r HOUSEHOLD QUESTIONS New Hot-Water Bottle.—Add a teaspoonful of glycerine to the hot water when filling a new rubber hot-water bottle for the first time. This keeps the rubber soft and in good condition. • • • When Glass Breaks.—A handful of moistened absorbent cotton will pick up bits of broken glass with out endangering the fingers. • • 4 House Plant.—The phillodendron or devil’s try is a fast grower and is a most satisfactory plant to grow in vases on a mantel. It may be grown in earth or water. • • • Removing Odors.—Odors can be removed from bottles by rinsing with cold water to which a little dry mustard is added. • • • Using Celery Tops.—Celery tops dried in the oven and then rubbed through the fingers to a powder, make an excellent flavoring for soups and stews. They will keep for months if stored in an air-tight jar or tin. • • • Sliding Drawers.—Wax or soap rubbed along the sliding edges of dresser drawers will make them move in and out easily. * • • Stuff Fowl Loosely.—Stuffings in fowl or fish should not be packed too tightly because they expand considerably while baking. • • * Care of Electric Cord.—Don’t twist, bend or tie the so-called cord attached to your electric iron. It is not a cord, but two bundles of wires. YOU CAN AFFORD FAST RELIEF FROM PAINS OF RHEUMATISM, NEURITIS HEADACHE 4 - A TABLET I C NOW BUYS *' GENUINE BAYER ASPIRIN In 2 w»«»min by stop watch, a genuine llayer Aspirin Tablet Marta to dialntegrate and la ready to go to work. See for yourself this way, why llayer Aspirin acta ao quickly. Millions now enjoy modern speed method and save money they once spent for high-priced remedies. Try it. You may be surprised at the speed with which Bayer Aspirin brings re lief from headache and pains of rheumatism, neuritis, neuralgia. Among the fastest, most effective ways known, Bayer Aspirin not only brings relief from such pains very fast . . . but this quick way is 2 inexpensive. It may save the irs once spent on high priced remedies. Once you try it. . . actually feel its quick relief, you’ll know why thousands make sure they get no substitutes for Bayer Aspirin by always asking for it by its full name... never by the name “aspirin” alone. Life’s Thirst Life’s thirst quenches itself With draughts which double thirst. —Anon. . ARE YOU PALE, WEAK? Pittsburg, Kans. — Mrs. R. G. I.igon, 708 N. Grand St., says:'*I was in poor health, had lost weight ami lacked strength. I had no appetite, was pale, nervous and upset, and feh miserable. I took Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescription and soon I enjoyed my meals. regained my weight and strength, wasn t nearly so nervous, and looked and felt like myself once more.'* Buy at any drug store. WNU—U4ft—39 Natural Wisdom The unselfish heart knows as much as a book on etiquette can teach. WHEN kidneys function badly and you suffer a nagging backache, with dizziness, burning, scanty or too | frequent urination and getting up at night; when you feel tired nervous, all upset... use Doan's Pill*. Doan's are especially for poorly I working kidneys. Millions of boxes are used every year. They are recom mended the country over. Ask your neighbor! iMaAsyMsUskaa Ttoyd ADVENTURERS’ CLUB HEADLINES FROM THE LIVES OF PEOPLE LIKE YOURSELF! “Death Trap at El Chivo99 Hello everybody: “You asked for a real life adventure,” says Morris E. Lowder of Chicago, “so here goes.” That’s the way I like to hear you boys and girls talk. I ask for it, and you dish it up. And just between you and me, the boys and girls in Chicago and its neighboring towns —and for that matter, all over northern Illinois—are dish ing them up faster than any bunch of folks I’ve struck yet. ( The Adventurers’ club has installed chapters in a num ber of cities. I’ve been swamped with mail in every dog gone one of them. But never have I been swamped the way Chicago has swamped me. I’m mighty grateful to you for I your hearty response. I’ve had a flock of good yarns from you, but it’s going to take a little time. And speaking of being swamped—well—Morrie Lowder knows something about that, too. As if we didn’t have enough floods right here in this country—what with floods of letters and flooding rivers—Morrie had to go to Cuba and get himself Into a first-class flood down there. Morrie was assistant manager for an American drug concern and in the latter part of May, 1924, he started out from Havana on a business trip into the Oriente province. Trains Filled With Inauguration Throngs. It was the day after the inauguration of Gerardo Machado as presi dent and the trains were filled to overflowing with people who had come to view the proceedings. The train Morrie was on was one of 18 cars, every one of them packed with people. It had been raining for three days before his inauguration, and it was still raining. The streets were full of water when Morrie left Havana—but he was to see a lot more water before his journey was over. By the time they reached the town of Colon in Matanzas province, the water in the streets was a foot deep. Beds and chairs were floating The passengers were helpless on a bridge that might be washed away at any minute. about and people were making for the upper floors of the few tall build ings in town. Morrie thought the train would stop there and make no attempt to go on until the water had gone down, but to his surprise it moved on toward Macagua. Morrie knew that the country up ahead was low and flat. What was more, they had to cross a river called El Chivo—a stream that be came a howling torrent when it was swollen by the rains. The train puffed along, part of the time through water that came to the hubs of its wheels. At last it came to the trestle spanning the El Chivo. It was about seven o’clock, and pitch dark, when they started across that viaduct. “Sharp flashes of lightning,” says Morrie, “were the only things we could see by. The two engines up ahead were puffing and roaring, and we could feel the trestle shiver under the weight of the train and the pressure of some 12 feet of water that went tearing under it, carrying trees and animals to destruction. AH of a sudden the train came to a stop with a terrible jolt. Morrie Offers Help to Injured. As a medical man, Morrie stepped forward and offered to help if any one was injured. Several of them—Morrie among them—went forward to the express to see what had happened. They found out, all right. The viaduct, weakened by the flood, was breaking up. Even while they stood in the express car, a whole section of the road bed was swept from beneath it, leaving the car hanging in mid air with only its couplings holding it up! The train couldn't move now. The two engines were on the other side of the break—the cars—the passengers, helpless on a bridge that might be washed away at any moment. They were sure that, by this time, there must be other breaks in that bridge—breaks behind them that would leave them marooned in the middle of the swollen river. “We uncoupled the pin of the baggage car,” says Morrie, "and with a rush such as I never want to hear again, it was swept away. We began sending up flares in the hope of bringing aid. but they were answered by only a few poor guajiros, them selves marooned on the thatched roofs of their homes. The con ductor in charge mustered about 10 of us for any duty, and to be truthful about it, we all thought that this would be the last duty any of us would perform.” Passenger Cars Thought to Be Sinking. Morrie had a small medical kit. and the doctors aboard made good use of his supplies. Suddenly came the news that the first of the pas senger cars was sinking into the river. The men uncoupled that car, j herding its passengers into others that were already overcrowded. "We had some thirty prostrated people on our hands,” Morrie says, “and while we were working over them we could feel the cars jerk and sway as slowly they settled toward the water. Gee, but you feel helpless in a spot like that. No one could help these people. Most of them were praying, and till my dying day I'll never forget the looks on their faces.” But already help was on the way. One telegraph line was still up, and, when the train didn't come through, Macagua wired Colon to send an engine. A switching engine came down from Colon and found that, contrary to Morrie’s belief, there were no breaks in the western end of the trestle. The crew loaded all the passengers into six cars, and Morrie says they put them in three deep in the aisles. "We went back the next morning,” says Morrie, “just to see what had happened to the engineer and the fireman we had left behind. The engines were sunk in the river until only the roofs showed, but there were the engineers and firemen waving to us from the tops of the cabs.” (Released by Western Newspaper Union.) Lightweight Helium Has Little Commercial Value Practical commercial utility of the "lightweight" helium discovered in the air by University of Califor nia scientists remains extremely doubtful, the scientists have report ed. Dr. Luis W. Alvarez, assistant professor of physics, who, with Rob ert Cornog, graduate student from Denver, detected submicroscopic quantities of the lightweight helium in ordinary air. reported the dis covery is considered important to the science of physics, but its pos sible use in commercial form, such as in lighter than air craft, is very much in doubt. Reason why the commercial util ity of lightweight helium is extreme ly doubtful is that no method has yet been devised to extract any type of helium from the air in usable commercial quantities. The scientists made their discov ery with the aid of the university’s 225-ton atom smashing cyclotron. The United States has a monop oly on heavy helium which has a lifting power 92.3 per cent that of hydrogen, the lightest known gas. BOB AND BEE. DEBTORS se By ALICE DUANE fM.-nur* Syndicate—WNU Service ! ( ( r j '' ELL you how I dope it | out. Bee,” said Bob, rea X sonably "Things can’t be worse than they are. They’re bound to get better. We haven’t either of us Jobs now—we will have sometime, of course. So when on earth could we find a better time to get married than now?” Bee hugged his arm affectionately as they walked along briskly in the cool spring dusk. "Bob, you’re a good deal of a peach,” she said. "Honestly, I’m so tired of running down leads for new jobs, and trying to act cheerful wfien people ask me how things are com ing along that I don’t know what to do. It would be swell to be mar ried and to feel, anyway, that some body needed you." "But, Bee—that isn’t why we are marrying?" "No,” she said, soberly. “We’d marry if we were both millionaires —if we both had the best jobs in the world. We are marrying be cause we—love each other, aren’t we?” “Well, that’s my idea,” said Bob, with a contented chuckle. So they were married. "I can certainly cook food for two of us for a great deal less than we spend now for our meals,” said Bee. And, “We’ll be a lot happier, too,” said Bob. They went to live in a little sub urban cottage. A little, old-fashioned house, rather, at the edge of a rather new suburb. It still had a country look, with old lilac bushes and a tumble-down white picket fence, strawberry shrubs, and day lilies planted along the uneven flag walk to the front door. "You see,” Bob explained, “Uncle Robert gave it to me. He was born here, I guess. Always held on to it, though he hasn’t lived here for years. Never married, you know, and has lived at third-rate hotels where his third-rate income would support him. Nice old boy, Uncle Robert, but not much of a money maker.” "It’s sweet," decided Bee. It was the day before they were to be married, and they had driven out with a lot of their things. "And when the furniture Aunt Beatrice gave me gets here, we can make it look quite lovely. There’s a highboy that’ll go there, right be side that window. And nice old iron fire dogs for that hearth. She didn’t really give me the furniture, you know. Only when I told her yester day we’d decided to be married she sent for it where she’s had it in storage ever since Uncle Watkins died and she went to boarding—told me I might as well use it; she’d not want it again.” “Well, of course, Uncle Robert hasn't exactly given me the house. He pays the taxes and the house is his. But he’s going to leave it to me and he calls it mine.” Bob looked around affectionately —at the little clumps of grass al ready green, at the swelling buds on the lilacs, at the little white and green shoots thrusting upward in the border of the path. “Nice little place, what?” "Lovely, just lovely,” agreed Bee, and they hurried on with their un loading, putting to rights and plan ning. That was in April. In May, with lilacs just coming into bloom, Aunt Beatrice came to visit them. Bee had invited her, and she had accept ed, quite to Bee’s surprise. "I didn’t think she’d come,” said Bee to Bob, a little apologetically. "But she writes that she’s so anxious to see her old things in place again that she will come for just a few days. I’m sorry, Bob; it seems wrong to let anything spoil or even interrupt our perfect life.” Bob looked up from his work at the edge of the vegetable garden. • "That's all right. Bee, I feel that way, too. But look here—” And he hauled a letter from a pocket. "Here’s one from Uncle Robert. Says he’ll come for just a few days —be here tomorrow. Wants to see how the old place looks with some of us actually living here again." Bee giggled. Bob chortled. And when Bee's Aunt Beatrice and Bob’s Uncle Robert arrived they found two very happy young people waiting for them with a very warm welcome. Aunt Beatrice was a plump, pretty, comfortable, middle aged woman, who wore pink ging ham dresses in the morning. And, without seeming to push Bee aside, she took charge of the kitchen. There wasn’t a doubt about the fact that she could cook better than Bee. Robert praised her pies and cakes— and so did Bee and Bob. “I’ll do the salads,” said Bee, with relief. "It's silly, I suppose, for me lo cook when you’re here and can do it so much better." "Well,” said Uncle Robert, "1 al ways held that salads were a waste of time and appetite anyway. Sliced tomatoes—yes." And he forked some off a generous platterful that Aunt Beatrice had prepared to serve with the pot roast and green corn and mashed potatoes. "But fancy salads, or just green leaves and oil —no.” And Uncle Robert took charge of the vegetable garden from which | Bee and Bob expected to supply much of their table later in the sum- i mer. “And of course he knows more about it than I do,” said Bob, one evening, smoking his pipe in the grape arbor with Bee, as they watched Uncle Robert proudly showing off the even green rows of beans and carrots and peas to Aunt Beatrice. They’d been there a month then—the uncle and aunt. "And you see it's his house—and her furniture—” sighed Bee. “There isn’t much we can do, is there?” By the end of July the two young er people were feeling a bit crowded out. “It’s darling of Aunt Beatrice to cook us such delicious meals,” said Bee one evening, to Bob. “But I don’t like huckleberry pie and neither do you, and we’ve had it twice this week.” "Yeah," acquiesced Bob gloomily. “But Uncle Robert likes it. It’s like bis planning twice as many egg plants next summer in the garden. Your aunt likes them. Slimy things!” Bee laughed. "Bob, do you sup pose—” “Sure,” said Bob. “Sure thing.” “Well, what’ll we do if they want the house—and the furniture—for themselves?” “What 11 we do? Give It to them. It’s theirs. That job I start Monday is enough to keep us both going here —but if the old people take this place and we have to go to town, maybe you’ll have to take that place you’ve been considering—until I get a couple of raises.” “Well, that’s all right,” said Bee. “Only—you fit in here so well. I’d like to be able to keep you here." It was next day that Beatrice and Robert told Bee and Bob that they were going to be married. And Bob and Bee were sincere In their congratulations, though both their hearts dropped a bit at the prospect of losing their home. “Well,” said Bob, with a smile, “I guess it runs in the family.” “And,” added Bee, hugging Aunt Beatrice, “it’s been a splefidid tide over letting us live here. We’ll be getting on, though, now.” “Getting on?” exclaimed Uncle Robert. “What’s the matter with this place for you two? It’ll be more comfortable after we go.” “You go?” exclaimed Bob. “Well, you see, Beatrice and I want to see the world. We’ve had a nice summer vacation here with you two youngsters, and we may come up for a week or two every summer—but we’re going to live in a hotel in New York. Back there at the Briesket where I used to live, Bob. Suit you two to stay on here? I’ve got a little more put by than I need—and I’ll deed this place to Bee. You see, if it hadn’t been for you two, Beatrice and I wouldn’t have known each other.” “Aunt Beatrice smiled happily at her niece. “No, that's a fact. And the furni ture goes with the house. You two mustn’t say anything about it. It’s a little debt we owe you.” Nicknames of States Traced to ‘Outdoors’ Wildlife and the out-of-doors seems to have had a decided influ ence on the nicknaming of states which few apparently appreciate. Several states are named for ani mals, some for birds, one or two for insects, and reptiles, a number for trees or flowers, and others for in organic resources and even outdoor phenomena, according to a recent bulletin of the American Wildlife in stitute. Alabama, for example, is referred to as the “Lizard State” or as the “Yallerhammers State.” The “Bear State” is Arkansas; Connecticut, the “Nutmeg State," Florida, the “Land of Flowers,” and Georgia, though named for King George II of Eng land, is the “Buzzard State." The “Hawkeye State” is Iowa. Kansas, we call the “Sunflower State,” and Kentucky the “Blue grass State.” Louisiana is nick named the "Pelican State” and ev eryone knows Maine as the “Pine Tree State.” Michigan and Minne sota took their sobriquets from the wolverine and the gopher respec tively, while Mississippi, which comes from the Algonquin words meaning “Fish River," goes to the eagle for her by-name. She is prob ably best known as the “Magnolia state. The graceful antelope gave Ne braska her name and the sage brush of Nevada hers. Anyone who has frequented the marshes of New Jer sey will appreciate the reason for her being nicknamed the “Mosquito State.” North Carolina’s pine trees provide the state with its name, the “Turpentine State.” The “Flickertail State" is North Dakota; the "Buckeye State,” Ohio; Oregon, the “Beaver State"; and South Carolina is familiarly known as the "Palmetto State.” In South Dakota we And the “Coyote State,” Utah the “Behive,” Washington the “Evergreen” and Wisconsin, the “Badger State.” Natural phenomen; and physical features have been used to describe some of the states. Thus in Arizona we have the "Sunset State,” and in Illinois, the "Prairie State.” Massa chusetts is the “Bay State," and Missouri, the “Iron Mountain State.” “Sunshine” designates New Mex ico.' In addition to the two names previously noted, Mississippi is also known as the "Bayou State.” The “Lone Star State” is so well known that it need not be said to be Texas. Vermont as the “Green Mountain State,” so named in French (“verd mont”) by Samuel de Champlain, is equally well known. WHO’S NEWS THIS WEEK By LEMUEL F. PARTON NEW YORK.—Somebody was al ways turning in a riot call when Igor Stravinsky’s “Fire Bird” and “Sacre du Printemps” were first •Wild' CompoMer ^ Spears Harvard Browder of _ , . . the salons and Professorship musical con servatories, but now he’s as respect able as Nicholas Murray Butler, as he takes his post as professor of po etry at Harvard. As he writes his fourth symphony, he enjoys full and complete academic sanction for what were once considered the wild vagaries of his compositions. In Russia, his parents wanted him to be a lawyer. Rimsky Korsakoff was the Pied Piper who lured him from law books to outlaw music, but who un leashed his genius and himself profited as Stravinsky became one of his most knowing and gifted interpreters. The frail person of Professor Stra vinsky, as he may now be called, has been shaken and racked by the torrent of his genius, and every so often he has found it necessary to take time out in Switzerland for re pairs. But, at 54, he still has furious vitality and is still at mid-way in his creative career. With a sharp pencil he spears superaural sounds. Marshaling them in a symphony, he looses demons, to slay them with his baton. This demoniac disso nance caused riots in France when his compositions were first produced. It took quite a few years for discerning critics to discover that he “planned it that way,” and that there was law and order in his music. MUCH is being written currently in comparison of the intellec tual climate of America today with that of the immediate pre-war pe V*f Steel Maker S**™ Dehunks War as Grace, presi C , D Cm. dent of the Source of Profit Bethlehem Steel corporation, offers something possibly worthy weighing in this bal ance in his vehement repudiation of any desire for war profits. “We don’t want any war to Inflate Bethlehem’s business,” says Mr. Grace. “We prefer peace. We are in a position to be war baby number one, as in the last war, but I can tell you that our directors and associates don’t want that kind of business. I’d like to see the war stop to day. Bethlehem would be better off if it did.” In contrast are the words of an other great industrialist, now dead, who, at a New York luncheon club in January, 1917, spoke as follows: “America has come of age. Its ships cannot be driven from the seas; its citizens will go wherever their trade or business leads them. No insolent challenge to our enter prise will stay us in our peaceful pursuits whenever and wherever we choose to go. And I say to you that our great business establishment will remain world business for what ever profit may legitimately accrue. It is not only our right, but patriotic duty to seize opportunity to main tain the full solvency of this na tion.” Mr. Grace, as president of both Bethlehem Steel and the Bethlehem Shipbuilding corpora tion, had special charge of all production of cannon, armor plate and munitions during the World war. Last summer, he rounded out 40 years with Beth lehem, one of the great steel masters of the country. After his graduation in electrical en gineering at Lehigh university, his first job at the company was operating an electric crane. He became general superintend ent, manager and a director In 1911. He became president in 1913. He is 63 years old. COMPARISONS are dangerous, but it would appear that Walter A. Wood, wearing the colors of the American Geographical society, has '»