Evening Star Newspaper, September 14, 1930, Page 107

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, SEPTEMBER 14, 1930. . ™ “Where, When and How Is All This Farm Relief:” Asks Will Rogers. ELL all T know is just what I read in the papers, Here about a week or 10 days ago we had 4 quite a mess happening. But here lately its pretty well bog- ged down. When those Frenchmen was flying the ocean, and Lindy was receiving em, you know that must have been quite a novelty. Think of Lindy meeting somebody instead of being met, But he did a mighty gracious thing, as he always does. When those boys landed he was right there to give them the glad hand of welcome, and it was real, too. For he is for anything that is for the good of aviation whether he is the one doing it or not. Yes, sir, he and Annie was there. Well, those fellows had a right to make that trip. They were real aviators in the first place, and they had made every known preparation and taken every precaution. The trouble with most of the other trials that have failed, they were by practically unknown aviators, and they were just taking a chance, and figured maybe they could make it. You see when those Ger- mans come meandering in here by way of the North Pole and way stations (which by the way was a great trip) why that stirred the French. You let a German do something and even if its wrong the Frenchmen will want to out do him. Now that they have it done, I look to have to put up immigration laws against visiting foreign aviators. They will be dropping in here so fast that Grover ‘Whalen will have to be shaking hands with both mits. THEN Mr. Hearst getting thrown out of ' PFrance was big news away back in the same days the Frenchmen were landing. He went on over to England and they received him with open arms, and even asked him to write something about them. France got sore at something he wrote about 'em, and England with their minds on what could be accom- plished by publicity, as they had seen it done by America, they said, “Sure publish any of our old Treatys you want. We will even write you one to publish, go ahead, write what you want and stay as long as you like.” “The farmers can hunt rabbits.” Well, lets see what else there is in the prints. I thought we was going to have some farm relief to report to you by this Sabbath day. But the commissions are just gathering data. They wont take the farmers’ word for it that he is poor. They hire men to find out how Blind Date g she wanted to, but because she thought that maybe she would hear something about Don- ald. It was funny that she couldn't get his . face out of her mind, she mused now and then. He hadn’t wanted to see her again. When men wanted to see you, they could find a way. “Have you—do you ever see—Mr. Cort?” The words were out. Dotty hoped her voice and face weren't giving her away. After all, ~ she had just asked a question. And hadn't Mazie been the one who told her how im- portant that date was going to be? “Cort?” Mazie laughed again. “Not a glimpse! Got wise, I suppose, that I wasn't the real thing! Oh, well, there are others coming along. But you've got to catch ’em before your bait gives out, or you're sunk.” “Your bait?” Dotty esked innocently. “Sure. Your figure and complexion.” About what had happened at the store Mazie said nothing. She didn’t ask Dotty to come to see her, or tell where she was working. She paid the check and said good-bye. That was that. Dotty turned away, a little gropingly. Mazie didn’t know where Mr. Cort was. And it was only through Mr. Cort that she could find Don- ald. And Donald thought she was a secretary. Maybe he had asked for her and found out who she was. If he had, perhaps he had been so0 surprised that he didn’t want to have any- thing to do with her again. Or maybe he would rather she had told him the truth than deceived him. It was all such a whirl that her head started to ache, and she went home to think about it some more, lying on her cot in her lonely room. The rent was due. She heard the landlady coming up the stairs, and lay very quiet. If the woman didn't hear her maybe she would go back downstairs again. If she came in she would want her money. And Dotty couldn’t give it to her, because if she did she would scarcely have enough left to live on until she found work. The knock sounded. Again. Then the door opened. The woman came in. “Ha! Thought you'd fool me, didn’t you? How about the rent money today?” She looked very imposing as she stood over the small figure that had suddenly sat erect on the bed. “Sure, I know your story. You've been sick, haven't you, and now they've laid you off? Summer arid the slack season. But I've got to eal. I've waited two days over time now, but I can't keep on.” “I CAN'T pay for the whole week in ad- vance,” Dotty began. “Couldn’t I just give it to you every night until I found something?” The woman laughed. “No chance. You pay me for t..-se two days and skip. There’s a man wanis it, anyway. A gentleman. And he’ll pay tais minute.” “All right.” Dotty counved out the change. Then she packed her suitcase, carried it down- stairs very slowly, and checked it at a hotel. She couldn’t carry it around with her. She had to do something now—go some place. She found herself wandering along Fortieth street, discouraged, and still too weak to think about where to find another job. It was scorching hot. A sign in a ticket office caught her eye. “Excursion to Bound Beach, N. J. Every Day at Noon. Return 1030 P. M. Round Trip, $1.25.” Bound Beach—that meant Donald Pelder! ELL, she wouldn't see him, but it was country, and Dotty longed for country to- day. Noon found her on the crowded excursion train. People with baskets, and babies. Fat, unfashionable, comfortable women and men. They must be going to a part of Bound Beach very far from Cort’s yacht and Pelder’s racing stables. But after an hour the sweet sea breeze swept into the stuffy car, and when they piled out at the little station there was the sound of ocean in Dotty's ears. She let the crowd from the train pass her, and wandered slowly along the sandy road. Over by the beach flags were flying and the poor he is. If they took all the money they spend on finding out how he is, and give it to the farmer he wouldent need any more relief. But soon as Winter comes he will be O. K. Soon as snow flies he can kill rabbitts. That will be the biggest relief he has had so far. sound of a steam piano came to her—a jolly, childish sound. Some sort of tent show, play- ing there for the summer? Dotty drew nearer, and found herself on a miniature midway, lined with bright, clean booths. The music was from the merry-go-round, and she came nearer still, to watch the delighted antics of the children who clung laughing to the wooden horses. The merry-go-round halted—— “All right, folks! Just getting ready for the next horse race! Let the children ride these wild Arabian steeds! Catch the brass ring, kids, and get a free extra ride! Here, little lady——" The tall figure on the platform, as he swung a curly-headed baby up to the back of a shiny brown horse, caught Dotty’s eye. Something familiar. And then the voice again—“Come on, now! Let’s go! That's the boy—and sis- ter!” As the man hoisted another chubby youngster up, Dotty’s eyes met his—Donald Pelder! The horseman! Well, of all the liars—but she had barely time to catch her indignant breath when, with a hasty signal to the man who started the carrousel, Donald had jumped down from the platform and was at her side. “YOU!" he said. “And just when I'd de- cided that I'd never see you again! Here, come over here and sit down—I want to talk to you. Don’t be mad about that swell horse- man business—I want to tell you—" The bewildered Dotty found herself sitting on a small iron chair and listening to the flood of eager words. She musn't, he said again, be mad at him. It was all a joke. He'd just as soon have said that night that they were wooden horses. But Cort (Cort ran the boat on the sea slide) had met this Killgore woman, and she put on so much big talk that he thought it would be fun to string her along. Donald hadn’t minded —until he saw Dotty. Then he was sick of the whole thing, and wanted to tell her. But he didn’t know how to go about it—particularly if Well, the elections will be breaking out pretty soon, and a flock of Democrats will replace a mess of Republicans in quite a few districts. It wont mean a thing. They will go in like a® the rest of em, go in on promises and come out on alabi's. If the farmer could harvest his promises he would be sitting pretty. The party thats in and not doing so good, when the election comes they throw them out, but 21 these things happen on what they call the “Off Years,” on those years the Republican sce that things go pretty good. So what happens at the coming one wont have a thing to do with the big finals in 32. TELL you what I bet you, I bet you that Hoover walks in, in 32. It looks kinder goofy for him now, but by then we will have heard him knocked so much that we will begin to “eel sorry for him and figure that he hasent had a chance, and by then the farmers that want relief now will be starved to death, and a new crop will be along that have sold the #a farm and put in a “Minature,” so he will walk in. There is something about a Republican administration that it only functions one year in four. But they make sure that year is th~ presidential election year. So now is the tim~ to take some bets. Paste this up and drop m~ a line around November 32. ‘Never mind what happens at this one thats coming up in a few weeks, that's only a decoy. That's just to kecp the Democrats enthused, and keep them from giving up their charter. By the way, all the reports from New York are that Jimmy Walker is folding up and going into the old camphor balls. Well, Jimmy has had a good run and it womt worry him much. He has kept em fooled for quite a while, and has made em about as good a man as any of the rest of em. Jimmy could at least make em a good speech. He called in a hundred prom- inent citizens to discuss “graft” with him. A man naturally wouldent call in 100 poor men to discuss graft, they would have no tech- nical knowledge of the subject. These 100 met and adjourned without adopting any reselu- tion to either halt or increase it. It seeme everyone was satisfied as it is. (Copyright, 1930.) = - - Continued From Tenth Page she was secretary to this head buyer womanr. He had started to explain—did Dotty rememni- ber that? Well, Cort had tried to get hold of Mazie again and make another date for the four of them, because Donald wanted to see Dotty. They found that Killgore had left the store, and Dotty was away sick—and they wouldn't give employes’ addresses—and she wes a stock girl, not a secretary—and the ‘“head buyer” was a clerk. Donald broke off. apologize. UT HE wouldn't let her. What did it mat- ter, now she had turned up? But one thing —his job. He really loved it—he wasn't ashamed of it. He was badly shot up during the war, and had to do something outdoors. Now that he was well he wouldn’t give it up for any other job in the world. His own boss, making good money. Outdoors all the time— south in the winter—here in the summer. And a'fine lot of people in the show, really. Lots - better than any city job he had ever heard of. Look—lock at the ocean. Wasn't that better than Porty-second Street? _Dotty looked—and decided that it was. The sea was only a little bluer than Donald’s eyes. She found herself telling him about having lost her job, and how she didn't know now just what to do. “Poor kid,” he said. “Look here—would you——? You know these little carnivals aren’'t the tough joints people think they are. Not ours, anyway. We watch out pretty sharp— and the patrons are mostly families, and chil- dren. No rough stuff. If you'd like to help out old Mrs. Kelly, at the toy booth, you'd make more than you do in town—and she's a nice old girl. Has a little house of her own here. The sea air would do you good—and I'd see you often.” Maybe that decided for Dotty. Anyway, the 10.30 went back to New York without her. Those twelve horses suited her just as they were. It was Dotty's turn to The Theory and Practice of Tree-Sitting—By Richard Connell N epidemic of tree-sitting has swept our land like, if you care for new similes, wildfire. Tree-sitting promises to become our national sport, and in no time at all, or even sooner, it is not unlikely that all our foot ball fields, base ball parks, golf links, polo fields and whippet tracks will be trans- formed into orchards, with great big- strong trees for papa and Auntie Fannie, and Tom Thumb trees for the tiny tots. For the whole family can play this splendid outdoor game, which provides as much fun for dad as it does for the lads—just about. It is a democratic game and can be played by the poorest as well as the richest, as all the equipment one needs is a tree and lots of spare time. Any number can play. One does not need to have a fine physique or a quick mind to become an adept at this wholesale sport— though, of course, a tree sitter must keep his mind on his work. The rules of the game are simplicity itself. All you do is pick out a tree—in some public place, preferably, although there are some secret tree-sitters—climb or be boosted up onto a iimb, and sit there. The point of the game is to sit till you get your name in the papers. Each mention in print counts one point, each picture two, and offers to appear in vaudeville or to indorse straitjackets or brands of can- med nuts count you five. When you have made W - e Qs Ve ETIRTEs 100 points, you remain seated until you have made a second 100, and so on. The basic principle of the game—its essential philosophy— is that, no matter what you do, if you do it long enough, somebody will pay attention to you. FOR novices just plain tree-sitting is ad- vised for the first five or six years, or until the wagon comes. Later, as the player de- velops form and confidence, fancier and sub- tler forms of tree-sitting may be practiced. Farcy tree-sitting is still in its infancy, in the next crib to the talkies, but great strides, back and forth, are being made, and novel im- provements are constantly being conceived by the deep thinkers on the branches. For example, Arthur Gordon Dunkhurst, jr., only 10 years of age, but already a veteran and brilliant tree-sitter, with a stance which has been widely copied, not only sits for weeks at a time in a butternut tree in the backyard of his home, but plays unceasingly on the bull fiddle the while, stopping only to refuel, etcetera. .Little Emily Crupper, who is 13, has sat for some months now in a tree in front of her home in New Jersey and has talked the en- tire t'me, exchanging repartee with the dense crowds which swarm around her tree, and sometimes, for variety—for even tree-sitters are human—she recites the poetry of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Joyce Kilmer, gives imitations of birds and beasts and casts horoscopes for a modest fee. Miss Crupper has recently turned professional and is under the astute management of her father, Lucas G. (Pop) Crupper, who resigned his position as idea man in a bakery to look after the interests of his gifted offspring. Mr. Crupper personally passes the hat, and the day’s collection often runs into two figures. Before retiring from active competition—be- cause, as he says with a twinkle in his eye, “Youth must be served, you know”—Mr. Crup- per, or “Pop,” as he is known to several people, made a very notable sitting record. He is the author of “The A, B, C's of Tree Sitting, a Practical Manual for Beginners and Laymen,” and of an authoritative work entitled “A His- tory of Tree Sitting,” which points out that man was “originally arboreal,” and that “this return to the ancestral tree tops” is a step in some direction or other. Both volumes are on sale. They carry the indorsement of the National Tree-Sitters As- sociation, Inc., which already has literally grosses of members, and which can be joined by persons who havé sat in a tree for a week and paid the membership fee of $10, which entitles them to wear & pecan tree in their button hole. TREE-SITTING has, at the moment, a dominant position in the world of sport, but it has some competition from other related sports which appeal to the same sort of athlete who has taken up tree-sitting in a big way. Flag-pole sitting is enjoying a mild vogue, but is considered snobbish, because of the scarcity of poles. Sitting on roofs, silos, steeples and monuments has some adherents, but is deemed more effeminate and less thrilling than trce- sitting. Front-porch chair-rocking is popular among elderly persons. And there are signs that marathon dancing, endurance bicycle rid- ing, channel swimming and peanut rolling with the nose, will enjoy increasing popularity e sections where trees are scarce and all the move - prominent trees are already occupied by dev- otees of the parent sport. If Winter comes, as it probably will, the tree- sitters plan to train for Spring by staying in bed all Winter. They may also go in for long- distance banjo-playing and banana-eating contests. Miss Crupper, “The Jersey Limpet,”- plans to spend the cold term on a hat rack in her parents’ home, where she can be viewed by the public for a dime. 1t is generally considered by those who think-# about such matters that tree-sitting has much in its favor. The line of reasoning is dhat those who sit in trees are, all things considereJ better off there. ‘