THE GIFT WIFE ...
..u,™™*.™ By RUPERT HUGHES
Nurses Get Rigorous Training
In Hospitals Throughout U. S.
NEW YORK CITY.—National Hospital day, May 12, will find
thousands of Americans visiting their local hospitals. Guiding the
work of these humanitarian institutions are nurses, trained in any
of the 1,375 accredited schools to become sentinels of U. S. health.
At Mt. Sinai hospital. New York, is a typical nursing school, whose
work is pictured below. Mt. Sinai has 235 student nurses who must
have completed a four-year high school course with good record,
must be between 19 and 30 years old, of good health and suitable
personality. In three years they will have completed 6,000 hours
of practical training and 1,200 hours of theoretical work.
ABOVE:The nurse’s health may
be an important factor in her pa
tient’s health. Hence Mt. Sinai’s
students have daily exercises to
keep them in trim for the rigorous
schedule. RIGHT: “Capping day”
is a great event in their lives. After
passing the 24-week probationary
period, they proudly receive the cap
and uniform which makes them
full-fledged student nurses.
During her training period, the
student nurse assists at from 25 to
40 operative eases. First, of course,
they must observe actual opera
tions. Right: Two students are
“scrubbing up” to assist for the first
time—a real adventure!
ABOVE: In the second
half of their first year, stu
dents attend lectures on
medical and surgical nurs
ing, also working five hours
a day In the wards. LEFT:
Typical Instruction. Stu
dents are taught the differ
ent methods of massage
by actual demonstration.
Fascinated, intent, these students are following every detail of a major
surgical operation, familiarizing themselves with the technique and pro
cedure. Each realizes that soon she will stand at the doctor’s side to help
him save a human life!
Time out from the routine to open the day’s mail from home.
How George Came to
Get His Face Slapped
The dumb blonde on a country
ramble entwined her arm with that
of her boy companion, and gushed,
“George, you’re wonderful!”
“Thank you, Mary,” answered
George slowly. “And I think
you’re ditto.”
The dumb blonde pondered over
this. Before long they came upon
old Jollop, the farmer, who was
tending his pigs. She took him
aside and said: "Tell me, Mr. Jol
lop, what does ditto mean?”
Jollop thought for a moment,
then said, “You see that pig over
there by the fence?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, that other pig next
to it. That one is ditto to the
first one.”
O-Cedar it, Motherl
Don't clean and polish, tool
Do BOTH at once.
Any lovely lady can polish her furniture
and floors as she deans them. All the work
she used to do to wash and dry AND then
polish her furniture . . . was half wasted.
Instead, use O-Cedar Polish in your damp
cloth and wash and polish at the same time.
Your neighborhood dealer setts genuine:
MOPS, WAX, DUSTIRS, CLEANERS AND
O-CEDAR PLY AND MOTH SPRAY
Ways of Paying
There are but two ways of pay
ing debt—increase of industry in
raising income, increase of thrift
in laying out.—Carlyle.
SAVES MONEY- ,*
\*gSfr
II 11 II IIIIH HIM
■ • r Yf nwi
T YOU NEVER 11
SPILL A BIT OF 1
THAT BAKIN'S'1
TOBACCO. I
WHAT IS IT? I
^PRINCE ALBERT,
Boy—ITS
CRIMP cur
TO STAV PUT
WITHOUT BUNCH
ING OR THINNING
r CHECK! RA. 't
SMOKES
practically
SHAPE
THEMSELVES.
FAST AND NEAT!
'AND IMAGINE
SUCH
MILONCSS
AND RICH
TASTE FOR
SO LITTLE
PER SMOKE!
70
An* roll-your-own
cigarettes in ovary
bandy pocket tin
of Prince Albert
covrrtabt. mo
R J lUjnold. Toh.Oa. I
W iostoo-JMam, N. C.
ijBRI
rk/A/CEd£B£RT
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Personal Management
of P. G. B. Morriss
CHAPTER XV—Continued
—15—
One day the Pogodins came
home with a child. They said they
had adopted her..
That evening while Mr. Pataky
was at the Folies Caprice seeing a
musical work, the Pogodins had
made haste to pack up their belong
ings and ship them to the station.
Mr. Pataky being away from home
did not learn which of the stations
they went to, and from.
In answer to Jebb's frantic de
mands for a guess as to the probable
destination of the couple, Mr. Pa
taky pulled out a business card, the
duplicate of the one Jebb already
had. Mr. Pogodin was in business
both in Paris and in Warsaw. He
had not done well in Pest.
“I am sure you find them in Paris
or in Warsaw, if maybe they ain’t
gone to some other place."
To come to this Y-shaped trail
and realize that whichever way he
took he would wish he had taken
the other; and that every day of de
lay increased the difficulty and
blurred the track, was maddening
to Jebb. He gave Pataky the mon
ey for Cynthia’s little destructions
and got rid of him with curt phrases.
When Jebb reached Vienna the
next morning and went into the
breakfast-room he found Miruma
waiting for him. Her face was lumi
nous with welcome, but it turned
gloomy as she cried:
"You deed not finded the Cynthia
child. Aman! aman!”
He told the story briefly, hastily
explained his new dilemma. She
solved it in one instant:
“Leesten.—Do you speak Polish or
Mosgovian?” He shook his head.
Then she ran on, eyes flashing with
delight over her scheme:
“I am cherkes-Circassian born,
and I learn some Russian as child,
before I am taked to Turkey.
"But leesten? You shall go to Par
is and look, and I shall go to War
saw. The one who finds the child
feerst telegraphs the other. I bet
you I gone to find her the sheker
buli—the sugar lump feerst. What
you bet?”
By this time the Ludlams met in
the breakfast-room and came over
to their table. The story and the
scheme told all over again enrap
tured sister Jennie and even opened
the fat eyes of brother Charles. As
a much traveled woman, sister Jen
nie scoffed at the idea of any diffi
culty in Miruma’s way.
Brother Charles volunteered to get
the passport from the American con
sul in Vienna. An hour later he
came back with it boastfully:
“It isn’t everybody that could have
got this,” he said; “I had presence
of mind enough to realize that if I
said Mme. Janghir was a Turkish
lady there’d be all sorts of red tape.
So I said she was an American."
“Well, she is. by intention,” said
sister Jennie. Miruma blushed and
Jebb sighed.
The Warsaw train left at noon
and required seventeen hours for the
journey. Jebb’s train to Paris took
twenty-seven hours, and he was
weary of globe-trotting.
There was so little time to get
Miruma aboard her train, and there
were so many instructions to give
her, that leisure was left to talk
of nothing else. And Jebb was sad
ly glad of this; it saved him from
the torment of restraining his words
of adoration.
Jebb’s mood was funereal when
he returned to his hotel. In his
absence the Ludlams had decided to
go to Paris by the same train—a
conspiracy hatched by sister Jennie
to console him.
When dinner was finished sister
Jennie told Charles to go to the
smoking-compartment, and stay
there; and she asked Jebb to come
back after the expiration of one ci
gar. As soon as he had accom
plished his cigar he wandered back
to sister Jennie. Then she unfolded
her plan:
“When 1 first saw you in Vienna
the other day, and thought you were
very rich, I told you I wanted more
of your help, you remember?” Jebb
smiled. “Now that I find you are
not an idle millionaire, but a keen
and brilliant surgeon—oh, don’t lift
your hand—it gives you away as a
surgeon, and Miruma has to’d me of
your miracles in—wherever it was.
“I spoke to you of my poor brother
Wentworth. Before I die I want to
see a memorial of that beautiful
soul, cursed through no fault of his
own, by an inheritance from poor
ancestors that had heaven knows
what sorrows or failure to drive
them to despair. My poor, dear
brother was started wrong, he could
never hope to be what he ought to
have been.
“So I thought that a hospital for
correcting the malformations and
the inherited handicaps of little chil
dren would be about as good a me
morial for poor Wentworth as I
could find.
“And I wanted a large part of its
work to be experimental. I want it
to keep investigating, finding new
methods, pushing into the dark. You
understand, don’t you?”
“That’s about all I understand in
this world, Miss Ludlam," Jebb ex
claimed with unusual fervor for
him. “That's my religion, and the
closest I can come to a prayer is
an operation. And as for experi
menting—it's the crying need of the
world. Miss Ludlam. If only a man
could have a lot more money to
spend and all his time to devote
to exploring. Experimental surgery
is the new world; it’s unbounded,
undreamed of—why, my God, it’s
—excuse me!”
He collapsed in full flight,
ashamed of his own excitement, but
sister Jennie cried: “Don’t mind
me—I’m used to Charlie. I love to
hear you swear. It shows you have
the frenzy that a man needs to be
great. You are the man I need to
help me found this memorial. It
must be just a little different from
those that are already established;
it must—but you know so much bet
ter than I do what is needed. Won't
you please—please—take charge of
it for me!”
Jebb almost fainted at this gift,
so great he had never even dreamed
of it
They talked till the porter in
formed them that the whole car was
complaining.
When the train at last reached
Paris, the Wentworth Ludlam Me
morial Hospital and Experimental
Leisure was left to talk of
nothing else.
Station was pretty well talked out,
and a good deal of it was mapped
on paper.
The first place Jebb sought in
Paris was the office of the Machines
a-ecrire Flaubert. The president and
his son received him and recog
nized the name of Nikolai Pogodin
with contrasting feelings. The
younger member of the firm
laughed; the elder swore.
Mr. Pogodin, they said, had been
their agent, but his interest in the
race tracks of various capitals had
mixed up his accounts so that they
had regretfully erased him from
their rolls.
The Flauberts promised Jebb any
information in their power, but they
doubted if Pogodin were in War
saw, or that he would remain any
where long.
CHAPTER XVI
Jebb went back to his hotel to tell
sister Jennie that he resigned his
stewardship in her great project.
He must set out on a dismal journey
to Poland. But sister Jennie was
not to be found. She was shopping
in the Rue de la Paix. He went to
his own room and was dismally
flinging his things into his suitcase
when a telegram was brought to his
door.
"VE ARR NORD EXPRESS
JOOST OUTSITE RUSSIANS
BORDERS VE ARRIVAL IN
PARIS DAY AFTER TWO MOR
OW CYNTA IS GOOD AND
SENS LOAF TO NUNKEDAY.
"MIRUMA.”
Through this fog of misspelled
words a blast of sunlight came that
almost smote Jebb Saul-wise to the
floor.
It seemed intolerably long to Jebb
before the Ludlams returned to the
hotel, and when they came in they
were fagged with shopping. The tel
egram acted like an elixir of new
life.
But the true laggardliness of time
was felt only when Jebb tried to
live out the day and a half between
him and Miruma’s return.
He spent a large portion of the
time writing and rewriting a cable
gram to Mrs. Thatcher. This was
not easy, for he must inform her
that her child was alive and well
and on the way home, that her hus
band's good name was rescued and
documented, and that the poor faith
ful soul had left an invention which
a prominent manufacturer, Charles
Ludlam, had inspected and would
place on the market for her on a
royalty basis with a guarantee of
a good income for life.
When the Nord-Express pulled in
at the station. Jebb ran through the
cars searching.
Cynthia, dawdling in the corridor
as before, saw him first and set up
a shriek.
The child’s first distinguishable
speech was:
“Oh, Nunkie Dave, you never told
me what Thinpat the Thailor had in
the thoot-cathe he bringed his little
daughter Bridthet.”
And before anything else could be
told Jebb had to ransask his excited
brain for a catalogue of gifts that
would have foundered the reindeers
of Santa Claus himself.
And after this, Cynthia must tell
her own adventures with the Pogo
dins, and she must show off the
Russian she had learned and the
Polish words, and what a nice wom
an Mme. Pogodin was—though not
half so nice as Aunt Miruma.
In fact, there was no silencing the
child till fatigue put her to sleep—
or at least they supposed she was
asleep.
"And now, hanim effendim—Miru
ma—tell me how you managed to
find her—you wonderful, angelic—”
he stopped short on the brink of a
plunge.
"Oh, eet ees such a long story.
They were not hard to find, the Po
godins, but they refuse to geeve up
the baby. They say she is their
own, and they defy me to proof she
is somebody’s who is in America.
So I go away much afraided. But
I come back and wait in the street.
Not till next morning Cynthia comes
out alone to play and I— stealed her
from the stealers—oh, how I runs!
From the depths of his soul Jebb
sighed. It seemed impossible to
keep his love secret any longer. He
had no right to deny her that trib
ute. It was her privilege to know
that he loved her enough to relin
quish her for her own sake.
And then with much hesitation,
his mouth full of the ashes of con
fession, he began to tell her of his
other self.
"Do not tell it me." she said, "It
hoorts you, and I know it all many
days. Seester Jennie tells it, and it
makes me such joy to theenk that
you have been shrinking from me
not because you did hated me, but
because you did loved me all thees
long time.” .
"Then you understand why I kept
silent?”
"Yes.”
"And why I can never ask you
to be my—my wife?”
"No. Leesten, Jebb EfTendim, you
theenk you have another self that
you cannot keel. I theenk you can,
weet the help of Allah and weet my
love to make you a home. Even if
you cannot keel that Meester Pier
pont, still when you are that man
I could keep you close, take care
of you, save you from to run allover
the world, and, perhaps some day
be made dead in some tarrible
place. If I should be your wife 1
should guard you and when the long
seeckness was over you should wake
back to yourself in your own home
and in my arms always. Then soon,
I know, I know Allah would answer
such prayer from two such lovers,
soon the other self comes less and
less often, stays'less and less long.
That could be—couldn’t eet?”
"Yes, it could be—it would be, if—
but I love you too much to let you
endure it.”
"Hush, Jebb EfTendim. I theenk
you want me for wife—yes?"
Jebb only cast his eyes up in de
spair of words to express this de
sire.
"Then—if thees time instead of to
be gived by somebody to somebody,
I give myself for a gift—then—then
—oh, should the gift be refused?—
should you ruin my life forever?—
should you—oh should you make me
do all the proposing?”
Those compartment-cars are very
cosy for settling disputes of this
sort. And Cynthia was asleep—or
at least they thought she was asleep.
[THE END.]
Century-Old Letters Rate Jobs, Homes First
History has a way of fading into
i romance with the passing of a cen
tury, even though the facts are kept
meticulously aligned. So it is that
when one thinks of the development
of Michigan. Ohio and the rest of
the Northwest Territory, he is apt
to think in terms of gold-braided
boundary jugglers, coonskin caps,
long rifles and buttered rum.
Alvin Hamer, Detroit bookseller,
has discovered a collection of let
ters written by the five sons of
Josiah Colburn, a dour Yankee of
the early Nineteenth century, to let
us know the first of the 1800s was
not altogether a time of the grand
gesture and political pow-wow.
These were men whose letters re
veal that they were hard-working
journeymen and laborers and sea
farers whose main concern was not
with the dangers of frontier life, but
with the ordinary business of get
ting jobs and founding homes.
Out of New York state these boys
came, to spread as far north as On
tario, as far west as St. Louis, and
south to New Orleans, with the
Bible-reading father always in the
background, giving good Scriptural
counsel.
There was Thomas, a roistering
wanderer in sail, whose papers
show that he sailed in 1816 from
Kingston, Ont., with a cargo of 40
barrels of beer and 427 pounds of
cheese, at a time when memories of
the war with Britain were still fresh.
It was Jeremiah who wrote of the
boom which followed the war ii^
Buffalo, only to complain three
years later that jobs were hard to
find. He had just finished his ap
prenticeship as a carpenter and was
starting out on his own.
‘‘I am this day pretty good look
ing, half white and 21 years of age
(half Indian, perhaps?), I am now
square with the world—I owe no
body and nobody owes me.,” Jerry
wrote to his sailor brother. Thomas
had evidently cautioned him on the
folly of wandering, for he contin
ued:
‘‘Free and independent, you have
advised me to refrain from ram
bling and be steady. I should be
glad if you would take a little to
yourself, for I believe you stand in
need of becoming more steady than
what you have been for these six
years past. For you have traveled
thousands of miles and I have not
traveled half of one.”
MARKED MAN
Here’s a Western story with a mystery
motif that has both plausibility and punch.
It’s Harold Channing Wire’s best range
land yarn! High spots of a consistently
exciting story deal with Cowboy Walt
Gandy’s efforts to solve a pair of murders
and to defend the C C ranch and its ten
ants against the attacks of a mysterious
foe. “Marked Man” is an unusual narra
tive — colorful, red - blooded - he - man’s
reading from the first page to the last.
Read every thrilling installment serially
in this paper.
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