Walkerton Independent, Volume 62, Number 14, Walkerton, St. Joseph County, 27 August 1936 — Page 2

Synthetic Gentleman I By Channing Pollock I Be Oopyrlzht. Charmine Pollock WNTJ Service.

SYNOPSIS Th® Duke, Barry Gilbert, likable youth of twenty-three, jobless and broke, enters an unoccupied summer home in Southampton, seeking shelter from a •torm. He makes himself at home. Dozing at the fireplace, he is startled by the arrival of a butler, Willetts; and • chauffeur, Evans. He learns that the ■on of the owner of the house. Jack Ridder, whom the servants had never seen, is expected. He decides to bluff it out. His supposed parents have left for Germany. Next morning he is given a letter for his •'mother.” He opens it and finds a message from the real Jack, saying he could not come, and returning a hundred-dollar bill. The boy’s father had pensioned him into obscurity. Barry pockets the money, intending to return it later. He orders Evans to take him to Montauk, intending to disappear there. On the way he meets Judge Hambidge and his daughter, Patricia. Believing he is Jack Ridder, she invites him to dinner the following Thursday. Barry returns to Southampton, deciding to stay a bit longer. Mr. Ridder, Sr., through his newspaper, the Globe, accuses Judge Hambidge of taking orders from Tammany Hall in a condemnation proceeding. Barry meets Peter Winslow, prominent attorney. Winslow tells Barry that Judge Hambidge had seen an accident in which a woman was killed by a taxicab. At home Barry finds the wife of the real Jack Ridder awaiting him. Her husband is in jail in New York, charged with the murder of Mike Kelly, Tammany boss. The girl, Peggy, tells Barry how she had met Jack in Florida and married him, as Jay Rogers. Jack lost his job, and they went to New York, where she got work at the Cocoanut Bar. There she was accused of trying to pick the pocket of Mike Kelly, and was arrested. Her husband went to Kelly's to induce him to drop the charge. Later Kelly was found dead, his skull crushed by a decanter. Barry suggests he can help as Jack Ridder, and Mrs. Rogers agrees. Judge Hambidge delivers a decision in the condemnation suit in which Kelly had been interested. Barry cables Mrs. Ridder for $2,000. Winslow takes Rogers’ case. Barry gets a job on the Globe under his true name. The editor, Ernie Harwood, assigns him to cover the Kelly murder. CHAPTER IV—Continued —9— He had turned into a cheap restaurant, near The Globe, where the slim young man had promised to meet him. Lunching, he mapped out his immediate future. Work-days, Barry Gilbert would live in the little rooms he’d taken Saturday. Week-ends, of course, he’d have to spend at Southampton, as John Clarke Ridder, Jr. That was

essential to his contact with Bad Nauheim. And to another, even more essential contact. He was to dine at the Hambidges again next Friday, he recalled—with the lady from Boston to whom Pat must have written flattering things about him. A grand girl, Pat, and suddenly, as we have seen, not altogether unattainable. “If I make good,’’ Barry thought, “I can tell her the truth about myself, and ask her to marry me. Why not? All this John Clarke Ridder, Jr., business'll just seem funny then.” The slim young man arrived in due time, and duly presented his charge at the homicide bureau. First, there was Tim Laugherty, as Irish as Barry, and with almost as ready a grin. They took to each other immediately. “Barry Gilbert,” Tim repeated. “Well, the name's all right, anyway." Tim regarded the Kelly murder as a closed case. So did MacDevitt, and everyone else Barry met at headquarters. “The Rogers kid done it, that’s sure," Tim declared. “This Filipino says he didn’t let nobody else in that night." “Maybe somebody else let himself in." Tim smiled scornfully. “How?” There was a new lock on that door. Show him the keys, Mac.” Mac obliged. “Here you are,” he said. “It was chained to Kelly’s pants button." “Show him the decanter. Maybe he can get something out of that."

“Why not?” Mac laughed. “There’s about half a pint In it” It was a gruesome exhibit — that bottle which had killed a man. Real cut glass, and nearly a quarter full of reddish liquor. “Wonder why that didn’t spill out,” Barry ventured. “Maybe the cork stopped it,” Tim replied. “They didn’t find any finger prints?” “No. The guy must have worn gloves.” “Listen,” Barry ventured again. “Why weren’t the Filipino’s finger prints on the bottle—if he served it?” “Guess he wore gloves, too. My butler always does 1” “Well, If he wore ’em—” “I get you,” Tim interrupted. “If the guy that done this wore gloves, and the Filipino wore gloves, why then maybe the Filipino's the guy that done this.” “Exactly.” “Say, you got a bean on you,” the detective conceded, almost admiringly. “Os course, I still think we got the right party, but he’s a cagey guy, that Oriental, and he didn’t say nothing about gloves to me. Why don’t we go over and see if he wears ’em?” He didn't. At least, not when he opened the front door. “Say, Charlie,” Tim began; “let us in. We want to ask you sumpin’. Do you wear gloves when you’re serving stuff?” “Sometimes.” “Did you wear ’em that night?” “Maybe. I don’t remember.” He was a thin, sallow youth, with the usual glossy black hair brushed back from his forehead. Nothing remarkable about him — not even his shiftiness. The three men stood in the broad hall of the Kelly house, end Charlie repeated the tale of admitting Rogers, and hearing a quarrel, and returning to his room until the .visitor left. “You were In your room when the row started, then?” Barry asked. “Yes, sir.” “And you could hear the voices pretty plainly?” “Yes. slr.t

“You came upstairs, and then went back to your room, and stayed there until Just as Rogers was leaving?" “Yes, sir.” “Kelly must have been dead then, if Rogers killed him?" “Yes, sir.” “But you didn’t hear the sound of a blow In your room, nor the thud of a body falling?" No answer. “If you could hear voices downstairs, don’t you think you’d’ve heard that, if it had happened?" The Filipino looked down from one Inquisitor to the other. “Maybe I didn’t stay in my room,” he said at last, very slowly. “I don’t remember." Tim was about to press the point when there was the rasp of a latchkey being thrust into the lock of the front door. Then the knob turned, and Mrs. Kelly entered. She stopped short at sight of the Intruders. The door remained opened. “Well, Mr. Laugberty!” she exclaimed. “So you’ve come back ■ •.• ■■■ ■ ! ■'■ . ■ ■ z#y•iii* 'H ? ■<' AMA7 ji'.a, 4-*4> fl -avz#,*v. A /if WB • - ’■ ■ ’’j-1 »f Ft —rO •07^^ ' -3.1 V V Kr w| It Was a Gruesome Exhibit—That Bottle Which Had Killed a Man.

again? With a friend, too! Why don’t you step in the parlor?” Tim thanked her, and presented Barry. “Glad to meet you,” Mrs. Kelly declared. “Run along, you” —to the Filipino. “Come on In, boys!” “You’re forgetting your key,” Barry said. He took It out of the lock. “It’s a brand new key, isn’t It?" he asked, casually. “Sure,” Mrs. Kelly answered. “It’s a new lock. Mike had it put on only a few days ago.” “How many keys were there?” “Two. That one, and Mike’s." Barry was scribbling on the back of an envelope. Mrs. Kelly was a large woman, in her fifties. Her hair was dyed red—a brilliant, aggressive red unknown to Nature. But she was affable, and extremely good-humored. Evidently, not grieving herself to death about Mike. “Just dropped around to see Charlie," Tim said. “Anything you want to know, Mr. Gilbert?" “Just one thing. Where were you the night of the murder?" Mrs. Kelly laughed. “You don’t read the papers much, do you?” “Why?” “Because all about that was in The Herald Tribune the morning after the body was found." “All about what?” “All about my being up In Harlem

at a dance.” “And what time did you get home?” “Around daylight.” “Did you let yourself in?” “Sure.” “And you didn’t wonder where Mike was?” “I thought he was asleep. We didn’t room together. The lights was ail out.” “No light in the front room?” “No.” “Sure?” “Dead sure. Anything else?” “No, thanks. I didn't mean to keep you so long. But one thing led to another.” “That’s all right,” Mrs. Kelly assured him. “I got nothing to hide. Drop around any time you feel like it.” “No holes in that alibi,” Tim said, < as they reached the sidewalk. “Straight shooter, she is. Ran a saloon when Mike married her. You j certainly got wound up. What was < all that about the latch key?” ] “Bright and shiny, wasn’t it?” < “Brand new. She told you that. So i did I, when we were looking at Kelly’s key-wallet.” i “Yes,” Barry admitted. “But there wasn’t any new key in that wallet.” , Tim Laugherty stopped short in Fifth avenue. , “You're rigid,” he said. *■'o got the number,” Barry went on, producing his envelope. “A G 6152. Write that down. A plain, round head. Two of ’em. Where's the other? ( It never was in that wallet, because | । every hook’s filled." “Maybe he carried it loose in his ■ . pocket.” ’ “Wherever he carri. 1 the key, where ' is it?” ’ “I don’t know,” Tim answered. “It ■ wasn't on the body—that’s sure.” . By now, it was time for his dinner appointment with Peggy. > Still In high spirits, be walked around to her boarding house. Barry remembered Southampton with shame i when he saw the Ridders’ two shabby rooms. The boy lay In one of them; a bright youngster, live years oUL

“The doctor doesn’t seem to know what the matter is,” Peggy declared. “I know," Barry said. "I’d be sick in this dump. Why don't you bring him out to the country?" Peggy shook her head. "I want to be near Jack,” she repeated. "Winslow says he’s likely to be free in a week.” Dining comfortably in a nearby case. | he told her everything that had hap- | pened since their parting; all the as- | tonishing events of that day. And, with the recital, Peggy's spirits rose, , too. When Barry mentioned his new job, she actually laughed. "That’s funny," she said. “You’re doing what the old man’s real son wouldn’t do." ■‘l’ve two reasons,” Barry explained. “In the tirst place it puts me in a splendid position to help Jack. In the second—well, the fact Is that I m nuts about a girl, and I want to make good on her account.” “What’s her name?” “Patricia Hambidge. She lives at Southampton, and she and her father both knew the Ridders. They think I’m young Ridder, of course.” The next morning, Barry dropped in again on Pete Winslow. The lawyer had talked with Peggy’s husband, and was persuaded of his innocence. They’ve got a prima facie case, though,” he admitted. “The grand jury'll indict the boy, I'm afraid. We’ll get him tried as quickly as possible, and there isn’t the slightest chance of his conviction." Peter leaned forward, his fingers Intertwined between his knees. “That was a shrewd question you asked that Filipino. Only I wish you’d asked it of me. He’s prepared now. Never mind. When it comes to crossexamination —" He rose, with the Joy of battle In his eyes. “But be careful about tipping our hand,” he said. “Bring in Mrs. Rogers. I’d like to check up on her statement.” “Tomorrow?" “Make it next week.” “He’s a great lawyer,” Ernie Harwood said, when Barry repeated as much of this conversation as it seemed wise to repeat. “And a wizard at cross-examination. I’ve seen him discredit one witness after another with mere monosyllables. Tell Winslow I may have a tip for him some day. ; It's nothing now. Just a phone call. But, if 1 ever find who It was—” Barry devoted that evening to drafting a letter for the real Jack Ridder to copy and send to his mother. Something told him that whatever the buy wrote himself would be cold and resentful. That would make the old lady unhappy, and Barry didn’t want her to be, "I've got a job on father’s paper," he wrote, with genuine pride. I've respected father's wish as to using his name — except at Southampton, of course. They had to know there. At j The Globe, I’m on my own. and get- I ting ahead. I’ll be a credit to you yet, darling." From that, he went Into some detail as to his interest in the friend “locked up for murder he didn’t commit,” and the need of funds for his defense. Even to Jack Ridder, it was obvious that the letter had to be sent, so sent it was—ln Jack Ridder's hand-writ-ing—‘from the railway station post box at Southampton the following Friday. Barry arrived on an early afternoon train. He had wired Evans to meet him, and found Willetts waiting in the front hall. There was no doubt now that the butler suspected something, and Barry, sure of what he suspected, faced him with a broad grin. “What’s the matter with you, Willetts?" "Matter, sir?” “You’ve been acting queer ever since the night Mrs. Rogers spent here. I don’t know what you heard that night?" "Do you mean eavesdropping, sir?” There was a pained surprise in the man’s voice. "Not me, sir. I’ve got my position to remember. I’ve been a butler with some of the best families." "All right," Barry soothed him. "You I think I'm back at the kind of be- ; havior that alienated me from my fa- ■ ther. Well, I’m not. That ‘glittery lady’ Is the wife of a man I met in Florida. . . .” And, for the third time that week, Barry related his story. “She’s a brave little kid," he con- I eluded, "and she’s In trouble up to i her neck. I’m going to stand by her. ; I’ve got a job on my father’s news- ; । paper—under an assumed name, be- I : cause I want to win out on my own I I’ve cabled my mother for money, and I everything I can get goes to that lady I until her husband can win on his own. 1 I’m going to be in town must of the । time now, working my head oil." i (TO BE CONTINUED) Spoonerisms Spoonerisms is defined as an accl- ’ ' dental transposition of sounds, usually ’ the initial sounds of words, as for ex- 11 ample “blushing crow" for “crushing i blow.” It was named for Rev. William i A. Spooner, warden of New College, , ' Oxford, England, who became noted ! among his students for these slips of । the tongue. The word was in colloquial i use in Oxford about 1885. Mr. Spooner was the author of but few of the spoonerisms that have been published. Some of the best-known of these are the following: “half-warmed fish" for “half-formed wish”; “kinquering congs” for "conquering kings"; “occupew my pie" for “occupy my pew"; "as the fly crows" for "as the crow flies”; "It la I kistomary to cuss the bride” for “it In customary to kiss the bride.” Mr. Spooner died in 1930 at the age ot eighty-six.

Adventurers’ SpT Y 'll /! A Club “Hand-Made Inferno* 9 By FLOYD GIBBONS Famous Headline Hunter ATHER ’round the soda fountain, boys and girls. Mike Foley is standing treat. Mike lives at Jackson Heights, N. Y., and he’s going to treat us to a swell yarn. Mike’s an old hand at this treating business. He was doing it professionally as far back as June, 1884—the month and year in which he had his big adventure. But don’t get the idea that Mike went around handing out ten-cent cigars like a guy that’s trying to be elected aiderman. Not on your life. Mike was an OIL treater —one of the lads who processed kerosene so it could be burned in lamps. And a mighty dangerous job that was, too. Mike worked for the Standard Oil company at a big refinery and storage yard that was then located in Long Island City. Lightning Strikes Huge Oil Tank! The tanks in which the oil was treated, and on which Mike worked, were huge affairs twenty feet in diameter and thirty or more feet high. You got to the top of them by wooden stairways. And up the side of each tank ran a pair of six-inch pipes that carried the chemicals with which the oil was treated. Well sir, to get down to the story, Mike Foley was up on the top of one of the big tanks giving its contents a good, thorough treating. Part of that job consisted of blowing compressed air through the oil, and that was often a messy procedure. Oil would slop over the side of the tank and saturate the wooden staircase. That was not only messy, but dangerous—as subsequent events amply demonstrated. A thunderstorm was brewing while Mike was inside, under cover of the tank’s sheltering top. The storm broke, about quarter after two in the afternoon, and about two-thirty he heard a loud crack. Lightning! It had struck the tank. Mike Moves Swiftly to Close Trap Doors. Mike’s two bosses had gone to the office to give in their reports. Mike was all alone in the tank, so it was up to him. He ran out from under The Whole Stair Was a Raging Inferno of Fire.

the shelter-roof to see what had happened. The lightning had struck all right. The oil-soaked, wooden stairs were on fire. The blaze, starting apparently from the top, had spread down four or five steps by the :ime Mike got there. There was one thing that had to be done, then—done mighty quickly, too. Around the top of the tank were five trap doors, wide open to let out the gases that formed in the tank during treatments. Those doors had to be closed before the tire got through them and the whole tank went up in flames. Mike dashed for the doors. He got one closed—then another. At that point he turned and took a look at the burning stairway. The flames had spread down four or five more steps. The fire was blazing with even greater fury. Casabianca Really Had Nothing on Mike And that wasn't all that was worrying Mike, either. Any minute now—doors or no doors—the tank might take fire and go up with a big WHOOSH! And where would that leave Mike? Not much of anywhere, to tell the truth about it. Just let that tank get going good, and Mike would be trapped. There wouldn't be much left of him but a few cinders when it was all over. The thought put new energy into him. He got the next three doors closed in jig time. And then he went back to the stairway that was his only avenue of escape. But when Mike got to the stairway, he stopped. No use trying to get down there. Not only the whole stair, but likewise the platform leading to it, was a raging inferno of flame. The timbers that supported it had been eaten through by the blaze. If Mike wasn’t burned to death on the way down, he’d be killed in a fall when the weakened supports broke and sent him crashing to earth. “So there I stood,” says Mike, “forty-five feet from the ground, like young Casabianca—the boy who stood on the burning deck. A crowd had gathered down below, and about eight hundred men who worked in the loading sheds near the dock were yelling to me to jump. I didn’t want to do that—it would have been almost as bad as burning to death. Still, I couldn’t stay up there, either. Most any minute that tank might go up with a roar—and take me along with it.” Mike Was a Good Hand on the Flying Rings, It looked pretty bad for Mike—but he still had a trick or two up his sleeve. “At that time,” he says, “I was a member of the Star Athletic club of Long Island City, and I was pretty good on the flying rings. So I swung over the edge of the platform.” What followed after that brought gasps from the men down below. Like a circus acrobat, high overhead, he began swinging himself along on the braces that held the platform up. He had traveled eight or ten feet around the side of the tank before the spectators saw what he was aiming at. Then they set up a cheer as Mike reached one of the six-inch pipes that ran down the side of the tank and began sliding to safety. “That pipe was so close to the tank,” says Mike, “that I couldn’t put ay legs around it. I had to grip it with my knees and slide down in jerks about two inches at a time. But I got down all right except for some skin I lost off my hands, and a new pair of pants I had to buy to replace the ones I was wearing. They were ruined.” © —WNU Service.

Prescott’s Writings William Hickling Prescott was born in Salem, Mass., in 1796, where he continued to live during the years he won his fame. He wrote 16 thick volumes which are classics without reading a word of them. One eye was destroyed, another made useless, by a schoolfellow’s prank when he was 16 and a freshman at Harvard. Nevertheless he completed college and chose to make history a profession. Assistants read to him six hours a day the vast sources of material which he assimilated—memorizing as much as 50 pages of printed matter at a time and dictated into enduring accounts of Spanish conquest in the Americas. His first volume was completed a century ago. Don’t Worry About Fashions Women of Ponta Delgada, chief city of the Azores, all dress alike. The regular folk dress is similar in design and never goes out of style. These dresses are quite often passed on as heirlooms. Termites Hate Light The termite’s aversion to light betrays his presence. He always builds a tunnel of earth ahead of himself, in which he invades a home from his nest outside, an expert says.

Helgoland, Germany Helgoland. Germany, takes its name, Holyland, from having been a center of Christian activity in the seventh century, but it later fell into evil ways as a haven for pirate bands that ravaged the Hanseatic merchant traffic of the North Sea. ; To this Hamburg put a stop, joining the island to the neighboring Schleswig, whence it passed to Denmark and finally to England about the beginning of the last century. The trading of Helgoland to Germany for the island of Zanzibar off : the African coast brought on a storm of popular protest in both i countries. In England, the transaction was explained as the wish of Queen Victoria to grant a favor to her nephew, the young Emperor William. Natural Fairy Stones The Virginia geological survey says the mineral staurolite is about three times as hard as the talcose rock from which the artificial fairy I stones are cut. The natural fairy stones will scratch glass, while the ’ softer ones will not. Law of Human Nature It seems to be a law of human : i nature that some should always be I desiring changes while others are more concerned with the preserva- । tion of things as they are.

—improved *** wwww UNIFORM INTERNATIONAL SUNDAY 1 chool uesson By REV. HAROLD L. LUNDQUIST, Dean of the Moody Bible institute of Chicago. © Western Newspaper Union. Lesson for August 30 BEGINNING OF WORLD MISSIONS LESSON TEXT—Acts 11:19-26, 13:1-12. GOLDEN TEXT—And he said unto them. Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature. Mark 16:15. PRIMARY TOPIC—On a Journey for Jesus. JUNIOR TOPIC —The Gospel Starts Around the World. INTERMEDIATE AND SENIOR TOPIC —New Adventures With Christ. YOUNG PEOPLE AND ADULT TOPIC —The Holy Spirit in Missions. The normal expression of salva- । tion in the life of a believer is a pas- : sion for the conversion of others. The early church soon began to fulfill the great commission of its Lord and Master. Its first missionary enterprise was in the great and wicked city of Antioch, only 150 miles from Jerusalem, but far from God. In this unpromising soil we find growing: I. A Model Mission Church (w. 19-21). Its establishment was in accord with the plan of God, for it was: 1. The result of a faithful testimony (vv. 19, 20). Those who were scattered abroad by persecution had but one crowning purpose—“preaching the Lord Jesus.” 2. A gathering place for all God’s people (vv. 19, 20). The truth was preached to both Jews and Gentiles. 3. A living witness in a wicked city (v. 21). “The hand of the Lord was with , them.” Little wonder then that “a . great number believed and turned | junto the Lord.” Note in verse 26 , . that it was in Antioch that the fol- ' | lowers of Christ were first called by , the beautiful name “Christians.” In ' the midst of the most evil and degraded surroundings the sweet flower of Christian faith may grow. 11. The Model Mission Church Becomes a Model Missionary Church (13.1-12). We have here the first step in the world-wide missionary movement which continues to our day and which has influenced the destinies of men and shaped the course of world history. This first missionary enterprise presents the essential principles and methods which are vital to true missionary work, even in our day. To begin with, there must be a proper base of operation, namely: 1. The home church (vv. 1-3). God calls his messengers right nut tho rhurnh mDmhprchin On

oui or me enuren memoersmp. un the Sunday that this lesson is taught missionary leaders of the next generation will be in the classes of some crossroads Sunday school. How important it will be that the teacher present the truth of God's Word plainly and faithfully. Notice that this church was spiritually alive. It was a church that prayed, fasted, and ministered the Word of God. It was responsive to the guidance of the Holy Spirit and was ready to sacrifice by giving up its leading men for the missionary cause. Next we have indicated the type of men called to be: 2. The missionaries (vv. 2-4). a. The strongest men in the church (v. 2). When you want something done, ask a busy man to do it. God’s missionary program calls for the best the church can give, not misfits or failures. b. Spirit-led men (vv. 3,4). God chooses and sends men into service. He separates and places them. We must be responsive to God’s call for us and be quick to assist men and women who are called by God. 3. Missionary experiences (vv. 512). a. Minister to all people (vv. 5-7). Paphos was a Greek city of high culture and low morals. It was ruled by Sergius Paulus, a Roman officer of noble character. With him was Barjesus also called Elymas. a wicked Jew. The missionary messenger rejoices in the opportunity to preach to Greek, Roman, and Jew, of high or low estate. interested or bitterly antagonistic to the gospel. b. Meet satanic opposition (vv. 810). The devil has his servants who

live only to oppose the gospel. Notice that even as God has children so also there are children “of the devil’’ (v. 10). We choose our spiritual family connections. c. Proclaim judgment on sin (v. 11). This is not an easy thing to do but is required of one who is “filled with the Holy Spirit.” d. Lead men to Christ (v. 12). In this case it was the result of i fear, which is a powerful factor in . the conversion of some men. The Master's commission, “go ye ; into all the world and preach the gospel,” has never been altered, modified, or abrogated. It is still I the great “unfinished business” of the church. Formation of Character The best rules to form a young man are, to talk little, to hear much, •to reflect alone upon what has | passed in company, to distrust one's | own opinions, and value others that deserve it.—Sir William Temple. Learning From Suffering I have learned more of God, and of myself, by one week’s suffering ' than by all the prosperity of a long i lifetime. —Bishop Hall. More Work, Not Less “We get out of our troubles only by working harder, not by working less.”—Roger W. Babson. Possessions To know how to dispense with things is to possess them.—Regnard. ....

A Lovely Frock for Twelves to Twenties yt I <5 II Xi I // / 1933-B Swingin’ down the lane with a bit of a zip and a full quota of what it takes, this smartly simple frock goes places without effort — an engagingly youthful and chic affair which can be made ir a trice (first cousin to a jiffy) and make you the belle of the campus. Its simplicity is totally disarming, yet it has all the aplomb of a professor in English — just one of those frocks which can’t miss. Delightfully cool and as chipper as a breeze, it requires just seven simple pieces in the making, in any fabric from the A’s to the Z’s. The yoke and sleeves cut in one and the collar is just long enough to take the prize. Send for Barbara Bell Pattern No. 1933-B designed for sizes 12, 14, 16 18 and 20—bust 32 to 38. Size 14 requires 4 yards of 39inch fabric. Send 15 cents in coins. Send for the Fall Pattern Book containing Barbara Bell well-

planned, easy-to-make patterns. Exclusive fashions for children, young women and matrons. Send 15 cents for your copy. Send your order to The Sewing Circle Pattern Dept., 367 W. Adams St., Chicago, 111. Bell Syndicate.—WNU Service. 45-Foo+ Tide The largest known periodic tides in the Atlantic ocean and in the world as a whole occur in Minas Basin, Bay of Fundy, Nova Scotia, ] where a mean range of 42 feet ■ and a spring range of 45 feet have j been reported.

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