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Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, March 23, 1924, Image 80

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Archibald Moffam, Hotel Guest
I 1 BY P. G. WODEHOUSE
The First Adventure of the Affeble Archie—Not So Funny to Mr. Brewster.
SAY, laddie;” said Archie.
I “Sir?” replied the desk clerk
I alertly. All the employes of
the Hotel Cosmopolis were
alert. It was one of the things on
which Mr. Daniel Brewster, the pro
prietor, insisted. And as he was al
ways Wandering about the lobby of
the hotel keeping a personal eye on
affairs, it was never safe to relax.
“I want to see the manager.”
"Is there anything I could do, sir?”
Archie looked at him doubtfully.
•‘Well, as a matter of fact, old man.
I want to kick up a fearful row, and
it seems hardly fair to lug you into it.
The blighter whose head I want on a
charger is the manager."
At this point, a massive gray-hairod
man, who had been standing close by.
joined in the conversation.
“I am the manager. What is your
complaint?” he inquired frigidly,
Archie attached himself to the top
button of Hr. Brewster’s coat, and
was immediately dislodged by an
irritable jerk of the other’s body.
’ I took a room here last night,”
said Archie, reaching absently for the
button again. ”a dashed expensive
room. And there was a beastly tap
outside somewhere that went drip
drjp-drip all night and kept me
awake. And I put my boots outside
my door when I went to bed, and
this morning they hadn’t been
touched. I give you my solemn word
• —not touched!”
"Naturally.” said Mr. Brewster. “My
employes are honest.”
‘But I wanted them cleaned, dash
it:”
’There is a shoe-shining parlor in
tho basement. At the Cosmopolis,
shoes left outside bedroom doors arc
not cleaned.”
•'Then I think tho Cosmopolis is a
bally rotten hotel;”
Mr. Brewster’s compact frame quiv
ered. The unforgivable insult had
born offered. He stiffened.
”In that case.” he said. “I must
ask you to give up your room."
‘‘l’m going to .give it up! I
wouldn't stay in the bally place
another minute.”
Mr. Brewster walked away, and
Archie charged, snorting, round to
the cashier’s window to demand his
bill. It had been his intention in any
ease, though, for dramatic purposes,
ho concealed it from his adversary,
to leave the hotel that morning. An
exchange of telegrams had resulted
in an invitation from his brother's
friend, Mrs. Van Tuyl, to her house
party at Miami, and Archie proposed
to go there at once.
“Well,” mused Archie, on his way to
tho station, “one thing's certain:
i ll never set foot in that bally place
again!”
But nothing in this world is certain.
It was about two weeks later that
a telegram arrived for Mr. Daniel
Brewster. Not that this was unusual,
for he was a man who received many
telegrams. But this one was rather
interesting. It ran:
Returning New York today with
darling Archie. Lots of love from
us both. LUCILLE.
** * *
TV JTI. BREWSTER was puzzled, not
iVI to say startled. When you send I
your only daughter away to Miami I
minus any entanglements, and she ]
mentions in a telegram that she has I
acquired a darling Archie who sends i
you lots of love, you are naturally j
startled. He recollected now that a!
letter had arrived from Lucille a day |
or two before, and he had put it away |
unopened till ho should have leisure!
to read it. He now hurried to his ;
suite and made a dive for the letter. I
It was a long letter. Boiling It j
down, it announced that Lucille had
met the most angelic man. an Eng
lishman, and they were both so much
in love with each other that they had
simply been compelled to slip off and
get married at once. Otherwise, they j
would have kept him posted about j
things earlier. And. anyway, darling ]
Archie had wanted a quiet wedding, \
because he said a fellow looked such ]
a chump getting married. As he must |
T*-a.m to love Archie, because Archie j
was all set to love him very much.
Mr. Brewster sat abruptly down
and breathed heavily through bis
nose.
At about the same time, in a draw
ing room on the express from Miami.
Archie Moffam sat contemplating his
bride. His brain had been in some
thing of a whirl these last days, but
one thought had always emerged
clearly from the welter —the thought
that this was too good to be true.
“Honestly, old bean —I mean, dear
old thing—l mean, darling," said
Archie, “I can't believe it!”
“What?”
“What 1 mean is, I can’t under
stand why you should have married
me.”
Lucille's eyes opened. She squeez
ed his hand.
“Why, you're the most wonderful
thing in the world, precious! Surely
you know that?”
"Absolutely escaped my notice. Arc
you sure?”
“Os course I'm sure, you wonder
child! Nobody could see you without
loving you!”
Archie heaved an ecstatic sigh.
Then a thought crossed his mind.
“I say. I wonder if your father
Will think that.”
"Os course he will!”
“We've rather sprung this, as it
were, on the old lad,” said Archie
dubiously. "What sort of man is your
father?”
“Father’s a darling, too.”
"Rummy thing he should own that
•hotel,” said Archie. "I had a fright
ful row with a blighter of a manager
I there just before I left for Miami.
Tour father ought to sack that chap.
He was a blot on the landscape.”
** * *
IT bad been settled by Lucille during
the journey that Archie should bo
broken g-ently to his father-in-law'.
That is to say, instead of bounding
blithely into Mr. Brewster's presence
hand in hand, the happy pair should
separate for half an hour or so, while
lAieille saw her father. Then, having
impressed Mr. Brewster sufficiently
with his luck in having acquired
Archie for a son-in-law, she would
lead blip to where his hit of good
fortune awaited him.
The program worked out admirably
in its earlier stages. When the two
emerged from Mr. Brewster’s room to
meet Archie, Mr. Brewster's general
idea was that Fortune had presented
him with a son-in-law who combined
in equal parts the more admirable
i characteristics of Apollo. Sir Galahad
! and Marcus Aurelius. True, he had
: gathered. In the course of the ron
j versatlon, that dear Archie had no ;
j occupation and no private means, hut
! Mr. Brewster felt that a great-souled j
| man like Archie didn't need them. J
| You can’t have everything. Mr ;
[ Brewster proceeded to the lobby in a ;
• glow of optimism' and geniality. Con
j sequently, when lie perceived Archie, j
. he got a hit of a shock. .
"Hullo-ullo-ullo,” said Archie, ad
. i vancing happily.
"Archie, darling, this is father,”
j said Lucille.
[ “Ooo’ heavens!” said Archie. >
There was one of those silences.
Mr. Brewster looked at Archie. 1
j Archie gazed at Mr. Brewster. Lu- i
i cille, perceiving, without understand-*
ing why, that the big introduction |
' scene had stubbed its toe on some I
' j unlooked-for obstacle, waited anx- I
ilously for enlightenment. Mr. Brew-t
| ster swallowed once or twice and j
j finally spoke.
I ”Yes. father?”
"Is this true.’”
j “True?”
I "Have you really wished this—this
on me for a son-in-law?” Mr. Brew
ster swallowed a few more limes.
i
, “Go away! Want to have a few
i words alone with this—this—wass
• yourname,” he demanded, addressing
Archie for the first time.
“I told you, father. It’s Moom.”
' "Moom?”
j “It's spelt M-o-f-f-a-m. but pro-'
{ pounced Moom.”
i "To rime," said Archie helpfully, j
“with Bluffinghame.”
"Lu,” said Mr. Brewster, ’’run away. I
I want to speak to —to —to -”
“You called mo this before,” said i
Archie.
“You aren’t angry - , father dear ” |
said Lucille.
"Oh, no! Oh, no! I'm tickled to \
, death!”
"Bit embarrassing, all this—what?”)
I said Archie chattily. ”1 mean to say. j
j having met before in less happy circs J
and whatnot. Rum coincidence and i
so forth. How would it be to bury j
tho jolly old hatchet —start a new |
life—forgive and forget—iearn to j
love each other —and all that sort of ,
rot? I'm game if you are. How do j
we go? Is it a bet?”
** * *
TV/JR. BREWSTER remained entirely |
I unsoffoned by this manly appeal
to his better feelings.
I "What the devil do you mean, you— |
ij-ou panetela, by marrying my daugh- I
1 ter?”
Archie reflected.
“Well, it sort of happened, don't \
you know. You know how these :
things are. Young yourself once and (
all that. I was most frightfully in |
love, and Lu seemed to think it
wouldn’t be a bad scheme, and one j
thing led to another, and —well, there {
you are. don’t you know.”
I "And I suppose you think you've ■
i done pretty well for yourself?”
1 “Oh, absolutely! As far as I’m con- j
| cerned, everything’s topping. I’ve i
j never felt so braced in my life!”
“Yes,” said Mr. Brewster, with bit- }
! terness; “I suppose, from your view- j
! point, everything is ‘topping.’ You j
j haven’t a cent to your name, and ■
! you've managed to fool a rich man's
: daughter into marrying you. I sup-
I pose you looked me up in Bradstreet
: before committing yourself?”
From boyhood up, Archie Moffam
had never been one of the world’s
great thinkers. Until this moment. It
had honestly never struck him that,
- when you married a girl and hadn’t
j any money, you might find it hard to
j support her.
] “I say!” he observed, with dismay.
■ "I never looked at it like that be
| fore. I can sec from your point of
•HLIXO—ULLO—LLLO!” SAID ARCHIE, ADVANCING HAPPILT.
THE SUNDAY (STAR, WASHINGTON, 1). MARCH 23. 11)24-PART 5.
view tnis thing must look like a bit
of a washout.”
“How do you propose to support
Lucille, anyway?”
Archie ran a finger round the in
side of his collar.
“Well, there, old bean,” he admit
ted frankly, “you rather have me.’
; He turned the matter over for a mo
ment. ”1 had a sort of idea of, as it
] were, working, if you know what 1 !
1 mean.”
i "Working at what?”
j "Now, there again you stump nu
; somewhat. The genera) scheme was
that I should kind of look round, you
, know, and nose about and buzz to
and fro till something turned up.
That was, broadly speaking, tho
gadget.”
"And how did you suppose my 1
. daughter was to live-while you were j
! doing all this?"
"Well, I think,” said Archie, ”1 i
1 think we rather expected you to rally j
1 rounij a bit for the nonce.”
j "1 see. You expected to live on me?" I
I "Well, you put it a bit crudely, but 1
j —as far as I had mapped anything ■
( out —that was what you might call j
j the general scheme of procedure, j
J You don’t think much of it—what? j
j Yes? No?”
! Mr. Brewster exploded.
1 "No: I do not think much of U! j
i You go out of rny hotel—my hotel— ;
calling it all the names you could ‘
think of.”
"Trifle hasty,'* murmured Archie, [
apologetically. "Spoke without think- j
►ng. Dashed tap had gone drip-drip- j
drip all night—kept me awake— i
hadn’t had break fast—bygones be by- j
gones ” [
"Don’t interrupt me! I say you go 1
j out of my hotel knocking it as no j
j one lias ever knocked it since it was j
| built, and you sneak straight off and
| marry my daughter without my ,
| knowledge ”
j "Did think of wiring for blessing, j
i Slipped the old bean, somehow. You J
j know one forgets things.”
‘ "And now you come back and calm- |
jlv expect me to fling ray arms round!
!you and kiss you and support you for
jthe rest of your life ”
"Only while I’m nosing about and i
•buzzing to and fro.”
i "Well, I'll tell you exactly what I j
'propose to do. You think my hotel is aj
1 pretty poor hotel, eh? Well, you’ll |
jhave plenty of opportunity of judging;
ibecause you're coming to live here. |
! I’ll let you have a suite and I'll let j
| you have, your meals, but outside of!
jthat, nothing doing! Nothing doing! j
jDo you understand what I mean?” j
! "Absolutely. You mean ‘napoo.’” j
| "You can sign checks for a reason- j
able amount in my restaurant, and the|
j hotel will look after your laundry. But 1
inot a cent do you get out of me. And. j
lif you want your shoes shined, you !
jean pay for it yourself in the base
|ment If you leave them outside your i
idoor. I’ll instruct the floor-waiter to;
'throw them down the air-shaft. Do I
jyou understand? Good! Now, is there I
■anything more you want to ask?”
, Archie smiled a prefatory smile,
j "Well, as a matter of fact. I was go
[ing to ask you if you would stagger
j along and have a bite with us in the \
! grill-room.”
"I will not!”
I "I'll sign the check,” said Archie j
j ingratiatingly. “You don’t think much j
iof it? Oh, right-o!”
** * *
j 'T'O be set down at tho Cosmopolis ;
j A with a free suite and a free hand
in the matter of signing checks for!
meals would have been most New!
Y’orkers’ idea of heaven. For ai
month Archie was perfectly happy: |
then, gradually he got dashed fed-up
with the place.
It was at the end of this first month j
that he became really intimate with *
Salvatore.
Salvatore was the dark, sinister
looking waiter who attended to the
table at the far end of the grill-room
at which Archie usually sat. Archie’s
conversations with the other dealt ex
clusively with the bill of fare and its
contents; but, as he began to long for
human companionship, he found him
self becoming more personal. Besides,
Salvatore was a man with a griev
tance. Archie had always lacked that
] reserve which characterizes most Brit
-1 tons, and since the war, he had looked
on nearly everybody he met as a
brother.
"There’s something- on your mind,
old thing," said Archie.
"Sure?”
"I say there would appear to be
something on your mind besides your
jhair. What seems to be the trouble?”
I Tlic waiter shrugged his shoulders as
lif indicating an unwillingness to In
jtlict his troubles upon one of the tip
iping classes. “Come on,” said Archie
'encouragingly; “ail pals here. Barge
1 alone, old bean, and let’s have it.”
Salvatore, thus urged, proceeded in
I a hurried undertone—with one eye on
idle head waiter —to lay bare his soul.
! What he said was not very coherent,
I but Archie could make out enough of
jit to gather that it was a very bad
; story of excessive hours,
j “Always,” said Salvatore, "always—
(always —I am in this hotel.”
j “I know what you mean, laddie,”
j said Archie feelingly. He tapped the
■ waiter earnestly on the chest with his
(oyster fork. "My dear old chap,” he
j said, "there’s only one thing to be
j dono. You must strike. It’s the only
. scheme. Everybody’s doing it now.”
I Salvatore shrugged his shoulders
| again. It appeared that he had already
’sounded the other waiters gaardedly
I on the matter of a strike, but the
{ spineless peons seemed to bo unwill
j ing to jeopardize their jobs by mak
! ing any demonstration. And you
! couldn’t strike by yourself.
j The reasonableness of this was
jplain to Archie. Ho mused a while,
j “I’ll toll you what,” he said at last,
j "You come along with me when
| you’re off duty, and we’ll heard the
| old boy in his den. I’ll introduce you,
! and he’ll probably hand you his bank
| roll."
! The result was that Mr. Brewster,
(busy with acounts in his private room,
j was infuriated that evening by the
I entry of his son-in-law, beading a
| procession consisting of himself and
! a dark, furtive person who looked
| like something connected with the
I executive staff of the black hand.
I "Not interrupting you—what?” bc
j gaj>. Archie amiably. "I say, I suppose
| you're probably old pals. If not, let
I me do the honors. Mr. Brewster, our
1 courteous and popular boss—Salva
i tore, the Italian Whirlwind. Seconds
j out! Time! Go to it, laddie! Spill the
j bad news!”
j And before Mr. Brewster could get
j his breath, Salvatore had begun to
■ spill. Though not a linguist. Mr.
' Brewster could follow the discourse
! closely enough to realize that the
waiter was dissatisfied with condi
tions in his hotel. And Mr. Brewster
had a short way with people who
criticized the Cosmopolis.
j “You’re fired!” said Mr. Brewster,
j Salvatore receded, muttering what
(sounded like a passage from Dante,
j "And I wish to heaven,” added Mr.
! Brewster, eyeing his son-in-law ma
| lignantly, "I could fire you!”
** * *
BUT Mr. Brewster was not so eas
ily to be rid of the humble Sal
[ vatorc. In fact, that dark individual
i was destined to be a source of con-
I siderable worry to the builder of
I hotels.
i The details of the business were at
I first hidden from Archie, and he made
[ no effort to probe into them. It was
I Lucille who apprised him of the na
-1 ture of the trouble.
• “Archie, darling,” she said, one aft
s ernoon, as they sat at lunch, "it’s
i such a shame about father!”
i There wiw a troubled lo ( ok in Lu
■ cilia’s gray eyes.
i "He's worried just now. you know."
"I didn’t know. He doesn't confide in
me much.”
"He's worried about that waiter.”
"What waiter, queen of my soul!”
"A man called Salvatore. Father dis
■ missed him some time ago.”
i "Salvatore!”
“Ho used to wait on this table.”
"Why ’’
“And father dismissed him, appar
ently, and now there’s all sorts of
trouble.”
“I remember tho chappie. VVTfcg'a be
been doing?”
“Well, you know father wants to build
1 a new hotel, and he thought he’d got the '
site and everything and could start
t building right away, and now Lhisiman
1 ’ Salvatore’s mother owns a little news
paper and tobacco shop right in tho mid
dle of tho site where father wants to (
j build, and there’s rjp way of getting
1 him out without buying the shop, and
(ho won't sell. At least, he’s made his |
! mother promise that she won’t.”
j "A boy’s best friend is his mother,"
said Archie approvingly,
j "So father’s in despair.”
| "I knew my old friend Salvatore would j
come out strong in the end if you only '
gave him time. Great pal of mine, j
Brainy sort.”
Lucille’s sma'l face lightened. She
gazed at Archie with proud affection. I
She had known all along that he was
the one to solve this difficulty.
‘'You’re wonderful, darling! la he
really a friend of yours?”
i "Absolutely! Quite the old college
j chum.”
; "Then it's ail right. If you went to
him and got him to sell his shop, father
would be happy.”
“1 know. That is the objection, of
course.” „■
i “Think how grateful father would be
to you! It would make all the differ
ence:”
Archie turned this over in his mind.
”1 see what you mean. How much did
your father offer the johnnto for his
shop?”
"I don’t know. There ia father. Call
him over and ask him.”
Archie glanced over to where Mr.
Brew-ster had sunk moodily into a chair
at a neighboring table.
I “You call him.” he said. "You know
him better.”
"Let's go over to him."
They crossed the room. Lucille sat
down opposite her father. Archie draped
himself over a chair in the background.
’’Father, dear,” said Lucille. “Archie
has got an idea.”
“Archie?” said Mr. Brewster, incred
ulously.
’This is me,” said Archie, indicating
himself with a spoon, "the tall, dis
tinguished looking bird.”
“What new fool thing is he up to
now?”
"It's a splendid idea, father. He wants
to help you over your new hotel.”
"Wants to run it for me, 1 suppose?”
"By jove,” said Archie reflectively,
“that’s not a bad scheme! I never
thought of running a hotel. I shouldn't
mind taking a stab at it.”
“He has thought of away of getting
rid of Salvatore and his shop.”
For tho first lime Mr. Brewster’s inter
est in the conversation seemed to stir.
He looked sharply at his son-in-law.
“He has, has he?” he said.
Archie balanced a roll on a fork and |
inserted a plate underneath. The roll j
bounded away in a comer.
“Sorry!” said Archie. ”My fault, abso- 1
lately! 1 owe you a roll. I’ll sign a
check for it. Oh. about this sportsman,
Salvatore. Well, it’s like this, you know:
Ho and I are great pals. Lu was sug
gesting that I seek him out in his lair
and ensnare him with my diplomatic
i MR. BREWSTER'S FRAME QUIVERED. THE UNFORGIVABLE INSULT HAD BEEN OFFERED.
j manner and superior brain power and
what not"
"It was your idea, precious," said
Lucille.
Mr. Brewster was silent. Much as
it went against the gram to have to !
admit it, there seemed to be some- |
thing in this.
"What do you propose to do?’’
“Act as a good old agent. How
much did you offer the chappie?” i
“Three thousand dollars. Twice a.s
much as the place is worth. lie's
holding out on me for revenge.”
"Ah, but bow did you offer it to
Kim—what? I mean to say. 1 bet
you pot your lawyer to write him a
letter full of wheieases, peradven- j
tures and parties of 'the first part
and so forth. No good, old com
panion!” I
"Don’t call me ‘old campanion.’ "
"All wrong, laddie! Nothing like
it. dear heart! No good at all, friend
of my youth! Take It from your
uncle Archibald! What 'you ought to
do is to let me go and see him, tak
ing the stuff in crackling bills. I'll
roll them about on the table in
front of him. I'll tell you what to
do; Give me three thousand of the j
best and crispest, and I’ll undertake I
to buy that shop, it can’t fail, lad
die.”
"Don't call me 'laddie.’ ” Mr. Brew
ster pondered. "Very well," he said
at last ”1 didn’t know you had so
much sense,” he added grudgingly.
"Oh, positively!” said Archie. "Be
neath a rugged exterior I hide a
brain like a buzz-saw. ‘Sense?’ 1
exude it, laddie; I drip with it.”
•** * *
r T , IIERE were moments during tho
ensuing days when Mr. Brewster
permitted himself to hope, but more
frequent were the moments when, he
told himself that a pronounced chump
liko his son-in-law could not fail
somehow to make a mess of the ne
j gotiations. His relief, therefore.
when Archie curveted into his pri-
I vate room and anounccd that he had
j succeeded was great.
"You really managed to make that
I fellow oell out?”
| Archie brushed some papers off the I
I desk with a careless gesture and !
j seated himself on the vacant spot,
j "Absolutely! 1 spoke to him as one
j old friend to another, sprayed the
• bills all over the place, and he sang
a few bars from Tligoletto’ and
signed on the dotted line.”
“You're not such a fool as you
look,” owned Mr. Brewster.
Archie scratched a match on the
desk and lighted a cigarette.
"It’s a jolly little shop,” he said.
“I took quite a fancy to it. Full 0 j
newspapers, don’t you know, and I
sonic weird-looking sort of choco
lates and cigars. T think I’ll make '
a success of it. It’s bang in the
' middle of a dashed good neighbor- (
hood. One of these days, somebody 1
I will be building a big hotel round !
j about there, and that’ll help trade a 1
| lot I look forward to ending my !
| days on the other side of the counter j
with a full set of white whiskers
and a skull-cap, beloved by every- i
body. Everybody'll say; ‘Oh, you ,
must patronize that quaint delight- j
ful old blighter, lie’s quite a char- 1
acter.’ ”
Mr. Brewster's air of grim, satis
faction had given way to a look of
discomfort, almost of alarm. He
presumed his son-in-law was merely !
indulging in badinage, but, even so. i
his words were not soothing,
j “Well, I’m much obliged,” he said,
j “Now I can start building right
, away.”
Archie raised his eyebrow?.
’ But, my dear old lop, I’m sorry to
spoil your daydreams and ?top you
chasing railbows and all that, but
aren’t you forgetting that the shop
belongs to me? I don’t know that 1
want to sell.”
"X gave you the money to buy that !
shop!”
"And dashed generous of you it
was, too!” admitted Archie unreserv
edly. “Some day. when I’m the news
paper and tobacco shop king, I’ll tell
the world all about it in my auto
biography.”
Mr. Brewster rose dangerously from
his seat.
“Do you think you can hold me up,
you—you angleworm?”
“Well,” said Archie, "the way I
War Gas, Turned to Peace Channel.
Used to Make Umbrella Handles
PARIS, March 6. I
HIDDEN away in the century
old College de France there
Is a chemical laboratory
which is not one of the sights
iof Paris. But when the enemy dur
j ing the bitter war began using his
j poison gases on the French a chemist
j too old to fight soon invented in this
j laboratory an asphyxiating gas that
; fought back powerfully.
"hat are these French chemists
doing with this gas now that peace
has come ?
They are manufacturing it—and
using it—moro than ever. Put a jar
of it to your nose and one whiff will
make your nose smart horribly all
tho way down to the throat, which
will close up and suffocate, pushing
torrents of tears from your poor eyes.
But no one smells it nowadays. It
| is solidified—and behold, how nice,
i You can get it in umbrella handles, !
1 in cigarette holders, in paper -weights
‘ —in all sorts of movable little dcco
-1 rativc objects. Only amber could be
used so ornamentally—and we all
know what an amber mouthpiece
costs. This is cheap. Also, it is
harder than ebonite and it can be
used in the same way.
As an insulator of electricity, it is
] no end better than that vulcanized
I compound of India rubber and sul
j phur. If you understand chemistry
i and want to know more, why, this
j.war gas "acroleine” is subjected to
“catalysis” and it comes out "orca”—
tho ornament of peace,
j The inventor of the war gas was
j Prof. Lepape, who still works in this
i laboratory. His chief is the vener-
I able Prof. Moreu, who is great in
[ medical as well as in ordinary chcm-
J istry (Pasteur, remember, was never
a medical doctor at all). With them
are ITof. Du Graisae and the younger
Moreu, and a number of young chem
ists of good will, for they will never
earn here the money they might have
in industrial chemistry. But they all
work together on the discovery of |
war and turn it into works of peace—
a modern instance of beating swords
Into plowshares and pruning hooks.
Perhaps in time great French in
dustries may give these laboratories
of high science tho money they need.
Liebig said in his time;
“Chemical discoveries arc in in
verse ratio of importance to the mag
nificence of laboratories.”
In this particular laboratory Prof.
Moreu studies specially the ill-smell
ing acetylene, which wc all know
from the glare of its lamps. From
derivatives of this disagreeable thing
he has evolved sweet perfumes In
great variety, and ladies sprinkle
them on their cloaks and furs and
purple raiment and fine linen, to the
delighted wonderment of men drawn
After them. No one reproaches them
With smelling like, an automobile
look at it is this; Ever since we me.
you’ve been after me to become one
of the world’s workers and earn :
living for myself and what-not, ami
now I sec away to repay you for
your confidence and encouragement.
; You’ll look me up sometimes at the
; good old shop, won’t you?” He slid
| off the table and moved toward lie
door. “There won’t be any forma!
• ities where you are concerned. You
j can sign checks for any reasonable
j amount any time you want a cigar or
J a stick of chocolate. Well, toodle-oo’
“Stop!”
j “Now what?”
“How much do you want for that
: shop?”
“I don’t want any money. I want a
job. If you arc going to take my
lifewerk away from me, you ought to
i give me something else to do.”
I “What job?”
“You suggested it yourself the
other day. I want to manage your
new hotel.”
“Don’t be a fool! What do you
j know about managing a hotel?"
“Nothing. It will be your pleasing
! task to teach me the business while
the shanty is being run up.”
There was a pause, while Mr. Brew
! ster chewed up three inches off a
penholder.
! “Very well,” he said at last.
“Topping!” said Archie. “I knew
| you’d sec it. I’ll study yonr methods
j —what? Adding some of my own, of
j course. You know, I’ve thought of
■ one improvement on the Cosmopolis
i already.”
i “’lmprovement on the Cosmope
i lis’’” cried Mr. Brewster, gashed in
j his finest feelings.
“Y'es. There’s one point where the
j old Cosmopolis slips up badly, and
| I’m going to see that it’s corrected at
jmy little shack. Customers will be
; entreated to leave their boots outside
their doors at night, and they’ll find
them cleaned in the morning. Well,
pip-pip! 1 must be popping. Time is
money, you know.”
(Copyright, 1924.1
I chauffeur, because they do not. lie
may smell of acetylene gas, but they
emit only the fragrance of these
acetylene products transformed by
the new chemistry.
This is not the best of it. Those
whoso hands touch automobiles and
all who mix up with oils, vegetable or
animal, may smell less evilly than
they do because of another discovery
of Prof. Moreu's laboratory. It smells
itself like onion soup, but a few
drops of it in the biggest tin of such
oils will keep them from fuming ran
cid when opened to the air.
“This,” says Prof. Moreu, “is an
antioxygen body. It has tho prop
erty of preventing the free oxygen
of the air from combining with other
bodies and oxidizing them. It is
liquid and easy to handle and a great
advantage to many industries."
Certain rare gases connected with
radio-activity have been fonnd and
investigated of late years. Some of
these arc of direct interest to the
general public. For example, there
are certain mineral waters which are
much more powerful in their influ
ence on the human body and its
workings when taken at the springs
than when they arc bottled and drunk
at a distance. Tho popular idea has
been that this is due to some pres
ence of radium gas, which is more or
less true. It is being investigated in
i this same laboratory.
Another more universal fact of life
is the object of systematic observa
tions and researches here and In the
university laboratory of tho Sorbonne
and at the Arts and Trades Conserva
tory. This is photo-chemistry—the
influence of light in the assimilation
by plants of carbon in tho air—and
then beasts assimilate the plants and
wc assimilate the beasts. It is like
Anacreon's verse;
“Tho rivers drink the rains—the
ocean drinks the rivers—th* ski
drinks up the ocean —the rains drink
j down the sky—
" And why should not I drink?”
Chemistry Investigates the natural
process and shows how it can bn
utilized in human industry. No one
will laugh at this, remembering what
wireless waves, after long watching,
arc now doing for us all.
Another section of this one Pans
laboratory is devoted to measuring
the amount of heat given off in each
chemical reaction. This, too. should
have no end of practical results. A
final section observes facts which
lead for the present only to pure
theory—how the least atom is con
stituted and how it builds up tho
molecule.
Remember, again, what such theo
retical investigation has been giving
us in electricity—and let us respjet
these workers.
STERLING HLTLTO.

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