New Britain Herald Newspaper, June 22, 1927, Page 8

Love’s Embers Adele Garrison’s Absorbing Sequel to “Revelations of a Wife” Beginning a New Seri Barry Underwood Emerges from | the Shadows as a Playwright That Philip Veritzen was jiqued was plainly to be seen. I hastencd to make the amends which really were due him for my delay in an- swering his query concerning Harry Underwood. “I am so sorry,” T said contritely. *1 was unpardonably rude. Your questlon was perfectly all right and 1 am ready to answer it. I delayed only because the query brought a rush of memories and speculations to me which made me ‘forget my manners.’ Please fo-give me!” He leaned toward me smiling quizzically, vet with that queer, elusive spark of flame far back in his eyes. “1 wonder if you know how de- Hghttully intriguing you are when vou are peritent,” he said. “T do hope you will he extremely rude to me some time, so that T may see you in a really contrite mood. “I am afraid you would he disap- pointed,” T said. returning the smile, but investing my answer with a de- termined little note which T hoped he would recognize. “If T ever have occasion to be extremely rude to anyone T rarely am penitent. But all this is beside the question which vou asked me. T do wish to answer 1t more satisfactorily, but T can tell wvou only that T have not seen Harry TUnderwood for several years and have no idea where he is. “I understood that he Thad dropped out of s Mr. Veritzen said thoughtfully. “T am sorry. He was a bizarre sort of chap, but T liked hign immensely. Now, remem- ber, vou agreed to stop me if m questions were annoying or embar- rassing to yon. but T should like to know this: Does Mrs. Underwood know where he is? “I am sure she doesn't.” T said, remembering a little speech of Lil- lian's to the effect that she did rot know whether Harry were dead or alive. Mr. Veritzen tapped the fingers of his right hand upon the back of his left, a gesture which I had learned epelled indecision. . “I wish T knew,” he said at last, with a note in his voice curiously like that of a petulant child, bewil- dered at some puzzle he cannot Miss Coyote's Story . By Thornton W. Burgess ‘Who loses freedom loses all; His chance of happiness is small. —Old Mother Nature. i Old man Coyote and Miss Coyote had became acquainted at last. Of course, Old Man Coyote was eager to know where Miss Coyote had come from ard how she happened to be there. You see, In all the time that Old Man Coyote had lived on the Grean Meadows and in the Old Pasture and ir the Green Forest, he had never once found the least sign of another Coyote there. What is more, he hadn’t expected to ever find the least sign of one there, for he knew that it was a long and ‘weary journey to the land where Coyotes live and from which he had come. You know, he had at one time been a prisoner and had es- caped from a park. “How did you get here, my dear?” asked Old Man Coyote. Al- ready he had begun to call her “my dear.” “I was brought here in a cage, a ‘eage with iron bars,” sald Miss Coy- ote. “Probably you don’t know what & cage is.” “Don’t I?” exclaimed Old Coyote. “I know all I want to know about cages. But go on, my dear; please go on.” “I was with the circus,” said, Miss Coyote. “The circus keeps | moving from place to place. It was down here on the Green Meadows for a couple of days. I think T heard your voice while T was there.” She looked at Old Man Coyote shyly. ‘And T know now that T heard | your voice,” cried Old Man Coyote. | “But how did you escape? “My cage was being moved at | night. It was drawn by horse There was an accident and two cages weére upset. The doors in hoth rkness T 50 did—why, wha 1| escaped, and the matter?” Into 04 Man Coyote's {a mo: solve. “But vnless my experience and dramatic judgment have failed me, he i3 very much alive and in this country.” ‘I looked at him with thg astcn- ishment 1 felt at his statement. “Perhaps you knew,” he said, “that Underwood was a clever play tinkerer whose services were much in demand.” 1 nodded, and he went on hur-| rledly: | “What but few people know, how- ever, was that underneath his flip- pancy and his indolence was con- cealed one of the finest dramatic niinds of the country, coupled with unusual knowledge of the | theater from its earliest exemplifi- ation down to the present day.” | T have seen his libra 1 said, with the remembrance of a day i when Lillian had showed me her Tns| 's room lined with book- shelves whose every inch of space was taken up with rare manuscript: and books dealing with the drama. | “If you spcnt any time in it vou | the know something of what T am fry ing to tell yvou,” he returned. *Bui something which perhaps I alone know was that he had written scv. eral dramatic fragments which in sheer heauty and originality of | treatment went far beyond anything | [1hat T ever have seen. He professed | to have great respect for my judg- ment, and he brought them to me | for my criticism. 1 was frankly en- | thusiastic and would have given | them a production. but he was too | bone lazy,’ as an old servant of | mine use to say. ever to dinish hem. But just before 1 left Europe on this last trip of mine there was deliverad to me in a my- sterious and theatrical manner, cun- ningly caleulated to arouse my at- tention, the manuscript of a play purporting to be the work of a voung and unknown writer. But—} is part of my training and a neces sity of self-pretection—to be able to recognize the touch and style of a |© writer once 1 have seen it. And 1 had not read many lines of the manuscript hefore T recognized un- mistakably the hand of Harry Un- derwood.” Copyright, 1 . Newspaper Feature Service, Inc. So in the darkness I escaped Then after a while I found myself in the cage with iron bars for peo- ple to stare at. For a while a cou- ple of my brothers were with me, but later they were taken away. You can't imagine what it is like to be a prisoner and then suddenly get your freedom. There's nothing in all the great world like freedom.” “I know, my dear, I know." re- plied Old Man Coyote softly. ow that you have your freedom we must make sure that you never lose it again.” "N asked Miga Covote slyly. “We,” said Old ) most decided tone. That's what I'm going to do.” you haven't asked me if you te, May T?" Old Man Coyote asked with sudden meckness. Apparently the answer was satisactory, for they trotted off together. (Copyright, by T. W. Burgess) The next story: “Mrs. Coyote," ed a look of sudden fright suddenly remembered those stranes footprints over in the Green Forest | and the strange smell of them, which had so filled him with fear. “Who was the other one?' he whispered, as if he were afraid of being- overheard. “Spotcoat the Teopard,” replied | Miss Coynte. “You may ba sure I kept out of his way. But there's nothing to worry about now. He's back with the circus."” “Are you sure?” asked 011 Man Coyote, who hadn’t heard the news. “Quite surc,” replied Miss Coy- | ote. “They caught him and took him away. If you doubt it, ; ask Sammy Jay the first time yo see | bim.” Old Man Coyote gave a great sigh of relief. “Had you lived long with | the circus?” he inquired. “Nearly all my life,” replied Mi; Coyote. “I can just barely remem- ber the time when I didn’t look out'| at the Great World through iron bars. T can just barely remember | my mother and my brothers and sisters. We all lived together in an underground house. 1, with my brothers and siste out and play on the doorstep while | Mother went off hunting for food for us. One day, when Mother was away, one of these twe-legged crea- o8 came and dug usdut. We were .2 lttle to even bite then. He put sagk agd ¢ us off, used to come | A SAILOR BOLD OMNNY liked ships." He had a book with pictures of all kinds of ships. One of them was a full-rigged sailing ship. The wind was filling all the sails and making the ship go fast. “My! But I'd like to be on that ship!” sighed Johnny. “When 1 grow up I'll be a Sailor and climb away up to the top of the mast « ... and hang there by one hand while I look for land. ““Then when we pass South Sea Islands I'll wave to the Cannibals ile the ship goes very fast!” | and Natlee only depr: for | NEW BRITAIN DAILY HERALD, WEDNESDAY, JUNE 22, 1927, |3y Sons Sweetheart |World war , finds Phillip Wynne tTracy 1V suffering from the collapsc "o( his first passionate love affair. Before this he had a childish en- |gagement with Natlee Jones. They g0 to a training camp. | tist. | nally the | regiment is ordercd Iback to New York, presumably bound for IFran While in New York Phil meets lee and their love flaming anew, they plan to be {married. The immediate departure of the troops, however, presents this. Phil's regiments is sent to the front soon after riving in nce and Phil is detailed on an extr v dan- | gerous mission. Returning with im- ation he is wounded and Rod is killed trying to save his friend. Lhil wakes in a hospital and recieves the croix de guerre for | bravery. eLtters from his mother him. At length he rejoins his outfit in Argonne woods, but he looks so portant ifort {ill that he is sent to a motor school | n the south of France. Three days his arrival, armistice is de- Here the story further unfolds— CHAPTER XI, IANNE PLANS TO SEEK PHILL The order came on Christmas for Fhil to go up into G but it was not to his old outfit. It was good, nevertheless, among the Americans again, for he was a part of the victorious army |that was stationed at Coblenz and {near about. He wrote to his mother |and Natlee, but he had been moved |about so much he was not sure th had gotten his letters—at least had not heard from them since he {left the hospital. Many a German girl attracted by |his smile told him, words and sometimes by was ready to practice ity and forgive her enemy Phillip Wynne Tracy 1V, however, |told himself that his flirting days were over. Not one of these flaxon- lhan"‘d girls ever gave him the inti- mation of the slightest thrill. Once in a while one of them wh | hair was yellower than the othe would make him think of the lovely corn-silk bands about Natlee's head, land he would long once agaln to let his fingers thread its soft mass. He picked up some lovely Russi; lapis lazuli beads and a pair of ear- rings because he thought they would match Natlee's eyes. For them he gave the last dollar he had, for he had not had money from home since he left America. §f his mother had sent it it had miscarried. Again he was & around when the mail w uted. He grew to feel that there was something almost sinister about his name, which made it one no one wished to repeat. At last one day, on the bulletin board, he read that a number of young American soldiers who had had two years of coll could produce 250 francs could have five months’ work at one of the dif- ferent universities in England and France. How he wished he had made up his conditions and entered the uni- !versity at Christmas, as his mother |had wanted him to do. How he {wished he had really saved the {money he had paid for the lapis lazuli beads he had purchased for Natlee. However, Phillip had never been discouraged by any obstacles if he {wished to do anything very much. He made his application, that he had the requisite require- ments and education. hamed to hang s distrib- Jahn What has happened: Phil and Rod are the first to en-| My Sons Stee IDA_McGLONE GIBSON NLUSTRUIED AND COPYRIGHTED BY JOHNSON FEATURES INC. {cally, “but it will be amusing to see | | how many lies I can make up for| ing your | Walter Reid hospital at Washington, | to be | “It 1is perfectly preposterous to The entrance of America into the think for a moment that among the other boys in my regiment I will be singled out from those who deserve it more, lie said to himself cyni- myself."” Ann lite Huntington Tracy all dreaded when the anni- of Armistice Day came around for on the day that the war was declared ever she was in the only conscious that the whole world was determined to make as much noise as possible. “Tell them to be still!” she would shriek with her hands over her ears. “Tell them to be still. I cannot bear it.” Her nurse tried to tell her that all Washington was holding jubilee be- cause the guns had stopped firing and the killing of human beings had d--but Anne Tracy did not un- noise is killing me. Please ask them to stop,” she kept begging. For three day she had been de- lirious with flu, and the glorious I which came from seeing thou- ands upon thousands of men and women going mad with joy, she did not know. iven afier the flu had run its her brain, overtaxed with the agony of suspense, refused to function normally. 4 ¢ noise that could not be om her room seemed to be to her. She repeated con- eil them to stop the ma- as the noise might be heavy or slight. She had intervals when she would ask quite sanely, “Have vou'heard from Phil since he went back to the Argonne?” Then before they could Eve kept torture | answer her mind would wander, and sometimes in | [ to ze and who | cak as though the war she knew she might It was fhe last of January before Major Aukland or any one else was able to sce Fer. Then he had to take to her the distressing news that nothing had been heard from her son since the rmistice, “I do not think Lappened to Phil, Anne,” he said, “but T have been trying very hard get some news from him ever u have been fIL" The pale and wasted woman en the bed turned such anguished eves upon him that he fairly picked her np in his arms saving, “Dear, dear- est Anne, as soon as you are able, T will take you to Germany, for t is probably where he Is. Anne, it breaks my heart to see you grieve. Will yon not let me comfort you a little? Anne, dear, you know there has never hacn another woman in since iy life but you. T loved vou' before | vou marrisd the father of your boy. Anne, he my wife, and we will go cther to hunt him. You have vears before you in which to be happy. Let me help to make them so,” he pleaded “John, you are more than good to me" she said gently. “I am afraid T have spoiled your life. But for me, you might now have had a wife and children.* * “Dear Anne, do you not know that vou are worth waliting for? Say that vou will make me wait no longer. eLt us be maried immedi- know why you are urging haste, John. In your unselfish love, vou want to tzke eare of me. 1 con- that te very good to me, but I cannot marry anyone until my boy is found. “Think, d I may find him maimed in such a way that he will | need my whele care. If that should Aukland bent over Anne and lightly kissed her hair iMerely Margy, An Awfully S nothing | anything has | taken care of looks | fiearts be so, I 2ould not ask you to share it with me, for I must not keep { from you that fact that although I lam very fond of you, yet Phillip will come first. “But, dearest Anme, what it you son perfectly well? Do you not know that some time, soon- er or later he will leave you for some young girl? Anne, you have heen alone all your life, and yet| you are the one woman 1 have ever | met who enjoys—yes, needs—com- panionship most. “Darlihg, don't send me away ain. T know I can mak i | | Major Aukland had been holdIng her in his arms as he would a child. Her head was on his breast. Now | he laid her back gently and pulled the covers up under her chin. | Anne found his care and sympa- | [thy very comfortable. With a sigh | almost of content she cuddled down | into her pillows. | | Major Aukland sat down beside | { her bed and took the one hand | { which was lying inertly outside the | | coverlet in his. “Then, dear. I can begin to make | arrangement to leave on the Mau- | | retania the last of mext week. With | me to take care of you on the trip | | across, I know you will be well | enough to go. T'Il sce the doctor | | now.” | He started toward the door. “Wait, Johm,” Anne's voice, though weak, was decisive, The man ame back to the bed and stood | | looking down upon her. “I hops I will be well enough to start across the last of next week, but John, dear John, pleasa do not | press me for my answer until T have | seen Phillip.” “You do not care for me, Anne?" | “Yes, dear, I do, but nejther you | nor I would be happy if Phil did not approve.” “He has no right to obfect,” broke | in the major. hotly. “For 20 years vou have given up vour life for { him. Now you ewe sométhing to self. | m not quite sure, John, just {what you mean by ‘you owe some- | thing to yourself.” Do you mean that I must try and be happy? You should know that I could not be even content if T were estranged in any way from Phil. No, T do not | mean that esactly. for T may not approve of his opinions or his ac- tions fn the future any more than 1 | have done in the past, but I prob- | ably will not let him know ft. In the short time T was married to his father T made the mistake of | | letting him see that T disapproved. I have come to the conclusion that | | even now, after the war, we women | must still get from the men we love | the things we want by our person- {ality—which I am hearing a great many people call our ‘sex appeal'— or by our diplomacy—never by the ! reason and righteousness of our desires. 5 “John, this little visit we have had this morning has been rather { tragic, for it has shown me, and it must have shown you also, that we lare old. : “When one reasons over the right | | or wrong of love, one is too old to 'love singly—or if young, it shows { one is not interested. “If we had been young, you | would have picked me up and car- ried me away by sheer force of { your passion instead of talking it over with me as you have done. Get | | me the tickets for the trip, dear | John, but let it be on some boat | which safls a day or two after the { Mauretania. We will meet in Paris. | nd I shall lose out, dear \Anne, with the son, as T did years ago i when we were young—with the | father. However. T'll do as you wish, dear, and it T cannot have you for my wife, I will never put any other woman in the place T have always wanted you to fill." John Aukland hent over Anne and lightly kissed her halr and left the |room. As Anne turned away that | the nurse might not see her face, | she thought, “Oh, John, T wish you | had kissed my lips and taken me in | spite of any objections I might have i made.” i CHAPTER XLI A Thrilled Moment That evening Mrs. Tracy sent a telegram to Natlee. “Am leaving | the last of next week for Germany |to see if T can find Phillip. Will you icome over bafore T leave? He will | want to know all about you. “Anne Tracy.” The next day she received the Mrather cryptic answer: “I am not so0 sure that you are right about | Phil's interest in me and my affairs, hut I will coms to see you, my dear Mrs. Tracy, on next Sunday. ; “Natlee,” | Phil’'s mother had not seen Natlee .fnr any length of time since he had | gone to the training eamp, and she | found that the Natlee Jones she had | known and remembered since her I ehildhood was very different from the young woman who was usheryd into the sitting room of har suite at the hospital. In the first place, she rather dis- approved of the short skirt Natlee was wearing, especially as the girl | \ ) weet Girl OH' MARGY' | THINY (VE FOUND “ THE™ HORSE! seemed perfectly unaware that when she crossed her legs, which she did when Mrs. Tracy motioned her to a chair, she showed an inch or two of exquisitely lovely flesh and a dimple or two in her knees above her roll- ed-down stockings. “Dear Mrs. Tracy, may I take off my hat?" she asked. “It Is rather close-fitting and hot to keep on in the atmosphere of an invalid's room."” “Oh, Natlee. you have bohbed your beautiful hair,” exclaimed Anne in distress. “I am afraid Phil will be heart-broken, for he alway$ loved your hair almost as much as he loved you.” Even while she was saying it, Phil's mother could not help but note how charming her shorn locks had made Natlee Jones' well-shaped head. When her hair was long, she had always wern it in distinctively plain bands. Now, however, the soft gold curls which framed her face, and her short, tight skirt, made her look like a child of about 14. She was more beautiful than ever, She had contrived to lose all the | scriousness and grown-up airs that had always made her seem much clder than fun-loving, irresponsible Phillip. Today she could be called one of those regular “flappers” of which the papers were writing so much. Almost the first words she said to Anne Tracy were “They tell me that this trip of yours to find | Wynne is to bring you great happi- ness.” Anne froze, and then she thought Natlee could not possibly be re- ferring to her friendship with Major Aukland. “You know, Natlee,” she explain- ad, “that will depend upon how 1| find him since I received a letter | written at the hospital, just ag he was going up to his outfit in the Argonne. When I think of lmw‘ many things might have happened to him before that time and the hour the g ceased firing—my | heart stops. “Even if you do find tragedy. when you hope to find joy, my dear Mrs. Tracy, I think you would be very sensible to go as Major Auk- land’s wife. He would help you bear sorrow as well as make your happl- ness complete in elther cirenm- slance." Anne Huntington Tr: sat up very straight on her chaise longue. No one had ever dared to pry into her affaire in this way. “What shall I tell Phillip, Nat- 1ee?" she asked, abruptly, changing | the subject. “What ever you please,” answered | Natlee, in a way that made Phil's mother understand that she, too, considered her personal affairs in- violate. However, be satisfied Mrs. Tracy would not with that. She deter- mined to take some message from | Natlee to her hoy. She asked bluntly: “Do vou love Phil, Natlee?" “I thought I did once,” answered the girl honestly, “but now T do not know and I will not know until T | see him again. “This war, Mrs. Tracy, has made such changes not only in my life but in my outlook on life, I've got | to sce Wynne before T can plan for You can tell him that, Phi'lip Wynne Tracy's mother and his sweetheart. Natlee Jones, sat close and looked into each other’s eyes, but they were as far apart and as blind to each other's| thoughts as though there were miles between them Jerome Kenyon came later to| take Natlee to the train, and Mrs. Tracy could not help seeing with | what possessive care he helped her on with her coat and now he held her hand a second or two longer than was necéssary. He had only eyes for her. He loved her and was already planning on making her his wife. Of Natlee's emotions Phil's mother was not so sure. N All the way across the ocean Anne Tracy had the feeling that she was pushing the boat. So acute was this impression that her arms grew very iame with the tension in which she held them. rs. Tracy,” remarked the cap- tain, who stopped beside her chair one morning so early that there was no one on deck but themselv 'you must have someone on the other side that you are very impatient to see. You give me the impression that you are trying always to will the ship to go faster than I can make it go under steam.” “I think perhaps that's true, Cap- tain.” she answered. “I'm going over to find my boy, from whom I have not heard since a week before the armistice " “Well, you'll be th Parls tomor- row night, and it will be but a com- paratively few hours when vou sce him,” prophesied the captain com- fortably, “Perhaps,” murmured Tracy, just above her breath, and then she hated herself that she had allowed a doubt of his safety for a moment to creep in by using that fatetul word, “perhaps.” The interminable hours at last passed and she was met in Paris by Major Aukland, who had already ar- ranged for her rooms at the Ritz, where, after the usual delay, her baggage was sent. “T want to go to the war office and gét my passes for Coblénz im- NOW THERES A HORSE THAT WOULD DO FOR THE R THREE oF US Anne | mediately, Joh: words to the man whose whole face was alight with joy at seeing her again, even after so brief a separa- tion. : Arriving there, Anne found that the major had again made things casy for her, and after she had signed some papers, she was told that the passes would be ready for her in the morning. “Now, ‘mpatient woman, I'll take you to the hotel,” he said, “and after you have rested and we have dined, I'm going to prescribe for you Test and slecp, if possible.” Inside the Cafe de Paris. however, there seemed to .be much gavety. Anne watched it almost with irrita- tion. “You have not eaten anything,” said John Aukland, as she thirstily drank her coffee at the end of the dinner. “May 1 get—" “Have you never realized, John,” she interrupted, “that time cannot be measured by anything that is scientifically accurate? “Hours shrink and expand in a most miraculons way for all of us. Tonight the minutes to me seem tiny obstacles that are holding the long hours back instead of pushing them ahead. “I had hcped that you, at least, would be hungry enough to have lingered over this dinner, but my watch tells me now that we have been here less than an hour. “I can't stand it any longer, John.” she whispered tensely, cannot stand the sight of these peo- ple laughing and eating gayly. Take me back to the hotel.” “Don’t call a taxi. I'd much rather walk,” she said. laying her hand on his sleave. “I must be doing some- thing. T could not sit in a taxi.” Still without speaking, the major pulled the quivering hand that rest- ed on his coat, under his arm and held it there. It seemed to Anne that all the voung lovers whoe were still alive were telling themselves that they must make up for those endless vears of waiting and carnage through which they had just pasted. At last they reached the Ritz. “T'll | come for you in the morning, about 10, and we will go for the passes,” said the majer. o Anne bowed her head. She hardly sensed anytling except that :he wonld have to wait another day be- fore starting for Germany. When she was ready for hed, for | the first time in her life she opened her persoral medicine kit and_fornd a pellet to make her sleep. She awnakened late the nest morn- ing, for which she was truly grate- ful. Teaving word for Major Aukland to ment bher at the war office, she hurried there, found her passes and met him, just as she came through the dour into the outer office. Al- most gavly she railed him on look- ing il “That's not important.”” Tie said, “heside the fact that you're looking better than T've n you months.” “It's becanse of these, John.' kaid, and she held before him her precious passes and Teservations. “At least T shall know, and T have found out that anything is prefer- able to uncertainty. TUnconsciously they the Rue de Rivoli. “I would like to see you when you first meet Phil. Anne.” She turned quickly to the man heside her. “Don’t John, don't tempt the Tates. T don't know how T've possibly been able to endure the an- guish of Phil's absence, and now. John, 1 am afraid—afrald"—and then. as though she would not allow herself to doubt—'of the ecstasy of our reunion.” “Well, I'll be damned.” an awed voung voice clanged against her vars, and Anne Huntington Tracy looked up directly into her son’s face. " she turned into (To Be Continued) How will Mrs. Tracy react to the change in Phil? And how will he take to Major Aukland? Find out tomorrow. 'FLAPPER FANNY SAYSs REO.U. 3 PAT. OFF. ©1927 BY NEA SERVLCE. | Modere , dancing exercises everything except discretion.. where her first in Your Health Hew to Keep 1t— of Lliness BY DR..MORRIS FISHBEIN Editor Joumal of the American Medical Asmciation and of Hygela, the Health Magazine “Youth whe achieve eminence are characterized not only by high in- tellectual traity but also by persist- ence of motive and effort, confl- {dence in their abllity and great strength or forte of character. This conclusica of the psycholo- gists of Stanfoid University, who studied the chancters of 300 emi- nent men and wemen of history to determine the faciors that make for success, i3 most significant. The superior young me:n pursued high ideals, developed significant inter- ests, and created new expressions of scientific and philosophical thought before they had reached the age of manhood. Among the cxamjles cited to prove this contentian is the fact that Milton had writen an ode pronounced by an emhent critic as perhaps the most beaitiful in the Inglish language,” befge he was twenty-one years old. Hume had defined his views befor he was twenty-five, Teel was chief secre- tary for Ireland before le was 24, IR:\phE(‘l had painted the Granduca | Madonna at 21, Beethover was ap- | pointed chamber musician to the ‘kmz at M8, Newtor 3ad de- jveloped his views of light and {(‘olorr\ before he was 20, Bacon | wrote a philosophical work before {he was 20, Monteiquieu had sketched his “Spirit of Laws” at a similar age. and the Englishman Jenner, even before 20, haq thought out the proceswes that led to his discovery of vaaination for | smallpox, a boon that freed man. nd from one of tle greatest | scourges that impedsd tie progrese | of civilization The genius appears usally in a | superior family, in whiex he has { superior possibilities for \ducation iand other inspirational fators in his environmen In childiood he |is likely to display superie intel- ligence. superior talents md su | perior traits of character. While many an eminent may may not meet these qualifications, the appearance in childhood of a com- bination of. the highest degre cf general ability, special talent, teri- | ousness of purpose, and indomifible | persistence may be greeted as idi- cating a capacity for adult achiae- iment of high rank. The wise pir- tent will do everything possible to give such a child even more oppa- tunity. The gifted youth of todayis the leader of the future. Herediv {sets some limits, but within thes limits adequate training may raise . | boy to the greatest possible stature In concluding, the psychologists quote the poet Horace, who, some thousands of years ago, arrived in- dependently at similar conclusions: “'Tis only from the sturdy and the good that sturdy voung are born; in steers. in stceds, appear the merits of their sires; nor do ! fierce eagles beget timid doves, Yot {training increases inbern worth, jand righteous ways make strong the heart; whenever righteousness ! has failed, faults mar even what na- | ture has made noble.” Menas for the Family (BY SISTER MARY) Breakfast—Unhulled strawberries | with sugar, ready to serve cereal, | cream, soft cooked eggs, crisp toast, 1 milk, coffee, | Luncheon—Cream of celery soup. | croutons, endive salad, rye bread, | steamed cherry pudding, milk, tea. Dinner~—Meat loaf, creamed n | potatoes, dbuttered asparagus, cab- Ilmge and beat salad, frozen pine- |apple pudding, nut cookies, milk, coffee. Stcamed Cherry Pudding One egg, 3-4 cup sugar, 1-2 eup molasses, 1-2 cup white flour, 1 1-2 | cups graham flour, 2. tablespoons butter, 1-2 cip hot water, 1 teaspoon | soda, 1-2 teispoon salt, 2 cups | stoned cherrits, Beat egg woll. | Beat in sugar, | molasses and butter using, egz beater. Mix white flour, graham | flour and salt md stir into first mix- | ture. Dissolvesoda in hot water |and add at oncy to batter. Beat hard and stir incherries. Turn into a buttered mold and steam two | hours. Serve wit sugar and cream. i : WET WASH T5¢ Thursday ad Friday Twelve Large Flat Pieces Ironed, 45¢c. Tel. 31 By John Hel¢, Jr LD B ALLRGHT FOR THE THREE OF US IF ; A CIRCUS (& 1 \ WE DID ACT! N (AN N /4