New Britain Herald Newspaper, June 16, 1927, Page 12

Love’s Einbers “Absorbing Sequel to Adele Garrison “Revelations Beginning a New Serial————————————’ Philip Veritzen Shows Himself A | Lord 10 His Own Realm. There is a crisp authority in Philip Veritzen's slightest direction to his subordinates which fascinates me because he also manages to invest each order with courtesy. But I cannot imagine anyone disobeying an order of his or delaying one. Those who do indulge their imag- inations in that direction and carry out their visions concretely always find themselves promptly separated from the great organization which he heads. So I was not surprised to Otto, the great man's chauffeur, ap- car at the door of his private of- ce in so short a time after Mr. Veritzen had sent for him as to sug- gest that the employee who had lLeen given the order to summon Otto had slid down the banister in his zeal for haste. Mr. Veritzen wasted liminaries. he said, “ean you find 100m in the car for a board of these dimensions.” He named its length breadth and thickness. Imperturbably the chauffeur took a folding ruler from a pocket of his smart uniform, and, bending down, see no time in laid it on the rug and proceeded to, o measure off the dimensions his em- plover had mentioned. T he straightened up and gave a A« ion. , it can go on the it beside me. I can fasten it so t t will vot fall nor interfere with the driv- ing." “Very well, Mr. Veritzen com- mented. “Here,” gathering up the report he just had heen reading and handing it to the man. “put that in my emergency bag. Then start the car. Mrs, Graham and T will be right down.” He turncd to mie as soon as the man had left the room. “Perhaps 1 was too precipitate,” he said, with a charming depr tery smile. “But I thought would be ready to leave teler T am,” I returned, rising crossed the room to my side, and, of a Wife” taking my coat from the chair, held it for me to sltp into. I wondered if it were an accident that as he ad- justed it to my shoulders, his hand touched my cheek in something 0 | like a fugilive caress that I almost | committed the gancherie of drawing away instead of ignoring the Inci- dent entire! The next instant he had stepped | side for me to precede him out of he room. His manner was impec- | cably dignified, but I felt absurdly clf-conscious as we came into the | main offices, where Henderson and | the three girls were busily at work. But there was not the slight- | est expression in any one of the four faces to indicate that they saw any- thing out of the ordinary in this nz confercnce of mine Mr, Veritzen paused at Hender- son’s desk 1 shall not need the | work as early as I 89 “Go home now A ke the whole in addition to Sundayl' He turned away so abruptly that rently did not hear Hender- | fervent “Thank you.” But T hat T had witnessed one little acts which kept o people of the great producer’s ization so absolutely loyal to | = e old man works yom till you're ready to drop.* one of them | said, “but he never fails to hand | vou eomeihing as a reward that makes you t to put in anot halt day for him, just for luc T wondered if my vanity was wrong in drawing another conclu- sion—that the work of these four | people really had not been neces sary, that he had commanded their | attendance sinply to allay any pos- | sible qualins of mine concerning the Sunday morning appointment and | ‘o make Tess pointed his proposal | that we continue our conference at | the on the heights overlooking the Tudson. Copy 3 Feature 7. Newspaper Service, Tne. Reddy Fox and Mrs. Reddy Gossip By Thornton W. Burgess Gossips are most always ruthless, And what they say is' often truth- less. —Peter Rabbit Reddy Fox and Mrs. Reddy sat on their door step up in the Old Pasture. The Black Shadows were | already creeping across the Green Meadows towards the Green Forest. Reddy and Mrs. Reddy were prepar- | ing to go hunt for their dinnkr. Farther up and back in the 0ld | Pasture they heard a short yelp. | * Reddy looked at Mrs. Reddy. “That : was ‘ON-Man Coyete,” said he. 3 A& “you sure it was Old Man ! Covote?” asked Mrs. Reddy. “Just what do you mean, dear?” inquired Reddy. “I mean that there are strange doings here in the Old Pasture,” | declared Mrs. Reddy. | “I' haven't seen any strange do- | said Reddy. hen, my dear,” said Mrs. Reddy “you haven't used your, s, your nose and your ears, Do vou niean to tell me that you haven't discovered that thera is a “stranger up here in the Old Pas- | ; ture?” | % “What stranger?” remanded | # Reddy. t “Ask Ola . Reddy, | “I don't want to ask Old Man Coyote. T wouldn't ask ONd Man Coyote anything. But tell me, my dear. who is this stranger. Don’t tease me; just tell me.” haven't met her,” replied Mrs. Reddy. “Her!” exclaimed R 40 you mean, my dear? Mrs. Reddy grinned my dear, nothin i I saw some footprints | morning and they were very like the footprints of Ol4 Man Coyote, only-they were s & Reddy Fox look :“Do you mean it, my Man Coyote,” replizd s d at her gharply my sald dear?” it another Coyot Reddy “It there’ said he, thera 30 ask O11 € eddy you show prints? T should lik footrr s with my Re started off following her. She down towards th 014 Pastur said L brisk trot, led Gre vas v ddv nothin him stopy and there of little stopped at th looked down. enongh, were footprints very Ifke those Old Man Coyote, only smaller. “They were mada by a doz. a lit- fle dog,” declared Reddy under his breath. Nevertheless, he could feel the hair along his back beginning | to rise. | | if this were not wartime, 1. | ing to himself, “I am not going to | he | | | haa | she “Go ask Old Granny Fi Mrs. Reddy ,"" replied Menas for the Family | Breakfa scrambl t—Halves of grape fruit, | d cggs, crisp broiled bacon, whole wheat fuflins, milk, coffee. Lun| lettuce iemonad Dinner—Pot dumplin button r with w milk, coffee ragus luncheon make ish i asparagus, adwiches, carrot pudding, | £ beef with dish planned for | s an ideal company , but is wholesome and suitable the entire family. Canned aspar- en fresh aspar- 1 season, Luncheon Asparagus s 1 1-2 cups sifted dried bread crumbs, 2-3 cup hot mi 4 tablespoons melted | buiter,.1 1-2 tcaspoon salt, 1-§ tea- | spoon pepper, 4 rges. i Put stale bre to dry t} bs. W and steam ut the ces. A ugh m crumbs 1 aspa o a slow oven| oll and sift pe ites. Cool into or sh and ser fifteen mix en ke moist. The more or less oist crumbs. Fold 4 turn into | Cover and | tes, Serve with | Hol- or mock RECKLES| Get Rid of These Ugly § Safely and Surely anfi ‘\::t: Beautiful Complexion Wi (DOUBLE. STR| MONEY BACK [F I U, BY DRUG AND DEPARTMENT STORES EVERYWHERE T F IAN THE ADR T3 S TR BRI, lapse of his first passionate affatr, Jones, who was the daughter of the Tracys' milkman, had had a childish engagement which was objected to by both Mr. Jones and Mrs. Tracy. Hilliard, an old friend of his moth tesses her love to Phillip. T ness because war is declared. lee goos to the depot to sce them off and in her anxiety to see Phil she ignores Rod entirely. This near- 1y breaks his heart. the southern training camp before has a most unusual expericnce with | a nameless girl. He gets as he walked into the big reception lig tmosphere. Fer friends, he swung Marta into a | | were ugly and ill-fitting — t m the army, and simply reveled in NEW BRITAIN DAILY HERALD, THURSDAY, JUNE 16, 1927. My Sons Suectfiears /b MeGIONE GIBSON. WLUSTRUTED AND COPYRIGHTED BY JOWNSON FEATURES INC. must tell something funny about her. “The night we started down here she took a taxi in a pouring rain | and got to the train to say good-bye |just as we were pulling out. She was dressed In a yellow frock about the shade of the one you have on, and as she stepped out, she fell in the gutter and was spattered from head to foot. “She flung her arms unexpectedly He takes her to lunchcon and | 2bout my neck as I raised her, and | ly finds he is falling in love. |When I got on the car she ha«l' a midnight ride Lyra con- | (ransferred most of the mud to my | face and clothing, and we were | funny-looking sights. I can tell you.” Phil stopped, expecting Marta to at least smile; but instead she said: “Poor girl! It was bad enough to say good-bye to vou without doing {it in that ridiculous manner.” Thillip had a new idea. “Marta, you haven't bade good- | WHAT HAS HAPPENED: you The entrance of America into the | World war finds Phillip Wynne Tracy 1V suffering from the col- love Before this, he and Natlee Phillip becomes interested in Lyra On e whole affair, however, sinks into nothing- Rod | and Phil are the first to enlist. Nat- Philllp finds he must leave for | | bye to anyone lately, have you?” “No, but T think I know how it/ would fecl to do so.” Presently he found himself telling Marta about many of his and Nat- lee's childish episodes, especially | | the one in which she had to get in | | the window because her father had | locked her out. | He was 50 engrossed in this, that! he almost bumped into Lieutenant | | Andrews. | “He'll never helieve T did not do said Phil, “even | eing his mother again. Here he tailed to titchen police and his p: oked. Here the story further unfolds— CHAPTER XXX Phillip Disobeys Orders Phillip gave a sigh of pleasure Ul at the country club. Ie had t realized before how he had d the sight of pretty girls, the | and the gavety of the home |that on purp if I would be allowed to explain which I will not be. So, Marta if | vou do not sce me for the mext| » | week or two, you may know I am forgot that his O. D.s [in the gnard house. at his| “Children, we must be going it | ' we would get Phillip to the camp in | time,” said Mrs. Tennjs, when they | | next came up to where she was | seated. Phillip had thought of this, too, [ but he had determined that he | would not suggest it. There is Lieutenant Andrews,| “You'll come again soon, Phil,” whispered Marta. “He 1s| you?" Marta i tudiously high-hatting me.” “You bet I will—just as soon as Of course he wili, my dear girl” | T can.” answered Phil. “You know that ac- | He scurried to his tent and found ng to an unwritten law, T have | the “false man” had not been This is purely | turbed, and pulling it out he slid |into fts place. e could not go Seating Mrs. Tennis near some of | fox-trot. Then he shoes were big and clumsy—that he was doing one of the menial things like was | girl in the fact t the floor was glass, the music fine, and he dancing with the prettiest the room won't to sleep immedi- ately, but lay there thinking of Marta and her mother. Tt was good to have this little glimpse of what had knosn at home. He asked 1t when he would have an- “Well, T can't help about unwrit- ten laws. 1 imagine, however, that utenant Andrews might not be as welcome here as you.” “What a dear little parti “But Phil, T dol want into troublc through m “Don’t A trouble. t man cs worry me much.” Phil wondered what Marta would do if she knew that he was away from eamp when he was supposed | to be confined to qua s, but s 1if “the girl” he had vou to get J had m ad talked to Tor the - | Jones, 8 an was totally dif- let that cad think I am afraid of ferent to differcnt women. him,” he kept on dancing with Mar- > ven with her face ta or talking with her and - her |all plastered with mud and tears, as mother, as though he were a major | he saw her last, he remembered her at least, | as beautiful. During one of the times when| The next morning, as he expected, tting out” and Mrs. was ordered to report to Tie- king more questions tenant Andrews. Determined not to his mother, he happened to | give In until he had to, he faced ntion the party that his mother | him as thaigh he had not a care recently given. He spoke of \in the world. Red and nd when | T you u were dancing again Marta | to roth : “Tell me about | sie “How doy the count “T don't Know he aho’ me Te Or ed confined ce days yesterday. hoth they it come youn were at ¢ club last night?™” what you mean, Oh, she was a girl T 10, he answered loftily. good little scout, anywa did break the engaged ¢ ment. T| Licutenant Andrews turned impa- o “Wanne.” she said, | would not get wet.” dis- | ‘llen!ly to Sergeant Muldoon. “Call the guard.” Phil stood respectfully at atten- tion, but his heart was missing at least every third beat. Jn a moment the sergeant came | back with an unintelligent and very | much frightened soldier, who sa- luted. “Were you on guard duty night 2" “Yes, sir.” “Was Private Tracy absent from his cot?” “No, sir. I reported every hour until one, and Private Tracy was in his cot at those hours.” Phillip almost dropped where he stood as he realized that his ruse had succeeded and that there was nothing the lieutenant could do, al- though he had himselt seen him at the country club—and he knew that Phil knew he had seen him. After a moment he said to the guard: “You may go.” The man saluted and left. Phil did not trust himself to look the tlevtenant. He knew that the | battle was now on. | “Tracy, go back to your duties at | the kitchen.” Hardly waiting for Phil's parting salute, as he turne smartly, the officer left the office. “You ought to belong to the Navy, | Wynne,” sald Rod, who managed to | get a word with his friend a little later, “because if anything should happen that you fell overboard, you | last “Who told you about it?” asked Phil with a grin. “You needn’t worry about me with that idiot. If 1 can't outwit Licutenant Andrews some way, I deserve the guard house. | “Don't get too proud of yuursell,i | and Natlee, although she had acted | times when he had left Natlee out It's damn selfish in you to want them to grieve all the time just for you. Are you going to town to- night? “No, Rod, I don’t think I wil,” answered Phil sulkily. “That shot in the arm I got this morning makes me feel rotten.” “‘Well, so long then. I might as well tell you that you're not particu- larly pleasant company. I'm going in to get something to eat.” After Rod had gone, Phillip sat on his cot the picture of dejection. CHAPTER XXXI A Proposal of After Rod had gone, Phillip Wynne Tracy IV, who had inherited much of his self-pitying introspec- tion from his mother, sat on his cot, the picture of dejection. ““ He declared to himself that he would never speak to Major Auk- land under any circumstances. The moment his mother intimated that she had the slightest interest in him, he would tell her exactly what he thought. She would have to choose between this man and himself. He considered that Natlee had added that oll windbag—he knew he was | a windbag from Natlee's descrip- tion—could have been under any circumstances his father. Fate could never be’'swch a jokesmith as that! Evidently others besides the boys in training camp were thinking it was a fine war. Natlee had made no hones about saying she was having the time of her young life. i His mother had forgotten him, as though #&he were heart-broken when he left, had taken up with the first substitute that had offered. Phil did not remember now the of his calculations and strayed into new interests and excitement. He had always expected Natlee as well as his mother to “stay put”, and not knowing at this exact moment whether they were nearer to anyone else than they were to himself, he was down in the depths of dcpres- sion. but you're only to get stable police | this time. T just heard the order | that you were to be transferred there at the end of your three days’ v here.” | 'Good, I'll have a chance to ride.” | | In his pride, Phillip Wynne Tracy IV made everyone think, at least, that he was having the time of his lite. | Before he had been on stable po- |lice two days he was ordered to iropor[ for regular duty. | 7o the sergeant Lieutenant An- | drews sald: “Tracy is having alto- gether too much fun at the stables. | | It's not punishment, but recreation | we're giving him. Make him drill.” | Pnillip mother for weeks. He had grown yery lonely and homesick and one Morning he received a letter from Natlee, who in telling him the | news, wrote: | “Your mother has | over Sunday. I never saw her look- ing so well. Her face has lost that cold, formal look timt always made | me afraid of her. “I expect she has told you before this ahout Major Aukland. He came ! over from Washington with her and | they held a monster Red Cross | mass meeting at your house. The major seems to be a splen- | did man, Wynne, and he is not at | all reticent in showing how much | he thinks of your mother. Everyone is saving that he has at last per-| | suaded her that his patient waiting d be rewarded. T heard the other day he had proposed to Mrs. | Tracy before your father did. | “It seems as though you can't get ‘away from fate after all. doesn't lit? Tecause your mother halked at ther sid | making Major Aukland your | when she was young, Destiny w now mala him your step-father. | “They alwa even things up, 'don’'t they?—this fate and destiny nd sometimes T think they are not - playing a joke now and and then.” - Phil started to fear the sheet in twwo, hut as he did so, his eye caught the next sentence and he went on. “I have heen seclng a lot of Jerome Kenyon lately. You know he tried to get into the army after u left, but they would not have him on account of his eyes. He is heart-hroken and is envying you ry minute. T am doing the best 1 can to cheer him up. “He asked father the other day it he could not take the place of one of the men in the dairy, so that that man could enlist, “Dad thought this was wonderful. You know how very carcful he has always been about my going out with any young man — particularly vou. Well, he has not made the slightest ohjection to my going with Jerry, and although I am almost ashamed to say it T have been hav ing the time of my young lfe with war and Red Cross work as the ex- cuse to get out of the house.” “She's already calling Jerome Kenyon “Jerry,” enapped Phillip to Rod, to whom he was reading ta letter lat Evidently she has copped him away from Lucia Ran- dolph. What is there about war that makes every woman elamp onto any man she can get hold of? Afraid ere won't be enough to go around?” Look hers, don't be Wynne." admonished Rodn a fool, “You had not heard from his | been home | “I dori’t -ant any more women of my own kind” was the conclusion | he came to. “They always disap- | point you." He did not know | spoken aloud until a man on the { next cot shouted: “For the love of | Mike, let up muttering and swear- | ing. I've got a grouch, too, and a| | toothachg as well. Let me nurse! them in peace and get to sleep if | possible.” “All right, buddy, you win,” an- | swered Phil disconsolately, as he | walked out of his tent and hailed a | jitney. Arriving in town, he saun- | tered toward “the narrow street There seemed to be even more | I men than on his first visit. They | were milling around. All were more | or less excited. | He totd himsclf that he was | lucky to find the girl standing in| her doorway, even though she were | | looking frailer and more unhappy | than ever. | When she saw him, however, her face lightened. She seemed to un- | derstand that he was coming to her. | She stepped back into, the room. Phillip followed. “I thought you were never com- ing again,” she faltered as the door closed. “J thought I would like to see you once more before we all | e to leav | ? What do you mean,| leave?” he asked in astonishment, sitting down in the one chair the | | room afforded. { v, haven't you heard the or- | . We must all move out. The| whole district has heen ordered closed by the war department. We've all got to be out within the next three days.” “What are you going Where are you going?" “I don’t know. I presume we will all be expectad to go across the bor- der, and oh, God, how I hate to do that!” “Why will you have to go across the border?” Phil asked stupidly. The girl looked at him in aston- ishment, then her lips curled in an | ugly smile. “You don't seem to realize that Uncle Sam’s soldiers have to be safe-guarded from such as T. The order has gone forth. Iveryone in this town knows it and no person would rent one of us a room for love or money." “Say, you didn't tell me your name the other night,” Phil inter- rupted. “Gladys. Dad used to call ‘Glad,’ but after he died and mot married again, T was never ‘Glad’ any more, cither to myself or any- {one else.” Phillip Wynne Trac: “Come here, Glady The girl came wonderingly. No | man had ever treated her just like this hefore. | “What would you do if you had enough money to live on—not a lot | of money, but enough to keep you | somewhere in peace and respect- | abili The girl stepped back. She raised | her face as though deliverance had | |been opened to her. “It I had | money.” she repea “I'd go to| California and buy one of those lit- | tle doll houses in which we used to !live when I was a tiny girl—a little that he had to do? me stood up. insult to injury by suggesting that |- ( mighty proud of it just by the way | able to put that IV after his name, should know thel no use of thinking about anything as impos- sible as tha he said. ‘No, it isn’t,” asserted Phil stout- ly. “1 think you have forgotten, if you ever knew, that one of the ideas they claim this country is built up on is that nothing is impossible to anyone in it if one goes at it right.” And then he added, boyishly. “Gosh, there's something about this war that’s making me damn serious, and I don’t think I like it very much; but anyway, I want you to know that I have never done anyone a great wrong that I know of—neith- er have I ever made anyone very happy. “Gladys, I think you are my chance.” He bent forward and took hold of both her Dands. He felt her tremble, not speak. “You kriow, I'm golng overseas soon, and there's always the chance, isn't there, that I shall never come back? “Glad,” he said softly, “I can make you comfortable for the rest of your lifs. I can put you in a Position where anyone will rent you a room. I think perhaps I can even give you friends. - Will you many. me, Glad?” Phil felt her hands grow tense, and for fear she would misundes stand him, he hurried on: “You See, you would get my allotment while I was gone and bear my name while I am away, which would gite you my insurance it the Hun should bump me off. Besides, I also can give you a small allowance and you can go away and be comfortable. 1 like you, Glad. You are much too good for what you're doing. Let me feel befqre I leave for the other side that I've left behind me at least one good deed—that I've made somebody bstter off than she would be if she hadn't known me. “It I should come back, you know you could get a divorce from me if you wanted to.” He stopped and waited for her to speak. “Do you know what you are say- ing, ‘Wynne?” she asked slowly. “I think so, my dear.” “But your people, your life. You are not of age yet, are you? What will happen when you come back? No one will believe that you had said this wonderful thing to me. They will say I have roped you in. You are too fine to marry me. I don't know what that ‘Fourth’ that you are always tacking onto your name means, but I know you are but she did you say it. I am sure it means something big.” Phillip caught his breath. He did think it was “something big" to be but he chose to ignore it at this moment. “Oh, you are making fun of those silly old Roman numerals. I would not keep them, except that they are a kind of legacy from my father and my grandfathers before him. It is because of them that I enlisted. 11 I have been told arlght my dad did not consider doing as everyone thought he should do, was one of the virtues. T don’t care what Mrs. Grundy says. I have only my mother, you know, and I think she's going to get married again shortly. Outside of her I don't think there is anyone except perhaps poor old Rod to care if I lived or died.” Phil stopped abruptly thought of Natlee crept mind. The girl saw a change in his | face, She drew nearer and put her | hands on his shoulder. With a lit- | tle sinking of heart, she told herselt there was some girl of his own kind | of whom he was thinking. | “Wynne,” she said, “I'l always remember thi. night as long as I live. It is the one thing that has come to me that makes me think perhaps I am as other women after all, “Then you will marry me” he ald, taking her hands from his houlders and holding them against his breast. as into the | his | Phillip dropped the girl's hands and stared into her face. Her eyes were Mpoking steadily into his and he noted with surprise that they were almost happy. lad. do you understand—do you | realize that you are refusing to be- come my wife?" “Yes, and, oh Wynne, I'm so glad you asked me—you will never know ow happy I am that you asked me. ery hour of the day, as long as T live, I will remember—always I am going to be ‘Glad.” " | “I don’t quite understand,” Phil sald slowly. “I'm offering you a way out—perhaps your only way. You say you are glad of my offer, vet you decline it with thanks. Were ou telling me the truth when you 1id you did not know what you e going to do in the future “Please do not be angry with me, Wynne. I do not know what T am going to do. I only know that I am not going to marry you. Phil was not sure whether he was | pleased or hurt with Glad's decisive | w night.” . g He didn’t look at her again. He had made his heroic offer and he was a little ashamed that he was glad the girl had refused it. \On his way to the jitney he sent a wire to his mother ‘Telegraph me $1,000 on receipt of this. Must have it tomorrow. Love. Phil"” (To Be Continued) What does Phil want of the moncy? Find out in the next chap- ter when he says good-bye to Gladys. Your Health How to Keep It— Causes of Liness BY DR. MORRIS FISHBEIN Editor Journal of Medical Association and of gela, the Health The British physiologist, Ernest H. Starling, in a thorough consider- atlon of the effects of alcohol on the human body made in 1923, sum- marized all of the evidence thus far avallable as to what ocecurs When this substance ia taken into the system, He agrees with “most other in- vestigators that alcohol is with- out a doubt a food especially val- uable in cases when ordinary foods cannot be taken. On the other hand, he says that the con- centration of alcohol in the blood and tissues can be controlled only by regulation of the amount which is drunk and that if this 1s not exercised, any beneficlal effect of alcohol as a food is more than compensated for by its deleterious effects a drug. Has Depressing Effect “The idea that a plentiful use of alcoholic drinks is beneficial for heavy workers,” sald Professor Starling, “is misleading and mis- chievous.” He considers its chief value as a food In certain cases of diabetes during the early stages, although Joslin, who has had “one of the greatest exper- iences with dlabetes in this coun- try, 18 inclined to consider the use of alcohol as a food in diabetes in general as not helpful. Mr. Star- ling considered it also as a food in the weakness of old age, but sald that for the normal individe ual the _food value of alcoho! is not of importance. Dr. Starling says that the ac- tion of alcohol from beginning to end is essentlally depressant. Its chiet effect is to dull the percep- tlon of unpleasant feelings, of surroundings, to diminish . self- criticlsm and the fear of under- taking any action which may ex- cite remarks or be regarded by other people as not appropriate to the situation. Thus, under the in- fluence of alcohol, an individual becomes more communicative, los- ing his suspiclon. He is more re- ceptlve and interested in the con- versation and affairs of his fellows and his emotions are more easily aroused. Effect Varles Under the influence of alcohol the shy and diffident person be- comes less fearful of revealing what s pressing on his mind and may even scem temporarily to be a brilliant conversationalist or a witty speaker. It is not surprising therefore that alcohol should com- monly be regarded as a stimulant, However, the same action contin< ued further effects the next lower levels of the nervous system, caus: ing interfarence with the process of co-ordination and deteriorates the intelligence so that if the dose of alcohol is Increased the witty conversation will degenerate into tiresome loquaciousness and the | blurred speech of intoxication. | Alcohol *is therefore unsuitable for the highest mental efforts or during the performance of pro- longed muscular feats. In some people the control of the body by the highest nerve centers is de- veloped to an excessive degree, so that their constitution may actu- ally interfere with the carrying out of complicated acts acquired | by constant practice. To such ine dividuals alcchol acts as a relax: tion, diminisking the nerve ten- sion. A man of this type who plays golf sometimes improves his technic by a small dose of alcohok OrientalRugs Complete line of Persian and Chinese Makes, all sizes. 1sal, With that thought of Natice, | there had come to him a reaction | of a very different kind from that | with which he had made his first | place in the country, where T could | raise flowers ana vegetables.” | Then a shadow blotted out the impulsive proposal. “Well” he said, after a moment, | “if you feei that way about it, 1 ex- | ought to be glad that the women vadiance that had reaily made her|pcct I'll have to accept your deci- who love you are finding something heautiful. She shook her head. | sion. I'm golng to leave you now, {to make them forget themselves. | “Why did you ask me? Surely you|but TI come again tomorrow Also Repairing and Cleaning. Excel- lent service and perfect satis- faction guaranteed. We Call for and Deliver. S. V. Sevadjian 162 Glen Street Tel. 1190 Merely Margy, An Awfully Sweet G irl HORSE EAT ? By John Held, Jr. Hi EY-HEY ? 1 SAID EAT LHoT oavce |