Life — April 9, 1914 — page 35: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

LD JOHN, THE FLAGMAN, with his rheumatic limp, hob- bled out of his shanty as the long freight train rumbled up through the dusk. He waved his white flag one perfunctory wig-wag at the vista of empty asphalt, that stretched out on either side of rade crossing, black and slippery in the driving rain, The big locomotive thundered past, and even after its rapid-fire exhaust had died away in the distance to a muffled roar, the long string of freight cars labored interminably past, clanking, groaning and creaking over the rails. jt was very familiar music to John, this song of many weird notes that a passing freight train sings, and he swore meditatively at the vile weather and longed for the train to pass and let him return to his warm stove in the shanty. Suddenly out of the dusk there came a shrill, sustained, high-pitched note that carried, even above the confused noises of the passing train, to the flagman’s cars. He knew that sound, too, and it galvanized his rheumatic limbs into action. He ran out into the center of the asphalt street, ing his flag, just in time to be silhouetted against a spear of white light that flashed out of the darkness. Higher and shriller came the singing note of a long black touring car, speeding its sixty miles an hour and more, and the flagman had barely time to leap out of the way, falling on the slippery asphalt as he jumped back. “They're done for!” he gasped as he went into the gutter, catching as he fell one glimpse of the automobile driver’s form shoot forward with all his weight against the emergency brake. John had watched passing automobiles long enough to know how rubber tires would slide over that| slippery pavement. As he picked himself up he listened for the sickening crash against the sides of the rumbling freight train. But no crash came. By the time John reached the grade crossing the last of the freight cars with twinkling red lights was disappearing into the darkness, and the big touring car stood un- harmed within six feet of the rails. Two women and a child peered out of the ton- neau, their faces still white with terror, while the ver walked about the car inspecting it with an oil sidelight, “It's all right, Martha,” he called to one of the women in the car, “ No damage done—we can go| on all right.” John had come hobbling up toward the little circle of lamplight, an oasis of light in the dark- hess intensified by driving mist and rain. The driver walked back to the end of his car, kicked the tires on the rear wheels and tested the tire chains, “Golly, but it’s a good thing I put those chains on to-night,” he remarked to the flagman. “The closest call that ever I seen,” said John, sith a shake of his head. “ When I seen you jam jon the brake I says to myself, ‘there’s all day ith ‘cm’, With the road that slippery I don’t see Pohow why you didn’t jest slide into the train.” | “These,” said the driver, patting the tire chains affectionately, “ these and the brakes did it. Never skidded! an inch to right nor left, and how they | id hold when I applied the brakes lined with | old Multibestos. There is no doubt but! at Multibestos and Weed Chains saved our Not Only Safety First— OWERFUL, mea brakes and perfect control over the car ccme from the use But First, Last and All the Time of MULTIBESTOS. Brakes lined with Multibestos are at all times reliable, are dependable in any emergency and are a guar- antee of safety in any car. Standard Woven Fabric Co. Framingham, Mass. Boston, 903 Boylston St. New York, 276 Canal St. Chicago, 1430 Michigan Boulevard Philadelphia, 1427 Vine St. San Francisco, cor. First & Howard St. s, bless 'em.” Middle-Age \WHEN youth’s desire of pleasure wanes And life has reached a wiser stage, ‘Tis sweet to count the placid gains Of middle-age. No more the quest of fevered sport, No more the thirst to do and dare: With calm philosophy I court My easy chair. There, with my pipe of peace, I sit Watching its graceful rings arise, Feeling my wisdom and my wit Materialize. No more I join the weary wights Who dally at a maiden’s trai Giving their daytimes and their nights To lovesick pain. I let no mad ambitions jog And goad me in a tiresome way, But meditate that every dog Must have his day. I note the run of stock and share, With prudent speculative ends; And to the credit side I bear Life's dividends. I never ask of life too much, And she rewards with ample wage Of peaceful joys that are in touch With middle-age. Arthur L. Salmon. A National Calamity “Where's my umbrella?" demanded the wife of a member of Parliament. “I'm afraid I've forgotten it, my dear,” meekly answered her husband. “It must be in the train.” “In the train?” snorted the lady. “And to think that the affairs of the nation are intrusted to a man who doesn't know enough to take care of a woman's umbrella! ""—New York Call. Onthe front tires too, make your car = Skid-Proof ° WEED CHAINS on the /ront tires pick the easiest way in the hardest going and prevent the front wheel skid —the ‘most dreaded of all skids as it is the hardest to count eract by manipulation of the steering wheel Try them on the front tires too, and be convinced. Sold for all tires by dealers every where Wi N 3 COMPAN EED CHAIN TIRE GRIP. Omi Bridgeport: - ConnecG