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THE TRI WEEKLY JOURNAL
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A BIBLE THOUGHT FOR TODAY
And Jesus sat over against the treasury,
and behold how the people cast money
into the treasury; and many that were
rich cast in much. And there came a cer
tain poor widow, and she threw in two
mites, which make a farthing. And He
called unto Him His disciples, and saith
unto them: “Verily, 1 say unto you that
this poor widow hath cast more in than
all they who have cast into the treasury;
for all they did cast in of their abun
dance, but she of her want did cast in
dll that she had, even all her living.—
Mark 12:41-44.
Our Healthiest Year
IN point of health the year 19 2 4 will
mark America’s best, if we may judge
by the record of its first nine months
among the fifteen million policyholders of
a great industrial life insurance company.
The death rate for all causes is only eight
and two-tenths per thousand, as compared
with eight and eight-tenths for the corre
sponding span of 1923, and eight and four
tenthS'in 1922. Although in 1921 the rate
v&ns eight and two-tenths, the same figure
for the present year represents a more fa
vorable condition in that it takes account,
as the 1921 report did not, ot the. earliest
stages of infant life on which the death
toll is exceptionally high.
•Tuberculosis is certain to register a new
minimum for the year, so pronounced has
been its decline during the first nine months.
Typhoid also shows a most encouraging de
crease. Mortality from alcoholism is re
corded as two and nine-tenths per hundred
thousand, concerning which the comment
is inade: “It is now fairly well assured that
these will be no rise this year as compared
with last, and that for the present, at least,
the peak in the rise which has been ob
served since 1920 has been reached.” These
figures, the official statement explains, ap
ply, for the most part, to white policyhold
ers: “The experience among the colored
population has not been so favorable”—
notably the matter of tuberculosis.
Along with the diminution in death from
disease goes a gratifying decrease in sui
cides and fatal accidents. In the case of
the latter, however, automobile casualties
present a grievous exception. More persons,
it appears, have been killed in motor traffic
during the first nine months of 1924 than in
the like period of the year preceding. Care
regarding this peril needs to be redoubled.
The gains for health so hearteningly evi
denced must be credited in large measure |
to educational efforts, resulting in improve
ments In personal hygiene and community
sanitation. Far-seeing states and counties,
as well as cities and towns, are working
upon these lines of enterprise more liberally
than ever before, and thus are saving thou
sands of lives, besides untold economic
wealth. !
Georgia can make no sounder investment i
than In providing for the extension and Im
provement of her public health service. •
This she owes to her prestige, which will
be advanced by nothing so much as by
conserving human resources, and to her
peopie, whose most vital Interests are in
volved.
Don. t Burn the W oods
THAT Georgia suffered approximately
ten thousand woodland fires last year,
which entailed a timber loss of more
than two million dollars, should be evidence
enough of her need of adequate forest pro
tection. But this was only a fraction of the
total damage sustained. Erosion of the soil
and destruction of wild life, including fish
and game, took still heavier toll. Repeated
year after year, such losses will grow stu
pendous, and at length will render quite
* t/
THE ATLANTA TRI-WEEKLY JOURNAL
Iropeless out already grave problem of re
forestation.
These facts lend especial interest to an
article in the current number of the Agri
cultural Bulletin, entitled, “Do Not Burn the
Woods.” Observing that some owners and
tenants are accustomed to “burn off” their
forest lands every autumn in the belief that
this will make better grazing for live stock,
the. Bulletin goes on to show the fallacy of
that idea and the costliness of that practice.
“If it were true that the burning stimu
lated the growth of grass,” says this au
thority, “still it would be of doubtful value
on account of the great damage done to the
timber, especially the small trees. But
demonstrations carried on in burned and un
burned do not indicate that we get
more or better grazing where the timber
land is burned. It may be that for a few
weeks of the grazing season, after land has
been burned, we do have more tender grass,
that the cattle can get to it better and that
temporarily Ihey put on more gain than if
the land had not been burned. However,
considering the season as a whole, much
more and much better grazing can be ob
tained on the unburned areas. Experiments
conducted in cut-over and burned land in
Mississippi show that an unburned area has
been capable of carrying cattle at the rate
of twenty-eight head to forty acres, and
these cattle’ have made seasonal gains of
ninety-one pounds. These were native cat
tle, and we must understand that this was
in pines and not in pasture. When we con
sider the grade of cattle and the conditions
this is a very good gain. Cattle on burned
areas, one head to ten acres, showed a sea
sonal gain of only twenty>one pounds. It
was further shown in this demonstration
that the cattle on the burned areas made
better gains for the first two months of the
grazing season, after that the'gains fell off
and the cattle even lost a great deal of the
gains made during the first two months.
It is natural to suppose, if we stop and con
sider this matter, that we would have much
better conditions from growing grass where
the annual burning did not take place. We
would have more seed on the ground and
we would have niore humus and rotting
matter to support grass. Also, it is an es
tablished fact that certain grasses which are
highly desirable as grazing crops for in- ■
i
stance, carpet grass, will not grow under
conditions of annual burning. Another rea
son for annual burning in certain sections of
the south is for boll weevil control. This
is another fallacy. The burring of the
woods does not control the weevil; it does
not even diminish the supply of over-win
tered weevils to any great extent, and even
if it did the advantage gained is at such an
expense to the present and future growth of
the timber that it is a very bad policy to
pursue. The entomologists of :11 the south
ern states, 'who have made many years of
advocate burning of the woods.”
The good sense and seasonable warning >
of these words will find their way, let us
hope, into every countryside where the cost
ly custom of burning forest lands still ob- ,
tains. Public interest requires that this
practice cease; and, once the facts are un
derstood, individual intelligence will do the !
rest.
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
inclosing a two-cent stamp for return
postage. DO NOT SEND IT TO OUR
ATLANTA OFFICE.
Q. What is the term for the habit of
opening the Bible at random and being
guided by the first verse that one reads?
A. G. N.
*A. Bibliomancy is the term applied to
divination by means of a Bible. Divination
by means of poetry was common in the
Roman world, and with the coming of Chris
tianity the Bible became the accepted book
for use as guidance. The custom is to open
the book at random, and apply to the oc
casion the verse which first meets the eye;
to choose a passage by laying a finger or pin
on the open page: or to accept the first
words from the Bible that are heard upon
entering church as having a particular mes
sage.
Q. Did General Washington care for
dancing?,. D. A. H.
A. History records that President Wash
ington and the wife of General Greene once
“danced upwards of three hours without
once sitting down.” General Greene termed
this “a pretty little frisk on the part of the
president.”
Q. What star is the most distant? B. M.
A. The Naval Observatory says there is
no one star that is known as the most dis
tant. Professor Harlow Shapley, of Har
vard College Observatory, has recently dis
cussed a nebulous area in the sky in which
are some exceedingly faint stars; and these
stars, according to Professor Shapley. are
probably distant from the earth something
like 1,000,000 light-years. A light-year is
equal to 5,875,000.000,000 miles.
Q. Where is Dr. Lorenz at present? R.E.M.
A. The “bloodless surgeon” is now in
Vienna. He will return to New York in
October.
O. If an aviator could stand the cold and
lack of air. could an airplane be flown above
the belt of air which surrounds the earth?
| A. An airplane engine demands air in the
I same manner that a person does. It is im
j possible for an engine to operate without air,
| therefore it would be out of the question for
an airplane, as airplanes are made at the
ipresent time, to attempt to go beyond the
[atmosphere surrounding the earth. When an
I aviator tries to make an altitude record he
j carries oxygen in bags in order that he may
breathe this oxygen as the atmosphere be
comes rarer. He also place? a super-charger
on his engine in order that the engine may be
I able to operate in tl»s rarefied atmosphere.
THE SEA HAWK
BY RAFAEL SABATINI
' (Published by\Arraniremei>t With First National Pictures,
Ine. Copyftigbted by Houghton-Mifflin Company.)
CHAPTER IX (continued)
The suddenness of the attack flung the
Spaniard into confusion. There was a frantic
stir aboard her, trumpet blasts and shoutings !
i and vyild scurryings of men hither and thither
to the posts to which they were ordered by
j their too reckless captain. In that con-
I fusion her maneuver to go about went all [
I awry and precious moments were lost during I
i which she stood floundering, with idly flap-
I ping sails.
■ In his desperate haste, the captain headed \
i her straight to leeward, thinking that by
: running thus before the wind he stood the
I best chance of avoiding the trap. But there 1
I was not wind enough sheltered spot
'to make the attempt successful. The galleys
sped straight on at an angle to the direction
in which the Spaniard was moving, their yel
low dripping oars flashing furiouosly, as the
bo’suns plied their whips to urge every ounce
of sinew in the slaves.
Os all this Sakr-el-Bahr gathered an im
pression as, followed by Biskaine and the ne
groes, he swiftly made his way down the aerie
that had served him so well. He sprang from
red oak to cork-tree and from cork-tree to
red oak; he leaped from rock to rock, or low- [
ered himself from ledge to ledge gripping a
handful of heath or a projecting stone, but all j
with the speed and nimbleness of an ape. !
He dropped at last to the beach, then sped
across it at a run, and went bounding along ;
a black reef until he stood alongside of the
galliot which had been left behind by the
other corsair vessels. She awaited him in
deep water the length of her oars from the :
rock, and as he came alongside these oars were
brought to the horizontal, and held there firm
ly. He leaped down upon them, his compan
ions following him, and using them as a gang
way, reached the bulwarks. He threw a leg
over the side, and alighted on a decked space
between two oars and the two rows of six
slaves that were manning each of them.
Biskaine followed him and the negroes came
last. They were still astride of the bulwarks
when Sakr-el-Bahr gave the word. Up the
middle gangway ran a bo’sun and two of his ;
mates cracking their long whips of bullock- !
hide. Down went the oars, there was a heave, i
and they shot out in the wake of the other
two to join the fight.
Sakr-el-Bahr, scimitar in hand, stood on the j
prow, a little in advance of the mob of eager, '
babbling corsairs who surrounded him, quiv
ering in their impatience to be let loose upon
the Christian foe. Above, along the yard-arm
and up the ratlines swarmed his bowmen. I
From the masthead floated out his standard j
of crimson charged with a green crescent.
The naked Christian slaves ■ groaned, :
strained and sweated under the Moslem lash
that drove them to the destruction of their
Christian brethren.
Ahead the battle was already joined. The [
Spaniard had fired one single hasty shot i
which had gone wide, and now one of the
corsairs’ grappling irons had seized her on
the larboard quarter, a withering hail of
arrows was pouring clown upon her decks
from the Moslem cross-trees; up her sides
crowded the eager Moors, evermost eager |
when it was a question of tackling the Span- i
ish dogs who had driven them from their 1
Andalusian Caliphate. Under her quarter
sped the other galley to take her on the I
starboard side, and even as she went her i
archers and slingers hurled death aboard i
the galleon.
It was a short, sharp fight. The Span- :
iards in confusion from the beginning, hav- 1
ing been taken utterly by surprise, had i
never been able to order themselves in a
proper manner to receive the onslaught.
Still, what could be done they did. They
made a. gallant stand against the pitiless as
sailants. But the corsairs charged home as
gallantly, utterly reckless of life, eager to
slay in the name of Allah and His Prophet i
and scarcely less eager to die if it should
please the All-pitiful that their destinies •
should he here fulfilled. Up they went, and
back fell the Castilians, outnumbered by rt
least ten to one.
When Sakr-el-Bahr’s galliot came along- ,
side, that brief encounter was at an end, j
and one of his corsairs was aloft, hacking '
from the mainmast the standard of Spain '
and the wooden crucifix that was nailed
below it. A moment later and to a thun
dering roar of “Alhandollilah! ” the green
crescent floated out upon the breeze.
Sakli-el-Bahr thrust his way through the
press in the galleon’s waist; his corsairs fell
back before him, making way,* and as he
advanced they roared his name deliriously
and waved their scimitars to acclaim him
this hawk of the sea, as he jras named, this
most valiant of all the servants of Islam.
True, he had taken no actual part in the i
engagement. It had been too brief and lie
had arrived too late for that. But his had
been the daring to conceive an .amlAish at ;
so remote a western point, and his the brain
that had guided them to this swift, sweet,
victory in the name of Allah the One.
The decks were slippery with blood, and
strewn with wounded and dying men, whom
already the Moslems were heaving overboard
—dead and wounded alike Avhen they were
Christians, for to what end should they be
troubled with maimed slaves?
About the mainmast were huddled the
surviving Spaniards, weaponless and broken
in courage.
Sakr-el-Bahr stood forward, his light blue”
eyes considering them grimly. They must
number close upon a hundred, adventurers
in the main who had set out from Cadiz
in high hope of finding fortune in the In
dies. Their voyage had been a very brief
one; their fate they knew—to toil at the
oars of the Moslem galleys, or, at best, to
be taken to Algiers or Tunis and sold there
into the slavery of some wealthy Moor.
Sakr-el-Bahr’s glance scanned them ap
praisingly, and rested finally on the captain,
who stood slightly in advance, his face livid
with rage and grief. He was richly dressed
in the Castillian black, and his velvet thim- '
ble-shaped hat was heavily plumed and
decked by a gold cross.
Sakr-el-Bahr salaamed ceremoniously to
hi m. _
“Fortuna de guerra, senor capitan,” said
he in fluent Spanish. “What is your name?”
“I am Don Paulo de Guzman,” the man
answered, drawing himself erect and speak
ing with conscious pride in himself and
manifest contempt of his interlocutor.
”So! A gentleman of family! And well
nourished and sturdy, y should judge. In
the sok of Algiers you might fetch two hun
dred phillips. You shall ransom yourself
. for five hundred.”
“Por las Entranas de Dois!” swore Don
Paulo, who. like all pious Spanish Catho
lics, favored the oath anatomical.
What else he would have in his
fury is not known, for Sakr-el-Bahr waved
his contemptuously away.
[ “For your profanity and want of courtesy
we will make the ransom a thousand philips,
then,” said he. And to his followers: “Away
, with him! Let him have courteous enter
i tainment against the coming of his ran
som.”
He was borne away cursing.
Os the others Sakr-el-Bahr made short
work. He offered the privilege of ransom
himself to any who might claim it. and the
privilege was claimed by three. The rest
he consigned to the care of Biskaine. who
acted as his kayia. or lieutenant. But be
fore doing so he hade the ship’s bo’sun
stand forward, and demanded to know what ,
THOSE THAT ENVY
By H. Addington Bruce
DOMINICK, as I call hit., had just left a
little group of acquaintances. He had
been speaking vehemently and bitterly
about something, and there was a momen
tary silence after his departure. Then some
one said:
“I suppose it’s his liver that makes Dom
inick so sourminded. He’s really not a bad
sort aside from bis chronic grouch. And
that must be his liver. What an unhealthy
lobk he has.”
Overlooking this comment, my mind
harked back to bygone days, when Dominick
did not have an unhealthy look.
I remembered him as a tall, erect, active
young man, eager to advance in the estab
lishment where he had obtained work fol
lowing his graduation from college. It was
an establishment in which promotion de
pended primanily on merit, with, however, a
proper regard for seniority.
As fortune would have it, three other
young men, on the whole as able as Dom
inick, had preceded him in employment
about a year. Within a few months, to
Dominick’s chagrin, he saw-one of them giv
en a position he had coveted. The next
year promotion came likewise to the other
two. „
In each case it was deserved, though Dom
inick, conscious of superiority in certain re
spects, would not concede this. Then he
made his great, his fatal mistake. He opened
wide his heart to the demon of envy.
Now, envy not only has an unfavorable
effect on the morale, it also influences ad
versely the mind and the physique.
All the mental processes of those that
envy deteriorate little by little, and at the
same, time their bo ily processes function
less vigorously, to the additional hurt of the
mentality and the disposition. Envy, in
fine, sets in motion a vicious circle that
harms ceaselessly and increasingly.
Letting envy take possession of him, Dom
inick ere long Ijad still greater incitement
to indulge this disastrous passion. For, the
falling off in his work becoming unmistak
able, a junior was given preferment to him
on the next occasion for promoting a mem
ber of the staff.
Today, in early middle age, Dominick,
though he does not know it, is really for
tunate to be holding a place that gives him
a fairly good livelihood. It is, to be sure,
nowhere near the position to which he
might, and probably would, have progressed
had he noF foolishly yielded to envy.
And if today his “grouchiness” may have
extenuation in the of his health, it may
reasonably be questioned whether Dcniinick’s
digestive and other ■weaknesses were not in
the first place brought on, or at least agra
vated. by his sadly envious attitude.''
Certainly in view of the all-around harm
envy now is known to do, it would be as
tonishing to find Dominick—or any other
chronically Envious person—in anything like
truly robust health.
(Copyright, 1924.)
QUIPS AND QUIDDITIES
The audience grew less and less until a
speaker arose with only one man in front
of him.
“My dear sir,” began the speaker, “I can
not express the gratitude I feel for the cour
tesy you have shown me in remaining to
hear my speech.”
“Oh,” replied the man addressed. “I de
serve no thanks. I’m the next speaker.”
A man once arrived at a seaside resort
and was shoyvn to a room at a hotel. Shortly
afterward a friend called on him and found
him sitting gloomily surveying a trunk that
stood against the w T all.
“What’s Ihe matter?” asked the caller.
“I want to get a suit of clothes out of
that trunk,” was the answer.
“Well, what’s the difficulty—lost the
key?”
“No.” 1 have the key all right,” he said,
heaving a sigh. “I’ll tell you how it is.
My wife packed that trunk. She expected to
come with me, but was prevented. To my
certain knowledge she put in enough to fill
three trunks the way a man would pack
them. If I open it the things will boil up
all over the room. I could never get them
back. Now I’m wondering whether it would
be cheaper to go and buy a new suit of
clothes or two more trunks.” ».
There are no records to show that any
human beings have been buried alive in the
United States in the last ten years.
slaves there might be aboard. There were,
he learned, about a dozen, employed'upon
menial duties on the ship—three Jews, seven
Moslems, and two heretics —and ’they had
been driven under the hatches when the
peril threatened.
By Sakr-el-Bahr’s orders these were
dragged forth from the blackness into which
they had been flung. The Moslems, upon
discovering that they had fallen into the
hands of their own people and that their
slavery was at an end, broke into cries of
delight and fervent praise of Allah, than
whom they swore there was no other God.
The three Jews, lithe, stalwart young men
in black tunics that fell to their knees and
black skull-caps upon their curly black
locks, smiled ingratiatingly, hoping for the
best sihee they were fallen into the handr
of people who were nearer akin to them
than Christians and allied to them, at least,
by the common suffering at the hands os’
Spaniards.
The two heretics stood in stolid apathy,
realizing that with them it was but a case
of passing from Charybdis to Scylla, and
that they had as little to hope for from
heathen as from Christian. One of these
was a sturdy, bow-legged fellow, whose
garments were little better than rags; his
weather-beaten face was of the color of ma
hogany and his eyes of a dark blue under
tuffed eyebrows that once had been red —
like his hair and beard —6ut were nJw
thickly intermingled with gray. lie was
spotted like a leopard on the hands by
enormous brown freckles.
Os the entire dozen he was the only one
that drew the attention of Sakr-el-Bahr.
He stood despondently before the corsair,
with bowed head and his eyes upon the
deck, a weary, dejected, spiritless slave who
would as soon die as live. Thus some few
moments during which the stalwart Moslem
stood regarding him; then as if drawn by
that persistent scrutiny he raised his dull,
weary eyes. At once they quickened, the
dullness passed out of them; they were
bright and keen as of old. He thrust his
head forward, staring in his turn; then in
a bewildered way he looked about him at
the ocean of swarthy faces under turbans
ot all colors, and back again at Sakr-el-Bahr.
“God’j light!” he said at last, in English,
to vent his infinite amazement. Then re
verting to the cynical manner that hp had
ever affected and effacing all surprise:
“Good day to you. Sir Oliver.” said he.
“I suppose ye’ll give yourself th« pleasure
of hanging me.”
“Allah is great!” said Sakr-el-Bahr im
passively.
Continued Tuesday. Renew your sut»-
‘Ctiption nou to avoid missing a chapter of
this thrilling story- j
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 8, 1921.
The Second Mrs. Strong
BY HAZEL DEYD BACHELOR
< HAPTER XLV
Julie Is Elusive
IN HIS attemi.'t to allay his restlessness Mat
thew had gone to see Margaret Davenport,
but somehow that night she had failed to
interest him. For one thing she had made
some slight allusions to Julie’s friendship
with Bradford Pierce and he had resented
her remarks. Then, too, she had made her- |
self too deliberately attractive. When his |
first discontent with marriage had begun to [
grip Matthew, he had been eager for Mar- i
garet’s encouragement. Tonight, some of the i
things she did annoyed him, and he could find i
no reason for it.
And so he had left her, pleading a hard j
day for his general lack of response. His re- j
turn to the house had precipitated him into
the scene between Claudia and Julie and now
with Claudia upstairs in her room, he turned !
I expectantly toward his wife.
,He felt strangely t excited. He wanted to,
talk to her. He felt that it would ease his
restlessness to play upon her with the knowl
edge he had, to make sly allusions to Brad
ford Pierce and watch her squirm. It was 1
the same instinct that a small boy has when ■
he tortures a butterfly.
Julie, however, gave him no chance for a
talk with her. They entered the library to
gether, but Julie did not sit down. She wan
dered about the room for a few moments an J
then picking up a book from the table, she
went toward the door.
“Goodnight, Matthew. I think I’ll go up to
Claudia now.”
Matthew was lying back in a large chair. A
tall banquet lamp threw a warm light on his
face and as Julie glanced at him, she fancied
he looked tired. She would have given any
thing to go to him, to perch on the arm of
his chair and be drawn slowly into his arms.
The thought of his lips on hers was suddenly
anguish. It had been so long since he had
made any attempt to caress heY and the,
knowledge of this made her suddenly eager
to be alone, to leave him.
Matthew rose to his feet. “Why not come
back, after you have talked to Claudia?” he
suggested and was amazed at himself for the
eagerness in his voice.
But Julie shook her head.
“I think not, if you will excuse me. I am
very tired tonight and after I have seen
Claudia, I’ll go directly to bed.”
After she had left the room, Matthew’s
vague suspicions leaped into a sudden cer
tainty. She did not. want to be alone with
him, because she was in love with Pierce.
He was sure of it now. She preferred to be
alone so that she might dream of him, go over
in her thoughts the things he had said to
her that afternoon. And as this thought oc
curred to him, Matthew Avas suddenly pos
sessed with a jealous rage. How dare she
love another man, she who was his wife?
M hy, if he wished, he might this very moment
go to her. It was his right, his privilege to
take her in his arms and kiss her. She would
have no right to deny him, to offer any pro
test. And at the thought, Matthew felt his
pulses stir and the hot blood throbbing in his
temples.
W r as it possible that he loved Julie after all?
Certainly he had never felt this way, not even
during the first days of their marriage. And
afterward he had felt his love completely
dead. He had turned back to Margaret Daven
port. He had even made love to her after a
fashion. And yet tonight he had been dis
gusted with her. He hadn’t wanted to stay
with her. Instead he had come back home,
and now quite suddenly all his thoughts were
turning to Julie. It was absurd and the only
explanation for it lay in the fact that
was his own wife Fftid given her heart info
the keeping of another man.
CHAPTER XLVT
In Claudia's Room
UPSTAIRS Julie found Claudia lying face
down on the couch at the foot of the
bed. She did not move as Julie bent
over her, nor did she respond to Julie's
gentle touch on her shoulder.
“Claudia.”
A es, what is it?’. After a long moment
“You don’t feel that it might help you to
tell me more about it, do you?”
It was then that Claudia turned, and her
small face was onee more that of a flaming
virago.
“So that you can lord it oveY me, I sup
pose. Oh, I was a fool to tell you,’a fool!
And now, I suppose you think you’ve done
your duty by heading me off, and you’ll
threaten to tell Dad unless I promise to
behave like a sweet lamb.”
“Claudia, I give you my word not. to tell
your father anything about it. Won’t you
believe that I want to be your frienATthat
1 11 help you to do anything you consider
will bring you happiness? Here we are, two
women, thrown together constantly. Why
must there be this enmity between us? I
have tried never to spy on you; you must
know that.”
Quite suddenly Claudia sat up and pushed
her dark hair out of her, eyes. “You say
you’ll help me to do anything that might
bring me happiness. Then whv did you in
terfere tonight?”
“Because I didn’t think you knew what
Aon were doing. Os late you haven’t acted I
as if you were happy. You seemed trying
Jo work out a problem of some kind and '
you wern t sure what you wanted to do I
Sometimes it isn’t wise to act on I
and surely if you are in love with this man ■
there’s no reason for running away with him !
like this. Why not come out in the onen '
about it?” :
“Because he’s married! Now do you un- '
derstand .’J Claudia flung out the words de- i
I fiantly. “And now i suppose you’ll throw
up your hands in horror and hurry down to
! tell my father how depraved I am.”
lor a moment Julie sat motionless. The
[ seriousness of the situation was more acute
than even she had imagined. A tragedy had
j been averted that night, but now the prob- 1
lem was how was she to handle Claudia I
I without angering her. Everything centered ■
[ about that.
I m not shocked.” she said finally, her i
a oice quite even. “I fhink you must have I
[ gone through hell during these last few !
days, and I'm sorry you had to bear it all i
alone. But somehow. Claudia, I car.’t help '
feeling that if you had gone tonight, it
would have been a mistake. In your right
mind you wouldn't decide on such a thing, I '
Know that. And I think that, even now you're :
glad I stepped in and temporarily decided
for you.”
I nere was silence in the room, and for !
a moment Julie did not dare to look at |
Claudia. She could not know that, in spite j
of the girl s many faults, there Avas a certain '
| sense of fairness in her makeup, a certain
idea of fair play. Julie had been entirely i
fair and very generous in her attitude. Fur-'
thermore, as her words sunk into Claudia’s
mind, she realized suddenly the truth of I
them. It was true that she had decided on !
; impulse; she hadn't dared to let herself !
[ think, lest she draw back. Julie had inad
vertently made the decision and that de
cision was irrevocable. Claudia knew now ,
Uhat she would never go away with Harris
Fiske. And in spite of the ache in her
heart there was a certain sense of relief in ;
knowing that the spell he had exerted over '
her Avas broken.
t She reached out her hand and touched I
THE COUNTRY HOME
BY MRS. W. H. FELTON
i WHAT A VOTE REALLY STANDS FOR
AFTER reading Bishop Candler’s article
where he takes a text from “Listless
Patriotism” and “Lifeless Piety,”-I feel
inclined to review the conditions ig Georgia
today, under which conditions we only may
go to the polls on Tuesday and' vote fiyp
president of the United States. J
There Avas no presidential primary in
Georgia for any but the national Democrats,
| and the delegates Avho Avent to the Madison
I Square convention Avere not selected bi?
I even the Democrats in the various counties.
In all the states, except the south, when a
, primary election is held both parties can
nominate candidates and both parties can
! select and 'send delegates to each national
I convention and the general election settles
the business so far as a real selection is
! made, and the result is announced accord
ing to the highest vote.
j The non-voting habit in Georgia has grown
| to this listless habit, because the greater
■ numbeV of negroes were here, after the Civil
. Avar, and the desire to maintain white su
premacy condoned the one-sided primary
business by sufferance, not of choice. This
one-sidedness had its evils, as any middle-
I aged Georgian can tell you, but the “Solid
! South” stood for solidity against negro can
didates and negro voters for nearly sixty
years, and demagogues played it to the lim
[ it. I believe I am correct when I say this
is the first presidential election since 1868
i that the universal slogan for white suprem
i acy has not been the rallying cry in the clos
i ing days of a presidential campaign. The
negro is no more popular than before, but
the exodus of southern negroes has made the
negro vote negligible in the south, while the
negro vote in all other sections of the union
has been a determining quantity, the “bal
ance of power,” as we are informed. Both
the presidential nominees have made over
; tures to the negro/vote, and the state of
Georgia is sowed down now with propaganda
literature concerning the hitherto unknown
policy of playing for the negro vote. It is
charged against Mr. Davis that he “let down
‘ the bars” in Indiana and in New York
| Avhen advocating the duty of colored voters
to support the Democratic ticket. The ob-
I jectors in Georgia do not approve of this
breaking down the barriers which have so
i long held the south solid.
But the barriers will come doAvn Avhen
i both parties accept the responsibility and
. guarantee a free ballot and a fair count;
! and the race question is going to give more
trouble, henceforth for a long time to come,
unless some reasonable attention is given
I to the nature of a vote in itself and Avhat
| the vote shall be able to claim and defend
| before the courts of justice, both of high
and low degree, in every state in the Fed
eral Union. The same Democratic faction
j (which noAv includes both Jews and Catho
i lies—with the colored race in the south),
made a determined fight in 1868 and 1872
against, the negro J mostly) and the con
j gressional investigation of 1871 gives details
and facts by the thousand, and while the
opposition to negroes has continued in the
. south, by specious illegal methods, that citi-
I zenship, per se, has rights and privileges
that, will be controlling in any free govern
, meat so long as the free government exists
[ and dominates in the spirit and the letter of
; civil and religious liberty.
When a citizen pf the United States is not
insane or a criminal and pay taxes to sup
port the government no men, set of men,
political combine or secret combination can
fling that citizen’s ballot from the ballot
box or fail to count it in due time and or
| der. The privilege of freedom is tluj highest
of all earthly benefits, and the token, the
j universal sign and badgg of freedom lies
in the privilege to select one’s rulers by
personal choice of candidates a', the ballot,
box. Men who Would defraud the qualified
citizen from this privilege would do any oth
i er act of personal damage or robbery to an
[ innocent voter.
A PERFECT DAY
THIS is Avrittsn on November 2,1 924,
and I have never seen a more perfect
day in my life. S'ome gentlemen, call-
I ing to see us, said to me, “How are you feel
ing, Madam, today, or I should say, on thi<
perfect day?”
Not a cloud in the sky, with sunshine that
could compare anywhere or at any time
! Avith the clearest or brightest ever seen—
-i this November day has been as charming as
| May.
Those who are able to prophesy have said
everything i’ortells a -hard winter. We are
cautioned to get in plenty of coal and’ not
to be surprised at blizzard weather.
Judging by this early November day,
■ Avhich usually comes with clouds and chill
; ing winds, we are being afforded time to get
; full ready for any sort of preparation against
■ the chilly (lays of Avinter time.
Surely today has been an O. K. perfect
day!
FASHION
By Dr. Frank Crane
AS well be dead,, you say, as out of the
fashion? Not at all. To be in the
fashion is death.
Fashion is but another name for the ex
i tinction of personality. It is in conformity
that we gain a bit of the world and lose our
; own soul.
You are dressed in perfect style from your
hat to your polished boots. Your gown is
a dream. Your gloves are exquisite. Your
hair is made up precisely as it ought to be.
I You look very charming in your faultless
attire. But you are dead. You are all bor
‘ rowed. Nothing of you is left. For not one
' thing, whether lingerie or corsets, hatpins
or brooch, have you chosen in order to ex
press yourself; you have selected under the
imperious fear of others. Every stitch on
you is cowardice; every ornament a badge
lof slavery. You are “a rag and a bone and
a hank of hair.” You are no soul.
And not only your clothing but your
mental and moral equipment is nothing but
prison garb.
Your notions of art are. only what the
critics who are most in vogue say. You
never looked at a picture with your own
I eyes in your life. You never dared enter
; tain a taste Avithout looking at your master
! —fashion —as a dog looks at his master.
Your ideas of politics are second-hand. All
you know is to belong to some party that is
j composed of your kind of people. Original,
independent thinkers you regard as if they
were some sort of a horned toad.
You don’t know what the world is. To
you it is bounded by the limits of your set.
To cease to be acquainted with the Thing
i umbobs, and to be n o more Invited to the
1 Thingumsnivers, would mean to you to drop
off the planet. The myriads of humankind
i swirl about you as an ocean; you are in the
j midst of them as a drop of grease.
All the religion you have is what some
body handed you. It was a coated pill and
( you swallowed it whole. You have never
grappled hand to hand with mystery, pain,
or God. When these come your way you
run to cover. And in your circle they make
a specialty of covers.
Julie’s clenched fingers. «
“You’ve been very decent,” she said,
bringing out the -words with difficulty. “I
haven't deserved it, either, because I’ve been
rotten to you, but I appreciate It just the
same.”
Tuesday—“A Breakfast Conversation.**
Renew your subsetiption now to avoid miss
ing a chapter of this splendid story.