Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 64, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 March 1918 — Page 3

Beecher Street

By R. RAY BAKER

(Copyright, 1918, by the McClure Newipf. per Syndicate.) If Ethel Drayton had done some real reasoning Instead of leaping at conclusions and acting on impulse, it is likely that her bark of romance, with Clif Elbridge in Command, would have sailed serenely down the river of agreeableness Into the sea of matrimony without encountering a storm. On the other hand, that kind of journey would not have been real romance—it would have lacked zest —so perhaps it is just as well that Herman Kartell came over 'to Ethel's desk that dreary, rainy afternoon in April and unfolded the secret. "I have something to say that is very disagreeable to me,” began Kartell as he brushed a hand caressingly over his miniature moustache and looked down at Ethel’s curly brown hair colled On the back of her head In " a business-like knob that served as a pencil holder. “Nevertheless,” he went on, “I feel in duty bound to say it” Ethel jerked a sheet of paper from her typewriter and turned her black eyes up at the head shipping clerk. The tiny, bristling ridge of hair on Kartell’s upper lip forced a smile to her face, but this was dispelled when Kartell explained:

“It’s about Clifford. You see, last night— * . t While this conversation was taking place, the subject of the remarks sat on a high stool at the other side of the Lewis Wholesale Paper company’s shipping office and poured over a file of orders. Out of a corner of his eye he saw the head shipping clerk approach the stenographer’s desk, and he frowned. Kartell leaned over Ethel’s chair as he revealed the secret, and Cliff ruffled his flaxen hair with one hand and thrummed on his desk with the other. Half an hour later Cliff slipped from his stool and into his light overcoat. Carrying his hat, he approached Ethel, who was still busy at the typewriter. He passed and smiled pleasantly, but she continued rattling the keys. “You needn’t "trouble yourself to wait for me,” she informed him in icy tones without pausing in her work or looking up. “I’ll be a little late, and Mr. Kartell has promised to see me home.” Cliff’s smile vanished. Before he had a chance to reply, she had slipped a ring from a finger of her left hand and extended it toward him. She looked Into his eyes with a stare encrusted with ice. “I can’t wear this any longer,” she said, “after the way you have acted lately. I have heard that all men must sow wild oats, but I assure you that my man won’t. If you must gamble and carouse, you can’t expect to become my husband. I have learned all about your going to a saloon or gambling den on Beecher street almost every night, and that’s enough for me. Good-night.” Cliff stumbled down the steps to the street and walked three blocks, heedless of the pouring rain, before he came to himself and ’found the ring clasped in his hand. Then he stopped dead still in the middle of a street crossing, undecided whether to leap in the river or go back and throw Herman Kartell from the roof of the sixstory Lewis building. He decided to do neither; instead, he headed for Beecher street.

Ethel completed her work and was escorted to her rooming place by Kartell. At the door she took his hand and said earnestly: “Ton d6n’t know how I appreciate the revelation you have made to me. I know it must have been hard for you to come and tell me about seeing Clifford go into that terrible place so many times; and lam grateful.” “Don’t mention it,., please,” protested Bartell, striving unsuccessfully toreach his mustache with his tongue. “I couldn’t bear to see you throw yourself away on a worthless fellow. I save a good many blocks by cutting through Beecher street on the way home and that’s how I happened to notice him there.” The next day Ethel failed to appear at the office; telephoning she was suffering from a headache. The succeeding day was Sunday. The rain had ceased but the weather had turned chilly and the sun hid behind clouds. Ethel listened In vain for the doorbell or the telephone, hoping Cliff would appear as he had done each Sunday for more than a year. True, she had told him It was all over; nevertheless, she had expected him to come and make somfe kind of a protest and attempt an explanation. The morning passed very gloomily for her. Early in* the afternoon the landlady summoned her to the telephone, and Ethel tripped over a chair In her haste to answer the call. “This is Mn. Bartell,” said the voice on the wire. “Could I call on you this afternoon?” *Tm sorry,” die. replied, "but I’m too 111 to entertain.” And she went back to her room to gaze thoughtfully at a picture of a flaxen-haired, smiling youth. ' About five o’clock a delegation of three girls from her Sunday school cjass called on her. “We were anxious to learn If you ' were 111,” said one, “and if not we wanted you to go with us to visit a poor family that the class has decided to help.” t Ethel took decided Interest In the ex-

curslon when it was explained that the family lived on Beecher street. They walked past the gloomy, rickety wooden dwellings, through throngs of dirty urchins who hooted and made faces at them, and finally came to a dingy opening that proved to be the entrance to a flight of stairs. . Up these steps the girls stumbled, their way lighted by only a few rays that sifted through the cracks in the flimsy outside wall. One of the party knocked at the door that confronted them at the top of the stairs. Footsteps sounded on the floor, evidently those of a child. Some one fumbled at the knob and the door was swung open to reveal a chubby, roundfaced boy of about four years. A maimed, disreputable toy bear was suspended by its leg from one hand of the tot, who blinked curiously at his four visitors. The opening of the door permitted a warm, pungent odor to penetrate the hall and each of the girls Involuntarily shuddered. “Who is it?” called a voice from within —a weak, plaintive voice, that of a woman. The tot, who was clothed in a nondescript suit of several materials and colors, turned and called: “T’ree dirts.” “Come right in,” answered the voice. “I am ill and cannot come to the door.” The girls entered and noticed that the pungent odor increased. The room was permeated with an unhealthfuM warmth, caused by keeping all the windows closed and thus conserving the heat radiated from the small wood stove.

The designs on the wall paper had all but become eradicated by accumulation of smoke, grease and dust On one wall was a framed picture of a young man and woman, evidently a bridal couple. A row of picture postcards was the only other decoration. A table occupied the center of the room, and nearby were a three-legged stool and a dilapidated rocking chair. The floor was covered with a faded rag carpet “Here I am,” called the from the dingiest corner of the room .“Don’t look around. I’m too IM to keep the place clean, and Jlnimy here is too young,” The girls found her lying on a napg row bed, or rather, a bunkr She was frail and emaciated, but she carried a pleasant smile of greeting. Jimmy hovered near, still clinging to the bear. Ethel, a lover of children, picked him up in her armse “My, my, what clothes I” she mu» mured to herself, but' Jimmy overheard her. “I’m donna have new suit,” he announced. “Mun’s donna bring it.” “Who do you—” Ethel began, but at that moment Jimmy, hearing familiar sounds on the stairs, scrambled’ from her arms and dashed toward the door. “He hears his man,” explained the woman on the bed. “Nearly every night he brings us food, and sometimes candy or something to wear. He found Jimmy on the street one night and came home with him. Jimmy told me his man was going to bring him a new suit today.” The door was flung open and a young man entered, placed a bundle on the stool and gathered the little tx.7 in his arms. “My man,” breathed Jimmy, hugging the newcomer, while EthA started forward in amazement upon recognizing him. “Cliff!” she cried. Clifford Eldridge placed his human burden on the floor and stared in astonishment that equaled her own. So it was decreed that a home of poverty should be the setting for a proud, sensitive, impulsive girl to ask forgiveness —and get it.

Let Children Pick Clothes.

Everyone remembers when he or she was a child how Irltatlng It was to have our parents pick all our clothes without giving us any choice in the matter. In the Woman’s Home Companion a writer says: “Now, what I am asking for the boys Is this: Take your sons with you when you buy their clothing. Consult their tastes somewhat. Don’t let them select anything ridiculous, but give them a choice of half a dozen sensible coats or hats or whatever It may be. Don’t scold them too much If they come home with the straps on their bloomer trousers unhooked so, the trouser legs are almost long. No doubt the captain of the baseball team and ‘all the other fellows’ wear thdlrs that way. Or If your boy comes up the street with his cap over his right ear, while you are telling him that he looks ‘just like a little street tough’ remember it was the style that you, yourself followed last winter, and that ‘what all the fellows do’ means just as much to Johnny as Parts notes do to you.” *

Snakes.

An explanation of this hallucination is offered by the result of French experiments a few years ago. Sixteen alcoholic patients were examined with the ophthalmoscope, and it was found that the minute blood vessels in the retina of the eyes were congested. In this condition they appear black, and are projected Into the field of vision, where their movements resemble* the squirming of serpents.

Professional Dignities.

“Dishere canal "boat business is loomin’ up right Important,* remarked Mr. Erastus Pinkley. “I specks -dars gotta be some ’scussiou ’bout my employment.” “What’s the matter with your Job?” “It’s all right, ’ceppin’ jes’ dis. I don’t want to be called *a mule driver* no mo’. Hereafter I wants to, ba ’luded to as 'g pilot.' “

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN. RENSSELAER. IND.

Considering Utility and Other Things

We may. inaugurate our spring outfitting as we will—usually it begins with the purchase of a coat for general wear —but we cannot finish without acquiring’ this malhstay of the wardrobe. For three reasons cloths and polors have made the streets more cheerful; they have been beautiful enough to tempt extravagance. There has been a generous sprinkling of gayer colors among the dark grays and blues and browns that to be so closely associated with the thought of utility clothes in the minds of most people. The spring coats are privileged to use enough woolen stuffs to make them anywhere from 45 to 48 inches long, and comfortably full at the bottom. nevertheless the best models are those that follow the straight and narrow path of wool conservation. Collars are not as Targe as they were, although there fire many models with convertible collars that may be worn close up about the throat. Over-col-

WHAT CAN WE DO?

The Red Cross, the American Fund* for French Wounded, and other war relief societies are co-operating in France to care for the French, and Belgian women who are now being driven back into their own countries after their deportation into Germany. It is reported that they are In rags and destitute, and the relief societies are doing all they can to fit them out with the bare necessities and decencies of life. The Chicago Tribune makes the following appeal:

“To give the required help the American Fund for French Wounded, 60 East Washington street, Chicago, has devised a Martha Washington kit. The kits are to be sent at once to France, and each refugee as she makes her weary way back to her. beloved land is to be given one of them. The directions for these kits follow: “The cost of these kits is to be kept within $4. One yard of shirting will make the bag. The width of the goods makes the length of the bag. It is run up on the machine. The bag is French seamed with the last seam on the outside all the way around. Turn in the bag at the top two inches, with ohe inch heading—and an inch casing for the tape. There is a double drawstring of tape. When the bag is packed the free end is neatly doubled over and pinned do.wn with two safety pins at the back, making it compact and safe for shipment. “The kit contains the following articles, some of which may be made at home or purchased as the furnisher of the kit desires: “One canton flannel nightgown. “One heavy chemise. “One .pair of drawers. “One pair of black stockings and one pair of white. “One rough towel. “One washcloth. “One comb. “One cake of soap. “A ‘housewife,’ which, contains one spool of white, and one of black thread, black darning cotton, thimble, six safety pins, dozen assorted buttons, one and one-half yards of tape, five needles, hairpins, plain pins. And in the ‘housewife’ Is a card stating that this is a Martha Washington kit ■ent in ’memory of Mrs. Washington, who was a friend of Lafayette. “In each kit a stamped, addressed envelope is put so that the one who

lars of brocaded or embroidered silk ot novelty weaves in cotton are a means for securing variety. Belts are narrow and plain. Small collars ending in scarf ends or throws for the neck, which may be of the same cloth as the coat or of a different material, are among the spring innovations. Wool velours, gaberdine, serge, Burella cloth and novelty woolen fabrics, in good grades, are the materials used. Some models feature a combination of silk and wool, with wide bandings of wool on silk skirts or inlays of silk. But women will hardly consider it economical to buy utility coats of anything less hardy than reliable woolen weaves. Two tasteful spring coats of wool velours are shown in the illustration. They portray the styles and are made In some of the novelty as well as staple colors. Khaki, Copenhagen, Peking, light tan, raspberry, enliven the navy, black, clay and taupe of the darker models.

receives the gift may acknowledge It to the sender. A personal word of cheer and hope and friendliness may be inclosed, too, if the sender wishes.”

Collarless and Buttonless.

An unusual blouse is made of pale blue handkerchief linen, with a good deal of inch-wide filet Insertion used for trimming, says Women’s Work. The embroidery is placed upon the lace itself —the outline of the design being accentuated by a fine thread of blue matching the linen in color. This blouse is collarless and Is a slip over, of the sort that fastens over the shoulders. But instead of buttons, the wearer must lace herself Into this blouse by means of narrow black velvet ribbons. The sleeves are cut upon a full bishop pattern, and the tight cuffs are laced at the outer edge by the same narrow black velvet.

Simple Blouses.

Among the newest assortment of blouses are some from Paris which indicate a marked preference for fine materials and simple lines. There are models made of handkerchief linen whose only trimming Is In hand fagoting; others are delicately trimmed with drawn work or have Insets of real filet lace. The ngw high collar Is featured, although'in deference to the wishes of many American women Paris has sent blouses that have the familiar V neck with the sailor or round collar. # :

Gloves Have Strap Wrists.

A noticeable feature of the current demand is the tendency toward a larger use of strap wrist or Biarritz effects, says the Dry Goods Economist. This, no doubt. Is due more or less to the practical nature of such styles, making them suitable for weai with the tailored effects in suits and dresses which are now the vogue. Moreover, the Biarritz Idea, especially In soft gauntlet design, conforms readily to any expression of a military note.

Clothing made of pressed feather* as a substitute for wool has been Invented by an Italian priest.

Unnamed Alien Against Whom Proof Has Been Obtained Disappears

By GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON.

The mysterious disappearance of a man without a name. In the sentence lies the true solution of the spy problem. The morning newspaper laconically announces that during the preceding night an unnamed man was seized by operatives from the department of justice. A curt, sinister line completes the story: “He will never be seen nor heard of again.” ’No comment. No putting forward of the name or deeds of the man for friend or foe to praise or curse.

No long, detailed account for the curious or the morbid to read. Nothing more than the paragraph: “Last night an unnamed alien against whom conclusive proof has been obtained was taken into custody by operative* from the department of justice. He will never be seen nor heard of again.” Complete obliteration. A man mysteriously missing from the circles in which he moved; a man for whom some will inquire at first and then grow silent with dread and awe; a man whose name will never be mentioned, whose fate will never be known, whose evil will remain forever unheralded. The world will never know what has become of him. His friends will know that he is gone from their midst. His wife and his children, his father and mother and brothers and sisters will know that he no longer walks among them. They will wonder and they will whisper his name. But they will never know the length nor the nature of the journey he has taken. They will never know whether he lies dead ma® unmarked grave, buried in quicklime, or alive in a cell from which no word may ever issue forth. Alive or dead, the silence of death enshrouds him. The world' only knows that last night a traitor, a spy, was token; it will never know anything more about him. No account of his trial, no mention of his deeds, no grewsome tale of the firing squad or sombre picture of prison walls—nothing but the blackness of oblivion! Wiped out I Gone! Unrecorded! That is all. A spy has passed.

Solving Problems of Supplying Our Sailors and Soldiers With Food

By EDWIN F. BOWERS.

The vexing problem of supplying our soldiers and sailors with the vegetables so necessary to preserve them in a condition of health is nor solved. t , - / It merely requires that we leave the water at home and let the army cooks ad,d it to the ration when they wish to serve the vegetable. All potatoes, turnips, cabbage, onions—in fact, every conceivable variety of vegetable—goes through a process of cleansing and whatever “skinning” is required. After this they are shaved, sliced and otherwise subdivided. Then their water content is driven off in temperately heated ovens. x • • * The 78 per cent of water carried by the mild-eyed potato, the 87 per cent of beets, 88 per cent of carrots, 73 per cent of parsnips, 91 pet* cent of radishes, 89 per cent of turnips—and so on, through all the hat of available vegetables —is simply left at home. What the soldier will finally get will be all the cellulose, cell salts, vitamines and nutritious matter contained ip the vegetables—with the water added in France or in his own camp kettle. The “fodder” retains all the delicate flavor of fresh vegetables, and is succulent, tender and tasty: r- . George T. Eenke of New York and other experts on food problems compute that the adoption of this form of ration with the army and navy will save the country, on transportation alone, $19,000,000 during the war. Hundreds of motor lorries and thousands of men now engaged in handling canned water-r-with 20 per cent or less actual food held in combination —could be released for more important service. As the desiccated material weighs on an average of only one-fiftieth as much as the canned or whole vegetables, it can readily be computed that one ship loaded with scientifically prepared food could carry as much actual food material as could fifty ships loaded in the old unscientific way. It remains only for the government to give official sanction to the adoption of a food plan that has such a vital bearing upon the transportation problem, and that at the same time*provides our boys with a more complete and more diversified health ration. And it is to be hoped, in the interest of our country’s great needs, that the necessary sanction will not be long withheld.

It Rests With Our Fanners to Show Germany Stuff We Are Made of

“The American man is very well known. He is a haggard creature, with vulgar tastes and brutal manners, who habitually rushes along in wild haste, absorbed by a greedy desire for the dollars of his neighbors. He does not care for education or art, for the public welfare or for justice, except so ftr as they mean money to him.” Thi& aciding to Hugo Munsterberg, is the average German conception of nn It makes us sit up and take.notice, and say, “Hm, we’ll But are we showing them right now? As long as food prices go up ahd up, and as long as our soldiers don’t have the best rations of any soldiers, Germany can nod her head and er}’, “I told you so.” If we are to win the war we must show Germany that we hold something above the “almighty dollar.” What could possibly strike more grief to the hearts of German sympathizers than to have every inch of American soil cultivated to the utmost? What could express our scorn of the dollar when our country is in need, more adequately than our feeding ourselves, our soldiers and our allies? It rests with you, farmers of America, to show Germany the stuff we Americans are made of!

M. D, of dx Viggaatei

By L. W. BUSBEY

ol TU Viglaalw