Shiner Gazette (Shiner, Tex.), Vol. 44, No. 47, Ed. 1 Thursday, November 25, 1937 Page: 3 of 8
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SHINER GAZETTE, SHINER, TEXAS
©
m rr
!
PITTED
The Original BURT L SIMMS!
© Gilbert Patten
WNU Service
SYNOPSIS
When Bart Hodge, a vain youth of sixteen,
alights from a train at Fardale, he stumbles
over a half-blind dog and in a rage kicks
the animal. The dog’s owner, Tad Jones, a
small, shabby boy who supports his wid-
owed mother, denounces him. This nettles
Bart and he slaps Tad. Frank Merriwell,
an orphan of Hodge’s age, prevents him
from further molesting Tad. Although the
two do not come to blows, Hodge sneeringly
says they will have to settle their differ-
ences later. He and Merriwell had come to
Fardale to attend Fardale academy. While
Hodge consults Jae Bemis, truck driver for
John Snodd, about his baggage, Merriwell,
accompanied by Tad and his dog, Shag,
start walking to Snodd’s place. Presently
the Snodd truck, with Hodge driving, rum-
bles down the road and kills Tad's dog.
Occupying a room next to Merriwell’s in
the Snodd home is Barney Mulloy, who dis-
likes Hodge. They become good friends.
Merriwell offers to help Mulloy get into
one of the academy dormitories by appeal-
ing te Professor Scotch, a friend of Merri-
well’s Uncle Asher. As they leave the
house that evening Hodge is talking to Inza
Burrage, a friend of Belinda Snodd. Later
they meet Tad, who now has another dog.
That night Bart Hodge crashes a party
given by Belinda Snodd. Hodge sings and
the lovely Inza Burrage plays the piano.
When Merriwell, seated on the porch with
Mulloy, sings a comic song, Hodge rushes
out, accusing him of insulting Inza. She
steps between them, telling Hodge that Mer-
riwell is too cheap to deserve his notice.
Next day Merriwell and Mulloy rush to a
grove on John Snodd’s farm to warn a pic-
nic party that a large dog which Silas Glea-
son gave Tad is mad and running amuck.
Hodge tries to convince Inza that this is just
a trick of Merriwell’s.
CHAPTER III—Continued
—5——
Then, further away, he saw Tad
Jones panting along in pursuit of
the beast. And once more the boy
lifted his voice in a shrill warning
cry that rang through the grove:
“Mad dog! Run! Run! Run!”
That snapped Hodge round to
look, and what he saw took the
starch out of him in the wink of
an eye. In the wink of another eye,
he was going away from there with-
out bothering to apologize for his
haste. In his rush, he forgot about
everything and everybody but him-
self.
The grove was abruptly filled with
the wild screams of frightened girls,
who fled like snowflakes before a
gale.
All but Inza Burrage. She, also,
started to run at last, but with al-
most her first step her foot turned
under her and she went down. When
she tried to scramble up she top-
pled again in a fluttering, helpless
heap.
“My ankle!” she gasped. “It’s
broken!”
Merriwell sprang forward, but he
didn’t try to pick her up and run
with her. That, he knew, would be
foolish. He caught up the coat that
Bart Hodge had taken off some time
before. Swiftly he wrapped it round
and round his left fore-arm. His
heart was steady now, though his
face was still tense and gray.
Sitting on the ground and clinging
to her injured ankle with both
hands, Inza Burrage watched him
do that. She saw him face the on-
coming dog, with her only a few
feet behind him. The foaming,
snarling beast was racing straight
at them. The carving knife was
still in Frank’s hand.
He crouched a little and lifted his
bent left arm as the animal sprang,
with a roar, at his throat. The
creature’s gleaming teeth closed on
that arm, around which Bart
Hodge’s coat had been tightly twist-
ed.
The boy reeled back a step, strik-
ing with the knife. The force of
the heavy animal’s lunge had stag-
gered him, and he barely touched
the dog with that first stab.
Inza was paralyzed with fear. She
could not have moved, then, had
she tried.
Dropping back to the ground with
its hind feet, the crazed beast tried
to pull Frank down.
Tad Jones had stopped, a rod
away. He was wringing his hands.
Almost blinded by tears, he cried
chokingly:
“Oh, Tige! Stop, Tige! Oh, Frank,
Frank!”
Merriwell did not hear him. He
heard nothing, saw nothing but the
raging, red-eyed beast he was bat-
tling with. He struck again and
slashed the dog, but that seemed
only to make it still more furious.
Barney Mulloy had obeyed Frank
and hurried all the girls but Inza
away. Now he came running back
through the trees and saw a sight
that made his heart stand still.
“Oh, help him!” begged Inza, as
Barney came up. “Oh, it’s terrible!
Help him! Do something, quick!”
The Irish boy looked wildly around
for a rock or a club, and could find
neither. He seized the small limb
of a tree and began to twist it off.
The dog yanked Frank down to his
knees.
The tree limb was still resisting
Barney. He let it go and whirled
to do his best for Frank with his
bare hands.
A voice shouted: “Keep away!
Let me get at that critter! I’ll
fix him!”
John Snodd had arrived at last,
with his gun. But when he tried
to get into position to use the
weapon he was baffled for several
moments by the furious movements
of the dog, which made it impossi-
ble to fire without hitting Merriwell
or somebody else
At last Snodd found his chance
and the muzzle of the old gan was
almost touching the beast’s side
when the trigger was pulled. The
gun roared and the dog dropped, a
ragged piece of Hodge’s torn coat
still in its foam-covered mouth.
The blood-stained carving knife
slipped from Frank’s fingers as Mul-
loy lifted him to his feet. / He was
breathing heavily.
“Thanks, Mr. Snodd,” he said
huskily. “You got here just in time.
I’m just about all in.”
“I got here as fast as my legs
would fetch me,” said the farmer,
staring at Merriwell. “I swan, I
never expected to see anything like
this in all my born days.” He was
still breathing hard from his run
and the excitement. “Young fel-
ler, you had nerve to stand up to
a mad dog half as big as an ele-
phant and fight him with a carving
knife. Wasn’t you scairt at all?”
The ghost of a smile crept into
Frank’s face, to which a little color
was slowly returning. “Why, yes,
Mr. Snodd,” he admitted, “but there
didn’t seem to be anything else for
me to do, under the circumstances.”
Inza Burrage hadn’t taken her
eyes off him. Still sitting on the
ground and clinging to her aching
ankle, she spoke up in a choked
and stammering voice:
“Oh, he—he—Mr. Snodd, he did it
for me! I twisted my ankle, and
“1 Guess We Better Examine
Your Arm First, Young Man.”
fell. I couldn’t run. That—that ter-
rible, terrible dog would have torn
me to pieces—only for him.”
Then she burst into tears.
Tad Jones had crept forward,
keeping his eyes turned away from
the dead dog. “They all skedad-
dled!” he cried shrilly. “Ev’ry one
of ’em run away ’nd left Frank to
stop old Tige all by himself, Mr.
Snodd. I saw it, I did. That feller
Hodge was here, but he scooted like
a streak. The big coward!”
“But I told Barney to get the
girls away,” said Frank. “He didn’t
know what was happening, but he
came back when he found we
weren’t with the others. Somebody
better take a look at Miss Bur-
rage’s ankle to see if it’s broken.”
“Huh!” grunted John Snodd. “I
guess we better examine your arm
first, young man. Being bit by a
mad dog’s a heap worse than break-
ing a leg.”
Bart Hodge had always hated and
feared dogs. The feeling was so in-
tense that it had become what is
called a phobia. He did not know
the cause of it himself. It lay,
probably, in some forgotten inci-
dent of his very early life.
No animal is quicker than a dog
to sense fear and dislike in a hu-
man being. He is quick, too, to re-
sent it, and he shows his resentment
or contempt.
It seemed to Bart that a thousand
dogs had let him know what they
thought of him. They had leered at
him with scornful eyes, they had
sneeringly given him a look at their
teeth, they had sniffed disdainfully
at his heels, and two or three of
them had nipped the calves of his
legs. Not one had taken a good
bite. They had acted as if they
were not sure they would like the
taste.
There was, therefore, an undying
feud between Bartley Hodge and all
dogs. All his life he had looked
forward with dread to the time when
bad luck would force him to meet
a “mad” dog, but he had never seen
one until the day of the picnic in
Snodd’s grove. And now he hadn’t
waited to meet him.
Hodge was out of the grove and on
his way to any place where the
crazy dog wouldn’t be liable to come
before he fully knew what he was
doing. He realized it suddenly. A
picture at himself at that moment
flashed into his mind. It stopped
him as quick as he could put on the
brakes.
He turned round and saw several
of the frightened girls coming after
him. A sense of shame drove him
back to meet them.
“Where’s Inza?” he cried.
They didn’t seem to hear him,
and he caught hold of Belinda Snodd
as she was panting by.
“Where’s Inza?” he repeated,
holding her fast by the arm.
“Oh! Oh, I don’t know!” She
could hardly speak, and her voice
shook like her whole body. “That—
that awful dog! He—she—I don’t
know! It’s terrible! I’m scared to
death!”
One of the other girls, a little
blonde, had stopped of her own ac-
cord. She was trembling too, but
she gave Bart a look that was a
stiff blow to his pride. “You were
with her,” she said. “Why don’t
you know where she is?”
“Why, I—I thought—”
But he hadn’t thought, and he
couldn’t explain. He had taken to
his heels and left her, and now he
knew just what that made him look
like.' He let go of Belinda Snodd’s
arm and headed back for the grove,
on the jump again. It took cour-
age of some kind for him to do that.
The sound of a gun came from
within the grove.
Neither Hodge nor the fleeing girls
had seen John Snodd coming, for
all of them had fled toward the high-
way in the vicinity of the school
grounds. But the report of that
gun gave Bart’s heart a lift. It
meant, of course, that somebody
had fired at the dog. He put more
speed into his stride.
They were removing the torn,
foam-covered coat from Merriwell’s
left arm when Bart came running
back through the trees. His mouth
open, his hands clutched tightly to-
gether, Tad Jones was the pic-
ture of suspense as he watched. Her
face damp with tears, Inza was still
sitting on the ground and watching
them also. No one appeared to hear
Hodge approaching.
He saw the dead dog lying where
it had fallen. Snodd had dropped
his gun a few steps away. That
explained a part of what had hap-
pened, but he knew he could never
explain what he had done. Nobody
would understand, if he tried.
This realization stopped him, 30
feet away. What could he say?
What was there for him to say ofr
do?
Frank Merriwell was taking off
his own coat now. He looked pretty
sober, but still not as disturbed and
anxious as the others. Quickly he
thrust the sleeve of his shirt up
above the elbow.
“I don’t believe the dog’s teeth
touched me,” he said. “If I’m right,
I owe it to Hodge’s cdat.”
Snodd took hold of Frank’s wrist
and turned his arm to inspect it
thoroughly. “By ginger!” he cried
in great relief. “I can’t see even a
teeny scratch. Now if that don’t
beat the world my head’s a pun-
kin!”
Barney Mulloy put an arm round
Merry’s shoulders. His chin was
quivering a little, but he managed
to grin. “You lucky slob!” was all
he could say then.
But Tad Jones had less control.
“Gosh, I’m ^glad!” he cried hop-
ping up and down as if trying to hop
out of his skin. “I’m glad, Frank!
I’m awful glad! If old Tige had
bit you I’d gone right off ’nd jumped
in the ocean, I would.”
“Well, I’m not feeling so bad
about it myself,” said Frank, after
taking a deep breath of relief. “And
it’s lucky the insane beast didn’t
eat you up, Tad.”
"I’ve got something to say to Sile
Gleason,” declared John Snodd
grimly. “Giving a little shaver a
dog in that condition! He ought to
be made to smart for it.”
Frank turned toward Inza without
stopping to put his coat on again.
That brought him round facing
Hodge, who still stood where he had
halted. They looked each other in
the eyes again, and the flush oi
shame on Bart’s face could not be
mistaken. No sneering, no triumph
now; and Merry was not one to
kick a fellow when he was down.
“I had to make use of your coat,
Hodge,” he said, “and I’m sure
you’ll never want to wear it again.
I’ll pay you for it.”
Bart made no reply, and Frank
went to Inza and dropped on one
knee. “Now how about that ankle?”
he asked.
She wasn’t looking at him now.
Her proud mouth was very humble.
“Are you sure—dead sure—you
were not touched by the teeth of
that awful dog?” she asked.
He smiled. “There isn’t a mark
on me.”
“It’s marvelous! Never, never in
my life will I forget the—the way
you fought that dog.”
She wanted to say more than that,
but the words would not come. They
both felt awkward. He laughed to
cover his embarrassment.
“Well, I’ll remember it a while
myself. I’ve had more fun doing
other things. You mustn’t try to
walk on that foot. I don’t believe it
will be such a hard job for Barney
and me to carry you back to Mr.
Snodd’s house. You can’t weigh a
ton.”
Now she laughed too. “I’m an
awful lightweight,” she said, “espe-
cially above the ears.”
Hodge heard it all. He had been
paying no attention to Mulloy, who
was staring at him with a look of
unspeakable contempt. Bart was
sorry he had come back there. That
had been another mistake. He might
have known there was nothing he
could do to put himself right.
Feeling as empty as a dry well,
he turned about and walked swiftly
and silently away.
Tad Jones was the torch that
started the story of Frank Merri-
well’s fight with the mad dog run-
ning like wildfire through Fardale
village. But Pete Smith, the local
reporter for a city daily, listened
doubtfully to Tad’s lurid account of
the unflinching manner in which
Frank had faced the dog and battled
with it. That, Pete thought, would
make a fine newspaper story, but of
course it was too good to be true.
So he went to question Inza Bur-
rage, in her home, and was amazed
when her version of the affair sus-
tained Tad in every particular but
one. Her ankle had been sprained,
not broken.
Now enthusiastic and eager, the
reporter got hold of Tony Accero
without wasting time. “John
Snodd’s place, Tony,” cried Pete,
diving into the car, “and step on the
gas.”
Frank was writing a letter to his
uncle when Mulloy crashed into the
room. The face of the Irish boy was
split by a grin.
“Be after dropping that and come
down to see a man, my lad,” said
Barney.
“What man?” Frank wanted to
know. “What’s he want to see me
for?”
“It’s a reporter for a newspaper,
and he’s going to make ye famous,
Frankie.”
That made Merry drop the pen
and stand up. “A reporter?” he ex-
claimed. “Good Lord!”
This was something he hadn’t ex-
pected, something he wasn’t pre-
pared for, something that made him
shy like a skittish pony.
“Yesterday you arrived in Far-
dale,” said Barney, who seemed to
be enjoying Frank’s consternation,
“and tomorrow your name will be
emblazoned in the public print. Fast
work.”
“But I don’t want to see a re-
porter,” said Merriwell, looking
around the room as if in search of a
place to hide. “And I’m not going
to see him either, and answer a lot
of silly questions.”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Decimal Clock Devised; Astronomers
Use It to Measure Time Conveniently
We divide the day into hours,
minutes and seconds. For ordinary
human purposes this is convenient
enough; for scientific purposes,
particularly when long intervals of
time are involved, intolerable. As-
tronomers prefer the Julian calen-
dar, according to which days are
numbered from January 1, 4713 B.
C., and fractions of a day are deci-
mals, with the day beginning at
Greenwich mean noon. An event
which occurred on June 1, 1937, at
36 minutes and 42 seconds past 3
p. m. standard time would have oc-
curred at 2428686.35882 J. D., notes
a writer in the New York Times.
Astronomers and navigators use
this Julian system. Hence they re-
quire conversion tables. But time
and trouble are involved in trans-
lating ordinary time into Julian
time. Hence the decimal clock
which Prof. Warren K. Green has
devised for Amherst’s astronomical
observatory. The astronomer reads
it as he would any clock and sees
where he stands according to the
Julian calendar.
Professor Green’s clock looks
more like a big speedometer than a
clock. In a simple box six digits
appear. They represent 100,000
equal parts of the solar day. Every
time 0.864 of a second elapses by
ordinary time the last digit gives
place to a new one.
This decimal clock is driven elec-
trically by a synchronous motor so
geared that it turns a wheel a thou-
sand times a Julian day. On the
circumference of this wheel ape 100
equally spaced contact points. Each
makes an electric contact when it
passes a given point. Thus impulse
counters can be operated at any
point in the observatory.
The impulse counters are much
like mileage recorders. On their di-
als numbers appear consecutively
every one-hundred-thousandth part
of the mean solar day. At any in-
stant the dial indicates the day and
the decimal fraction. For example,
9 hours 30 minutes and 36 seconds
would appear as 0.39625. When 0.864
seconds have elapsed by ordinary
time the dial would read 0.39626.
Ruth Wyeth Spears
B
e*s=ss:
X
Silk Shades Give a Soft Glow
'T'HERE is subtility in the light
that glows through a silk
shade, and many decorators are
using them for the room that
needs the softness of plaited folds
and the mellowness obtained by
placing two tones of fabric one
over the other.
Two tones of China silk, one to
be used for a plain lining and
the other for a gathered outside
covering will make an attractive
shade. Before you buy the ma-
terial it is best to experiment
with samples one over the other
trying them both in daylight and
over an artificial light. You will
also need a roll of silk binding
tape matching the top color of the
shade. This tape is to wrap the
wire frame. And fancy braid ei-
ther in gold, silver or a harmoniz-
ing tone of silk is used to bind the
top and bottom of the shade. Use
cotton thread to match the out-
side tone of the silk.
Slip the binding tape off the roll
and wrap a rubber band around
it as shown here at A. Working
from the inside end of the tape
wrap the frame as shown at B.
The outside layer of silk is put on
next. This is gathered both top
and bottom and pinned to the wire
covering as at C and D so that it
is stretched quite tight. Joinings
in the outside covering need not
be sewed but may be hidden un-
der the folds. This material is
sewed in place as at E.
Next, cut a straight strip for the
lining and fit it around the out-
side of the frame as shown here
IhvcLz J^
Ideals Are Our Rudders
“A rudder,” explained the boy
who knew his boats, “is a stern
necessity.”
You can sometimes put ruffian-
ly men in their place by studied
politeness.
Experience is profitable, but it
frequently leaves scars.
It doesn’t matter so much if a
very young man loses his heart
and his head at the same time. It
is expected of him.
Real glory is to get your por-
trait on a postage stamp years
after you are dead.
His Inspiration
We prefer, perhaps, our imagi-
nary picture of our friend, rather
than the real one. He, in his af-
fectation, tries to live up to it.
People with short tempers have
to go through life “being for-
given.”
We have known of some foot-
prints on the sands of time that
one would like to erase.
at F. Trim the joining allowing %
seam as shown at G. Sew to the
frame at the bottom as at H. Trinr,
quite close at the bottom.
Turn lining to inside as at I.
Slip stitch the joining. Turn
in raw edges at top and whip
around top of frame. Pin the
binding around and then sew it
with stitches buried in the mesh
of the braid.
Every Homemaker should have
a copy of Mrs. Spears’ new book,
SEWING. Forty-eight pages of
step-by-Step directions for making
slipcovers and dressing tables;
restoring and upholstering chairs,
couches; making curtains for ev-
ery type of room and purpose.
Making lampshades, rugs, otto-
mans and 'Other useful articles
for the home. Readers wishing a
copy should send name and ad-
dress, enclosing 25 cents, to Mrs.
Spears, 210 South Desplaines St.,
Chicago, Illinois.
Cheap Sales Cost
United States census figures for
1929 show that at a cost of but
1.54 per cent advertising created
a market for the $70,434,863,443
worth of manufactured products
of that year.
WO*U>'S
St.Josepti
GENUINE PJJRE ASPIRIN
Faith and Logie
Faith is as much a normal func-
tion of the human mind as is
logic.—William W. Keen.
Constipated?
Don't Let Gas,
Nerve Pressure
Keep You
v Miserable
When
pen.
press
nerve pressure causes------ ----
feeling, bilious spells, loss «f appetite and —
sin ess. SECOND: Partly digested feed starts
:ay forming GA8, bringing os _
.....di« ‘ ‘ ‘
□til
am ess.
to dec
____„ ____ing GAS, bringing oa Mar
stomach (acid indigestion), and beartbura,
bloating yuu up until you sometimes gasp lar
breath.
Th, .
ean’t eat.
sour,
able.
you spend many miserable days. Yen
rat. You ean’t sleep. Your stomach ia
You feel tired out, groueby aad mteer-
NERVE& As sooa as offending wastes are
washed out you feel marvelously refreshed,
blues vanish, tbs world looks bright again.
Thera h only on product oa the market
that gives you tbe DOUBLE ACTION you
need. It is ADLERIKA. This efficient car-
minative eathartie relieves that awfal GAS
at once. It often removes bowel oosgretion ia
half an how. No waiting for overnight rebel.
Adleriha acts on the stomach and both bowels.
Ordinary laxatives aet aa the lower bowel saly.
itllovilra haa l\M>n rMOmmtTldfid Inf MADV
tec* »• after effect*, Juat QUICK mws.
Try Adleriha today. YouH say you hava
sever used such am efficient intestinal sleaasrr.
Are Women Better O
Shoppers than Men ■
GRANTING a woman’s reputation for wise buying, let’s trace the
methods by which she has earned it. Where does she find out about
the advantages and details of electrical refrigeration?What tells her
how to keep the whole household clean — rugs, floors, bathroom
tiling — and have energy left over for golf and parties? How does
she learn about new and delicious entrees and desserts that surprise
and delight her family? Where does she discover those subtleties
of dress and make-up that a man appreciates but never understands?
Why, she reads the advertisements. She is a consistent, thought-
fill reader of advertisements, because she has found that she can
believe them—and profit thereby. Overlooking the advertisements
would be depriving herself of data continuously useful in her job
of Purchasing Agent to the Family.
For that matter, watch a wise man buy a car or a suit or an insur-
ance policy. Not a bad shopper himself! He reads advertisements, too!
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Shiner Gazette (Shiner, Tex.), Vol. 44, No. 47, Ed. 1 Thursday, November 25, 1937, newspaper, November 25, 1937; Shiner, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1158950/m1/3/: accessed June 15, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Shiner Public Library.