Galveston Tribune. (Galveston, Tex.), Vol. 38, No. 25, Ed. 1 Tuesday, December 25, 1917 Page: 4 of 12
This newspaper is part of the collection entitled: Galveston Tribune and was provided to The Portal to Texas History by the Rosenberg Library.
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GALVESTON TRIBUNE.
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 25, 1917.
THE CURVE OF THE CATENARY
TFT FPHONRS Business Office and Adv. Dept. S3, Circulation Dept. 1396.
- ----‘—6 Editorial Rooms 49 and 1395, Society Editor 2524.
by Mary Roberts Rinehart
objector, aged 23 and wearing
“The trouble with
me often and at length,
CHRISTMAS.
in.
wants to know
I
the mater told
me what had happened.
I didn’t
say I’d heard it from Bois-
Old Boisseau has
been correct, but
he’d let out
one or two things. It
seems
against the wall, she
was not far from
of Christianity,
are
to
Jones.
garden and window boxes.
It made our place look like
their
roar to speak of for about
How can it
be done/
The skirts cannot be made
“Miss
Hazeltine is not well.
She fainted this
think that what he does doesn’t
matter,
i
"Goqd heavens, no.
I hardly know
tine today, Ollie,” he said.
“Take her
spinach
patch.
But disheartening news comes
smug,
I visit him
now and
women
dresses
Of the blare of the tasseled bugle,
And the timeless clatter and beat
Of the drum that throbs to muster
Squadrons of scampering feet.
the
the
fering here from
companionship.—i
sor tie.
concluded,
The
steps,
ter to
It’s
Why
her
catastrophe which happened 1
Smiths’ house tonight?
“No, what was it?” asked Mrs.
a year.
the porch
a
I
■ anything
mean? And
Member of the Associated Press.
The Associated Press is exclusively entitled to
the use for republication of all news dispatches
credited to it or not otherwise credited in this
paper, and also the local news punished herein.
And sing one verse for the voiceless;
And yet, ere the song be done,
A verse for the ears that hear not.
And a verse for the sightless one.
One good turn deserves another;
You have helped a friendless brother,
I will face the wintry wind
Till your bunny boy I find.
his ear:
“Please, sir, mother
is measles catching?”
“Tell your mother
home,
just then, so I ignored her.
“By the way, father,” I said.
asgI am suf-
“Krupp plant is blazing.”—headline.
Giving its owners a foretaste of the
life to come.
But, oh, let your voice fall fainter,
’Till, blent with a minor tone,
You temper your song with the beauty
Of the pity Christ hath shown.
her.”
“I don’t
It seemed to make her feel bet-
see it there. I put it in the
A SONG FOR ' CHRISTMAS.
Chant me a rhyme for Christmas—
Sing me a jovial song-
And though it is filled with laughter,
Let it be pure and strong.
“Come into my .cave, where it’s nice
and warm,
Don’t be afraid, I won’t bite you,
I know how/to behave, so come into
my cave.
Believe me, I don’t want to fight you.”
Let it be clear and ringing,
And though it mirthful be,
Let a low, sweet voice of pathos
' Run through the melody.
Sing of the hearts brimmed over
With the story of the day—
Of the echo of childish voices
That will not die away—
For though it be time for singing
A merry Christmas glee,
Let a low, sweet voice of pathos
Run through the melody.
—James Whitcomb Riley.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Poetry and Persiflage
From Experience.
“Pop, are bald eagles a distinct va-
riety?”
“I can’t say positively, my son, the
I rather fancy a bald eagle is simply
a married one.”—Exchange.
i a lack of intellectual
-Chicago Tribune.
And now they are asking the
Under our old financial system the
steady declines on Wall street should
have brought on a panic. Our present
system is not favorable to panics.——
Florida Times-Union.
A NATIONAL LOSS. 1
Fort Worth Star-Telegram.
Just as Aroostok county, Maine, is
the nation’s potato center, so is Travis
So the Yellow Dog Tramp walked into
the cave, and in the next story you
shall hear what happened after that*
Of al mornings," the mater put
“Oliver, is there ever to be a time
like a good boy, and don’t let
“American soldiers in France will be
allowed to drink beer and light wines.”
—Item from France.
Now watch the recruiting lists swell!
, a win'
you,” h
his man’s head,
thank heaven.
got a bit peeved, but in five minutes
or so, when they’d all blown off steam.
but he’s not
believe she fainted.
these conditions
paper was still on
GALVESTON TRIBUNE
===== ESTABLISHED 1880 =---—
Published Evenings Except Sunday at the Tribune Building.
• Entered at the Postoffice in Galveston as Second-Class Mail Matter.
With a
Pretty?
then, for excitement. I’ve seen him
throw a book through a window to get
a breeze!
It was 9 o’clock by that time, and I
county, Texas, the nation’s
the whole blooming show myself.
“is that you are suffering
that when the mater was
to wear less cloth in
as an act of patriotism.
Horrid Thing!
Jones—Have you heard about
lined up
If Col. Roosevelt should ever in a
moment of forgetfulness say something
favorable regarding the administra-
tion’s conduct of the war the skies
might not fall, but they would wobble
like the mischief.—Charleston News
and Courier.
easy enough to pretend to faint,
couldn’t Howard Martin take
home ?”
any shorter without exposing the
knees and the waists cannot be cut any
lower without exposing—that is, with-
out the wearer inviting pneumonia. Is
it meant that the dresses are to be
double-barrel and drawn skin-tight?
What’s the matter with having the men
omit the cuff on the trousers and adopt-
ing the tailless shirt?
or Sweden may find herself listed with
those considered alien enemies by the
entente powers. The nations are not
playing mumblepeg—they are at war.
Sig. Rigoletto, Especially, Was in
Good Voice.
Mr. and Mrs. Wm. Heide, Mr. and
Mrs. August Heide, and Mr. and Mrs.
J. H. Lehman attended the grand opera
in Chicago on Sunday, where they lis-
tended to Galli Curci and Rigoletto, two
of the most noted singers of the day.—
Crown Point, Ind., Star.
Leon Trotzky is now fulminating
against the German emperor with one
mouth while he is dickering for peace
with the German emperor with the
other, to speak after the manner of the
Irish bull. Mr. Trotzky may be astute
Enough to lead the Russian , people out
inko the wilderness of promise, but he
of human wisdom to offer a reason * is no match for the German diplomatic
why, after nearly "two thousand years | prestidigitator. The Teutonic peace
of course they
A Commanding Feature.
Gus—The facial features plainly in-
dicate character and disposition. In
selecting your wife you were gov-
erned by her chin?
Cuthbert—No; but I have been ever
since we were married.—Exchange.
Some Wish!
The Tribune has received a Christ-
mas 'card from Ed P. Norwood, who for
a number of years has been calling on
the office as advance man for Ringling
Brothers. Mr. Norwood says:
“Wishing your a Marvelously Merry
and Mammothy Mastodonic Christmas
and a Stupendously Happy and Gigan-
tically Joyous New Year.”
Thanks, Mr. Norwood. The same to
you.
The Lazy Servant.
Once there was a lazy servant who
wished she was rich.
So a fairy appeared and gave her
a lamp.
Rub that lamp,” explained the fairy,
“and you can have what you want.” \
But the lazy servant was not im-:
pressed.
“It’s just a scheme to get the brass-
work polished,” she yawned.
And so her fortunes’ remained as
they were.—Exchange.
BillyDunniyandllis‘kriends5
,_____ 6/OaviCoz/_.
town at night,' while he stayed peace- another thing. It never turns a fellow
mausoleum. Green shutters, too.
from Travis county. The recent freeze
killed 60 per cent of the spinach crop
in Travis and adjoining counties,
which means a loss of more than
$1,000,000 to the growers. Texas will
miss its spinach and pot licker, while
northern and eastern consumers see
many spinachless days ahead—days
heretofore relieved of tin can mo-
notony by the crispy product of the :
nation’s spinach crop down here in ■
grand old Texas.
Scanty dress will be in style next
spring, as a war measure. And a lot
of misguided chaps are hoping their
eyesight doesn’t fail them before then.
when we can depend on you?”
Can you beat it? You’d have thought
to hear them that I’d put out the
lights and stolen the jewels and been.
Claude Kitchin’s idea of “taxation
until it hurts” doesn’t appear to have
extended to certain gentlemen draw-
ing down $7,500 per—Washington Post.
knives and fish hooks, guns and
jewelry—everything upon which a
high profit was desired by the dealer
was labeled in that way.
Today Germany is not in high favor,
and there is scarcely an article in any
store with a German label. "In fact the
label factories have discontinued the
printing of "Made-in-Germany" labels
for American manufacturers to paste
upon American products.
It would seem, then, that this is a
good time for Americans to learn that
the best goods of every kind which
are manufactured under heaven are
“Made-in-America.”
But the manufacturers do not seem
to think so. Instead of the “Made-in-
Germany” labels, we have with us to-
day “Made-in-Japan” labels. Thus the
label printer has had to change his
label with no resulting benefit to the
American people. The goods sold un-
der this misleading label are made in
American factories by American work-
men paid American scales. They al-
ways' have been made inAmerica. It
is likely they always wilfbe made in
America. And the fact that they are
made in America assures the purchaser
that they are the best goods of the
kind selling for a like price in the
world.
It is time for the “Made-in-America”
label to be used on all American made
goods; and it would not be a bad law
which would compel American manu-
facturers to place an American label
on their every product.
took another look at her. Why, it was
the only sort of a house she could
have’come from. And I’d been think-
ing of her in a dusty office, with the
roar of the mill all around. This last
is hyperbole. There hadn’t been any
seau. I knew she wanted to tell it.
Besides, I wanted the real story. In
the time they were telling me that I
couldn’t be depended on and the rest
of it, I’d made up my mind to find the
mater’s pearls and the rest, or sprain
a fairly serviceable mind. I was* pretty
sick of being known as the family fool
and idler. But if I was to do anything
I had to have something to work on.
against a girl to call her things she
isn’t. It makes him want to be extra
nice to her, and send her flowers, to
make up for the other. We’re built
that way. So it didn’t help matters
any for the mater to turn to father
and say:
“I don't know where he gets it
from.”
“Gets what from?” This was father
and a trifle sharp.
“His liking for low company.”
“Mater!”
“You see nice girls, your own sort
all the time, Oliver. And yet, on the
slightest pretext, you are off with some
designing young minx who---”
“She’s a nice girl, mater, and you
have no right to attack her.”
“Have you asked her to marry you?”
Can you beat that?
commissioners do not care a rap how
much Leon declares, so long as they
can manage to keep the Russian army
from again becoming a menace on the
eastern front. It is about time that
the Russians turned over—the dream
has lasted long enough.
piece of benevolence will give to the
day a brightness of color, a glow of
approval, such as will make it an oc-
casion that will linger long- in the
memory and inspire an anxiety for its
return that the experience might be
repeated. On Christmas, as perhaps on
no othe day, is man brought face to face
with the knowledge that he is com-
posed of a complex nature and that he
possesses sentiments of which only
some extraordinary occasion can make
him cognizant.
Despite, wars and misery and pain
and sorrow; .even ir the midst of bat-
tles that call for something more than
physical courage, man is compelled to
confess that his nature is not natural-
ly cruel; that he would rather be kind
than cruel; that his desperation in pur-
suit of the immaterial things of life are
not the evidences of this real nature.
Were there more occasions in the
course of one’s life it might give the
Divine within an opportunity for man-
ifesting itself in the actions of the
man as theworld sees him and per-
haps, after all, it is the Christmas mis-
sion to once each year whisper into
humanity’s ear that the world is one
great-brotherhood, that kindness and
consideration for others should con-
titute more of the atmosphere in which
we live; that peace on earth is more
than a pleasant-sounding phrase, and
that love is more potent than hate for
the hastening of the millennium.
taxi and followed her into the house.
I’d like to live in that little house.
It was full of old mahogany, shining
to beat the band, and faded oil por-
traits in tarnished frames. And father
was as old as the rest. Nothing but
Miss Hazeltine seemed young. But it
was bright. Even father was bright.
Imagine being 70 years old and still
cheerful about it! He was coming
down the staircase when we entered ■
and the girl spoke before he had a
chance.
“It’s all right, father,” she said. '
“There is nothing to worry about.”
Eastern Offices.
New York Office, 341 Fifth Ave.
.D. J. Randall.
Chicago, St. Louis and Detroit Offices,
The S. C. Beckwith Agency.
safety clasp of her diamond collar.
‘Hurry up, madam,’ he said. ‘And in
case any of you have any hope of as-
sistance, ‘I’ll tell you two things. First,
one of my men is standing near the
switchboard downstairs and has the op-
erator covered. Second, even if the op-
erator could use the switchboard, the
telephone trunk lines are out of order.
Boisseau’s is cut off from the world,,
ladies.’
“But he was nervous, nevertheless,”
the mater said, with something very
like triumph. “He hurried Pamela. In-
deed, he was quite brutal to her. Her
hands were shaking, of course.”
Pretty nervy of the mater, I call it. I
was just about to tell her so, when Sis
demanded where I’d been all night.
“I came in shortly after midnight
and went to bed,” I said virtuously.
And got up at 5 o’clock, I suppose!”
“I did. Exactly that.”
“I don't believe it You’ll be telling
us next that you’ve been to the mill.”
W ell, I didn t care to go into things
her talk. She’s tired and—if there is
anything wrong, it’s her affair, you
know.”
“I don’t need to be told my own
business," I said. I was pretty hot,
but, after all, I hadn’t been minding
my own business and T knew it.
Well, the ride didn’t amount to
much. ' She sat with her eyes closed
and I babbled as cheerfully as I could.
But I got sick of the sound of my own
on guard and about a dozen young-
sters with schoolbooks standing
around.
The only thing I got out of my ex-
amination I’d known before. The en-
gine had died, but the gear lever was
still in the high speed. That and the
taximeter registering 50 cents was all
I made out of it. There was another
clew there, as clear as daylight. After-
ward, when I knew the whole story, I
went over that taxicab and there it
was. But I never even saw it, and if I
had I suppose I’d not have attached
any significance to it. It wasn’t a
thumb print. It was a lot more ob-
vious than that. But the police didn’t
notice it either, so we started even.
No, I’m not going to tell it. That
would blow the whole show. The way
to write this sort of thing is to tell
only part of what you know and
spring the rest at the end. It keeps
people reading. Well!
Jones—Why, Mrs. Smith gave the
baby a bottle to play with, and while
she was out of the room it fell from
the cradle and broke its neck.
“What! The poor little baby?”
shrieked his wife.
“No, the bottle!” replied Jones, with,
a fiendish chuckle.—Tit-Bits.
decided to go home. I’d left the I
mater and Sis longer than I should i
have, as it was. Father’s no good in |
an emergency; he loses his head and
raves. Besides, if he’d gone back to
Boisseau’s as he jolly well might, there
was a chance that he’d heard I’d been
there with Miss Hazeltine and I knew
I’d have to square myself.
So I went home. The house was
quiet, but mother’s maid met me in the
hall and said the mater wanted to see
me. They were all there in the room,
the mater in bed, propped up with pil-
lows, the governor by a window, star-
ing out, and Sis reading the paper
aloud. She put down the paper and
they all turned and glared at me as I
stood by the door. •
“Well, young man,” father said. “If
you will explain what took you out of
the house at 5 o’clock this morn-
ing---
“Trotzky hurls defiance at the kais-
er.”—Headline.
And had his finger crossed while
he did it.
Why He Wanted to Know.
A little boy entered a surgery the
other day. On his catching sight of
the doctor he whispered quietly into
morning, and I took her home in a taxi-
cab.”
“Who is Miss Hazeltine?” mother de-
manded.
“One of the office stenographers.”
“Did you have to take her home?”
“Good heavens, mother,” I said, “the
girl was sick.
Now I look at things this way. If a
chap’s people think he’s a dub he gets
to thinking it too. And he’s apt to
because they don’t expect
better. Do you see what I :
She was a long time coming around.
What with fatigue and worry, the
poor kjd was about all in. It gave me
a turn. I’ never seen a girl faint. It
was when I was dabbing ice water on
her temples, which I’d read some-
where was the thing to do, that I hap-
pened to look up and the N. C. was
standing by, watching.
“How doth the little busy bee im-
prove each shining hour!” he said with
a grin. “You start your days early,
Mr. Ollie. Or don’t you go to bed?”
“You go to the dickens,” I said.
He glanced at Miss Hazeltine.
“Better get that girl away,” he said,
in a nasty voice. “She’s only drunk.
Boisseau has his hands full now, with-
out----”
I couldn’t help it. The swine! I’d
had my eyes on that jaw of his from
the time he began to wag it. I caught
him on the very tip of it. It was like
hitting the edge of a marble table. I
spoiled a perfectly god tennis hand
on him. But it was worth all it cost.
Say, for a minute that place looked
like a morgue, with the N. C. on his
back and Miss Hazeline flat on three
chairs. And at that they brought the
‘policeman through the lobby on a hos-
pital stretcher. Honest, it was almost
funny.
He got up, and I’ll say this for him,
he was mad, but he was game.
“I didn’t think you had it in you, Mr.
Gray,” he said. “And if I made a mis-
take about the young lady, I’m sorry.
But that’s not an apology to you. It’s
to her.”
He went out after the policeman,
and I scarcely saw him again until the
night father sent for him, and he
nearly dropped that lower- jaw of his
when he saw the. suitcase on the table
and every missing thing in it but Olive
Thomas’ sapphire bracelet. But that
belongs further on:
I took Miss Hazeltine home. It was
after 8 by that time. The taxi'] went
along the street where the thing had
happened to Martin and me, and al-
though it was late to expect to pick up
any clews I stopped the car and got
out. The taxi was still jammed
against a building with a policeman ’
1 FOUR
voice and the last part of the trip I
examined my right hand, stealthily.
“How did you do that?” ,
• I jumped, but I made up some sort
of story of having caught it in th©
taxicab door, and because a girl thinks
everything that’s hurt ought to be tied
up at once I put a handkerchief
around it. Her eyes were closed again
and I took a good look at her profile.
It’s funny, when you think about it,
how you can see a girl every day for a
year and she’s a part of an office ma-
chine or something like that. Then all
at once something happens and you’re
a man and she’s a woman, and to
thunder with the office.
I was getting the feeling pretty
strong. She didn’t think much of me.
She’d seen too much of father’s “Go
out and play, Ollie.” But then and
there I made up my mind, or what I
choose to call my mind, as the gov-
ernor has been known to put it, to
make that young lady sit up and take
notice. I’d clean forgotten the sweet-
heart, or whatever it was that .might
be in a tree.
However, she didn’t take much no-
tice that morning. But as we got ner
her house she opened her eyes.
“If .you will come in,” she said, “I’ll
bathe your hand and tie it up .prop-
erly.”
I didn’t exactly have to be coaxed.
I’d reached that stage already.
“Will you do something for me, Mr.
Oliver?”
“Anything up to murder,” I said. And:
saw her turn white. It got me. But
she pulled herself together.
“If the morning paper is still on the
step, will you put it in the taxicab and-
take it away with you?”
I hadn’t really started on my mad
career as a detective then. I was in
the formative and theoretical part.
Then and there I took it into my fool
head that she had an insane relative,
a brother or somebody, and that he’d
got loose with a razor. It didn’t quite
fit the tree idea, and the spring didn’t
belong, apparently.
But I was wrong. If you’ve been
guessing insanity, you’d better start :
over. Insanity nothing! On the con- '
trary. •
She lived in a little white house, sort 1
of a bungalow, plaster, you know,
Secretary Baker thinks he has a plan
by which the farm boys in the army
can be given furloughs Qf a sufficient
length of time to permit them to return
home and assist in the making of the
crop. The secretary recognizes that
something of this sort must be done if
the quantity of foodstuffs produced is
to be sufficient for the needs of our
own country and to aid in supplying
the allies; but it is again suggested
that there are plenty of men outside
the military age who could be utilized
in farm work and most of them could
be spared, from the cities where, not
a few are idling away the days, in-
creasing the great army of consumers
when they should be numbered among
, the producers. The big corporations
have awakened to the knowledge that
ettciency does not confine itself to men
between the ages of 21 and 30 and the
government ought to be as wide awake
as the corporations.
SUBSCRIPTION RATES wXSyTff
Member American Newspaper Publishers’ Ass’n, Southern Newspaper Publishers'
Ass’n, and Audit Bureau of Circulations.
SANCTUM SIFTINGS Hazeltine in the taxi I saw Martin. It
“The woman. she was an office
cleaner somewhere. Leaves four kids.”
I’d never even thought of the
woman. I felt rather ashamed, es-
pecially when I found he’d been to the
tenement where she had lived.
“I expect the governor would come
over with a check,” I said. “Where
does she live?”
He wrote the address on a bit of
paper from his pocket and gave it to
me. I took it in my left hand. To tell
the truth my right was pretty well
busted up and I’d been keeping it in
my pocket. But if he noticed it he
said nothing.
“I’d like to speak to Miss Hazeltine,
Ollie,” he said, in that quiet way of
his. That was a queer thing about
Martin. You never knew what he saw
or didn’t see. But when it came to"a
show-down, he seldom missed any-
thing. -
I let him go over to the taxi alone.
I expected to be canned, as I’ve said.
But after a couple of minutes, he
beckoned me.
“I’ll get a substitute for Miss Hazel-
fully at home? Why, the man with the
razor—it made me shiver.
Miss Hazeltine made me sit down,
and she brought a little basin of warm
water and bandage and fixed up my
hand. She put a whole bandage on it
and then split the end and tied it in a
bow around my wrist. I looked like a
hospital case, but I liked it.
Doing something for somebody had
helped her, too. Girls are like that.
Some girls. Even Sis came up to the
scratch the last time I had tonsilitis,
and wanted to read to me.
Miss Hazeltine’s color came back, and
she made me promise not to use the
hand that day. As under ordinary cir-
cumstance the only labpr l do with
that hand is signing bar checks at the
club and dealing at bridge, I was will-
ing to promise. Then father asked me
to breakfast, and when I refused he
went with me to the door.
“I don’t understand about the news-
paper,” he said, with the first hint of
discontent I’d heard in his voice.
“There was none yesterday or today.
I must report the carrier.’
I left him there, looking shaved and
smug and rosy. My grandfather, Ollie
the second, is still alive. He’s the sort
of old duffer who shies his boots at
are,” replied the doctor.
The boy, not being satisfied with
this, exclaimed:
“Please, sir, mother wants to know
what you will give her to spread ’em
about the village? My sister’s got
’em awful.”—Pearson^s Weekly.
Exaggerated Ego.
At Camp Grant, t’other day, the of-
ficer of the .guard was trying to rea-
son, in his primitive way, with the
towering mentality of a conscientio
I saw poor Sis color. I give you my
word, I’d never thought of her and
Martin before. I knew how much
chance Martin had with the mater—
about as much as a ripe apple in a
school yard at recess.
We had a family row then and there.
The mater got it out of me that Miss
Hazeltine had not fainted at the office.
I’m not clever at dodging, and before
I knew it she had the damning fact.
Things went from bad to worse. The
governor put in a few choice words, and
because we were all jangled and upset
there was the deuce to pay.
At the end of ten minutes I heard
myself saying:
(To Be Continued.)
It would appear that the Swedish
people are more bent on getting pos-
session of German gold than they are
of observing neutrality. Not content
with playing the part of intermediary
between the German diplomatic office
and its agents in South America, it now
develops that sailors and members of the
crews of a number of Swedish vessels
have been found carrying communica-
tions, written in invisible ink, from the
United States to their own country,
where the missives are mailed into
Germany. As this latest discovery does
not directly touch any governmental
agents, but is limited to private citi-
zens, it may not be the basis for any
protest from this country, but it might
be used as a basis for warning the
Swedish officials that they might exer-
cise better control over their subjects
t <
was too late to sidestep him.
Now Martin liked Miss Hazeltine
pretty well. I’d never thought’ about
it before, but the minute I saw him I
knew he’d offer to take her home, and
ask a lot of fool questions, too. go I
waited for him.
“Bad business,*Ollie,” he said, look-
ing at the wreck. “I haven’t been to
bed.”
“Pretty bad,” I agreed.
“I’ve been looking up the chauffeur’s
people, or trying to. He doesn’t seem
to have left a family anyhow. The
other case is worse.”
“The other case?”
Guaranteed Goods.
“I do declare! Arethusa Winters is
married again, and to a man from
Chic-aago. I wonder how she got
him?”
“Oh, probably from one of them big
male order houses.”—Harvard Lam-
poon.
so, but when mankind loses faith in
, the infinite wisdom of the Creator
there is no other anchor that will hlod,
and it must be believed that out of the
chaos now existing there will arise a
better humanity, or Despair will as-
cend the throne and Reason depart
from the earth.
But Christmas is not a day for weep-
ing or gloomy retrospection. Christmas
is a day of joy, a day of looking for-
ward into the shining face of hope and
turning away from the forbidding
countenance of man’s humanity to man.
Christmas came to bring hope to a
world groping in the darkness of doubt
and despair, and Christmas has still
this mission for those who care to see.
God’s storehouse of happiness has
not become emptied, nor has the- prom-
ise of the first Christmas day failed
in all the years that have elapsed from
that glad hour to this. Christmas is
still Christmas and will be so long as
there are children on the earth and
God’s cornucopia continues to pour its
blessings upon human kind.
This much has had stamped upongit
the indorsement of time as well as the
approving heart-throbs of every indi-
vidual who has sought to know from
personal experience some of the ele-
ments that enter into any true cele-
bration of the day. Some kindly act,
some deed of thoughtfulness, some
and said-: “Mr. Yellow Dog Tramp,
where did you come from?” And when
that dog tramp heard 'Billy Bunny he
almost turned a somersault, he was
so surprised.
“I’ve come after you,” he said. “Now
squeeze inside my woolen muffler and
I’ll see if I can’t find the way home.”
So the little rabbit got underneath
the muffler right up close to the tramp
dog’s warm neck, and then the dog-
pulled the muffler on tighter and off
he went on his way back to the Old
Brier Patch. On and on he ran,
through the blinding snow until he
lost his way. He couldn’t tell which
road to take, for there wasn’t any road
to see, nothing but snow, and all the
trees were filled with snowflakes and
all the bushes, too.
“Oh dear me!” said the poor Yel-
low Dog Tramp, “I’m lost and so are
you, little rabbit!” And then he gave
a long, mournful howl and sat down in
the snow.
But somebody heard that mournful
howl, yes sir, it was Mr. Bear, and he
came out of his cave and when he saw
the Yellow Dog Tramp and Billy Bun-
ny’s head peeking out of the muffler,
he said in ‘a kind, cheery voice:
No one is properly entitled to enjoy
Christmas this year until he or she has
become a member of the Red Cross,
owns a liberty bond, a thrift stamp
and has done some deed of kindness
since sunrise. It may not be conven-
ient to purchase a liberty bond today,
and. it being a holiday precludes the
possibility of investing in a thrift
stamp, but the door is always open for
the performance of some act whereby
another or several others may feel
that the day is more like Christmas
should be. Try it on some child.
While we may not enter into the en-
joyment of this day in the same spirit
that has characterized similar observ-
knees in the past, while it may be
the general" impression that Christmas
this year is very different from those
of the past, there is nothing now pres-
ent or looming in the immediate future
that should deter us from taking cog-
nizance of the day in keeping with its
true meaning.
Probably in the years that have
passed there has been a disposition
to make of the day a time of feast-
ing and indulgence of the appetites to
an inordinate limit; or it may be that
the spiritual significance of the day
has never been permitted to obtain
recognition; it might be well that on
- this occasion the methods of the past
as regards the observance of the day
be forgotten, and that recognition be
given to its higher and true signifi •
cance.
Today the world is living in the
midst of wars and rumors of wars.
Just across the oceart' are hundreds of
thousands of human beings ready to
grapple with each other in the death
struggle; there are hundreds of hospi-
tals filled with wounded and suffering
men, the result of battles; there are
widows innumerable and orphans in
countless, numbers, and today is the
birthday anniversary of the Prince of
Peace. It may • be beyond the reach
“Where is it?” he demanded, not
grouchy, you know, but' eager, like a
child. But he wasn’t childish. Not
so you could notice it.
“I’ll tell you about it later. This is
Mr. / Gray.” . ■
I don’t know that I’ve given my last
name before. Yes, I’m one of the
Grays. I’m Oliver Gray IV, to tell the
terrible truth.
I’m afraid I wasn’t very cordial to
the old chap. He looked too smug and
contented. Why the deuce did he let
a pretty girl go wandering about the
a desk telephone, and as the crowd
grew she edged toward it.
I was trembling so I could scarcely
stand, Oliver,” she said. “But at last I
got the receiver and took it off. I
knew if I called for help he’d shoot me.
I tried to speak, but at first I couldn’t
make a sound. But at last I managed
to speak to him, very loud, so the girl
downstairs could hear. I said ‘This is
an outrage. You will never get out
of the building with these jewels.’ I
almost fainted, but I knew the tele-
phone girl could hear it.”
The telephone in the restaurant was
out of order?”
Not at all, father broke in furious-
ly. I he fool of a telephone girl was
not there. One of the gang had as-
saulted the policeman at the door and
she d left her board for fear she would
miss something.”
“I wish you wouldn’t both interrupt
me, mother said peevishly. “The man
heard me and wheeled on me like a
shot. ‘Hang up that telephone re-
ceiver!’ he said, in the most savage
manner. ‘No tricks, ladies.’ He was
waiting until Pamela Brook undid the
Nothing Inside.
The girl had got the young man’s
purse and was. about to open it.
“Don’t open it,” he said warningly.
“Why not?” she asked. “Is there
anything in there I should not see?”
“There might be.”
“That’s just why I want to open it.”
“Yes, but you mustn’t!”
“I will!” And she began to open
it slowly. ,
“You ought to be afraid to do that,”
he said reprovingly.
She tossed her head. “I am afraid
of nothing,” she exclaimed defiantly.
“I know it,” he sighed, “and when
you see what’s inside that purse you’ll
be scared to death.”—Exchange.
Norway is reported to have lost .
about 800 ships in the submarine cam-
paign. Is it Norwegian patience, or ’
are there such big profits in the trade
that a matter of 800 ships may be
set down as a trifling loss?—San Fran-
cisco Chronicle.
MAD BUSINESS, MYSTERY and MURDER.
These Are the Elements Compounded With Some Fine Characters
to Make Up the Best Story Written by This Gifted Romancist.
)
FOOLISH AMERICANS. --
.Houston Post.
For years and years it was "Made
in-Germany.” Everything upon which
such a tag could be placed with any
show of reason was said to have been
“Made-in-Germany.” Toys and tools,
This is what the Yellow Dog Tamp
said to Mrs. Bunny after he had drank
the hot cup of carrot tea, as I told you
in the last story.
So Mrs. Bunny went to the cupboard
drawer and took out a knitted helmet
which she was, going to send to a sol-
dier in France, and put it on the Yel-
low Dog Tramp’s head, and then she
put a pair of knitted socks on his hind
feet and a pair of woolen mittens on
his front paws and then she tied a'
warm muff lei- around his neck, and
then she opened the door, and the
brave Yellow Dog Tramp ran out into
the blizzard to search for the little lost
rabbit.
But, Oh dear me! How the snow
did blow in his eyes and pretty soon
it got so deep that he hardly could
walk. And some times he had to go
way around the great high drifts and
then he lost his way. So he sat down
behind a big hollow tree and began to
howl. But the more he howled the
louder screamed the cold North Wind
so that nobody heard him for a long
time.
But after a while something hap-
pened, and when I tell it to you, you’ll
be so surprised and happy that you
will, forget how lucky it is. Well, just
as the Yellow Dog Tramp was giving
up all hope of finding the little rabbit,
Billy Bunny himself poked his little
pink nose out of the old hollow tree
from exaggerated ego.” A little later,
when he came to censor the young
man s mail, he found this passage in
a letter to the c. o.’s mother: “Write
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Galveston Tribune. (Galveston, Tex.), Vol. 38, No. 25, Ed. 1 Tuesday, December 25, 1917, newspaper, December 25, 1917; (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1510888/m1/4/?q=j+w+gardner: accessed July 5, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Rosenberg Library.