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BehindSl. tiibNmp B y PaulMallonJ^ Released by Western Newspaper Union. CABINET CHANGES LONG EXPECTED IN WASHINGTON .. WASHINGTON. - Henry Morgen thau’s side of his resignation story told how he had become irritated by constantly recurring rumors of his impending departure, that these were interfering with his work, so he went to President Truman and said he would not stay unless he re ceived backing. Mr. Truman offered to deny the rumors. Mr. Morgenthau thought the denial should promise his con tinuance in office “at least until Ja pan is defeated.” The President seemed to feel this would commit him too far. Mr. Morgenthau wrote out his resignation, although he had not planned doing so. ‘ The other side of the story im plies that many of Mr. Truman’s highest placed associates were worried about Mr. Morgenthau possibly succeeding to the presi dency, a position for which he would he the first to concede his unfitness by temperament, ex perience or ability. Little note was taken of the situa tion, but if anything had happened to Mr. Truman during the few days interval after he accepted the resig nation of State Secretary Stettinius, and before he appointed James F. Byrnes to that first cabinet post, Morgenthau would have been Presi dent, as next in line. Now Messrs. Truman and Byrnes are going to Berlin for the Big Three conference (but not together, as a precaution). Mr. Morgenthau was still clearly next in line—until his squeezed resignation placed him in a position where unquestionably he would have to decline the office. This situation may not have wor ried Mr. Truman, but associates working in his interests no doubt were the authors of what Mr. Mor genthau thought to be "irritating ru mors.” Around the top of this adminis tration Mr. Morgenthau had been regarded as a man with good New York banking connections, but ex pendable. Now he will continue at the treasury until probably August 15 when his successor, Fred M. Vin son, will take over. As a matter of foil truth, Mr. Morgenthau was slated to go any way when his Bretton Woods plan cleared congress and the war loan drive wound up. There was no logical excuse for him to continue to delay fulfillment of the custom, permitting a Presi dent to choose his own cabinet without the slightest embarrass ment. Indeed, this column was able to lead off, in newspapers last May 24: “A complete cabinet shakedown is coming. State and treasury will surely be involved in addition to ag riculture, justice and labor.” Both angles of that forecast now have been fulfilled. I am therefore inclined to believe both sides of the story, Mr. Morgen thau’s and the untold one that Mr. Truman’s friends, knowing well the personalities involved, nettled Mr. Morgenthau into making the break. BYRNES APPOINTMENT TO ADD STRENGTH TO CABINET Behind the two great publicized events of foreign affairs—the sub mission of the charter for the new world and the advent of James F. Byrnes as state secretary—the mills of history are grinding new and greater portents. Mr. Byrnes is a canny dealer. Up to now our foreign policy methods have not been sensa tionally bountiful. Some doubt is evident in many quarters that we have learned how to deal evenly with the Russians. It is thus as much in her interest as of any other nation. Otherwise our viewpoint has not won out too many times—not in the matter of Poland, Latvia, Esthonia, Lithuania, Turkey, the Middle East, declara tion of war on Japan, and so on down the problem list. Now we are going to Berlin for the next conference. We have been unable to bring Stalin halfway in the geographical matter of meeting places or in any other considera tion. Our dealing with the Soviet is clearly not yet on a successful plane. Another way of putting it—and the Administration no doubt would put it this way—we have sacrificed every thing else in diplomacy in order to get the charter. Now we have it, we must start making other matters add up better. This is where Mr. Byrnes comes in. These are the considerations be hind his appointment. Foreign af fairs is the one subject his spectac ular career has not closely touched. He is not, therefore, especially expe rienced—but he has seldom been traded down in any line. Simultaneously, Mr. Truman, in an extemporaneous speech at Kan sas City, projected a line for the charter far beyond its text, although no one seemed to notice it. He said the world is no longer county, state or national size, “but is one world, as Willkie said.” THE STORE THUS FAR: Flicks’* colt, long overdue, I* born on the Goose Bar fanch, high In the Rockies. Its 12-year jld owner, Ken McLanghUn, Is startled to jee that It 1s white, and so a throwback Jo the Albino, a wUd stallion that Is •Tandslre ol Flicka. Ken’s mother names tao white foal Thnnderhead, but It Is commonly known as Goblin. At a dinner party Ken reveals that the sire of Thnn derhead Is not Banner, the Goose Bar stallion, bnt Appalachian, the black rac ing stud owned by Charles Sargent on the neighboring ranch. Ken suddenly realizes that he hat stolen the service. Sargent laughs and offers to give Ken papers for his colt. Ken answers that he can only expect “hall” papers. CHAPTER VII Wind and wind and wind knocking you down when you tried to walk or stand against it. Mak ing a noise that was first like a whine, and then a howl that hit a high note and stayed there—piercing you, getting into your head and making you crazy— And the snow. Days, weeks of being shut in by deep snow that sometimes drifted over windows and doors so that even to get out and see the sun you had to make a tunnel— Oh, all of it hard! Hard! Suddenly Nell was in a state of frenzy and despair. They hadn’t wanted it to be like this. The horses were to have made money enough so that she and Rob could have had plenty of-help—-a furnace in the house—a vacation to a warmer climate every winter when the boys were at school and there was little to do on the ranch except try to keep warm and alive. Money, money, money it all came back to that! Her mind dashed this way and that, doubling on itself, to find away out. Horses. Nothing but horses. 'Hie Goblin—suddenly she seized that im possible dream of Ken’s —was it so impossible? Think of the ancestry of that colt! It was Rob who had first admitted he wanted one horse jf the Albino’s line who should be tractable—“and I’ll have a race horse!” It was she herself who had planned and suggested breeding Flicka so they might get a colt with both her sweetness of disposi tion and her speed. But the Goblin had neither. Nell tightened her hands into a harder fist. That inner fury which comes over high-spirited people when they are too often defeated filled her. She couldn’t and wouldn’t take it. Some thing had to succeed. Goblin—his short thick legs could grow long and swift. His bumpy shape, his big head, his bad balance, could some how smooth out into magnificent proportions. His mean temper, that ugly readiness to bite and kick and stand at bay in enmity to all, could change to the intelligent docility of Flicka. And speed! Flicka’s very same speed. Rocketls speed. The Al bino’s speed—speed—SPEED! Suddenly Nell was riding a rac ing dream, running away to victory. Goblin! No, not Goblin any more, but THUNDERHEAD! The racing stallion of the Goose Bar ranch 1 The big white brute leading the field on every track in the coun try! What colors would their jockey wear? Cherry red and white. Who would be the champion he would displace? Seabiscuit, of course and would himself become then, not only great racer but great sire of racers, begetting hundreds of win ners after him, every stud fee bring ing thousands of dollars. Goblin must never be gelded— The bubble of her dream burst. Suddenly she was exhausted. She had lived through the winter; half a dozen blizzards; the winning of scores of races by Goblin; an alter cation with Rob as to the gelding of him; had made thousands of dol lars and spent them. She was sick of it all. Besides—none of it was true. She forced herself. She studied the room. That was real. There was moonlight flooding through the win dow. Look at it. That hump was Rob sleeping beside her. This was the ranch. It was going to be winter just like all the other winters—just like all the storms and dangers— they were poor and going to be poorer nothing had ever suc ceeded and it was quite possible, even likely, that nothing ever would. She had read something clever about that one day, telling you that if you wanted to know what the future would be—look at the past and merely extend it! Laying the whip to herself in this fnshinn, she began to come to life, and again her anger rose. There wasn’t a day or a moment that you were really safe here. The ele ments could kill you as easily as a fly-swatter kills a fly. And at any season of the year, a bad storm, or flood, or drought, or plague of grasshoppers, or an epidemic, or a fire, or merely the wrong sort of weather at the wrong time could sweep away all the work of a year and all hope with it. That, she thought sarcastically, is probably the fascination of it for men like Rob. Adventurers. It’s such a big gamble, with all the odds against you. It’s the most exciting, dramatic life in the world. Feeling the life stirring in her again, even though it was the liveli ness of anger, she tried to penetrate the truth still more deeply. Was her indignation true? Did she actually bate her realities? Peering down, almost mischle- MIDLAND JOURNAL. RISING SUN. MD. vously, into this secret comer of her heart, she saw the deepest truth and accepted it. She was as ready as Rob to take all the chances, share all the dangers, endure the priva tions. She too had been born “fac ing the wind.” There stole into her the hint of ecstasy. She pressed her face on her knees. The very terribleness of dread seduced her and filled her veins with strong wine. And the beauty—the fierce, dreadful beauty of winterl The summers—Oh, the summers! The unbelievable deep blue of the mountain skies—the huge sculptured clouds, the green grass —the young animals, wild and free with startled eyes, the swift run ning, heels kicking, the perfume, smell of mint and sage and pine and grass ,and clover and snow, clean from a sweep of hundreds of miles of emptiness— And the lone liness Ah, not loneliness, but serene, deep, tranquil solitude—just herself and Rob and the' boys— All her fevered thought became still. She crouched quietly there, full of a mysterious happiness. As Goblin developed there were changes in his appearance and be havior. Certain habits left him, cer tain coltish accomplishments were acquired. The “scrabble” was gone, and in its place came the long springing trot characteristic of young colts, this owing, perhaps, to an inch or two of added length on each leg. He learned the art of wrestling. His usual antagonist was Pepper, a tall black colt. On an expanse of level ground where the wind had Goblin stopped running around and looked at Ken. blown off most of the snow, they gal oped in opposite directions, circling in figure eights. When they passed each other at the center point they would pause, rear and strike at each other. Here began the beauti ful play, bending to one side or the other, intertwining heads, then slid ing down, almost kneeling to bite at the foreleg, rising high on hind legs again to exchange a flurry of boxing blows, their manes and tails —the black and the white—lifted and stiffened by burning vigor until they flared like open fans. Sudden ly the young stallions would plunge past each other and, as if in a pre arranged dance routine, rush away in the figure eights again, their hoofs thundering on the ground. Goblin also became an accom plished bucker. On icy mornings when the sun blazed down and the air was a fierce intoxication, all the colts broke away from their dams and banded together for play. They raced up and over the brow of gentle rise and came down the other side bucking. A few playful bucks sufficed for most of the colts, but not for the Goblin. His bounds became higher, his legs stiffer, the twist of his solid powerful little body more acute. It seemed to go to his head. At last he would be alone there, when the game was all over, bucking solo in a mad, intem perate ecstacy. When, in December, the spring colts were weaned and kept at the ranch for handling and graining, Goblin was left on the range. No more wrestling or boxing now, for he had no playmate, and when he tried it with Banner, rearing be fore him and putting up his fists, the big stud went on grazing, oblivi ous of his existence. Goblin played alone. He raced on the curving hills, thundered in fig ure eights, reared and shadow boxed, put down his head and bucked sunfished jack-knifed cork-screwed He knew them all. Three times more before his six months of nursing were completed, Banner swept the whole band down to the ranch, for not a month passed without a blizzard. Goblin came to know the way so well that he tried to shoulder to the front, and only his lack of speed kept him from be ing there. One day, after a heavy blizzard, he was not allowed to return to the Saddle Back. He was to be weaned. The fury of the wind was dying away and only occasionally sent up a cone of whirling snow. Ken Mc- Laughlin, warmly dressed in a blue ski suit and cap, stood in the stable corral, holding Flicka’s halter. He had been summoned home for one of his winter week-ends, to witness the weaning of Goblin. The corral was mid-leg deep in snow, churned to slush by the mill ing of the brood mares. For two days they had been in and out the stable doors, in and out the cor ral gates, free to leave when they wished, free to stay and fill them selves with hay and oats. Ken’s face, pale from the winter confinement and the cold, was full of peaceful love as he looked into Flicka’s eyes and stroked her fore lock. His thin, sensitive lips were slightly parted. Flicka’s golden coat had darkened with the ’ cold. Running his hand down her neck under her thick blond mane, Ken felt the hair deep as fur. Her chest was broad and strong. Her wide nostrils flared as she breathed. And her legs— Oh, why couldn’t Goblin have had those long slim legs of a runner? Flicka was with foal again. Standing there with her young master, she was paying no atten tion to him. She was looking over his head toward the Green, her ears strained forward. Now and then her whole body shook in an anguished whinny. It was in that direction that they had led her, a few minutes be fore, with Goblin following. They had brought her back without him. Ken patted her face and talked to her. “Don’t you care, Flicka— pretty soon you won’t mind so much —you’ll have a new baby—and it’s better for you not to be nursing ■him—you’ve been getting thin. I can feel your ribs under your fur coat.” Ken was torn between the desire to stay with his mare and comfort her, and go down to the Goblin. He stayed with the mare. Banner had wandered out toward the county road gate. Evidently he had had enough of domesticity. He began to call his mares and round them up. The afternoon light was failing and the full moon, that had been nothing but a transparent globule of mist, was turning to bright silver. When the last of the band had followed Banner out, Ken led his mare into the sfhble, filled her feed box with oats and left’, closing the door behind him. Then he exploded into a swift run, tore down the gorge, across the Green, the color flaring into his face, his blue eyes darkening with excitement. Now the Goblin! Now his race horse! Now—at last— As he opened the gate into the colt corral his father held up a hand and Ken moved quietly. The last fifteen minutes had been full of shocks for the Goblin. In the excitement of meeting his old friends and investigating this new place, Goblin had not at first realized that he had been separated from his mother. Then he heard her anguished neighing. That whirled him around and started him toward her. The five foot fence stopped him. The gate was closed. He raced around the enclosure seeking an exit. A confusion of feel ing stirred him. There were the colts crowding around him, Pepper, the tall black, rearing and begging for a game. A strange intriguing smell came from the long center trough; he wanted to investigate that. But lie was still angry. He didn't know what to do. At sight of Goblin, Ken’s heart began to pound. What a change! The colt had grown all over, so that he was still shaped like a ma ture horse —most odd-looking. But there was no mistaking the power in him. Measuring him quickly against the others Ken saw that he was as big as the biggest and old est of them. In six months he had caught up. Impelled by insatiable curiosity, Goblin approached the boy cautious ly, obliged to satisfy himself as to this small human being, not much taller than himself, and why memory rang a bell at sight of him. wig muzzle strained forward. His body held back. He got one sniff— and at the same time Ken’s hand moved to pat his nose. The colt’s ears flew back—he whirled and lashed with his heels. Ken ducked. “Pretty close!” laughed Rob. “You’ve got to be fast with that fellow!” “Gosh! How he’s grown,” mar veled Ken. “Bigger than any of the others, isn’t he, dad?” “He’s a husky.” Goblin was tearing around the fence. It made wild fury in him that there was no way out. In the other corral, when they came down from the range in a storm, the gates were always left open. They were there of their own free will. Even when they crowded into the barn there was a different feeling. He began to buck. This wasn’t bucking in fun. This was protest, this was pure fight. He went through his repertoire. The other colts got out of the way and Rob and Gus re treated to the fence. (TO BE CONTINUED) JW*" ‘CENTRAL, GIMME FLIVVER 6-828!’ The auto to auto telephone is near at hand. The American Telephone and Telegraph company announces that it will soon be in operation to gether with house to car and office to car phone talks. From the walky-talky we progress to the cabby-gabby. After the war, possibly before, an automobile will have a telephone number. The wife will put in a call from the house and a buzzer on the dashboard will buzz. • Presto! The automobile becomes part car, part house, part office and part phone booth! But if the boss can get you by phone that way it marks the end of the automobile as a pleasure ve hicle. * One of the chief charms of an auto has always been that you could get away from it all. No matter what might happen, nobody could get you on the phone and, after you had pulled over into a sidestreet, say— “ Sorry, I guess I have the wrong number.” Add the telephone call to the red light, the detour sign, the motor cycle cop and the federal car tax, and what have you got? Certainly not added comfort. You are transforming the flivver into a phone booth with tire trouble and hot brakes. Complications will be many once it becomes possible to link home sweet home with the beach-wagon and the imperial sedan by phone. We await the new exasperations of “What auto are you calling?”, "That sedan is busy now,” “The flivver that called you has hung up,” and "There’s no such car in the book.” It will mean one more automobile gadget to be fixed, too. _• From now on you will never be sure when something goes wrong with the old bus whether to take it to a garage or to the telephone com pany. We’ll take a motorcycle—and no phone service! • • • THE GENERAL’S AMBITION (“I’d like to come back here some day and do some catfishing like in the old days.”—General Eisenhow er at Abilene.) Just to go again for catfish In the haunts of boyhood days— Just to watch the old cork bobbin’ Where the big one often plays.... Far from wars and consultations Far from the plot and counterplot With no hard looks or suspicions Anywhere around the spot. . . . Just to get up feelin’ rested, With no schedule for the morn, And no problem to be handled So no new wars will be born. . . . Just to don a pair of jumpers And a shirt the worse for wear, With no stripes or bars or medals And the day all free from care ... Not a thought of lords and rulers— Not a fast plane to be made— Not a word concerning Moscow, London, Berlin or Belgrade.... Not a paper up for signing— No excitement and no glow TILL YOU SEE THE WATER RIP PLE AND A BOBBIN’ GO BELOW! * • • Postwar Wonders Auto makers are displaying the new models. It is wonderful to be able to get a peek at the handsome new model you will have to go with out for another year or two. Customer (after looking at a new auto model)—Very pretty. What year may I expect a demonstration? And ODT Chief Johnson says there will not be enough new autos to satisfy the demand for three full years. We recommend Mr. John son for the office of Administration of National Joykillers. Mean Weather Intermittent rain, I’ve learned, Which forecasts tell about, Is rain that stops when I go in And starts when I come out. Vigorous Dramatic Criticism John Chapman thinks it might be a good thing if theater patrons let themselves go the way baseball Jans do, registering their displeasure without restraint. fVe indorse the idea. A careful inspection of the theater com vinces us that not enough pop bottles are thrown during performances. • • • Harry Truman must feel pretty peeved at the fellows who said, “Go ahead and run for the vice presiden cy; it’s quite an honor and it won’t take any time or worry.” ? ANOTHER f l 7 A General Quiz £ |v.<v.(UO.(w<v(v. < i.<v.(v.(v.(UN|w<w ft ,wMW The Questions 1. Argument and proof by means of questions and answers are often called what? 2. What is the bulldog edition of a newspaper? 3. If tete a tete means face to face, what does dos a dos mean? 4. How old is written history? 5. How much larger is Brazil than England? 6. When was the Vatican City state created? 7. Which do laboratory tests show to be most sensitive to touch, men or women? 8. What state has more railroad miles than any other? 9. What common vertebrate breathes water .at one stage of its life and air later? 10. Here is the first line of a well known poem, “There are hermit souls that live withdrawn.” Can you give the second line? The Answers 1. The Socratic method. 2. An edition printed early for distribution to distant points. 3. Back to back. 4. At least 6,000 years old, 5. It’s 65 times larger. 6. In 1929. 7. Women are nearly twice as sensitive to touch as men. 8. Texas (over 16,000 miles). 9. Frogs and toads. 10. “In the space of their self content.” CLASSIFIED DEPARTMENT BUSINESS & INVEST. OPPOR. For Sale—Sandwich Shop. At reasonable price—selling price $1,000; only S6OO cash req. Verna’s Sandwich Shop, 3022 Rich mond Terr., Mariner’s Harbor, 8. ]., N. V. For Sale—Bar A Grill—Nice busf.—priced for quick sale. Splendid oppor. right party. Immed. possess. Samyn’s Bar A Grill, 201 Broad St., Staten Island, N. Y. PERSONAL EARN BIG MONET! Sell us your old Mantel Clock; or act as our buying agent for Old Mantel Clocks in your territory. We pay cash promptly. Write us today giv ing condition, age and size of your clock. THE OLD CLOCK CO. 8120 W. Third St. Los Angeles 36 - Calif. Emerson Found the Way Of the Philosopher Hard Lying awake at night, Ralph Waldo Emerfeon sometimes had an inspiration, and would light a lamp and jot it down. The matches he used were in book form, being joined at the foot. One night Mrs. Emerson was awakened by his complaining voice crying out: “What’s the matter with these matches. I’ve struck seven, not one would light!” She reached out, found the matches in their accustomed place, lit one, and discovered her best comb, seven teeth missing, in the hand of the philosopher. ■“ ST Why let Biding days and U LAI n 'ghta torment you with ffl rill sting and burn of heat I Lfll ra ®h. prickly heat, chafe? “ —|,p"" Check misery with Mex g *■* Sana, soothing, medicated 11 pMT powder. 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