The Bluffton news. [volume], January 06, 1944, Image 7

About The Bluffton news. [volume] (Bluffton, Ohio) 1875-current

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SYNOPSIS
CHAPTER I—Edward Thomas
Marion Lawton Hargrove, feature
editor of the Charlotte (N. C.) News,
receives notice from his draft board
that he is to be inducted into the
army. Before he begins an account
ing of his actual experiences in
training camp he issues his quota
of free advice to prospective in
ductee. After his induction Har
grove, with his new buddies, leaves
for Fort Bragg, where he is to re
ceive his basic training.
CHAPTER II—Private Hargrove
tells of the physical exam, the first
few days of army, how he was out
fitted with his uniform, and how on
the sixth day he received his first
KP duty. He is classified as a semi
skilled cook.
CHAPTER III—Hargrove
his conversation with his sergeant
who is trying to find out why he
spends so much time on KP duty.
He also reports on the session the
trainees are put through by the ex
ercise sergeant. He has trouble
learning how to handle his rifle and
is given plenty of special attention
by the sergeant and corporal.
CHAPTER IV—Private
Private Hargrove!
by
Marion Hargrove
relates
Hargrove
relates some of the incidents sur
rounding the advancement in rank
by some of his friends. Why he
fails to so advance is a puzzle to
his sergeant, who inquires about it
CHAPTER V—Hargrove
a review of his
is given
faults by his ser­
geant who tells him to snap out of
it and start working for his cor
poral’s stripes. He also gets a les
son in the art of goldbricking.
CHAPTER VI—Private
goes to visit
Hargrove
lists a series of army slang defini
tions for the enlightenment of the
civilian population. He also tells
how he and two of his pals spoil a
perfectly good date for one Private
Zuber. Going home on furlough
he
a newspaperman friend
who dominates their conversation
recounting his experiences in the
first World War. He also under
goes another trying experience
inspection.
CHAPTER VH—Private
at
Hargrove
continues to relate the incidents sur
rounding his camp life and tells
about being outfitted for an over
coat. A week-end is spent on man
euvers on the South Carolina coast.
He gets a good case of sunburn.
CHAPTER VIII—Hargrove
CHAPTER IX—How
gets
his first taste of army cooking
school reports on his daily activi
ties there. He tells also about the
real meaning of army morale and
how it affects new inductees.
the evening
bull sessions progress and how much
the soldiers enjoy them are the sub
ject of Private Hargrove’s next re
port. He learns he has been re
classified to do public relations work
on the camp paper.
CHAPTER X—The
old gang,
formed in the first days of training,
begins to break up and Hargrove
tells about a “going away” party
for some of them. He releases a
supplement to his dictionary of army
slang.
CHAPTER XI—Hargrove
gets his
first ten-day furlough and heads for
New York. He meets one of his
friends from camp and duly im
presses him by buying him a lunch
at an exclusive hotel. Back at camp,
he goes on KP duty for Thanksgiv
ing Day.
(Continued from last week)
“Well, ’Simmons,” Johnny said,
“it’s like they told you before you
came in. The Army will certainly
make a man of you. Look at Har
grove there. He'd never done a
good day’s work in his life before
he got into the Army. Now he’s the
potato-peeling champion of five reg
iments.”
“Private Lisk,” I said coldly, “let
us not bring personalities into this.”
Fortunately, Miss Scarborough,
senior hostess of the Service Club,
passed by and I was able to yank
her into the company. The discus
sion was avoided.
-Im-
Reading through the camp news
paper the other day, I noticed sto
ries written by Pvt. T. Mulvehill,
Private Thos. Mulvehille, Pfc. Tom,
Mulvehill, Thomas Mulvehill (pfc.)
and various other authors whose
names bore startling resemblance to
Thomas Mulvehill, Pvt. or Pfc.
The collection of literary and
journalistic contributions to the Fort
Bragg Post were all marked by the
same flair for rhetoric, the true gift
of gab, and a certain rich and gor
geous sentimentality. In the midst
of a factual story about a group of
college girl choristers coming to
Fort Bragg for a concert, the steady
journalistic strain would suddenly
burst into brilliant and majestic
phrases such as “The Blankth Bat
talion recreation hall will burst into
golden sound next Tuesday night
when the angelic voices of thirty
lovely Zilch College young ladies
present a recital .” or “the Gen
eral’s little eight-year-old son, awed
by the solemnity of the occasion,
clung to his daddy’s hand through
out the impressive ceremonies.”
This is what is known as the Mul
vehill Touch.
The Mulvehill Touch is supplied at
Fort Bragg by the Public Relations
Office’s irrepressible and inimit
able whirling dervish, Black Tom
Mulvehill, a fantastic and unbeliev
able Irish tyro, who came from New
York City by way of Salt Lake City,
Utah. Mulvehill of the great head
and the shaggy locks, Mulvehill of
the lumbering walk, the man of a
thousand faces and a thousand
voices—Mulvehill is the Public Re
lations Office’s one spark of true
glamour, our hope of immortality.
Mulvehill is everywhere at all
times. Out of every hundred photo
graphs taken at Fort Bragg—offi
cial or personal, professional or am
ateur—it is safe to say that the
flexible face of Private Mulvehill
will beam out at you from ninety
five of them. Photographers have
no idea of how he gets into the
pictures, but a picture of any “Rec”
hall in the Center show Mulve
hill playing ping-pong. (He’s the one
nearest the camera.)
Mulvehill’s next greatest talent is
his ability to create wildness and
confusion at will. His desk drawers
bulge and spill great quantities of
unrelated papers, old notes, news
paper clippings, and weird personal
effects. His working schedule and
methods are chaotic and unfathom
able. He can write six stories at
once, using every needed typewriter
in the building.
CHAPTER XII
Orville D. Pope, Mess Sergeant
of Headquarters Battery and mas
ter of all he surveys (so long as he
stays in the kitchen), strolled past
our table like a happy night-club
owner inspecting his saloon.
Photographer Bushemi lifted a
forkful of creamed potatoes to his
mouth, made a sour face and insert
ed the potatoes as if they were sea
soned with liniment. Don Bishop,
the public relations reporter who
sometimes shows a streak of sheer
sanity, lifted his coffee, held his
nose and drank it.
“Sergeant Pope,” I said in a small
voice, “earlier in the course of this
supper I told you that I had never
tasted anything harder or drier than
the bread you served us tonight. I
want to take that back, Pope. When
I said that, I hadn’t tasted your
peanut butter.’’
Sergeant Pope paused and gazed
at us with heavy disgust. “The
gentlemen of the press,” he said.
“There ought to be something in the
Articles of War about letting guys
like you into a respectable mess
hall.”
“Then after they wrote that Arti
cle of War,” said Bishop, “they
could put in an amendment about
letting us in mess halls like this
one of yours.”
“Some chow you’re putting out
these days, Pope,” said Bushemi.
“Like nothing I ever ate—unfortu
nately! What are you doing—saving
money to get married?”
“You’re the only ones I ever hear
griping about the chow in this bat
tery,” said Pope. “You’re the only
ones I ever have trouble with. You
three and Mulvehill. If I’ll pay for
your food, won’t you please take all
your meals at the Service Club?”
“Let’s leave Mulvehill’s name out
of this,” I said. “Poor, poor, old
Mulvehill. We knew him well. He
was a good boy, was the Lieuthom
as.”
“I noticed the place is so quiet to
night that you can even hear Bu
shemi eating his celery,” said the
sergeant. “Where is your dear
friend Mulvehill, the bum?”
“You have run him over the hill,”
said Bishop. “Your food and your
mess hall and your brutishly foul
mouth have driven him away. He
has deserted from the Army and
his guilt is upon your hands.”
“You know the one thing that’s
missing from this meal—the one
thing that would make it perfect?”
asked Bushemi.
“Ice cream?” asked the mess ser
geant.
“Chloroform,” said Bushemi.
Pope slapped his forehead might
ily. “Why couldn’t I have been a
dud-picker, a horse valet, a suicide
submarineman anything but a
mess sergeant? Where is Mulve
hill?” He wrinkled his forehead.
“Say! He wasn’t here at break
fast either.”
“Nor lunch,” said Bishop. “Nor
supper, nor lunch, nor breakfast yes
terday.”
“He has gone over the hill,” I
said, gloomily. “He has deserted.”
“Let’s see,” said the sergeant.
“He wasn’t here all day today and
he didn’t come in yesterday and he
didn’t show up for supper the night
before last. Is he sick?”
“He would have been,” said Bish
op, “if he hadn’t got a decent meal
soon.”
“I can remember Mulvehill just
like he was right here with us even
now,” I said. “He was a fine, no
ble, sensitive lad. He had a beauti
ful career before him in the Army.
Fate can ruin any of us by tossing in
the tiniest little monkey wrench—or
the toughest little biscuit. I hated
to see Mulvehill go over the hill.”
“Cut the clowning.” the sergeant
wailed, convinced at last that Mulve
hill had flown. “You can’t make me
think that he left because of my
food. Where is he?”
“That,” sighed Bishop, “is what
the War Department would like to
know.”
Pope began drumming unconsci
ously on the table. “I know my food
is as good as any in the Center.
That ain’t it. Did he take offense
at something I said to him and start
eating at the Service Club?”
Acton Dennington Hawkins the
Third, chief cook, passed by.
“Where’s your friend Mulvehill?” he
asked us.
“Oh,” said Bushemi, forgetting the
play, “Mulvehill’s on furlough.”
The mess sergeant rose with a
roar. “The day shall come!” he
screamed. “You’ll all be on KP one
of these days! Oh, will you suffer
and will I enjoy myself! Finish your
supper and get out of my mess
hall! Get out! GET OUT!”
-m-
J_‘As if I didn’t have enough trou-
£jSL.
„t5.uci
w
ble on my hands with payday,” said
Top Sergeant Tate, “now I have to
be exposed to the sight of you. Be
brief.”
“Sergeant,” I began, “when I
hear people say a soldier can’t live
on the pay he makes, I’d like to
show them myseif as a living proof
that he can.”
“Quit beating your gums,” he
said, “and get to the point. You
didn't come in here to compliment
the Army on its pay. And take your
cap off when you're in the orderly
room.”
“I didn’t come to compliment no
body nor nothing,” I said, laying my
cap on the corner of his desk. "I
just came in to see if the War De
partment is mad at me. They
haven't given me a cent of salary
since the first of October.”
“What in the sweet name of heav
en are you talking about?” the top
kick hooted, handing me back the
cap. “We’ve had two regular pay
days, including the one today. And
we’ve had two supplementary pay
rolls for people who missed the reg
ular paydays.”
“Mind you,” I put in, “I’m not
complaining. I eat regularly and I
have a roof over my head. I can
get haircuts and movie tickets
and cigarettes and shoe polish on
credit, but I certainly would like
a little cash spending money from
time to time.”
“Well,” he groaned, slapping his
desk wearily, “here we go again,
Hargrove, the boy who makes a
top kick’s life exciting! Hargrove
the hopeless—the sloppy bunk on in
spection day, the soap in the soup,
the thorn in the side. Hargrove, the
boy who can take the simplest
problem and reduce it to its most
confusing form. Now let’s start at
the beginning ai»d take the whole
thing slowly. You haven’t been paid
since October first. How come?”
“That was because when the No
vember first payday came around,
I had just got here. I signed the
October payroll in my old battery.”
“All right,” he said patiently,
counting off a finger. “That’s one
payday. That brings us up to No
vember tenth, the day of the supple
mentary payroll, when you should
have got the pay you missed on
the first. Did you sign the supple
mentary payroll for that occasion?”
“Yes, sir,” I insisted. “Then when
the supplementary payday came
around, something happened. Or to
be more correct, nothing happened.
I still didn’t get paid.”
“That’s two paydays you missed,”
the sergeant sighed. “I will check
into the second later. Now—what
about today’s pay?”
“I missed out on that one too. The
battery commander couldn’t find my
signature on the payroll.”
“Isn’t that just too utterly delight
ful?” he cooed. “Couldn’t find your
signature on the payroll! You know,
I’ll bet some nasty old thing came
along with ink eradicator and erased
your signature from it! If your sig
nature wasn’t on the payroll, Pri
vate Hargrove, it was because you
hadn’t signed the payroll!”
“That makes sense,” I conceded.
He patted me on both shoulders,
a little heavily, and I cowered.
“Wait just a minute, Private Har
grove,” he said sweetly. “Let sar
gie-wargie see what he can find out
about the nasty old payroll.”
He returned in a few minutes,
frowning wearily. “Private Har
grove,” he sighed, “dear Private
Hargrove! You didn’t draw your
pay on the tenth of November be
cause you weren’t here on the tenth!
You were on furlough! And you
didn’t sign the payroll for today be
cause you were on furlough while it
was being signed. Your modest pay
“Wait just a minute, Private Har
grove,” he said sweetly, “Let sar
gie-wargie see what he can find out
about our nasty payroll.”
for October has been in the battery
safe for three weeks, just waiting
for you to get around to picking it
up.”
He took a small envelope from be
hind his back. “Twenty-one dollars
for services rendered through the
month of October. Harrumph! Mi
nus two-forty for theater tickets, mi
nus a dollar for haircuts, minus
seven dollars for canteen checks.
Private Hargrove, I present to you
your October wages—ten dollars and
sixty cents!”
I took the money, looked at it ten
derly, and crammed it into my
pocket.
Winter, at last, is upon us, in the
rear ranks, the surest indication is
to be found in reveille.
All through the late summer and
the fall, we hopped out of bed as
soon as the whistle blew. Now we
crawl grumblingly out when the ser
geant puts the whistle to his lips for
a “fall out!” blast. Since it is still
dark when we stand reveille, and
since we are aided occasionally by a
heaven-sent fog, there are many sa
viors of democracy who slip on
merely a pair of shoes (partially
laced), a pair of trousers, and a
field jacket. The field jacket, when
buttoned all the way to the collar,
hides the absence of shirt and tie
—and the sergeant is none the wiser.
In Headquarters Battery, the
process of getting up in the morn
ing has sunk into a rut of repetition.
It’s the same procedure every morn
ing.
Sergeant Roughton, platoon lead
tpola hi& fciqzi at dx o’clock
and a few energetic soldiers at the
other end of the? squadroom rise
and begin the mortning with sicken
ingly cheerful horseplay. They yank
the covers off their neighbors. The
neighbors yank the covers back on.
Private First Class Bishop, un
official guardian of the public rela
tions staff, rises from his bunk which
is ney.t to mine. "Hargrove! Bushe
mi! Get up' Salute the morn!” Then
he yells down the length of the
squadroom to the bod of Private
First Class Thomas (“Thoss”) Mul
vehill.
Mulvehill, every morning, has al
ready been forcibly ejected from
his bed by his wild neighbors. He
is, by this time, sitting on the edge
of his bunk, with his great head sunk
between his knees and his fingers
fumbling with his shoelaces. In a
thick and fiery Irish brogue, he is
berating whatever forces of destiny
put him in this mad corner of the
squadroom.
I stick a cautious toe out from un
der the covers. The outer air isn’t
cold but, then again, it isn’t warm.
I roll over and look at the next
bunk, where Private Bushemi is
snoring gently. I roll back, get com
fortable, and pull the cover over
my head.
“Hargrove!” roars Bishop. “Get
your lazy bones out of bed! It’s
five after six!”
“Call me at ten after six,” I mut
ter. “Better still just sing out when
my name is called at reveille.”
Private Bishop reaches over sud
denly and rips the blankets from
the bunk. I rise, cursing him sound-
“Git out of there or I'll dump you
out.”
ly. Private Bushemi is still sleep
ing, with a sweet and childish smile
on his face. I lift a foot and give
him a firm shove in the posterior.
“Git out of there, you blankerty
blanked dash-dash, shiftless, good
for-nothing bum^” I shout, giving
him two or three more shoves. “Git
out of there or I’ll dump you out!”
“Do me a favor, Hargrove,” he
growls. “Crawl off somewhere and
die. Just one more time you’re go
ing to raise that club foot of yours
and I’m going to get up and clip
you one. Now go away.”
I reach over and grab the edge
of Bushemi’s bunk. I joggle it slight
ly to give the impression that I am
just about to overturn the bunk.
Bushemi bounces out of bed, swing
ing wildly. “You’re going to get
funny just one morning too often,
and I’m going to beat the eternal
perdition out of both of you. It’s
getting to the point where it ain’t
funny.” Then he begins mumbling
aimlessly under his breath as he
steps into his trousers.
Somehow, we manage to get into
the second shoe just as the whistle
blows to call us outside. We shiv
er in the dark cold as section lead
ers call the roll, mostly from mem
ory. The second section of the first
platoon is always the last to finish
roll call. We stand there listening.
“P-o-g-g-i!” “Hyoh!” “Pulver!”
“Here!” and then the piece de re
sistence: “Peacock!” Always the
answer comes in the same way—an
unbelievably deep bass, long-drawn
out and rumbling: “Heeeeeeere!”
The second platoon snickers and tit
ters, just as it did the day before,
and the top kick shouts, “Dis
missed!”
Bushemi heads straight back for
his bunk. “Call me at chowtime,
will you?”
Breakfast time arrives and again
we begin the ordeal of getting Bu
shemi up. He lies there, fully clothed
by this time, with a blanket thrown
over him. “Call me at seven-fif
teen, will you?” After swearing not
to lend him money for coffee at the
Service Club on his way to work,
we strike out for the mess hall.
Bill, a friend of Bushemi’s and
mine in Charlotte, drives a street
bus. Before he began his service
as a driver, he served a hitch in
the Army. Like all ex-service men,
he’s ready to drop everything and
just shoot the breeze any time the
conversation turns to the Army.
“There was a young first-class
private got on my bus last week,”
he told me, “and he sat in the
long seat behind me, so we got
started talking. Well, I thought I’d
snow him under, telling him about
the time I was in the Army. So,
just to start the ball rolling and get
the talk turned to the Army, I asked
him how long he'd been in.
‘Oh, I’ve been in for well over
eight months,’ he said, like he was
just starting his thirtieth year of
service. Then he started wiping his
sleeves so I'd be sure to notice
his private-first-class stripe.
“I thought I’d let him blow off
about his stripe, so I asked him,
‘Say, what does that stripe stand
for?’
‘Oh, that,’ he said, as much as
to say aw-shucks-that-ain’t-nothing.
That just means I’m a sergeant.’
‘Is that right?’ I asked him,
looking sort of widemouthed at him.
‘Yessir,’ he said, real casual,
tin the Army only eight months and
I’ve already been made sergeant.’
‘Well, tell me,’ I said, ‘what
grade of sergeant are you? I’ve
seen some sergeants have three
stripes and then I’ve seen them have
as many as six. How come that?’
News want-ads bring results.
News Notes From
Four Counties
(Continued from page 7)
condition of the bond retirement and
interest fund permitted their re
tirement this year along with the
remainder of a $75,000 bond issue
of 1931 which financed an addition
to the school. The last of the lat
ter bonds were to be retired in 1946.
Elimination of the debts and in
terest charges represents a reduc
tion in taxes of 2.6 mills, Mr. Smith
said.
Four Farmers’ Meet
ings Set
Arrangements for four meetings
in the next two months of special
interest to Putnam county farmers
were announced at Ottawa by Coun
ty Agent L. C. Holtkamp. Two of
the meetings were held this week
and the other two will be held in
February.
L. H. Barnes, extension specialist
in farm management, was at the
courthouse in Ottawa for a farm ac
count and income tax meeting Tues
day. He explained how to keep the
new Ohio Farm Account book as
well as indicate the receipts, ex
penses and depreciation figures for
the March 1944, final income tax re
port.
At 8 p. m. the same day a meet
ing was held in the municipal build
ing at which Barnes assisted farm
ers in summarizing their 1943 farm
account records.
On Feb. 3, C. L. Blackman, dairy
specialist, will be the principal
speaker at two meetings where he
will discuss feeding and manage
ment together with the artificial in
semination program.
Holtkamp pointed out that farm
ers having individual herd prob
lems should contact the agent’s of
fice and as many personal visits as
possible will be made in the order
requested.
Putnam Grange Pro
gram Set
Plans for the 1944 grange pro
gram in Putnam county were an
nounced by Charles Reese, county
deputy.
The visiting program of the sub
ordinate granges will be launched
Feb. 7 with Leipsic going to Gilboa.
Pandora will visit Sharon July 7
and Belmore will go to Pleasant,
Sept. 25.
Pomona grange has set up a busy
schedule for the coming year. On
March 24 a meeting will be held
at Pandora with Pandora confer
ring the fifth degree. Belmore will
be host to the county group May 12
and Aug. 11. Sharon will be the
host to Pomona grange. The an
nual election of officers will take
HomerrontS-CU
READING
z S '•».?■
______
BARGAINS______
GROUP
placc at the Nov. 10 meeting in
Leipsic.
There will be an
per at Belmore Jan.
annual Pomona picnic
at the fairgrounds in
2. The seventh degree will be con
ferred Nov. 16 at Pleasant grange
hall.
officers’ sup
27 while the
will be held
Ottawa July
Union installation of officers will
be held at Gilboa Dec. 29, 1944, in
charge of Shawton grange. The in
spection dates have been set as fol
lows: Sharon, Aug. 18 Gilboa, Aug.
21 Pleasant, Aug. 28 Belmore,.
Sept. 5 Pandora, Sept. 12, and
Leipsic, Sept. 18.
Ottawa Building Debt
Paid Off
Announcement that he has paid
off the $4,095.60 which remained of
the debt on the Ottawa municipal
building was made by Edward A.
Doepker, clerk.
The payment
Ohio Teachers’
which held the
were not due until 1945.
vance payment saved the community
about $150 in interest.
was made to the
Retirement System
last bonds which
The ad-
This leaves Ottawa with an in
debtedness of about $11,000 which
was
fire
buy
borrowed to purchase a new
truck three years ago and to
a parking lot last year.
Beaverdam
Mr. and Mrs. Donald Michael and
family spent the week end with Mr.
and Mrs. Daniel Younkman and fam
ily at Clyde.
Dr. W. C. Lacock of Ft. Braggs,
N. Carolina was a holiday visitor of
Mrs. W. C. Lacock, son Allen and
daughter Jane.
Emil Gene Gratz spent the past
week with Mr. and Mrs. Walter
Neuenschwander in Indiana.
Jack Oswalt of the Merchant
Marines stationed in California was
a holiday visitor of his parents Mr.
and Mrs. B. J. Oswalt.
Rev. and Mrs. Bernard Baughn
spent a few days the past week
relatives at Athens.
Miss Ruth Durkee spent
Year’s
Charles
ton.
with
New
Mrs.
Day with Mr. and
Hankish and family at Bluff-
Russell Downey Y. 3/c of Norfolk,
Va., spent a few days the past week
with his parents Mr. and Mrs. H. E.
Downey.
Mr. and Mrs. Windell Stewart en
tertained in their home on Thursday
evening a group of friends who were
graduates of Col. Grove high school
in which Mrs. Stewart was a member
of the class. Those enjoying the
evening were Lt. and Mrs. Joe Blos
ser of Texas, Virgie Bartz, Radio
man 2/c of Great Lakes. Ill., Mr.
and Mrs. Charles Mayberry of Col.
I Grove, Mrs. Christopher Nance of
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AlinM
NAME.
STREET OR 1LFJK
POSTOFFICE.
Col. Grove, Mrs. Nolan Benroth of
Vaughnsville, Mrs. Vic Thielhom of
Washington, D. C. and Miss Ruth
Moore of Col. Grove.
Mr. and Mrs. Wendell Stewart and
son Gary were Friday evening guests
of Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Yant and son
at Lima.
Mr. and Mrs. Irvin Sawmiller spent
Sunday with
Lansdown and
field.
Mr. and Mrs. Carl
daughter at Spring-
Hall of Lafayette is
home of Mr. and Mrs.
Daisy
at the
Watt.
Mrs.
visiting
Raleigh
Mrs. Arthur
spending the week with Mr. and Mrs.
Francis May.
Rest and children are
Mrs. Eugene Young, Mrs. H. E.
Downey and Miss Ruth Durkee were
Sunday evening callers of Mrs. Ella
Andrews at Leipsic.
Officers for the Ohio Swiss Cheese
Association for 1944 are William D.
Snyder,
Mueller, Pearl, vice-presiden
Stoltz,
secretary-treasurer (26th consecutive
term) and Emery A. Mast, Millers
burg, and Joe Yaggi, New Philadel
phia, 3-year directors. The Associa
tion contributed $2,000 to the Ohio
Dairy Products Research Fund.
Baltic, president Ernest
R. B.
Ohio State University,
INSURE with
F. S. Herr Agency
and be SURE
Phone 363-W
GOO?
THIS
NEWSPAPER
(1 YEAR)
AND
ANY MAGAZINE
listed
Both for Price Shown
American Fruit Grower-----------$2 50
American Girl................ 3.25
American Home 3.00
American Poultry Jrnl-------------2.40
Better Cooking & Homemaking- 3.75
Boy’s Life_____________________ 8-85
Capper’s Farmer 2.40
Child Life .......... 3.50
Christian Herald_ —... ......— 3.25 I
Country Gentleman (5 Yrs.)----- 2.75
Farm Journal & Farmer’s Wife— 2.40
Flower Grower 3.25
Flying Aces ..................... 8.25
Forum-Column Review_______8.50
Household ____________________2.40
Hygeia _________________—------ 3.50
Liberty 4.20
National Digest Monthly------— 3.75
Nature (10 Iss., 12 Mo.)....... ..........3.75
Open Road (12 Iss., 14 Mo.)...._ 3.00
Outdoors (12 Iss., 14 Mo.)_____ 3.00
Parents* Magazine--------------------8.25
Pathfinder ____________________ 2.75
Popular Mechanics ............. 4.00
Poultry Tribune —...................— 2.40
Rcdbook _....... 4.00
Sports Afield _____..._ __
... 3.00
Successful Farming 2.50
The Woman 2-35
True Story-------------------------------8.00
Your life 3.75
IN AND MAIL TO
™,S NEWSPAPER today.
Check magazines desired and enclose with coupon,
Gentlemen: I endow $------------------ Please send me the