaves appeared bearing_torches. Lanterns were hung along the bank of the river and under the trees. Fresh leather platters of food were laid among the guests, who ex- LORD, AMIR AWAITS YUSSUF haunches «of horses and barley cakes soaked in honey. Once more Aljai passed among them, this. time not to return. Timur led a white Arab charger over the carpets, a smooth-paced horse of racing blood, silk caparisoning hanging over its saddle down to the ground Upen the charger he lifted Aljai, and led her away to his own pavilion. * ok ok ok HERE is no doubt that from his twenticth to his twenty-fourth year Messire Timur found life very good in- deed. He made a home for Aljai out of 2 wing of the tenantless white clay palace of the Green City. He adorned the dwelling after his own taste, with the carpets, the silver and tapestry work that was the fruit of his soldiering. His father gave him the family cattle and pasture rights. Amir Kazgan appointed him Ming- bashi, commander of a thousand—col- onel of a regiment, we would say. Kaz- gan, a judge of warriors, allowed Timur and his thousand to lead the advance of the army. Often along the Samarkand road Timur would ride to his home a day ahead of the main body, the white dust rising about- his horses in the moon- light, to greet Aljai and to make ready a feast for the lords that came behind him. He relished the splendor of these banquets in the water garden of the Green City. When Aljai bore him a son, Timur named the boy Jahangir— the world gripper—and summoned all the amirs of the King Maker to a festival. ‘Timur was absent when his protector, Kazgan, was put to death. The King Maker was indulging his fondness for hunting, and was still south of the river unarmed with a few followers, when two chieftains who cherished a grievance against him attacked Kazgan and shot him down with arrows. Timur heard of it and rode up in time to carry the body back across the river and bury it in the forest of Sall Sarai. ‘When a ruler died in mid-Asia his son might take the throne only if the late chieftain had left a well founded dominion and the son were able enough to hold it for himself; otherwise, at best, there would be a council of the great vassals and a new ruler chosen. At the worst—more often than not— there would be a general struggle for | the throne and the strongest would seize it. Out of the struggle Timur emerged victorious. His followers waited expectantly to see how he would receive the envoys sent to greet him—and to spy upon him —by his neighbors across the desert. These neighbors were powerful and had long profited by raiding the Tatars during the years of anarchy. One, the Sufi of Kharesm, lord of Khiva and Nrganj and the Sea of Aral, remem- bered Timur only as a wanderer who had struggled for life with the Turko- man tribesmen in the red sands, but he sent costly gifts, and Timur gave to his envoy still richer presents, requesting that Khan Zade, the daughter of the Sufi who was noted for beauty, should be given as a wife to his son, Jahangir. Friendly as this suggestion seemed, it the Sufi as his vassal, “I have conquered Kharesm with the sword,” the Sufi sent response, “and only with the sword can it be won from me.” * ok ok % IMUR moved against Urganj, where the Sufi had taken refuge. Here siege engines were needed. stone casters and mangonels, and while they were building a message came to his camp from the Sufl. “Why destroy so many of our follow- ers? Let thou and I decide our quarrel with no man's hand between us. Let him be victor upon whose hand blood runs from the sword channels.” The Sufi's envoy named an hour for the duel and a place—the level ground o;stIde one of the main gates of the city. All of Tamur’s amirs within hearing protested instantly. Bayan, the son of : “Prince, it is now your place is the throne and the canopy of command, and it is not fitting you should leave it.” All of them begged for permission to take his place in this contest, but Timur pointed out that the prince of Kharesm had challenged him, not an officer. To the envoy he announced that he would be before the gate, alone. Under the troubled eyes of his amirs when the appointed time came, Timur put on light link mail—his swordbearer thrust the shield high on his left arm and girdled the scimitar above his hips. Timur placed the familiar black and gold helmet on his head and shoulders and limped out to his horse, supremely happy. Alone Timur trotted out of his camp, through the line of the siege engines, already thronged with silent watchers, across the intervening plain to the closed gate of Urganj, “Say to thy lord, Yussuf Sufi,” he called to the Khivans who crowded the gate towers, “that the Amir awaits It was a mad kind of daring, obsti- nate and admirable. Timur, the Amir, was still the lover of combat—too reck- less to of issues greater than his own mood. Sitting so in the saddle of his baby charger, Brown Lad, under a hundred bows, waiting impatiently for his enemy to appear, we see the true Timur, at once the greatness and the by virtue of their swords and the craft | claimed gutturally at the sight of smok~ failing of him. and dignity of their chieftains. ¢ They ing quarters of young ‘Yussuf Sufl never came forth, "Timur . CRAFTS JOKES | PUZZLES Rase frellns i Flower box Morker Trhree sumple iferms you carn make arna sell One of the nice things about your | own shop is that in it you cannot only have a lot of fun and obtain valuable experience, but you can often turn a handsome profit as well. To the aver- age boy, earning money is about as im- portant as pleasure, and, if you earn money and have fun doing it, the combination is hard to beat. The small home workshop can be used to keep you in spending mone, right along if you are a bit aggressive and have a little selling ability. At this time of the year every one is interested in gardens and lawns. Your own| neighborhood should yield a large num- | ber of prospects for your wares, which will sell at a handsome profit. | The illustration shows but three| items, although these are easy to make | and leave a good margin of profit. The trellis and marker can be mede from | lath, and 2 bundle of them, costing but a trifle, will Jast a long time. Of] course each lath must be dressed down. | If you have a motor-driven saw with guides on the table, this will be easy. Simply set the guide to the right spac- ing, then run the lath through to take off ‘only the rough portions. If you do not own this equipment, the work carn be done almost as easily with a good sharp plane. Dress down a number of | them at one time. i The secret of good trellis design is the spacing. The distance between sticks should equal their width, and whenever | possible the amount of stick projecting past an overlap should also equal this width. The design shown does not | carry this rule thoroughly, but some- times alterations can be made without harming the appearance. This trellis will require about 4 laths. The pieces are fastened with lath nails, which will stick through on the back about cne- n | one | double t For the flower wood is used. 3 E inches in width are should be e from warp or checks. All four sides should taper slightly from top to bottom. Cut the pieces for box and make sure the taper the eye before nailing them to- Notice that the end grain is t the er one of the long sides is always the front. This box should have two coats of green paint, althouch you can cut simple block de- signs from linoleum or wood and stamp on a pattern to improve the appear- ance. For the selling price of the box, figure the cost of the materials, then is for vour selling price. Some- times more than the material cost can be added, depending upon the time re- quired. You should have no_trouble in ge g a number of orders for flower boxes. but since these are usually wanted to fit under windo it will be best to talk with the prospects first, then make the boxes up according to specifications. Usually, brackets will also be required, another source of profit. General repair work also offers a splendid opportunity to earn money, If you have a soldering iron and blow torch, you can make general metal re- pairs at almost every home in_ your neighhorhood. The patching of furni- ture can be done in your shop. More than one home has from one to four or five pieces of furniture—chairs and that sort of thing—which require the use of glue and screws. Talking with the home owner usually results in a chance to take the pieces home where you can repair them right.on the bench. This will mean not only replacing a piece of wood, for instance, but the sandpaper- plea: th ing and finishing of it also, and the re~ sulting job should show a nice profit. A more elaborate job would be a dog kennel. _ Soliciting~ orders for dog quarter of an inch. They should be| clinched on the back. ‘Two coats of white paint will be re-! quired. Let the first coat dry before | meant that Timur chose to look upon | applying the second coat. This will cover the nail heads and points and render them inconspicuous. The trellis will sell for 50 cents, at least, and 75 cents is usually the right price, leavin; at least 50 cents as your profit. ‘The markers are made from two pieces, shaped and nailed together. Two small wood screws can be used in- stead of nails if you wish. Give the ‘article two coats of paint and letter the name wanted on each one when delivery is to be made. The person owning a nice flower garden will some- times order a dozen or more of these, which sell for about 10 cents each. 5 | houses will not bring many orders, but | each one will run into money and the j work of making them will not be diffi- cult. There are almest unlimited pos- sibilities for profitable repairing and constructing and you will probably have more than you can do in spare time if you go after the business. Any sort of wooden dry goods boxes }wlll give an abundance of wood for all {sorts of uses. You might leave & | standing order at several stores for these | boxes. They can be dismantled on the | spot and the boards bundled and takem home. For some of the more particu= lar work, though. wood from the lume ber yard will be best. HISTORIC The traveler who wanders into Jamestown, in Virginia, will see there the ruins of an old brick tower, sur- rounded by a wire fence, and having the appearance of an ancient age. And it is anclent, too, for it has stood on this spot for almost 300 years. It was CHURCH not always so lonely, though, for when it was erected it was part of a church, one of the first churches erected in America by English settlers in the New World. It was erected in 1635 by the early Virginia settlers and was built on the very spot where Capt. John Smith, that famous explorer, had built a wooden one some years previous. This earlier church was the one in which Poca- kontas, the Indian maid and daughter of Powhatan, was married to John Rolf in 1614. The new church was a large one for the times. It was built entirely of brick and of wood taken from the dense forests, and the tower that stands there today was placed at the entrance. ‘The times were troublesome in the Virginia of 300 years ago, and when the white men were not fighting the Indians they would often fight among themselves. And so about 25 years after the church had been completed Nathaniel Bacon and his soldiers re- belled against the authority of the gov- ernor, marched on Jamestown and burned the town and the church. Noth- ing of the latter remains today except the ruined tower you see pictured here, an object of beauty in its old age, and one visited by thousands of people every year. RIVER RUNS You know, of course, that rivers flow from their sources toward their mouths and then empty into a larger river, a lake or into an ocean, but there is one river in the United States which does things the other way. It is the Chicago River and it is a small stream only about 6 miles long. Up to the year 1900 it behaved like all streams and emptied its waters into Lake Michi- gan. And as it emptied into the clear BACKWARD do: their water became unfit to drink and it was extremely harmful to the health of the population. And so they decided to turn the river back=- ward. A canal was built near the source of the river connecting it with the large Illinois River, 13 miles away, and since the Illinois River flows in a south= westerly direction, the waters of the Chicago River followed through the waters of the lake it carried with it | all the sewage, decayed matter and | slime that had been drained into the | stream from the thousands of homes and factories of Chicago. The people of the city, who drink the water from Lake Michigan, saw that this would not called out at length, “He who breaks his word shall lose his life.” Then he wheeled his horse and paced back to his own lines. He must have amirs and lords of the the thousands who had watched hi long battle trumpets, until horses neighed and reared and cattle bellowed. his men. * K Kk phetic, because Yussuf Sufi fell sick presently and at his death the city was given up. It was agreed that the girl Khan Zade should be sent to the conquerors as Jahangir's bride, and Kharesm with the great city of Urganj was made into a province to be ad- ministered by Timur's eldest son. ‘The chronicle says that after this vic- tory Timur's dominion became so se- cure that luxury was its only enemy. These wars in miniature demon- strated merely that Timur had become an exceptional leader, and that he had been prompt to make himself master of the nearby powers that might have threatened him. But in Timur there had arisen a leader who had the in- stinct of a conqueror, and who was now in the fullness of his strength. He was 3¢ when he sat upon the white felt at Balkh, in the year 1369. And beyond his borders, in all the quarters of the four winds, warfare smoldered. that swept from Asia into Europe earlier in the century, unrest stirred, and dynasties fell. turned aside into new channels. Men sought the armed camps, and horsemen appeared in deserted flelds, and flame moved through the darkness. Into this vast battieground it was | inevitable that Timur should go. (Copyright, 1929.) been chagrined, but at his coming his regiments streamed out to meet him, and from swelled a roaring greeting. Kettle drums thundered through the clashing of cymbals and the deep clamor of the There was no mistaking the feeling of | IMUR'S angry words proved pro- Upon the track of the Black Plague ! ‘The trade caravans | canal, into the Illinois, the Mississippi and eventually into the Gulf of Mex- ico. In doing this water is drawn from Lake Michigan and thus the river waters flow toward its source and away from its mouth. j Since the canal has been in opera- | tion the waters of Lake Michigan near | Chicago are again clean and fit to | drink and the river itself is clear of the fiith and the foul odors that haa contaminated it for 50 many years. | “The map shown here shows how the | waters of Lake Michigan enter the Chi- cago River, flow through the canal ana into the Illinois and Mississippi Rivers, Another Subject. A lad attending an Eastern college | wrote to his father asking him to in- crease his allowance, as he was taking |up another subject. The father, com- plying with the request, ‘inquired the ml!;w of the subject. The reply was golt. -