Old Lady
Number
31
LOUISE FORSSLUND
Author ot
"The Story of Saimh"
"The Ship of Drowns"
Etc.
Copyright by Tba Century Co.
8YN0P8IS.
Captain Abraham Rose and Angelina,
hit wife, have loat their little home
through Abe'B unlucky purchase of Tena
iiy Gold mining stock. Their household
goods sold, the $100 auction money, all
they have left, will place Abe In the Old
Man's home, or Angy In the Old Ladies'
noma. Both are self-Bacrlflclng but Abe
decides: "My dear this Is the fust time
I've had a chance to take the wust of It."
The old couple bid good-by to the little
bouse. Terror of "what folks will say"
(ends them along by-paths to the gat of
the Old Ladles' home.
CHAPTER III Continued.
Now the Amazonian Mrs. Homan, a
widow lor tba third time, made sturdy
retort:
"That's Jest like yew old maids al
ways a-blamln' the men. Yew kin Jest
bet I never would have let one of my
husbands go ter the poorbouse. It
would have mortified me dretful. It
must be a purty poor sort of a woman
what can't take the oare of one man
and keep a roof over his head. Why,
my second, Oliver 0., used ter cay "
"Oh!" Miss Ellle wrung her hands,
"can't we do somethln'T"
"I could do a-plenty," mourned Miss
Abigail, "ef I only had been savin'.
Here I git a salary o' tour dollars a
month, an' not one penny laid away."
"Tew tergit," spoke some one gently,
"that It takes consid'able ter dress a
matron proper."
Aunt Nancy, who had been sneezing
furiously at ber own impotence, now
found her speech again.
"We're a nice set ter talk erbout
-dewin' somethln' a passel o' poor ole
critters like us I" Her cackle of em
bittered laughter was interrupted by
the low, cultivated voice ot the belle
-of the home, "Butterfly Blousy."
. "We've got to do something," said
Blossy firmly.
When Blossy spoke with such de
cision every one of the sisters pricked
np her ears. Blossy might be "a shal-ler-p&te;"
she might arrange the
.golden-white hair of her head as be
fitted the crowning glory of a young
girl, with puffs and rolls and little
-owls, and more than one sister sus
pected with the aid of "rats;" she
might gown herself elaborately In the
mended finery of the long ago, the
better years; ehe might dress her
lovely big room the only double bed--chamber
in the house, for whioh she
bad paid a double entrance fee in all
aorta of gewgaws, little ornaments,
band-painted plaques ot her own pro--ducing,
lace bedspreads, embroidered
splashers and pillow-shams; she might
ven permit herself a suitor who came
twice a year more punctually than the
Une-atorms, to aek her withered little
band In marriage but her heart was
' in the right place, and on occasion she
bad proved herself a master hand at
fain' things."
"Tea," said she, rising to her feet
and flinging out her arms with an elo
quent gesture, "we've got to do some
thing, and there's Just one thing to do,
girls: take the captain right here
bare" she brought her hands to the
laces on her bosom "to our hearts!"
At first there was silence, with the
ladle staring blankly at Blossy and
then at one another. Had they heard
aright! Then there came murmurs
and exclamations, with Miss Abigail's
voice gasping above the others:
"What would the directors say!"
"What do they always say when we
ask a favor T" demanded Blossy.
"How much will It cost?' It won't
cost a cent"
"Won't, eht" snapped Aunt Nancy.
"How on earth be yew goln' to vlttle
him? I hain't had a second dish o'
peas this year."
"Borne men eat more an' some less,"
remarked Sarah Jane, as Ill-favored a
spinster as ever the sun shone on;
"generally It means so much grub ter
o much weight"
Miss Abigail glanced up at the cell
ing, while Lacy Daisy, who had re
fused to tip the beam for ten years,
surreptitiously hid an apple Into which
she had been biting.
"Le's have 'em weighed," suggested
a widow, Ruby Lee, with a pretty,
well-preserved little face and figure,
"an ef tergether they don't come up
to the heartiest one of us "
Miss Abigail made basty Interrup
tion: "Gals, hain't yew never noticed that
the more yew need the more yew gltT
Before Jenny Bell went to live with
her darter I didn't know what I should
dew, for the 'taters was glttln' pooty
low. Tew know she used tor eat
twenty ter a meal, an' then look hun
gry at the platter. An' then ef old
Bquare Ely didn't come a-drlvln' up
one mornln' with ten bushel In the
farm wagon) He'd been savin' 'em
ter us all winter fer fear we might run
short in the spring. Gala, thar's one
thing yew kin depend on, the fore
slghtedness of the Lord. I hain't afraid
ter risk a-stretchtn' the board an'
keep o' thirty ter pervid" mU far
thirty-one. Naow, haow many of yew
is wlllin' ter try it?"
Every head nodded, "I am;" every
eye was wet with the dew of merciful
kindness; and Mrs. Homan and Sarah
Jane, who had flung plates at each
other only that morning, were ob
served to be holding hands.
"But haow on arth be we a-goln' ter
sleep him?" proceeded the matron un
easily. "Thar hain't a extry corner In
the hull place. Puttln' tew people in
No. 30 Is out of the question it's Jest
erbout the size of a Cinderella shoe
box, anyhow, an' the garret leaks"
Bhe paused, for Blossy was pulling
at her sleeve, the real Blossy, warm
hearted, generous, self-deprecating.
"I think No. SO Is Just the coziest
little place for one I Do let me take it,
Miss Abigail, and give the couple my
great big barn of a room."
Aunt Nancy eyed her suspiciously.
"Yew ain't a-gwine ter make a fool o'
yerself, an' Jump over the broomstick
ag'ln?" For Blossy's old suitor, Sam
uel Darby, had made one of his semi
annual visits only that morning.
The belle burst Into hysterical and
self-conscious laughter, as she found
every glance bent upon her.
"Oh, no, no; not that. But I con
fess that I am tired to death of this
perpetual dove-party. I Just simply
can't live another minute without a
man in the house.
"Now, Miss Abigail," she added im
periously, "you run across lots and
fetch him home."
CHAPTER IV.
One of Them.
Ah I but Abraham had slept that
night as If he had been drawn
to rest under the compelling shelter
of the wings of all that flock which in
happier days he had dubbed contemp
tuously "them air old hens." Never
afterward could the dazed old gentle
man remember how he had been per
suaded to come Into the house and up
the stairs with Angellne. He only
knew that In the midst of that heart
breaking farewell at the gate, Miss
Abigail, all out of breath with running,
red in the face, but exceedingly hearty
of manner, had suddenly appeared.
"Shoo, shoo, shoo!" this stout angel
had gasped. "Naow, Cap'n Aba, yew
needn't git narvous. We're as harm
less as doves. Run right erlong. Yew
won't eee anybody ternlght Don't
say a word. It's all right Sssh!
Shoo!" And then, lol he was not In
the county almshouse, but In a beau
tiful, bright bedchamber with a wreath
of immortelles over the mantel, alone
with Angy.
Afterward, It all seemed the blur of
a dream to him, a dream which ended
when he had found his head upon a
cool, white pillow, and had felt glad,
glad dear God, how glad! to know
that Angy was still within reach ot
his outstretched hand; and so ha had
fallen asleep. But when he awoke
In the morning there stood Angellne
In front ot the glass taking her hair
out of curl papers; and then he slowly
began to realize the tremendous
change that had come Into their lives,
when his wife committed the unprece
dented act of taking her crimps out
before breakfast He realized that
they were to eat among strangers. He
had become the guest of thirty "wom
en-folks." No doubt he should be
called "Old Gal Thirty-one." He got
up and dressed very, very slowly. The
bewildered gratitude, the Incredulous
thanksgiving of last night were as far
away ae yesterday's sunset. A great
seriousness settled upon Aba's lean
face. At last he burst forth:
"One to thirty! Hy-guy, I'm in fer
it!" How had it happened, he won
dered. They had given him no time to
think. They had swooped down upon
him when his brain was dulled with
anguish. Virtually, they had kidnaped
him. Why had they brought him here
to accept charity of a women's insti
tution T Why need they thus Intensify
his sense ot shame at his Ufa's fail
ure, and, above all, at his failure to
provide tor Angellne ? In the poor
house he would have been only one
more derelict; but here he stood alone
to be stared at and pitied and thrown
a sickly-satisfying crumb. With a
sigh from the very ceUar ot his being,
he muttered:
"Aye, mother, why didn't yew let
me go on ter the county house? That
air's the place fer a worn-out old hull
like me. Hy-guy!" he ejaculated,
beads of sweat standing out on his
forehead, "I'd rather lay deown an'
die th'n face them air women."
"Thar, tharl" soothingly spoke
Angy, laying her hand on his arm.
"Thar, thar, father! Jest think haow
dretful I'd feel a-goln' deown without
yer."
"So you would!" strangely comfort
ed. "So you would, my dear!" For
her sake he tried to brighten up. Hi
Joked clumsily as they stood on the
threshold of the chamber, whispering,
blinking his eyes to make up for the
lack of their usually ready twinkle.
"Hoi' on a minute; aupposln' I fer
glt whether I be a man er a woman?"
Her love gave inspiration to her an
swer: Til lean on yer, Abe."
Just then there came the loud, im
perative clanging of the breakfast
bell; and sbs urged him to hurry, as
"It wouldn't dew" for them to be late
the first morning of all times. But be
only answered by going back Into the
room to make an anxious survey of
his reflection In the glass. He shook
his head reprovingly at the bearded
countenance, as if to say: "Too need
not pride yourself any longer on look
ing like Abraham Lincoln, for yon
have been turned Into a miserable old
woman."
Picking up the hair brush, he held
it out at arm's length to Angy. "Wont
yew slick up my hair a leetle bit,
mother?" he asked, somewhat shame
facedly. "I cant see extry well this
mornln'."
"Why, Abel It's slicked es slick ei
It kin be naow." However, the old
wife reached up as he bent his tall,
angular form over her, and smoothed
again bis thin, wet locks. He laughed
a little, self-mocklngly, and she
laughed back, then urged him Into the
hall, and, slipping ahead, led the way
downstairs. At the first landing, which
brought them into full view of the
lower hall, he paused, possessed with
the mad desire to run away and bide,
for at the foot of the stairway stood
the entire flock ot old ladies. Twenty
nine pairs of eyes were lifted to blm
and Angy, twenty-nine pairs ot lips
were smiling at them. To the end oi
his days Abraham remembered those
emlles. Reassuring, unselfish and
tender, they made the old man's heart
swell, his emotions go warring to
gether. He wondered, was grateful, yet he
grew more confused and afraid. He
stared amazed at Angellne, who
seemed the embodiment ot self-possession,
lifting her dainty, proud little
gray head higher and higher. She
turned to Abraham with a protecting,
motherly little gesture ot command
for him to follow, and marched gal
lantly on down the stairs. Humbly,
trembling at the knees, he came wltb
gingerly steps after the little old wife.
How unworthy he was ot her now I
How unworthy he had always been,
yet never realized to the full until this
moment He knew what those smiles
meant, he told himself, watching the
uplifted faoes; they were to soothe
his sense of shame and humiliation,
to touch with rose this dull gray color
ot the culmination of his failures. Ha
passed his hand over his eyes, fiercely
praying that the tears might not com
to add to his disgrace.
And all the while brave little Angy
kept smiling, until with a truly glad
leap of the heart she caught sight ol
a blue ribbon painted In gold shining
on the breast of each one of the
twenty-nine women. A pale blue rib
bon painted In gold with yes, peering
her eyes she discovered that It was
the word "Welcome!" The forced
smile vanished from Angellne' face.
Her eyes grew wet her cheek white.
Her proud figure shrank. Bhe turned
and looked back at her husband. Not
for one Instant did she appropriate
the compliment to herself. "This Is
for youl" her spirit called out to him,
while a new pride dawned In her
working face.
Forty years had she spent apologis
ing for Abraham, and now she under
stood how these twenty-nine generous
old hearts had raised htm to the pedes
tal of a hero, while she stood a heroins
beside him. Angy It was who trembled
now, and Abe, gaining a manly cour
age from that, took hold of her arm
to steady her they had paused on a
step near the foot ot the stairs and,
looking around with his whimsical
smile, he demanded of the bedecked
company In general "Ladles, be yew
'pectin' the president?"
Cackle went the cracked old voices
ot the twenty-nine In a chorus of ap
preciative laughter, while the - old
heads bobbed at one another as If to
eay, "Won't he be an acquisition r
And than, from among ths group there
came forward Blossy Blossy, who had
sacrificed most that this should com
to pass; Blossy, who had sat till mid
night painting the gold-and-blue rib
bons; Blossy, the pride and beauty
of the home, In a delicate, old, yellow,
real lacs gown. She held her two
hands gracefully and mysteriously be
hind her back as she advanced to the
foot of the stairs. Looking steadily
in Abraham's eyes, she kept a-smlllng
until be felt as If the warmth of t
belated spring had beamed upon him.
"The presldentl" Her mellow, well-
modulated voice shook, and she
laughed with a mingling ot generous
Joy and tender pity. "Are we expect
ing the president? You dear, modest
man I W are welcoming you!"
Abe looked to Angy as If to say,
"How shall I take it?" and behold! th
miracle of his wife's bosom swelling
and swelling with pride In him. He
turned back, tor Blossy was making a
speech. His hand to his head, h
bent his good ear to listen. In terms
poetical and touching she described
the loneliness of the life at the horn
ae It had been with no man under
the root of the house and only a deaf-and-dumb
gardener who hated ber sax,
In the barn. Then In contrast sh
painted life a it must be for the sis
ters now that the thirty tender vines
bad found a stanch old oak for their
clinging. "Me?" queried Abraham oi
himself and, with another silent
glance, of Angy.
(TO BB CONTINUED.)
Puritan Jury.
That the Puritan fashion of nomen
clature produced some very odd re
sults Is very generally known. Thi
London Chronicle recalls that James
Brome, In his "Travels Over England,
Scotland and Wales," published la
1700, gives a copy of a "Jury Return,
made at Rye, Sussex, In the Late Re
bellious Troublesome Times."
The names of the 12 good men and
true were: Meek Brewer, Graceful
Harding, Klllsln Pimple, Earth Adams,
Weepnot Billing, Mors Fruit Fowler,
Hope-for Bending, Return Spelman,
Fly Debate Roberts, Stand Fast on
High Stringer. Be Faithful Joiner, and
Fight the Good Fight of Faith White.
Origin ef "Unele Ism."
The name Uncle Bam was first used
la Troy, N. T., In 1812, when som
goods- bought for the government and
marked U. B. were Inspected by Sam
uel Wilson, a government employe,
whose nickname was Uncle Sam.
The similarity of the Initials suggest
-d the adoption, and the familiar pi
tan was soon created.
; -111 0 rl " H
A Corner
ROUEN, although barely sixty
miles In direct line northwest
of Paris, and considerably less
than one hundred miles from
the scene ot the present savage
struggle in northeastern France, sits
In peace and cares for thousands of
the wounded allies In her hospitals,
writes E. N.Vallandlghamln the Phila
delphia Record. She believes her
noble old cathedral, with its fantastic
spire of iron openwork shooting more
than 450 feet heavenward, safe from
the fate ot the lovely structure at
Reims, less than 150 miles distant
The bombardment ot Rouen would
mean the ruin of some of the noblest
and oldest ecclesiastic structures In
France, but Rouen has maintained her
serenity on her beautiful site beside
the Seine in these last months and has
sent forward again to the front many
a soldier nursed back to life and
health. Her ancient churches, some
of them worn, as It were to the bone,
by centuries of wind and rain, have
been even more frequented than usual
by these praying Normans, and her
lovely little street shrines have attract
ed more and more the pious glances of
the passers-by.
Looks Its Age.
Rouen Is one of the few old Euro
pean cities of considerable size that
really look their age. She has accom
plished the seeming marvel of modern
izing her political and Industrial life
without throwing off her medieval
garb. Here dwell 125,000 or 130,000
people, forming an active modern com
munity, with the public appointments
and conveniences of a twentieth cen
tury city, yet thousands of them live
in houses from 250 to 600 years old,
and the region round about seems to
the traveler enriched at every step
with the dust of centuries.
Hardly eight miles away, approached
through the magnificent publio forest
of Roumere, covering 10,000 acres. Is
the perfectly preserved twelfth cen
tury Norman church of St. George de
Boscherville, while at every turn one
meets In the city ancient towers and
lovely remnants of old ecclesiastical
architecture. Rouen long ago outgrew
Its walls, though a bit of the old de
fenses that actually defied Shake
ipeare's Prince Hal almost exactly 500
rears ago still stands.
Broad, new thoroughfares have pene
trated the very heart of the old town,
yet everywhere the middle ages crop
:ut and there remain at least a score
f old streets so narrow that the over
hanging upper stories almost meet,
while there Is scant room tor pedes
trians to pass one another below. The
narrowest streets have no sidewalk
whatever, while in many others, busy
ind crowded, the footway Is less than
two feet wide.
' Remains of the Normans.
It Is, ot course, not Celtic Rouen, the
seat of a bishopric more than 1,600
years ago, that now survives, but
rather Norman Rouen, which is only
1,000 years old. How those tall, crazy
looking, half-timbered houses, huddled
so that the sun in some cases never
penetrates to the narrow streets and
alleys between, have escaped destruc
tion by fire all these centuries who
shall guess? Much of Rouen's me
dievalism bag sought to hide itself be
hind a superficially modern front
What looks like a weather-boarded
house, at most 50 years old, turns out
when one pries a bit to be a fifteenth
or sixteenth century survival, with
heavy, hewn beams and perpendicular
timbers forming more than half the
wall.
Commonplace house fronts show
quaint old carvings such as went to
decorate the dwellings of the more im
portant burghers of the fifteenth cen
tury. All sorts of modern occu nations
tti Rouen
are carried on In houses built long be
fore such occupations were known to
men. Inns that bid for the custom of
the tourist still retain the old central
court where plays were enacted wltb
the well-to-do looking on from the
hotel balconies, the common folk from
what we should now call the pit, then
the roughly cobbled inn yard Itself.
Such Inns have the oddest, unexpected
stairways, the queerest red-tiled hall
ways, narrow and dusky, great beams
showing beneath the plaster, windows
a single pane wide between the per
pendicular timbers and fireplaces, now
nearly bricked up, but once open and
generous, with blazing logs before
which basked the tired travelers oi
600 years ago.
Normans of Today.
In meeting the Normans ot today at
they go about their ancient capital,
one feels anew the marvels ot theii
history. One fancies in watching the
common people of Rouen that one seei
In these descendants of Duke Rollo'i
sea-wolves a persistence of the traits
that made their ancestors the mosl
dreaded pirates of their day, the foun
ders of kingdoms in widely sundered
parts of Europe. The women in par
ticular have a high distinction In face
and figure. Girls walk with a sin
gular'y charming grace, with the air ol
possessing the earth that they tread
and carry their heads proudly, as II
recalling the rough glories of theli
race for 1,000 years. Beauty of line
and expression Is the dower of many
women in Norman Rouen, and both
men and women are quickly responsive
to courtesy from a Btranger.
A lively and active race are these
Normans of Rouen and its environs
Cider, their favorite drink, is served
at the simpler sort of Inns Instead ol
wine and at all restaurants and drink
ing places. Sometimes It comes to the
table hardened by many weeks In the
barrel; sometimes It appears artificial
ly colored red, heavily sugared and
strongly charged with its own or other
gases. A substantial luncheon ol
bread, cheese, salted butter and a quart
of cider may be had at some of the
suburban villages for about twenty
cents, and excellent is It In all re
spects. Perhaps this drink has saved
the Normans from stronger liquors.
Joan's Memory Honored.
The slums ot Rouen show as repel
lent human manifestations as one can
find In almost any city, and waterside
loafers are sometimes desperate look
ing characters, though, perhaps, this
Impression Is due partly to their
squalid dress, unshaven faces and un
familiar dialect Some of the women
who Inhabit the lofty old ruins on the
edge of a aewerlike canal in one ot
Rouen's worst quarter would furnish
excellent models for tbe painter of
Norman criminal lire. But the human
flotsam and Jetsam Is seemingly
small proportion of the population. In
deed, Normandy seems to have pre
served the Ideals and virtue of an older
France. Here, If anywhere, the Influ
ence of sainted Joan's career Is power
fully felt and the city where she suf
fered fiery death does penance by
paying her peculiar honor.
The spot In the publio street where
she bravely met martyrdom In her
fresh and lovely girlhood la marked
for all beholders, and her statue greets
one at every turn, while the ancient
churches vie with one another In per
petuatlng her memory. If one Is some
times Inclined to think that the French
undervalue maidenhood one must re
member that the supremely popular
heroine of the nation was a stainless
girl who died Joyfully for her country
the cruelest ot deaths at the age of
eighteen. Joan's spirit marches today
with the French armies defending tag
frontiers of ths well-beloved land,
ON THE LINE CF DEATH
WHAT THE FIGHTER8 IN EUROPE
ARE SUFFERING.
Correspondent at the Front Tells of
Condition That Prevail In the
Trenches Desolation Marks
Path of War.
At the end of the village the road
climbed again from the ravine and
emerged on open fields. A wall of
timber, dark and Impenetrable as the
woods round an old chateau, rose at
the farther end of these fields the
road cutting through it like a tunnel
and on the brow of the ravine, com
manding the road and the little plain,
was a line of trenches. Here evident
ly they had fought
We walked on down the road. Below
the northern horizon, where they were
fighting now along the line ot the
Alsne, rolled the sullen thunder ot
artillery, as It had been rolling since
daylight, writes Arthur Ruhl in Col
lier's Weekly. And the autumn wind,
cold with the week of equinoctial rain,
puffing out of thickets and across re
vines, brought, every now and then,
the horrible odor of death.
Ahead, to the right, one caught the
glint ot French infantry's red trousers.
A man was lying there, face down
ward, on the field. Then across the
open space appeared another and an
otherthey were scattered all over
that field, bright as the red poppies
which were growing in the stubble and
as still.
They were In various positions. One
lay on his back, with one knee raised
like a man day-dreaming and looking
up at the sky. Another was stretched
stiff with both hands clenched over his
chest One lay In the ditch close be
side us, his head Jammed into the
muddy bank Just as he had dived there
In falling; another gripped a cup In
one band and a spoon in the other, as
if, perhaps, he might have tried to
feed himself In the long hours after
the battle rolled on and left them''
there.
All these were French, but Just at
the edge of the thick timber was a
heap one could scarcely say of Ger
mans, so utterly did the gray sodden
faces and sodden gray uniforms merge
Into anonymity. A squad ot French
soldiers appeared at a turn In the
road. Two officers rode beside them,
and they were Just moving off across
the fields carrying shovels instead ot
rifles. Looking after them, beyond the
belt of timber, one could see other par
ties like theirs on the distant slopes
to the left, and here and there smoke.
Two more French soldiers appeared
pushing a wheelbarrow filled with cast
off arms. With the boyish good nature
which never seems to desert these lit
tie men in red and blue, they stopped
and offered us a few clips ot German
cartridges. They were burying their
own men, they said, burning the Ger
mans. The dead bad been lying here
for nearly a fortnight now while the
battle line rolled northward, clear
across France. . . . Through the
coquettish little towns along the
Marne, through tbe champagne coun
try and the country Just west of It,
where we now were everywhere were
deserted, perhaps demolished, vil
lages; the silent countryside with
dead horses, bits of broken shell,
mashed bicycles or artillery wagons
along the road; and the tainted au
tumn wind.
An Oriental Meal.
There was nothing in the meal that
looked or even tasted like an Ameri
can dish. The meat folded up Into
small squares, was cooked In oriental
ways, unknown to American cookery,
while the little rice concoctions, rolled
up in grapevine leaves, were as deli
cious as spinach, and the tiny sum
mer squash, filled with an appetizing
stuffing, made a pleasing dish. Partry,
cheese and sweets were also different
from the customary American delica
cies, and, lastly, the great Turkish
pipe, with Its long smoke-cooling tube
filled with Persian tobacco, replaced
the American cigar. Tbe bill ot tare,
written In Arabic, backward, as Is the
custom with that language, looked
like a stenographer's notebook. Na
tional Magazine.
Hare Lip Hereditary.
William F. Blades of tbe Eugenics
Record office, Cold Spring Harbor, L.
I., Is making a special study ot hare
Up and cleft palate, In which be is
carrying on breeding experiments with
several harelip strains of Boston ter
riers. He finds that both hare Up
and cleft palate are highly hereditary
In both man and animal, but he has
been unable to determine In what way
they are Inherited. Mr. Blades finds
great difficulty in getting reliable sta
tistics, owing to the fact that many
persons do their best to conceal slight
cases of hare Up and cleft palate, espe
cially If these have been partially or
completely remedied by operation.
Now Live Fifteen Yeare Longer.
The average length ot life In the
United States Is 15 years greater now
than It was 35 years ago, according to
a statement made by Dr. Victor C.
Vaughn of tbe University of Michigan,
president of the American Medical as
sociation, in an address before tbe City
c:ub at St. Louis.
Crime he characterized as a disease.
due to heredity and environment and
me way to eradicate crime was to
treat It as a disease and to disinfect Its
breeding places.
Doctor Vaughn said the death rata
from tuberculosis had decreased 14
par cent since 1880,