The Coolidge examiner. [volume], July 31, 1936, Image 7

About The Coolidge examiner. [volume] (Coolidge, Ariz.) 1930-current

Image provided by: Arizona State Library, Archives and Public Records; Phoenix, AZ

                
— Z
Jfcme ym&cnv
Frances SHelley Wees
CHAPTER I
DBYN finished his story. Tail,
*-*iean, bronzed, he stood before
the big crystal mirror hanging over
tiie stone fireplace and examined
his chin critically. It was a very
nice chin, but Bryn was not in the
least concerned with its niceness;
iie was trying to determine whether
Burch had or had not nicked it in
finitesimally. It seemed not. Burch
had done his visual perfect job.
Tubby, his eyes round and dis
tracted, dropped into one of the
deep morocco armchairs and stared
out at the dusk. It was pouring
like smoke across the bay, sifting
through the Golden Gate to blot
out the sunset. The daily fleet of
fishing vessels, their sails a row
of tiny dark triangles against the
dimming face of the sun, slipped
out once more to brave the perils of
tiie vasty deep. Below the house
the waves lapped idly at the white
cliff, gentle and harmless.
Tubby was not a philosopher, and
he had very little imagination. To
Tubby a horse was a horse, usually
with four legs and a tail. It was
not something over which kingdoms
might be lost or with which prin
cesses might be rescued. Waves to
Tubby were waves, always wet and
often chilly. But now, as he stared
down through the wide plate glass
window, there was a look of posi
tive inspiration on his face, as if he
were telling himself that these
waves, at least, might sometimes
wash the shores of China, the far,
far. dangerous shores of China;
(hat these waves might easily,
small and tender though they now
appeared, might easily puff and
swell and lift themselves to fall
with thunder and fury on one of the
innocent little vessels drifting now
so serenely past the sun. Life was
like that. Tubby was convinced.
Tubby put his head down into his
hands and groaned.
"Look here, Bryn,” he said in a
woebegone voice, “you can't go
through with it. I won't let you.
That’s final.”
"Tut, tut,” Bryn responded amia
bly. Me pressed a bell on the man
telpiece. Burch, bland and serene,
opened the door noiselessly.
“Burch, l am being married this
evening.”
There was a moment of dead
stillness as if even the waves had
halted in their irresistible course.
Then Burch swallowed, and said
nobly, “indeed, sir? Do you wish
me to procure a maidservant, sir?”
Bryn looked up, startled. “A
maid servant? Do we need a maid
servant?” ,
“I was thinking of your wife, sir.”
"My wife?” Bryn repeated, his
eyes coming sharply to Burch’s
face. Then, “Ah . . . no. She will
not be coming here.”
"Very good, sir. What shall I
pack?”
Bryn looked down at the gray
suit with which. Tubby had insist
ed, he was desecrating the evening,
lie considered. “Well, shirts and
vliings. Nothing else, except those
<dd golf trousers I got so much mud
on at Tahoe.”
"Yes, sir. Nothing else? No guns?
No fishing tackle? No golf clubs?”
“Nothing. By the way—l am a
young engineer out of work be
cause of the depression. Anything
a young engineer out of work be
cause of the depression wouldn’t
have, 1 wouldn’t have. I’ve pawned
it.”
Burch drew a noticeable deep
breath. "Very good, sir. Shall you
be here to breakfast?”
"Certainly.”
“And ...”
“No, I said she wasn’t coming.”
“Ah . . . yes. sir. Lunch?”
“No lunch. I shall be leaving im
mediately after breakfast, and you
needn't prepare dinner until ap
proximately a year from tonight. I
shall be away during that time.”
"Yes, sir. And the orders for
Morton?”
Bryn swung round from the glass,
fie regarded Burch thoughtfully.
“That’s so,” he said meditatively.
“1 might have forgotten. Tell Mor
ton to take a spanner, will you, and
remove the paint—not all of it, but
large, uneven portions—from the
Bellaire. Tell him to take a chisel
and give it some nice deep
scratches. Tell him to make it look
like a car I might have bought for
about forty-two dollars and fifty
cents from a bankrupt gangster, lie
might bash up the fenders, and if
anything further occurs to him...”
“The Bellaire, sir? The new
French motor? The black car?”
“All of those tilings,” Bryn said
calmly.
Tubby stood up. His eyes rested
on Burch’s agitated countenance.
■He drew n deep breath.
“That’s all,” Bryn said crisply.
“Yes, sir,” Burch muttered de
spondently, and went out.
Tubby was staring at Bryn. “Any
body would think yon were in love
with the girl,” he said.
“Would they? How nice. It
sounds so much better. So much
more romantic and idyllic. To be
in love with one’s bride instead of
marrying her for her money.”
“Money!” Tubby said bitterly.
“Money!” He shook his head mis
erably. “You’re making some kind
of a damned fool out of yourself.
Bryn. You’re letting some gang pull
a fast one on you that’s what
you’re doing. Do you think for a
minute that that girl doesn't know
who you are?”
“She doesn’t,” Bryn said calmly.
Tubby snorted. “That’s a bright
remark, isn’t it? Very bright. Now,
if I ask you, how in God’s name
could anybody on the Pacific coast
help having seen your ugly mug in
the papers, how could anybody who
can read help knowing about James
Weldon Shipley Brynildson Third
and his speed boats and his ele
phant tusks and his seven cars and
bis polo ponies?”
“I’m sure she can read,” Bryn re
plied, unruffled. “The first time I
saw her she was reading over a lot
of legal documents up in Hol
worthy's office.”
Tubby eyed him for a long mo
ment. Then he said gustily, “Look
here, Bryn. Did it ever occur to
grsv
“Did It Ever Occur to You That
Ted Holworthy Might Be Engi
neering This Beautiful Mix-up?”
you that Ted Holworthy himself
might be engineering this beauti
ful mix-up? Did it?”
“I can’t say that it did.”
“All this talking lie’s been doing
about her. What did he tell you
about her for in the first place? Oh,
I know he said it was an interest
ing case, but that was just to get
you listening.”
“Didn’t you think it was an in
teresting case, Tubby?”
“Well, if it was a case, yes. Cer
tainly. Os course. I thought my
self it was interesting. But you no
tice 1 didn't get all wrought up
about it and start hanging around
to get a look at the girl, and even
if I had I wouldn’t even dream of
stepping into a game like this and
marrying her myself.”
"Neither did I,” Bryn said. “I
never dreamed of such a tiling. But
I was curious, I’ll admit that. You
haven’t any curiosity because you
haven’t got any imagination. If
you had, you’d have been hanging
around, too. Y’ou'd have wanted to
look at the man in the case, when
he arrived for this wedding to a
girl lie’ll never seen, and then when
you saw the man you’d certainly
have wanted to get a look at the
girl, and when you saw tiie girl
...” Bryn paused. Tubby looked
at him curiously, but Bryn coughed
and went on immediately. “When
you saw the girl you would most
assuredly have wanted to know how
it was all going to come out. She
. . . well, she wasn’t bis type, Tub.”
"You’re saying just what I’ve
been trying to say,” Tubby cried.
“Ilolworthy’s been working on your
imagination. He knows what you’re
like. Well, it’s succeeded. Every
thing’s gone according to plan
You're roped. Tonight you’re go
ing to marry this girl that you’ve
only seen three times, a girl you
don’t really know a darn tiling
about, just because she lias some
kind of cock-and-bull story about
having to get married before her
twenty-first birthday and the man
she’s supposed to marry doesn’t
happen to take her fancy. Os course
he wouldn’t take her fancy with
you around. Certainly he wouldn’t,
lliats what it's all about, you darn
I idiot. You, James Wel,?pff Shipley
Brynildson Third. Ye god;? lit
| tie fishes, aren’t there enoupHj men
on the coast who would marry her
for this fifty thousand dollars she's
supposed to be paying you, without
you stepping into it? It’s so damned
absurd. What are you doing it for?
Fifty thousand dollars doesn’t mean
anything to you! And they’ve got
it all worked out so that there'll be
plenty of publicity and trouble
when you want a divorce . . .
you going up into the Oregon back
woods to live with her for a year.
So romantic! And she’ll turn out
to he a cheap little crook, but she’ll
be married to you all the same and
entitled to a lot of your property
when the break comes and your
name as well. Doesn’t it sound
beautiful?”
“Don’t be an ass,” Bryn said com
fortably. "I happen to know that
this business is on the level, be
cause I’ve known about the case
for years. I met the old gentle
■ man himself, Deborah’s grandfa
ther, when he was here eight years
; ago fixing the will up with Ted’s fa
ther. It was just when I was tak
. ing over my property and spending
1 a good deal of time In Ilolworthy’s
office. Tiie old gentleman was a
most interesting old chap, and we
had several long conversations. He
I was intensely concerned about this
will he was making, and. very anx
| ious to make sure that he was do
ing the right thing. The old man
L put the tiling up to me as a hypo
. thetical case and asked 4 me what I
thought of it. Being a young fool,
I thought it sounded fine.”
“So now,” Tubby said, eyeing
him, “when it doesn’t look as if it
, might be so fine, you feel respon
sible? Is that it? Is that why
, you’re throwing yourself away like
, a sack of soft potatoes?”
. Bryn sighed. “I do wish you’d
I go and change your clothes,” he
. said. “You can’t be my best man
I in a white tie and tail, not when
I’m wearing a lounge suit. We’d
probably have another earthquake.”
r “And what about Pilar?”
“Well, what about her?”
“For two years you've carted her
around. Everybody thinks you're
going to marry her. She’ll go blooey
. when she bears this. Have you told
, her anything at all?”
“How could 1 tell her? I w’asn’t
sure myself until two hours ago.
And there's no reason why I should.
I’ve never asked her to marry me,
or even hinted about it.”
“Well, I don’t have to tell her,
do I?”
“That’s a bright idea,” Bryn said
happily. “Thanks, old man. I'll do
the same for you one of these days.
Now, on your way, Tubby. Go and
get dressed. Burch will bring you
your cocktail, and lend you one of
his shirts and a collar. Y’ou can
wear my pants if you’re careful not
to take a deep breath, but I don’t
think you'd better try buttoning the
coat. All in keeping . . . she’ll
think you got them second hand.”
*******
Twenty-three years previously,
Anne Whittaker Larned had eloped,
on the morning of the day of her
wedding to Courtney Graham, and
had married a young man, who,
had lie been a woman, would nev
er have been received in tiie so
ciety in which the Larneds moved.
Tiie consequences were disastrous.
The young man had no money, bin
t lie had expected to have a great
deal when the Larneds relented and
. forgave their only daughter. How
ever, lie encountered unexpected
’ difficulties with the daughter her
- self; for when she discovered why
lie had married her, she crept away
from him, her heart as nearly bro
: ken as a physical organ can he bro
i ken by human unhappiness, and
, when her daughter was only a few
■ days old, she died. Fortunately,
the young fattier—who never knew
that lie was a father —was kicked
. in a vital spot by a horse, and died
before lie could cause any more
. misfortune; thus strengthening the
. belief of a number of people in the
. vengeance and justice of God.
( The aged and broken grandpar-
I ents took their daughter's child and
i also the blame for their daughter’s
5 unhappiness. If, they told them-
I selves, miserably, they had guard
ed her well, she would never have
[ met this handsome young seoun
: drei, and ail would have been as
i they had planned. She would have
i married Courtney Graham, scion of
f an old and spotless family, and all
r her ways would have been ways of
> pleasantness and all her paths
i would have been paths of peace.
[ The Grahams were among the
i first people of Boston. Nowhere
■ on their escutcheon could be found
i a blot, and even tiie erasure marks
I were so carefully done as to leave
I no trace. A perfect marriage, it
I would have been. But their daugh
i ter was dead, and their hitter re
t gret was in vain. However, they
still liad the child, and over the
> mother’s grave they vowed to them
’ selves that nothing should mar this
» girl’s life. They dedicated their
remaining years to her. It seemed
■ to them that they must creep out
. of the world with her, hide her, and
find for her a sanctuary.
They had sold the historic man
. sion in Boston, and with their beau
> tiful old household goods, had gone
j west as far as they could go, out to
r t lie Oregon wilderness. There, in
, the most glorious natural surround
r ings, they had built a huge stone
r house. They were miles from the
! nearest town, and cut off from all
t easy contact with civilization.
> Here the child, Deborah, grew up,
i with only her grandparents and the
servants for her companions, in
] the early years, when she was yet
THE COOLIDGE EXAMINER
a small child, she went infrequent
ly with her grandparents over the
rough mountain roads to the little
country town, or was perhaps al
lowed to accompany old Gary, their
■servant, on a marketing expedition;
hut as she grew older, and her
mother’s beauty began to evidence
itself in her, she was kept more
and more closely at home. There
were quite often guests at the great
house when Deborah was a child,
but they were grave elderly people
like her grandparents, so- that she
grew up completely cut off from
companions of her own age and
generation. She had, however, a
library full of books, and three peo
ple entirely devoted to her welfare.
It must be admitted that of the
three, Grandfather, Grandmother
and Gary, it was Gary who taught
her the most interesting things.
Grandfather taught her history, and
science, and geography, and politi
cal economy. Grandmother taught
her needlework, and a number of
tilings that made them both blush
and over which they skipped as
hastily as possible. But Gary—
Gary told her stories of people.
Y T es, there was Gary. Grandfa
ther and Grandmother kept the iron
gates leading to- the world locked
and barred, but Gary lifted the shut
ters of a thousand little windows,
magic casements, all of them, open
ing on the foam of perilous seas.
But no matter how staunchly
Grandfather and Grandmother kept
tiie iron gates locked against the
world, they knew that some day
tiiey would have to be opened, even
if only to allow themselves to pass
through, on their last journeys. For
many years the question of Debo
rah’s future, when> the iron gates
should be opened, gave them anx
ious hours of discussion. She would
have a fortune greater than her
father’s before her, since it had
grown through the years. She had
no relatives other than her grand
parents. Deborah must he com
pletely secure. So, when she was
thirteen, eight years ago. Grand
father had gone away to San Fran
cisco on a journey, and when he re
turned he liad stopped frowning,
and they told her that her future
happiness was taken care of.
Courtney Graham, less than- a
year after the marriage of Debo
rah’s mother, had taken unto h*Tn
self a wife. For him to do so had
been a blow, hut after talking it
all over for a number of years,
Grandfather and Grandmother had
consoled themselves by saying that
of course Anne, as far as Courtney
knew at the time of his marriage,
was happy; that if she liad been
dead, Courtney would have devot
ed his life to mourning her loss,
would have considered himself a
widower. No; Courtney had been
a perfect New England gentleman
and he had done no wrong.
He had a son, horn two months
after Deborah herself. The boy’s
name was Stuart, and now at thir
teen he was a tall handsome lad of
great promise. His father and
grandfather both thought that a
second attempt at an alliance be
tween the two families might prove
I a happy one. So it was understood
that if the young people were will
ing. they should marry each other
when they grew up.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Deborah
Enters a
Great Adventure
hc^Lvno^h
MOUNTAIN
by
Frances Shelley Wees
OUR NEWEST SERIAL
Far up in the mountains of the Pacific
Coast, in the old-world atmosphere of a
secluded estate, the lovely, unsophisti
cated Deborah had been reared. Instead
of marrying the fortune-hunting suitor
named by her family, she offered
another man $50,000 to act as substitute
for one year to satisfy the stipulation
of a will. Eut he fell in love with herl
START READING THIS
FINE STORY NOW
HOJs^RE
l/ouy&m
/ DR. JAMES W. BARTON
T3lU* About
Spacing Meal Tiniest
IT IS hard to understand
how the idea ever started,
and still persists, that an in
dividual doesn’t weigh any
nro-re after than before eating
food. Yet the increase in
weight after eating ia exactly
the amount of the weight of the
food. Putting it into the stomach is
just the same to the scales as put
ting it on the scales themselves.
Boxers, jockeys, and others who
must keep their weight at a certain
figure know exactly what they must
eat to attain a certain weight at a
certain definite hour. They know
also that the amount of liquids must
also be measured the same as foods,
as water or any other liquid in
creases weight.
Thus in the case of boxers, where
the weight is taken at two o’clock
in the afternoon and
Dr. Barton
| the bout takes place
I at 9 o’clock or later,
I their first thought is
1 for “a big drink of
I water.” This is be
| cause they have been
I ‘‘drying out” for
I weeks. After this
I large drink of water,
I and eating a big
I steak a little later,
1 at file hour of the
bout they will be
some pounds above
die weight taken at two o’clock and
will feel much stronger. Boxers are
I usually in good health and therefore
I the effects of food and liquids will
be the same as in any other healthy
individuals.
. When food is eaten, the body im
mediately begins to use it, which
really means burning it up to- man
ufacture heat and energy. And just
as anything that burns gives off
’ wastes —smoke and other sub
stances—so the body gives off
wastes and sends them to the lungs,
1 to the kidneys, to the skin, and to
the lower bowel from which organs
they are sent out of the body.
Body Weight Adjusted
The urine an<i the feces remain in
I the bladder and bowel for hours at
a time, whereas the breath and the
. perspiration are being lost all the
time into the surrounding air.
[ An interesting experiment is re
corded in the American Journal of
Physiology. Dr. C. I. Howland re
| corded the hourly loss of weight on
( two successive days for ten individ
uals following the eating of (a) a
light lunch made up of a glass of
milk weighing about seven ounces
5 and a ham sandwich weighing 11
5 ounces, and (b) a heavy lunch con
■ sisting of three glasses of milk and
’ three ham sandwiches—2l and 33
1 ounces respectively. In other words
1 the light meal weighed a little over
- one pound and the heavy meal a lit
* tie over three pounds.
! After the light lunch there was a
- progressive increase in the rate at
• which the weight was reduced for
two hours, then the rate of losing
v eight became less, so that by the
end of five hours, the rate of weight
loss was the same as before the food
, was eaten. Digestion was com
pleted.
After eating the heavy meal there
was an increased rate of weight loss
for three hours. Five hours after
the food was eaten the rate of loss
was still nearly 5 per cent above the
rate at which the weight is lost
when there is no food being digested.
The greatest increase in the rate
at which weight was lost after eat
ing the small meal was 10 per cent,
and after eating the heavy meal 23
p cent above the normal or aver
age rate with digestion not going on.
Thus the body adjusts itself to the
amount of food eaten, increasing
the rate of weight loss in proportion
to the amount of food eaten.
The above experiment shows that
when a heavy meal is eaten al
though the rate of weight loss is
greatly increased, nevertheless five
hours after a heavy meal is eaten
the rate of weight loss is still 5 per
cent above the basal rate, that is
the rate of decrease when no food
is being digested.
* • •
Understanding the Patient
A knowledge of all the sciences in
cluded in medicine should naturally
be a part of the equipment of the
physician but a knowledge of hu
man nature, the workings of the pa
tient’s mind, his reactions to every
day life is just as important if the
patient—the individual—is to be
treated properly or completely.
It has been well said that every
patient when he first visits the phy
sician is really a mental patient; he
is complaining of some symptoms
and whether these symptoms are
due to any real underlying cause or
only exist in his imagination, they
must be carefully considered and
treated.
In other words the physician must
know men and women and never
forget that he is treating men and
women and not just some group of
symptoms of which these men and
women are complaining.
The first consideration of the doc
tor is not the symptoms or disease
but the patient himself. Disease
means not being at ease, and the
fact that the patient is not at ease
may be as much the fault of the pa
tient as of the organism or other
c«ndition causing the symptoms.
© —WNU Service.
Uncommon john blake
iPii qp 88
AA O g) Beil Syndicate.—WNU Service.
There are few village smithy
shops today under the chestnut
trees. One reason
A Village is that there aren’t
Blacksmith any more chestnut
trees. Another is
that the motor car is rapidly
driving horses and vehicles drawn
by horses out of business.
I used to’ think that in fifty
years or more' practically all the
village smithies would disappear.
But lately I have' fearned better.
Here in a little coast town in
Maine is a village blacksmith who
has more work than' lie can do.
though he has probably not shod
a horse or repaired an agricul
tural implement in twenty years
or more.
* * #
For a time after the “devil wa
gons” began crowding horses and
horse drawn vehicles off the road,
he had little to do.
Then one day he saw some or
namental grill work that had been
sent to his town to be used as an
adornment on a new building.
He examined it carefully, then
went home and thought a little.
“There is no reason in the world
why I cannot do that kind of
work,” he said to himself. “I will
do it, by Gosh.”
* * *
Today the children still “love to
see his flaming forge and hear the
bellows blow.”
Over the anvil on which he used
to fashion horse shoes he makes
beautiful things of steel and iron.
Visitors seeing him at work have
come in to inquire if his handi
work was on sale.
He assured them that it cer
tainly was, and that more of the
same kind of work would be in
evidence as soon as there was a
demand for it.
He is known today all over the
state, and in many other states,
whose residents have bought his
work.
And if he had the advertising
gift that some people have he
would have a wide reputation.
But not, I am sorry to say, a
great business.
For his work is artistry, and
cannot be done in quantity over a
single anvil.
* * *
It cannot be said of him that he
is another Benvenuto Cellini. He
Urud& ftkll
jy, M
We've Much +o Watch
When we are alone we have
our thoughts to watch; in fam
ilies our tempers; in society our
tongues.
is not sufficient to have qual
ities. We must make proper use
of them.
Those who make threats don’t
fulfill them any more reliably
than those who make promises.
A pessimist doesn’t tell a lie,
he only sees one in everything.
Fault-Finding Is Easy
It requires keen vision to de
tect a virtue, but most of us
can find fault with our eyes shut.
Give us a day once in a blue
moon when we don't have to
make good.
When you forgive a friend, do it
with a hug or a handclasp. That
seals it.
They Come to Earth
When a hero marries an angel,
it is two very ordinary people
who set up housekeeping at the
end of the honeymoon.
Sometimes the only -way to
combat a gloom spreader is with
laughter. ,
Be fit for more than the thing
you are doing.
Love brings flattery to a man’s
tongue and flutterings to a wom
an’s heart.
Show an Interest
Indifference looks sophisticated,
but people like you better if
you’re interested.
You are always hearing about
the qualifications of a model hus
band, but never about the quali
fications of a model wife. Rea
son enough. All wives are model.
Every man like to see
how he looks in a beard, but he
is so timid about it, he will never
find out.
It takes three generations to
make a gentleman—starting at
scratch; but thousands are born
so without any preliminar* plan
ning. *
FOR
"<l - THESESKINIUMSHES
•.a \ heads Wonderful, thousands say, how the soothing
penetration of CUTICURA Soap and Ointment
l helps banish ugly skin irritations due to external
-*-«/♦ | < eczema causes> Wonderful, how this mildly medicated
'*• 11 ( Soap cleanses and soothes—how the Ointment
<*.i——relieves and helps heal! Wonderful, you’ll a^pree,
/ " Sold everywhere.
works in iron, not in silver and
gold.
But he is a master craftsman,
which he never might have be
come had he not been forced by
changing conditions to become
something besides the village
blacksmith.
I saw him at work the other
morning on a pair of beautiful
andirons.
I asked him what they cost.
“A lot of time.” he said.
“Yes, but how much money?”
“Oh, not so much. But the fel
low I’m making them for isn’t
rich so I wouldn’t like to charge
him too much.”
And there was proof that he
really had the soul of an artist.
Smart Household
Linens in Color
gea
Pattern No. 5348
Let us do i. bit of “garden
ing.” It’s linens we’re going to
beautify, with cotton patch flow
ers and flowerpots. This easy
applique is sure to enhance a pair
of pillow cases, scarf or dainty
hand towels. Take colorful
scraps, cut them into these sim
ple flower forms, and either turn
the edges under and sew them
down, or finish them in outline
stitch. It’s called “Linen-closet
Gardening” 1
In pattern 5348 you will find a
transfer pattern of two motifs 5%
by 15 inches, two motifs 4 3 /i by
15 inches and the patterns for
the applique patches; material
requirements; color suggestions;
illustrations of all stitches needed.
To obtain this pattern, send 15
cents in stamps or coins (coins
preferred) to The Sewing Circle
Household Arts Dept., 259 W.
Fourteenth St., New York, N. Y.
Write plainly pattern number,
your name and address.
Dogs on Alcatraz fsfe
Alcatraz prison, the Devil’s Is
land of America, a prison on a
rocky island in the middle of
San Francisco bay, fortified with
all the latest scientific gadgets,
and manned by the most experi
enced crew of prison workers,
has found it expedient to rein
force its crew with trained police
dogs.
Sanford Bates, director of the
Federal Prison bureau, declared
that “Dogs are better prison
guards than men. Their powers
of sight, smell and hearing are
far keener. They are trained to
knock down the man they are
sent after, but not to hurt him.”
; ; |e|;G»!eman
LANTERN
9 i THIS '■ the little Coleman
9 1 1 Lantern with the big
I --Ji; iBBSrJ brilliance. It lights Instantly
and is always ready for any
lighting job. in any weather.
Just the light yon need for every outdoor use . . .
on the farm, for hunting, fishing, outdoor sports.
Has gennine Pyrex bulge-typo globe, porcelain ven
tilator top, nlckle-plated fount, built-in pump. Like
Coleman Lamps, ft makes and burnt its own gas
from regular gasoline. It’s a big value, with years
of dependable lighting eervlco. for only SS.9S.
SEE YOUR LOCAL DEALER —or write
for FREE Folder.
THE COLEMAN LAMP AND STOVE CO.
Dept. WUISO. Wichita Kans.: Los Angeles, Calif.:
Chicago, 111.; Philadelphia, Pa. (5150 f
High Dignity
One of the sublimest things in
the world is plain truth.
Applicatoi^B