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His methods are ideally simple, and, Sanford Bennett best of all, they are applicable in the at 72 case of any person, man or woman. We will send you, without cost or obligation, the story of how Sanford Bennett grew young at seventy, together with a brief summary of the methods he used, if you will just drop us a postal. PHYSICAL CULTURE PUB. CO. Room 4816 Flatiron Building New York miracle which will save him. He is one of those wounded over whom the surgeon bends each morning, astonished that they still live. But he has always led a singularly sober life. He doesn't drink wine. He eats only vegetables. He has lost blood. He has also lost brain matter. But he persists in living. Finally he comes out of his coma. One can believe that he is saved. Yes, if one fine day this terrible man had not got out of bed without permission! An abscess of the brain was the result of that prank. It was necessary to forward him to Paris, to the admirable hospital in the Rue des Peupliers, where the master surgeons had to trepan him again. And behold! the Sub-Lieutenant Bimont in his comfortable chamber, saved and happy, looking at me with clear eyes. He still has some difficulty in moving his right arm and in forming unusual words. But that will pass. He is sure of it. He turns his hand toward a cross of honor on a new ribbon, which they have pinned opposite him so that he can always see it. His chiefs have thus described the affair which it is part payment for: "He was the soul of the defence for three days and three nights at the most critical point of the sector of St. Hubert, sustaining a continuous conflict, at a few meters' distance, with the enemy. On October 27, in leading his chasseurs in a hand-to-hand fight inside a trench, he killed an officer and a soldier of the enemy. Wounded seriously in the head, he remained at his post until the enemy was repulsed, refusing to be cared for until, half unconscious, he was forcibly carried away by his men. .An officer with a courage and energy equal to any test." The sub-lieutenant followed me with his eyes as I read. Then he said: "Ha! They certainly are polite." THE BOY IN THE BURROW [This is a story of a boy who won the Iron Cross-a German boy, of course. The thrilling tale of what he did and how he did it is told by an American newspaper correspondent-Herbert Corey -in the N. Y. Globe.] TH HERE is a river-and a battlefieldand a boy. The boy's name is on the list of the Iron Cross of the first class. It is not possible to be more precise military reasons. He had just turned sixteen when the war began. He became one of those slender, erect, elegant little cadet officers one sees-children who are being trained for war. Eventually he came to this battlefield and this river. He had become hardened, as cadet-officers will. His muscles no longer were pulpy. His lips were tight and firm, and his eyes were not so widely open as they had been. He was a child who had made a companion of death. A long dip in the French half of this battlefield ran down to the river. It happened that this low-lying ground could not be seen from the German half. It was so long and so wide that many Fliers troops could be assembled in it. bucketed over it now and then, of course 2 IRON CROSS FOR A GERMAN BOY 455 -but the French knew its value. It was protected by a fringe of guns. The fliers were driven so high in air that they could not see. It was needful that an observer be stationed where he could watch the French. "Let me go," asked the boy. "I can swim the river." This was in January. There was no ice in the river-or not much icetho a hem of it formed at night along the banks. Those in command considered. If they hesitated it was not because of any compassion for this boy, with the little downy line of hair just forming above his lip. Boys are very numerous in any army, and no one thinks of life. Otherwise there would be no war. "It is worth trying," said those in command. O THAT night the boy strapped a reel of telephone cable to his shoulders and hung the telephone instrument to his body and slipped into that January water, dressed in full uniform. It was very dark and the river was swift. Perhaps he swam 200 yardspaying out that cable as he swam-before he was able to make a landing. By and by the little buzzer in the trenches sounded. The boy's trembling voice was heard. "I have found a place," said he. "I do not think they will find me for a day or two." It was not through fear that his voice trembled. Boys who do such things do not fear. It was only that he was very cold. He could not light a fire by which to warm himself, and dry out that soaked uniform. Through the night the murmur of French voices came to him. It was January weather. He has been there ever since. January, February, March-it is April when this is being written. Somewhere he managed to find himself a hole in which he burrowed like a beast of the field. No fire, no light, for three long winter months. All day long he watched through the peephole in his earth and telephoned to the German army the movements of the French troops. Then a gun begins to play on this road or that field. Many Frenchmen die. Horses gallop screaming or lie upon the earth and scream-it is a frightful sound, the scream of a horse. Once he telephoned: "The Frenchmen are within ten yards of me now. I think they may find me. Listen-you can hear the tramp of their feet!" The man at the other end of the wire heard the scuffle of the steel-shod boots of the French. But they did not find the boy. They knew he was there, of course. The obliteration of companies, just as they begin When your own painter suggests zinc for the paint he is going to use on your house, it is a sign that he is negotiating for all your future work. "Your Move" is a book that supplies sufficient information for you to act upon. The New Jersey Zinc Company Room 408, 55 Wall Street, New York For big contract jobs consult our Research Bureau THE AUSTRALASIAN NEWS COMPANY (Limited) THE NEW ZEALAND NEWS COMPANY (Limited) PUBLISHERS' AGENTS We beg to announce that the above News Agencies have now been in operation almost two years, supplying the news trade throughout the Commonwealth of Australia, including all of Tasmania and the Dominion of New Zealand, with American periodicals as well as Literature of all kinds. The Home Office of The Australasian News Company, Limited, is at 226 Clarence Street, Sydney, New South Wales, with branches at Melbourne, Victoria; Perth, West Australia; Adelaide, South Australia; Brisbane, Queensland, and The New Zealand News Company, Limited, at 150 Wakefield Street, Wellington, N. Z., supplying all the North and South Islands of New Zealand. We are prepared to handle all American publications and anything in our line. PUBLISHERS' AGENTS Arrangements may be made through our United States agent, THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY, 9-15 Park Place, New York City Why is a Waste Basket Bigger than a Letter Basket? Answer-Because most letters go into the waste basket -because most men don't think or care enough to make their letters look important and interesting. Where do your letters go-those sales letters and other important letters on which you and your office force put thousands of hours and thousands of dollars a year? Isn't it worth a little more thought to keep them out of the waste basket, to insure their being read? To send out letters that will side-step the waste basket is not necessarily expensive. A little careful thinking will solve the problem for you. Hundreds of the most important concerns in America have gone to the bottom of this problem-with an eye on expense. You will find them using dignified, impressive stationery produced on Construction Bond They use Construction Bond because it is a high-class paper-and so known-marketed in a manner which holds down the price. It goes direct to, the most substantial printers and lithographers in the two hundred principal cities of the United States. And it goes in big quantities -500 pounds or more at a time. 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Wheeler, 134 West 29th St., New York, N. Y. MANAGING EDITOR: Edward J. Wheeler, 134 West 29th St., New York, N. Y. BUSINESS MANAGER: Adam Dingwall, 134 West 29th St., New York, N. Y. PUBLISHER: Current Literature Publishing Co., 134 West 29th St., New York, N. Y. OWNERS: Edward J. Wheeler, 134 West 29th St., New York, N. Y. Known bondholders, mortgagees, and other security holders, holding 1 per cent. or more of total amount of bonds, mortgages, or other securities: None. Adam Dingwall. (Signature of Business Manager) Sworn to and subscribed before me this first day of April, 1915. [SEAL] Percy R. Turner, Notary Public No. 89, New York County Registers No. 7027. (My commission expires March 30, 1917.) to form the destruction of wagon trains when they reached the crossroad in the hills-these things do not come by chance. They swept that field in which he was hidden by shell fire. They passed over it a besom of shrapnel. But they did not find the boy. A T NIGHT he crept down to a hole in the bank and waited by the telephone cable. He buried it as he ran from that hole to his earth. By and by the men on the other side of the river lifted it, silently, on a pole, and a package of food slipped down. He got his blankets that way-and eventually the heat of his young body dried them. Once he could not get to the bank for three days because the Frenchmen were SO near. Then came a snow, and he waited, starving, in his burrow, until it melted. He dared not leave a track. Each day he telephoned ceaselessly. "You are overshooting," his soft, tense, young voice would murmur. "Lower and to the left-ah - the shrapnel burst among them then." They wanted to relieve him after a time. These men in command are not heartless. They thought this boy of less than seventeen had done a pretty tour of duty, and that some one else should take his turn. Perhaps they wanted to save that sort of a boy against another need. But he would not have it. He said he knew his territory now. He knew every little mound and ditch and swale in it. If a new man came it would be days before he could be instructed in these things. Between times he telephoned the details of a map to headquarters. "So that the man who takes my place will know all that I do," said he, "if they get me " One day headquarters telephoned. The general himself was on the wire. "I wish you to report at once," said the general. "Another man will take your place. You have been granted the Iron Cross of the first class-but under the regulations your commander must pin this on your breast himself. So you must come in." The boy cried a little. They could hear his voice break over the phone. Two or three times he sniffled, as any boy does when his heart is touched. But he would not come in. "The Frenchmen are doing something." said he. "I do not know what- but a new man here could not find out and I So I will not come in." can. He would have been given the Order of Pour le Mérite, they say if he had lived. Last night another observer took his place. CURRENT OPINION Every One of These Novels Has Thrilled the Whole French Nation and Gone Through Edition After Edition CURRENT THE DRAMATISTS By Philippe de Massa. THE ROMANTICISTS Abbe Constantin. By Ludovic THE REALISTS M. De Camors. By Octave Feuil- SET OF BALZAC FREE! For a limited time, to encourage prompt action, we LITERATURE Name.... for $16.00, payable $2.00 after you examine the books and decide to keep them and $2.00 per month. Remember it costs nothing to see the books. Twenty volumes of the Masterpieces and six volumes of Balzac to be shipped entirely free, all charges prepaid, for your approval. If you don't like them simply give us shipping instructions and the transaction does not cost you one penny. If you do like them, send us $2.00, and $2.00 a month thereafter for seven months. But you must act in a big hurry or you will be too late. CURRENT LITERATURE PUBLISHING COMPANY 134 West 29th Street, New York City Reference.. WHEN THE LUSITANIA SANK [The most coherent and apparently accurate story of the destruction of the Lusitania that we have seen is the following, told in the London Daily News by Oliver P. Barnard, a scenic artist of the Covent Garden opera.] I' T WAS my rare fortune to be one of four people who saw the torpedo of the German submarine fired at the Lusitania at a distance of probably not more than 200 yards. I had just come up from luncheon in the dining saloon and was looking across an uncommonly calm and beautiul sea when I saw on the starboard what at first seemed to be the tail of a fish. It was the periscope of our assailant. The next thing I observed was the fast-lengthening track of a newlylaunched torpedo, itself a streak of froth. We had all been thinking, dreaming, sleeping, and eating submarines from the hour we left New York, and yet, with the dreaded danger about to descend upon us, I could hardly believe the evidence of my own eyes. An American lady rushed up to where I stood, exclaiming nonchalantly, "This isn't a torpedo, is it?" I was too spellbound to answer. I felt absolutely sick. Then we were hit. My impression of the contact of the torpedo was that it was an indescribably terrific impact, tho not marked by anything such as the imagination might fancy, in the way of a roar. The torpedo must have penetrated deeply into the side of the vessel and exploded internally. The shot was obviously fired at our bow and got us, I should think, abreast of the bridge. For reasons incomprehensible to most of the survivors, the Lusitania was making at the moment only about 15 knots, with the result that the torpedo traveled, say, the 200 yards of its course just in time to strike the ship squarely. The point of contact was about beneath the grand entrance to the saloon and the result of the explosion was that it blew everything in that immediate vicinity into smithereens. Then the tremendous water tanks on the funnel deck burst, releasing their enormous contents and flooding everything. The moment the explosion took place the Lusitania simply fell over just as a house, kept up by the underpinning, would topple the instant the main props were pulled out. I NSTANTLY there was a tremendous rush of passengers to the deck from the saloon and lounge. I did not think that anybody, not even the women and children, were so much terrified as they were astounded and stunned by the consciousness that the fears, cherished half in ridicule for five days previously, had at last been realized and the German "bluff" had actually come off. "By heavens, they've done it!" ejaculated a broad-shouldered American whom I never saw again. That was the first universal thought. "What shall we do?" was the next. Many people, evidently convinced that the Lusitania was unsinkable, made preparations to sit tight and let things take their course. My own first impulse was to obtain a lifebelt. Excitement and fright were now everywhere, but there was no panic. "Keep cool" seemed to be everybody's (Continued on page iv.) |