The Lampasas Daily Leader (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 31, No. 152, Ed. 1 Friday, August 31, 1934 Page: 3 of 4
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THE LAMPASAS LEADER
BONY WATERS
-By-
lina McClure Sholl
Copyright by W. G. Ghapniaa
WNU Service
SYNOPSIS
On her way to a faculty position In
Lostland Academy, Janet Mercer meets
Prof. Arthur B'leming, also on his way
to the Academy. At the school they
are struck by an air of mystery per-
vading the place. Gordon Haskell, pro-
prietor, welcomes them. Wilton Payne
ompletes the Academy faculty. In a
choolroom Janet finds a group which
the teachers had supposed were schol-
ars, are wax figures. Haskell explains
unusual circumstances connected with
the conduct of the Academy. Among
the pupils is Berenice Bracebridge,
daughter of the late owner of the
school. The story of the tragedy of
Lostland Academy is that of two sis-
ters and two brothers of Berenice,
who lost their lives in the water, at
the same moment, some years ago. The
wax figures were modeled in the like-
nesses of the four children, and Doctor
Bracebridge's will provided that they
must be preserved. Payne learns from
Berenice that the uncouth giant whom
Janet had seen with Haskell is named
Balder, and is a valuable servant. From
an old farmer, Jerry Moore, the only
witness of the drowning., of the chil-
dren, Payne learns particulars of the
tragedy. He begins to take an increas-
ing interest in Berenice, as Fleming
does In Janet. Reading diaries kept by
the late Dr. Jethro Bracebridge. Payne
senses something sinister in the drown-
ing of the children.
CHAPTER V—Continued
—15—
It was nearly dawn when he con-
cluded his examinations of the diaries,
which, on the whole, had yielded little
meat for his theories to feed on. Doc-
tor Bracebridge evidently had been a
gentle, affectionate father, not too
forcible in his management of a quar-
tette of high-spirited young people re-
sentful of a newcomer, who had, doubt-
less, assumed too easily that they were
under his authority.
When he knew Berenice better he
might some day ask her about the will.
But he shrank from an undue and
perhaps to her mind an unjustifiable
curiosity. And he did not wish to
fasten in her mind any suspicion of
which her guardian was the object.
Berenice was as beautiful as an
angel, he thought, tired with the ap-
proach of dawn, too tired to think of
rare similes and new terms.
"Oh, 1 am too tired to sleep. I
think I’ll steal a march on Arthur and
go down to that old church.”
It was glorious, faring down on this
last day of September, with the red
maples coming up like grenadiers from
the valley under vast volleys of sun-
rise; and the academy a black-purple
cloud on the hill behind him. The
country roads were firm and cold un-
der his feet. The red bright sunlight
was on the walls of the deserted vil-
lage as he reached it, and he noticed
white chrysanthemums in what had
once been a garden lying fresh and
cool along the matted, sparkling grass.
He entered the church, and was
soon on the belfry stairs, which
creaked and groaned beneath his
weight. When he reached the landing
he looked along all the exposed raft-
ers for a key. But no key could he
find.
Descending the church again, he
found a key sticking in the keyhole of
an old closet in the vestry, and went
up the belfry stairs again to try it
on the locked door. It fitted snugly,
and though it turned the lock with
difficulty, it served the purpose. He
found himself in a room with four
windows facing to the four points of
the compass; and absolutely nothing
in the place but an old Christmas tree
still nailed to its square base of green
painted wood. Nearly all its branches
had been stripped or torn from it; but
enough were left to indicate its char-
acter with the aid of a few bits of
tinsel, of festive silver and gold. A
Christmas tag was still dangling from
one of the branches, with a name writ-
ten on it He examined it more close-
ly. The name was “Althea Brace-
bridge.” He mused over this poor
little memorial some moments—a pa-
thetic signpost pointing back to some
long-ago Christmas celebration in this
church. But why had the tree been
carried up and stored away in the
belfry room—instead of thrown out of
doors? “Perhaps the boys got hold
of it and carried it up here to form
a part of their endless ingenuities; I
think I’ll take the card. Berenice
might be glad to have it.”
He untied it carefully. He was
about to put it in his pocket when
he saw that on the back of it was the
date of the celebration of which this
was perhaps, the old memorial. Cal-
culating back, he made it precisely the
Christmas before the accident.
"But this church must have been de-
serted then,” he thought. “Maybe they
reopened it for a Christmas celebra-
tion. To what had this little card
been attached? A book? A bottle of
perfume? A box of candy? And had
Althea liked her present?”
He tried to picture the scene—the
old church with the pale winter sun-
shine streaming in and some one in
the choir singing, “Hark, the Herald
Angels”; and the youngsters excited
over their gifts and impatient for the
exercises to end. And had Berenice
been there? As usual when he thought
of her, horizons began to open and
the sky to clear. “Mrs. Denver—bless
erf-->told her to marry. But what of
oor me; with so little yet laid up
cr a wife?”
He relocked the door and replaced
e key in the vestry.
Janet was strolling In the grounds
of the academy when he re-entered
them, ana waved to him in her usual
friendly way, making no comment
when lie joined her on his early ex-
cursions.
“I think we did very well last night,”
she observed; “we really took Ber-
enice’s mind from the anniversary."
“The trouble is—there’s a perpetual
anniversary in that old academy as
long as those wax figures are there.”
“They're haunting—queer, uncanny
things—like something living on long
after its time. Sometimes this place
seems like a dream to me. Yet it has
an odd charm, too—those wakings in
the quiet morning light—that solemn
hall with the pictures of the old presi-
dents ; a principal so fond of flowers
that he keeps his hyacinth bulbs al-
ways blooming. Wasn’t that a gor-
geous purple hyacinth on the break-
fast table yesterday?”
“Yes. You’re right, it has charm—
how glowing red the old bricks are!”
“Everything glitters today. See
Berenice’s hair in the sun—it's like
flame.”
They both looked towards her as
she came lightly down the path, call-
ing to them, pulling her fluffy white
wrap around her.
“A great da.v for onr walk.” she
sainted them. “You are out early.”
“1 went to ihe church.”
“What did you find there?”
“I’ll tell you later—it’s quite a
story.”
He did tint think it the time to show
her the card, particularly as lie saw
Masked and Balder emerging from the
But Why Had the Tree Been Car-
ried Up and Stored Away in the
Belfry Room?
greenish shadow of the basement.
Both looked towards the group; then,
exchanging some words, separated.
Haskell approached Berenice with self-
consciousness always in his manner;
as if lie must be perpetually on guard
—warding away even friendliness and
pleasant words.
“You are walking again today?”
“Yes! Will you join us?”
“Why should I walk over these
hills?”
“Will you go up the ravine with us?”
“Y’ou know 1 never go up the
ravine. It is too exhausting. How-
ever, it must be beautiful up there
now, with the scarlet maple3.”
“Yes, they’re blood red,” Wilton
said. “I’ve never seen such intensity
of red.”
Haskell put his hands over his eyes.
“This sun fills my eyes with red.”
That afternoon the four were step-
ping together over the hills; their hap-
piness singularly like that of crea-
tures let out of cages. The sun was
striking out wonders of blue vapor of
dazzling color from rough heights and
greener lowlands. Wilton told her of
reading the diary.
“How long did your stepmother live
after the deaths of your brothers and
sisters?”
“Fully eight years, I think; I’m not
sure. She was a blessed woman; al-
ways kind to me. Even my brothers
and sisters liked her, though they
didn't like—” She broke off. “Oh,
well, it’s ail past and gone.”
“May I ask you if you can remem-
ber when the old church down there
was last used?”
“Long before I was born—about
1880, I think.”
“And was it ever opened for Christ-
mas celebrations—after that?”
“Oh, no!”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure! But father used to
have celebrations for the neighbors’
children In the old academy, and they
all received presents from the tree. I
only faintly remember the last one ever
held—the Christmas before the acci-
dent. It was very gay. We hhd a
beautiful tree.”
“That tree is still in existence.”
She looked at him Incredulously, her
eyes half fearful. “How do you know
that?”
“I went to the belfry room this
morning; found a key that fitted the
door. The room was absolutely bare
except for an ancient tree on its
wooden base, painted green, as usual.
Bits of tiusel still clung to the dry
branches, and this little card was tied
to one of them with a red ribbon. Can
you read the writing? The ink la
very pale.”
“Althea! How strange. Why, I
have a card just like it, saved all these
years. How on earth did that tree get
up there?”
TO BE CONTINUED.
ROGERS
BEVERLY HILLS. — Well all I
know is just what I read in the papers.
Did I ever tell you about going up to
the strike in Frisco.
Well I had as I told
you been to the
general strike in
England away back
in 1926. So I wanted
to see what one
that we would put
on would do. Over
in England I never
saw anything as
quiet in my life.
Why 1 used to walk
the streets wishing
two dogs would
fight just to scarce up some excitement.
Not even a newspaper was published. ;
Well I had always been going around j
bragging, (and every time 1 met an |
Englishman) complimenting him on
the stability of hi3 race, the feet oh
the ground attitude that the English-
man is famous for. i used to say why
if we ever had a general strike in
any part of our country, one half would
kill of the other half.
Well then along comes this one up
in San Francisco, and so I grabbed
the quickest plane and up 1 went. Got
in there at night. Everything was as
quiet, no street cars running, no taxi-
cabs, and the pilot had to drive us in
from the airport. Just a few restau-
rants was open, IS to be exact. This
was the night of the first day of the
general strike. The strikers allowed
them to open. As you went to enter
your hotel there was a guard or two on
deck to see you dident enter, unless
they knew you, or if you had previous-
ly registered there and had your reg-
istration card from the clerk of the
hotel. Prowled around quit a bit that
night. Quite a few private cars, not
many people on the- streets, but all
quiet. The National Guard soldiers that
were on guard there and had been for
a couple of weeks. They were stationed
down on the water front, dident see
them till the next day.
Well then I went over to see General
Johnson. Found a bell boy, (Oh yes,
all the hotel help had to stay in the
hotel, as they were supposed to strike
to). Cafes were closed but they served
you meals in youi rooms. Well this
bellboy was delivering General John-
sons pants that he had pressed, so 1
grabbed them, and delivered em to him
in person. If it hadent been for me the
General wouldent have had any
breeches. He was just going to start
out that morning to break the strike.
He was to go to the University of
Northern Cal at Berkley, thats the
branch of the University of Cal which
is at Los Angeles. He was to be given
the By-Feta-Fy or the Phy Sigma Gama,
or some one of those Greek elks club
affairs. He was to get a key.
Well its funny but the whole aspect
of the strike changed when it was made
general, and it began to interfere with j
your business. You can be in favor of i
something, (and lots of good folks
were) but when they saw the trucks
that was moving, moving with a sign
on em saying it was by permission of
the strike committee, well all that
rubbed em the wrong way. They got to
thinking, “Here look what this might
lead too, to have somebody tell you
just what you can do.” Well the old
American spirit bobbed up, and that
really was the beginning of the end of
the general strike.
1 have read that one never did win.
It just is not in the cards. Lots of
time individual strikes when they are
just, and conducted
along fair lines
have won their
case, and they
should, for manu-
facturers have as-
sociations for their
mutual betterment,
bankers have asso-
ciations to see how
they can help each
other out, and there
is nothing fairer
than workmen hav-
ing unions for their
mutual benefit. • Its helped to keep
wages up in San Francisco, and its a
strong union town, but when the people
felt that tjbe Reds were running the
thing, and that it wasent really done
for the sole benefit of the striking men,
but just to raise the devil generally,
why the folks turned against em. Even
Mr. Green head of the whole Federa-
tion said it was a mistake.
But what I want to get over is that
the people were just as down to earth,
as peaceful, and as law abiding as you
ever saw. Again a dog fight would have
constitued excitement. There is lots of
Reds in the Country, but you would
be surprised at the amount of Whites
when the real showdown comes. This
strike will do more to .get em weeded
out than any strike tor its been proven
that they “Gummed” this one up. So
the minute one starts telling some
other union gathering what to do, some-
body will holler, “Yeah, what about
San Francisco.”
Things are brightening up, men with
money for industry when they see they
have a good chance to run their busi
ness, will start running it again. If we
just had some more jobs. Thats whatp
needed.
© 1934, Met* aught Syndicate, Ine.
PRAISE FOR
NO MAN
£8
By E. H. WILKINSON
©. Bell Syndicate.—WNU Service.
* I sHE whaling vessel Martha Pres-
I ton wasn’t 24 hours out of New
JL Bedford before Davy Irving’s ini-
tiation into the new life he had
chosen for the ensuing year was be-
gun.
Davy was only twenty-four, though
he looked older.
He was a tall youth, splendidly pro-
portioned with an expanse of chest and
a display of muscular development of
which he was not only proud, but ex-
ceedingly boastful.
Born and raised on a Vermont farm,
he succumbed after years of dreaming
to an urge for adventure.
He traveled to New Bedford and
found employment there on the crew
of the Martha Preston, which, by
chance, was needful of men and ready
to sail.
Davy’s attitude from the moment he
set foot on the Martha Preston’s deck
was one of arrogance and superiority.
The men with whom he slept in the
focas’Ie were unschooled and coarse,
accustomed to rough living.
And there was about Davy an air of
self-esteem and cocksuredness that
provoked black scowls and angry mut-
terings among them.
They didn’t like Davy, and took no
trouble to conceal the fact.
* * •
The thing happened on the morning
of the first day. after the Martha Pres-
ton had cleared New Bedford harbor
and was stalling well out to sea.
Davy stood in the center of the for-
ward deck and looked about him with
a dissatisfied expression on his face.
“It’s a filthy old tub,” he remarked
to no one in particular.
“But it’s adventure I’m after and
I’ll see the voyage through, filth or
no.”
Something smote Davy behind the
ear with the force of a pile driver.
He went spinning helplessly across
the deck, skimming along on his stom-
ach and bringing up with a resounding
thud against the opposite rail.
Dazed, angered, greatly humiliated
Davy got to iiis feet, shook his head
clear and turned around in search of
the man who had struck him.
The man stood ten paces away, the
tremendous figure of a man, a man
with a black walrus-like mustache and
shaggy black hair peeping out from
under his visored cap.
This man was Big Nat Fisher, first
mate of the Martha Preston, a power-
ful man, known for his strength of
body and spirit.
There was now in the black eyes of
him, as he watched young Davy Irving,
a contemptible, scornful look, a look
of derision and disgust.
* * • *
“Stand up, you scum!” he roared at
Davy.
“Stand up and eat them words or
take the licking you deserve. A filthy
tub, is she! Ha! And who are you
to be calling her a filthy tub?”
As he spoke Big Nat took a step for-
ward. ‘
Davy, head now cleared, the angry
light of humiliation, provoked by the
ring of grinning faces that had formed
behind the first mate, burning in his
eyes, stepped in to meet the attack.
He had always prided himself on
his great strength, his ability to take
care of himself.
But in Big Nat Fisher he had
guessed wrong.
The mate brushed aside the care-
fully directed straight arm blow which
Davy flung at him, with a careless-
ness that was at once alarming and
maddening.
Instead of felling his assailant with
a single blow as had often been his
way of winning a battle, Davy found
his knotted fist whistling through un-
obstructed space.
And before he could regain his bal-
ance something struck him on the
point of the chin with a force that
threatened to loosen his teeth.
His f^et lifted clear of the deck; his
body sttaightened out in midair and
struck the boards with a jarring im-
pact.
* * *
Big Nat stood over the fallen man
and roared.
“I’ll l’arn ye! Scum! Get up and
take what’s coming to ye! A filthy
tub is she! You ought to be thrown
overboard for saying less. I’ll teach
ye respect!”
Such a blow as that with which Big
Nat had felled Davy might have killed
a weaker man.
It had served to dull Davy’s senses
to a point of being only vaguely aware
of what happened.
Minutes later he sat erect, rubbing
his head.
He saw a pair of heavy hob-nailed
boots close beside him and looked up.
And as he did so Big Nat reached
down, grasped him by shirt and collar
and yanked him to his feet.
“I’ll i’arn ye.” the mate was still
roaring. “I’ll teach ye respect!”
And with each word Davy received
a cuff across the mouth or on his
head.
B’ive minutes later Big Nat released
his hold and flung the youth toward
the forward companionway.
Broken in spirit, bleeding from a
dozen wounds, bruised to a point of
aching in every muscle, Davy crawled
to the companionway and down the
stairs and into his bunk.
* * *
Toward the middle of the afternoon
a man came down the companionway
and bent over his bunk.
“Feeling better, son?”
There was a note of kindliness In
the voice. Davy opened his eyes and
looked into a wrinkled old face close
to his own.
“I’m Otto Perch,” the voice went on.
“Been sailing with the Martha Preston
going on ten year. I’ve seen dozens
of ’em come and go same’s yourself,
son, and I knows how you feel. Sore
in every joint and planning revenge
on Big Nat for all you’re worth.” He
laughed a dry mirthless laugh.
“My advice is forget it, son. You’ll
come to like Big Nat after a time. He
ain’t one to praise a man and he’ll
lick the tar outter you if you don’t
obey orders. But he’s fair and honest.
Give him a good day’s work, and ha
won’t do no more’n lacerate you with
his tongue, which ain't a bit harmful
compared to how you feel now.”
Davy wet his tongue and his eyes
burned with a fierce passion.
“Thanks, sailor, but you’re wasting
your breath. Big Nat picked on the
wrong bird that time. I ain’t forget-
tin’ like the rest. Not so you could
notice it. Maybe now he's a better
man, but there’ll come a time—and it
ain’t far off, either, when he’ll admit
I’m good.”
* * *
But despite his boast Davy was will-
ing to bide his time.
The effects of the beating Big Nate
had, given him gradually wore off, and
the youth went sullenly about the task
of learning the tricks of operating a
sailing vessel.
He was an apt student and a willing
worker, and he learned fast.
He caine, also, to know and under-
stand the men with whom he came in
daily contact, discovered behind their
coarseness a geniality and loyalty
worth sharing.
But toward the first mate he main-
tained a distinct feeling of hatred,
continuously planning vengeance.
For six long months Davy nursed
the wound to his pride and plotted re- j
venge.
Six months during which the Mar-
tha Preston’s oil casks began to slowly
fill as she sailed from one whaling
ground to the next.
Davy was by now accustomed to his
duties.
All but Big Nat, who never gave a
word of praise to any man, had com-
plimented the youth on his aptitude.
It was toward the end of the sev-
enth month at sea that the Martha
Preston made her biggest catch.
Big Nat ordered the sails taken in
and the anchor weighed.
The Martha Preston was hove to and
her whaling boats lowered.
The mate himself took the rpdder
of the boat to which Davy was as-
signed.
Old Otto Perch was in the bowsprit
platform, harpoon in hand.
* * *
The victim was a big bull, lying a
half mile to the southward of where
lay the vessel.
Otto Perch made fast his harpoon
with an expert thrust.
The men shipped their oars and
watched the coiled line unravel Itself
as the whale churned the water.
He proved a sluggish individual,
running less than half a mile before
the line began to slack.
Davy Irving, pulling tub oar, saw
the slack and reached down to snub
the line.
But at that instant the bull took it
into his head to make a second rush.
The line grew taut and before Davy
knew what had happened he saw a
loop tighten about his wrist and felt
himself jerked overboard with a force
that threatened to pull loose his arm.
* * *
Thereafter Davy wasn’t exactly sure
of what took place.
He felt himself being pulled through
the water at a tremendous pace, saw
vaguely the whaling boat following,
how up; heard the shouts of the men.
Then the line slackened.
The water churned about him. One
of the bull’s flukes missed him by
inches.....Some one grabbed him
around the middle. . . . Salt wa-
ter was i» his lungs. . . .
He opened his eyes and found him-
self lying on the deck of the Martha
Preston.
Men were grouped about looking
down at him.
Behind them Big Nat was talking
with Captain Preston. Davy heard the
captain say: “Kind of risky business,
Mr. Fisher, going overboard after that
kid. No fault of yours he got caught
in the line. The bull might have got
you both.”
Davy saw Big Nat bristle, saw him ,
look toward the knot of men grouped
about him, saw him spit tobacco juice
into the sea. and heard him say:
“Good men are scarce these days,
Cap’n. Kid was worth taking a chance ,
for.”.
It was the first time anyone had
ever heard Big Nat utter a word of
praise for any man, and Davy felt both
proud and ashamed at the same time.
But he looked up at old Otto Perch
and whispered gleefully: “I told you
he’d admit I was good sometime. Hear
what he said? I told you so!” And
Davy closed his eyes, glad now that
he had waited to get his revenge.
Royal Residences
The principal royal residences—
Windsor and Buckingham palace—are
not the personal property of the king,
but Sandringham house, in Norfolk,
and Balmoral castle, in Scotland, are.
Balmoral castle was bought by the
prince consort, husband of Queen Vic-
toria, in 1848, and rebuilt in its pres-
ent form. The estate covers 25,000
acres. King Edward VII 'built Sand-
ringham in 1869-71. It stands in a
park of 200 acres and has been the fa-
vorite country residence of the royal
family for two generations. York cot-
tage, on the estate, was the first home
of the present king and queen, when
they were duke and duchess of York.
—Answers Magazine
Howe About:
Conversation
On Quitting Work
The Country
©, Bell Syndicate.—WNU Service.
By ED HOWE
Y HAVE met some opposition In
my' contention that a man may
learn jmuch from conversation going
on around him; that he may thus ac-
quire education as unconsciously as
he eats his meals, attends to his work,
or otherwise meets life’s incidents.
I have known a telegraph operator
to sit idly for hours in a room full of
clattering instruments, and suddenly
grasp a key when his call came out .
of the confusion. So a man constantly
In the babble of conversation may pay
little attention to it until something of
interest attracts him; a bit of wisdom,
newrs, or a jest he has not heard.
Oscar Wilde left in books as great
a number of bright sayings as any
Englishman. All of them were sug-
gested from mingling with men, first
used In conversation, and the best of
them later transferred to print. Men
acquire education laboriously from
books they are compelled to study as
a duty, but easily out in the world,
where everyone has a little, and is
busy distributing it.
* * •
“Because a man loses his Job,” I
read somewhere, “it does not follow
he should quit work.”
That is good sense. I know a man
who lost his Job as a maker of radio
parts. This morning I bought vege-
tables of him; he continued work on
some land a neighbor let him use, and
he has not suffered the humiliation of
calling on the Salvation army, the Red
Cross, the county commissioners, or
congress.
I have another neighbor who lost
his job in a machine shop. He did not
quit work, either; he is now operating
a laundry in his home. In case I am
able to change shirts this week, I
shall certainly arrahge with this man
to wash my old one.
Some of my other neighbors are get-
ting $15 a month from the county, and
regularly their names appear in the
papers, under the heading of “Dis-
bursements to the County Poor.” I
shall make a hard struggle to keep
my name out of the list. I know most
of the people read it, and make ugly
comments.
• * *
If the people are starving, what is
to be done about it, since nature ha3
no mere to give? I once lived on a
farm, and while I am able to recall
some discomforts, I always had
enough to eat. Frequently, we used
parched rye for coffee, and sorghum
molasses for sweetening. The other
day I found sorghum molasses on the
table, bought from an old-fashioned
farmer, and thought it still very good.
We grated corn meal for bread, and
always down in the feed lot were pigs
coming on to supply meat when the
smoke house began to show signs of
! emptiness. We had cattle for plowing,
I and to supply milk. Chickens almost
| took care of themselves about the
place, and supplied eggs in addition to
a surplus of old roosters which, when
boiled long enough, made fairly good
eating. We had wild plums, blackber-
, ries, and preserved them for winter
use. There was plenty of fuel in the
woods, and one man in the neighbor-
j hood ’tanned beef hides, from which
! another made shoes. In almost every
I house there was a loom, for the manu-
\ facture of a cloth called linsey wool-
sey, and this supplied clothing.
It was a poor start, but we were
j never hungry or naked while waiting
| for times to get better. And times
' never did get much better; indeed, I
think they are harder now than I ever
knew them to be on Big Creek.
The big-headed town people should
remember there is a place where they
can at least always get enough to eat,
and move out into the country. Pretty
much all the land will soon be owned
by the government through tax sales,
and almost anyone free to file on it.
* * *
In one of the periods of depression
in Rome, Silerius called the poor to-
gether. “In your meetings,” he said,
“you make very severe charges against
those who are feeding you. It is not
usual to criticize the poor, but many
of you have very bad habits, and are
not doing your part. In an emergency
all should help. Some of the rioting
you have indulged in has only resulted
in destroying such food supplies as
we have. I give you frank notice this
will not be submitted to again. Tf any
of you haye not heard of it, I an-
nounce I am head of the army, and
will not join you in unnecessary de-
struction.”
* * *
On a certain day in history the Rus-
sians were fighting against Frederick
the Great. The next -hay the Russian
armies were ordered by their chief Big
Man to fight for Frederick. . . .
As a subject I have often rebelled
against the orders given me by rulers,
believing they frequently order big
things done for petty reasons.
* * *
It is probably best that parents and
children do not boldly tell or print
what they really think of each other.
. . . A reasonable amount of re-
straint is best in everything; within
bounds hypocrisy has its good points.
A certain mean foreigner, long since
■lead, has been written about for years,
and pronounced a mystery. . . .
More foolishness; no man is a mys-
tery. I know myself, and necessarily
know others. And whether I look at
ithers or at myself, my knowledge
shames me-
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The Lampasas Daily Leader (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 31, No. 152, Ed. 1 Friday, August 31, 1934, newspaper, August 31, 1934; Lampasas, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth897519/m1/3/: accessed July 8, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Lampasas Public Library.