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(Continued from page 155)

tering cascade of visible, tangible wealth fell by the handful on the bar at his side under the deft ministrations of Jesse, his fidus Achates.

shack hung in limp, lifeless clusters beneath the burning, brazen sun, the Adjutant still toiled alone at his desk over a belated return.

"Orderly! Orderly!"-and as that


And again there were sounds of functionary appeared "My compliments revelry by night.


HE sequel was a matter of official record, for when "Number Four" had attempted to halt a ghostly apparition crossing his post earlier in the evening, his shot had aroused the Adjutant from troubled slumbers. Eliciting no satisfactory results by interviewing the Sergeant of the Guard, his suspicious footsteps led directly to the telegraph office, thence to the corral, and subsequently a quick trip to Spanishtown in a hospital ambulance solved the problem. The recreant McStunts was promptly apprehended, together with a score of other absentees, and driven home still bound to the cot and slumbering in infantile innocence.

"Beats anything I ever saw" muttered the Adjutant, glancing at the recumbent piece of statuary. "Five miles through the bundux and sand with that thing on his back! Don't unbind him, Sergeant. Want to show him to the Colonel in the morning. He's the limit, the academic limit!"

For a week McStunts, the repentant, was honored as was only the C. O. in person, inasmuch as the constant presence of an "Orderly" in his office manifested, while general charges were being prepared. And then the climax materialized.

It was high noon-the hour of the siesta-and hot, unbearably hot as only a breathless tropic noon can be. The shadows were not; and everyone sought the secluded comforts of darkened interiors, pajamas, and the ice-chest; but, while the fronds on the tall palms and bananas surrounding the headquarter

to the Quartermaster-with these papers, and yes, bring my horse up also."

"He's at the rack outside, sir," the man responded, saluted, and would have withdrawn when he was recalled.

"Just stop at the telegraph office and tell the operator to stop in here a moment-that's all."

A moment- -two- -five-and no response. The Adjutant arose with an irritated frown and strode to the door, flung it open, crossed the porch, and peered into the realm of dots and dashes. The instrument table was deserted and silent, and the faithless "orderly" slumbered quietly at his post in a comfortable chair, a brace of empty but eloquent bino bottles at his side. Diogenes McStunts was absent. He had once more asserted his prerogative as an American citizen in pursuit of the illusive happiness of freedom unrestrained. And likewise the caballo of the Teniente Gore was a minus quantity.

Weeks later vague rumors came in from distant mountain barrios of an "Americano Jefe Politico-muy sumpatica" from the great Estados Unidos, travelling in state on a wonderful caballo blanco, who was feasted and baile-ed by all the Presidontes along his route;but that was the last ever heard of Pvt. Diogenes McStunts, and the Adjutant's favorite mount.

"Don't you think, Colonel," said Gore to his chief, in talking the matter one day "don't you think that Diogenes case was a pretty eloquent plea for the canteen?"


"Eloquent? Why, damn it, Gore, it was not only eloquent, but-academic, Sir, academic!"

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(Continued from page 184)


fields and for the fertile agricultural lands that are irrigated from the waters of the Kern River.

Traveling north from Bakersfield, we discover that not all of California's orange groves are to be found in the southern part of the state. In fact, oranges are grown successfully as far north as Oroville, well toward the northern end of the Sacramento Valley. The San Joaquin Valley boasts of individual groves not inferior to the best of Southern California's, and takes pride in their earlier ripening, but its chief pride is in the vineyards. San Joaquin is the "Valley of Raisins," Fresno the "Raisin City." Riding from Bakersfield Fresno we passed through what seemed to be infinite miles of level valley land covered with orderly battalions of vines. It is safe to say that at one time or another every American housewife has raisins from these vines in her pantry.


The smaller cities of the Valley are young and growing. They have the business and somewhat of the physical aspects of the towns of a new country. That is, they hustle and are unfinished. The Traveler is of the opinion that they hold excellent opportunities for the young business man who must build from a modest beginning.

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IEWING their business sections,

both Fresno and Stockton have the appearance of the average commercial city twice their size. It seems to The Traveler that the people there move about their business with greater briskness than do the people of any other California city. Business is everywhere. in the air; the kind of business that seems always to require that those who are about it shall be going somewhere or coming back from somewhere in great haste. They have the polish of the up-to-date American business cities. Looking at their rows of business blocks The Traveler thinks of the glistening oak furniture of a prosperous business establishment. They are new, clean, orderly and well-kept; everywhere there is the tone of efficiency, the aspect of thriving for the utilitarian more than for the aesthetic.


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for the entertainment of our guests 27-acre Park. Open Air Plunge. Splendid Golf Course. Tennis Courts. Bowling Greens. Horseback Riding. Miniature Golf Course (on grounds). Picnics. Motion Picture Theatre. Daily Concerts, and the famous "Cocoanut Grove" for dancing every evening.

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In the Dead of Night

In the dead of night a fire breaks out-the alarm must be given. A child is taken sick-the doctor must be called. A thief enters the home-the police must be located.

In the dead of night the American turns to his telephone, confident he will find it ready for the emergency. He knows that telephone exchanges are open always, the operators at their switchboards, the wires ready to vibrate with his words. He has only to lift the receiver from its hook to hear that calm, prompt "Number, please." The constant availability of his telephone gives him security, and makes his life more effective in wider horizons.

Twenty-four-hour service, which is the standard set by the Bell System, is the exception in the service of Continental Europe. An emergency may occur at any time. Continuous and reliable service has become a part of the social and economic fibre of American life.





One Policy, One System, Universal Service

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EDITORIAL AND BUSINESS OFFICES Sentinel Building, 916 Kearny Street, San Francisco. Telephone Douglas 8338. Los Angeles Office, Frost Building Chicago Representative, George H. Myers, 5 South Wabash Avenue SUBSCRIPTION $2.50 PER YEAR


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This is the "Oregon Poets' Number," consequently the poets represented in May Overland are all either now resident in Oregon or have at some time called it home. Prominent among them is

MARY CAROLYN DAVIES, president of the newly organized Northwest Poetry Society and numbered among the foremost women poets of America. She has won many poetry prizes, is a member of the Poetry Society of America, and her verse is known and loved wherever periodicals are read.

GRACE E. HALL is not yet as well known as she will be. Staff poet on the famous Portland "Oregonian," her verse is now being given country-wide syndication. Her first volume, "Homespun," was published by Dodd, Mead & Co., who also bring forth shortly Miss Hall's latest collection of poems under the title of "Patchwork."

ADA M. HEDGES, also of Portland, tells us merely that she has not been active of late in verse writing, having had to "abandon verse-writing for stories; verse is a luxury that I can scarcely afford."

CLARA VIRGINIA BARTON is a native of Saranac Lake, N. Y., and a graduate of Syracuse University in 1903 with degree of Ph. B. Her verse has appeared in a number of periodicals. A resident of Salem for ten years past, Mrs. Barton has been active in the organization of both the Oregon Writers' League and the Northwest Poetry Society.

ELLINOR L. NORCROSS says: "It goes without my saying so that I was born in the nineties. I think that there must have been at least a million literary aspirants born from 1890 to 1900, don't you? I live in Portland and if the "nineties" hadn't predestined me to longing for a literary career, my environment would have done it. Beside writing my favorite amusements are: first, making auto trips to California; second, sitting around and planning auto trips to California. I have published verse in a large number of magazines in the East and West."

(Continued on page 232)

Sarkis Beulan

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