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THE GREGORY DINNER
By MARJORIE "Don't forget the Gregory dinner to-night, dear," Mrs. . Walton called after her husband, aa he stepped into the runabout "No," he answered, absently. In specting the new check rein. "I may be late Ashton, the president of our company. Is to be In town to-day." "Oh, dear! Do get rid of him some how, for the Gregory's are so punctill lous!" ' "Do my best. Good-by." I "Good-by." . Mrs. Walton hurriedly attended to her household affairs, and went off to the club to play golf. At five o'clock, when she returned, with Just time enough to dress, she was met by the maid, who said: "Mr. Walton tlllphoned out, ma'am, a hour ago, fer ye to come out to the club fer dinner with him an' Mlsther Ashton." Mrs. Walton put down her curling Iron, despair on every feature. "Oh, the wretch," she cried, "he's forgotten all about the Gregory's." i She flew to the telephone. 1 "Give me 203. . Hello Is this the Country club? Is Mr. Walton there? Well, send a caddy out-with this mes sage. Tell Mr. Walton that he's for gotten our dinner engagement, and that he must excuse himself to Mr. Ashton and follow me at once. Did you get that? It's most important All right good-by." "Now, Maggie," she said to the maid, "when Mr. Walton comes you tell him to hurry Just as fast as he can, and I'll explain as best I may un til he gets there. He ought to be beaten.". Then she stepped into the runabout and departed. An hour later a station hack dashed up to .the Walton's at a break neck "Weill He Snorted. pace, and the head of the house, hot flushed and irate, leaped out. "Maggie Maggie," he bellowed, as he reached hjss room. "How long has Mrs.' Walton been gone?" "About an hour, sor. An' she lift wor-rud ye wua to hurry wid all yer molght an' main, an' she'd be afther Ixplalnin' to the lady " "Where is this blamed dinner?" "Where? Oi don't know, sor." "You don't know? Well, I don't, either! I suppose she must have told tne, but I haven't the ghost of an Idea." "She nlver- told me at-all at-all, sor." "Oh, well, it must be the Papes. Come to think of it, she did say the Papes Papes " he said, getting into the hack, "and you've got about two minutes to get me there." Then he gave himself up to utter and soul satisfying distemper. This social life he was going to cut it out No telling how Ashton would take being handed over to perfect strangers at the club, although he had ' been very decent about it at the time. Why on earth Louise didn't mention these things ' They swung up to the" Papes at a clattering gait and he ran up to the door. "Has Mrs. Walton arrived yet?" he asked. "Mrs. Walton? She's not here, sir," "Not dining here?" ' "Why, no, sir. Mr. and Mrs. Pape are dining in town." "Try Bolton's," cried Walton, with out a word to the astonished servant They dashed off to the other end of town and up to the Boltons. "Has Mrs. Walton arrived yet?" he demanded. , "No, sir, she ain't here." "Not dining here?" "No, sir. They're at dinner now. Will you come In, sir?", . ""No, thanks." "HI try next door," be called back to the driver as he jumped the hedge. lie repeated the formula at the Smiths, -with the same results and his Ire had about reached the burst ing point "I give it up," he groaned to the cabman, who had decided that he was drunk or insane, "take me home. Or, no wait try the Gregory's." Another John Gilpin spur and they were, there. "Has Mrs. Walton arrived yet?" It was getting mechanical "Why,, yes, slr,"vsajd the maid, "but he's lone." -' t . : r. "Caet Gone where?" ; i The; maid partly closed 'the door. ear-' BENTON COOKE "I don't know she and Mrs. Greg ory went somewhere to dinner." "Don't you know where?" "No, sir they didn't say." "The devil," said Walton. The maid closed the door entirely, she didn't want to take any chances. Tired and hungry, Walton got into the cab again. He had to have din ner he'd go back to the club and look up the neglected Ashton. "Station," he said, and they clat tered on again. Half an hour later he arrived at the club, and made his way anxious ly through the dining-room ; looking for the erstwhile guest In the most secluded part of the covered porch a party of people laughed loudly and made merry. It got on Walton's nerves all this gayety, and he glanced at them peevishly. Then he stopped and gasped. Mrs. Walton was in the midst of her best story, and Ashton and Mrs. Gregory leaned toward her in rapt attention. Walton strode to the side of the table, like Lear about to break into the ban ishment speech. . "Well!" he snorted. Mrs. Walton looked up at him sweetly. "Oh, here you are, dear. Where have you been?" "Where have I been? Where have I been?" . "Say how do you do to our guests, and join us. Have you dined?" That was the last straw. He bowed to Mrs. Gregory and Ashton and sat down. "No," he said, "I have not dined." "Mr. Ashton said something about your suddenly having remembered a dinner engagement, and basely de serting him." "Well, you know why I deserted him. The boy said it was urgent" "The boy the boy?" she said, vaguely. "I got your message 'to dine with you at the club, so I picked Mrs. Gregory up and came along to -find poor Mr. Ashton about to dine with the Bachelors." "And your wife was good enough to rescue me from that dire fate," Ashton interposed. "I'm delighted to heir It," said Wal ton, grimly. "And now if you don't mind, I'll begin at the first I'm starved and I feel that I've earned something as a reward." "If you'll get Mrs. Walton to tell you her splendid storjt about the man who couldn't find the dinner he was invited to, you'll be doubly re warded." "No doubt Mrs. Walton is an ex cellent story teller," he remarked, solemnly, and something in his tone sent Mrs. Walton into paroxysms of laughter. "Well?" said Mrs. Walton, after their guests had departed. "Well?" he repeated, all his ire returning. Mrs. Walton began to laugh. "It may be very funny for you to send me chasing all over Elmwood looking for an imaginary dinner, but I'm unable to see it!" "Of course, you are, you poor, old martyr! You see, I thought the Gregory dinner was to-night, so I arrived in state, to find Mrs. Greg ory sitting down to a lonely repast, Mr. Gregory having stayed in town. Well, you know how awfully proper she is, and what' a tease she is, and I knew that if she discovered my mis take she'd be awfully embarrassed, and I'd never hear the last of it from him, so I thought quickly, and said I'd come to carry her off to the club to dine with us. I hoped we'd get there in time to head you off, but we didn't, and poor old Ashton, who was wandering about like a lost soul, said you'd been gone some time. I tele phoned the house, and Maggie said you'd just left there, but as you didn't know where you were going, she couldn't call you up. So what could I do?" she concluded. "But to greet me, after a hot chase like that, with a pleasant smile and coolly ask me if I had dined." "Well dear, I couldn't let Mrs. Gregory know." "Hang Mrs. Gregory! Here I was trying to get a raise out of Ashton, which he thinks the company can't afford, and I was Just getting him to see my point of view, when that boy called me off. You notice that your dinner party will cost us something, because I'll not get the raise, now." "Oh, but you will." "What do you know about it?" "Well, it didn't take me long to dis cover that Mr. Ashton's hobby was rose gardening, and I told him that It was your hobby, too. I said it was the sorrow, the only sorrow ot our lives that we couldn't afford to have a hot house for roses, and he was so perfectly delighted to find that you had this taste in common, that he told me he thought the company would have to put ; up for the hot house, after January 1st" "But great Scott, Louise, I don't know - an American . Beauty from a potato plant" "Never mind, when we get the raise we'll tell him that we decided to put it Into a kitchen garden. Instead." "Well, if you aren't .a wonder!" said her husband, s In sheer admira tion. ; ; - "Of course I am," she replied, mod estly, "or I sever would have mads what I have out of you. Don't for get" she sdded. as he put out the light "that the Gregory dinner Is next Wednesday." (Copyright by Joseph B. BowIm.) GRAVES IN THE WILDERNESS EIGHTEENTH In Cloud and Pillar Series A STORY Of THE WflBltWSS JOURttY Of THE HEKRIW rtOfU By UtCHlrkwaj and Byway" rreacatr wopyrif kt, 1M, by ui antbor, W. I. Ed ton.) Scripture Authority: Num. 14:28 85; Heb. 3:17-4:3; 1 Cor. 10:5. 6efrei!reAeaeaereae6eaeaeaea J 8ERMONETTE. JJ. Paul. seizes upon this dark chapter In the history of the J Hebrew people to point a warn- $ Ing and make an appeal to the children of God to-day. All left Egypt for Canaan, but 0 all did not reach the rest and j blessing of that promised land. 1 Why? J Because of the awful sin of un- t belief, the one certain barrier to the realization .of the promised J blessing of God. Holding up this striking ex- t ample of what the sin of unbe- lief can forfeit to the soul of J man, Paul appeals to the Chris- i tian to "fear, lest, a promise be- J ti Inn left ua of enterlna Into his rest, any of you should seem to come short of It . . . Let us labor, therefore, to enter into t that rest, lest any man fall after the same example of unbelief." The unbelief which drove the children of Israel back Into the J uIMornaaa waa tha unbelief of a settled purpose, for had It not been so, they would have Us- ft , tened to the last appeal of Caleb and Joshua. 8o It Is ever with the human soul. Where unbelief has been allowed to set and harden, like . the cement block, there Is noth- 4z Ina which can soften It and bring It back to the plastic state again.. No, It cannot be soft- r ened, but some day God's Judg- C ment will fall and grind the hardened heart of unbelief to J powder. Contemplate this, O r soul. Listen! "To-day, If ye a will hear his voice, harden not your hearts." e There Is a wilderness In every rs "2 life where graves must be made a and the sins or unoeiier Duried out of sight, before the soul can , come Into the blessed privilege i of the Promised Land. r;, Forty years, a year for a day! A pretty heavy penalty to pay, a and yet Is not that the ratio which sin often exacts of the soul? On every hand we see t the marks of sin which will be a carried down to the very grave. After all the graves in thewil- 3 derness were the only bright t places there, for they spoke of a buried unbelief, and of the eer- J talnty that the Promised Land t lay Just beyond its borders. J i Graves are to put dead things e In. An unbelieving heart Is a J dead heart, and were better bur- i led. Yea, bury It, though It be x with tears, and then turn and let God give you a new heart in J which burns a living hope. Then r tears will be turned to sunshine t and gladness, and the wilderness will be suddenly transformed J into the land flowing with milk 4- and honey. x . e9e$e$e?ee9eeetLe$e$e$e? THE STORY. U i NOTHER burial." Moses muttered A to himself, sadly, as he saw the solemn procession passing on towards the outer borders of the canp. "Sure ly the word of the Lord Is being ful filled, and the graves of the children of Israel are filling the wilderness.'' The aged leader turned and let his eyes follow the somber little group meditatively. There was the shroud covered form lying so cold and still on the stretcher borne between the four, behind whom came the mourn ers, their heads covered and their garments rent In token of their grief. It was but one of many such scenes which had marked the wilderness journey during the many years they had been shut in there. "Yea, the word of the Lord is being fulfilled. It cannot be long ere we shall enter the land of which God hath spoken." "Know you who It Is who Is befng borne yonder to his grave?" . ques tioned Caleb, who stood near. "No, dost thou?" rejoined Moses. "Yea, he was one of the most aged men of my tribe," replied Caleb "and his death is another victory . of faith." "How so? Tell me," said Moses, with an eagerness which showed that the smallest Incident in the life of his people was of the greatest inter est to him. "You remember how when we faced that dreadful crisis so many years ago, and I had all but persuaded the people of my tribe to stand with me and encouraged the people to go for ward, when this man whose burial Is but now taking place, interposed and turned the sentiment against me. He was a man of much Influence in the tribe, and of strong, dominating will, and he challenged my appeal, and declared that it was fatal folly if the people listened to a young enthusiast such as I was. ' M 'Why,' he said, 'what need is there of haste? Why should we plunge to our doom? Let us take counsel to gether and prepare our fighting men to meet the forces of the enemy. ' It may even be that-we shall be able to gain the support of some friendly tribe about to help us fight:- And the people had listened, and then turned with the others in violent opposition to our appeal to trust in the Lord and go forward. "Well, following those dreadful days, after so many bad perished, and Israel had at last been turned back into the wilderness this man came to me and demanded to know why in the face of giants and walled cities and strong armies,' I had declared that we were able to go up and pos sess the land. "'Because,' I said, 'the Lord has promised us the land for a posses sion, and ha is able to give us victory over our enemies.' "'But' he exclaimed, testily, 'why should God ask us, or expect us, to do things which our reason tells us are impossible? I would rather take my chances In the wilderness than in that dreadful land.' "And when I reminded him that God had sworn that none who had refused to gOjUp and possess the land should ever enter it, and recalled the awful Judgment on the ten spies who had perished before the Lord after' bring ing up their evil report, he had shout ed defiantly that he would not die in the wilderness, that if any overcame into the Promised Land, he would be among the number. "This boast was noised abroad through the tribe, and It became al most a proverb among the people that Shelah would not taste death while Israel was yet without a country." "Is this what has kept the. spirit of so many bold and defiant during these years, notwithstanding that In what soever place Israel has cast her camp there have the graves of the dead been made?" asked Moses, with grow ing interest. "No doubt it has had much to do with it," replied Caleb, "but you must remember that the heart of un belief which was born of the difficulty and dangers which confronted them in the Promised Land, has only been In tensified by the trials of the wilder ness Journey. Faith grows not in the soli of fear and discontent. "But with Shelah it was different, for the stubborn, defiant Bplrlt which he had maintained through the years at last gave way under circumstances as remarkable as they were gratifying. And this Is the second part to our story, and here is where we see the victory of faith In his death. "Shelah had a grandson upon whom his heart was set, and it was the only joy of his life to watch the boy grow and develop, and with the greatest care he gave the boy Instruction In the history of his people, and sought to arouse in him that spirit of hope and purpose for his future that would give, him prominent place among his people some day. "Well, this boy grew to young man hood, and chance brought him one day several years ago Into the presence of Joshua, and as a result a deep friend ship sprung up between the older man and the stripling. Fearful to tell his grandfather, for he knew that the latter felt none too kindly towards him, this was the one secret he kept from him.- The result of this friend ship was a broadening of the young man's vision, and an opening up to him of a new understanding of the his tory of his people. Up to this time he had been taught to consider that the plight of the people in the wil derness was the result of the failures and blunders of their leaders, and nat urally he shared the prejudice of his grandfather. But with the coming of Joshua into his life the shadows of doubt and hate lifted from his mind and he took hold of God with a new faith. "Then began a battle in his own heart He came to understand the judgment of God upon the unbelieving, and that they were to all perish in the wilderness. The fate of his grandfather preyed upon his mind, and his irreverent boast that he would live to go into the Promised Land filled him with a nameless dread. For weeks he struggled with the matter, and at last determined that he would speak to his grandfather about It. This he did, but the old man flew Into a rage and charged his grandson with disloyalty, and ordered him from his presence. With breaking heart the young man left and found refuge with Joshua. The old man was sorry for his temper, as soon, as the boy had gone, and sought to recall him, but he had gone. For days he sought him. Too feeble himself to go, he sent messengers all through the camp, and while they sought him, he was fighting a battle in his own heart "If God had wanted them to go for ward and possess the land, he was able to help them. Perhaps he was wrong, after all. And then he re called the saying of the elders of Is rael that God had declared that none who had refused to enter through un belief should ever go Into the Prom ised Land, but should die in the wil derness. Then his thoughts reverted to his grandson again, and it suddenly flashed across him that if that were true, he was one who stood in the way of the realization of Israel's hope. He was helping to keep his grandson out of Canaan. But at last the vic tory ' came, and with it peace, and when the messengers returned with the boy, the latter found the old man with sweetness of spirit viewing his own fate. The certain hope of Israel, and that of his grandson filled him with a new joy. 'Death will be wel come here,' he whispered, 'for I know now that you will go in and Inherit the land.' . ' "That was several days ago," con cluded Caleb, "and now the aged She lah ' Is being laid In his grave In the wilderness, but the star of hope shines above his grave, for each grave In the wilderness points toward ths Promised Land." 8WINE BREEDING HOU8E. Convenient Structure for Farms Where Several Brood 8ows Are Kept On farms where several brood sows are constantly kept and must be con fined In small lots with separate pens, a piggery constructed as shown In the plan Is of special use. In this house there are eight separate pens, each complete with a sleeping floor, trough, and a lot 40 feet wide and as long as desired. The lots extend away from ! LuftJrtj m.'f i Plan of Piggery. the piggery so that they may be plowed and planted to forage crops if necessary, 'Vlthout disturbing the other lots. . ' The piggery, says Farm and Home, is fitted with a pair of scales, a feed cooker and a feed mixing vat The floor is of concrete and it has a sec pnd story where feed can be stored. The feed bins open upon the second floor into larger bins where a quan tity of meal feeds or grains may be kept. The Bleeping platforms con sist simply of 2x4 scaffolding placed edgewise around a part of the floor of the pen, within which clean straw for bedding is placed. A piggery sim ilar to this is being used on many large farms and in several of the ex perimental farms of the country. ORIGIN OF THOROUGHBRED. dan Be Traced Back to Arabian, Turk or Barb Stock. The American thoroughbred Is de fended from the English thorough bred, and the latter Is made up by blood almost wholly from Arabian, Turk or Barb stock. The English stud book for thoroughbreds Is not open to any horso that has had an out cross of common blood during the past hundred years or more, and it is doubtful if one having an out-cross 150 years back would bo recorded. A teference to the lists of horses in Eng lish racing stables at the time the thoroughbred was brought to the front will show that the originators de pended almost entirely on the,horses brought from the orient, and of the three general classes mentioned. The Americans have greatly im proved on the original thoroughbreds by selecting and to some extent by crossing with Arabian horses of fine type. This practice has not been common of late years, for our breed ers have formed the opinion that they can do little more for the breed by Importing Arabian horses. By selec tion, the quality of the thoroughbred is now so high that it Is believed that in bringing in more foreign blood, even of the Arabian breeds, there is danger of deteriorating it The American trotting horse was developed from the thoroughbred, or rather as a strain of the thoroughbred. Constant selection has made this horse the most Important of the thor oughbreds, not only for races, but also for the saddle and carriage. 8TOCK NOTES. The more pigs a sow has, the more feed she needs. ' ' ' Cows, pigs and the separator are a get-there combination. Sold your wool yet? Brought a good price this year, didn't It? The older pigs grow the more food It will take to make a pound of gain. Pigs should be crowded bo that they will be fat and ready for market early. Slops made ot middling and skim milk are among the best foods for suckling sows. There is no philosophical reason why acidity of food should give any better returns than sweet food. There never should be an unsound cow, sheep or bog sent to market from the farms of this country. Feed the farm by the way of the gdfcd cow. Feed her and she will feed the farm.' and everybody on It Cultivate your smellers. Never leave a churn after washing, until It smells as fresh as the morning dew. Sows can be kept in smooth, sight ly conditions, and yet fulfill all the re quirements of abundant milk produc tion. Nature never designed that an ani mal should suckle down to a skeleton, which Is never done if a proper supply of food given. Big Demand for Horses. This country Is having nip and tuck to grow horses enough for the horns market Few horses are being exported. This Is a good ' time for farmers to raise a few. i The Brood Sow. In selecting a brood sow, be sure that she is straight and heavy in the limb, short in face and nose, heavy in Jowl, with good heart and flank meas urement '.' , When to Select Brood Sow. ' Never make your selection for a brood sow until a reasonable age has developed the good and bad qualities (bat are sure to corns out . FEEDING AND SELLING MULES. How They Should Be Dealt With to Get the Best Results. The southerner requires fat mules, the fatter the better. Flesh catches the planter's eye. Sleek-coated ani mals are also in demand. In sire, the cotton mute ranges from the 14-hand donkey to the 15.2-hand farm mule. Mare mules are given the preference In the south, but north, east or west this Is not so. The wise feeder will keep thBO facts In view .when buying young or work mules. The rough, leggy animal should be avoided. Such are mean feeders and seldom fatten. This is also true of colts. It is possi ble, says Orange Judd Farmer, to tell with reasonable certainty which colts will feed out well and which will not The colt that keeps nearly fat on ordi nary feed and with ordinary care can be depended on,wh!le the one that Is stunted, rough and thin is a doubtful feeder. Some of our feeders raise their own stock mules, buying colts and yearlings, then pasturing or feed ing them very much as cattle are fed. Feeding usually begins in early fall and continues until the end of the year. Many carloads of two-year-old mules go Bouth. The feeding is best done In sheds equipped for that purpose. In most sections, at least five kinds of feed can be had. Corn Is the principal fat tening element, but bran and shelled oats act as a loosening agent and pro duce a good coat. Such feeds should be given in the proportion of one part bran or oats to three or four parts corn. Soy beans are a promising mule feed, being the equal of linseed meat In rearing and fattening mules, the shearing should be attended to often. The mane falls over badly when al lowed to get too long, and it is prac tically impossible to make a good trim later. When receiving a mule that has been shod, remove the shoes, especial ly those on the hind feet the first thing. Mules will kick each other, but if there are no Bhoes, no harm Is done. Work as many as possible, if only a time or two. Many consider a mule broken that has had only one or two lessons In the waaon or plow. Mules should bo kept, during the fattening period, confined to the shed. Good bedding Is very essential to producing a fine finish. The above is written with special reference to cotton mules, bnt applies equally well to other de mands. Most all the cotton mules from Kentucky are sold through the Atlantic gateway; The market opens In tho late fall or early winter and closes in early spring. HORSE KICKING IN STALL. Device by Which He May Be Ren dered Harmless. ( The kicking horse is not only dan gerous but destructive, but the way to control him Is a perplexing problem sometimes. A South Dakota corre spondent of the Prairie Farmer sug gests a device for controlling such ani mal. It he kicks with only one foot place a strong surcingle about him and at B put in a strong ring. Fasten a strong foot strap below the fetlock joint C on the foot with which he kicks. Then, run a rope from ring C through ring B to a ring fastened to the opposite Device for Kicking Horse. front foot at D. When he kicks he will Jerk this front foot under him. ' If he kicks with both hind feet run a rope from one hind foot up through the ring B, down through ring D and back through ring B to C, and fasten on the other hind foot. Then when he kicks with both feet he will Jerk this one foot from under him; which leaves him standing on one foot. This will soon get him out of the notion of kick Ing. Building a Breed. The usual method of starting m breed of live stock is to select two or more unusually good animals from a group that has been developed la a certain direction by means of better food, better environment and careful selection from a greater number. No breed Is ever started If the Animals; that can be used sre not better than the same breed of animals in another locality. At the beginning this work Is carried on by a few men, some times by one. In-breeding has to be practiced for generations till certain characteristics are fixed in" the ani mals. The In-breedlng Is Intensified by constantly eliminating those ani mals not of the desired type. Feeding the Pig. It doesmot follow because a hungry pig will gnlp down almost any kind of slop, that any kind Is good enough for him. Make the slop strong enough , to give the pig' a well rounded form that will stay with him all of the time, not the form that, Is seen Just, after leaving the trough. The Profitable Pig. ' Under average conditions with the farmer there is very little profit In feeding pigs after they reach a weight of 260 pounds. The most pork is made with the least feed on young pigs.