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who drove into town one day, dismantled that stove with his own hands, and stowed the parts of it carefully in the back of his car was none other than Henry Ford.

This will no doubt clear up the mystery of Stockbridge-the mystery of a man's tender regard for the rusted remains of a relic of the past which even the junkman would have scorned. To all except one man in this world that stove was valueless. To the one man it was priceless.

Henry Ford wanted it as a tribute to his mother.

This article may clear another strange occurrence in the northern part of Michigan: One summer day about three years ago, in that part of Michigan which forms the great thumb along the shore of Lake Huron, an automobile was seen to stop suddenly. Then it was backed over the road for several hundred feet. Out of the car stept a man who hurried to something which looked like a long-discarded stove buried in the sand. But little of it was visible, merely the rounded side being exposed to indicate what it might be. The man summoned his companion, and the two worked for more than an hour to remove it. Under the hot sun they dug and scraped away until at last the thing they sought was exposed to view. The elder man looked it over carefully, shook his head a little sadly, spoke to his companion, and the two of them climbed into the car and drove away.

The man was Henry Ford; his companion, his son Edsel. Henry Ford was seeking a tribute for his mother, and neither time nor back-breaking work under a hot sun could prevent him from getting it if it were possible. He had been taught by that mother that what he wanted he must earn.

"And a curious thing about that buried stove on the shore," said Henry Ford the other day, "is that it was a Starlight stove, but not a model 25. It was smaller than the one we had in our sitting-room."

Very appropriately, over the archway leading into the parlor is an old-fashioned sampler in a thin black frame. Worked in red thread is the motto: "There is no Place like Home." Guest informs us that "it was the belief of Henry Ford's mother. To-day it is the belief of the son." The success of the rehabilitation leads the writer to exclaim:

"I remember one morning in the spring, as we were at breakfast, she turned to me and said:

"Henry, you are not to think of going swimming with the other boys after school. It is much too early, and the water is still too cold. Now, mind me! You come straight home this afternoon.'

"Mother was 'on' to me, but I never knew how. I had never mentioned swimming. It had been a beautiful week and we boys had planned among ourselves, if the weather continued warm, to try the old swimming place that afternoon. It was our secret, for we knew our parents would never consent if we suggested the idea. . . .

"We used to carry our lunches to school. Mother was not a believer in fancy cakes for children. She gave us plain, wholesome food, not so sweet to the taste, but better for health-good bread-and-beef sandwiches. One of my boy friends came from a cake-eating family. His lunch was mostly rich cake with plenty of frosting on it. I liked the taste of that better than bread and beef and, being fed up on cake, he liked a good sand

"SHE TAUGHT DUTY"

And her son, Henry Ford, says, "I have tried to follow her teaching."

I could easily imagine that Mary Litogot Ford that very morning had dusted and swept in every nook and corner. The old haircloth sofa and chairs stand in their places, prim and straight. The son has had them put in excellent repair; the walnut backs and sides shine as the mother would have them shine. Could she come back to-day she would take pride in her possessions as she took pride in them of old. She would thrill with joy to see her things, beautiful to her eyes once, and beautiful still to-day. If scornful hands ever have swept them away tenderer hands have recovered and reclaimed them. Some of the trinkets have been lost; fashion has crusht out of existence others of her possessions; but against the sweep of time and the ruin of decay one thing remained-the son's memory of them all. Either the actual thing she loved is back in its place or its exact counterpart is there.

Could Mary Litogot Ford come back to that little country home she once loved so well, she would find it exactly as it was. She would not know that the styles have changed. She could go about her work as usual, and find everything in its place. Perhaps she might marvel at the splendor of her writing-box, bound with brass at the corners and with brass hinges, for it has been restored and renewed, but she would recognize it as hers. Nor could she complain of the housekeeper who has been in charge during her absence. That work she loved so dearly to do and took such pride in is daily taken care of.

Mrs. Ford was a typical American mother, one who kept her house spick and span and who believed in inculcating in children obedience and a respect for duty. Her son adds that altho "all children try to fool their parents, more or less," she "seemed to know without asking what we had been up to. She anticipated us. declares:

She could read our minds." For instance, Ford

wich for a change. So I swapped him my sandwiches for his cake, and thought I was making a good trade. But I went home sick one day, and again I learned I couldn't fool my mother.

"Nothing I gave you would make you sick,' she said to me. 'You've been eating something you shouldn't-probably pie or cake you got from another boy. Stop that from now on.""

On their visit to the house Ford and Guest "climbed the old-fashioned straight and steep stairway" and reverently entered "Mother's Room," in which the automobile magnate had been born. The writer goes on:

The bed, the chair, the bureau, and the baby's crib are in their places as she left them. The bed is kept made up, with her counterpane upon it. The little stove, which was used on cold winter mornings, merely to take the chill off the room, is still there. From beneath the bed a pair of old-fashioned embroidered slippers looked out at me. She might have left them there that very morning.

Mr. Ford spoke but little while we were in there. I tried to keep up the conversation, but I made a poor job of it. He walked over to the bureau and began to look through the drawers. I followed him over and he said to me:

"Some of her Paisley shawls." "Were they all hers?" I asked. "No, no," he replied; "but much like those she once had. I have her shawl, but it is not in good condition, so I have put it away. These are some I've picked up from time to time, because she would have liked them, and I just keep them here."

Along the hallway ran the stovepipe which was supposed to warm the up-stairs. I joked about that old idea, and he said: "Well, it helped a lot, at that. I don't remember that we ever suffered from the cold. Of course we were young and full of red blood, and we drest in a jiffy."

When Guest innocently asked, "What chores did you have to do?" he obtained an answer which may contain the real reason why the inventive genius of Ford took the turn of devising a vehicle to supersede the horse. The development of the automobile under Henry's guiding hand seems largely motivated by revenge on Old Dobbin, because, as Ford confesses:

"My chore was to take care of the horses. I didn't like that job then and I wouldn't like it now. Almost any other job on the place would have pleased me better; but Mother held me to that job because she knew it was better for me. She taught me that disagreeable jobs call for courage and patience and selfdiscipline, and she taught me also that 'I don't want to' gets a fellow nowhere.

"I didn't want to take care of horses, but I did take care of them and I did learn how. It may seem strange that a boy brought up on the farm as I was should say this, but I was never fond of horses in the way that many are. I never really made friends with them. My dislike for my chore may have had some thing to do with that; but it was my work and I was made to do it, and it was for the best."

[graphic]

The Modern Woman's Favorite Car

for Economical Transportation

CHEVROLET

Chevrolet Utility Coupé appeals strongly to the bachelor maid or busy matron. Its graceful lines, fine finish, wide doors, big, cheerful windows, and deep upholstery meet her esthetic requirements.

Its sturdy construction, economy, ease of operation, and roomy package compartment convince her of

its practical value for day by day

service.

More and more women are becoming owners and drivers of their own transportation units.

For business, social, or marketing purposes, Chevrolet saves an immense amount of valuable time and conserves the energy of to-day's busy woman.

Chevrolet Motor Company, Detroit, Michigan

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THE Leviathan is the

largest and most luxurious ship in the world. This incomparable vessel will sail for Southampton and Cherbourg from New York every three weeks. The next sailing will be July 28th from New York; from Southampton and Cherbourg August 7th and every three weeks thereafter.

But the Leviathan is only one ship of a great fleet which is unique in the transatlantic service. You should learn about these beautiful and famous American ships-your ships. Other first class liners are:

S. S. George Washington
S. S. President Harding
S. S. President Roosevelt
In addition, there is a fleet of nine
splendid cabin ships-five in the
London service and three to Bremen.

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GOLF SUITS SUIT NON-GOLFERS

IF you see a man in a policeman's uniform

it is a pretty safe bet that he is a police-
man, and if you see a man in overalls it is
not rash to assume that he belongs to the
honorable ranks of those who labor by the
sweat of the brow, but if you see a man
(or woman) in a golf suit, it is almost
equally certain that he (or she) does not
know anything about golf, according to
Knicker-
salesmen in clothing-stores.
bockers, "knickers" for short, are the most
distinguished and most distinguishable
feature of a golf suit, of course. Indeed,
one who sees the ever increasing favor in
which these abbreviated trousers are held
by New Yorkers of every class, age, and
sex, does not need recourse to a history
book to learn why Father Knickerbocker is
the patron saint of Gotham.

The situation is so acute now that golf
togs are even fitting (tho baggily) for wear
in such proletarian places as automat res-
taurants and the exceedingly democratic
strands of Coney Island. The extent to
which the golf-suit mania has gript the
imagination and purses of "hoi polloi" is
told in interesting fashion in a New York
Times story, where we read:

"What is this game of golf, anyway?” the plasterer asked the clothing store salesman who was trying to impress on him the advantage of ease and sartorial propriety attached to a four-piece golf suit.

"Dan Daly once described it as a game in which you hit a ball and if you find the ball the same day you hit it, you win," replied the salesman.

"What do you care about the game? You want a comfortable suit that looks swagger and is up-to-date. Anybody who plays golf will know you're not a golf player when they see you in this. But what do you care about them? Those who don't play golf are in the majority and they are wearing golf suits. They're the ones whose opinion counts. Look at that jacket! You can bend down and pick up a pin without hearing the shoulder seams give. If you don't want to wear the knickerbockers to Coney Island on a Sunday outing-sure-golf suits are just as good form at the seashore as they are at a nickel-in-the-slot restaurant-you wear the long pants and take short breaths."

"But you have to wear those long, thick, woolly stockings with them," objected the plasterer. “They look sissy."

"If you wear socks you're likely to get your garters caught in the wheels of the Kiddie Kar," said the salesman. "Sissy! Look at the Scots. They wear them. Nothing sissy about the stuff they're turning out these days. Come on, be a sport.' The plasterer was a sport. He bought the golf suit.

As any one could have guessed in advance, women are mainly responsible for the present epidemic of golfing togs. It may or may not be true that "clothes make the man," but it seems indisputable that the more or less fair sex determines what clothes shall be used in the process. In this case, tho, the women did not dictate directly the styles to the masculine portion of the population; they merely started to wear knickers themselves, with such obvi

ous comfort and enjoyment, that mere males became envious and finally suecumbed to the lure of the new-fangled outfits. The Times story goes on:

The women started the fad. Around 1918 they began wearing sport hats and sport shoes with everything except a ballgown. Then they appeared in sport skirts. Then came sweaters and the flapper with the shortest of skirts, who combined them all. The stenographer of to-day, as she disposes of a hearty meal consisting of two nut sundaes and a glass of water, needs only a tennis racket to step on the tennis court. Half the women in Broadway could go canoeing or golfing without changing a stitch. The college girls stride down Fifth Avenue in knickerbockers as if they were starting on a hike or for a camp instead of being merely bent on a shopping Sport suits, blouses, jackets and skirts in vivid colors, stripes and woven patterns are as numerous at the theater

tour.

and the restaurant roof as summer eveninggowns, and the hotel lobbies look like the veranda of a country club.

Now the men have followed the lead of the women. They wear golfing knickerbockers, with tassels dangling from their stockings, to the Polo Grounds. The women go bare-armed, bare-bosomed, and put a fur around their necks. The men wear B. V. D.'s and woolen stockings. Nine chances to one when the clerk takes off his coat in the office he will display an elbow-sleeved tennis shirt. Instead of the light-soled leather heels of yore he wears golfing shoes with gum or rubber soles an inch thick on the flagged sidewalks.

In all fairness it must be added that women are not the only ones to be blamed or praised for the latest style in men's raiment. Our old friend Psychology, which is an excellent explanation of everything unexplainable otherwise, comes to the rescue this time also to account more fully for the sartorial "horrors" now exposed unblushingly by dishwashers as well as dudes, and clerks as well as collegians, along the highways and byways of New York. From the salesman quoted in the newspaper we learn that

"There's no doubt about it, sports have a psychological effect on fashion. Remember the time when the man who owned a rowboat wore a yachting cap? In the late '80's no young man was correctly drest in summer unless he wore a tennis sash. Now it's golfing togs you see at the seashore and mountain resorts, and men of sixty, tho they may never grasp a brassie, are not averse to displaying wellpreserved calves as they sit in their beach chairs.

"The psychology of it is this: Golfing clothes spell ease and freedom of movement and in name associate themselves with luxury and relaxation from the daily grind. Just as sport clothes, by their cut and texture, make the woman feel that she is sharing in some of the delights of the country club, tho she may be taking the dictation of a heat-irritated employer, so the clerk or the artizan enjoys, in wearing knickerbockers, the sense of having at least one of the perquisites of the idle elect. Just as they have discovered that golf has some merit as a game, so they have learned that the clothes that are synonymous with it exert a pleasing mental influence."

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"I was amazed to hear the way he talked about it"

"I was lunching with French, of the French Machinery Company,-you know him!"

"I should say I do-he's the hardest-headed buyer I ever sold."

"Well-we were talking over a mixup in his Western Branch and for once he forgot the business in hand-got to talking that low-overhead hobby of his, applied to automobiles.

"You know what happened at the French plant when they brought out that low priced farm engine. It was a big seller from the start-they had to build an addition to the plant. In less than a year the new volume cut overhead to where he was making an enormous profit on his high priced engine. You can imagine how pleased he was.

"Instead of sticking the extra profit in his pocket as you might expect-French had a different idea. He said it gave him the chance he'd wanted all his life-improve his big engine to stand up with the highest priced in quality and still sell at the old price. When he got through-it was the talk of his trade. They'd never seen such engine value before.

"Perhaps you've heard old French complain about the high price of really fine cars. Says they're expensive because their volume is small. Couldn't understand why someone didn't do the same in the automobile business as he had with farm engines. But he says now, that at last he's found one maker who has done it."

"Who is it? That's a real idea!" "Well-French looked into it thoroughly and says the Paige people are doing the same thing that he did

with his farm engine. They started building a smaller car, the Jewett, to sell for around a thousand dollars. The public took to it almost overnight-in a little more than a year they have sold over 40,000 of them. You can see what that would do to the overhead on their yearly production of 10,000 Paige cars.

"Like French, they decided to put their profits into bettering the Paige. French says, under any other conditions, a car like it couldn't be sold for less than $3000." "What's the price?"

"The fact is, they don't sell just a bare car-it comes equipped with all the accessories you'd want, from spare tires and bumpers to a cigar lighter. And all that for $2450."

"That's business-like-but what kind of a car is it?"

"If you take French's word for it-and he ought to know-it's just about the easiest driving, most comfortable car you can get. Honestly, Drake, I was amazed to hear the way he talked about it. Wheelbase of 131 inches and rear springs more than 5 feet long! He says it rides easier than any car he was ever in. That hood is just filled with motor-why, it's 70 horsepower! He says he has power for anything-there isn't a hill around here that he can't take on high. Took his family on a 3500-mile circle tour of the East before he had the car two months and they never looked at the motor except when they put in oil."

"That sounds interesting! I've been hearing about it-even my wife's been talking about its smart appearance. Let's go round to the Paige dealer's and get a ride." [474-A]

LEVIATHAN

WWWW

T

The
Flagship
of a
Great
Fleet

HE Leviathan is the

largest and most luxurious ship in the world. This incomparable vessel will sail for Southampton and Cherbourg from New York every three weeks. The next sailing will be July 28th from New York; from Southampton and Cherbourg August 7th and every three weeks thereafter.

But the Leviathan is only one ship of a great fleet which is unique in the transatlantic service. You should learn about these beautiful and famous American ships-your ships. Other first class liners are:

S. S. George Washington
S. S. President Harding
S. S. President Roosevelt
In addition, there is a fleet of nine
splendid cabin ships-five in the
London service and three to Bremen.

[blocks in formation]

GOLF SUITS SUIT NON-GOLFERS

IF you see a man in a policeman's uniform
it is a pretty safe bet that he is a police-
man, and if you see a man in overalls it is
not rash to assume that he belongs to the
honorable ranks of those who labor by the
sweat of the brow, but if you see a man
(or woman) in a golf suit, it is almost
equally certain that he (or she) does not
know anything about golf, according to
salesmen in clothing-stores. Knicker-
bockers, "knickers" for short, are the most
distinguished and most distinguishable
feature of a golf suit, of course. Indeed,
one who sees the ever increasing favor in
which these abbreviated trousers are held
by New Yorkers of every class, age, and
sex, does not need recourse to a history
book to learn why Father Knickerbocker is
the patron saint of Gotham.

The situation is so acute now that golf
togs are even fitting (tho baggily) for wear
in such proletarian places as automat res-
taurants and the exceedingly democratic
strands of Coney Island. The extent to
which the golf-suit mania has gript the
imagination and purses of "hoi polloi" is
told in interesting fashion in a New York
Times story, where we read:

"What is this game of golf, anyway?" the plasterer asked the clothing store salesman who was trying to impress on him the advantage of ease and sartorial propriety attached to a four-piece golf suit.

"Dan Daly once described it as a game in which you hit a ball and if you find the ball the same day you hit it, you win," replied the salesman.

"What do you care about the game? You want a comfortable suit that looks swagger and is up-to-date. Anybody who plays golf will know you're not a golf player when they see you in this. But what do you care about them? Those who don't play golf are in the majority and they are wearing golf suits. They're the ones whose opinion counts. Look at that jacket! You can bend down and pick up a pin without hearing the shoulder seams give. If you don't want to wear the knickerbockers to Coney Island on a Sunday outing-sure-golf suits are just as good form at the seashore as they are at a nickel-in-the-slot restaurant-you wear the long pants and take short breaths."

"But you have to wear those long, thick, woolly stockings with them," objected the plasterer. "They look sissy."

"If you wear socks you're likely to get your garters caught in the wheels of the Kiddie Kar," said the salesman. "Sissy! Look at the Scots. They wear them. Nothing sissy about the stuff they're turning out these days. Come on, be a sport." The plasterer was a sport. He bought the golf suit.

As any one could have guessed in advance, women are mainly responsible for the present epidemic of golfing togs. It may or may not be true that "clothes make the man," but it seems indisputable that the more or less fair sex determines what clothes shall be used in the process. In this case, tho, the women did not dictate directly the styles to the masculine portion of the population; they merely started to wear knickers themselves, with such obvi

ous comfort and enjoyment, that mere males became envious and finally succumbed to the lure of the new-fangled outfits. The Times story goes on:

Around

The women started the fad. 1918 they began wearing sport hats and sport shoes with everything except a ballgown. Then they appeared in sport skirts. Then came sweaters and the flapper with the shortest of skirts, who combined them all. The stenographer of to-day, as she disposes of a hearty meal consisting of two nut sundaes and a glass of water, needs only a tennis racket to step on the tennis court. Half the women in Broadway could go canoeing or golfing without changing a stitch. The college girls stride down Fifth Avenue in knickerbockers as if they were starting on a hike or for a camp instead of being merely bent on a shopping tour. Sport suits, blouses, jackets and skirts in vivid colors, stripes and woven patterns are as numerous at the theater and the restaurant roof as summer eveninggowns, and the hotel lobbies look like the veranda of a country club.

Now the men have followed the lead of the women. They wear golfing knickerbockers, with tassels dangling from their stockings, to the Polo Grounds. The women go bare-armed, bare-bosomed, and put a fur around their necks. The men wear B. V. D.'s and woolen stockings. Nine chances to one when the clerk takes off his coat in the office he will display an elbow-sleeved tennis shirt. Instead of the light-soled leather heels of yore he wears golfing shoes with gum or rubber soles an inch thick on the flagged sidewalks.

In all fairness it must be added that women are not the only ones to be blamed or praised for the latest style in men's raiment. Our old friend Psychology, which is an excellent explanation of everything to the unexplainable otherwise, comes rescue this time also to account more fully for the sartorial "horrors" now exposed unblushingly by dishwashers as well as dudes, and clerks as well as collegians, along the highways and byways of New York. From the salesman quoted in the newspaper we learn that

"There's no doubt about it, sports have Rea psychological effect on fashion. member the time when the man who owned a rowboat wore a yachting cap? In the late '80's no young man was correctly drest in summer unless he wore a tennis sash. Now it's golfing togs you see at the seashore and mountain resorts, and men of sixty, tho they may never grasp a brassie, are not averse to displaying wellpreserved calves as they sit in their beach chairs.

"The psychology of it is this: Golfing clothes spell ease and freedom of movement and in name associate themselves with luxury and relaxation from the daily grind. Just as sport clothes, by their cut and texture, make the woman feel that she is sharing in some of the delights of the country club, tho she may be taking the dictation of a heat-irritated employer, so the clerk or the artizan enjoys, in wearing knickerbockers, the sense of having at least one of the perquisites of the idle elect. Just as they have discovered that golf has some merit as a game, so they have learned that the clothes that are synonymous with it exert a pleasing men tal influence."

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