ira^a®^ A Brave Man By VIC YARDMAN (Associated Newspapers—WNU Service.! Li wanted to scream. But she didn't. Girls brought up on western ranches amid rough, crude surroundings aren’t supposed to scream when mad bulls charge at them. Besides. Kent might have thought she was frightened. She looked at Kent now, standing there beside her, tall and straight. She looked at him and saw that his lips were white. She knew that he was scared—remembered In that instant that all dudes were supposed to be seared of wild bulls. She half expected him to run. But he didn't. And then suddenly he stepped in front of her, as if somehow he thought of shielding her from those piercing horns. It was a pitiful attempt, would have seemed laughable had the sit uation been less serious. Lois looked around a little wildly, and then she remembered Jack. Jack had gone for the horses. And suddenly he ap peared. galloping Into the clearing at its other end, bending low over the neck of his gray. Lois caught her breath. It was a frightfully thrilling scene; Jack, a glamorous figure, riding to her res cue. The bull had its head down, hence wasn't expecting the attack. But even if it had known, it wouldn't have mattered. For Jack had won laurels bulldogging wild steers. It was all over in record time. The bull lay prostrate almost at her feet. And after a minute Jack got up, grinning at her boyishly. And then 1 IIV' • I Yes, Jack was her kind of man. the bull staggered to its feet and lumbered away, glad to disregard its mission of a moment before. Lois gushed profusely and Jack swaggered a bit and invited more gushing. Then suddenly they re membered Kent, and looked at him. Surprisingly there was admiration in his blue eyes. "Good work. Dunn,” he said, and extended his hand. "Darned lucky for us both you were around.” Jack turned back to Lois. He didn't seem to notice Kent's out stretched hand. And Lois knew a flash of anger because of his rude ness; but the flash was nothing more. It passed, and then she was telling Jack all over again what a hero he was. The trail was pretty narrow along the way home, hardly wide enough for three to ride abreast. Kent found himself alone most of the time. The incident back there in the clearing had sort of cleared things up for Lois. Yes, Jack was her kind of man. Once she had hoped he wouldn’t be. She had thought then she wanted a man like Kent Whittaker. A good looking, cultured, educated man. A man born of the cities. A man who liked to read good books, appreciat ed good music, a man who knew and understood something besides wheth er or not a cow had colic and what to do about it. That's why she had invited Kent out to the ranch—to compare him with Jack. Jack had loved her all his life. A man who did things with his hands and wasn't afraid of a single thing. A man's man. She had to decide between them. For Kent loved her, too. He had told her so, that evening six months ago at the Hilton Club back in Bos ton. She had been spending a vaca tion there with an aunt. She thought she loved him then, too. She was glad now she had waited. For after comparing him with Jack she knew the cultured voice and fine manners and abun dance of knowledge didn’t mean a thing when it came to saving her life. She didn't like the way Jack had acted since Kent’s arrival. He was a little too scornful of the easterner’s eflorts to adapt himself to the un usual life he had come to. He never complimented; held himself some what aloof, occasionally made some insulting remark that brought the blood rushing into Kent’s cheeks. But Kent never lost his temper. He al ways smiled and didn't seem to let Jack’s remarks bother him. Lois wondered now if that were Decause Kent was afraid. Afraid of Jack. It must be. Well, she was glad now she knew. They were nearing the ranch, and the trail was wider. Kent had come up beside them, and Jack was look ing at him with that scornful little smile on his lips. Lois glanced at Kent and saw that his mouth was white again. She was faintly dis gusted to think he couldn’t have mastered his fear by this time. It was a pity, she thought, he couldn’t have been invested with some of Jack's qualities. Kent suddenly leaned over and caught the rein of Jack's gray and brought the animal to a stop. "Dunn.” he said softly, *‘I hoped that what F’m about to do could be avoided. F see now that it can’t I've been sizing you up during the past two weeks and just now I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re about the biggest idiot I've ever run across. In fact, you're quite a con ceited ass. You're mean and selfish and a miserable whelp. You’re self centered, low-down and ornery. Sum ming the thing up and resorting to western vernacular I unhesitatingly classify you in the same category as I would a skunk. Now what do you think of that?” "I think,” said Jack Ounn, eyes ablaze, "that I’ll take you apart and put you together again wrong end to." And thus speaking Jack made a pass at Kent and missed completely. Somewhat surprised, he was attempting to regain his bal ance when something struck him mightily on the chin. He toppled from his saddle head over heels and smote the ground a resounding crack. When he looked up there was Kent standing above him, still smil ing, no longer white of lip. Jack got to his feet and made a couple of awkward attempts to reach Kent's face, but Kent’s face never seemed to be in the same place J twice. After a while Jack found difficulty in rising following a par ticularly devastating assault on the point of his jaw, and presently aban doned the attempt. Kent looked at him for a moment or two, decided that the thing was done, and returned to his horse. Lois had by this time comprehended the significance of what was transpir ing, had made swift changes in her thoughts. She was, therefore, a little alarmed when Kent rode away with out even glancing in her direction. She rode after him, and he looked at her, phlegmatically, smiling I pleasantly. There was, in fact, noth ing in his expression that she want ed to see, nothing but a sort of grim satisfaction that a man is apt to have who has been victorious in bat tle. Suddenly, without knowing why, she reined in her horse. And Kent rode on, not once looking back, not hurrying, not seeming to care wheth er she followed or not. A great emp tiness stole into her heart, a hurt feeling. She understood. She knew she was losing the only thing she had ever cared for. Yet she did i not condemn this man, blamed no ; one. The thing was the result of her ! own selfishness. In the brief space of a moment, she realized, the ta bles had been turned. Kent had de cided that she wasn't his kind of woman—and proved it. Blind Wife Bakes Cake For Sightless Husband Imagine stirring up an angel food cake in the middle of the night with out turning on the light. Imagine baking a cake and know ing. without even a glance at the clock, just when it is that delightful golden brown that means perfec tion. Imagine icing it there in the dark ness. And imagine serving it, neatly cut, ! and placed on small plates, togeth er with cups of fragrant coffee, to a group of dozen friends sitting there in the blackness Whether the time is midnight or I midafternoon, the darkness is there for pretty Evelyn Lee of Los An- ' geles, but she has never thought of it as darkness, because she has been blind since birth. Absence of light does not mean fear, tiptoeing, and dependence to this very busy housewife, for the darkness is soft and black and friendly. Through it she feels fa- i miliar furniture and cooking uten sils, and she hears all of the normal happy sounds of daylight and living j Serving her carefully prepared re freshments at a party is not done gropingly with spilling of crumbs and drops, but gayly and with all of the assurance of any experienced hostess. The guests, both blind and sighted, are natural and at ease. There is no breathless wait, as Mrs. Lee wheels her serving cart ex pertly through the doorway from her attractive kitchen. Mrs. Lee's fame as a cook has spread until now she is writing a cookbook in Braille, to be published within the next few months by the Braille institute. Expensive Jaywalking If in the near future you see a Chicago policeman carrying a knap sack. don’t be alarmed. He is not carrying his lunch with him and neither is he carrying a gun in it. What he probably will have in the knapsack is a supply of picture folders displaying the dangers ol Jaywalking. If the Chicago City council goes through with its inten tions of printing 200,000 such folders, police will hand one to each vio lator. The jaywalking ordinance, ii passed, will include a fine of from $1 to |200, after the educations period. Fanaticus Americanus The word “fan" comes from fanatic, which means, roughly, a guy who is frantically enthusiastic about something or other. As an enthusiast the American fan is second to none, rhe fans act is as much a part of the game as anything which goes on inside the playing field. We introduce to you here some of the more rabid oj the breed that happened to catch the eye of the camera. If you wish to see the fan of fans go to Brook lyn. These Dodgeritea tell Cincinnati Reds how they feel about it. Right: This lady fan does her razzing musi cally. This midshipman gives all his lungpouer for the navy during a game against the Columbia university Lions. ITS IIS THE BAG. The type of fan that becomes a near ma niac u'hen the other side makes a 9th inning rally. THAT 1 SHOULD LIVE . . . There is disillusionment,dis gust and sorrote in every line of this veteran fans fare. Every fan comes to this sooner or later. The gents at the right and left are giving the “Bronx cheer,'’ and the man in the center seems to be too full for uords. l*f CU*to Scott Watte* (Released by Western Newspaper Union.) America’s Troubadour /^N JULY 4, 1776, a group of men, meeting in Philadelphia, ush ered into the world a new nation— the United States of America. On July 4, 1826, in another Penn sylvania city, occurred another no table event in American history. For at noon on that day the ninth child of William B. and Eliza Foster was ushered into the world to the tune of ‘Hail Columbia,” “Yankee Doo dle," “Hail to the Chief’ and "The Star Spangled Banner.” played by blaring bands as Pittsburgh celebrat ed the fiftieth anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Inde pendence. No one there could have realized it then, but this child was destined to become “America’s Troubadour” and to write the songs which were to be closest to the hearts of the nation whose birthday was also his birthday. For he was Stephen Col lins Foster. As a gay young blade of 19 in Pittsburgh, Foster had a half dozen boon companions, youths of his own age, who met regularly twice a week to sing at Stephen’s home. They brought their banjos and guitars with them, and called themselves the “Knights of the Square Table.” It was for this group that Foster wrote many of his finest and earliest songs. For one of them Foster received $100, an event which determined his career for him. “Imagine my delight in receiving $100 in cash!” he wrote later. “Though this song was not successful, yet the two $50 bills I STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER (From the portrait by Thomas Hicks, 1852) received for it had the effect of starting me on my vocation.” Then E. P. Christy, head of Chris ty’s Minstrels, asked him to write a song for him to sing before it was published and the result was the world-famous “Old Folks at Home” or, as it is more familiarly known, “Suwanee River.” By per mitting Christy to sign his name in stead of Foster’s to this song, the composer obtained an advance of $15. Later he received more than $2,000 in royalties from its sales but he had a great deal of difficulty in establishing his authorship because Christy copyrighted it in his own name. The decade 1850 to 1860 was Ste phen Foster’s heydey. In 1850 he was married to Jane McDowell. In 1852 he wrote “Massa’s in de Cold, Cold Ground”; began efforts to have himself acknowledged as the right ful author of “Old Folks at Home," and with his wife took that memora ble steamboat trip to New Orleans, the rich fruit of which was to be the song, “My Old Kentucky Home.” But Foster’s married life was not a happy one. He and his wife lived for a few years with Stephen’s fam ily in Pittsburgh, then moved to New York. There the composer yielded more and more to the temptation of strong drink until at last his wife left him, mainly because she had to earn a living for herself and their child, Marion. Foster died on January 13, 1864, in Bellevue, a charity hospital FOOT V b\SEAM X X/ CORD iSTRAIGHTSTRip SEW l OPENING \ AFTER , \INSERTING \ \CUSHION \ \ BASTE \y in aS PLACE CUTTING LJAVE you considered covering A your out-of-door cushions with water-resistant artificial leather? It may be cut and sewn the same as any heavy fabric. The colors are all so fresh and gay that you will be inspired to try striking combinations. Use a coarse machine needle; a No. 5 hand needle; No. 20 or 24 sewing thread and regulate the machine to about 12 stitches to the inch. The cushions shown here are green with seam cords covered in red. The sketch shows how they are made. The cotton seam cord should be about %-inch in diam eter. It is covered with a straight strip 1 Yt inches wide stitched with the machine cording foot to allow the sewing to come up close to the cord. The raw edges of the cord covering are basted around the top and bottom of the cover on the right side, as shown, and are then stitched in with the seam. If you like variety in your cush ions, there is an idea for sturdy ones made of burlap and silk stockings on page 23 of SEWING, Book 5. • • • NOTE: Book 7. in the series of Home makers' Booklets by Mrs. Spears, is the latest and contains directions for more than thirty things which you will want for your own home or for gifts. Included are working drawings for reconditioning old chairs and other furniture; directions for a spool whatnot; an unusual braided rag rug; and many things to make with needle and thread. The seven booklets now available contain a total of more than two hundred of Mrs. Spears’ NEW IDEAS for Homemakers. Booklets are 10 cents each. Send your order to: MRS. RUTH WYETH SPEARS Drawer 10 Bedford Hills New York Enclose 10 cents for each book ordered. Name. Address... De arJMlom: Well, here it is an other weekend and I'm not a General yet. But give me time. The nearest village is 5 miles away. All you find there is a general store, a ga rage and a canning factory—nowhere to go for any good clean fun, unless you drop in at a smoke-filled juke joint on the way. Well, Mom, there's a big favor you can do me. The U. S. 0. is trying to raise $10,765,000 to run clubs for us, outside of camp. Places with lounge rooms, dance floors, games, writ ing rooms. Places you can get a bite to eat without paying a king's ransom. I know you don't have an idle million OPEN YOUR HEART OPEN YOUR PURSE GIVE TO THE lying around, but if you could get the family interested and some of the neigh bors, and if that happened all over the country, the U. S. 0. could raise $10,765, 000 overnight. I'd appreciate it a lot. Mom, and so • would every other mother's son in the U. S. Army and Navy. Love, Bill They’re doing their bit for you. Will you do your bit for them? Send your contribution to your local U.S.O. Committee or to U. S O. National Headquarters, Empire State Build ing, New York, N. Y. • • • These organizations have joined forces toformtheU.SO.:thcY.\ICA, National Catholic Community Service, Salvation Army, Y. W.CA., Jewish Welfare Board, National Travelers Aid Association. THE ADVERTISER INVITES YOUR PHll/iD A TJ T C O M 7110 advertiser assures ua that his goods Nrf V1V1 * ■»* nlwWIi are good. He invites us to compare them with others. We do. Should he relax for a minute and let his standards drop, we discern it. We tell others. We cease buying his product. Therefore he keeps up the high standard of his wares, and the prices as low as possible.