Newspaper Page Text
\Jhe Lamp »
BY ARTHUR STRINGER A W. N. U. Service /
THE STORY SO FAR
Sidney Lander, mining engineer, is en
gaged to Barbara Trumbull, but apparently
has fallen in love with Carol Coburn, Mata
nuska school teacher. Salarla Bryson, one
of her pupils, a big out-door girl. Is also in
love with him. Carol’s father died In Alaska
She said it without enthusiasm.
And I, in turn, had my suspi
cions. She was hungering, not un
like myself, for something beyond
the knowledge that comes out of
books.
“Love is never wasted,” I said,
reaching for solid ground in that
copybook maxim.
Salaria’s glowering eyes studied
my face.
“Then why,” she demanded, “does
a silk-wearin’ and washed-out she
cat who ain’t got the guts t’ stick
t’ his side tie up a real man like
Sid Lander? Why should she har
poon him for life and then back-trail
t’ the States and reckon he’s safe
among us walrus-eaters?”
I gravely considered that double
barreled question.
“I suppose it’s because he’s a man
of honor,” I finally affirmed.
Salaria crossed to the door and
looked out at the towering peaks of
the Talkeetnas.
“Honor wouldn’t cut much ice,”
she said over her shoulder, “if I
was the blubber-eater he was pick
in’ out. If he wanted a woman
around his wickyup as much as he
wants this cock-eyed colony on the
map,” she abandoncdly proclaimed,
“he’d damned soon see my shoe
packs under his bunk rail!”
I kept telling myself, after that
talk with Salaria, that there was
something dignifying in the job of
teaching, in molding the minds of
the young, in bringing light into the
dark places of the world. I was the
lamp in the valley.
But the lamp, plainly, stood in
need of some new oil. And full as
my days were, I’d a feeling that
something important in life was for
ever slipping around the corner be
fore I could quite catch up with it.
Yet all I could do, I argued with
myself, was to tighten my belt and
carry on. I’d no intention of turning
into a grumbler. These two hundred
families, I maintained, would even
tually do for Alaska what the cov
ered wagoners did for the Coast
States, seventy long years ago. Or
even what the Pilgrim Fathers did
for New England.
Yet construction lagged because
wrong material had been sent in
and the workers wouldn’t work.
Some of the misfits and trouble
makers had already been sent back
to the States, to spread the news of
the colony’s collapse. Some of the
others imposed on the Commissary
and wolfed more than their share of
the supplies. Some growled in se
cret and some drew up a daily
round-robin of complaints. Others
went to Wasilla and got drunk. And
the less illiterate of the women-folk
deplored the rawness of the coun
try that had betrayed them.
In a city of tents, where privacy
was unknown, I saw things and
heard things that at first touched
me with horror: love-making with
all the candor of the kennel, family
fights echoing through thin walls of
canvas, the moans of child-birth
• mixed with the strains of a mouth
organ, a loose woman with a ca
* nine cluster of idlers about her,
stripped men bathing openly in
wash-tubs, mothers in sunny cor
ners combing lice from their chil
dren's hair, girls jeered at as they
slipped into an unscreened outhouse,
stained sheets and flimsy underwear
apping on clotheslines, farm-stock
.surrendering to the biologic urge
i oder one’s very nose, profanity and
praying side by side, grossness and
greediness, empty cans and offal,
crying babies and thrumming ban
jos.
It was all honest and open enough.
It was too open, from Betsy Sebeck
unbuttoning her waist and giving her
big breast to a crying baby with a
dozen males watching the operation,
to the bed-pots which, in a land
without plumbing, had to be emp
tied in the light of day. But that re
version to the primitive. I told
Katie, produced both a bluntness of
address and a coarseness of fiber.
And women, 1 contended, felt it
most.
Katie didn’t agree with me. She
said modern woman had got a
damned sight too refined for this
world, that it did her good to get out
on the frontier where life could fling
her back to first principles.
“We’re here,” said Katie, “for
just one end: to work and repro
duce.”
“That,” I retorted, “leaves us no
better than animals.”
“Well, that's what we are,” Ka
tie affirmed, “only the fripperies
make us forget it.”
“But surely civilization’s brought
us something worth keeping,” I sug
gested.
Katie laughed.
“We’re not as civilized as you im
agine,” she said as she buttoned
her mannish-looking leather coat.
“You’ll find that cut when your ba
by’s pulling at your breast.”
A touch of unrest, I noticed, ex
tended even to my pupils. They
could boast of a big yellow motor
bus to carry them to the school door
every morning. But only a sprin
kling of them came. Compared with
the children of the old-timers, the
stolid little Scandinavians and Finns
and pative Alaskans who were in
ured to hardship, the ARC new
with an unproven claim which Trumbull U
contesting. Lander quits his employ, be
comes field manager for the Matanuska
Valley project. Sock-Eye Schlupp, an old
sourdough, and others, are skeptical of the
project's success. Eric (the Red) Erlcson
INSTALLMENT XIV
comers were both harder to manage
and more exacting in their demands.
They arrived well fed and well
clothed, their lunch-boxes stuffed
with Commissary food. They were
eyed with envy by the native-born
children, who probably saw an or
ange only at Christmas. But these
wards of Uncle Sam came carry
ing two or three oranges, day by
day. Sometimes they had grapefruit
and chocolate bars and store cake.
Since the supply proved unlimited,
they liked to have a pitched battle
with those comestibles.
After a final overreckless barrage
of oranges I had to make it a rule
that no Project child was to bring
more than one orange into the class
room. It gave me an unpleasant
feeling just under the fifth rib to
see poor little Olie Eckstrom rum
maging through that waste, for a
half-eaten orange or two, to carry
home to his sister Frieda, who
couldn’t come to school until her
mother was able to get to Anchor
age to buy her a pair of shoes. I
began to realize that you can hurt
people by too much help.
I was singing as I went to the
road with my water pail one morn
“VVhy avoid me, Moon of my
Delight?”
ing. And as I turned I came face
to face with Eric the Red.
“Why avoid me, Moon of my De
light?” he said with his habitual
and hateful mockery.
“Why shouldn’t I?” I asked. 1
compelled myself to meet his gaze.
For along the road I could see the
approaching figure of Olie Eckstrom,
swinging his tin milk pail as he
whistled to the tree tops.
There was something maddening
about the cool assurance of Eric
son’s smile.
“Why should you, sweet lady,
when it’s written in the stars we’re
to come together?” His laugh was
both brief and unpleasant. “I’m still
awaiting that happy hour. And when
it arrives 1 don’t intend to be the
forgotten man.”
I made no response to that. In
stead, I turned and called to Olie,
who quickened his pace as he caught
sight of me. My little Swedish friend
was no Goliath, but even his diminu
tive figure meant an acceptable ally
along that lonely road.
Ericson, watching that figure in
bibbed overalls, essayed an ironic
gesture of farewell and moved on
down the road.
“ 'E ban a bad man,” Olie an
nounced with quiet conviction.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
Olie's answer, when he gave his
reasons, was in English both broken
and bewildering. But in the end it
rather took my breath away. For
from the slow-tongued Swede boy I
gathered that he had been in the
habit of collecting building blocks
for his sister Frieda, small board
ends that could be picked up be
tween the lumber piles along the
siding track. The workmen there
were apt to treat him roughly and
drive him away with a cuff and a
kick. So it was natural, the night
before, that he should promptly hide
away when he heard voices. But
he was able to gather the gist of
the talk among those transient sore
heads. And their plan, apparently,
was to stage a demonstration in
front of the Commissary (where a
curb had been put on the open-hand
ed distribution of Federal supplies)
and while the officials were busy
with that riot Ericson and his fol
lowers were to start a fire, a purely
accidental fire, in the great piles of
timber and equipment that lined the
railway track.
CHAPTER XVIII
Lander listened, with a quiet
enough eye, as I told him what I
could of Olie’s story.
Instead of venturing any comment
on the situation he asked me if John
Trumbull had bee-, in touch with
me during the last few days. When
• I informed him to the contrary he
HOUSTON HOME JOURNAL. PERRY, GEORGIA
has been stirring discord among the work
ers. At last, too, a school Is put up. Salarla
discusses Sidney with Carol. Salaria has I
no idea Carol is Interested in him.
Teacher and pupil find a common rlvaj
in Barbara.
led me over to his truck, saying
he’d be glad to drop me at my
school door.
“But you can’t tell how this will
turn out,” I argued, “and if it’s go
ing to be dangerous I want to be
around.”
“That’s just when I don’t want
you around,” he said. “You’ve had
trouble enough in this valley.”
“But it may mean danger for
you,” I persisted.
Our glances locked, for a mo
ment, and I could see a warmer
light well up in his eyes. His brief 1
laugh was both cool and self-confi
dent.
But when we stopped at Palmer
and he had a quiet look over the
lowering supply piles along the sid
ing there his face took on a new se
riousness. For hidden under a lay
er of empty hemp bales, between
two piles of pine flooring, he found a
five-gallon can of gasoline. The con
tents of this can he quietly emp- |
tied into his truck tank. Then, aft- j
era moment’s thought, he filled the
can with water. Making sure his
movements were unobserved, he re
stored the cap to the can and re
stored the can to its hiding place
under the hemp bales.
My pupils didn’t get the attention
they should have that day. There
was many a flicker, before the aft- !
ernoon wore away, in the lamp of
learning.
I was still in my classroom, after
the big yellow bus had carried away
the last of the children, when Sock-
Eye appeared in the doorway.
“I ain’t much of a hand at g’og
raphy,” he said as his bearlike eyes
blinked up at my wall map, “but
I’ve got me a homemade chart here
I’m needin’ a mess o’ help on.”
He produced a soiled and rum
pled sheet of paper diversified with
many pencil-markings and placed it
on the desk top in front of me.
“What’s this?” I asked, trying in
vain to read some meaning into the
roughly penciled lines.
“That,” said Sock-Eye, “is a map
o’ Klondike Coburn’s claim on the
Chakitana as I kin best work it out.
That’s the mine, remember, that
ought t’ be yourn.”
“John Trumbull says it shouldn’t,”
I reminded him.
“And Sid Lander says it does,”
retorted Sock-Eye. “But I ain’t go
in’ into that now, girlie. What I
want t’ check up on is where them
location stakes o’ your old pappy
ought to stand.” His stubby finger
pointed to a marking on the map.
“Here’s the Chakitana, and it ought
t’ be about here the Big Squaw
comes in. But I can’t figger out
which side o’ that crick the Trumbull
outfit is anchored to.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you
much,” I said. “You see, Sock-
Eye, I’ve never been there.”
“Then why ain’t you there now?”
demanded the old fire-eater.
“Because I’m needed here in the
valley,” I answered. “And Sidney
Lander’s supposed to be looking aft
er my claim.”
“Yes,” snapped Sock-Eye, “fuss
in’ round with these pie-eatin’ pikers
and waitin’ for a bunch of law
sharks t’ put in the final word. But
court rulin’s don’t git you nowhere,
back on the cricks.”
I sat looking at Sock-Eye until ho
shifted a little uneasily under my
gaze. I was thinking, as I studied
his seamed old face, that he was so
misplaced in time that he was pa
thetic. He impressed me, for all
his bristlings of belligerency, as
childishly helpless before the newer
forces crowding in on his trail. Ha
made me think of a cumbersomely
armored turtle, overconfident of his
safety as he ambles along a motor
highway between the flashing wheels
of change that could so easily crush
him.
“What’s right or wrong,” I final
ly observed, “isn’t decided by gun
powder.”
Sock-Eye’s laugh was brief and
raucous.
“More’n once, girlie, I’ve seen il
blow a short cut t’ the seat o’ jus
tice,” he said as he patted the worn
leather of his gun holster. “And
this valley wouldn’t be where she is
if she could rouse up a leather
shipper or two t’ straighten her out.”
The desolate old figure took a bita
of plug tobacco, chewed vigorously, j
and spat into the stove front. “Filled
with a mess o’ women and gas cars
that ain’t needed here.”
“The trouble with you,” I sug
gested, “is that you’ve lived too long
alone.”
Sock-Eye looked at me with the
kingly scorn of the unmated male. ,
“Because I never got me a worn- I
an?” he demanded.
“If you want to put it that way,”
I acceded.
Still again Sock-Eye spat adroitly
into the stove front.
“I ain’t had trade nor truck with
’em for forty odd years,” he
averred. “And I guess I’ll git along
without ’em to the last roundup. No, i
ma’am, I ain’t succumbed t’ the
plumb loco idee a shack ain’t s
home unless there’s a female fussin'
round the dough-crock.”
“What can you do?” I asked.
Sock-Eye chuckled in his leiiierj
old throat.
<TO UK C.OMIMJED)
——rTT”— 1 * mmmmmmwnrwW
—"" IMPROVED
UNIFORM INTERNATIONAL
SUNDAY I
chool Lesson
BV HAROLD L. LUNDQUIST, D. D.
Dean of The Moody Bible Institute
of Chicago.
(Released by Western Newspaper Union.)
—
Lesson for June 29
Lesson subjects and Scripture texts sc
! Jected and copyrighted by International
| Council of Religious EducaUon; used by
j permission.
LESSONS FROM THE EARLY
CHURCH
LESSON TEXT—I Corinthians 3:1-15.
GOLDEN TEXT—For other foundation
can no man lay than that is laid, which is
Jesus Christ.—l Corinthians 3:11.
Corinth in the time of Paul was a
I great city, as renowned for its com
-1 merce and culture as it was notori
ous for its vice and licentiousness.
Here on his second missionary jour
ney, Paul, with Silas and Timothy,
spent 18 months winning many to
Christ, in spite of the hostility of the
Jhws and the opposition of wicked
i men.
i The church established in Corinth
became the victim of a factional
spirit which divided the loyalty of
the people, hindering spiritual
growth, destroying discipline, and
resulting in low standards of life.
Paul found it necessary to write to
the church regarding its difficulties,
| and we may well learn salutary les
sons fiom his epistle.
I. A Lesson in Spirituality (w.
1-4).
The further a man drifts from his
place of spiritual power and useful
ness, the more apt he is to try to
keep up a “front,” to take up any
possible means of justification. The
} Corinthian church was divided into
four groups, each one priding itself
on being right. There was “a Paul
ine party, overzealousfor the founder
of the church; an Apollonian party,
bewitched by the oratory of Apollos;
a Petrine party, which, claiming
Peter as authority, was bent on mix
ing Jewish ideas with Christianity;
and a Christ party, which, in antag
onizing other elements, became it
self a faction” (Moore). (See I Cor.
1:11-13.) All this activity was cover
ing up the fact that they were hav
ing.
1. Milk Instead of Meat (vv. 1,
2). In other words they were spir
itual babes when they should have
been grown-ups. Milk is a marvelous
food, but there is need of stronger
food for virile men and women.
How true it is that many ministers
must spoon-feed or bottle-feed a lot
of spiritual babes who should long
since have grown up to the place
where they can feed themselves and
help others.
2. Strife Instead of Stability (vv.
3,4). God does not want Chris
tians to be like other men. When
will we learn that lesson? One of
the sure ways to stifle spiritual
growth in a church or in an individ
ual life is to engage in strife. Let
us heed Paul’s admonition and put
away our bickerings, that we may
become strong in the Lord.
11. A Lesson on Service (vv. 5-15).
Here is helpful instruction to
the minister regarding his calling.
Brethren, let us judge ourselves in
the light of it lest we hinder God’s
work by having the wrong attitude
or encourage our people to think
carelessly on this important subject.
1. The Minister (vv. 5-9). There
is no higher or holier calling than
that to the ministry. We should not
forget that, and will not, but will
rather glorify the calling, whan we
realize that “minister” (v. 5) means
“servant,” “attendant,” or “wait
er.” So Paul and Apollos, men of
highest office and highest gifts, were
God’s waiters, to bring forth the
bread of life; His servants, to plant
and cultivate His field; and His
builders, laboring on His building.
Ministers are only instruments in
God’s hands, hut they should be
clean, well-prepared, and submis
sive instruments in His hands.
2. The Manner (v. 10). The ser
vant of God must take heed how he
builds. If, like Paul, he has the
privilege of laying the foundation, he
must be careful that it is the true
foundation and is properly laid. He
who builds must also be careful that
every stone he lays is fitly placed
and well-chosen.
3. The Materials (vv. 11, 12).
How important it is that the materi
als of a building be right. If that be
true of a physical building, it is a
thousand times more important in
God’s building.
First of all there is only one foun
dation which the true minister can
lay—-Jesus Christ. It is the only
foundation upon which anyone can
build a lasting life structure for time
and for eternity.
But there are other materials in
the building which need to be chosen
with care. It will not do for the
minister to substitute the wood, hay,
and stubble of his wisdom or the
philosophy of men for the gold, sil
ver, and precious stones of God’s
Word. Terrifying shame and loss is
all that can result from such folly,
for remember there is a day of judg
ment coming.
4. The Manifestation (vv. 13-15).
Flaming fire will one day reveal how
we have built. The “wood-hay-and
stubble” preacher or teacher of
God’s Word may himself be saved,
but, oh, the tragedy of coming into
God’s presence after years of serv
ice like a man who has escaped from
a burning building empty-handed;
saved from the fire himself, but
ashamed that he has so built as to
suffer loss.
W PATTERNS'!
(Jj) SEWING CIRCLE /
’T'HE popular shirtwaist style in
a tried and true pattern, de
signed especially for the larger
figure. The eight-piece skirt con
I) KISSING THE BRIDE! I
I Since Colonial days it has been \f> V
\ \ a good American custom to kiss J\ W W '\
I) the blushing bride after the fj \j \
j / minister has said ... "I now i (g? i
I / pronounce you man and wife". \\ I <£T
Wit and Sense some in the long run than a great
A small degree of wit, accompa- deal of wit without it.—La Roche
hied by good sense, is less tire- foucauld.
BIG 11-OUNCE
§p£Cl& BOTTLE OF
HONEY & ALMOND CREAM
Regular H size I^Sn^M
lf you bake at home, use a
I FLEISCHMANN’S I
p^ra^[YE|st^
F .^!^ on S | ! Jj f
I THE ADVERTISER INVITES YOUR
COMPARISON
with others. We do. Should he relax for a minute and let his standards drop,
we discern it. We tell others. We cease buying his product. Therefore r®
keeps up the high standard of his wares, and the prices as low as possin -
tributes a slimming, graceful li nP
The shirtwaist top has ample f u V
ness, let in with darts at the shoul'
der yoke and waistline. The
notched collar, cuffed sleeves and
double pockets are the tailored de
tails which give Pattern No 1331
B the smartness typical of th*
favorite shirtwaist styling.
Suitable materials are linen
gingham, chambray, broadcloth
shantung, pique, sharkskin, tye l
let embroidery, flat crop* or
prints. This is a dress which i s
v/ell suited to stripes, geometric
prints or polka dots.
• • *
Barbara Bell Pattern No. 1381-B t. 1,
sizes 34, 36, 38, 40, 42, 44, 46 and 48 go
30 requires 4To yards 35-inch material*
A detailed sew chart gives full direction*
for cutting and making. Send y o uf
order to:
SEHIING CIRCLE PATTERN DEPX.
Room 1324
211 W. Wacker Dr. Chlcaso
Enclose 15 cents In coins for
Pattern No *Size
Name
Address
INDIGESTION
may affect the Heart
Gas trapped In the stomach or gullet may act like a
hair-trigger on the heart. At the llrst sign of distress
smart men and women depend on Bell-ans Tahlcii p,
set gas free. No laxative but made of the fastest
acting medicines known for acid Indigestion if th,
FIRST DOSE doesn’t prove 8011-ans better, return
hotUe to us and receive DOUBLE Money Back, 25c,
Cynic’s Knowledge
The cynic is the one who knows
the price of everything and the
value of nothing.—Oscar Wilde.
Immortality
All men desire to be immortal.
—Parker.