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Illness Cuts Heavily
Into National Income
Illness costs business and industry
about $1,800,000,000 yearly, accord¬
ing to a study presented to ti e health
committee of the Philadelphia Cham¬
ber of Commerce, Dr. Wilma. Kru
sen. chairman, said.
This group, v.-hich made a survey
of the methods of reducing industrial
ills and introducing new ideas and
methods into business and industry,
reports great strides despite the great
reduction in employment and the
need for curtailment of expenses.
The figures presented to the com¬
mittee, based on a study made by the
Chamber of Commerce of the United
States in the interests of the inter¬
chamber health conservation contest
showed that in a survey covering
570,000 persons in different parts of
the country in 1920, 2 per cent of
these individuals on a given day were
suffering from sickness sufficiently
serious to disable then:.
Dr. Pierce’s Pleasant Pellets are the orig¬
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They regulate liver and bowels.—Adv.
Naturally Colored
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What SHE TOLD
WORN OUT HUSBAND
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WNU—7 33—33
Blanche Farm
_____
A Romance of the
Commonplace
By Frances
Parkinson Keyes
WNU Service
Copy rig at by Frances Parkinson Keyes
SYNOPSIS
Motoring inrough Vermont, Philip
Starr, young Boston architect, meets
Blanche Manning, seventeen, with
whom he is immediately enamored. It
being a long distance to Burlington,
Starr’s destination. Blanche suggests,
the village of Hamstead not boasting
a hotel, that he become, for the night,
a guest of her cousin, Mary Manning,
Mary receives Philip with true Ver¬
mont hospitality, and he makes the
acquaintance of her cousin Paul, rec¬
ognized as her fiance. Starr informs
her of his desire to win Blanche for
his wife. She tells him of an old
family superst itution concerning the
"Blanches’* of the Manning family.
Paul Manning is inclined to he dissi¬
pated. Mary’s reproaches for his "con¬
viviality” are badly received by Paul,
Bale Hamlin, long a suitor for Mary’s
hand, visits Hamstead but makes no
progress in his lovemaking. Philip,
from records of the Manning family,
learns the sorrowful story of the
"Countess Blanche," French wife of a
Revolutionary hero, Moses Manning,
and of the peculiar "curse” she has
transmitted to her descendants and the
women of Hamstead. The evening of
Philip’s marriage to Blanche, Paul, un¬
der the Influence of liquor, bitterly af¬
fronts Mary, and tells her their en¬
gagement is ended. Mary, at first
acutely conscious of her position as a
**jyted”woman, is greatly comforted by
her lifelong friend, Sylvia Gray, and the
love of her two small brothers. Paul,
really loving Mary, though with a self¬
ish attachment, finds life a good deal
CHAPTER VIII—Continued
**”• 3 -
Driver, at laji to desperation b.v
; loneliness and boredom, he decided to
go to Mary and ask to be reinstated
In her favor. This seemed easy
' enough when he first thought of it, but
i the more he reflected, the more he saw
that It might be rather difficult. He
had treated Mary somewhat shabbily,
; be admitted. She was having a very
good time without him—lie was forced
j to admit that too—and there was real¬
ly ne special reason why she should
ever crave his society. He started on
his errand of reconciliation several
times, only to turn back, feeling that
his stomach was caving in uncomfort¬
ably for some reason, nml that It
might be better to wait a few
days longer. At iast having spent
a Saturday evening at home when
every one else under thirty in
town had gone off on a picnic, return¬
ing in the highest spirits at midnight
—Mary was with the Grays and laugh¬
ing and singing when they dropped
her at the front door—he took his
courage, what there was of it. In his
hands, and sought her out. He found
her, late that Sunday afternoon in
Indian summer, sitting in the fragrant
orchard reading a book, a rather solid
looking book. She was, Pnul thought,
looking unusually fresh and contented
and attractive.
“Hullo,” he said, advancing towards
her firmly, though inwardly quaking.
"Hullo,” said Mary quietly, without
looking up.
Paul’s heart gave a queer exhibition
of aerobatic powers, as If it were turn¬
ing somersaults nil the way from his
throat to his stomach, and then began
to thump—to thump so vigorously that
he feared it might be audible, He
was pleased, and he was beyond all
reasonable measure excited.
“Have a good time last night?” he
Inquired carelessly.
“Yes. Did you?"
Patti choked, and fumbled, with his
tie. He could not understand why
Mary should ask such a tactless ques¬
tion, when she knew perfectly well—
He decided to be magnanimous, and
Ignore it.
"What are you reading?" he asked.
“ 'The Life of Charles Francis
Adams.' ”
“Do you like it?”
“Very much. Haven’t you read It?”
Another tactless question ! Mary’s
voice expressed only polite surprise,
yet she was aware that he never read
things of that sort. The ^op of Paul’s
collar was rapidly sinking to the level
of his collar button. Mary went on
reading.
“I thought I'd come over for a little
while,” he murmured desperately.
Mary turned a page.
“Nice day, Isn't it?”
“Lovely.”
“Warm for the time of the year,
too." _
"And likely to grow warmer any
minute,” replied Mary, her eyes still
on her book.
Paul could feel even the hack of his
neck growing red. Still he persisted.
“Blanche is back in Brookline.
Mother bad a letter from her last
night. She's thinking of leaving me
and going down to pay her a little
i visit.”
“I should think it would be a very
I pleasant change for her.”
Something in Mary's tone made Paul
i look at her more carefully. The pain
j fill flush at the back of his neck
: spread all over him. He eouid feel
I the cold perspiration dropping down
j his spine. There was no possible
■ doubt of it—Mary was laughing!
I’aul turned his back on her and
strode away. Though unfamiliar with
the quotation, he had, in substance,
pictured Mary sitting like patience on
& monument smiling down at grief.
Apparently she was doing nothing of
the sort. She missed him so little and
was getting along so well without him,
that when he went to her and tried
CLEVELAND COURIER
-
to “make up,” she felt she could af¬
ford to laugh at him! Well, he wasn’t
to be trifled with like that! He'd
show her. Angrily he brushed away
two big tears of resentment and hurt
pride that were trickling down his
flushed cheeks.
In the seclusion of his bedroom he
brushed his rumpled hair and changed
his collar, then sat down to cool off
and think things over. He’d show
Mary . . . He dwelt for a few min¬
utes on this agreeable thought. But
show her what? What was there to
show her? And supposing he could
think up something, would she consent
to he shown? His recent interview
with her, the mere thought of which
caused him to grow hot again, did
not furnish material for much hope of
exhibition. Mary, after all. field all
tlie high cards. His only chance, so
to speak, was to lead through weak¬
ness up to strength. His pride, if
nothing else, told him that it would he
better than leaving the game unfin¬
ished, even if he lost. His common
sense told him that if he did not
finish it. lie would have smaller hope
than ever of another game'with Mary.
And he wanted to play with her. . . .
Having reached this conclusion, of
which there was no possible doubt,
neither comfortably nor rapidly, he
decided to act upon it at once. He
fairly rushed to the orchard. Mary
was still reading.
“Look here. Mary,” ho burst out,
“I'm—I'm—sorry I—I acted as I did
the night of Blanche's wedding. In
fact. I’m—I'm just as ashamed of it
ns I can be. I’d give anything if you’d
—overlook it.”
“Overlook it!” (lamed Mary.
“That was the wrong word," floun¬
dered Paul. “I meant, of course. 1
want to ask you to—forgive me. To—
to be friends with me, if you won’t be
anything else—”
“Anything else!”
"Oh, of course, I knew yon wouldn’t
he anything again after—after that!
But I can’t seem to say what I’m try¬
ing to. You know what I mean,
though. Please, Mary—” and he held
out his hand.
The girl closed her book, rose, and
came toward him, looking at him with
that clear and direct gaze that was
so hard to meet. But, though he
flinched, he looked at her squarely.
“Please," he said again. “1 never
would have done it if I hadn’t been
drunk.”
She drew back a ilttle. "You speak
as if that were an excuse," she said
evenly.
“Why of course It’s an excuse!”
“Of course it isn't, it was—dis¬
graceful, to do what you did, but it
was even more disgraceful to get into
a condition that would allow you to
do it."
Paul had honestly not considered
the matter in this light before.
“Well, I guess it was,” he said,
flushing. “I’ll try not to get—into
such a condition again. 1 am sorry.
Honestly, I am. Won’t you shake
hands with me and forgive me?”
“I wouldn’t touch you with a ten
foot pole. 1 certainly won’t forgive
you. I believe you’re sorry now, be¬
cause you’re having a horrid time.
But if I forgave you and you began to
have a good time again, you would
forget all about being sorry and do
the same thing right over again.”
“I wouldn’t—1 swear I wouldn’t.”
“You’re not going to have the chance.
1 must go in now and get supper.”
“Well—won't you at least speak to
ine when you see me and—and so on¬
us long as I do behave?"
“Yes,” said Mary over her shoulder.
“I’ll do that, if you just happen to see
me. I won’t if you try to like this,
again.”
And with this small concession,
Paul was obliged to be satisfied. Or
rather, he strove to be satisfied and
was not. Mary was amazingly pretty,
prettier than Blanche, far and away
prettier than Rosalie King or any of
the girls who worked In the mill at
White Water. Why hadn't he noticed
that before? And she had “pep”—
oceans of it! How could he possibly
have thought that she was tame? He
had not only acted like a fool, but like
a blackguard. He deserved his fate.
That was the last conclusion that
Paul reached and the effect that
it had upon him was more
sobering than anything that had
happened to him in all his life,
lie bowed under It, hurt and cowed
and a little frightened. Then he pulled
himself together, still wincing, and
began to try to build together again,
a stone at a time, the foundation for
that happiness which he had de¬
stroyed.
CHAPTER IX
Paul was wise enough to guess that
his cause would be hurt rather than
helped if, immediately after his en¬
counter with Mary in tha orchard, he
“happened” to see her too often. But
he nodded to her when he caught sight
of her at a distance, and she nodded
back. He did not venture on more
than “Hullo,” or “Good morning"
when they met. But after a week or
so he remarked that there had been
a hard frost the night before, and that
the post office was being shingled.
This daring attempt at conversation
having left him unscathed and even
unattacked, he risked stopping a mo¬
ment, the next day, to warm his chilled
fingers over the stove and get a drink
of water at the sink. And summoning
more and more courage with each new
success, he finally appeared one eve¬
ning after supper and asked Mary if
she would lend him something to read.
He felt that the desire to improve his
mind m'ght be one which would ap¬
peal to Mary and cause him to find
some slight favor in her sight. Most
of all, however, he welcomed any ex¬
cuse which could be construed as suf¬
ficiently reasonable lo give him a few
words with her.
She held the door half-open without
inviting him to enter as he made his
request, and the corners of her mouth
twitched. He had the uncomfortable
feeling that she saw through him per¬
fectly.
“Would you like the ‘Autobiography
of Charles Francis Adams?’ ” she
asked.
lie looked at her miserably. “You
know I couldn't make head nor tail
of it,” lie said, in the voice of a [iris
oner at tlie bar who pleads for justice
though he knows he deserves no
mercy. “I'm not clever like yon."
"You’re thorough, when you take the
trouble to be. Thoroughness helps in
reading.”
“Ail right, give it to me.”
Mary vanished, leaving him on the
doorstep, closing the door behind her.
When she reappeared, she had an tin
formidable looking volume in her
hand.
“This is Rex Beach’s ‘Heart of the
Sunset.’ ” she said demurely. "It took
me a little while to find it, but 1 think
you may like it better. If you decide
you want Charles Francis after alt,
come back and get it."
“Well, your cordial invitation is a
bribe worth considering,” retorted
Paul. Then, rather frightened at his
daring, lie blushed scarlet. Neverthe¬
less he looked straight at her, smiled,
and lifted his cap. “Thanks very
much for this,” he said. “Goodnight."
Inevitably, a few evenings later, he
brought the book back, having, to his
intense surprise, thoroughly enjoyed
it. Seth had gone to prayer meeting,
and Mary was putting the children to
bed upstairs and did not hear his
knock. After hesitating a minute, ho
went into the living room, put the
volume down on the table, and began
to look at the others that were lying
upon it. He chanced on a novel of
Zane Grey’s, glanced down the first
two or three pages, and then, genu¬
inely interested, sat down and began
to read, entirely forgetting bis awk¬
ward position as an unwelcome guest.
When Mary entered, half an hour
later, carrying a huge mending basket
piled high with sewing, he started
guiltily to his feet and stammered his
excuses.
“That's all right," said Mary, trim
quilly. “Why don’t you read aloud to
me while I sew?”
“Do you honestly mean that?”
“If you would honestly like to. You
might poke up the fire a little before
you start in.”
It was not until the tall clock tn
the corner struck eleven that Mary
spoke or stirred. Then she rose, gath
ering up her piles of neatly folded nnd
mended clothes.
“You must go home,” she said. “It’s
getting late. That’s a good story,
isn’t it?”
“Fine! Could—could we have some
more tomorrow night?”
“I’ve promised to go to White \Ya
ter with the Taylors. There's going to
be n concert.’’
“Well, the next night, then ”
“That’s Sunday. I generally go to
church Sunday evenings, now. Father
listens for the boys."
“The service is over early."
“Yes, but Thomas walks home with
me and comes in for a little while.
You can come, too, of course, if you'd
enjoy it, but we couldn’t read.”
This did not sound especially at¬
tractive to Paul. Nevertheless, with
his new-born caution, and in his grati¬
tude for the unexpected favor lie had
just received, he decided not to say so.
“Well, perhaps I will. And thanks
awfully for letting me stay tonight.
I’ve had a tine time. May 1 take the
book.home with me?”
“Certainly—would you like a glass
of milk and a doughnut before you
go? I made fresh ones today.”
“Um-m-m ! Would I?”
They went into tlie kitchen, sat
down beside the table with the red
cloth on it, and talked over the story
as they ate. They did rmt agree as to
the probable outcome. A friendly ar¬
gument ensued. When Paul finally
got up and pushed back bis chair, they
were both laughing, and Mary, with a
sudden gesture, snatched tlie book
from him.
“You shan’t find out which of ns is
right before I do!” she exclaimed.
“You had better come over Monday
night and read aloud some more. I
promise not to look into it myself be
fore then. Good night.”
“Good night,” said Paul, briefly and
happliy. And field out his hand.
It was not until Mary had put her
hand in his that she remembered her
statement of a few weeks earlier about
a ten-foot pole, though Paul had by no
means forgotten it. And when, grow
ing crimson, she tried to pull her
hand away, she found stie could not.
“Good night,” he said again, pleas¬
antly and firmly, and gripping hard.
For a moment Mary struggled to
free herself. Then she mot tiis eyes.
The first lesson in Paul’s new course
of education had been to learn to look
Mary in the face, and, as she had said,
Paul was thorough. The expression
that the girl saw in her cousin’s was
so full of new-born humility and pen¬
itence, and yet so clearly determined
to deserve, and claim, the right on
which he was Insisting, that she
could not well see it and remain un
touched. She stopped struggling and
returned his pressure.
“Good night, Paul," she said soft
ly. “I’ve had a good time, too," and
smiled.
(TO BE CONTINUED )
Petrified Evergreens
The wood found in the petrified
forest in Arizona is that of prehls
toric coniferous or evergreen tree*
Always the Hope
of Treasure-Find
And Gold Is Not the Only
Valuable Awaiting
Discovery.
A man in Salisbury, Maryland,
found $80,000 In an old graveyard
which he bought for $200.
His name is Vance Butler, and he
is a gas station operator. He bought
the land on which there was an aban¬
doned graveyard for $200 and set two
negroes to work clearing it. They
found a rusty pot containing tlie
money, gold, silver and currency
amounting to about $30,00 ).
It seems you never know in this
w orld where there’s buried gold until
you huntp up against it.
For every day people are unearth¬
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as unexpected as this fortune turned
up in a rusty pot in an old grave¬
yard.
The buried treasure is not always
lu money—though it is no,, less val¬
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precious than gold.
By a chance turning of some corner
people have found an interest that
has enriched tlie rest of their lives;
a small nugget of thought, that lias
led them to a wealth of discovery and
adventure arid turned Into new chan¬
nels the whole direction of their lives
No less unexpected, m some un¬
accented meeting, has been found the
gold of a deep and true friendship.
And in the years, too, when we re¬
gard ourselves ns past tlie age when
lifelong friendships are formed. Then
such n treasure-find is doubly cher¬
ished.
And just so, frequently to those
who have turned their thoughts from
hoping, who have resigned themselves
to life without it, just so, in a chance
contact, a chance turning of a cor¬
ner t bat has many times been
traversed, just so we sometimes find
that greatest of treasure—love.
©, 1033 Bell Syndicate.—WNU Service.
1
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Passive righteousness is denounced,
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