Galveston Tribune. (Galveston, Tex.), Vol. 40, No. 64, Ed. 1 Monday, February 9, 1920 Page: 4 of 10
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FOUR
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 19Z0.
Poetry and Persiflage
NOBODY’S CHILD
By
Author of “The Tiger’s Coat,” Etc.
fellow wants one.
first out here—unless father’ll
things having nothing to do with the
KILLED IN ACTION.
h. c. 1.
a dinner-
“Oh— she
SANCTUM SIFTINGS
and
*
If that’s
ey out of that tree!
at the Pennimans’
. By the
you all the way to limbo.
Hot water
you’l he in! and
Go
like.
what he was about. .
. Ed-
the ward, it was a honey-tree! He’d been
t
Westmore—they’re having
dance tonight.”
Ann’s smile vanished.
Liberty bonds of the value of $38,000
have disappeared from a Chicago bank.
A bank messenger disappeared about
a the same time the bonds did.
watching and had seen the bees goin’
in and out. He got forty buckets of hon-
you
He
every
be the
• Organized labor’s impending politi-
cal activities would be looked on with
less suspicion were it not for organized
labor’s support of the Plumb plan.
that’s
ahead,
in the city—■
Your would
That any one may state.
Except those words that sound anew,
“I'm not a candidate.”
what
suh!”
But when she came home to dinner,
And her husband query made
If Professor Punk was boresome.
Or was worth the price she paid?
When she lunched with Mrs. Hybrow,
And her eager hostess cried.
“Wasn’t that a charming discourse!”
"Lovely!" Mrs. P. replied.
Good Turn Week began in Galves-
ton yesterday. Some automobile driv-
ers ought to bear this in mind, at least
for the week, and not cut the near
corner when making a left hand turn.
Winter baseball addicts should write
to the department of agriculture for
its Bulletin 1,070, “The Fowl Tick.”
For the information of the American
people, it is announced that consider-
ation of .the ratification of the peace
treaty will in all probability engage
the attention of the United States sen-
ate for another week.
Mrs. Poppycock, contented,
Dropped her poses and averred
She had been so busy watching
That she never heard a word.
—Charlotte Becker, in Judge.
They say that scientific men
And artists of renown
Debated long on camouflage
Before they got it down.
Well, it came right off to us,
We didn’t have to learn;
We understand this camouflage
—We said we’d soon return.
ELIZABETH DEJEANS
con- .
the ! heaves.
We understand this camouflage.
This art of hiding things;
It’s what’s behind a soldier’s jokes,
And all the songs he sings.
Yes, it’s nothing new to us,
To us, the rank and file;
We understand this camouflage
—We left home with a smile.
—M. G., in “Yanks, A. E. F. verse.
The stars, like twenty million eyes,
Stare lidless from eternal skies.
—Harry Kemp in the Outlook.
Camouflage.
They tell us tales of camouflage.
The art of hiding things;
Of painted forts and bowered guns
Invisible to wings.
Well, it’s nothing new to us,
To us, the rank and file;
We understand this camouflage
—We left home with a smile.
We saw the painted battleships
And earthen colored trains,
And planes the hue of leaden skies,
. And canvas hidden lanes,
Well, we used the magic art
That day of anxious fears;
We understand this camouflage
—We laughed away your tears.
Men and Dogs.
A friend may smile and bid you hail,
Yet wish you with the devil;
But when a good dog wags his tail
You know he’s on the level.
—The Sentinel.’
Published by permission of and arrangement with the Boobs-
Merrill Company, Indianapolis.
The courses that men must pursue
Are much controlled by Fate;
It is a fact that very few
Can read the future straight.
So why put the announcement through,
“I’m not a candidate.”
Not Wholly Unselfish.
From the Columbus Dispatch.
"What are you going to give Bill for
a birthday present?” inquired an East
Main street boy’s mother.
“Well, I thought I would give him a
book,” answered the boy, “then I can
either read it before I give it to him or
borrow it after the birthday party.”
Where Credence Ceases.
The men I’ve met are very few
Who would prevaricate.
I hail ’most anything as true
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 published herein.
dred automobiles now
Eastern Offices.
New York Office, 341 Fifth Ave.,
D. J. Randall.
Chicago, St. Louis and Detroit Offices,
The S. C. Beckwith Agency.
Arizona Ballroom Etiquette.
(Jerome Copper News.)
Here’s some startling information for
the young women of Jerome given on
the authority of Pete Bozovitch, the big
boss at the American Legion dances:
* * * * •
Third—Don’t permit partners to shrd
lu shrdlu shrdlu shrdlu shrdlu shrdlu.
As Genearal Howze says, Mexican con-
ditions are intolerable. No other great
power in the world would put up with
what big old, good-natured Uncle Sam
has stood for the past ten years.
Why Omit Jonah?
From the Boston Transcript.
Each of the following named gentle-
men, being off on a time with the boys,
concocted a famous excuse and got
away with it—Ulysses, Rip Van Win-
kle and Robinson Crusoe.
When oratory takes its cue
On stump or by the plate,
With faith implicit I review :
Whatever they’ relate.
Except the words of one or two,
“I’m not a candidate.”
—Philander Johnson in the Washington
Star. 7
artist call the picture?”
The young man leaned nearer and
eyed a little label on the frame.
“I see!” he cried. “It’s printed on
this card here----‘Sold!’ ”
Copeley explained, “Why didn’t you tell
your bit of news sooner, my boy? . .
It means Coats will take hold of the
place. I’m afraid it does, Ed. ”
His remark had some significance that
was evidently not clear to other mem-
bers of the family, for Mrs. Morrison
asked, “Why, what difference does it
make to you who runs the Penniman /
place, Edward?”
Edward paid no attention to her ques-
tion; he was motioning to one of the
servants, to bring him more wine, and
when his glass was filled he emptied
it at a draft. It did not flush him, how-
ever; if anything, he looked paler. It
struck Baird that the man must be ill,
there must be some reason for such per-
sistent pallor.
The dinner was nearing an end, and
Baird himself was warmed through and
through. He had been well treated.
Priscilla Copeley had played prettily
with him across the table, and not been
reproved by her mother; she had prom-
ised to ride with him the next day. And
Elizabeth Dickenson had said that his
name would be on the list for the next
Assembly Ball. Baird was not particu-
larly fond of dancing, and a formal ball
was a nuisance, but he welcomed her •
invitation to the next Fair Field Hunt
Club meet. Colonel Dickenson was pres-
ident of the club, and Baird knew that
he would be well presented to a group
of sportsmen who would be useful to
him. .
But it was Judith who stirred him. He
was alive to his finger tips with admi-
ration, and fully conscious that he had
given himself up to a new experience;
delighting in it. In the last few days he
had merely touched the fringe of the
new thing. He had seen very little of
society, nothing at all of people such as
these, and Judith was the embodiment
of caste. She was a thoroughbred She
was superb; so truly a part of that old
Georgian house with its indelible his
tory.
(To Be Continued),
The sleepless night wind stirs
way—he said Coats Penniman was com-
ing home.”
It was Judith’s perceptible start and
Edward's quick lift of the head that ar-
rested Baird's attention. But neither of
them spoke; it was Garvin who asked
swiftly, “When is he coming?”
“To-morrow, Bear said.”
Garvin made no comment, but Mr.
it, Garvin! Take
After a man has lived in Chicago for
a while he becomes utterly reckless
as to his personal liberty; this is indi-
cated by the statement that sixteen
members of the Chicago chamber of
commerce are going to undertake a
business trip to Mexico City.
not stealing, I don’t know what is, and
I think the family ought to boycott
him.”
Edward kept his countenance in spite
of the titter about him. “Did he cord his
wood according to agreement?” he
asked.
“Yes, he did,” Mrs. Morrison admitted.
“He was doing up-to-date business—
that’s all. Aunt Carlotta,” Judith re-
marked.
“Something more than that,” Edward
said. “I remember Uncle Morrison broke
up some of his traps and warned him
off the property. You urged him to it,
if I remember, Aunt Carlotta.”
“But think of such revengefulness—
after all these years! And your uncle
dead, too!”
“There’s a good deal of such undying
hatred about,” Edward answered even-
ly. “It’s a pity.” He looked down at his
plate.
But the younger people were still
smiling. “Don't worry, Aunt Carlotta,,
Bear isn’t going to work for any of us,”
one of the Copeley boys said. “I saw
him this evenin’ on my way here—he’s
Located.
“There goes a fellow who has been
run over by dozens of trains, hurled
from automobiles going fifty miles an
hour, sunk in a submarine, thrown
over a precipice, carried over a water-
fall, dropped from an airship, and—”
“Say no more. He’s in the movies.”
—Birmingham Age-Herald.
Some congressmen are sure slow,
they have just awakened to the fact
that the weather bureau is not giving
the people the sort of. weather they
wanted. The people knew this long
ago and have quit carrying umbrellas
when rain is predicted.
Appropriate.
From the Houston Post.
'As the man and the maid strolled
through the picture gallery the woman
stopped before one exhibit.
“Oh, how sweet!” she breathed.
“I wonder what it means?” ques-
tioned the young fellow, as he eyed the
pictured pair who clung together in an
attitude of love and longing.
“Oh, Charlie, don’t you see?” the girl'
chided tenderly. “He has just asked
Irvin Cobb calls Dempsey a slacker.
Maybe he is. But Cobb made a fat
thing out of the war with his nimble
Switzerland now declines to give up
Germans demanded by allies. They
must be paying their hotel bills.
was little Priscilla
claimed, “Do you
Ed?”
“Take him up on
The Dilirious Editor.
(From the Victoria, Tex., Fact.)
Reports of blooming strawberries
and fine garden prospects come to us
with an invitation to “come out” from
one of our dear friends and subscribers
near Thomason. When the roads dry
up, all nature puts on her robes of
verdure and mother earth .is carpeted
with wild flowers, we are going to avail
ourselves- of that hospitality, which
comes frommone of the dearest, best,
and most noble types of womanhood.
She is a shining light which reflects the
success she has made as a true wife,
willing helpmeet and devoted mother,
and we are proud to be honored with
her friendship. Such types of women
are fast fading from our land, and
while the few we have remain with us,
let’s love them more and more.
The American Federation of Labor
has announced its intention of going
into politics with a view of electing
a president, a congress, a lot of gov-
ernors and all the legislatures who will
be kindly disposed toward labor. And
all along the impression had been
strong that the A. F. L. was working
politics from both ends and the mid-
dle. This shows how deceptive ap-
pearances are.
Copeley who ex-
mean it, Cousin
The Russian soviet government ex-
presses willingness to permit co-oper-
ative societies to trade with the out-
side world, provided the co-operative
societies turn over their imports to
the government. Now, all that remains
to be done to reopen trade relations
with Russia is for the outside nations
to agree to the scheme. Up to the
present time there has been a strange
reluctance on the part of the outside
world to fall in with the scheme. It
appears that the soviets cannot even
fool a part of the people a part of the
time. .
Killing Time.
“What’s wrong, Ethelbert?” . asked
the young lady as he gave her a part-
ing squeeze. “Have you broken any
cigars?”
■ “No,” I think it’s the crystal of my
watch.”—Kansas City Journal.
of frilled wrist-bands, perukes, looped
| skirts and powdered coiffures. Baird
thought this might well have been a
clan gathering of a hundred years ago.
In the hour before dinner, Baird had
met them all, Westmores, Copeleys,
Dickensons and Morrisons. The Dick-
ensons were from the city, the others
were all of the county—had always
been of the county, and all were in-
terrelated.
Conscious of his own too muscular
neck and shoulders, and massive jaw,
Baird had noticed that there was not
a paunched or bull-necked man in this
i family. He was not fat, thank heaven!
and did not intend to be, but he would
never be able to attain the nice mus-
cels and graceful carriage that, in
Even old Colonel Ridley Dickenson had
this family, seemed to be inherent,
a perfect boot-leg. Most of the young-
er men were too long-backed for great
strength, good horsemen but poor
wrestlers, Baird judged, and the two
boys of twenty who represented the
third generation were inclined to be
weedy and hatchet-faced; but, on the
whole, they were a clean-limbed and
exceedingly well-featured collection.
The women struck Baird as delicately
pretty rather than beautiful or hand-
some. Though in several delicacy was
pronounced enough to suggest ill-
health, the Westmore features predom-
inated, fine brows, dark hair, clear
skin, slimness and roundness combined.
The only golden-haired girl of the
company was Elizabeth Dickenson, and
it was easy to see how she came by
her fairness; her mother was not of
the clan, a somewhat hard-faced New
Yorker, who had brought money to
her husband, and modern social pro-
clivities as well. Elizabeth Dicken-
son was more like the Chicago girls
Baird had met, more striking and self-
assertive than her county kin, and far
more fashionably gowned.
But Judith Westmore was easily the
beauty of the entire collection. There
was something joyous about her mien
this evening; perhaps because for the
first time in many years Westmore
was like the Westmore of old. Baird,
had gathered from the conversation he
had overheard between Mrs. Dickenson
and Mrs. Copeley that this was the in-
auguration of a new era at Westmore.
“Edward’s money—” Mrs. Dicken-
Education as an antidote for radi-
calism is advocated by several gentle-
men giving evidence before the house
judiciary committee having under con-
sideration the proposed' antisedition
legislation. The suggested antidote is
a splendid one and grips the atten-
tion until one begins to wonder how
much patriotism can be enthusiastical-
ly taught by a teacher whose monthly
salary is no longer than that of the
messenger boy.
him up quick!” Colonel Dickenson cut
in mischievously. “By George, suh.
you’d be the most popular spark in
the county—with the ladies! Every
man whose horse you scared could cuss
“Red-Blooded Americans.”
(From a memorial of persons in Doni-
phan, Mo., to the U. S. senate.
Congressional Record).
We, the undersigned red-blooded
American citizens . . we feel that
every red-blooded American man . . .
For you have proven yourselves to be
red-blooded Americans . . . And be
assured that the great mass of all red-
blooded American people.
A number of bankers recently met
in New Orleans and condemned what
they termed “attempted domination
and coercive methods” of the federal
reserve banking board. If one will only
stop a while and carefully consider
the matter, the conclusion will be
reached that there is some compensa-
tion in not being a bank president
and having to worry about a lot of
THE HEIGHTS OF CULTURE.
Mrs. Poppycock, who always
Yearns to do the proper things,
Went to hear a learned lecture
On “Should Apes Wear Wedding
Rings?”
Just the Thing.
From the Louisville Courier-Journal.
“People won’t buy their dog li-
censes,” complained the popular mayor
of Plunkville.
“Announce a compulsory tag day.”
And at tea with Mrs. Frivol.
Where the smartest dames decreed.
“Heavens, but that man was stupid!”
“Very!” Mrs. P. agreed.
A Classic of the Rail.
Sir: Speaking of “Classics,” when
Gov. Sanders was Montana’s chief exe-
cutive he tendered a much worn five-
dollar bill to a conductor on the N.
P. The conductor handed it back with
the remark, “ Ican’t take this bill, it’s
n. g.” “Then,” said the governor,
“turn it into the company.”—H. S. O. in
Chicago Tribune.
typewriter and Dempsey made a bit of
change with his fists. Wherefore
should the pot criticise the kettle?
| And with the picturesque additions-might have been hallooing on
the waist, held her up long enough
to prove the strength of his arms, then
set her down; his lips pressed her
cheek and his breath warmed her neck
as he did so. “Arms like mine are
made for reaching—and for holding,”
he said.
The color swept into Ann’s face, and
her eyes widened into brilliancy. For
an instant Baird did not know what
to think. Then her lashes dropped and
she held the key out to him. “You
know where to find it now,” she said
softly.
"I’ll come again—I’m staying at the
Hunt Club,” he answered swiftly. He
took her hand as well as the key; he
had flushed as deeply as she..
The tacit invitation had struck Baird
as involuntary, and so did her answer,
a sudden inclination and as quick a
shrinking; the color fled from her face.
“No!” she said decidedly, and pulling
her hand away sped to the house.
Baird started in pursuit, the first
step, before he remembered where he
was. Then he stopped. “Whew!” he
said, under his breath.
He went back to the gate and un-
locked it, led his horse through, and
returned the key to its hiding-place.
Before he mounted, he gave the house
a long scrutiny. “We’ll see!” he said,
his eyes grayed to coldness, his cheeks
still hot.
He rode-for half a mile before he
regained his usual aspect. Then he
laughed shortly: “That was funny—
she regularly took hold of me.”
VII.
The Westmores of Westmore.
Baird thought, when he sat down
to dinner that night, that he had never
looked on a better favored company
or on a more interesting setting.
They were twenty-five in all, with
the great, mahogany table drawn cross-
wise of the room to allow passage be-
tween silver-laden sideboards and
china-cupboards whose aged mahog-
any was brightened by arrays of dull
blue and gold-banded Worcester and
the pinky red of platters and plates
of Indian Tree pattern which fJudith
told him had been presented, in 1735,
by Lord Westmore to his colonial
cousin, the first Westmore of West-
more. From where Baird sat he could
look across the hall into the drawing-
from a glimpse of dark paneling ,wide
fireplace, and above it the two por-
traits, Edward Stratton Westmore, first
Westmore of Westmore, and his cousin,
Lord Edward Stratton Westmore, of
Stratton House, Hampshire, England.
Westmore was typically a southern
colonial mansion, a spacious central
building with two wings and with a
collection of outbuildings for the hous-
ing of servants. The ballroom and the
plantation office were in one wing, the
kitchens in the other. Westmore’s
massive brick walls had withstood
time, as had the heavy oak paneling of
dining-room, hall and drawing-room.
There were no modern touches to dis-
turb the Georgian atmosphere; this was
1905, yet Westmore was still the West-
more of 1735.
son had said significantly. “Judith
will make the best of it.”
“And who deserves it more than
Judith!” Mrs. Copeley returned warm-
ly. “When I think of all Judith has
gone through! Where would Westmore
be but for Judith? Sold to some car-
petbagger, years ago! It nearly went,
I can tell you, Cousin Mary.”
“If Garvin would follow Edward’s
example now, and marry a girl witn
money,” Mrs. Dickenson had remarked.
Mrs. Copeley had said nothing.
“But, then Garvin Westmore is not
Edward—any more than Sarah West-
more is Judith,” Mrs. Dickenson had
concluded dryly. From the cloud that
settled on Mrs. Copeley’s face, Baird
judged that the reference was not a
happy one. Who Sarah Westmore
was he did not know; she was not of
the assembled party.
Mrs. Dickenson was evidently giv-
ing thought to Westmore’s new pros-
perity, for it was she who asked Ed-
ward, across the table, “Ed, while you
are getting things, why don’t you get
an automobile? You’d look particularly
well in an automobile.” She had a
carrying voice; it reached Baird at his
end of the table.
Edward sat at the head of the table,
Judith at the foot; Baird was at
Judith’s left, with Elizabeth Dickenson
as his dinner partner. Garvin was on
the other side of the table, and both
he and Elizabeth Dickenson ceased to
talk and waited for Edward’s an-
swer. •:
Baird thought tha the had never seen
a more smileless and at the same time
a more attentive host than Edward
Westmore. The man’s white face was
craven, his eyes melancholly, yet he
talked easily and gracefully. In spite
of his pallor, he was the most distin-
guished-looking man' in this gather-
ing of well-favored men, perhaps be-
cause he lacked their local flavor. He
looked what he was, a much-traveled
man with a fund of experience.
He did not smile at Mrs. Dickenson,
though he answered pleasantly, “Not
for me, Cousin Mary—but Garvin may
have a machine if he wants it.”
Garvin flushed but said nothing. It
hounds. The colonel was a keen
sportsman, and a bon-vivant a mem-
ber of two hunt clubs and several city
clubs—his wife’s money had given him
both the leisure and the opportunity.
Garvin was not allowed an im-
mediate hearing. “Oh, Garvin! I can
see you making a Nebuchadnezzar of
yourself under the machine!” Eliza-
beth Dickenson exclaimed, and one of
the Copeley boys added: “I’d rather
have jt than the sorrel, Garve. George
Pettee told me there were two hun-
Insomnia.
Along the brazen skirts of sound
The wheels of all the night turn
round—
Silence on silence intervolved,
Into the solemn pulse resolved,
Draws roaring thunder down the night,
A great clock strikes from left to right:
Mice run about their small affairs,
And ghostly feet creak on the stairs;
The furniture about the room
Makes little noises in the gloom:
Outside, amid unnumbered leaves,
get us one. Will you, suh?”
Mr. Copeley was a tall white-haired
man, second cousin to the Westmores,
and markedly a Westmore. He had
looked his surprise at Edward’s offer,
then had looked thoughtful. “No, suh,’
he said quitely. “I don’t like them. If
the county’s goin’ to be overrun with
them, I’ll move.. Garvin, you’ll
have to get to work on that two miles
of road from here to the Post-Road
befor’ you can run a machine over it—
that would be the most sensible thing
you’ve done in years. I reckon Edward
would like you to get to work at some-
thing—it doesn’t matter much what.
. . . You wouldn’t be furnishing a
chauffeur, would you, Ed?” ,
“No,” Edward said.
Baird had watched his opportunity.
It was only in his sleep that Nickolas
Baird lost sight of business, and not
always than. “I can get you a good
machine, straight from the factory, and
at trade price, Garvin.”
Garvin had given his cousin Copeley
a flaming glance, but he answered his
brother courteously. ‘Thank you. Ed.
I’ll take the machine—and I’ll put the
road in shape.”
“Very well—we’ll thank Mr. Baird
tomorrow for his kind offer.”
“Will you take me riding, Garve?”
Priscilla Copeley asked softly, under
cover of the remarks that followed.
Baird had noticed her, the pretty,
dark-eyed girl who sat beside Gar-
vin. She nestled against his elbow for
her half-whisper, and Baird saw the
look her mother gave her and the
sharp gesture that made her daughter
straighten and flush. Baird did not
know why he felt sorry for Garvin at
that moment; possibly his sensing of
the general disapproval. He did not
like the man, but that was mainly be-
cause of his wild act that morning.
But it was a little hard on a fellow,
having every one down on him. And
it was plain that Garvin mourned his
horse. The hunt and Garvin’s mishap
had been thoroughly discussed in the
drawing-room, and Garvin had had to
shoot his horse. There had been a
touch of desperation in Garvin’s aside
to Baird: “God! I wish they’d let uu
on the subject—I’ve had about enough
for one day!”
And now Mr. Copeley was giving him
another thrust. “You’re in for it now,
Garvin—are you going at the road pick
and shovel?”
Judith spoke for the first time since
the subject had been introduced. “Bear
Brokaw would be the best man to help
you, Garvin,” she suggested brightly.
She had been watching the serving
of dinner, a word now and then to the
three negroes who bore around the
best viandes Baird had ever tasted.
Soup had been followed by roast oys-
ters, terrapin and turkey, and accom-
panying vegetables nad hot breads.
The evening had turned very mild, as
warm as a May night, and the mint-
juleps taken in the drawing-room had
been soothing. Edward was evidently
a connoisseur, the wines were of the
best and the array of glass were not
allowed to languish; the men one and
all appeared to be good drinkers.
But Judith had evidently not been
too absorbed to follow the conversation
and to note Garvin’s curled lip and
angry eyes, for her remark instantly
created a diversion. Mrs. Morrison,
Judith’s aunt, a stately woman with
proudly-carried head, spoke from Ed-
ward’s end of the table. “I’m sur-
prised at you, Judith—after the way
that white-trash fobbed me! Ben’s
nothing but a common thief!”
The young people smiled covertly, but
Edward asked with genuine con-
cern: “Bear Brokaw rob you, Aunt
Carlotta! Why, -1 remember Bear—I
used to go hunting with him. I thought
there wasn’t an honester man living
than Bear Brokaw."
“He is a thief, Edward,” Mrs. Mor-
rison reiterated decidedly.
Edward looked his surprise.
“Ben Brokaw bought a tree of Aunt
Carlotta Morrison,” Judith said de-
murely. -The look she flashed on Baird
was a-gleam with mirth.
Edward glanced casually about the
table and caught the covert smiles.
“Well?” he questioned more equably.
Baird had discovered that the in-
terests of the clan were entirely local
and centered in themselves; he had not
heard a single remark that ventured
beyond their native state. They evident-
ly criticized one another freely, but
Baird judged that any stranger who
essayed the same freedom would be
set upon by the entire connection, with
the ferocity of a pack of hounds.
“It was a thoroughly thievish trans-
action, Edward,” Mrs. Morrison main-
tained warmly. “You know I never ap-
proved of the man—a creature that
climbs trees like a monkey and sleeps
out in the woods like a savage. Your
uncle would have known better, but I
consented to sell him that tree—you
know, one of the big chestnuts down by
the cabins. It was dead, and I wanted it
down, and I didn’t tell Ben I thought he
was crazy when he wanted me to sign
a slip of paper, just sayin’ that I’d sold
the tree to him, half shares on the wood.
I thought the lumberin’ old thing had
got some funny notion. But he knew
THE GROWING SHORTAGE OF FARM
LABOR.
(Houston Post.)
The department of agriculture at
Washington has on file letters from 40,-
000 farmers declaring they are going
to curtail production this year because
they cannot make their farms pay.
Many reasons are assigned for this, of
course. No doubt, if the truth were
known, in many cases lack of profit is
due to lack of energy and thrift. Ag-
riculture has its ne’er-do-wells, its “hard
luck” class, its profligates and ignoram-
uses, just as all other occupations have.
But individual shortcomings will
hardly account for more than a frac-
tion of the complaints. Despite the
high prices for farm products, the cost
of farm production has greatly 'in-
creased as a result of the vaulting price
levels and wage scales in the cities
which have to do with supplying the
farms. The net returns to the producer
are not as much as is popularly sup-
posed. There is an excessive margin
between what the producer receives
and what the consumer pays.
Added to such disappointments as
may result from a variety of causes are
increased taxes, the long hours of labor
as compared with the few hours and
larger pay of the cities, together with
the diversions of urban life which con-
trast sharply with.the monotony and
loneliness which have always made ag-
riculture irksome for many. These have
driven mutliplied thousands from the
farms to the cities and created a farm
labor problem which is probably be-
coming acute.
After all, it is the lack of farm labor
that is threatening production most. If
the truth were known probably most of
the acreage reduction that is indicated
will result from the inability of farm-
ers to employ help at any wage rate
whatever or to secure tenants. Here
in Texas, where tenancy is deeply root-
ed, counties are reporting large num-
bers of idle farms. The big pay in
many oil fields which are being ex-
ploited has been a severe blow to agri-
culture, not only in the oil territory,
but throughout the state. Agriculture
simply can not compete with the oil
fields in the matter of pay.
Those who own their farms of course
are not, abandoning them, but unless
the labor situation improves it seems
probable that many of them will be
compelled to reduce their operations to
what they can cultivate themselves,
with such aid as their families can
give. Even yet farmers in some parts
of Texas have not been able to get last
year’s cotton picked and are paying
pickers something like $50 a bale.
Last year, the grain belt farmers suf-
fered much loss because they could not
get harvesters, although their troubles
were materially diminished by the vol-
unteer help they received from neigh-
boring town people and school chil-
dren.
It is generally recognized that agri-
cultural production is steadily becom-
ing one of real difficulty, and not to
be settled offhand.
But it is certainly one that ultimate-
ly will have to be solved if a serious
catastrophe is to be averted. Dimin-
ished production at this time would be i
a blow to all humanity, since the re-
habilitation of European agriculture is
not to be effected for, several years,
even under the most favorable condi-
tions. and so long as Europe draws so
heavily upon America the food problem
will remain more or less acute in the
United States.
Greatly diminished production would
send food prices in the cities to higher
levels, thus causing further dislocation
of industry by higher wage demands
and strikes
During the war with Germany, there
were 34,844 Americans killed in action.
This is the statement recently made by
Adjutant General Harris and is the
complete and final report of the num-
ber of men who paid the toll of war
on the battlefield. This does not in-
clude the number .who died from
wounds or disease or accident, of which
there were 42,800, making a total of
77,644 young Americans who gave their
lives in the cause of human liberty.
It was not expected that this country
could participate in a war and not sus-
tain the loss of many lives, and in view
of the intensity of the war with Ger-
many and the reckless bravery of the
American soldiers, it is remarkable
that our losses were not much more
than indicated by the adjutant general,
but had there been merely one life,
there would be sorrow and regret in
some American home, and this sorrow
and regret has been many times multi-
plied in the casualty list of the Ameri-
can army.
History has been in the habit of deal-
ing with wars in terms of dollars and
territory, and'this is probably why
wars have not been banished from the
earth. No sane person could sit down
and calmly calculate that a war will
cost the United States seventy-seven
thousand lives without experiencing a
feeling of, horror over the existence of
such a terrible thing in the world as
wars have proven to be. The very fact
that men can begin to calculate the ad-
vantages gained for a nation as the re-
sult of a war, can estimate how much
in gold, or trade or territory can be
wrested from the vanquished enemy,
does not speak well of what mankind
calls the high order of civilization to
which he has climbed. 1
No American regrets that this coun-
try felt impelled to assume its share of
responsibility in freeing the world of a
menace. It was a task which necessity
demanded should be performed, yet one
can not help but ask the question
whether or not humanity has been bet-
tered by the sacrifice of these Ameri-
can boys, plus the men of Belgium,
France, England, Italy and the many
minor nations making contribution to
the sum' total of human lives invested
in the deliverance of the world. And
asking this question another is pro-
voked, whether or not such a thing as
war can be forever banished?
Like every other great question,
there are two sides to the proposition
of eliminating wars from human ex-
perience. There are even those who,
with a splendid show of reason, point
to the fact that every advance step
made by the world has been in the
wake of some great war, but this is to
be explained by the well known fact
that people exert themselves in the
face of a necessity and after every
great war there follows a need of tre-
mendous recuperation. No one doubts
that if men could be induced to see
both sides of the industrial problem
now causing unrest throughout the
world, there would be no strikes and
strikes may be classed as bloodless
wars, waged for the establishment of
a supposed principle from the opera-
tion of which some class ofpeople may
enjoy benefits or privileges which they
had not hitherto been possessed of. If
strikes are unnecessary, and this ap-
pears to be accepted, it ought to be
such a difficult matter to give thought
to the matter of war with a view of
making it a thing to be abhorred.
This is not a plea for the league of
nations, although it is believed that
such a league would be a long step in
the desired direction; it is to call atten-
tion again to the useless sacrifice of
human life, useless as shown, by the
fact that no war ever settled anything
and always left behind it a determina-
tion with the vanquished to “get even”
at some future time, nor can it be ex-
pected that the most, recent war will
bear any different fruit than the hun-
dreds of wars that have preceded it.
Baird was not superserisitive, but he
had felt antagonism, in her manner. He
attempted to capture interest. “I came
here from Chicago. Before that I was
in Wyoming for a time. I’ve ranched,
and done a lot of other things. I spent
two years in South America—got rid of
fifty thousand dollars down there and
nothing but a year of fever to show for
it. I could tell you a few tales that
would make your hair rise.”
He had won her wide look. “Were
you on the Amazon? Are there flow-
ers there that catch insects and snakes
that make hoops of themselves an’
chase animals?”
“Yes, I’ve been on the Amazon—
worse luck. I don’t know about the
hoop-snakes, but I’ve seen plenty of
insects that are flowers and flowers
that are insects—everything in na-
ture prey on something elese. . . .
How do you come to know about the
Amazon?”
“I read a story about it.”
“Do you like to read?”
“I like it better than anything else,”
she said brightly.
They had come to the gate, and she
looked at the bag strapped to his
saddle, then laughingly at Baird.
“Looks funny, doesn’t?” he remarked.
“I’m taking my dress clothes over to
her to marry him and she has
sented. It’s lovely! What does
GALVESTON TRIBUNE
Carefully she watched the faces
Of those listeners most “worth
while,”
Lest she be the least in error
If to frown or if to smile.
said, her face grown wistful. Then
with a flash into gaiety she sprang
lightly to a notch in the gate-post,
swung herself up by the foothold, and
took a key from the niche in which it
was hidden.
“Here!" Baird exclaimed. “Why
didn’t you let me do that? , . . Let
me help you!”
Ann looked at him, innate couquetry
in her eyes. “If you’ll standaside, suh,
I can step down.”
Baird answered the look in the fash-
ion natural to him. He took her by'
GALVESTON TRIBUNE
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Galveston Tribune. (Galveston, Tex.), Vol. 40, No. 64, Ed. 1 Monday, February 9, 1920, newspaper, February 9, 1920; (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1618752/m1/4/: accessed July 12, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Rosenberg Library.