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Your Electrical Contractor, Dealer

or Architect can inform you

ELECTRICAL utility has advanced with seven league strides. It vill pay you to keep in touch. Many electrical devices are announced in the advertising pages of the magazines and newspapers. They are safe and efficient. Give them your attention.

Have your electrical contractor or dealer show and demonstrate the actual equipment for you.

If you are rebuilding or remodelling, ask your architect to sketch for you the possibilities of electrical power-and give him a free hand in planning and executing. Remember that electricity is no longer a luxury -it is a wonderful, economical aid in the home. Efficiently utilized, it increases human capacity and raises the standard of living.

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Americans are doing some great scrapping and the French, English, and wops are taking on a new lease of life since our forces got going. It's almost as dangerous' coming up after the Germans have retreated as it is to fight them, as they leave traps in every conceivable place and it's unsafe to touch anything. They leave snipers behind every place, and as an example of their methods they chain their gunners to their machine guns to make sure they'll stick around and pot a few of us. We are often forced to go thirsty past a tempting spring, hot and tired, because we fear they have poisoned it.

Everywhere you go here, there is nothing but ruin. Every village is shot all to pieces, every field torn by big shell; and we have gone through forests where you would have difficulty finding one tree untouched by shell or bullet. Just toss in dead men, dead horses, and all sorts of abandoned battle-equipment and you have an idea of the way things look here. We never even hear a bird sing. It sure is one joyless dump and I'd give anything for the sight of a real town again, with one real light shining out of a window at night. I'm a little hazy on what hell is like, but compared with war it must be a place where you sit with your feet on the mantel, smoking your pipe, and blowing the foam off a cold one.

They are taking good care of us here, as we are getting plenty of chow, and tobacco is issued to us quite often. We sleep nearly all the time in dugouts now, as there is a chance there for the shrapnel to miss us. My bunkie and I have a nice modern apartment here, four by six, decorated profusely with two blankets and a tomato-can, in which we wash-when we do wash. The clay falls down our necks when we sleep and into our chow when we eat and the rain runs over the bunk when it pours, but we consider we've got some teepee.

Strange adventures have befallen some of our men in France, especially after shellshock. Many of their stories are agreeably entertaining, while others send cold shivers down the back. Arthur C. Gardner, of Jerome, Ariz., tells of his strange experience in a letter published in the Verdy Daily Copper News:

Early in the morning of the first day in the hospital, a couple of red-headed woodpeckers started to build a nest in one ear and a circus band played weird, strange pieces in the other. It became oppressively hot. Things took on an ethereal, unnatural aspect. That night small sections of the Aurora Borealis chased each other in an unbroken cycle around and around the billet. On the second day, with the wellordered precision of a vaudeville bill, the woodpeckers gave way to a trained quartet of lady boiler-makers and the band to a troupe of Swiss bell-ringers. Then an early winter set in-thunder and lightning and terrible blizzards followed in a tiresome sequence. I rather imagine it was slight shell-shock and had it all charged up to Heinie, but the battalion doctor seemed anxious to argue the point; not that he was defending the Hun, but it was simply professional with him.

Awfully nice chap, the doctor, not at all narrow-minded. He admitted very frankly that one was bound to tire of bands and strings of cow-bells in barber-shop harmony on a hot day, and he owned up to the three feet of snow outside the billet. Then he

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held my hand a long time and after studying the life-line carefully told me that I was going on a long journey. Very capable man, this doctor, but I wondered how he knew. As a kid I had often walked in my sleep, but imagined I had outgrown it. But I couldn't have walked very far, for I when I woke up I was in an ambulance and stretcher which took me to a field ambulance-camp. There I met the finest major-doctor ever. He was so kindly and so paternal in his interest. I shall always remember him. He was not at all like my battalion doctor-no arguing about him. He suggested that I take on the restcamp for a week and gave me a letter of introduction to some friends.

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Keeping up with the Boche retreat makes lively running for the American troops. Gordon Fairclough, a member of the 2d Battalion, Radio Corps, 151st FieldArtillery, which has been chasing Germans in the general direction of Berlin, says they

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sure do beat it, and beat it fast." In a letter to his parents in St. Paul, Minn., which appears in The Daily News of that city, he says:

To give you an idea of how fast the enemy retreated. We pulled up to a place one night that was to be our headquarters. When we arrived there the infantry was so far ahead of us with the Germans before them that we traveled all that night to a new position. Pas mauvais, non?

This wood that we had for.our II. Q. was about two and a half kilometers from the front line. You notice I do not say "trenches." There were no trenches. The infantry fought in the wheat-fields, in woods, and on open ground.

Later on, when we advanced through these places where fighting had been heavy, the ground was literally strewn with dead Boches. I have never been so sick of seeing dead men in my life. You can't imagine what it is to see everything wrecked-trees blown down-ground ripped up-dead horses and men lying aroundit's awful.

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When we set up in the woods it was comparatively quiet. No shells were landing very near-yet. The place had been a German artillery "échelon," or place where the horses are kept when the batteries are in position. The greatest of confusion prevailed in the place. They had left very hurriedly, leaving numerous articles of equipment.

We pulled the radio wagon into a place under the trees and began to camouflage it. I was up on the seat putting a bough on the top when-Whe-e-e-the familiar whistle of an approaching shell greeted us. We all crouched down awaiting the inevitable, as we could tell by the song it sang that it was coming near. Plop! It proved to be a dud," landing three feet from the wagon. We all stood up, took off our tin hats, and sang the Doxology over, because if it had exploded I would no doubt be writing you from Base Hospital No. 1323.

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We put up the radio station on the outskirts of the wood, and had the receiving apparatus in the small abri. This abri consisted of a six-foot trench covered with logs which the Germans had very kindly left for us. They evidently took careful note of its exact location, because the second day we located in it we got a beautiful air-burst directly over the place, killing a man, two horses tied to near-by trees, and wounding two men:

That part of the woods seemed to be getting more than its share of shells, so we moved the P. C. (Poste de Commande, a term we use which was adopted from the French and means the location of the commanding officer) to another part about one kilometer distant. There we were very lucky, getting no shells; but we did get a visit from a Boche Gotha, or bombing plane.

The first thing we generally do when we arrive at an open place is to dig ourselves in. We had dug a large hole and put the radio station in it. Well, nothing happened for a couple of days-shells went whistling merrily over our heads, but none decided to pay us a visit, or as you might say, "drop in on us."

One night, just after it had become dark, the Gotha came flying over. We can always tell a bomber, as it is a larger and heavier plane than the observer or battle-plane and always flies at a low altitude. Some one saw it just before she reached the edge of the woods and yelled, "Duck, fellows; here's a bomber."

You remember how I used to dive off the spring-board at Russell Beach? That's the way I got down in that hole, about five feet deep, with two or three fellows after me. She dropt three bombs on the road, which was used extensively by caissons (hauling ammunition) very near us, but all was well.

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SALVATION-ARMY PIE AND PRAYERS

"THE

AT THE FRONT

HE Salvation Army recognizes that, to a hungry doughboy, pie is more potent than prayer," says a writer in the New York Times; and he follows that powerful and punchy pronouncement with brief mention of the fact that "The American Salvation Army in France is rapidly winning recruits-not with tambourine and bass drum, but with the doughnut and the apple pie."

Since Dr. Cook lured his Eskimos to the north pole by means of gumdrops, proper food rightly administered has never accomplished greater miracles than it is working every day on the Western Front. The "S. A." not only supplies food, but much warm, almost "motherly," affection to go with it, says the Times writer, and he quotes an authority at the front:

"When it grows more mature the Salvation Army in France is going to be the 'big mother' of the A. E. F., or I'm much mistaken," said a certain American general "over there" in discussing the work being done for soldiers by the organization. "The reason they are becoming so popular," he continued, "is that they treat every doughboy, rich or poor, rough or refined, as if they loved him. You have only to read the soldiers' letters, as we do in censoring the mail, to realize how much the 'S. A.' has done for our lads, and is doing every day."

It has often been said that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. So the Salvation Army workers feed first and pray afterward, and the system has had remarkable results in France. In one day, for example, two Salvation Army lassies, close to the Americam front, made 1,500 doughnuts, 2,500 cookies, and 50

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Dental authorities have watched the Pepsodent action in thousands of cases. Years of proving show that this product marks a new dental era.

It is based on pepsin, the digestant of albumin. The film is albuminous matter. The object is to dissolve the film, then to constantly prevent its accumulation.

Old methods for using pepsin were impossible on teeth. Pepsin must be activated, and the usual agent is an acid which destroys enamel.

But [modern science has discovered a harmless activating method. Five governments have already granted patents. That

method is employed in Pepsodent. And it solves the problem of this film as nothing else has done.

The result is a dentifrice which, authorities say, must supersede the old kinds. You will know that when you try it.

Send the coupon for a One-Week tube. Use it like any tooth paste and watch results. Note how clean your teeth feel after using. Mark the absence of the film. See how teeth whiten as the fixed film disappears.

Those results are essential to your teeth's protection. You will want them always when you see them once. Cut out the coupon now.

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pies, not including countless cups of coffee and cocoa.

When one stops to consider that up to June 1 last there were only eighty Salvation Army workers in France the bulk of their accomplishment to date is little short of miraculous. Already they have erected twenty-four huts, twenty of which are in the exposed sections, where the doughnut-makers are constantly menaced by shell-fire.

There are at present, or there were up to a very short time ago, fifty men and thirty women doing this Salvation Army work. The lassies have handed out doughnuts and hot coffee to our boys so Iclose to the firing-line that once the roof of their hut was blown off and shellsplinters demolished the tables and other furniture. The inmates would have suffered the fate of the furniture had it not been for the American general in charge at this point, who had made them take shelter in his own dugout. When the fire had subsided they returned to their hut, which they found a wreck.

"Yes, the shelling does get on my nerves, at times," confessed a red-haired "S. A." lass, who served me a chunk of chocolate cake and a cup of coffee in an American sector only a few miles from the German lines, "but I always think how much worse it must be for the boys in the trenches. At times it frightens me when the concussion from shells jars our pans off the tables. Those pans make a terrible racket. But what makes me hopping mad is when the jar of a shell spills our flour all over the floor of the hut! It's a nuisance to clean up and it gets my goat!"

There is one noble Salvation Army woman, well past fifty years of age, who has been under shell-fire many times, ministering to "her boys," as she lovingly calls them. She is "Mother Burdick," from Dallas, Texas, and there is hardly a minute in the day when she is not busily darning socks, sewing on buttons, or mending caps for her khaki-clad family. She treats all the doughboys as if they were her own sons, and no shell can frighten her from a soldier's sock once she has started darning it.

Another picturesque "S. A." worker is Maj. John E. Atkins, fifty-three, who is with the battalion of Maj. Theodore Roosevelt, Jr. Major Atkins is the chaplain, and frequently holds religious services for the men in the trenches. He has been with the doughboys from the time they first entered the trenches and has come to be a sort of mascot to them. He is always optimistic and never preaches except when he is actually "on the job." There are few men attached to the American Army who are better liked. "Onthe-Job" Atkins, they call him.

I spent an afternoon with Colonel Barker, and he gave me a detailed account of the Army's activities at the front. Colonel Barker is a middle-aged man of unassuming appearance, but he is a human dynamo in action and the possessor of executive ability which would have won success for him in any field of human endeavor. He has charge of all the Salvation Army property in the United States and has been a trusted officer in the It was in army for twenty-six years. San Francisco that he was first converted to the cause, and he has been stationed in Los Angeles, Boston, and Buffalo. For twelve years he was in New York, looking after the executive and business side of the work, until he was selected by the Commander of the Salvation Army to go to

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