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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Huron Expositor, 1935-03-15, Page 711 r i. JOHN JP UtIG.04•1413 Bim, Solicitor, Netar.7 Public, Etc. Beanie els - Seaferbb, Ont. ra, HAYS & Sueceng-,R. S. Hays Biraeseerele, (Solicitors, Ooi vleyaneer • •;Ng ieeee }blie. Solicitors for the Dominion Bank, Office in rear of to PP*A011 Ba 'SeafOith. 'Money Ito lona. JOHN H: BEST Barrister, Solicitor, Etc. forth - Ontario VETERINARY - JOAN GRIEVE, V.S. !Bonar graduate of .Ontario Veterin- ary College. All diseases of domestic animals treated. Calls promptly at- tended to and charges moderate. Vet- erinary Dentistry a specialty. Ofliee and residence on Goderich Street, one dietiir "east of Dr. Jarrott's of cie, Sea - forth. • A. R. CAMPBELL, Y.S. ,Graduate of Ontario Veterinary College, Univeinity of Toronto. All disease of domestic 'animals treated by • the most modern principles. charges reasonable. Day or. night calls promptly attended to. Office on Main Street, Heinen, opposite Town Hall. Phone 116. Breeder of Scab- tih Terriers. Inverness Kennels, Eensall. MEDICAL DR. D. E. STURGIS Graduate of the Faculty of Medi- cine, University of Western Ontario, and -St. Joseph's Hospital, London. Member of College of Physicians- and Surgeons of Ontario. Phone 67. Of- fice at Dublin, Ont. 3493 DR. GILBERT C. JARROW' Graduate ' of Faculty of Medicine, University of Western Ontario. Mem- ber of College of Physicians and Surgeons of Ontario. Office, 43 God- erieh Street, West. Phone 37. Successor to Dr. Charles Mackay. DR. F. J. R. FORSTER Eye, Ear, Nose and Throat Graduate in Medicine, Uni'versity of Toronto. Late assistant New York Opthal- mei and Aural Institute, Moorefield'se Eye and Golden Square Throat Hos- pitals, London, Eng. At Comlmtercial Hotel, Seaforth, third Wednesday in each miien, from 1.30 p.m. to 5 p.m. 68 Waterloo Street, South, Stratford. DR. W. C. SPROAT Graduate of Faculty of Medicine, University of Western Ontario, Lon- don. Member of College of Physic- ians and Surgeons of Ontario. Office in Aberhart's Drug Store, Main St., Seaforth. Phone 90. - DR. F. J. BURROWS Office and residence Goderich Street, east M the United Church, Sea - forth. Phone 46. Coroner for the County of Huron. DR. HUGH 13. ROSS Graduate of University of Toronto Faculty of Medicine, member of Col- lege of Physicians and Surgeons of Ontario; pass graduate course in Chicago Clinical School of Chicago ; Royal Opthallntrie 'Hospital, London, England; University 'Hospital, Lon- don, England. Office -Back of Do- minion Bank, ,Seaforth. Phone No. 5. Night calls answered from residence, Victoria Street, Seaforth. DR. E. A. McMASTER Graduate of the University of To ronto, Faculty of Medicine , Member of College of Physicians and Surgeons of Ontario; graduate of New York Post Graduate School and Lying-in Hospital, New York. Of - flee on High Street, Seaforth. Phone 27. DR. G. R, COLLYER Graduate faculty of Medicine, Uni- versity of Western Ontario. Member College of Physicians and Surgeons of Ontario. Post graduate work at New York City Hospital and Victoria • Hospital, London. Phone: Hensall, 66. Office: King Street, Hensall. DENTAL DR. J. A. McTAGGART Graduate Royal College of Dental Surgeons, Toronto. Office at Hen - sail, Ontario. Phone 106. AUCTIONEERS HAROLD DALE • Li Specialist ,i sales. Pries r and information, old Dale, phone 14 . ply at The Exposito sed Auctioneer farm and household nable. For dates 'te or phone Bar- Seaforth, or ap- Office. ARTHUR WEBER Auctioneer's License; 'Sixteen yearn' experience. Satisfaction .guaranteed. Telephone; 13-57, f11e'nsall. VVlrite ARTHUR WEBER, te. R, 1, Dashwood. By Gilbert Fi'anbati .�,r:d ..t • „ t.t .. M.E CH. F Ji Romance o f ,, for ''ed Life • • (Continued frond last week) "Trout,;' ]began Batrkia --and stopped thou! 'h she had aeeoeted a stranger by Imliatake. • • "Teo,niadarmi?"- There was inva- d Kele.•in-the malet'l,v.nce: (Still Patricia hesitated.. "Yiou :were .going to . ask, madam?' She plunged in headlong, "Prout Who is that girl?" "Tihat, madam, is Miss Cochrane's phbtagraph,"-the eld man spoke slowly- "and, if I may be allowed -ea • so, madam, it's a great pity Mier- ter ie ter Francis ever met her." "Why?" Patricia hated herself for asking the question': it meant the breaking down of barriers, made her the old Mart's aceomlplice. But Prout seemed to take no flake; his voice lost' no accent le respect. "`Because, Madam, if it hadn't been for Mass (Cochrane, he might have had a chance. '• What chance has he get now?" The resipeetful voiee rose. "No chance, madam." 'Mere fell a silence between these two: rules of conduct, "honoured since birth, kept both tongue tied. ' Pa- tricia looked at her tea -cup, but made no attempt to • drink fi"otne it: the val- et stood stodk still, as though await- ing an order. In the .game of etiqu- ette it was the woman's!tntove. "Tell me more about her," said Patricia at • last. Etiquette went by the board; the valet turned suddenly' man, an old man who spoke liro'lcen-teartedly a- bout a boy he loved. "'`Mrs. Jackson, she was the wom- an. for him'. I knew it the moment they met. We -were on aboard , a steamer, travelling from. the Argen- tine to the West Indies. And I thought, I thought . . ." "`Yes, 'Prout. You thought-?" "I thought she was .going to make him happy . Look .at him now, Mrs. Jackson. A broken man! Look at his life. Is it life? It isn't- life, Mrs. Jackson. It's just death. And all" -he shook his hand at the photo- graph on the writing -table' -"all 'be cause of one wretched woman who isn't fit to polish his `pots. I polish his boots, (Mrs. Jaiokson; I run his house for 'him; I do my best to make him happy. I'd work my fingers to the bone for him. Why? Not for the few shillings a week he gives me -tI hav'en't been in service forty years for; nothing, Mrs. Jackson -but because . . . because I'm fond of him. Is she fond of him? Would she let,him eat o•ut'his heart for her if she was fond of him? Why does- n't she marry him now? Write, Threewrite, write! Three years she's been m: writing to .hi. And every time one of her letters conies, it makes him worse. Why doesn't she stop writ- ing to him? If she doesn't want him, why can't she leave ,him alone? Why can't she leave him alone, Mit. Jack- son?" man an stopped speaking: the valet went on. "Many's the time I've thought of Nceriting to her Myself, madam. But I've served the Gor- dens-,father and Son -for over twen- ty years. And I know my place, madame." "`And what would you have said in your letter, Prout?" Patricia ask- ed the question almost automatically. "I should have told Miss Cochrane the truth, madam." The door closed silently. Patricia found herself a- lone, A m'dmlent, she hesitated. The whole business seemed suddenly fantastic out of its century Men no longer died for love of one woman. Francis would get over this infatuation, re- cover his vitality, his joy of life. ,She could not do this thing. She, like .Prout, 'knew her place.'Then, for the mood of matehood was still strong in her, 'Patricia rose slowly front her chair; walked to- wards the desk. Again, she picked up the photograph, gazed into the eyes of it. The eyes seemed to ask a question, a matehood question. Tell me, the eyes seemed to say, tell me. •I too, can give . harm harcan it do? thought Patricia. Her free hand, resting on a mass of papers, encountered some- thing hard, s'ornething hard and flat. She put'down the 'photograph, turned over the papers . The Brown- ing pistol lay at full cock, blue black on the black wood of the desk: and she knew instinctively that Francis, disturbed at Peter's entrance, must have turned the papers to hide it. .Nui'v, Patricia hesitated no longer. pen, the pen she had given him, was lying one). little lacquer pen -tray -her gift, too, She picked it out, unscrewed the mechanism; sat down to the desk; drew a sheet of paper from its rack; and'wrote, wrote for the life of a man. II -ler quick movements shook the desk -top till the pistol beside her quivered. It quivered 'to her hand as she wrote. She could not keep her eyes away from the pistol. Francis has probably told you a- bout me. I am his cousin's wife-his • Peter's wife. He does not know I am writing to you -he has never told me or anyone about you. I am writing this in his house -he is not here. I don't quite know what to say to you. I can only tell you that he needs you very desperately. If you love him you ought to come to him. I don't know if you love him or if you can come to him, -but 1 do know that it is a question of life or death for Francis. . . She signed her name and address legibly at foot of the letter; rose with it in her hand; walked to the fire- place; dried the single sheet at the flame. Again, the whole affair seem- ed fantastic. She wanted to throw the letter on the fire; till, leaking ov- er her shoulder, she saw the pistol, black and menacing on the de's'k -top. (She rang the bell; walked back to the writing -desk; found an envelope; folded the sheet; sealed it t p'. "Yon rang .for me, medal*" said Prout; appearing silently in the door- way. 1' "I reueee lbe going now."' She hand- ed pini the closed envelope. "You knew..!Mise _Ooc'hrarids address, • I suppose T" "Yes, madam'" -obviously the val- et wanted to thank hereto ask ques- tions. !Hie began to stammer some- thing; but Patricia cut him short. '°HaiVe it registered, please; and Prout"-her eye/flickered towards the pistol on the writing desk -9 thought, you said you were fond of him;!" .:Slhe was out 'of the room and down the stairs 'before the old man could answer. He heard w' the rattle of her stick, the clang of front door dos- ing, as he stood by the window, pis- tol grasped gingerly in one• hand, un- addressed letter in••the other. 'I ought to have seen her out,' thought the valet. "I ought to have seen her out.' § 3 Twice, as she climbed the meadow path, Patricia wanted to turn back. She had behaved like a lunatic. She had done two unpardonatble things: gossiped with a servant, interfered between a man and a woman. The must letter not be. sent -the letter miust be destroyed. But Patricia did not turn 'back. . . • iAntlong the haystacks in the field behind his cow -yard', old man Teb- bits wag -feeding hie chickens. Pa- tricia heard his quaint treble: '"Come birds-c'onve birds -come birds"; came upon him suddenly' as she rounded the first rick., He plucked cap from head, said: "Good evening, missis." "Good evening, Mr, Tebbits." She could see that old man Tebbits was ripe for a 'gos•sip." He began to talk as he scattered the corn, and she stood listening tq '.him for a full five minutes. "Toppings was up again - and bad. He never remembered them so bad. And the bran. You coudn't really call it bran. That gilt of hers would make a fine sow. Store - pigs didn't pay like they used to. Ten -weeks pigs didn't pay so' bad. He always killed'`'brokes.' 'Brokes' was no good." Patricia had not yet learned the meaning of a •'broke': hut she found Tebbit"' gossip comforting. Here, at least, was somebody normal, some- body of the' old, kindly world, the world that had gone to smash in August, 1914. Reluctantly, she made her excuses, bade him good night; picked her way through the cow -yard, out on to the road: reluctantly, she swung the gate of Sunflowers, passed to her home. It was nearly five o'clock, dusk deepening to darkness. In the pad- dock she could see Fry's burly figure locking up the chicken houses. But no lamp yet glowed from the hall windows. Perhaps Francis and Pet- er had gone upstairs to the children. ,She turned the knob of the front- dbor, heard Francis' lvoice through the velvet curtains. "Well," anyway, it's a gentleman's death." She el.- tered quietly, stood still for a morn,, ent. Peter's voile answered: "Oh, of course, a man's got a right to kill himself if he wants to. No one ask- ed us into this rotten world." Patricia slipped out again, closing the door gently behind her; walked round to the back off the 'house. Fry was just locking the stable -door. She called out, "Good night, Fry." He answered surlily, `"Good night, mum." In the red -tiled kitchen, Fanny = a fat, slovenly, fair-haired girl - was preparing tea. Both lamps were lit; the kitchen glowed hospitably. Pa- tricia scraped her boots; strode in. "Have the children- had their tea, Fanny?" "Yes, num. Elizabeth's upstairs mum." them now, um." "Why isn't the lamp in the hall lit?" "I'm .sorry, mum.. I forgot it, mum."' "Go and light it, please." The girl -rattled a box of matches in her apron pocket; went out. Pa- tricia leaned her stick against the wall; drew off her gauntlets; rear- ranged the tea-tray. •Through the door, whic'h.Fanny had'left open. she heard Peter's. "Mrs. Jackson not came in yet, Fanny?" and the girl's answer, "Yes. She's just come in." The two cousins were sitting in armchairs by the fireplace. They rose as Patricia entered. Francis said, "Good evening, Pat"; Peter, "Hallo, old thing.' "Why didn't you ask for the lamp," asked Patricia. "Forgot all about it," said Peter. "And the room smells like a public house." eYou always say that, Pat." Fran- cis plopped back into his chair. "It's Peter's fault, not mine. He ought to give up cigars now he's out of the ,business. Besides, he'll ruin his lungs. . . ." Patricia saw Peter wince; turned away to draw the brown window -cur- tains. 'Fanny clattered in with the. tea-tray; put it down on a stool by the fireplace. "'Where are you going to sit, Pat?" Peter was still en his feet, back to the fire. "In your chair, I think," she smil- ed at him. He walked, gingerly round the tea tray; drew himself up a third chair. She poured out; handed them their cups, plates, cakes and bread and bvttere Talk languished. "What have you two been discussing all the afternoon?" she asked. "`Suicide," gtriened Francis, "nice cheery topic!" and be went on, Pet- er approving, to elaborate his the- ory. "Suicide's the last act of a cow- ard'," decided Patricia. "Or an altruist," interrupted Fran- cis. "Wat the _ deuce is an altruist?" ck; hter`=.wa ` o a v I 1iheeL nctiverly�, ')le regal ed enr waixinth of lead 'Place among t hoe jel d als, of fee watt,, 'Isom% he walked o'night Put. elle woOdi 'net let In sqr +He a'tinils..olung to fain"' ' her 1'i is �e pier ed bife face; her (body Snuggled,. Ile gainst lhiiin, "Peter,►" ---she Was; whispering .;at hip ear., -•f nalte love to Me. '114149* lave bo me 'to -night, I can't hear you o away rom _me an* more . XouPre being cruel to ine,.'Pet- er . x can't go on doing :'wjth Mit you, 1 -just can't . Despise 'me, • you like: -(but. dent- reject fine:, 1 want you so . . . 1 want you, Peter. I want you as you used to want :me. • You used to want me once, Peter" . He lay in her arms, rigid, speechless' , "Peter, you Must love me to-n'lght. 1 can't be alone any more. Oh, boy', bey' -the endearmentold endearment quivered at her lips -PI want you so much. I can't be 'm alone eny ore, boy. Are you afraid to 'ores me?" He sprang from the sofa with a great shrill 'cryo "Afraid! Yes, I am afraid. 'God forgive •mle for be- ing a coward. I am afraid." )She dragged him down to her. "Yon mustn't" be afraid of me, 'boy. I love you. ' Do you understand? I'm your wife, your slave, your mis- tress . . ." He wrenched himself free; stood up to his full height. She saw him through a sheen of tears, towering above her. His voice carried down to her through iniimense distances: "You mustn't touch me, Pat? You mustn't degrade yourself by ,. touch- ing me. I am unclean, a leper in the sight of men. The soul inside me has :putrefied. Putrefied! You don't know what that means. I don't want you to know what that means. It stinks. 1VIy soul inside me stinks.: My brain is full of filthy pictures. They haunt nee. And I am afraid . ." iShe, too, was afeaid; but love in her east out fear. Brown• eyes. kind-. ling,:she rose to him; twined her arms about him; locked hands behind. his neck; clung to him wit. all her body. v ' d him on the s lips evaded her. The istled through his lips. His ounded against her breasts as ed him back to the sofa - r handsunlocked from his neck. r hands fondled him. Lower and. lower she sank against him, close and closer, She could feel all his body quiver to her. He shook under her hands as a ship shakes when she heaves propeller free. . "What are' you frightened of, boy? Tell me what you're frightened of. you•" wife, boy. I won't hur; you." . Suddenly, she felt his arms round her, his lips at her ear. Clinging to her, straining her to him., he spoke; fiereely, as men speak in fight: "You mustn't love a coward, "Pat. God knows I want you. Goddknows I mustn't take you , am a coward. Do you know what t h at means? . . I'll tell you . . . Everything frightens mei . I am afraid to go out alone` .^••` am afraid for the children, fo for myself . I am, afrai life . . . I am afraid to go/ on living . . . And 1 haven't got the pluck to kill myself '. Dear Christ, I haven't even got the pluck to kill myself . . ." Clinging to her, straining her to him, he•began to cry' -cruel, dry sobs, deep down' in the throat. She could not move: she could not see him. Her breasts were two burning torments: her body burned as with fire. ""Peter!" -would •he' hear her? Oh Gad! would be hear her? -,'"'I don't care if you're a coward. .I don't care about anything. Only make love to me. Make love to me, boy . . ." § i5 All that night, he lay in her arms; sleepless. All that night she lay listening to him, listening to the hor- rors in his brain, In the darkness, he told her of dark things, things hidden from sheltered women. For he had walked many nights. with Fear, nope aiding; till Fear had bit- ten deep into his soul. All that night she lay listening to these things; unafraid, glorying that he should tell her of them, pitying him, loving him, persuading.him. But when at last, promise given, he fell asleep on her breast -when at last dawn peeped at her through the chinks of the window curtains' -Fear came to Patricia, and with Fear, fear's kinswoman, Self-reproach. Would he hate her when he woke? Would he retract the promise given? Had. she robbed him of honour, lost him his lonely battle for self-respect? Had her thoughts been all of hien ? Had she'given herself all selfishly? Self-reproach whispered to her in the dawning: "Delilah! Delilah! Delilah!" asked Peter: • t Ice f • "Au altruist"--Leatricia rose from the tea table -Pia .a woman wholeaves, a 'nice eomiiforbalble fire to see that Elizabeth' doesn't. drown Evelyn -and 1?rimula in their baths." iBut she went upstairs' heavy-heart- ed; foundno joy In the laughter Of her children; in their bath games, their quaint prayers, their snuggling 'good 'nights.' § 4 Francis stayed for dinner; stayed endlessly. After coffee, he and Pet- er drew sofa to the fireplace in the hall; -began to discuss the war. Pa- tricia, Waking pretence of reading the newspapers, watched them cov- ertly from her armchair. Both the cousins were in . day - clothes: Peter still wore breeches and gaiters, his rough homespun shoot- ing coat; Francis, a loose gray -green suit of 'Lovat .tweed. Her own black evening dress, high -throated, lawn at wrist, seemed to isolate her from their bodies, as thought isolated her front their con'vers'ation. They talked quietly, but with the bitter unreasoned conviction of the fighting man. Patricia could never accustom) .herself to that bitterness. In their eyes, only the lighting man existed: they could not see the non- combatant. To thetmi non-combatants were-' traitors, shirkers, 'conchies,' self -advertisers, money -grubbers: al- ways ready to betray the fighting - man, to cheat him. and rob him, to preach to him and leave him in the lurch afterwards. "Patriotism!!" sneered Peter. "Why, the 'Huns are ten times more patriotic than we are. There aren't any con scientious objectors in Germany." Francis .sneered shack, "Nevin reind old boy. `We shall never seethe the sword' till every inanition worker has got his own motor car," "Don't you believe it, Francis. Our blinking politicians would shea the sword to -morrow if they sa the chance. Take it from me, they'll do us 'n the eye before it's over." Patricia flung down her newspaper. "You're perfectly impossible, both of you. Can't you see anything good in England? Isn't everybody working? "Isn't everybody getting paid for it?" -.Peter's eyes darkled. "Who's paid worst? The front-line infan- trymen, of course. That's war all over. The more dangerous the job, the less the pay. And if it wasn't, for the infantryman, you'd have had the Hun's in England. . . "No, we shouldn't," interrupted Francis. "The Navy's still at sea, isn't it?" "It is," crowed Pester. "And that's the worst paid s-ervice of the lot." She picked up her paper. It' was useless to argue with them: they must talk themselves' out. And a- gain the thought of madness over- whelmed Patricia. The whole scene -the two lounging men, the cosy lamp -lit roonv-ebecame unreal. She was in a lunatic asylum. Peter and Francis were both dead: their minds, the minds she had 'once known so well, existed no longer: two ghosts, two utter strangers, occupied those bodies. Two mad ghosts of ,minds she had known. The hallucination passed. She felt mentality strengthen in her, felt res- olution rise triumphant over weak- ness. These were not lunatics, but two sufferers, two sick men, And she, Patricia, would cure them both. To cure, to heal -these were the functions of her wom'an•hoad. At last Francis said good night ; lit his final cigarette; limped towards the door, Patricia helped him on with his coat; found him his 'torch; watched it dancing over the gravel towards the gate. "Take care of yourself," she called after him: and thought of Prout, waiting up in that lonely iottage. She could trust Prout -but for how lbng? And the girl in• America? What would 'that' girl do? 'If I were she,' thought Patricia, '`nothing on earth -Would keep me from him.' . Thought expired: she turned back to her hus- band. . Peter had not moved from the sofa. I•Ie sat hunched up, peering into the fire. His face showed thin and drawn in the flame -light. A great throb of pity for him suffused her: she want- ed to fling herself at his feet, to ask his pardon. 'Mad? Her Peter mad? Howhad she dared so much as think it of him,! He was only ill, ill and sad and broken. His life; his hopes, his health -everything he valued in the world --.had gone to smash. He had flung them down, a free gift, in the temple of honour. • And now, now he had no mlore to give. He was spent in honour, exhausted of giv- ing. But she -she to wh'arn he had given, all his life, ungrudgingly -she the acceptor of his gifts -she was not spent; her giving had not yet begun, the fountain of it gushed in her veins [WHEN IN TORONTO Make Your Home HOTEL WAYERLEY SPADINA AVE. and COLLEGE ST. E. R. Porcelli, Prot. CONVENIENT-ECONOMICA:. Six Blocks to America's Finest Store - T. Eaton Co. (New Store) College and Bay Ste. BUSINESS MEN LIKE THE QUIETNESS LADIES LIKE THE REFINED ATMOSPHERE Club Breakfasts 40c up Luncheon 50c Dinner $1.00 RATES $1 tS0 UP Writs for l41der I TAILDELUXE TAXI FROM', DEPOT.. -FARE 250 She would lips; but breath heart she f I ou, of PART XXXIII THE LIFTING OF SHADOWS • § 1 It is no use pretending that Patric- ia was not ashamed of herself. She was -desperately so. She felt she had been guilty of immodesty, that she had forfeited her husband's re- spect. Even when she realized that Peter's damaged memory retained few details of their night except his promise to consult her father about his 'nerves,' shame haunted her. Con- stantly, she expected hint to remem- ber, to judge, to condemn . . . Yet actually, she had saved hint. For Peter's `case' was, in the terns of psycho -pathology (which is the science of soul -illnesses), one of 're- pressed complexes';' in simpler lang- uage, of bottling -up his emotions. At their very first interview, Heron Bay - net put The matter quite clearly. Her- on Baynet said: "You have been twice wounded. One wound is in your arm; the other in. your mind. The flesh wound, you let us cure: you understood that it needed antiseptics, drainage, •band- ages,, rest. The wound in your .mind, you coneealed from us: and it has festered. Now tell ere what you are most afraid of?" "Consumption," admitted Peter. °Who?' "I don't know. I'm afraid t've got it" "Tab put eihat idea into Your nth�;;fit 'going' oaf 'a frail' nto%se. a t vlt do y'ou lit w?" wo?n'.. er ngly. 'NO dear 30y, liiotw 'de'yrou thins? Br, learning ' e you? were trained "ins b you 'were trained in aoldierin; studied them, Well; , I've:stnii�d • ''"But damn it," said deter, ""• enc oughtn't to be afraid of anything. At least, one ougrhtnr'•t to adniiit it?" Ou'ghtin'b" the doctor slnilled "There's no `oughtn't' in the, Wild. nd. `Oughtn't° is half your trouble. '1You have corked up all these fears with your 'oughtn'ts' till they've become obsessional" "Well, anyway, ]'m a coward," said Peter stubbornly. "You can't get over that, however much you argue about it." "Of course you are," countered his father-in-law blandly, "of course you are a coward. So are nine hundred and ninety-nine men out of every thousand, Otherwise you wouldn't have tried to control this wound in your mind. You were afraid to tell anybody about it, weren't you?" "I suppose I was." "Wlhy? "Cowardice, „ Cardice, I suppose. According to your theory." "Exadtly. Don't you' see, Peter, that cowardice and bravery are ri- diculous terms?'' "No, 1 don't," snapped .. Peter; "a man either does his job, or he,funks it. If he funks it, he's a coward" i"You mean, if he funks it and doesn't do it. .Supiposing he funks it and does Wail the same?" "Then," admitted Peter, "he's not a coward" • .Y "Gdod. Now let me tell you somme- thing. That power which drives the man to do a thing he funks, is not bravery, 'but the will -to -be -brave. Your will.4o_Ibe4bi•ave is damaged; you've overstrained it. If you go qn overstraining it' you'll lose it alto- gether. Give it a rest. Do you un- derstand me? Give it a rest. All these repressions you've been so proud of -don't'• interrupt, you have been proud of them,., subconsciously proud -all these repressions are hin- dering your recovery. You've bound the wound up tight instead of allow- ing it to ,dram. You've been sitting on your • mental safety valves. If you want to jump when you hear a noise, for goodness' sake jump. It's much bettt. or you than the effort to control yourself. If you're afraid of open spates avoid 'env --don't gc through them with a loaded gun and pretend you're trying to shoot rab- bits . . ." Peter blushed scarlet; and the les- son went oe. One by one, Heron Baynet detailed the Fears - Fear 'of Open Spaces, fear of closed spaces, fear of tenle, fear of money, fear of pain and fear of death. To his lis- tening son-in-law, the catalogue seem- ed inexhaustible. "Is everybody afraid of some - Y' ,-iireavtov, r;r( the first time to think, (Continued..: London au South Be• lgra ...... * • � BIyth ve Londesboro ... , Clinton Exeter eld ,• r4; North Exeter Hensall Kippen - Bru,cefield Clinton .......:• .....: Londesboro Blyth Belgrave Wingleaiu C.N.R. Time Table East A.M. 6.46 7.08 • '722 7.33 7.42 Goderieh Clinton Seaforth - Dublin Mitchell Dublin Seaforth Clinton Gaderich West • 11.19 11.34 11.50 12.10 C.P.R. Time Table East Goderich iMenset 'McGaw MilbuBlyth Walton .... McNaught • Toronto Toronto McNaught Walton Blyth Auburn McGaw Menset Goderich West 3,3 341 SAO 'A. r 10.42 10.55 1.101 11.09 1.1.6.4 . 12.10- 12,19 12;30 12:50 - P.M. 2.30 3.00 3.18 3.31 3.43 9.44 9.57 10.11 10.37 A.M. 5.50 5.55 6.04 6.11 6.25 6.40 6.52. 10.25 A.M. 7.40 11.48 12.01 • 12.12 12.23 12.34 12:41 12.46 cleSNAPSIIOT LUIL STUDY YOUR COMPOSITION It is quite obvious that pictures of groups of people, or animals, such as the horses shown above, should be takenwith the camera in a horizontal position, while arches, high waterfalls, etc., should be vertical NEWSPAPER cameramen are sometimes sharply criticized by those wbp consider photography as an art, for various faults in compo- sition, lighting, shadows, etc. These critics may be right but they do not stop to consider that the news cameraman must take his picture when he can get it and often on the run. It's the picture of an individual or action he is after and heaven help him if he returns to his city editor and says, "Sorry chief, but I didn't get that picture of the mayor being slugged. The sun was in the wrong position, the shadows ter- rible and the mayor was in an atro- cious pose when he was struck". Ooh! - Shudder to think of what would happen to that cameraman! There is one point, however, we can all' learn from the news camera- man and profit by it in taking more interesting pictures. It is this. In- clude only the principal subject in a picture. In other words, if you are taking a picture. of an individual or a group, focus the l'ns on the prin- cipal subject and forget about the sharpness of the background or the surrounding scenery, building, or whatever it may be, unless the back- ground is of some importance and is part of the story. If you are taking a landscape pic- ture determine before you "shoot the most attractive view and concen- trate your focusing on that spot. Two pictures showing two well corn - 'posed and attractive Scenes are worth 'many snapshots with inns merable points of possible interest. Then there is the shape of the pie- tare to consider. Plitt of; all this Is controlled by the way the eamert io h'etd- v'ei'tically or horizontally. 1 A high waterfall for instance';lor a single figure'standing in a high door- theobviously should be taken with the camera in a vertical position, while, on the other hand, a land- scape, a herd of cattle or a scattered - group of people should be snapped with the camera held horizontally. Although the right camera posi- tion has.)een chosen, trimming may be advisable to cut out unattractive or unnecessary details which were not noticed in the finder when the picture was taken. This can be done by masking the film when ft is printed to eliminate too much sky or objects at either side of the pici' ture that may distract the attention from the view you had in mind at the time you took the picture, Oc- casionally, e-casionally, it is advisable to trim away the background altogether and mount the principal subject as a cut-out on the album page. Ovals, circles and panels are shapes Which suit various types Of subjects, circles making attractive frames for portraits. The,size of the circle and its position with regard to the head must be left to individu- al taste, but where the.he'ad is not shown in ft:.' ?not '•leu, more space should be left on the side toward which the face i&, turned.. Trimming will often enable a drastic change to be made• in the composition of a picture. Trimming the print at top and bottom to make a. long, narrow, horizontal panel is often very .effective, If youl ale net quite satisfied with Year 4rtt1t age tone pieces of puler • as a ina'hit aftd ,' you will read .y See it tilii'1'niiti:' will make a great -hnpro'itemeitta Try it.