but I only get my mouth open an' let it go at that. Boggle is comin' through the door where the handlers hang out, an' he don't have to snap his fingers when he gets into the pit. I can see what he's got with him plain enough. There's never been a gamecock before nor since with a head an' eye like that.

"T'M in a trance. I jest set there with

""Oh, Lord!' I says again, an' quit listenin' to him.

"Before each fight that night the handlers has held the chickens up an' let 'em pick at each other a minute, an' then stepped back an' put 'em down. Always before each chicken has walked forward kinda sideways like till he met the other one. Then-bam!-they're at it in the middle of the pit.

"What happens now ain't nuthin' like that. After lettin' 'em pick at each other, Boggle steps back to the edge of the pit an' puts his bird down, but the whizz cat don't stay there a second. He lights runnin'. He goes across the pit like he comes out of the coop the night I seen him. The other gamecock ain't more than settled on his feet good when the cyclone hits him. He goes end over end till the side of the pit stops him, but he's dead when he gets there. He's been cut to pieces right while he's rollin'.

"Well, everybody stands up around that pit an' yells, winners an' losers alike. The guy next me is yellin' as loud as anybody.

""You said it, bud,' he hollers at me. 'I never seen one before. It cost me fifty, but it's worth the money!' Then he pounds the guy in front of him on the back and lets out another whoop.

"I don't yell. I just edge fur the door. I'm afraid if I stay I'll see Boggle, an' I wouldn't have him know what I done for another roll like the one I'd dropped."

The Son of Wallingford

Continued from page 9

sale? A flaw in the New Bagdad plan? As an honest promoter he would carry the risk himself?

They were stupefied! Why, what was this? And during the lull an odor became apparent, an odor which was not incense. It was a horrible odor-the burning of radical whiskers! And the populace surged to the door, gasping and choking, its handkerchiefs to its noses! Meantime, smell or no smell, Henry Beegoode held the opulence expert at the table, and gasped:

"See here, you Wallingford, you'll buy that land for ten thousand dollars, out of which you're cheating me by stopping this deal, or I'll sue you as soon as my lawyer can get out the papers! So help me!"

Releasing his nose long enough to shake his fist, but no longer, Henry rushed for the door, and ex-poet and ex-potentate rushed out the other door to hunt surreptitiously the Wall family. whom they dared not claim as their own, nor even openly greet.

THE

HE Wall family, however, had found their way out of the musicians' balcony to the lobby mezzanine, and were now coming down the grand stairway. At the landing Jimmy paused. There was Mary, under the stainedglass dome of the rotunda, still angelically sweet in her white chiffon and white roses, and with her were Tal and Mother Curtis and grandma, and Caroline and Henry Beegoode, and a heavyset young man with his back turned to the stairway. They were all in excited conversation about something or other, the break-up of the land boom no doubt, but that amusing speculation didn't interest Jimmy. He was too much occupied with the strange young man! Who was he? What right had he to hold Mary so intimately by the arm while he talked? What right had he to lean down so close to her? The big stiff! Hot jealousy burned in Jimmy, and out of that acid-sharp emotion came the necessity of seeing Mary right away. He was within eight feet of his goal, and full in the range of Mary's smiling welcome, when suddenly there rushed upon him a lean, lanky, loose-jointed young woman with a cerise hat, a green sport jacket, and an abnormally short plaid skirt, which revealed her calves in all their straight severity; and she screamed with delight:

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"Why, Snookums, old kid! How lucky is your little Evelyn! The show's broke, and so am I, darling! Dig!" Whereupon Lanks Anderson of the "On With the Jazz" company wrapped her snakelike arms around "Snookums" and gave him a hearty smack, then rattled on about how she had to get back to New York, and if her old pal Jimmy was headed that way he could buy an extra ticket; if not, he could hand over the cash-and there were six other girls also! Suddenly Lanks stopped her jabber, struck by the stupefaction in Jimmy, and, following his numb gaze, she saw standing there a pretty girl so pallid that she seemed all of a piece with her white chiffon and white roses, except for her dark eyes wide with terror; and panic clutched at the heart of the ungainly Lanks, for she had a more tender regard for Jimmy than he would ever know.

"What have I done!" she whispered. "Jimmy! What have I done!" But Jimmy did not hear her, did not know that she had stepped back from him. The strange young man had turned. It was "Doc Blinkers"! It was the medical student who had warned the son of Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford to watch out for his lobeless ears!

100 late now for Jimmy to make a confession to Mary; "Blinkers," Henry Beegoode's son, told it all, his nose hooked down and an ugly snarl on his lips. And those who loved Jimmy had to stand by, helpless, and watch him take this bitter lashing with never a physical wince, though his face was set and his lips quivered in the deadly hurt of it, for he was unable to offer a word in his own defense-it was all true.

"Mary!" Toad confronted her as Tal patted her hand, and Toad's honest face was aglow with loyalty. "Jimmy was on his way to tell you all about it, to explain everything!"

Slowly Mary Curtis found herself amid the wreckage of her humiliated love, and it was a very straight-necked and a very stiff little Mary who looked coldly at Toad.

"With more lies? He came here under an assumed name, didn't he? Won my friendship under an assumed decent character, tricked my father out of his land! Explain? What could the son of Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford explain?"

Jimmy did not move, did not even

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"It's no use, Toad," Jimmy said quietly, and he could have held himself in that dead poise, alone in a dreary universe which had no sun or sky, except that just then a soft hand was laid on his arm and Jimmy's mother stood beside him, the anguish of understanding in her eyes; and then the ice melted in Jimmy's heart, and tears came, and he wasn't a man-he was just a boy!

ARY CURTIS did not know that

MAR

steep, as the silent family trudged up Main Street, amid the excited throng all agog with the sensation of Get-RichQuick Wallingford, the Wall brothersand Mary! No pallor now on little Mary's face, no pallor on her lips, for the neighbors with their pity had awakened her to her shame; and it was that which made Mary's neck so straight and set her chin so high, and so stiffened her anger as they neared the

home.

Curtis was the derrick, looming its

ugly head above the trees in the hollow. How she hated the thing! It must come down! And here was the gate where she had stood when she had flirted with Jimmy, the son of Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford, "Snookums," the chorus girl's pet; and almost a shrill shriek escaped her as she came to this phrase in her angry self-revilement. Up the hill yonder, and visible through the high-pillared perspective of the portico, was the big rock where she had kissed him,

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unasked! What must he think of her, this gay young roisterer of the city, who had spent his careless time with girls among whom kisses were cheap! How many of them had pressed their warm lips against his; how many of them had his arm encircled and drawn strongly closer? Suddenly this girl of wholesome ancestors and high ideals felt soiled, degraded, common by having grouped herself with these others, and unconsciously she rubbed her lips with the back of her hand, rubbed them harshly, roughly, as if by that she could have taken off the contamination of the kiss which had lingered there, a sweetly quivering thing, these whole two weeks. In the nights she had felt the tingle of that kiss, and now she hated him for it! Snookums, the chorus girl's pet!

"Don't be foolish, Mary darling," quavered grandma when they had reached the portico and ma had stalked speechless into the house. "I've lived long enough to know that your heart will give you more peace than your pride. Why, I couldn't be mad at Jimmy even now; and if he came around with Sweet Patootie and asked me to take a ride, I declare I'd go." (To be continued in Collier's next week)

Balloon Jobs

Continued from page 14

But another young man, who was also earning $5,000, took the same job. Perhaps it is a significant fact that within the last six months he has been asked to find something else to do, as the directors of the company believe he is not paying his way at $12,000 a year. "You cannot keep a good man down," say the old copybooks.

To which I would add: "Nor can you keep a poor man up."

Rome, Henry Ford's business, and your job, if you've got a good one, were not built in a day. No city, business, nor job ever has been or ever will be built that way. But perhaps the question rises in your mind:

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The Farmer

Continued from page 11

Last year, for example, they say, 600,000,000 bushels of actual grain_were bought and sold on the Chicago Board of Trade, while the trading in the grain exchanges totaled twenty-five or thirty billion bushels. That would make about forty sales for each actual bushel of wheat.

There are a number of bills before Congress designed to benefit the farmer in this matter. Several of them propose to abolish the Chicago Board of Trade and all the smaller boards of trade. Curiously enough, the farmers' representatives in Washington do not seem particularly anxious to have the boards of trade legislated out of business. What they propose is to get the marketing of grain so largely into their own hands that they will no longer need to worry about the prices made in the grain pits.

Two weeks after representatives of the American Farm Bureau Federation, the Equity Society, the Grange, the National Farmers' Union, the Farmers' Equity Cooperative Exchanges, and the Farmer Grain Dealers' Associations had met in Chicago last summer and agreed on a general plan to bring about national cooperative marketing of grain, $50,000 had been subscribed for the expenses of a group of experts selected to work out the details. So it isn't an idle dream. The farmers are working to make it a fact. They give themselves from three to five years in which to accomplish it.

A program that puts fulfillment from three to five years ahead might discourage some people, but farmers have notoriously long memories. Working alone, out between the earth and the sky, they have opportunity to turn things over and over in their minds until the memory groove is worn deeply that thoughts lying there are not easily dislodged.

SO

It was a field hand—a darky—whom Bryan described in the campaign of 1896 as having the most wonderful memory ever given to a man. The fame of his memory finally reached Satan, and Satan came to investigate, for he could use a man like that in his business. He offered to buy Jefferson, but his master declined to sell. Instead, he said, he would give him to Satan if the latter ever could catch him in a lapse of memory. So the devil went out into the field and he said to the darky: "Jefferson, do you like eggs?"

"Yas-sah," replied Jefferson.

The devil said no more and went away. A year later he returned to the darky in the field and said: "How?"

"Fried," replied Jefferson.

So it is likely to be with the farmers. If one of them tells you now that he is going to sell his wheat in 1925 for just what it is worth, and you return to him in 1923 and say "How?" his answer is likely to be: "Cooperatively."

Melville E. Stone

Continued from page 17

There was

a war, the British were

beaten, and Gladstone made peace, recognizing the independence of the Dutchmen, now called Boers.

Some Englishmen went down and began digging for gold and diamonds. They were welcomed, and for a time lived peaceably with the authorities. Then they began taking great riches from the ground and sending it to London. Following a very human impulse, the Dutch regretted having consented to their invasion. Such was the cause of the Boer War.

It illustrated a situation which has often arisen to bring about a conflict. Enterprising men go to China or Mexico, or where you will, and secure a concession. At first they find no difficulty. But the instant they by modern methods reap a large reward, the native

population feel that a birthright has been sold for a mess of pottage, and trouble ensues.

And our missionaries, who deserve all honor for their self-denying labors, are, after all, engaged in a service which does not go hand in hand with these mercenary efforts. Komura, a Harvard graduate who became a leading statesman of Japan, once said, when he and I were talking of the unhappy differences thus caused and of the possibilities in store:

"I do not think your missionaries have made many converts among our people. Yet they have done us great good. They have brought with them doctors and nurses and hospitals, and taught us how to heal the sick and to prolong life."

Wherefore, in the recent past, while we have been engaged in predatory incursions upon the Asiatics and the Africans, we have at the same time been building them up physically and fitting them to give us battle. Meanwhile, we have just sent to their death something like ten millions of the very flower of Western civilization. And the birth rate of Europe and America is notoriously declining.

But this is wandering far afield.

Camping Through Palestine

Baalbek and going again, like St. Paul, to Damascus, we wandered away to Smyrna. Our real objective was Ephesus and the Temple of Diana. A New York man was the American consul at Smyrna. He invited me to dinner. While we were at table the kavass interrupted to say that a man had called on business. The consul excused himself and left the room. A few minutes later he returned laughing and asked me to go with him to see his visitor: "You are a Greek?"

"Yes," replied the man.

"And you want to escape taxes and to avoid service in the Turkish army?" The visitor assented.

"Have you ever been in the United States?"

The man confessed that he had not. "And how did you get this passport?" asked the consul.

"Well," replied the visitor, "my brother he went to New York and he became a citizen, and he get him a passport and he get one for me too, and send it to me.'

Such cases were not unusual.

We turned to Greece, and at Athens were entertained by Dr. Schliemann, the famous archeologist. He greeted us with singular cordiality, chiefly because of his pride in the fact that he was an American citizen, having been naturalized long before in California. His father-in-law asked me innocently enough if I knew anything about the Pennsylvania Railroad in my country. When I said I did, he wanted to know if I thought it well managed, because, he said, he was the largest individual stockholder in the corporation. And he had never been in the United States. On my return to America I found his statement fully confirmed.

Mr. Oscar Straus was the American Minister at Constantinople. He gave us a most cordial welcome. My friend, "Sunset" Cox, had preceded him as our envoy. When I knew Mr. Cox in Washington, some years before, he had been a persistent critic of the American diplomatic officers because of their alleged extravagance. It was somewhat amusing to find that Mr. Straus had at his disposal a legacy from Mr. Cox's incumbency in the shape of a fine fastgoing yacht. On it we had a delightful journey up the Bosporus to the Black Sea.

At Constantinople we also encountered Dr. Andrew D. White of Cornell University, and established a friendship. that lasted as long as he lived.

Thence we journeyed on to Buda-Pest and Vienna, halting leisurely for some days at each city.

Visits with Dr. White

NE morning, as we were breakfast

A party of thirteen was arranged, Oing at our hotel in Vienna, Dr.

and we set out for a camping tour
No railroads had
through Palestine.
yet been constructed in the Holy Land,
and, therefore, we traveled by carriage
or on horseback. Our stay in Jerusalem
was the more gratifying because we en-
countered a number of friends from
Chicago. Among these was the Metho-
dist Bishop, Charles H. Fowler. He
was not alone one of America's most
eloquent pulpit orators; he was as well
a traveling companion of most agree-
able character. He knew his Palestine
as well as Baedeker, and was far more
at home in its historical interest. In
common with all visitors to the hills
of Judea, we were woefully disillusioned.
To find the Holy Sepulcher and the
scene of the crucifixion under a single
roof was enough to tax our credulity
to the utmost. But everywhere the rule
of an American shop applied: "If you
do not see what you want, ask for it."
And to ask meant to receive.

We went down to Hebron to see the cave of Machpelah, where Abraham and Jacob were buried. On the way we were pelted with stones by hostile Moslems, and on our arrival were permitted to see no more than the walls inclosing the alleged tombs. The way to the Jordan was infested with brigands, but we greased the palm of an Arab sheik and got through safely to Jericho and the Dead Sea.

After visiting the massive ruins of

White's card was presented. On it was written: "I am here and lonely; let's get together." And so we had another visit with this most attractive gentleman. His brain was a perfect storehouse of valuable information. And we enjoyed many things in common. I had long been interested in the story of the French Revolution and the career of Bonaparte. I had visited and studied a great number of the Corsican's battle fields. Dr. White had a like penchant.

Years after, when he was for the second term our Ambassador to Germany, I was in Paris. I received a telegram from him asking when I expected to be in Berlin. I answered it, and a few days later arrived to find that he had canceled an engagement to go for an outing with Mrs. White on the island of Rügen, and had taken a suite next to his own at the Hotel Kaiserhof. We had, a great week together. We went down to Wittenberg and lived with the memories of Martin Luther. I believe it was largely at my suggestion that he wrote his exceedingly interesting "Recollections." He had passed his seventieth year and had grown quite deaf. And Roosevelt had hinted to me that he wanted the Berlin Embassy for another friend. He rethe doctor of the situation. signed and went to the Italian Riviera and completed his life story.

I told