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tity of the writer, if he had to do everything short of murder. A hurried survey of the ground revealed the tracks of the same number sixes. He found where the two stones had been pulled from their bedding. Taking the trail he went straight up to the brushy slope. Now it was lost, only to be picked up again after a short search. Gates listened for some sound from above, but heard nothing, though the fleeing miscreant could not be more than ten minutes in the lead. At length he reached the edge of the timber below the upper cliff. Ahead stretched a wide snowdrift, discolored by the detritus from above. The trail was now plain, for the tracks lead out upon the frozen surface. Reaching the base of the cliff they turned abruptly to the right. Less than a hundred yards father on, however, the tracks led upward where the cliff was broken away. It was the only possible place for ascending, so Gates climbed briskly. At the top he found the trail again. Here the timber was free of underbrush, and he could see by the manner in which the soft earth was turned up that the person ahead had resorted to running. Suddenly, at a big pine, he lost the trail. It looked as if the fugitive had climbed the tree. Unconsciously Gates looked up along the great trunk, bare of limbs for a hundred feet. Ashamed and angry again, he dropped his gaze to the ground. He was not pursuing a squirrel, not even a wild cat. This was but a ruse to cause him to lose time. Circling about, he found the trail leading away at right angles to its approach. Here a heavy coat of dry pine needles lay upon. the ground, making the trail all but impossible.

It was fully half an hour after leaving the pine that Gates, still upon the trail, came around the Northern side of the ridge. The air was cold and damp, as if in this spot the sun never shone. A cold wind, rising from the canyon, chilled his sweating face. Gates reached the edge of a great drift which stretched away to the canyon. It was apparently too steep to be negotiated, yet the trail led out upon it. To reach its other side, nearly a hundred feet away, would require treading the most hazardous path Gates had ever attempted. He unloaded his rifle, that he might use the butt of the weapon as an alpenstock. Then setting his teeth, he stepped out upon the glacial surface. He had no difficulty in making the first fifty feet, but here the surface steepened. He saw now that the snows, perhaps of centuries, had filled a deep gorge which emptied into the canyon. It seemed as if he could not go on; he would not go back. For a full minute he stood irresolute, then took a

step forward. His foot refused to hold upon the glassy surface. Gates struck out wildly with the butt of his rifle, then, before he was aware of what was happening, he was toboganning toward the canyon with the speed of a rocket. To stop was impossible. His only course was in selecting the best possible route, he thought, but time give him little. chance. He remembered, afterwards, striking the trunk of a tree, and bounding off before he could grasp it. The next he knew he lay stunned, against some brush in the bottom of the canyon. His murky senses slowly returning, he moved first his arms, then his legs, and lastly his whole body, to find with relief that no bones were broken. He was sore and bruised. Weakly he closed his eyes.

A shout from above caused Gates to start. A figure, apparently that of a boy clad in blue dennim overalls and jumper, was coming down the slide, rapidly, but not so rapidly as he had come. The difference in speed was due to the fact that the boy was seated upon a pole, after the manner of a snow-shoer, while he used his own shoes for run

ners.

A moment later the new arrival cried, "Oh, have I caused you to be killed? Are you badly hurt? Tell me!" The voice was that of a girl, soft, pleading forgiveness. Gates struggled to a sitting position, and rubbed his hand across his forehead, as if to remove the doubts of unreality. He did not answer for a time, but looked steadily into the girl's eyes.

"You? Here?" he cried at length, wonderingly.

"Why yes, it's me, and here," she said, a little mystified. "Have you ever seen me before?"

"Yes, that hair, those eyes, there could be no others like them."

"But where?" she demanded. Seeing that he was not seriously hurt, her composure was returning.

"On the pier at St. Nazaire, as the Atranto was pulling out. It was at the rail. You stood below. I asked you to come along, and you were answering when the siren sounded. Do you remember?" He was leaning toward her.

"Yes, I do remember, but vaguely,' she said slowly, "for I was thinking of my brother. He belonged to the regiment that was going home. He is still over there." Her voice trailed to nothing.

"What was his name?" Gates demanded eagerly.

"Pat Gorman."

"My God, and you're his sister, and here," he cried as he reached forward

and gripped her shoulders. "Pat Gorman was my buddy. And you're his sister!"

"Yes, yes, and to think that I tried to make you leave the country, almost killed you. Won't you please shoot me?"

"I will not," he returned, "but to show you what I thought of Pat I'm going to do this." Leaning still farther forward, he kissed her forehead.

"What's your name?" she inquired absently.

"Benny Gates," he told her.

A new light flickered into the brown eyes he had thought so strangely alluring, that day at St. Nazaire. She smiled. "Benny," she said softly, "you may kiss me on the lips if you want to. A man who was Pat's buddy can't be so very dangerous."

"Now," he demanded, a moment later, "I want to know what you've been up to in this yellow note monkey business. Trying to run me out?"

"I'll admit it," she answered, with boyish frankness. "I came up here with Dad, and it gets mighty lonesome for both of us since Pat is gone. But we can't be glum all the time, so I made Dad a bet that I could run every ranger off the upper San Bruno, simply by keeping him guessing. You should have seen that square-head, Nelson, beat it." She laughed at the recollection of what she had done to Nelson. Gates did not ask her to explain about him then, he was satisfied to have an explanation for his own dilemma.

"Do you still want me to go?" he asked.

"No, I don't. Come on, let's get out of here and down to your own camp. I haven't had any breakfast. My horse is tied just back of your cabin in the willows by the creek. You're an awful boob, Benny, up here where the streets aren't paved, but you'll learn. Come on." She had risen and was holding out her hand to him.

"What will we do when we have had breakfast?" he asked, because he could not, just then, think of anything else.

"I'll have to get back to camp. Promised Dad that I'd be in by ten. Better come along, he'll be right glad to see Pat's buddy."

"How about yourself?" he demanded. "Oh, I'm already looking at him. Come on, let's don't get sentimental," and softly she added, "yet," but not so softly that he did not hear, and he followed her, still wondering if, after all, he was not dreaming.

This Interesting World

Sometimes I Am Glad that I Live In It

LITTLE SYMBOLISMS OF DAILY LIFE

O

NE of the interesting things in

this interesting world is getting this interesting world is getting acquainted with its gestures, and seeing whether it means what it says.

The spirit of our modern age prides itself upon its matter-of-face attitude, its business sense, its realism. Never before have men looked at life so clearly, so rationally, so stripped of self-deceptions. The symbolisms by which men have advanced from their dim beginnings of knowledge are not for this age. We have left all those behind.

The figures and symbolical language of the poetry of the past are anathema to us. The representation of an idea we will have none of; let us have the idea itse f.

And yet our daily lives are full of symbolisms. A fraternity pin is as deeply reverenced as was the totem pole of the Alaskan, the regalia of a fraternal organization carries as elaborate a symbo.ism as does a Persian rug or an Indian basket. In fact, there seems at the present time to be a recrudescence of symbolism in children's games, but in ly repudiating it in expression.

We read patronizing these on the symbolism in children's games, but in our own larger games it is not lacking. Our whole financial system is an organized symbolic system; a slip of paper with a signature is an accurately regulated symbol of value. In Wall Street, transactions involving immense sums of money are made by an even more intricate exchange of symbols. Even the coin on which the system is based is, to some extent, a symbol of value. Taken to Tatao or Ashanteeland it becomes merely decorative, as a necklace or a nose-bangle.

Many of our methods of providing enjoyment, such as a full dress dinner. or a cabaret entertainment might be classed as symbols of pleasure rather than as its reality.

The price paid for a house, a car, a garment is accepted as a symbol of its value, which may bear no relation to its beauty, its comfort, or its usefulness.

Many people are still mourning the

loss the country sustained in the Eighteenth Amendment, because social drinking was to them a symbol of goodfellowship and exaltation, even though the effect of liquor on quite a majority of people is to make them either quarrelsome or sleepy.

Our fashions are supposed to embody beauty and art; having agreed upon this conclusion, we accept them as symbols of both, even when they bear slight relation to either. An obvious instance is the recent vogue of rouge. Beauty in women is greatly enhanced by rich coloring and a clear white skin. Powder gives whiteness and rouge gives color; perforce, the two together must achieve beauty. But copious powder on the nose makes it look abnormally large, and splotches of red on the cheeks give the appearance, at a little distance, of

a

mask. Nevertheless, Milady goes forth, not by mistake, but having achieved a studied effect. But for the idea of rouge as a symbol of beauty, nothing could coax her from her boudoir in such a plight.

We rewrite our Bible in order that the man on the street can understand it, for it must be rid of symbolism in words, that its meaning may be easily discerned. Its symbolic language marks it as antiquated and belonging to a bygone age whose wisdom could have no message for this.

But the man on the street speaks largely in a language of symbolismslang. "Nobody home," "Bats in the belfry," "The snakes hips," are supposedly greatly superior in vividness and terseness because of their imaginery.

Yes, we have no interest in symbolism. But have you? Tell us about it. -IDA CLAIRE.

HERE IS A REMINISCENCE OF TRUE COMMUNITY

SPIRIT

Ta'king things over! Do you remember-if you were brought up in a small country town, of course you do! -the village store with its rows of shelves. Up in front were drygoods, bolt of ginghams and calicoes and what not; and farther back were shelves of

canned goods, while running along their length was the whittled counter. And upon its farther end was an open box containing smoking tobacco and loose matches.

The tobacco and matches were gratis, possibly to afford some insurance for the open barrels of crackers and apples which stood all too conveniently close to the battered old stove. That old stove! That battered and generous old stove which wearily upheld its length of cobwebbed and rusty pipe!

Do you remember the momentous questions which were threshed out o' nights about the rattling roaring old stove? Sort of a village forum, the old stove was. And it was something more, for about these battered-and brown be-spatered-old stoves the country

over, started those whispers of public opinion which gathered and joined. until they became the mighty wind which swayed the nation's capitol.

Those were the days when public questions really were talked over and dissected and diagnosed; not by professional politicians, but by those who were most concerned, the people themselves. That was real co-operation-not for private interest, but in the public good. There might have been graft and trickery in the larger cities, and in the national government. There was; no little of it. But in the smaller communities THE PEOPLE governed-because they talked things over, and they knew what was going on.

Nowadays the corner store is an hygenic institution. It handles package goods and throws a dustless mop at the too venturesome cat. The old stove rusts neglected and forgotten in the basement while an electric heater concentrates a cheerless heat on some one portion of your anatomy. What matter, since the store closes on the stroke of six?

The village forum has disbanded. Its erstwhile members listen in on the radio while Senator Wheatfoot expounds. Only for a moment, then they tune in to some other station's jazz concert. Let the Senator run the government! Ain't that what he's paid for?

-Fenton Fowler.

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A Resort in the Heart of a Great City Not a dull day throughout the year-varied entertainments every day and evening 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 "Coconut Grove" for dancing every evening.

Large and Convenient Garage on Grounds
The Rates Are Moderate

Write for Chef's Booklet of
California Recipes and Information

THE ALEXANDRIA

Is Los Angeles' leading downtown hotel

Many improvements have modernized this great hotel, making it the last word in comfort and service.

Carmelita of Old San Juan

By HARRY NOYES PRATT

Old San Juan upon its hilltop
Silent lies with shadows falling-
From the mission's 'dobe tower
Chiming bells are softly calling;
By the candle-lighted altar
Praying padres vigil keeping;
Low-flung, shadowed archways silent-
Old San Juan lies quiet, sleeping.

Carmelita! Carmelita!

Eager is the heart that waits thee! Hasten to the heart that waits thee By San Juan's enshadowed wall! Ah, carita Carmelita!

Where the rose of Spain is climbing,
Hearken to the bells' soft chiming-
Carmelita, haste then then!

Carmelita's footsteps linger,

While above the silent mountain

Floats the great white moon in splendor, Flooding mission, plaza, fountain.

Eager lips wait Carmelita,

Eager eyes grow softer, tender,
As she strolls across the plaza-
Carmelita, tall and slender.

Carmelita! Carmelita!

Strolling down the moonlit plaza;
Slowly down across the plaza
By San Juan's enshadowed wall.

Tantalizing Carmelita!

Knowing very well the passion
Which thy loitering footsteps fashion-
Carmelita, haste thee then!

This is long and long years past now;
'Dobe walls are crumbled, fallen;
Neophytes and padres scattered
Like the rose's wind-blown pollen.
But along the plaza's silence,

When the round moon tops the mountain

Still her echoing footsteps loiter,

Keeping tryst at long-dead fountain.

Carmelita! Carmelita!

Eager is the heart that waits thee!
Hasten to the heart that waits thee
By San Juan's enshadowed wall!

Ah, carita Carmelita!

Still the mission bells are chiming,
Still the golden roses climbing-

Carmelita, haste thee then!

SOUTH OF THE RIO GRANDE

(Continued from Page 24) Chapultepec avenue-the most beautiful drive in America. He would rather stay at home or walk than appear in a medium priced car. There is a continuous line of Ford jitneys on all the principal streets of the capital that will take the shopper to any part of the city for five cents in American money. You certainly get your money's worth in such a ride. The driver furnishes more thrills during the first five minutes of the ride than one can expect on the most exciting scenic railway (in fact, many tourists are satisfied with one thrilling trip and choose the street car during the rest of their stay). Here again the distinction between classes is evident in the first and second class cars that are run. In the latter cars are crowded the workers and the servants, while the better class rides in the first car.

In the matter of foodstuffs Mexico depends a great deal on the United States. Walk into any large grocery store and you see your favorite brand of American made canned goods on the shelf. Van Camp's Pork and Beans, Campbell's Soups, Del Monte Fruits, Alpine Milk, Crystal White Soap, Tree Tea-all of them are there and the list could be extended almost indefinitely. On the street there is probably no one article that sells better than California Sun-Maid Raisins-the same raisin that one might buy in San Francisco or New York and for the same price.

Even the movies are American made! If one is homesick, the Mexican movie is the best place to see home scenes. All this California student had to do to relieve his lonesomeness was to step into a Mexican theater and see the familiar California auto numbers on the machines in the pictures. The American stars were all there-Mary Pickford, Charlie Chaplin, Doug Fairbanks, and all the rest. Even the titles flashed on the screen are shown first in Spanish and then in English, so great is the influence of our nation on this southern republic.

A surprising number of the people speak and understand English. In this the Mexicans far excel our own nation. The school children are all required to take some foreign language. Most of them are choosing English as would be expected and learning to speak it fluently. The economic effect of this can easily be imagined. The Mexican children are mastering two languages and will be able to carry on business effectively with English speaking as well as with Spanish speaking nations.

On every side we saw the results of the thirty years of peace under Porfirio Diaz. Modern school buildings surpassing most of those of our own country,

permanent stone bridges in and near the capital city, the most beautiful theater in the world, white marble statues erected in honor of Mexican heroes-these and many other evidences point to the material prosperity that Mexico enjoyed under this presidential despot. Yet there is another result of his reign that still remains and one which an American cannot help but notice. The efforts of Diaz to produce a great display of material wealth was successful, but in so doing he neglected entirely the betterment of the masses of the Mexican people. On the one side stands the half completed Mexican National Theater, costing already more than $6,000,000 in American money and which if it were finished could be enjoyed by only a very small number of the Mexican people at the most. On the other side we see the sordid poverty of great masses of Mexican people. How much more might have been accomplished with this $6,000,000 by spending it for the improvement of the little mud houses of the ordinary person or by conducting an educational campaign to teach the people better methods of home sanitation. The people of this nation are suffering from physical sickness as are few nations in the world. Their infant death rate is on a par with that of the poorer section of India. Near Guadalupe this college boy watched eleven little children bathing in a drainage ditch. Every child with a single exception had scabs and other sores on his body. Little or no attempt is made to require sanitation in the great open markets of Mexico. Fresh meat is simply black with flies and stacks of fresh fruit are piled on the sidewalk while dogs and children play and sleep together in the gutters. The Obregon government is attempting to work out a solution for this problem that might well have been solved by the proper use of some of the money Diaz spent on beautiful public buildings and other display.

Probably the greatest result that has come out of the revolution since 1910 is the attempt that is being made to govern for the great masses of the common people rather than for the Cientificos. With this effort has come a new spirit among the common people themselves. In Cuernavaca this is especially evident. Some of the hardest fighting of the revolution took place here in this stronghold of the Zapatist brothers during the latter days of the conflict, but ing the latter days of the conflict, but some of the most beneficial results are likewise appearing. Though we great haciendas completely destroyed and extensive fields with some of the richest soil in all Mexico remaining idle, yet we saw something else. We witnessed a little of what the new spirit

saw

is doing for these people. I was conversing with an official in Obregon's government as our train wound its way back and forth down the side of the mountain into the valley.

"This section used to produce the sugar supply for all Mexico," he said. "Thirty-one men owned the whole valley at that time," he continued, "and simply ground the life out of the thousands of peons working for them. You could walk the streets of that little town below us and never see a smile on the faces of the people." He paused thoughtfully for a time and then continued, "The crops of sugar aren't so great now, but the people have learned to smile and there is music where there was silence before. After all," he concluded, "don't you think that happiness is better than large crops of sugar?" And I did!

This is the new spirit that has come to Mexico out of ten years of revolution.

A DELIGHTFUL DISCOVERY (Continued from Page 25) in the public schools makes it impossible for the children to do sincere work there. She strongly advocates studios for school children where they can locate and develop their talents.

"I do enjoy seeing them start out true to their ideas and watching them develop under suggestion and environment. It will cultivate a desire for real art in the coming generation of this town-to which I am becoming very much attached," she smilingly added.

I do not wonder that she is attached to the place where she came for a few weeks rest, found a delightful location, remodeled a barn into a charming studio -now surrounded by oaks, climbing roses, hollyhocks-and best of all beside a gurgling brook.

While we were sitting beside a clump of hollyhocks dropping crumbs of cake

(Miss Boye's crumbs were very generous in size)-to the animals, there was a surreptitious cough by the gate. Looking up we beheld the Indian woman of my morning's experience, who, immediately upon our discovery said, with the voice of a child, "Sister Boye I not get much washin' do today-"

"All right Minnie, go inside and I will get you something later," and my charming hostess turned her attention. to me while Minnie, in contrast to her guileless speech, marched majestically past us into the studio. Then more fully did I realize the charm of truth and simplicity that hold Bertha Boye' at her studio in the shadow of the western hills, while at the same time will I urge and hope that she may place her work before an appreciative public.

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T

HIS is the name of a book by James Baikie, the archeologist, and was lately issued by the Macmillan Company. It tells more than one could easily find out for himself in five years of miscellaneous reading-more, we mean, about half-forgotten heroes of law, justice, and the best sort of humanism. There are thirteen chapters, with thirty-two illustrations, a map and a bibliography. Among the subjects dealt with, in the most modern and scientific spirit of Abydos, Thebes, Za

of gods and a vast army. This humanist was one of the most attractive persons in ancient history.

If we turn to the sacred books of the Chinese, we find such sayings as these: "If you do not quarrel, no one of earth will be able to quarrel with you," and "A gentleman never hits a man when he is down."

Charles H. Shinn

"ANCIENT MAN IN BRITAIN" HE

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gash, "the typical city-state of early one beauty of this book appeals at

Babylonia," Troy, Mycenae, Knossos and Gezer. We turn to the two chapters which tell the story of primitive Babylonia, in the days of Eridu, Akkad, Erech and other towns and regions, of the legends recorded by Berosus something like 4500 years ago. Our author tells us that the trade routes to Syria and Arabia were "better organized in the third millenium B. C. than they have ever been since. As we read, comes that marvel, that record-stone of the laws of Hammurabi received from the Sun God "whose attendants are rectitude and right." The family is the unit. in this justly-famous code; there are trade guilds, jerry-builders, usurious moneylenders, unskilled physicians, land and irrigation laws, of the most just and enlightened character, and strict regulations for wine-selling are a feature of this earlier code of which we have so complete a record. Ancient Babylonia had slaves, but they could buy their freedom and were protected from abuse. Was not Hammurabi one of the earliest of humanists?

We turn to the chapters on ancient Egypt, and study the life of that great reformer, Akhenaten, whose courage of his convictions was so great that he tried to give the old world one sole and universal God, and therefore built his new city of Tell-el-Amarna, and its temple, centuries ahead of its time, wherein. were no mysteries. All of his ideas were peaceful, and rested on the might of thought, not upon a priesthood, a host

once to every bibliophile. It was printed and bound by Blackie and Son of Glasgow and comes to us from the Frederick A. Stokes Company of New York. We do not know the price, but simply as a book this one seems to us worth five or six dollars to anyone who knows the mechanical difficulties which lie in the road to perfect bookmaking.

But now we turn to the literary values of "Ancient Man in Britain," and find them both large and enduring. The author is Donald A. Mackenzie who wrote "Egypt in Myth and Legend." He is an anthropologist of wide, wellearned reputation and as the "Foreword" by Professor G. Elliot Smith of the University of London tells us, has a clear conception of the "Unity of Anthropology," of knowledge of the movements of primitive peoples from land. to land, of changes in climate, of geographical changes, of cultural history, and everything else from which facts in his line can be gathered. By his methods, the author has given "luminous expression to this clear vision of the history. of man and civilization as it affects Great Britain."

As we read the volume and study its maps and other illustrations, we are moved to go even further than Dr. Smith does in his foreword. The author's thirteen chapters have made us understand for the first time what the world was like in the days when the Baltic and the Mediterranean were inland lakes, when there was no British Channel, no Irish Sea. This author

more than justifies the appearance of his book; the story that he has to tell us is told in a manner that makes "Ancient Man in Britain" a literary event of the first rank-a treasure of a book for the private library.

-Charles H. Shinn.

THE GLORIES OF GREECE E have been reading two books of especial importance and interest. The first one comes from the Harvard University Press and its title is "The Achievement of Greece." The author, Dr. William Chase Greene, is assistant professor of Greek and Latin in Harvard, and he has given a new sort of book, about the art, history, literature, philosophy and ideals of the Greeks in their City-States such as Sparta and Athens in their best period. Some of his chapters contrast ancient Greece and our modern world, describe men in the making, the land as well as the people, daily life, the finding of beauty, the individual as related to society, the rise of conceptions of man and the universe and then the dramatists, Socrates, Plato, "The Republic," and the all-containing conception of humanism at its very best, a living principle which surveys "the path that men have trod and are still treading" and "helps them as wisely as it may" to find the paths that lead most surely "towards the light."

In this magnificent piece of literary work, one of the noblest studies of a great subject that has ever come from Harvard, the reader finds a clear account of the rise of conscience as shown in the sayings of the seven sages, the law-givers, the oracles, the poets, and more than all else in the life and the death of Socrates in Plato's account of the serene old age of Cephalus, the plays of the three greatest tragic writers, the views of Heroditus and Thucydides, Above all else, it is to Plato, the Utopian leader as well as humanist, that we turn with eager and ever-increasing delight in his methods of discussing the ultimate aims and values of human life. Socrates by his stubborn questionings

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