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A BIBLE THOUGHT FOR TODAY
Thus saiih the Lord, Let not the wise
man glory in his wisdom, neither let the
mighty man glory in his might, let not
the rich man glory in his riches. But
let him that glorieth in this, that he un
derstandeth and knoweth me, that I am
the Lord who exercise lovingkindness,
judgment and righteousness in the earth;
for in these things I delight, saith the
Lord.—Jeremiah 9:23, 24.
He Signs It, Nevertheless
THE President thinks well enough of the
new tax bill to sign it. He protests,
however, against what he terms its
“obvious defects,” all’ of which he lays to the
Democrats’ charge, and serves notice that at
the next session of Congress he will insist
upon a measure "less political and more
economic.”
Defects the hill doubtless has; but they
are, at worst, mere freckles as compared with
the grave Injustices of the Mellon plan to
which President Coolidge was wedded. He
may censure the Democrats if he will, but
the country knows that without their initia
tive we should have had no tax relief at all.
The administration hill, notwithstanding the
steady gale of propaganda blowing for its
benefit, had struck the doldrums. Its favor
itism to the few at the expense of the rank
and file was more than Congress could conn
tenance. Even its vaunted “scientific” supe
riority turned out to be more fanciful than
real. Insurgent Republicans, while refusing
to support it, had nothing constructive to
offer in its stead; and the old guard stood
helpless. At this impasse Democratic states
manship intervened. Led by Senator Sim
mons, of North Carolina, and Representative
Garner, of Texas, veterans who had fought
the battles of fiscal reform under Wilson and
McAdoo produced a plan which won the al
liance of liberal Republicans and a united
Democratic following. That plan, vouchsaf
ing tax reductions to the millions who earn ;
their incomes, is now a law, despite the ef
fort of the President and his coterie to dis
courage its progress.
Georgians will save, under this act, an offi
cially estimated total of throe and a half
million dollars on taxes paid in 19 24, to say
nothing of larger economies next year. This
may be more “political’’ than “economic,’’ as
Mr. Coolidge would have it; but at any rate,
it is a saving which would not have been
forthcoming if Democratic leadership had i
not redeemed a well-nigh hopeless muddle. 1
A Great G iver
THE GIFT of five million dollars to
Harvard’s graduate school of business
administration by Mr. George F.
Baker, of New York City, is one of the
year’s peculiarly interesting benefactions.
Mr. Baker, who observed his eighty-fourth
birthday on March the twenty-seventh by
going to work as his wont has been for
decades, is among the least pretentious as
well as most wealthy and most liberal
American?. He has away, it of
showering largesses upon institutions of
learning, of art, of science and of charity,
without getting into the public prints. He
gave more than two millions to Cornell
anonymously, and it was not until years
later that, his golden friendship to the uni
versity became generally known. The Red
Cross, the Metropolitan Museum of Art and
numerous other good causes have felt the
modest touch of his munificence. He con
sented, with much reluctance, to an an
nouncement of his latest good deed to
Harvard, and then only because of the
value which the news would have as an
indorsement of the school and as an inspi
ration to others.
A most interesting and a most significant
]y and cheerfully see
that things are made
right.
We want every sub
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Address,
THE ATLANTA TRI-WEEKLY JOURNAL
thing it is, to find this veteran master of
affairs taking his chief delight in great
generosities, while he Is still on the stage
of business events. No wonder that he
is vigorous at eighty-four; such a spirit
does not grow old. Seventy years ago his
business experience began when he went
to work as a grocery boy at two dollars
a week. He was generous then, they say;
and his giving has mounted with his
means.
Such men are true builders; and, happily,
they are to be found in every region of
America. It is to them that the South
looks for the expansion of her universities,
the establishment and fostering of her art
museums, the promotion of her philan
thropies.
Facing the Better Way
IF Admiral von Tirpitz were wisely pa
triotic he would never seek to be chan
cellor of Germany. For the erstwhile
lord of U-boats and dark prince of sea
frightfulness now to stand at the helm in
Berlin would do his country more ill than
a visitation of pestilence and fire. A prod
uct and perfect type of the old regime, his
elevation to power would appear to the
world as .signaling a return of those forces
and of that spirit which brought on the ca
tastrophe of 1914. What would Paris think,
what would London and Rome and Ant
werp think, what w'ould justice-loving Amer
icans think of exalting the prime mover of
the Lusitania murders to the chief seat in
the German government of today?
It augurs well for the months ahead that
most of his countrymen frown upon the
suggestion. Though the Nationalists were
so reckless as to propose him for the of
fice and he so unseeing as to let his name
be used, the liberal and moderate parties
are apparently determined and able to pre
vent the blunders going further. They can
but perceive that now of all times is it im
portant to maintain a government with
which the Allies can deal confidently and
with good understanding. France has but
recently swept the way clean for a new and
liberal administration, while in England the
Ramsay MacDonald ministry stands ready
to go any reasonable length with concilia
tory policies. Thus the Dawes plan, which
is admittedly the last hope for peaceful and
effective readjustment in Europe, cap be
worked out with general satisfaction, pro
vided Germany meets the other parties at
interest in a manner that they can trust.
To bring von Tirpitz forward at such a
juncture would be like ripping open a
wound just when it was beginning fairly to
heal. What Germany does or fails to do
this year will profoundly influence if it
does not entirely predestine her own his
tory and Europe's for decades to come. If
she stands for good faith, for justice and
peace rather than for evasion, intrigue and
militarism, things will go well. Elsewise,
the war must he fought over again. Her
present leaders, it is cheering to note, ap
pear to be facing the better way.
THE NEED OF POETRY
By Dr. Frank Crane
THE fundamental need is the need of
poetry.
Verses and rhymes may be poetry
and may not be. They are a frequent form
for the utterance of the poetic feeling, be
cause any high emotion naturally falls into
rhythm and music.
But the great mass of poetry in the world,
that which feeds souls, brightens minds, ahd
cheers hearts never gets utterance at all.
We absorb it directly, as we absorb air.
Marriage is intolerable without poetry.
When the romance dies between man and
woman nothing remains but the intolerable
chains, chafing and heavy.
The business of mothering would be be
yond human endurance we/’e it not for the
poetry of it. The mother’s heart puts some
thing fine and wonderful into her daily
round, otherwise the fret, sameness, narrow
ness, and irritation of it would wreck her
nerves. Thanks to the inborn poetry of
woman, a child is not a burden but a song.
The nation needs poetry. If we were only
a community of buyers and sellers, if there
were no currents of patriotism to fuse all
hearts, if the flag did not inspire us, and
“The Star-Spangled Banner,” when the band
plays it, did not rouse, us, the state would
go to pieces as a heap of pebbles without
cement, and we should be helpless before the
enemy.
The church needs poetry. She is strong
est always when she has wings. Her argu
ments leave us unconvinced. Her visions
capture us.
The schoolmaster needs poetry. Only when
some irresistible enthusiasm, some stubborn
love of an ideal, burns in his heart, is his
teaching a joy to himself and a moulding
force to his pupils. .
The best locomotive engineer is one who
feels the poetry of his calling. He may not
acknowledge it, but say simply that he “likes
his job,’’ y®t it is the fascination of it that
sustains his soul while his hands work. To
feel the monstrous power beneath his feet, to
know that the huge horse of steam and steel
obeys his touch, to rush like a meteor
through the night, to realize that a hundred
lives depend on his brain and hand, all this
sings in him; this is what his spirit lives on
—poetry, not wages.
Whatever a. man does if he can squeeze
poetry out of it he can live by it. If he can
not. he dies by it.
We are beginning to feel the poetry of
business; that is. of feeding and clothing the
world, of building bridges, piercing moun
tains. annihilating distances with steam and
electricity, and making the cities and farms
' of men as splendid as their dreams, and in
' proportion as we learn to sing of business
and forget the songs of war we move toward
the golden age.
(Copyright, 1 924.)
“’E's a nice pup. isn’t ’e?” said Jim, the
village idiot, gazing proudly at his pet ter
rier. “I ’aven't ’ad ’im long. I seed Farm
j er Giles one day takin’ ’im to t’pond, and 1
i says to ’im, I says, ‘What be ye goin’ to do
, with that pup. Farmer Giles?’ T’m goin’ to
drown ’im,’ ’e says, sorrowful like; ’ ’e’s al
ways chewin’ the paint off the legs o’ t’sofa.
“Th! don't drown ’im. mister.’ 1 says,
‘give ’im to me. I’ll cure ’ini.’ And I did
cure ’ini, too; 1 did that. 1 sawed t’legs off
i t’sofa!''
HIS BROTHER’S WIFE
BY RUBY M. AYRES
CHAPTER VIII
‘‘You Loved Nigel?”
SHE followed him into the hall, and then,
as he stood there in the dim light of the
narrow passage, for the first time she
could almost cheat herself into the belief that
it was Nigel who stood there.
Blinding tears rushed to her eyes; for a
i moment she hid her face in her hands.
When she looked up again, David Brether
ton was watching her. She began a stum
bling apology.
“I am so sorry! But just now you looked
so like Nigel—” 3
She bit her lip; she could not go on.
His grave face softened wonderfully. He
laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“You loved Nigel?’’ he said.
She answered him sobbingly:
“Oh, I did—l did!”
Somehow there seemed no shame in the
confession made to this man. Nigel was dead
and the knowledge of her love could not
harm him. Even afterwards, when David had
gone, she did not regret the little impulsive
admission.
CHAPTER IX
The Photograph
WHEN David Bretherton left Mary, he
took a taxi and drove straight to an
address in Hampstead.
There was a little frown on his face, and
during the drive he sat staring before him,
lost in thought.
Once he put up his hand to feel the letter
lying in his breast pocket. Once he took it
out and carefully reread the hastily scribbled
pages.
He had not seen Nigel fpr more than three
years, and now that he would never see him
again, little memories of their boyhood’s
days crowding back to him—of Nigel, always
in disgrace for some daredevil exploit; of
Nigel taking his punishment at school with a
grin on his good-natured face; of Nigel going
for the thing he wanted, always determined
to get it at whatever cost. And now a vivid
imagination flashed him a picture of Nigel
lying dead on the battlefield.
David knew that it was the death Nigel
would have chosen for himself. He was so
brave, so headlong!
His thoughts went back to Mary.
She was so different from the woman he
had pictured as his brother’s wife —so much
more womanly, so much less like the dolly
type of girl that Nigel had always admired.
And she had genuinely loved him; of that
there couid be no doubt. It therefore made
Nigel’s last letter all the more extraordinary
and difficult to understand.
The taxi had stopped now. The driver
came to the door.
“Is this the house, sir?”
David stepped out on the path. He looked
up at the dark face of the house, and a little
reminiscent smile curved his lips.
“Yes—this is the house.”
He paid and dismissed the man, and went
up the steps to the front door.
By the light above the porch he glanced
at his watch. It was nearly 9. He hesitated
for a moment, then rang the bell.
After all, there were excuses for a late
visit when a man had just returned to Lon
don after three years’ absence. Fisher would
not mind.
The maid who opened the door was doubt
ful if her master would see him. • She took
Bretherton's card reluctantly. After a mo
ment a door of one of the sitting rooms was
flung open, and a man came eagerly into the
hall. »
“David, my dear fellow!” He seized
Bretherton bj- both hands and dragged him
into the light. “I had no idea you were in
England. When did you land? Why didn’t
you let me know?”
“I only landed this morning. I have been
nowhere, except—”
He broke off. A woman had followed
j Henry Fisher into the hall. She was golden
haired and beautifully dressed. Her little
eyes were bright with eagerness as they met
David’s.
“Oh, lam so glad to see you again! I
couldn't believe it was you! But, oh, David,
poor Nigel!”
I hey were in the drawing room now, and
Fisher had taken David’s overcoat.
There was a. little silence.
“I just couldn’t believe it when we heard!”
Dora Fisher went on, in a shocked voice.
"One hears of men being killed at the front
every day, but it seems impossible that any
one we knew could be amongst them. Oh,
David, it must have been a shock!”
Something in her almost exaggerated pity
jarred on him. He looked relieved when her
brother came back to the room.
“I ought to apofogize for such a late visit,”
David was saying, “but there were several
' matters I wanted to speak to you about.”
He hesitated.
Dora sprang up from the deep chair where
she was sitting; there was a little frown be
tween her eyes.
“You mean that you -want me to go away?
I ou are horrid, when I haven’t seen you for
three years! I’ll just give you half an hour
—no more. And, David, you are going to
siay the night, aren’t you? It's too late to
get down to Red Grange, and I simply won't
let you go to a hotel!”
li I am not in the way—” he began dif
fidently.
She laughed.
“We are only too glad to have you!”
She left them, shutting the door after her.
Fisher was mixing whisky and soda at a
i side table.
It s good to see you, David,” he said af
i fectionately. “I only wish it might have
been in happier circumstances. Poor Nigel!”
“I wanted to speak to you about him.
M hy didn t you tell me he was married?”
Fisher flushed a little.
I “My dear chap, how could I? Nigel was
so anxious to keep it back; seemed to think
you'd be annoyed and cut down his allow-
: ance.”
Why should I have been annoyed?”
Fisher shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, his wife was hardly—you know
what I mean.”
j David thought of the woman hp had loft
alone in that empty flat, with the tears still
wet on her face.
Hardly what?” he asked, with curious in
flection.
1 Fisher looked uncomfortable.
"Well, it's awkward to explain; but. if you
must know, she wasn't the sort of woman
Nigel ought to have married. She was a
nursery governess, I believe, and she married
. him for what he could give her; there’s no
doubt about that. I only saw her once.”
He pushed a whisky and soda across to his
friend.
’ What was she like?” David asked.
He took up the glass, holding it quizzically
to the light. His manner was very quiet—
'almost disinterested.
Fisker shrugged his shoulders.
"Little auburn-haired thing—one of the
■ dolly sort.”
“Auburn-haired ?”
“Yes. reddish hair; quite young—-about
twenty-one. 1 say. i had lunch with
them soon after they were married. She
I didn’t like me. Oh, no. she didn't say so;
; but she let me see it from her manner.”
There was a little silence.
“Os course,” David said then. “I must do
something for her. Nigel had nothing except
Till, POLITIC AL DELIRIUM OF NINE
TEE.\-TWENTY
AN acquaintance of mine, living in New
York City, has presented me with a
most interesting book, lately printed,
which will attract attention all over the Unit
ed States.
It is written by the assistant secretary of
the department of labor under the Wilson
regime. It is not opposition politics, there
fore, and its statements are also clarified of
any such prejudice against the Wilson re
gime.
The book takes cognizance of the “bomb”
furor, which is being discussed at this time
in New York papers. Ex-Attorney General
Palmer experienced a “bomb” scare, and
from the account given of his excitement in
this book he was also endeavoring to deport
a great many harmless people, foreign born,
from the United States. The book also takes
notice of the bomb that was mailed to Ex-
United States Senator Thomas W. Hardwick,
of which a good many of us have remem
brance, in April, 1920.
I had forgotten the date of its explosion,
but the book gives it, and while another
bomb was mailed to an Alabama congress
man, It had no such fatal results as followed
the bomb sent to Governor Hardwick.
The book tells how and why two dozen or
more mailed bomb packages were rendered
harmless in New York City postoffice by the
foresight of a postoffice clerk in that city.
On page 26, the author writes, “More than
two dozen such packages were gathered from
the street mailing boxes, in the general post
office, New York. Sixteen of them were
stopped there by a vigilant postal clerk —
with no suspicion of their character, only a
shortage in postage. They were still there
on the 29th of April, late at night when this
postal clerk started home. He secured a copy
of next morning’s paper after midnight; he
read an account of the mail-received bomb in
Georgia (sent to the Hardwick home). He
returned at once to the postoffice, and the
night superintendent called the chief inspec
tor of combustibles, in the fire department,
and the dangerous character of these pack
ages was reported.
“This precaution saved many such catas
trophes in all probability. Senator Hard
wick had been chairman of the senate com
mittee on immigration. The package had
been delivered at Senator Hardwick’s
home, being opened by a colored maid. It
exploded and blew off both her hands, se
verely injuring Mrs. Hardwick, who was
standing near. Except at the Hardwick house
no one was seriously injured by the two doz
en ‘postal bombs.’ (There is much more to
this matter, hut the book devotes several
pages to the bomb that was placed in front
of Attorney General Palmer’s house in Wash
ington City.) Before that occurrence there
were seven cities that had more or less of
such bombing on June 3. 1919. In Philadel
phia two explosions were reported in the rec
tory of a Roman Catholic church, also at the
residence of a business man. A silk manu
facturer was bombed at Paterson, N. J, In
Boston it was the residence of a judge, also
of a congressman of that section.
“In Pittsburg there were six explosions,
one the home of a federal judge. At Cleve
land a mayor’s house was bombed. In New
York the residence of Judge Nott was
wrecked, a watchman in front being killed
by it.
“The most sensational explosion of all was
at Washington. It damaged the front of
Attorney General Palmer’s residence.. (We
voted for him for president down in Georgia
in 1920.)
“A noted private detective was promptly
appointed by Attorney General Palmer as
chief of an information division in the depart
ment of justice. . . . The police of the whole
country were sensitized, and bomb-throwers
were hourly on the verge of capture. A con
fusing hue and cry which surcharged the air,
stirred the public mind with fear and hate.
“But panics are Irke wild beasts in more
senses than one. Unless they have something
to feed on, they die. The bomb operators were
too timid to play again, after bombing the
attorney general’s house in Washington.”
QUIZ
Any Tri-Weekly Journal reader can
get the answer to any question puzzling
him by writing to The Atlanta Journal
Information Bureau, Frederic J. Has
kin, director, Washington, D. C., and in
closing a two-cent stamp for return
postage. DO NOT SEND IT TO OUR
ATLANTA OFFICE.
Q. Are all animals natural swimmers?
F. F.
A. According to the best authorities, all
animals excepting man, monkeys, and, per
haps, the three-toed sloth, either swim nat
urally or go through the motions of swim
ming when suddenly immersed in water.
There ore, however, several animals that, al
though they swim naturally, drown as they
swim. This is the case with rabbits, mice,
moles, and the smaller cats, drowning being
the result of the fur becoming saturated.
Q. How long have people worn glasses?
E. G.
A. Spectacles were invented during the
thirteenth century. Some authorities at
tribute them to Alessandro di Spina, a Flor
entine monk; others to Roger Bacon.
Q. When did Joseph Henry invent the first
electric bell, which was rung a few weeks
ago by radio at Schenectady, N. Y.? D. N. A.
A. Joseph Henry in IS3I sent a current
through a mile of fine copper wire and
caused the armature to be attracted and
strike a bell, thereby producing an audible
signal.
Q. Are modern men less healthy than pre
historic men? S. S.
A. If anything, they are more healthy.
Prehistoric skeletons, as well as the mum
mies of ancient Egyptians, show they suffer
ed from many of our diseases.
Q. Whv does soap helo to remove dirt?
D. G.
A. Popular Science says that soap con
tains a material that has the ability to stick
very tightly to things. It creeps over their
surfaces as a film of oil will creep over the
surface of water. When you wash your
hands, a very thin film of this material creeps
all over your hands next to the skin. It even
creeps in underneath any particles of dirt
that happen to be sticking to your skin. It
pushes these loose and the water washes
them away.
Q. How is the Montreal Ice palace made?
J. F.
A. It is built of blocks of Ice. The struc
ture is erected, then sprayed with water so
that it freezes solid.
what I allowed him. I wanted to ask your
advice.”
Fisher raised his brows.
“She won’t be a widow long, from what I
saw of her,” he said, rather dryly. “You
needn’t be sorry for her, David.”
He turned to a paper-strewn desk in a
corner by the fire.
“I’ve a photograph of her her somewhere.
Nigel sent it to me when they were honey
mooning. Care to see it?”
“I should like to.”
Fisher rummaged in a drawer for a mo
ment, then came back to where his friend
stood.
Continued Tuesday. Renew your sub
scription now to avoid missing a chapter.
THE COUNTRY HOME
BY MRS. IK H. FELTON
SATURDAY, JUNE 7, lf>2l
“Do not forget all this bombing was going
on while President Wilson was managing the
1920 election,” continues the writer. “How
was it possible for so gigantic a conspiracy
or so desperate an outburst of proletarian
passion to escape detection when most of the
detective agencies of the country were
pursuing the perpetrators with such untiring
zeal ?
“Only one conclusions seems possible, not
a flattering one, when the facilities of the
department of justice are considered. Then
consider their relation to the results accom
plished.
“It was humanly natural that Attorney
General Palmer should have been seriously
disturbed by the June explosion in front of
his residence. It is not surprising that he
begged of congress an enormous appropria
tion of money to pay detectives. The ‘Red’
crusade of Mr. Palmer has been attributed
to his personal ambition. Why did Mr. Pal
mer’s supporters in 1926 ignore this crusade
in their campaigning for the presidency? He
seemed, according to the Baltimore Sun, to
scent ‘a Bolshevist plot in every item of the
day’s news.’ ”
To make a long story short, the appropri
ations were very large, and to use the writ
er’s language:
“The department of justice was turned
into an agency for stimulating the popular
delirium, which the postal bombs of the pre
ceding May and the explosions of June had
generated.”
In the senatorial campaign of 1918, when
Senators Hardwick, William J. Harris and
Hon. Schley Howard were candidates, I lis
tened to a speech in the Cartersville court
house, when Senator Hardwick was de
nounced as a pro-German, a traitor to his
country and a legal adviser of a Russian an
archist. At the same time the statement was
made that President Wilson would not toler
ate either Howard or Hardwick.
It was more than strange that Hardwick’s
home should be bombed by anarchists, at the
same time that Attorney General Palmer’s
house was later bombed.
It has always been my conviction that
the bomb activities- were aimed at people who
stood in the -way of shrewd politicians, even
down in Georgia.
Get the book and read for yourself, and
you will see the situation as it was exploited
and paid for out of the United States treas
ury.
WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH THE
CHURCHES?
rpHE Episcopalians are trying a bishop
for heresy. The Presbyterians are
trying a preacher for heresy. The
Methodists, north and south, are being
stirred to the “bottom sill” for and against
the union of the northern church with the
southern church in Methodism, after a long
separation. There was a serious attempt at
the late Southern Baptist convention to pull
that gigantic religious organization into lo
cal and national politics.
It would seem that the stir is general, and
the outcome is problematical. When such
a religious stir is going on, it is bound to
end in church disturbances, more or less.
Doubtless this is aftermath of a delirium
of war antipathies and sectional animosities.
I have been a member of the southern
Methodist church since August, 1851, sev
enty-three years. I have remembrance of
the split that divided the north and south
Methodists*.
I was acquainted with Bishop Andrew,
over whose relation to African slavery the
split happened. I have kept the story in
mind, and have watched the progress of cur
rent events ever since.
I am of the opinion—worth but little as
others might decide —but I am now ready to
say:
“Doing well is hard to beat,
“Let well enough alone.”
We are at peace with each other now. I
see ho need to go out to warfare or surrender
either. It is much easier to plunge into dif
ficulties than to get out satisfactorily. Let
us mind our own business and prosper.
HOBBIES FOR WOMEN
By H. Addington Bruce
IN most discussions of the health values of
hobbies it,, seemingly is assumed that men
alone need hobbies as aids to effective
living.
Such an assumption is ridiculously false.
Women need hobbies at least as much as
men. Many women need them more than
most men.
I refer particularly to those women of in
dependent means who live in hotels or apart
ments, who are virtually without household
cares, who have never had children or whose
children have grown up.
A hobby of some sort is really indispensa
ble to such women. Lacking it, leading
wholly purposeless lives, they are certain to
be tormented by discontent and to suffer in
some degree from various ailments of a
more or less serious sort.
One will find herself oppressed by inex
plicable aches and pains. Another will be
unaccountably afflicted with Insomnia. A
third will find It strange that her food di
gests poorly.
Yet it is all simple enough, when one re
members that for lack of really engrossing
external interests, these poor women pay un
due attention to everything that concerns
themselves, including the workings of their
internal organs. But internal organs watch
ed too closely, so to speak, always work
badly.
Hobbies, particularly hobbies that have a
social value, would afford diversion of the
attention and at the same time satisfy the
altruistic instinct which the self-centered
women because of their self-centeredhess
have repressed. This repression, by the way,
is itself a cause of the discontent an malaise
they experience
I commend to them an observation by an
exceedingly wise physician:
“From a long experience I have to confess
that I have seer that the unsentimental
remedy of social work is the safest and most
important prescription in the prescription
book of the psychotherapist.
“There is a chance for social work for
every woman and man, work which can well
be chosen in full adjustment to the personal
preference and likings. Not everybody is fit
for charity work, and those who are may be
entirely unfitted for work in the interest of
the beautification of the town.
“Only it has to be work. Mere automobil
ing to charity races or talking in meetings
on problems which have not been studied
will, of course, be merely another form of
the disorganizing superficiality. The hysteri
cal lady on Fifth avenue and the psychas
thenic old maid in New England country
town, both simply have to learn to do useful
work with a concentrated effort and a high
purpose.”
And what of the woman who is not self
centered, who, as mother and housewife,
toils altruistically all day—can she dispense
with hobbies? No more than her mate who
through some hobby seeks recreation from
the day's work in store, office or factory.
In her case, as in his, it is not the need
of satisfying occupation that a hobby is pri
marily designed to meet. It is the need for
that pleasurable turning of the attention to
something other than the daily routine as
means of giving to the brain-cells occupied
in that routine real opportunity for rest.
H“n<p for the useffilly occupied woman
as for the usefully occupied man—the hobby
MY WIFE ANDI
BY CAROLYN BEECHER
CHAPTER XXIII
I ASSURED Diana that I felt my reputa
tion safe, and chatting gaily we went to
a small restaurant for luncheon, an un
fashionable place, but where the cooking was
tempting.
Scarcely were we seated when Ned Church
came in.
“Naughty, naughty,” he said as he came
to us, shaking his forefinger.
“Lunch with us, Ned,” I said, annoyed at
his action. /
“Two’s company,” he replied, then seated
himself some distance away, but where he
could see us.
“We’re under surveillance,” Diana said.
“Now, how about your reputation?”
“I still insist it is safe.”
“One would almost be willing to lose so
useless a thing for such delicious food,” she
told him. Then she chatted as unconcern
edly as if we were alone, as if no Ned Church
were watching us.
“Be sure you tell Mrs. Henderson you
lunched with me,” she warned as we parted.
“It’s the wise man who gets his story told
first.”
"You think Ned—”
“I know he will. Why, man, don’t you sea
it excuses him if he can make it look—a
tryst?”
“Very well, I’ll be sure he springs no sur
prise,” and laughing, I left her.
I scarcely recognized my mother-in-law
when she took her seat at the dinner table.
She had been a. rather dowdy, plain-looking
woman. Now marcelled, dressed in a becom
ing and stylish gown, she was very near the
grande dame. I complimented her, sure it
was Natalie’s taste that was responsible and
wondering how a woman of her type came to
have so exquisite a daughter.
“Did you have a pleasant day shopping?”
I asked.
“Yes, the stores are wonderful. I never
saw such lovely things,” she returned.
“By the way, Natalie, I took Diana to
luncheon today. She came to the office on*
a little matter of business, and as it was just
lunch hour I asked her to have a bite with
me. ’ We saw Ned Church. Leave it to him
to know where to find good food.”
“What did Diana want of you?” Natali®
asked, while her mother waited, fork poised,
for my answer.
“Just a little business matter she wished
the firm to handle.”
“Don’t you tell your -wife the details of
your business, Bruce? Her father never has
a thing happen he doesn’t tell me,” Mrs.
Brooks broke in.
“The firm’s business isn’t mine to tell,” I
replied. But she wasn’t so easily satisfied.
“I have found that it makes trouble be
tween’husbands and wives if they don’t share
each other’s secrets. I believe it is a wom
an’s right to know all her husband does.”
“Everything that is at all personal I tell
Natalie. But a client’s affairs have no in*
terest for her.”
“Who is this Diana?”
“A girl with loads of money whom Bruce
seems to admire,” Natalie answered for me.
“And Bruce doesn’t tell you why she visits
his office! That isn’t fair to Natalie, Bruce.
A husband should have no secrets from-his
wife.”
I made no response, but the thought came
that her visit wasn’t to be the unalloyed joy
I had pictured it.
“What did Ned have to say?” Natali®
asked after a moment.
“Nothing of account, facetious as usual,
or tried to be.”
“I don’t approve of young women visiting
business offices,” Mrs. Brooks said. “Hasn’t
Diana a father or brother to attend to such
things for her?”
“She has a brother, hut nowadays women
prefer to look after their own affairs,” I re
plied, controlling my impatience.
“It doesn’t look right,” she persisted, “it
makes talk. I should hate to have you
talked about, Bruce-—for Natalie's sake.”
“I shan’t be. No one is so careful of Nat
alie’s reputation as I am—of anything that
would react on her. But my profession
makes it necessary that, I see our clients,
even if they happen to be women. Natali®
understands perfectly.”
“Do I?” Natalie said drily, then to my re
lief she changed the subject, telling me sh®
had decided to take her mother to the thea
ter and had scored tickets.
“How many?” j .• ':ed.
“Two. You told me you were going to
spend your evenings with your uncle, so I
left you out.” ;
“Very well, although I didn’t mean I
should spend every evening with him.” Some
way I felt a little chagrined that Natalie had
so easily left me out. of her plans, had scemerj r
so content to go without me. “I shall he '
able to accompany you and your mother
often.”
“You mustn’t let me Interfere with your
duty to your relatives,” Mrs. Brooks said,
“although Natalie tells me your uncle’s Ill
ness isn’t dangerous.”
Continued Tuesday. Renew your sub
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QUIPS AND QUIDDITIES
The young man had taken his old grand
mother to a picture gallery. She hart never
been in such a place before and accordingly
she was very critical of all that she saw. To
gether they -wandered round looking at th®
paintings -with interest.
Finally they stopped before a canvas
which showed a man seated in a. high-backed
chair. Tacked to the frame was a small
white card.
“What does it say on this card?” asked
the old lady.
i “ ‘A portrait of F. E. Jones, by himself,’ ’’
replied her grandson.
The old lady went closer to the picture.
“What.'folks these art people must be!”
she muttered. “Any fool can see that th®
man is by himself; there’s no one else la the
picture! ”
That famous nobleman, Lord Lee, of
Foreham, who gave his historic seat,
Chequers Court, for the use of Britain’s
premier, spent some time during his early
life mining for gold in the Klondyke.
Concerning his adventures there he has
some good stories to tell, one of the best
relating to a saloon bar riot between Polish
and Hungarian miners at Dawson city.
It was a racial fight to a finish, the
weapons used being iron bars, knuckle-dus
ters, or anything else that came handy, and
the spectators discreetly refrained from tak
ing sides.
All except one. And he,- needless to say,
was an Irishman.
Pushing his way through the throng, Pat
marched up to the bar and anxiously in
quired of the cowering and frightened at
tendant:
“Oi say, is this a private foight or can
any one join in?”
chosen need not be socially significant. It
may be study of literature, of music, of art,
of Oriental rugs, it may be anything that
gives a definite and really pleasurable change
to the current of oncupational thinking.
(Copyright, 1924.)