Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 124, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 June 1918 — Page 2

Some Fall Fishing

By C.B. LEWIS

(Copyright, IMS, by the McClure NewapaPM- Syndicate.) The doctor in the city had told Miss Gertie Ashford to stay in the country as long as she could, on account of the state of her throat, and that was why she was yet at her grandmother's when mid-September came. It hadn’t been a very lively summer for rhe girl. She had taken long walks. She had fussed with the oldfashioned flowers; she had sought in vain to win the confidence of the chipmunks and rabbits which came about, and she had hunted for quails’ nests in the wheat fields. There was one sport, however, she had not participated in. There was a creek meandering its way over the country aud crossing the highway a few rods below the house, and in that creek were fish at least as long as her finger. She knew it, because she had seen them, and because a neighbor’s boy twelve years old had told her: “Why, of course there are sish — slathers and slathers of ’em, and they are achin’ to be cotched, jest as a cat aches for cream. Haven’t hauled out more’n a hundred this summer.” “But I was taught in Sunday school that it was wicked to catch fish,” was protested. “Humph! Would we have codfish cakes if folks didn’t go a-flshin’,?’ The boy rigged up a line and pole for hey, and Miss Gertie went fishing. He stood on the bank with her for a while to advise: “Now, lower your hook!” “Now, stop wobbling the pole!” "Now, don’t you.dare breathe!” “Now, shet you eyes and say your prayers, for there’s a fish as long as a rail cornin’ for your hook!” When half an hour had passed and the fisher hadn’t had a nibble yet, the boy wandered away in disgust. At the end of the second half-hour Miss Gertie said to herself: “I know why I don’t have any luck. It’s because the fish can see me. rn play a trick on them.” Thereupon she stuck the end of the pole into the bank and left the hook to do its own fishing while she retired to the house for a rest. Ferrers Yorke, the author and artist, was planning a new story. The opening chapters would tell of a meadow, a brook, a bridge and a pretty girl, and the girl would be fishing in that brook. The author was great on local color, and he had come out into the country to find the spot that another would have to imagine. He was quite sure That he could find all but the girl with a fishpole In her hands, and there was one chance in a thousand that he would find her. He had discovered two or three brooks, bridges and meadows when his search brought him to the willows opposite to where Gertie stood. A rash young man would have stalked out of the bushes with a hello and a wave of his hat, and waded the brook and asked how many fish had been caught, and how many had got away. Mr. Yorke was not rash. He did not betray his presence among the willows. Not that he was a spy by nature, but that, having found his heroine, he must study her a bit. The heroine of a story must have auburn hair which the sunshine turns to gold. She must have a neck .like a swan, though not as long. She must have a Grecian nose —not the sort you see ( around the Greek restaurants of New York, but one made to order in Athens and sent on packed in pink cotton. Her eyes must be like stars. The stars worn by constables are excluded from the contest. Her form must be divine, which means It must not be molded on the lines of a sack of flour. She must have twinkling feet. She should sing as she fished. Did the girl across the creek from the artist fill the bill? Yes, and more. She was a sylph—a hour!—an angel. With her for a heroine that story would go like buckwheat cakes on a winter’s morning. Even when she became discouraged about the fish and turned away with a shrug of her shoulders,* he was delighted with the shrug. An artist and an author has two souls, as we all know. One is a dream soul, and can hear the whispers of the angels with every breeze that blows through a patch of bull-thistles —the other gives him a proper appetite for a boiled dinner. When Mr. Yorke had looked upon Gertie with one soul, he laid it aside to look with the other. The girl went away, but she would return. She would confidently expect to find sometiling on her hook. If there was not a victim she would be disappointed. How a farmer’s cast-off boot came to be lying on the farther bank in plain sight is • mystery to be explained some other time. In days gone by a bear might have overtaken him at that spot and devoured everything 1 but the boot. For the two-souled artist to leap the brook and seize the hoot and mate it fast to the fishhook and leap back among the willows was the work of three minutes. t The angels cannot look down and | witness such base trick* and punish them, bat thrt I* generally a small tdy around to sea and to give things 1> tu> OM It the

boy who- had left the spot an-hour baftfrt. He was returning to see what luck Gertie had had. He came stealthily, and he saw all, and he said to himself: “Gee, but don’t I wish I was as big as a house, so that I could give that chap a licking!” He waited in hiding to see what the girl would do when she returned. She came slowly. She thought she saw the fishpole quiver. She seized it and flung the “fish” on to the grass behind her. She had just discovered what it was, and was looking at it in wonder, when the small boy left his lair to say: "I saw the guy when he done it!” "Did some one put this old boot on my hook?” she asked. "He did. Miss, and he’s right over there in the wilier* I” Gertie walked down to the bridge and over it and up the bank to the clump of willows, where the twosouled artist crouched. He saw her coming, but there was no escape for him. He straightened up and raised his hat. The girl looked him up and down with contempt, and he felt obliged to say: “—I did it as a joke!” "Are you what is called a comic supplement to a Sunday paper?” was asked. “I’m sorry I did it.” “Oh, don’t apologize. There aremen of all sorts of caliber, you know I” ’ “But ” ■... - But Gertie had turned her back on him and was walking away. When she rejoined the boy, the latter said: “Say, that guy is stopping over at Farmer Turner’s. Do you want me to go over there and lick him? You made his knees wobble, but I can make his hair stand up.” “I guess he got enough,” was the reply, and yet the girl did not congratulate herself upon her victory. Had it been such a great crime after all? Wouldn’t almost anyone else have taken it as a joke? Couldn’t she have taken it as a joke but for the small boy? The "guy” was good-looking and a gentleman. A gentleman sometimes jokes as well as other sorts of men. He had said he was sorry, and would have gone further if she had consented to listen. He had blushed and been confused, and had gone away as if looking for a hole to hide In. Miss Gertie had a temper quick to flash and quick to cool off again, and by the next morning she had made reasonable excuses for the joker. So it was with the small boy. His father had said it was a good joke, and his mother had smiled at it, and the lad had come to feel it a duty to go over to Turner’s and tell the guy that he was sorry he had given him away. He was on his way to Turner’s across the fields, when he caught sight of Gertie on the highway. She was in the old buggy and behind the old horse which her grandmother had owned for nearly twenty years. She was headed for the village and the postoffice. A quarter of a mile beyond the girl was the “guy.” He was running down the hill and waving his hat at her. "Now, then, is that feller crazy?” asked the small boy of himself, as he mounted a stump to see the better. From the brow of the hill the artist had seen a pair of horses and a wagon coming on the dead run. He had instantly realized that the driver of the lighter vehicle would not take the alarm until too late. He was within five rods of her when he recognized Gertie, and as he reached the head of the old horse he grasped the bridle and fairly dragged the outfit into the ditch. As it was, a wheel was taken off the old buggy and the girl thrown out. She was somewhat bruised and terribly scared, and, of course, Mr. Yorke had to assist her to the house, while the small boy remained on the spot to pick up the pieces and assure old Dobbin that he had had the escape of his life. That evening the same small boy called on Gertie to see if she had any toes broken and to add: “Did you give the guy any more fits?’ “Why, no,” was replied. “Do you think him nice?” "I—l think so.” “Is he a hero?” “He must be.” “Then you’ll marry him, of course, and Til be left high and dry! That’s what a boy gets for showing a girl how to go a-fishing and catch an old boot!”

Revolutionizing Salmon Industry.

~ Construction of power plants that will cost $6,000,000 and that will revolutionize the salmon packing industry in the whole Columbia river basin, are forecasted by application of McGowan (Wash.) packers for power development sites on the Deschutes river in Oregon. Applications for 8,000 cubic feet of water rights in all have been filed, and plans have been prepared for two gigantic dams, one 118 feet high, 300 feet long at the bottom and 800 feet long at the top, and the other 236 feet high, 90 feet long at the bottom and 420 feet at the top. Power generated by the water impounded behind these dams will be used to run salmon canneries and tinplate plants in which the cans will be made.

Some Philosophy.

"We don’t know what we’re fighting for,” complained a Prussian private. "What’s the difference?” rejoined another. “We wouldn’t ever get it, anyhow.”

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN. RENRRULAER. TND.

Sleeve Style Is Matter of Choice

New York.—The weather prophets and the fashion prophets do not go through life band in hand. There is no cordiality between them, it would seem, judging from the way in which they oppose each other, observes a leading fashion writer. You may have noticed this situation in some slight measure, as an observer on the side lines, caring more about the state of the weather than the state of fashions; but those who must deal with the latter as a daily issue, and must try to conform the output of fashions with the output of the sky, deplore the separation. The utter audacity that Women have shown since the beginning of time in regard to the caprices of the weather is a part of the history of the civilization of man. To return to that figleaf: it was probably the only time in history when the climate was met with the right sort of costume. Since then, the world of women has gone on the path thiat suggests obstinacy. Take, as an example of the perversity of the present moment, the incoming fashion of 5-inch sleeves at a time when kid gloves are difficult to pay for. The women of today, we are quite sure, have no ffiea of attempting the methods of the dlrectoire by going about the streets with entirely bare arms. Josephine, the empress of the French, may have believed that the short sleeve was correct for her time; but this is a workday world, full of the rush and Impetus of activity—and open-air activity at that. We might have a chance of looking like a group let loose from a boiler factory at midday in August, if we rushed about the streets with our athletic and slightly red arms protruding from 5-inch capes, without sleeves. Ideas In New Sleeves. One feels, in running full tilt against the tidal wave of new sleeves, the utter futility of trying to describe even the best of them. One would think that the world had gone quite mad over arm coverings. Possibly it is true that the French and American designers, realizing that they could not introduce anything especially brilliant or novel In the new costumery because of the lack of materials, put their genius to work in devising a vast variety of complex and stimulating minor details. However, this does not contribute

This gown, In Bordeaux red, shows a novel skirt with draped sides and a harem hem. Front panel of biscuitcolored cloth embroidered in gold and red threads. Long sleeves of biscuit tulle.

to the pleasure a woman thinks she will find in wearing her old clothes. We are wise enough to know that it is in the adoption of changing details that the majority of women show their knowledge of fashions. A woman may continue to wear a blue serge gown cut in the form of a coat and skirt, if she realizes that she must instantly adapt that gown to the tight or the loose cuff, the high or the low waistline, the gather or the plain hip. A soniersiip.lt in costumery is not always followed, even by well-dressed women, but they will do honor to a quick change in the minor detail of a costume. a million women wear sailor collars when they come into fashion, although they may attach them to a gown that has the. wrong line in certain places. These million women drop sailor collars when they go out of fashion and take up the long, rolling Tuxedo collar when it becomes the dominant feature. Therefore, when sleeves change women change with them. Whatever else the costume reflects that is wrong or right, good or bad, it nearly always keeps pace with the change in the arm covering and in the neckline. In summing up the situation of today, one feels sorry for the woman who would try to keep %p with the shifting kaleidoscope of-sleeve that the designers have turned upon us. However, a comforting solution of

this startling situation is that every sleeve seems to be in fashion, and It a woman becomes paralyzed from even regarding the over-production of new spring sleeves, she can merely go on with the sleeve she has and feel that she is in part of the picture, if not in the forepart of it. Long Sleeve* Fashionable. And to show you how capricious fashion is this year, the longer the sleeve the more fashionable it is; that

The sketch shows a cape of sand-col-ored silk cashmere lined with Jadegreen crepe de chine. The high collar is edged with green silk, which also makes the long cravat

is, if it starts out to be long In an evening gown it may continue to the knees; giving the effect of extreme novelty. These long evening sleeves are of tulle, and sometimes of fine vermicelli lace caught in some manner against the arm, so that they will not fall away from the hand as it moves. This is pure medievalism. There are sleeves taken from the Italian renaissance. These are cut to immense bell-shaped openings at threequarter length, rolled back on themselves in a careless manner, and lined with Roman striped silk or with crepe de chine in a blazing color. There are pointed, bell-shaped sleeves which hang loose from a wide armhole, gaily faced at the lower edge, but held taut by a tight-folded wristlet that spreads over the hand, after the manner made fashionable by the early queens of France. There is a skin-tight sleeve of the dlrectoire, which also flares ovej the hand and sometimes has an ornate thumb-hole through Which that finger is thrust. There are sleeves for the street that are formed of wrinkled cloth, that reach from the knuckles of the hand to flare like a gauntlet well above the elbow, leaving just .enough space between the edge and the shoulder to show the cap sleeve of another color and fabric. £apes Are Numerous. There are as many capes as sleeves this season. Even if you are indifferent to new clothes you cannot escape these two features. There is no reason for your wanting to avoid them, for they cut many a Gordian knot. The cape covers much; the new sleeves redeem much.

The top coat is only admissible today when it is a double first cousin to. the cape. If it ripples from the shoulder ; if its sleeves seem to be a part of that ripple, and if its fastening down the front is negligible, then the top coat is admitted into the society of the best clothes. Otherwise, it must be barred. The cape rules the hour. It give* every woman with an attenuated costume, made according to the request of the government, a chance to tak* to herself the grace of a butterfly. She disguises the lack of material in her frock by ripping out her cape and looking like some winged summer creature that has a right to the beauty and joy of life. No woman should try to escape the cape. If she is stout she must arrange her garment in some way that will allow her to get this background -offcolor and grace. There are severe capes and gaj capes, ornate capes and simple ones. It is not necessary to inake one choice. Even women of small means seem to be able to possess two or three capes for different occasions. They are of chiffon edged with fur for the afternoon and for summer evenings; they are of gaberdine, severely stitched, for the street at eleven in the morning; they are of dark-blue silk serge lined with artillery red or Chinese yellow, for the country and for country clubs. (Copyright, 1918, by the McClure Newepaper Syndicate.)

Spanish Shawls Revived.

-- A tremendous revival of Spativ» shawls has set in abroad.

Baseball Should Be Encouraged in Times of War, Says John Tener

By JOHN K. TENER.

realized that to keep her soldiers fit they must be given opportunity to indulge in their favorite sports, and by government appropriation that country has used a large sum of money for the purchase of athletic paraphernalia for use of the athletes of her army. President Wilson has given every encouragement to and in fact has urged the continuance of outdoor sports during the war. Under the selective draft or conscription act professional baseball players are called to the service of their country precisely the same as those in any other profession, vocation or walk in life, and have answered, and are just as ready to answer the call either by enlistment or draft as other patriotic citizens; but until that call comes they must, as they should, continue to earn their livelihood in the profession which gives to them the greatest compensating return and in which they are most expert. Many players have enlisted and • under the operation of the draft law baseball has furnished its quota. We all realize, especially at this hour, the pressing call that is upon each of us to aid our country in doing all in our power to quickly furnish men and means to combat the enemy and to insure an early and complete victory to our arms, and this effort will be best sustained by getting into the open and into the sunshine occasionally and by either witnessing or participating in outdoor sports to gain that, health and vigor and alertness of intellect necessary to do well the work that may come to our hand. Canada for years past has played and accepted baseball almost to the exclusion of other summer sports, and has carried the game into England and, with our own boys, is now playing it in France, where, in fact, all the troops of the allied armies engage in playing our national game, which seems to have in it the very spirit and inspiration that fits the player for the supreme effort of the soldier. While we must all do our utmost for our country at this time, we must also have our hour of recreation, and to recreate the body and sharpen our senses I know of no better tonic than baseball.

Train Women in Poise and Judgment for Better Government of World

I would not have woman usurp man’s place in world affairs, but I would have her reach an equal footing with him. I do not believe the right to govern should be entrusted solely to man or entirely to woman. I would have them divide the right. And by dividing the right they would arrive at the balanced viewpoint which would be a benefit to humankind. It would efface from government many, if not all, of evils that prevail. Some man-made laws are perfectly ridiculous, but so would some woman-made laws be, if she were allowed to build Woman’s entrance into public life is not so objectionable as it once was because what she is doing is commendable work. She has become accustomed to seeing herself in the public eye. It has been her club training that has fitted her to go out into civic life and which has qualified her for the part she is playing. While I regret wofnan’s entrance into business affairs, while I am sorry she must go out from her home, conditions today decree she must, and there remains nothing for her to do but to go on. . But before she makes her move into public life I believe a woman should have some sort of training to fit her for those trials and responsibilities with which she intends to burden herself. . There should be a school for the study of government, and to this institution I would not only send woman but man as well. I would first be sure she was fitted for her work in whatever sphere she enters, and I would be sure of her integrity and honesty and truthfulness. I do not believe women should be appointed to office through social influence, and those seeking positions should be the last to be recognized.

Light That Warms Heart and Makes One Love All Little Children

Some girls are little mothers at heart almost from the time their baby lips have learned to form a few words. I watched a small girl the other day as she sat rocking her baby brother to sleep-such a roly-poly, husky fellow he was-much too large and heavy to be held by so small a girl. And though he wasn’t just the easiest sort of a little tad to manage, not once did the little girl lose patience with him. Her bright, sunny face radiated tenderness and cheerfulness, and in her soft eyes was a spark of the light that some day will burn brightly when she holds her own babies in her arms, close, close against her breast.. 1 watched her all the rest of the day as she cared for the wee boy while her own busy mother went about her work and, though the little girl was very young and extremely childish in her ways—not one bit old—there wad something in her pretty face and something in her way of handling that young brother of hers that made you think of her as a little mother. ' And that is what she was—a little mother. We often see them as they bend over their dollies and sing soft lullabies to them. It is a little light that burns in their eyes even when they are scarcely beyond their own cradle days—a light that grows deeper and brighter with the passing of the years whether or not they ever have babies of their' own, and it is a light that sends a glow of warmth about the heart and that makes one love all little children. v , '

Baseball, in common with all other outdoor sports, in my opinion, should be encouraged in times of war as wqll as in times of peace. Baseball really had its origin during the Civil war, when soldiers in that great conflict benefited themselves physically and in spirit by engaging in this then new game. This was true with the soldiers m our war with Spain, as it is true with our brave boys today who have enlisted under the colors and are either in the camps here or at the front in France. From the very inception of the present war England has

By MRS. WILLIAM GRANT BROWN

President of Michigan Federation of Club*

By HARRIOT RUSSELL

fWdeat of Natiooal League