Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

For about a mile the city line ran along the middle of a highway. It was not a well paved highway. There were stones, tin cans and piles of rubbish to be dodged. Then the line led through an orchard. Here Billy got out, inviting the others to go with him, but only Tilly accepted the invitation. The others followed the road, agreeing to wait for the pedestrians at a point further along, while the foot passengers gracefully climbed the fence. They had not gone more than a few hundred feet among the trees, which were old and decayed, before they caught sight of a house ahead. Sitting on the back porch in a hickory rocking chair was an ancient lady, clad in calico, rocking gently to and fro while knitting a pair of socks. As the travelers drew near, she looked up and said:

“I’m knitting these socks for my son. He don’t like wool next his skin, so I use cotton, but I have an awful time getting the right kind of thread. If the thread is too coarse, he says they look like gunny bags and if it is too fine the socks are not warm enough. He is very pertickler, my son is. Maybe you know him; his name is Winterbottom; first name Jeremiah, after his father. He’s well known in Wilmington. Don’t you know him?”

“No,” said Billy, sitting down on the edge of the porch and making room for Tilly beside him, “I don’t know him but I hear he is a very fine man. I hope you will tell us more about him. What is his business?”

“Making flat irons. What’s yours?”

“I make iron and steel.”

“I don’t see then why you don’t know him. You got a nice lookin wife.”

“Thank you, I think so too,” said Billy, while Tilly blushed.

“Why did you let her think we were married?” said Tilly, after they had left the old lady behind.

“Well I kinda wish we were, and I hoped she only had the news a little ahead of time.”

“You are certainly a fast worker.”

“Sure, I no sooner saw you than I picked you. I can always make up my mind quickly, and I’m after you from now on.”

This made Tilly laugh, but she did not seem displeased.

They picnicked in a grove near the edge of town and then finished the circuit. Then they navigated all the streets and alleys and returned home to quiz one another all that evening. They were all surprised to find how much they had learned about the city.

Billy’s visits followed one another in quick succession. He knew his own mind, as he had said, and Tilly’s inclined to him more and more. When Sam awoke to the state of affairs he knew the second bomb had fallen and might burst at any minute.

BOMB THE THIRD

Arma’s first loves were merely fancies. Having no substantial foundation they died as soon as born. Sam and Tilly had made no secret of her origin and she was spared a shock when she learned it of those pests of society whom, like the poor and Congress, we have always with us. She was a great reader and devoured all the books she could obtain. Among these was Charlotte Bronte’s story of “The Professor.” With the reading of this story a new point of view dawned upon her. She had before this looked upon Sam as immeasurably older and belonging to a disappearing age. But it appeared that a difference of ages was not so important as she had imagined, indeed might be an advantage from many points of view. Her previous flames had been boys, except for the divine, and he was a man of no perception—not worth considering. Besides, Sam had money—almost always a consideration with girls, who are nearly always full of worldly wisdom. Sam had become a possibility. As she studied him further he became a probability. She grew shy and a trifle coquettish. But Sam for a long time took no notice. He was absorbed in other matters.

Arma was, of course, very much interested in Tilly’s love affair as it developed. She viewed it with much favor. The same worldly wisdom which told her that Sam was desirable from a matrimonial point of view, told her also that if Tilly should go to Pittsburgh Sam must more fully depend upon her. She became interested in cooking and studied all Sam’s needs. Tilly was studying Billy at the same time. Arma secretly began to resent any interference with Sam—he was her property. She pampered him like a born mother—which she was.

Gradually but unconsciously Arma revealed her new set of ideas to Tilly who was not lacking in perception; but Tilly made no sign—she was relieved. For Sam’s welfare was dear to her, and here were other hands to take up the tasks she must lay down. She became Arma’s co-conspirator, gradually resigning to her the primacy in Sam’s affairs which she had hitherto kept as her own.

As Arma became absorbed in Sam, she began to manifest an interest in his work and asked many questions. It was pleasant to teach a pupil so bright, so much interested and so beautiful—for Sam could not help but notice her beauty. There were others who saw it also. The young men began to call and she was not annoyed at first; but few of them interested her very long. They knew so little. One day she betrayed herself. One of these boys had bored her for an hour before he departed and she met Sam in the passage.

“Well, has he gone?” said Sam.

“Yes, he has,” she replied, “and I am so glad, I like you much better.” And these words were accompanied by a look which would have awakened and galvanized an anchorite, and then she blushed a rosy red and fled.

There are really two bombs in this chapter. Arma’s bomb was a copy of “The Professor,” Sam’s bomb was the look Arma gave him when she blushed.

BOMB THE FOURTH AND LAST

It came the next morning while Arma was concocting a tapioca pudding—one of Sam’s favorites. There was a ring at the front door and a well-dressed lady entered and asked: “Does Samuel Jones live here?”

“Yes,” said Arma.

“Are you the little girl they found in their auto?”

“Yes,” said Arma, wonderingly.

“Then I am your mother.”

“Why did you give me away?”

“Your father deserted me and I was penniless. I have been poor ever since until quite recently, too poor to claim you. An uncle in California died last month and left me his money. I have been out settling his estate and I am just back. I want you to go with me.”

“No,” said Arma, “I cannot go with you but I can see you very often, and I am so glad I have a mother to love.” Then they fell into each others arms in tears.

When Arma told her story at lunch the others gasped. She continued: “I think I must go to her.” Then Sam gasped: “My God! I’ll be all alone. Get her to come here, Arma, I can’t bear to have you go.”

Now wasn’t Arma a sly puss? And she did not go, Sam went to her. He told her how much he loved her. She listened sagely and said: “yes, she liked him pretty well. She thought she might like to stay with him.” And she did. And after awhile Sam discovered that she had been madly in love with him all the time—but he did not discover this for a long time, she was a woman and did not tell all she knew for awhile. She grew more fond of Sam every day and now she tells him everything—almost.

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Fat and Lean

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This story was told by lame Lewellyn Sangster to his aunt Margaret, uncle Fred, cousin Anita and Sam the hired man.

Nan Heberlein and Lula Manting were fast friends. They were fond of meeting at each others’ homes and pretending to sew; sometimes they did sew; sometimes they promptly adjourned and went to the movies; sometimes they called in their lady friends who were of the same order of busy, and played 500, or bridge, or some other game; but always they talked; and laughed; and ate. They were not singular people: they fitly represented the average American lady who does most of her own work, feeds and dresses her children and sends them to school, and in the afternoon finds an hour or more to relax.

Nan was tall and slim, Lula was getting plump—at least so her friends called it; her unfriends said she was pursey. But no one was so conscious of her too great rotundity as Lula herself. It was constantly in the back of her mind and frequently in a front pew. She liked to discuss it with her friends and her husband—complainingly, anxiously, plaintively, contemplatively, suggestively and in various other ways. Jake listened and grunted; sometimes he forgot to listen and grunt while his mind was dwelling on the quantity of sugar, or molasses, or something else needed in the store. She occasionally noted this lack of attention on Jake’s part but did not really resent it, for, she thought; if he doesn’t pay much attention to it he probably still likes me all right. But if he should notice much, or if it should increase, I must certainly do something. But this something, what should it be? What method must be adopted? She consulted the doctor on his next visit. That much harassed and suffering servant of humanity suggested more exercise and careful avoidance of fat and sugar in the diet. He also suggested that it would be well to eat very sparingly and always leave the table hungry. This gave her something to do, and she straightway began a course of sprouts with herself. It was a sore trial to eat too little, but she did it. Was it not worth something to retain Jake’s admiration and desolation to lose it?

This whole matter was duly discussed and thoroughly considered, forwards, backwards and sideways, when she and Nan next met. After which Nan trotted out _her_ trouble. It was necessary, she said, that she should gain weight. Tom had commented on her slimness, compared her to a rail and several other articles more noted for length than breadth. Nan only weighed 115. She should weigh at least 140. How could she increase her weight? Lula had been reading up about such matters in a book recommended by Dr. Dash, and she would see what he said and report.

This was done and Nan was recommended to eat plenty of raw eggs every day. A dozen a day would not be too many. If she could not afford so many eat as many as she thought she could afford; and drink lots of milk. If this would not make her fat nothing would. It was necessary, too, to take lots of exercise. The doctors say that exercise is necessary to health, and whether you are to get thin or fat exercise is of first importance.

After two weeks of self denial and exercise to excess, as she thought, Lula, who had weighed 160, found her net reduced to 155. This seemed to her hard lines. The game was not worth the candle. But she persevered and at the end of two weeks more had fallen to 150. This was encouraging, but she began to fear she would not be able to hold out forever. She was so desperately hungry! Her dreams began to be haunted by luscious feasts. She woke up in the night, ravenous. She told Jake that if she were not desperately fond of him she would bite him. At this, Jake only grunted. The worst deprivation was candy. She was extravagantly fond of it, but the doctor sternly forbade it. Candy, fat and sugar, as well as starchy foods were to be eschewed; even potatoes were forbidden.

Nan, on the contrary, had eaten raw eggs and milk until she gagged every time she undertook to eat a raw egg in milk. Lula suggested using a little brandy to give a flavor, but this soon palled. She did manage to reach 118 but halted there. Lula halted, too, on the downward path, at 150. No amount of fasting or exercise seemed to avail. About this time she discovered that her skin was getting wrinkled and that, worst of all, wrinkles were forming on her face. After much consultation it was decided that a visit to a beauty doctor might possibly remedy this. Instead of one visit several were required. All this time her appetite was growing mightier and mightier. Finally she fell. They had been shopping together. She had seen candy displayed until she was reckless. In this mood, after leaving Nan, she hurried into a candy shop with the air of a criminal, bought and ate half a pound. Nothing serious happened immediately, so in a few days she bought and ate again—clandestinely. Made reckless by lack of immediate results she resumed her old habits and presently found her weight increasing rapidly—more rapidly than it had gone down.

Nan had become discouraged. She felt well—better than she had felt for a long time. She had, in fact, before this been eating too little. Too many meals had been passed with nothing eaten but tea and toast—now she was really nourished for the first time in years.

About this time she heard some one remark that yeast was a very fattening food, and that she herself had put on twenty pounds by eating a cake daily for three months. So Nan bought a cake and ate it with many qualms. It was certainly not very agreeable to the taste. She persevered, however, and after two weeks discovered that she was indeed gaining. In fact she began to get fat. Slowly but steadily she put on weight until she became alarmed. She was obliged to buy an entire new outfit and although she stopped the yeast cakes she still swelled. Now in despair she began, like Lula, to diet.

But imagine if you can all the discussions, the visits to and fro, the consultations without end to which these fluctuations led. In mercy I have not recounted them—but they took place.

Lula did her own washing, rolled on the floor every morning, practised calisthenics. Wonderful to relate, she began to lose flesh steadily; her skin wrinkled and her color faded. She became alarmed and consulted the doctor who failed to find anything wrong. Now Lula is desperately trying to lay on flesh while Nan is just as determinedly reducing.

* * * * *

“I never realized before,” said Lewellyn, “what an awful thing it must be to be a woman.”

“It is indeed piteous,” said Sam. “The poor things have to wear skirts; they are not allowed to put their feet on the table or spit tobacco juice on the stove. But then they are freely allowed to do the washing and such light work as taking care of ten or twelve children.”

“You must remember the disabilities she suffers,” said Fred. “She is not allowed to go to war, nor is she expected to haul out manure in the hot weather. When the time comes for putting in wheat I know of nothing more enjoyable than hauling out manure and spreading it on the field. The smell is appetizing, and like most perfume, it clings. The flies are active and make the horses playful. I seldom enjoy life so much as then; and it worries me that the dear ladies are not privileged to participate.”

“Sam is right,” said Anita, “The women are privileged to bring up the children. They bear the brunt of their childish impatience, recklessness and disobedience. They stay up with them nights when they are sick and they are expected to be patient and long suffering with husbands and children when they can scarcely drag one foot after the other. I _have_ known of cases,” she continued, “where the women hauled coal out of the cellars habitually, and cases are known where women plow, haul manure, clean out dirty stables and help in the field. I don’t really think the women need complain that their work is lacking either in quality, quantity or variety.”

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Woozy

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Woozy opened his eyes for the first time and looked up. There was a little boy, and in his hand was a saucer in which was some white stuff. The boy smiled at him. Woozy was interested in the white stuff; it looked good. He licked some with his tongue. It tasted good but it was very cold. Woozy licked it again but pretty soon his tongue got so cold he would have to stop licking for awhile. But he went on licking and after awhile it was all gone and the dish was licked clean. Then he looked up at the boy and said: “Woof!” But it was a very small woof, for Woozy was a very small, round, roly poly puppy. He said woof, three or four times but the boy only smiled for he had no more of the white stuff. He would have given more to Woozy if he had had it but he could not give more if he did not have it.

Pretty soon the door opened and a monstrous big dog came in. She went over and tried to lick the boy’s face. Then she laid down beside him. Then the boy took a ball of cord and rolled it into a corner and Woozy trotted after it. He grabbed it and worried it, and growled—frightfully. Pretty soon his mother went over to him, took him by the back of the neck and carried him over to the boy and laid him down, as much as to say:

“I think he is naughty, and you had better make him behave.” But the boy just smiled and stroked the dogs with his hand. First he would stroke the mother and then he would stroke Woozy. The mother would lick his hand but Woozy pinched it with his sharp little teeth.

Woozy and the boy grew up together. They both got bigger every day until the boy was nearly as big as his father and Woozy nearly as big as his mother. Woozy thought the boy was perfect. He followed him everywhere. If you saw the boy anywhere you might know that Woozy was around, and if you saw Woozy you might know that the boy was not far off.

Sometimes they took long walks together in the woods. Woozy would run off among the trees but pretty soon he would come back to the boy and look up in his face and say: “woof,” which meant why don’t you come along and have some fun? Once robbers tried to steal the boy, but Woozy growled and showed his teeth until the robbers ran away.

One day the boy was crossing a pasture field. There was a cross bull there lying down behind some bushes. When he saw the boy he began pawing the dirt and then he ran after him. Woozy grabbed the bull’s tail and held on till the bull turned around. Then he fell off and rolled over and over. The bull ran after him and stuck one horn through his poor body. The boy had climbed over the fence and he screamed and cried with all his might. Then the bull threw up his head and poor Woozy’s dead body flew over the fence. Oh, how mad the boy was and how he cried! His mamma said, “Never mind dear, Woozy was willing to give his life for you.” But the boy was lonely, and he cried as hard as he could cry when they buried Woozy in the garden.

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The Hermit

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In a cave on the south side of the mountain there once lived a hermit. He was only middle aged but his hair was white. He was kind of manner and speech but he often sighed as one bereft of hope. He worked for the farmers round about, who paid him with potatoes or other produce or sometimes with money when they could spare it. He lived a lonely life on the mountainside with no one to share it. Here he snared rabbits and caught skunks and foxes and sold their skins. In a space before the cave he built a rough cabin which concealed the entrance. To one side of this he built a shack to house his chickens and on the other side he planted apples, pears and peaches. Grapes he shunned as open to misconstruction. He gathered firewood in the forest and no one molested him. The water for drinking and cooking came from a spring on the mountainside not far from his door.

He was kind to the children and often gave them candy. The path to and from the schoolhouse led past his door and he often saw the school teacher passing. She was a lady who had begun to teach several years before this story opens. She had been very beautiful as a girl but now some of her fresh complexion had gone where the good complexions go, and she was using a powder puff instead. Her nose was a little sharper and she was rather more positive in some of her ideas than she had been as a young girl. The children always spoke to the hermit and in this way she got to know him.

At Christmas time she had a two-weeks vacation. There was a heavy fall of snow which drifted, so that all the roads were closed. She said to her mother:

“I wonder how my poor hermit is getting along in this snow, all alone on the mountainside.”

“It is too bad,” said her mother, who did and said pretty much as Anna-Bell wished her.

When school opened again she stopped at his house to enquire.

The hermit said he was getting along pretty well, thank you, but she looked around the room with distaste. There was much dirt in the corners, the windows needed cleaning and dirty dishes were standing on the table.

“Don’t you ever go to town?” said she.

“Yes,” he replied, “I am going this afternoon and shall not get home until after dark.”

She made no reply but a light came into her eyes. After school she hurried to the cottage, pinned a towel around her and began to sweep and scrub. Then she closed the door carefully and went home. When he came home it seemed more cheerful but he noticed nothing more. The next morning he only said: “Good Morning,” though she seemed to expect something more. That afternoon on her way home she asked him for a drink of water.

Then she said to him: “Where are you from?”

“My home was in New York,” said he.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I was in the commission business,” he replied, “but I grew ashamed.”

“You deserve a reward,” said she, “choose one!”

“I need a cook,” said he, “come and cook for me as soon as you can learn.”

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Sandy’s Story

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I used to live in New Jersey when I was young, in a place called Lopatcong Mills. I was workin in the mills. There was two other fellers workin there with me and we was about the same age, size and build, as you might say.

One of the fellers was Sam Harkness and the other Enos Kerber. Enos was all for gittin married. He was e’enamost crazy about gals, and I guess he pestered ’em some. Anyhow he didn’t seem to get along very fast gittin married.

I aint very keen about gals myself, and I wasn’t then; but, as I said, Enos liked to be with ’em. He spent most all his wages buyin ice cream fer ’em. He said he kinda liked to see ’em lickin it up like nice little pussy cats.

“Yes,” I says, “I guess you would like to be a mouse,” says I, “and listen to what they says.”

“No,” says he, “but they use me like the cat would a mouse.”

Well, he was always talkin about the gals and about gittin married ’till I got e’enamost worn out. So one day I says: “Enos,” says I, “why don’t you advertise?”

“Advertise fer what?” says he.

“Why, fer a wife,” says I.

“Sure,” says he, “where can I do it?”

Sam Harkness and me put our heads together, as you might say, and we wrote an “ad” like this:

“Advertiser wants to marry nice-looking girl about 20. Address with photo, Box 28, Phillipsburg, N. J.”

We sent this with $5.00 to a paper in Chicago that we had seen, and pretty soon Enos began to git letters and photos. The photos was all good lookin; and to some of the best lookers Enos sent hisn. Now, hisn was what you might call a side face, kinda sickly smilin, as if the man that took it had said: “Now look smilin!”

Enos wasn’t a bad looker, himself, nor he wasn’t no beauty neither.

One day I took the bosses wife to the train; and I was standin on the platform, when a middle aged female comes up to me and flung her arms around me.

“Hello! Sandy,” says she, “here I am. Aint ye glad? Why,” she says, “you’re better lookin than yer picture. I just took _such_ a fancy to it that I got right on the train and come right on, and here I am.”

“Who are you lookin fer?” says I, gittin flustered, “I don’t know nothing about this. What do you mean, anyhow?”

“Young man,” says she, “is this you? and is this your handwritin?” so sayin, she pulls out a picture of me and a letter which I had written fer Enos in lead pencil; but his name was rubbed out and mine signed.

“Well, that’s my picture,” says I, “but that letter’s a forgery, as you might say.”

Well, she bust out a cryin and a crowd begun to form, so I put her in the wagon and took her to the mill fer dinner. Then I brought her back and put her on the train, her crying most of the time. I paid her fare both ways and she said I was real kind and must come to see her, but I aint been yet.

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The Hoboes

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After the close of the Civil War, from 1865 to a much later date, a great many men had been soldiers and were discharged, had grown fond of a wandering life and were unable to resist its charms. It was about this time that the army of tramps gained so many recruits as to become a great national nuisance. Many of these men were still clad, in whole or in part, in army blue uniforms; and some of the army overcoats survived several winters. There were many of these hoboes on the road, moving from place to place, sometimes afoot, sometimes beating their way on the railroads, where they finally became a menace to the trainmen and to the communities along the right of way.

Most of the subsistence of these tramps was lifted from the charitable by the process known as “slamming gates.” Not a few of the tramps were very soft spoken when men or cross dogs were about but became bold and saucy when the women folks were alone. The food gained by begging was supplemented by petty thefts of chickens, eggs, green corn and other produce and the snaring of rabbits and other small game.

Just above Milford, New Jersey, the Delaware River breaks through a ridge of New Red Sandstone, forming a cliff of red rock, the color of which is due to peroxid of iron, facing the south. Along these cliffs there are many ledges; and in the winter, as the sun beats against these ledges, it heats the rocks and creates an atmosphere several degrees warmer than that of the surrounding country.

On one of these ledges overhanging the railroad, which follows the New Jersey shore of the river, a band of hoboes had established their camp. There had been a heavy fall of snow the night before as two tramps were released from the county prison at Flemington where they had been spending a sad week breaking stone.

“Better not come this way again,” said the Sheriff as he released them; “we’ve got your numbers here, and next time you’ll get a heavy dose.”

“I’m going to head for Milford camp,” said Harvard Jim to Deadwood Ike, his companion, “I am getting tired of Jersey.”

“This here beats cock fightin,” replied Ike. “Every darn muscle in my body aches to beat the band, and here we’re turned out in the snow. Lucky we had breakfast.”

All day they plodded doggedly along toward Milford, cold and with wet feet. At noon they had several “hand outs” which fended off starvation, and that night they camped in a wood where the bushes sheltered them and their fire. The next day was warmer and the sun shone, melting the snow. They reached the camp with wet feet, tired and hungry and were greeted with jeers and laughter. The pot was boiling over a wood fire and they were soon fed and warmed. The ground was bare and not too dry as they hunted a place to rest. Finally, Ike curled down and tried to go to sleep, but was kept awake by an intolerable prickling sensation in his back. This grew worse until it became intolerable.

“Say boys!” said he, “Something’s the matter with my back.” So saying, he started to strip off his coat.

“Wait a minute,” said Harvard Jim, “you have something hanging to your coat.” So saying, he pulled it off but immediately began to dance and swear.

“That’s a cactus,” said another tramp. “I forgot to tell you they’re thick around here.”

The best part of an hour was spent in picking spines from their respective hides, and then they once more went to rest, this time carefully inspecting the premises to avoid the cactus.

Next morning they started for the Milford Bridge resolved to quit Jersey forever; but at the bridge they were met by the toll-keeper who declined to allow them to pass without the customary two cents each. This they did not have but were forced to beg with poor success—plenty to eat but no money. Just at this point they were stopped by the constable who put them under arrest for begging.

“Say, friend,” said Harvard Jim, “if you will find us a place where we can saw some wood for a quarter we will pay our way over the bridge and stay away from Jersey.”

“All right,” said the constable, “I have some wood myself.”

For two hours they toiled, one with the saw, the other with the axe, sawing and splitting a huge pile of firewood, inspected meanwhile by the constable. At the end of this time they struck work and were offered ten cents each.

“Have a heart, brother,” said Ike, “that’s no way to treat us.”

“Beat it, or I’ll put you in the jug,” said he, “and none of your lip, either.”

They were silent until they reached the middle of the bridge; then Ike shook his fist at Jersey and swore furiously.

“Breakin stone, trampin in snow, sleepin on cactus, sawin wood, an cheatin constables. Damn such a State!”

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Jumping Steel

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“I suppose you know,” said Sam “that there are a great many kinds of steel in the market nowadays, such as high carbon steel, low carbon steel, manganese steel, tungsten steel, nickel steel....”

“Yes,” said Lewellyn, “and Wildcat oil steal and Wall Street steals....”

“Now, Lewellyn,” said aunt Margaret, “this is Sam’s story, not yours.”

“All right,” said Lewellyn, “I guess I can stand it if you can.”

“There are a great many ways of treating steel, too,” continued Sam, “for giving it desired properties, some of which have been very successful.”

“I knew a fellow in the Bethlehem Steel Company several years ago who was a nut on steel treating. He said that by selecting the proper kind of steel, such as nickel steel or chrome steel or some other sort, it was possible to get any desired properties if you gave the steel proper heat treatment. He was my roommate for a year and he talked about this so much that I got all worn out—and mad.

“First I told him that I wanted a steal that could not be found out but he paid no attention. Then I asked whether it would be possible to make a steel for springs that could be pushed down two inches and come back four. I found I had given him something to think about. He shut up right away and began to think. I could always tell when he was thinking by the fishy stare that came into his eye; like the eye of a fresh fish that is ten days old.

“He studied on this for nearly a week and I had a blessed rest. I began to hope it would keep him quiet forever; but at the end of the week he said he thought he could do it. His eyes had lost the fishy stare and a smile spread over his face and stayed there. I forget what the steel was to have in it but I remember it was to contain molybdenum.

“He went up to Bethlehem the very next day and I saw no more of him for a week. When he came back he said he had been working hard and thought he was on the track but the darn stuff was brittle. Still he thought he might be able to overcome that if he had time enough. I told him he could have all the time that was coming but he paid no attention. Every time he came back after that he would sit and stare and the fishy look would come back: then he would slap his leg and hurry back to Bethlehem.

“About a month after I had put the idea into his head he came back one day and said he had the kind of steel I wanted.

“I told him to make me two coiled springs two inches wide and four inches long, with a steel plate fastened to either end. One of these plates was to have four holes in for screws, so it could be fastened to the heel of a shoe. I said that on second thought he had better make three springs, so that if one broke we might still have enough.

“Yes, he thought that might be wise, because springs were apt to break. When he came back next time he had a dozen springs in a box. They were beautifully made and were silver plated, too.

“Then we couldn’t agree at first who should put them on and see how they worked. He said I had started the idea, and it would not be fair that he should have the honor of first trying them. But I said the idea was not worth much; he had made the right kind of steel and the way to heat treat it; that was two to my one. I was really afraid to try the darn things myself, and when you hear what happened you won’t wonder.

“We fastened one spring to each of a pair of his shoes. He did not put them on but carried them and wore another pair to the end of Bushkill Street where we planned to try them out. There isn’t much traffic there, and we wanted a quiet place for our experiment. He put on the spring shoes at Green Street and jumped towards the river. The first jump was two feet, the second four, the third eight and the fourth sixteen. By the time he got to the river he was jumping sixty-four feet at a clip. Then the spring on his left foot broke with a loud crack and he turned half around and struck the water horizontally at thirty miles an hour. He went under and came up a little further on, came around in a circle and shot out on the sand. He was stunned at first, but as soon as he felt a little better he asked me to get his other shoes and take these off, which I did.

“After that we walked home and he sat thinking for quite awhile. After he came out of this trance he said it seemed easy enough to go, the problem was, how were we to stop? He thought it would be easy to steer, too, by holding one foot out a little further than the other. We could learn to do that easy enough. The best way to stop, he thought, would be to have a spring on the end of a stick. By holding this so it would strike the ground first it would send you back and then you would stop.

“So he got a stick, or rather two sticks—one for each hand—and put a spring on each. We had our next jumpin match on the Twelfth Street lot about midnight of a moonlight night. He jumped two feet and came back four; jumped eight feet and came back sixteen. By the time he was up to sixty-four feet he struck the roof of a house, went through and landed in a bed. It was lucky he did: he might have been killed if he had landed anywhere else. It was a slate roof, and he was pretty badly scratched when he came down in his stocking feet. He was afraid to keep his shoes on for fear he might get started again. The man who owned the house was with him, looking pretty mad.

“It cost him quite a little to mend the roof and pacify the man, but he finally got it fixed up. I told him he wanted to be more careful; next time he might land in a bed with some girl or the old woman and that would cost him more yet.

“I got so nervous about this time that I moved into another room. I was afraid if I went on going out with him the police might manage to stay awake long enough to pinch us. The last time I saw him he told me they had made some bed springs out of this steel by mistake and some of them were sent out and used. He heard of a man who had a cot in his summer tent. He came in one afternoon very tired and threw himself on the cot and the next thing he knew he flew through the top of the tent fell back and broke through and landed on the floor with an awful jolt. He told me he was sure that steel would be a money maker as soon as he learned how to control it.”

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All the Way from Melbourne

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A college teacher learns much about far away places if he cares to do so. This knowledge is also very intimate and very accurate. It is the kind of knowledge that cannot be drawn from books of travel or from encyclopedias. It is first-hand information given by people who have lived there. It is obtained from his students. Most of those he is called upon to teach come, probably, from within a radius of fifty or a hundred miles. There is always a sprinkling, however, of boys from far off places.

Rochambeau College always has a few such. I can remember among them several from Japan, from China, India, South America, and one from Siam. We sometimes hear from these boys after they have returned to their homes and once in a great while we are rich enough to visit them. What a fuss they make when we do and how glad they seem to be to see us. I have been something of a traveler in a small way and everywhere I have gone, and been able to turn aside to visit the boys, I have met the most cordial welcome. This is one of the rewards that come to the teacher who has tried to do his best. Sometimes he comes in contact with people from distant lands in strange ways; and it is about one of these strange happenings that I am about to tell.

After I had been teaching for several years I married Sally Lunn, the daughter of a local baker. We had two sons and a daughter to bless our union. I noticed as the years passed that my surplus cash was waning rather than waxing. This led me to make a careful review of the situation. My salary was scarcely opulent and was not mounting with great rapidity. It was evident that if Providence saw fit to endow us with a continued shower of childish blessings I must either find more income or breakfast, lunch and dine on corn mush—and I was not fond of mush.

Among my early investments had been the purchase of a printing press. The outfit was a small one but it was complete and such as enabled me to make a beginning as a printer in a small way. As I practised the art I became constantly more skilful and could now print a very fair job. This seemed to furnish an opening and I went to work. The venture was moderately successful and led to a decided, though moderate, increase in my income. Presently I was able to buy a larger press and more type and to rent a room in the town in which to install it. Here I employed a competent foreman and began my commercial career.

I had written a text book for my pupils in the meantime and this I printed and published. Then I started a journal in which my book was advertised, leading to orders from abroad and the influx of manuscripts from my friends. In a few years I had a prosperous business on my hands and all my spare time was usefully employed. It soon became necessary to arrange for agents for the sale of my publications abroad. This was easily arranged in London and Tokio but more difficult in other places. I wrote to Secretary of Commerce Hoover for the name of an agent in Melbourne and he sent me the names of about fifty firms, dealers in books in that place. I immediately aimed at the flock and fired four letters at random, but brought down no birds. Weeks and months passed on without a response.

I am a late riser by preference and an early one only under compulsion. I was finishing my breakfast at a moderate rate one morning when word came that a gentleman had called and was waiting for me. My visitor was a middle aged man, plainly dressed in tweed with a cloth cap. He informed me that he was traveling for pleasure and had undertaken to go from New York to San Francisco by auto. He had stopped for the night at our local hotel and in descending a dark stairway had fallen and broken his arm. He was admitted to the hospital, permitted the setting of the arm and submitted to the necessary delay—for it was impossible to drive with one arm. He found himself doomed to inaction, for his daily occupation was confined to a visit to the hospital to have his arm dressed, and time hung heavy on his hands. In this dilemma he inquired of Dr. Kuhlmann, his attendant and one of my old students, whether there was not some one else in the place with a taste for science. Dr. Kuhlmann had referred him to me.

I told Mr. Humphreys that I was very glad to meet him and would do my best to help him pass the time pleasantly during his enforced delay. I found he was posted on his own country, Australia. He knew something about its geology and about its politics also. I announced that we would have an evening together with our professors of geology and economics in a day or two, as soon as it could be arranged. In the meantime I asked him whether he liked to dance? He said he did, and my wife, who had met him by this time, invited him to spend that very evening with us—we expected some young people in to dance and thought it might amuse him. He came and was much liked by the young folks. A few evenings later he came to tea with us and spent the evening with the two professors and their wives. Of course they pumped him for first-hand information and obtained it. We spent a delightful and very profitable evening together.

The next morning I proposed to take him over my publishing house. We met there and made the rounds. I showed him some of our books and he appeared to be more than ordinarily interested in them. As he was leaving he informed me that he was starting for the West in the morning after. “I don’t see why,” he said, “I might not sell some of your books myself. I am a scientific bookseller in Melbourne, and I shall take great pleasure in selling as many of your books as I can.”

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A Defense of the Wealthy

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Contrary to a generally held opinion, there are some wealthy people who may be successfully defended. There are not so many of them, however, that any serious disturbance need be created. There is, perhaps, some danger that these may be overlooked in the universal damnation that is being handed out to the malefactors of great wealth.

The first exception to be noted is that of the inventor. Quite a few of these men have lightened our tasks to a very considerable extent. They have in a few cases amassed a competence by taxing us for their inventions for seventeen years. After that their work is free for all, at least in theory. A great many of these men have had no benefit from their inventions and might well be pensioned from public funds. In not a few cases the profits that should have gone to them have been filched by men who had money to lend. Such cases should be overhauled and the ill-gotten gains of the banker folks restored to their proper owners. It would be well also to give the bankers the spanking they need, thus making one job of the whole business.

When we think that Whitney, who invented the cotton gin; Steinmetz, the electrical wizard; Pupin, who perfected the telephone; Edison, Gray, Acheson, Morse, McCormick and thousands of others, some as well, others less well known belong to this class, we realize how greatly we are indebted to them, and how cheaply we get off by allowing them to profit by their inventions for seventeen short years.

Then there are some school teachers and college professors who might be excepted and a few ministers. Some of these fellows married money, and we will not except these; some of them inherited money, and we will not except these; a few of them stole money, and these must be spanked. After these exceptions have been made there will be a few left and they have lived such a deuce of a life that we will let them go.

There does not seem to be any great harm in the man who saved in order that he might keep out of the almshouse when he grew too old to work. We should not tax these people, either, if they have only moderate means. Our wise legislators, however, do not seem to think so. Many cases of this kind have been heard of during and since the late unpleasantness where the poor souls had a hard time keeping body and spirit together after the tax collector was through with them.

All farmers who have made money should be let off, provided they made money by real farming and not by selling fancy cattle, poultry, etc., at startling prices. Real farming is a man’s job, and those who succeed at it deserve to be patted on the back. The fellows who sell the blooded stock belong in about the same class as the bond salesman—we will come to these later on.

The married couples who bring up and properly educate, say four or more children, are also deserving. If their children are grateful so much the better; if they chip in and support their father and mother—fine! In the last case we might safely except everybody concerned.

Of course we must except the lame, the halt and the blind; and perhaps a few others have been unintentionally skipped, but there seem to be few others. Now we come to those who need punishment of some kind.

First among these are the office-holders. There are a few among them who really earn all they get—but not many. Office holding ought to be made a dangerous business, and running for the Presidency punished with death.

Bankers ought to be periodically inspected and made to give an account of themselves, so should lawyers, and real-estate agents. The doctors, some of them, need watching. They are a frightfully jealous lot and outside testimony only, can be relied on. If a good one is found he should be patted on the back. There are a lot of these but most of them live in the country where the air is good. Those who live in the city and have hospitals where they charge $100.00 for opening a pimple and $25.00 for giving you four ounces of ether should be heavily docked and then fined.

There are far too many wholesale and retail merchants and too few farmers. We might well cut out half of the merchants for a start and make them move out on farms where they could be really useful. If they commit suicide instead of farming, so much the better. There are also too many book agents and bond salesmen and brokers and clerks in stores. Too many newspapers are published and too much paper wasted in doing it. This needs regulating. The best way to do it is to tax these things and let the farmers alone for the present, until they have $5.00 ahead.

And the fellows who are loafing around waiting for a bonus should be put to a painless death. They will never be of any real use. The labor agitators and strike leaders are in the way, too.

Anybody who spends his time loafing or playing golf should be stopped, questioned and put to work. If he refuses he should be shipped off to an island set apart for the purpose where he must work or starve.

All such wealthy ones should be treated as indicated and some of those not wealthy but who belong to the same classes need much the same treatment.

While we are about it we may perhaps just as well do a little more regulating. The Germans, for example, have too many children and the French too few. We should take warning and govern ourselves accordingly. Of course some people claim that these things are regulated by Providence but it seems probable that there are other forces at work. Four children to a family seems to be about right and it is suggested that a committee, all the members of which have done their full duty and are from Missouri, be appointed to see that there are no slackers. This is a species of wealth that needs regulating as well as other kinds.

The old maids and old bachelors should be heavily taxed unless they can satisfy a Missouri committee that they have made determined efforts to commit matrimony. In that case they should have assistance.

All would-be voters should be carefully examined before it is allowed and the recall and repeal should be in order. Every voter should be able to spell his or her name, tell what rivers run through and by Easton, where the Atlantic is situated and what Sing Sing is noted for. After all are educated up to this point, the tests should gradually be toughened until only those really fit can vote. They should be _made_ to vote every time. Gradually, in this way, every man can learn how to milk cows, husk corn, run a plow and chase the pigs out of the oats. The women will be able to darn stockings, bake bread, sew shirts and run a bridge party.

By the time these ideas are put to work the millennium will be close at hand and we need no longer flee from the tax gatherer or hide from the bond salesman.

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The Skin of the Bear

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This story, according to De Comines, was told by the Emperor Frederick III of Germany to an emissary of King Louis XI of France who wished him to conspire against the Duke of Burgundy to their mutual advantage: