Issue: 19311201

Tuesday, December 1, 1931
December 1st 1931
23
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44
Thursday, June 30, 2016

Articles
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Maclean's
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Sheaffer’s: No. 535.
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Sheaffer’s
No. 535.
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INTERNATIONAL HARVESTER COMPANY HAMILTON of Canada, Ltd. CANADA
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INTERNATIONAL HARVESTER COMPANY HAMILTON of Canada, Ltd. CANADA
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0003.xml
masthead
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2,7
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Maclean's
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0004.xml
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CONTENTS
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0005.xml
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Advertisement
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0006.xml
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Advertisement: Castoria
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Castoria
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0007.xml
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In the Editor's Confidence
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In the Editor's Confidence
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A WRITER recently claimed that only those who have suffered can write modern fiction. It left him wide open to a critic’s jab that if such should be the case, anyone who has read modern fiction should be able to write it. Personally, we never would recommend a postgraduate course in suffering to would-be authors.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0008.xml
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Advertisement: LISTERINE SHAVING CREAM
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LISTERINE SHAVING CREAM
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0009.xml
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6
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The Cream of Wheat Corporation
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The Cream of Wheat Corporation
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0010.xml
article
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7,8,9,48,49,50,51
FICTION
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MOON MAIDEN
A thriller by the author of “The Man With the Club Foot”
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VALENTINE WILLIAMS
THE Christmas ball at Market Sidesley was in full swing. All the cars of the country places within a fifty mile radius, from old Lady Marsden’s cumbersome and elderly limousine to the baby models of the younger generation, seemed to be parked in the market place.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0011.xml
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10,11,44,45,46
GENERAL ARTICLES
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THE RISING COST OF GOVERNMENT
Private business is reducing costs—Canada's Biggest Business, Government, increases them
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FLOYD S. CHALMERS
THE biggest business in Canada is the business of government. About fifteen per cent of the population of Canada gain their living directly or indirectly from the Government. More people work for the federal, provincial and municipal governments of Canada than work in all of the 6,000 factories in our twenty-two leading manufacturing industries.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0012.xml
article
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12,13,55,56,57,60,61
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ONLY ONE THING TO DO
A knotty problem in love is solved in the modern manner
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John Paul Mitchell
BEN CABOT, seeing Annie Dibble step upon the dance floor with Peter Heil, frowned with a sudden tightening of young brows. Annie, although she was prettier than ever with her smooth yellow hair, small heart-shaped face and wide blue eyes, had no business here with Peter Heil.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0013.xml
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14,39,40
GENERAL ARTICLES
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Sable Island
“Graveyard of the Atlantic" has long been Sable Island’s ominous appellation, yet its inhabitants prefer it to the mainland
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HELEN CREIGHTON
SABLE ISLAND. For those of us who live in Nova Scotia the name is ominous. For many who live inland, perhaps, it is just a name. Yet I venture to state that in the whole of this great Dominion there is no spot more beloved by those who live upon it, no spot more desolate, no spot more awful.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0014.xml
article
15
15,42,43,44
GENERAL ARTICLES
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TRADE—OR DIE!
Repudiation of the Versailles Treaty and all that it stands for is imperative, says this writer, else the world faces economic ruin
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F. FRASER HUNTER
IS THE world committing suicide? Bankruptcy, starvation and revolution seem to threaten in many countries. Riots, strikes, mutinies, insolvency and “new lows” seem to be the facts of our endeavors. With our nerves and tempers on edge, our standards of living curtailed, our leaders and prophets discredited and the icy hand of winter approaching, what has the future in store for us?
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0015.xml
article
16
16,17,37,38
FICTION
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DIVORCE
A dramatic story of a woman's mistake and her finding of the man who understood
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G. R. MALLOCH
SO MUCH depended on this; it was so important to remain cool and collected, and her head was whirling and she could not concentrate her mind to answer these questions properly; these terrible questions that seemed to come to her from some disembodied mind out of a haze of blurred faces.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0016.xml
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18
18,34
HUMOR
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"She Fails in Her Bounden Duty"
Our goldfish expert takes up this question of women's bondage in the home, and out of it
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J. E. MARCH
I HAVE been thinking of my grandmother. A safe and sane, ample and sufficient person, my grandmother; a very sure haven in times of mental or physical stress. When Maclean's commenced the disturbing of the serenity of our depressed Dominion by causing public, private and semiprofessional arguments on the viewpoints and mental reservations of women in and out of business, I just naturally refused to join in.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0017.xml
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19,28
SPORT
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Hockey War?
The American Hockey League's claim to equality with the older National Hockey League is likely to result this year in a pitched battle of dollars and strategy
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JIMMIE THOMPSON
WAR—and I do not mean in Manchuria! Right in your own backyard — in Toronto, Montreal, Chicago and New York—forces are being quietly mobilized, money bags are being given thoughtful consideration, the war lords are going into conferences.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0018.xml
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20
20,21,30,31,32
FICTION
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The Billy Goat Railway Strike
Comedy, drama, romance—they all rode the rails before this queer contest was decided
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EDMUND E. PUGSLEY
THE ORDER STANDS!” B. H. ("Bullhead") Stevens curtly informed Joe Saunders, the engineers’ representative. "I’m not going to pay all that overtime every day.” "But it’s contrary to our agreement,” Joe protested. "Show me,” demanded the president and manager of the Panhandle River Railway. “Look. Clause eleven. 'Bullhead shall be known as the home terminal for all engine crews while present conditions remain unchanged,’ ” Joe read. “Well?” “That’s plain enough, ain’t it?” "Sure it is. But conditions have changed,” grinned the manager. "I don’t agree with you,” Joe retorted. “We’ll have to insist on doubling back home as usual or getting some other schedule that’ll bring us back to Bullhead as our home terminal, according to the agreement.” The tolerant grin disappeared from the deep-seamed face of B. H. Stevens, and his square jaws clicked ominously in that characteristic attitude that had won him the name of "Bullhead.” “And if I say no?” “Then we’ll have to call your hand,” warned the representative of the engineers. “There’ll be no engine out in the morning.” “A strike, huh?” Joe nodded. “Call it that if you like.” Stevens kicked back his chair. “Listen, Joe!" he barked. “You go back and tell the boys that if they don’t go to work in the morning according to my orders I’ll tear up the dodgasted agreement and send out who I want, when I want him, and how I want it done; and if they don’t like that, you can all go to blazes.” Joe Saunders turned and walked slowly from the room and down the stairs. Stevens listened to the receding steps until they had died out, then he swung around in his swivel chair and gazed out the window. Presently his hand crept unconsciously to his face and his gnarled fingers pulled meditatively at his long black mustache. The scene from this window was one of which Stevens never tired; in fact, he had arranged his office so that this view would never be shut off. Now a tiny object emerged from a black hole far up on the side of the mountain that guarded the opposite side of the tumbling river, and commenced a steady descent. Presently it took the shape of an ore bucket travelling down a cable line, ultimately to spill its contents into the hopper of a bunker beside the railway almost beneath his window. At that moment another bucket emerged from the hole above and commenced its descent in the same manner, while the empty vessel jerked around a spool and started on the long ascent to the mine again. As the thoughtful blue eyes at the window gazed on this scene, a sudden glint of sun from upstream caught the swaying loaded bucket and sent out a sparkle of shimmering colors from the newly broken ore. The sun’s rays disappeared, to reappear a minute later and pour a startling crimson glow on a twin glacial peak farther downstream. The staring eyes were now fixed on these peaks and remained there until long after the sun had disappeared. More than once the rough hand brushed away moisture that threatened to obscure the scene entirely. For B. H. Stevens was living again the scenes that had surrounded his strenuous life in this valley during the past forty years. The eyelids narrowed and all but closed, and the half-burned cigar protruded, cold and motionless, from beneath the black mustache. He was hearing again the voice of Mary. “They’re like a couple of beautiful tombstones,” she had murmured that first evening they had sat to drink in the view. “Yours and mine, Bart. Let’s make this little spot our very own, now and for always ! This tiny valley we’re in now, I mean. It would be just wonderful, Bart, to think we would always have those two great monuments standing guard up there while we go about our work down here. And then, when we’re all through, they’ll be company while we sleep forever.” Dear, precious Mary! Why hadn’t she been permitted to live longer? He might have had a son, then, as well as a daughter. A son to help him carry on this work in the big valley. Already it was beginning to take its toll. A big mine and a paying railway were getting to be too much for one man. If big Jim Riley’s boy had turned out as he had hoped, things might have been different. But, drat his young hide, Barney was hopeless! Wanted to run a dinky locomotive instead of learning to run a big mine. Railroads, now—they didn’t mean much. He had built this one just to carry out the ore from the Billy Goat Mine to the P. & N. E. Railway at Moosehom, twenty miles to the north. And then, when the P. & N. E. had failed to meet his terms, he simply laid rails through the Panhandle to hook up with the S. L. & P., fifty miles south of the mine. That was the time the West named him “Bullhead,” and B. H. had promptly appropriated the name for his mining town. He smiled grimly now at the memory of that spring with the early thaw when the P. & N. E. was tied up for weeks and its officials came begging him to route their trains over his road via the S. L. & P. He had little idea, the day he made them pay his price, that he was securing permanent railway business. But when the prairie markets in Canada found they got their California fruits two days earlier than before the tie-up they never rested until they had obtained a tariff routing through the P. H. R. or “Billy Goat” line. After all, that was only railroading— a sideline for old B. H. Stevens. It fed his desire for fight occasionally when the two transcontinental tried to cut his slice of the tariff, but first and always he was a miner. Since the day, thirty years ago, when he shot the wild goat and thus uncovered the rich ore, there had been few days when he did not enjoy toiling up the long slope to the tunnel to watch the progress of his mine. If only he could have made something of young Riley, as he had promised Big Jim when he held him in his arms that day after the explosion. But, try as he might, the lad would slip away to perch on an ore car or a locomotive. Once B. H. had vigorously protested such conduct. “In the name of common sense, will you please tell me what you expect to learn from seeing a dirty black coal-eating locomotive jerk a few cars of ore around?” “More’n I’ll ever learn from hammerin’ at a pile of rock or shootin’ dynamite,” promptly returned Barney. Old Stevens pulled his long black mustache and shook his shaggy head sadly “You’ll never make a miner, Barney.” “I hope you’re right,” was all the satisfaction the mine owner received for his efforts. Another time the attack was made from a different angle. "You want to go on the railroad. All right. Suppose I give you a job on an engine as soon as you get big enough— what then? That’s as far as you’ll ever get. Think of that, lad. Sitting the rest of your days at the window of a dirty little dinky engine, with nothing better to do than pull a lever and blow a squeaky whistle. Surely, Barney, you have more gumption than that. What do you honestly think of it “Uncle Bull,” young Barney returned enthusiastically, “I think it would be great. When can I start?” So B. H. threw up his hands in disgust, and the day that young Riley was eighteen he gave him a birthday present of a scoop shovel and put him aboard an engine with old Joe Saunders. “I want you to work his young fool head off, Joe,” B. H. admonished. “Maybe it won’t look so good to him when he gets up there in the canyon with the sweat running down his nose. Don’t spare him, not for one holy minute!” U ARNEY was so happy to be at last actually employed on an engine that he just grinned and withheld any retort. He didn’t tire of the railroad. On the contrary, he lived and worked only for the day when he would be promoted to an engineer. “If he had only taken to mining,” sighed B. H. “Then I could have turned him over to my daughter and know she had a reliable man in charge. He’s just like Big Jim in every other way. Billie, now, she seems to like him, too. If he would only make something of himself—but, dash his young hide ! he’ll never get her with my consent so long as he has no more ambition than to pull the throttle of an engine.” The five o’clock whistle at the shops woke old B. H. with a start. He shuffled to his feet and pulled down his roll-top desk, then went out and down the stairs. As he walked toward the path leading up the hill, an engine snorted past him. running light to the roundhouse. He glanced up and noticed that young Riley was running it, getting acquainted with the job, as was the common custom of firemen. Probably Barney already knew as much about a locomotive as any engineer, B. H. mused. He was quick to learn when he wanted to. Ah! About that strike in the morning! Young Barney, now— He swung briskly into the path for home. An hour before the departure time of the south train next morning, Fireman Riley was called to the office of the president and manager. “Barney,” the old man opened without parley, “your father was my best friend and for a long time my partner. Do you know what partner means? Share everything, good or bad—that’s what it means. I promised him the minute before he died on my arm that I’d look after you and try to make something out of you. I've tried to do that, heaven knows, and you know too. lad. Listen. You owe me something now. We’re partners, see? I want an engineer today to run to Three Forks. You can do it. You know engines now. Will you?” The square shoulders of the tall youth at the window jerked back, and when he turned, his blue eyes hardened. “I can’t do that, Uncle Bull.” His voice was cold. “Why can’t you?” “I can’t be a scab.” “Scab, is it?” The old man sprang to his feet, tipping the chair. “Is is scabbing to be square with the man who has raised you the first time he's asked you for a hand? Is it, young man?” “I—I’m sorry about that. But I can’t see how that makes it any better. A scab’s a scab. I can’t take a job away from a man, especially a man with'a family. Anything else but that, I’d be glad to do, Uncle Bull.” “You’re not taking it away, I tell you. They have no job. They quit! I warned them I’d tear up the agreement. I’m offering you a new job. And I’ll guarantee it will be permanent. That’s what you wanted to be—an engineer. Now’s your chance, then. I’ll promote you right now, and you’ll be number one, with your choice of all runs. And maybe later on, lad, there’ll be something else in it for the son of Big Jim Riley.” The old man placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You owe this to me, Barney. I need you now and it’s the first time I ever asked you for help. You'll not refuse me?” Barney swallowed twice before he turned a resolute face to the other. “I’m sorry, uncle—Mr. Stevens,” he corrected, “but I can’t do it.” Stevens stood a moment, his seamed face working oddly, then he swung around. "All right,” he snapped. “Gothen. Go!” Without a backward glance Barney walked out. "LJE HAD gone half the distance to the -*■ roundhouse when he was hailed by a feminine voice and Billie Stevens, daughter of the old man, overtook him. “You going to help dad out, Barney?” she asked eagerly but with a strain of nervousness. Barney shook his head. “I can’t, Billie,” he said quietly. He saw her tanned cheeks blanch and felt her hand grip his arm spasmodically. “Why can’t you, Barney?” “I think you know, Billie,” he returned slowly. “You mean you won’t help dad after all he’s done for you? Oh, Barney!” “I’m sorry, Billie. But, darn it all, can’t you see how it is? What kind of a man would I be to take another’s job? I can’t scab, Billie, not even for your dad.” “But they quit, dad says. He warned them. They have only themselves to blame. The job is there, same as it always was, and they won’t go out on it.” “No, Billie,” Barney corrected evenly. “Not the same as always. It’s a whole lot different. Your dad wants to tie them up at the Forks without any extra allowance every night. And what for? Just because he won’t pay a little overtime for waiting on the fruit. How would you like to have to sleep down in that chuck hole every night when your own bed and the family were up here? And he’d not lose anything in the end. He could take it out of the S. L. & P. if they don't keep to contract. No, it’s just one of his bullheaded notions again, and I don’t blame the engineers for bucking it. Too bad the conductors ain’t got an agreement so they could strike, too.” ‘‘Barney Riley !” Billie exploded. “I think you’re horrible!” She held up an earnest face to him, and her dark eyes betrayed a film of moisture. “Barney,” she pleaded, "please do this; if not for dad, then Continued on page 30 Continued from page 21 For an instant he wavered and all but swept her to him in his mad desire to meet those full lips, already half pursed in their plea. Then resolutely he clenched his hands and shook his shaggy head gravely, meeting her eyes unflinchingly. ‘No, Billie, I can’t.” “Not for me, Barney?” she persisted. "Not if I give you your answer now?” “No, not even for that, Billie.” She jerked her hand free. “Then—then you didn’t mean all you said the other night! I—I think you’d better not come up the hill any—” Her voice broke, and Barney watched her stride swiftly back along the ties to the path that led up to the Stevens home. Then he took a long, deep breath and turned again to the roundhouse. '“PHEY were waiting for him there, all grouped about the hissing locomotive, for the news that young Barney was closeted with old Bullhead had spread quickly. Old Joe Saunders stood with arms akimbo until Barney came opposite. “Well !” he challenged. “What’s it gonna be, boy? You takin’ her out?” “No,” Barney returned briefly, his voice flat. “Good!” echoed six throats at once. “Who is, then?” asked Joe. “I don’t know. I rather think he was depending on me,” Barney informed them a trifle wearily. “A mighty good thing for you and that crazy old fool, too, that you didn’t, interjected a voice. Barney glared at the speaker. "Listen, Pete,” he grated. “You can say what you like with me, but don’t say no more about B. H. Understand? He’s the best friend I ever had—you, too, if you only had sense enough to see it.” “Why you young—” But old Joe stepped between the belligerents. “Stow it, Pete!” he admonished sharply. "The lad’s right. B. H. has always done us square until now.” “That’s ’cause it paid him to be square,” insisted Pete Larson. “I’ll bet you he’d fetch in a dozen scabs right now if he could get ’em. Why—well, I’ll be—look! The old divil himself!” Down the track strode B. H. Stevens, each step crunching grimly the cinders beneath the heavy soles of his mining boots. Only his hands and grizzled head protruded from his stiffly-new blue-striped overalls. To complete the costume, a peaked cap all but covered the fringe of grey hair and a heavy pair of goggles were stretched about his seamed forehead. As he strode up, he pulled on a pair of fringed and beaded gauntlets. With a defiant glare at the group, he walked directly to the standing engine and reached for the grab handles. “I want a fireman!” he barked. “You, Riley—or are you on strike, too?” Barney glanced around the group and noted that there were no other firemen present. He shot an interrogative glance at Joe Saunders and Joe nodded. “Sure. Go ahead. This is only a hoggers’ fight. You might as well have an easy day of it. Bet you don’t get ten miles with him. He don’t know nothin’ about an engine.” “Well, I reckon it’s his own railroad,” grinned Bill Bowers. “He can do what he likes with it.” Engine No. 10 emitted a snort of surprise at the strange hand on her throttle when, a moment later, she jerked to attention and sped protestingly down the track toward a waiting string of ore cars. For several minutes there followed a scene of noisy activity such as had seldom been witnessed in the Bullhead railway yard. Barney Riley looked across the boiler and grinned. ‘‘Thought they could bulldoze old Stevens, did they!” came in a harsh mutter from the right window. The drive wheels spun dizzily as steam was forced unduly into the cylinders. “Thought no one else could run one of these old teapots, eh? I’ll show ’em. Bullhead, that’s me!” The old man glared at the panting boiler. “Snort, ding ye! I’ll make you do your work! You ain’t got one of those soft-shelled eggs a-pettin’ and a-strokin’ ya now. Come on! Show some speed!” Cars clattered and slammed into each other with a series of reports that brought all those not directly employed to the strange scene. Once, when backing into a string of cars, the new engineer was jolted so sharply that he was nearly catapulted out the door behind him. There was a subdued whoop from the gaping audience and an unsubdued curse from the fireman as he was toppled into the coal pile, but Barney came up grinning and pulled his way to safety on his window seat, where he exchanged signals with the amused watchers. This was going to be good. “Bullhead, eh? That’s me, all right ! And I know a few old fat-headed fools that call themselves engineers what are gonna wish they hadn’t riled this old bull.” 'T'HE ore train for Three Forks was finally made up and checked by the conductor who emerged presently from the station office with the train orders, and when these had been duly signed and delivered the train moved out with the acting engineer still glaring defiance at the muttering group who had thought to defeat him. The heavy train had rumbled southbound for somewhat more than an hour when the grizzled figure at the right window beckoned his fireman. “Have you thought it over, lad?” he asked not unkindly. “Better take on this job now. It’ll be the makings of you. You’ll be an engineer—what you always wanted.” Barney shook his head decidedly. “Nope ! I haven’t seen anything to make me change my mind yet. When I take an engineer’s job it will be on the level and not to break a strike.” Stevens clicked his jaws and reached for the whistle cord. He knew it was about time to blow for the long grade of Cayuse Mountain. He had stood beside old Joe Saunders in the cab many times, and had never ceased to marvel at the fact that, by moving a lever, the engineer could apply brakes to every wheel in the train behind him and control hundreds of tons. But never once had Stevens asked for the privilege of handling the train himself. Well he knew how easily a train could get beyond control and how difficult it was to regain that control. And now, for the first time, Stevens approached this dangerous point on the road with a heavy ore train depending on his unskilled judgment, and he realized with a start how foolhardy he had been in undertaking the job alone. Handling an engine with straight air was one thing; controlling 9 train with automatic air on a mountain grade was entirely different. Stevens cast one sidelong, penetrating glance at the young face opposite, but if Barney was worried he gave no sign. The old man turned grimly to his task. The train gained speed rapidly now, and he knew that he should make a running test of brakes. He gripped the handle nervously, but withheld turning it. Would he handle it right, or would something serious follow his unskilled application? Would that young headstrong Barney change his mind and come over and take control? The train was tearing along now with a terrific din, a high rock wall on one side and the boiling river on the other. It must be time for a reduction of speed, but somehow Stevens couldn’t start it. He glanced across at Barney again. The young devil was actually whistling, with his head hanging out the window. Drat his hide! Nothing worried him. Did he know what danger they were heading into? He was as independent as his father, Big Jim Riley—and as fearless. It was a pity he hadn’t shown more ambition for real work. Stevens gripped the automatic lever now in final determination. He moved it slowly across and heard the faint rush of air through the open port, then suddenly came a harsh metallic crash and the engine was jerked back like a horse on its haunches. He braced himself and stared at his fireman. “What was that?” he demanded when finally the train had jolted violently to a stop. “What did I do?” Barney was still whistling as he leaned out to gaze back along the train. “I reckon Conductor Jake did that,” he replied. “Opened up the conductor’s emergency valve on you. Anyway, between the two of you, we’ve got two trains now. There’s a full carlength of open space back there about the middle.” Stevens made as if to get down, then thought better of it and waited nervously until Jake came up. “What kind of a way is that to take a train of rock down a mountain?” Jake growled. “Do you want to dump us all in the river?” “I didn’t do anything,” Stevens defended. Jake opened his mouth, but words failed while he gaped at the engine crew. “I know you didn’t,” he grumbled. “But why didn’t you? Paralyzed?” STEVENS disdained reply and slid to the ground, heading back to the scene of trouble. He found both brakemen fixing chains to the crippled ends, where a drawbar had pulled out, and he worked industriously with them while they made repairs and signalled Barney to back up and close the broken space. When all was again secure Stevens walked back to the engine, but instead of taking his place at the throttle he stood in the door.” “Listen, Barney,” he spoke firmly. “You’re running this engine the rest of the trip. Get over there and take her. We’ve lost too much time already.” Barney merely grinned. "Can’t do it, boss,” he replied, reaching for his tobacco pouch to roll a cigarette. “I'm only a common, ordinary, scrub fireman.” “That’s all right. You’re gonna run this engine just the same. I’m promoting you right now. You’re not a fireman any more, you’re an engineer.” Barney continued to roll his smoke. . “We threshed that out this morning,” he reminded. . “This is different. You left Bullhead as a fireman all right, but you’re an engineer now. And, according to law, an engineer can’t abandon his engine between terminals. Now you get over there and take this train into Three Forks, and no more argument. Savee?” Barney stared a full minute while he digested this last development. Slowly he lit a cigarette. Then, biting his lip to restrain the grin that fought for possession of his face, he got down from his seat on the left. "Okay, boss,” he replied with studied unwillingness. “I reckon you’ve got me this time.” He stepped slowly across the deck and took the whistle cord. “If I’m engineer I’m in charge of this engine, and you’ll have to act as fireman or else get another.” He yanked the whistle twice, and in due time obtained a "highball” signal from the rear. Then he kicked off the air, and presently the ore train was on its way down the long hill. The first half of that hill had worried the erstwhile engineer, but in less than two minutes after manipulating the change of personnel Stevens began to doubt the wisdom of his judgment. The next few minutes seemed the longest of his eventful life, filled as they were with a continuous confusion of regret, fear, and strenuous effort to remain in an upright position anywhere in the cab. The odd glances he obtained of the newly promoted engineer showed him a devil-may-care countenance, with cap pulled well down over his eyes and wide shoulders leaning far out the window. Each time Stevens opened his mouth to shout a protest the engine lunged around a curve or shot over a spider-leg trestle at a speed forbidding argument. On straight track again, he felt sure he detected a trace of amusement on that face across the boiler. “Thinks he’ll make me squeal,” he muttered. “I’ll show the young fool. He can dump us all in the river before I’ll holler.” Down they swept, taking each curve at an increasingly dangerous angle, the furtive eyes beneath the peak cap glancing sharply over to note the result on the elderly helper. They entered another curve which broke Stevens’ hold on the seat and plunged him into a comer. “Hey there, you young fool!” he bawled. “Ain’t you got no sense at all? Slow down ! Slow down, I say! You might hit a rock along here!” Barney didn’t tum his head to reply, but emitted the words from the side of his mouth. “You wanted speed, didn’t you? Get me a slow order if you don’t like it.” Stevens clamped his mouth tight and clung grimly to the window once more. With such speed the hill was soon left behind, however, and once on bottom grade Barney studied the steam gauge. The best was yet to come, he mused. “How about a little steam, stoker?” he called. The president and manager, reduced to a grimy fireman, slid awkwardly from his seat and seized the shovel. The needle slowly dropped back below normal needs, but by judicious use of steam the young engineer succeeded in reaching the terminal at Three Forks. If luck was with him, there would be an interesting return trip. It was. The fruit cars had already been transferred from the S. L. &P., some four hours earlier than usual. Disregarding his new rule, Stevens ordered the crew back again. There were a few mutterings from the caboose, but Barney threw a broad wink over the lunch counter and soon they were heading north again. CLIMBING was different. Barney opened the throttle now with regard for neither engine nor fireman. Stevens plied the shovel faithfully, but of course unskilfully. As the long hill approached the speed slackened, and the train finally died less than half a mile from the bottom. Barney settled back on his seat and rolled a cigarette. The fireman straightened his back and looked around. “What are we stopping here for?” he queried. “Cold water,” informed Barney casually, lighting his smoke. “Cold water?” “Yep! It’s got to be hot before it’ll make steam, Mr. Tallowpot. So you’d better get busy with that old scoop, for, believe me, it’s a long, long way to the summit.” Stevens looked at the gauge. The needle was almost at the bottom. Without another word he swung around and peeled off his jumper, rolling up his sleeves to the shoulders. Barney observed this with a subdued twinkle in his eye. The grate needed shaking, but that would keep. It was not in his plan to teach his student fireman everything at once. The steam gauge hand slowly moved up, but it was still under working pressure when a voice called from the ground outside. “I didn’t get any wait order here. Did you, Barney?” Barney turned j lazy head to the doorway. “Thjs here’s a fruit train. Jake, ain’t it? The boss thinks we shouldn’t overheat it.” “Huh!” snorted Jake. “At this rate, it’ll be rotten before we get it over the The fireman checked the gauge. ‘‘What’re we waiting for now?” he demanded briskly. “Looks like a full head of steam to me.” Barney turned to see. “Well, well, so it is,” he chirped. “Let’s go, Jake!” He jerked the whistle cord and released the brakes. No. 10 barked sharply and spun her wheels, showering sparks skyward without regard for the fire. The train slowly moved away, only to stall once more within its own length when the steam dropped down to zero. Barney yawned and dropped down from his seat to fish out his lunch. Stevens mopped his face and neck and glared at the youth. “Here,” he snapped, tendering the scoop, “you toss in some for a while. I need a rest. I’m not a real fireman, you know.” Barney shook his head gravely. “I’d like to, boss,” he replied, “but I can’t do it. I’m the engineer. Got to stay over here in my position. Can’t do both, you know.” "Bah ! Who made you engineer?” Stevens challenged. “I did. And now I’m making you a fireman.” Barney leaned back and munched a sandwich. “Sorry and all that, boss, but it can’t be done. Here, have a sandwich. You must be hungry. No? Well, suit yourself. You see, it’s the law that I'm in charge of this goat now till we get to the terminal. Not even the president can change that.” Stevens gulped. “You stubborn young fool!” he gritted. “I should have known I'd have trouble bringing you on a trip like this.” He kicked open the firebox and savagely shovelled in They made another half mile and stopped. Jake came up to suggest doubling. “We never had to double before with this tonnage,” he grumbled. “Cripes, man, this fruit’ll be rotten soon!” Barney turned to his fireman. “How about it, boss?” “No,” snarled Stevens. “Not if we stay here till the cars rot, too.” “That’s the spirit, boss,” encouraged Jake, with a wink at Barney. “I’ll just go back and fill in the time slip. We’ll sure make it pay this trip.” They moved another length and stalled. And then another. Each time the gauge resumed normal, Barney opened up and drove the fire through the stack. The sun settled over Cayuse Mountain with the summit yet two miles off. Stevens noticed it and threw down the shovel, exhausted. “What'll you take and do the firing, too, Barney?” he panted. Barney studied the worn features and stooped shoulders a moment and almost relented; then, recovering, he slid from his seat and walked across the cab. “You'll admit then. Uncle Bull,” he demanded evenly, “that there’s something to this locomotive running after all?” The older man nodded wearily. “I had no idea it was so hard,” he conceded. “There’s only one way you can square yourself now,” Barney informed him. “Call off this strike.” Stevens stiffened. “No,” he snarled. “Never!” “All right, then. What’ll you do? Where’ll you get men to break it? Fetch them in from outside maybe, if you can. Then what? Kick out the men that stood by you all these years, through snow and ice and slides and fires and what not, risking their lives just to keep things going when they might have quit on you? And what’ll you gain? A few lousy dollars, that’s all. And what’ll you lose? You’ll lose the best railroad crews you can ever expect to get—all your old friends for years, your old partners.” The grim young face was bent close to Stevens’ now and he bit off each word sharply. “What do you gain, I ask you? What are you doing it for? I’ll tell you. You’re doing it just to satisfy your old bullheadedness, that’s what.” ’ I 'HE bent head looked up in dazed surprise. That voice recalled memories. He had heard it just like that long ago on rare occasions when big Jim Riley—his oldtime partner, the best friend he ever had— spoke his mind. Even the words were his. Bullheadedness. Just the way big Jim had said it. And Jim had been right. A good fault at times, maybe—Jim had conceded that—but more often ruinous. Stevens stared about him as though suddenly waking from a dream. That shovel in his own gnarled, grimy hand. Why, he was a fool to be here like this, firing a dirty little locomotive, or trying to, and half killing himself in the attempt. What for? Just because he was bullheaded. He jerked about. “Barney, lad! You’re a son of old Jim himself, for sure! And you’re right. Call up Jake and tell him to get a message ready for the agent at Summit. Tell him to wire Joe Saunders that the strike’s off. Everything goes back as before and no time lost. And listen, lad. Get this infernal scrapheap of an engine out of here and into camp and I’ll pay you double wages and a little bonus besides.” “Yeh,” agreed Barney, “but how about that promotion to engineer?” B. H. Stevens pulled at his long black mustache. “I reckon you’ll have to work it out of your system, you young whelp,” he sighed. “No use tryin’ to make a miner out of a fool railroader. But you listen to me! If you’re going to keep cornin’ around my Billie girl you’ll jest naturally have to get busy and learn how to run the whole railroad. Now get you busy and get this train out of here!” “And how !” whooped Barney Riley, seizing a scoop. “Me, I’m keen for that there bonus. That’ll make a nice little wedding trip for me and Billie.” Wedding trip! Old B. H. Stevens sighed heavily and pulled himself to the left side seat. Wedding trip for little Billie! Yes, that’s what he might expect. He seemed to grow very old. His eyes wandered across the cab to gaze again at the head at the right window. Engine No. 10 was barking rhythmically now under Barney’s enthusiastic guidance as though it felt the pulse of new and youthful life. And presently an eager young hand reached for and pulled the long terminal whistle for Bullhead. The tired eyes peered out to catch a glimpse of the last rays of the sun on Tombstone Mountain, and suddenly he scrambled to his feet and made for the door. At the station platform a group of eager folks were waiting to welcome them. They’d be cheering for young Barney and giving him credit for winning the strike. Old Stevens slipped quietly to the ground before the engine had stopped and melted into the gathering twilight. Firmly he walked up the slope to the little valley, the valley that was his and Mary’s. For now he had something new to confide in his partner who waited for him there. And while he communed with her, the twin beauties would stand guard above and smile their agreement that all was well once more in Panhandle Valley.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0019.xml
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22,23,24,47,48
FICTION
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Another exciting chapter of There's No Such Word
In which Romance wrests temporary victory from Statesmanship and a lover becomes a Kidnapper
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ROLAND PERTWEE
THE proverb "All the world loves a lover” is not always borne out by results. It is more often the case that all the world finds a lover, or rather finds those quiet places in which lovers seek to ensconce themselves apart from the intrusion of other influences.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0020.xml
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25,28,41
GENERAL ARTICLES
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Speaking of Toronto
Maclean’s readers pronounce judgment on Ralph Thorpe’s “Toronto Gives Me a Pain”
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At last I have received my money’s worth. I lived in Toronto for a couple of years a long time ago and have been wondering what has been the matter with me ever since, but after reading Ralph B. Thorpe’s “Toronto Gives Me a Pain” I know; I have never got over the pain that Toronto gave me then.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0021.xml
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26
REVIEW of REVIEWS
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Wells Looks at the Future
English writer predicts disaster for world unless new viewpoint supplants the old
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H. G. WELLS
IN THE November 15 number of Maclean's Winston Churchill prophesied what the world would be like fifty years from now. In John o’ London’s Weekly (London) H. G. Wells has recently written on the same subject, and it may therefore be of interest to compare the statements of these two eminent Englishmen.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0022.xml
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27
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FELS & COMPANY: FELS-NAPTHA
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FELS & COMPANY
FELS-NAPTHA
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0023.xml
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29
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GENERAL MOTORS: Chevrolet Six
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GENERAL MOTORS
Chevrolet Six
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0024.xml
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30
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"A Time There Was."
(A little history of floor coverings and the modern woman's opinion on this matter).
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THE first floors known to mankind were of grass and sand, and the floors of caves. Later, when houses or shelters were erected, beaten earth was considered quite in style. Later, paving stones were introduced, and the Romans delighted in floors of terrazzo, made from embedding small pieces of marble in cement.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0025.xml
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Advertisement: DEL MONTE Crushed PINEAPPLE
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DEL MONTE Crushed PINEAPPLE
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0026.xml
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32
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CANADIAN MARCONI COMPANY: MARCONI SHORT-LONG WAVE RADIO RECEIVER
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CANADIAN MARCONI COMPANY
MARCONI SHORT-LONG WAVE RADIO RECEIVER
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0027.xml
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33
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Advertisement: Chipso
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Chipso
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0028.xml
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34
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BURGESS BATTERY COMPANY: Burgess Batteries
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BURGESS BATTERY COMPANY
Burgess Batteries
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0029.xml
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34
34,61
How Much Do You Know?
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How Much Do You Know?
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1. How many degrees are there in a circle? 2. Where is the port of Batavia? 3. What is the name of the poem by Bryant, the first line of which is “Whither, midst falling dew”? 4. What is a ruminant? 5. What is the meaning of ubiquitous? 6. What is a philatelist?
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0030.xml
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35
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Canadian Kodak Co., Limited
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Canadian Kodak Co., Limited
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0031.xml
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36
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IMPERIAL OIL LIMITED: Mobiloil Arctic
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IMPERIAL OIL LIMITED
Mobiloil Arctic
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0032.xml
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37
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KNECHTELS LIMITED
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KNECHTELS LIMITED
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0033.xml
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38
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Advertisements
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0034.xml
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STEVENS-HEPNER CO. LIMITED
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STEVENS-HEPNER CO. LIMITED
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0035.xml
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40
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CAMPANA CORPORATION LIMITED
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CAMPANA CORPORATION LIMITED
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0036.xml
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41
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THE BUTTERICK PUBLISHING COMPANY
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THE BUTTERICK PUBLISHING COMPANY
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[no value]
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0037.xml
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41
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THE MACLEAN PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED
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THE MACLEAN PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED
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[no value]
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0038.xml
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41
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Pertussin Limited
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Pertussin Limited
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0039.xml
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42
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Advertisements
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0040.xml
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43
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BAUER & BLACK LTD.
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BAUER & BLACK LTD.
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0041.xml
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44
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Advertisements
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0042.xml
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45
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FRASCATI HOTEL & GOLF CLUB
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FRASCATI HOTEL & GOLF CLUB
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0043.xml
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45
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THE MACLEAN PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED
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THE MACLEAN PUBLISHING COMPANY, LIMITED
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0044.xml
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46
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The MacLean Publishing Company, Limited,
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The MacLean Publishing Company, Limited,
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0045.xml
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47
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THE GREAT-WEST LIFE ASSURANCE COMPANY
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THE GREAT-WEST LIFE ASSURANCE COMPANY
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0046.xml
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47
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Advertisement
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0047.xml
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48
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Dominion Art Metal Works, Ltd.: RONSON LYTACASE
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Dominion Art Metal Works, Ltd.
RONSON LYTACASE
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0048.xml
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49
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WHITE STAR LINE CANADIAN SERVICE
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WHITE STAR LINE CANADIAN SERVICE
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0049.xml
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50
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THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY
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THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0050.xml
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51
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Advertisement: BRITISH CONSOLS
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BRITISH CONSOLS
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0051.xml
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52
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The MacLean Publishing Company, Limited: Canada's Fighting Airmen
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The MacLean Publishing Company, Limited
Canada's Fighting Airmen
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0052.xml
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53,54,55
WOMEN AND THE HOME
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HOME-MADE CANDY
Making candy is almost as much fun as eating it
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HELEN G. CAMPBELL
WAS there ever a child who did not love candy? Or ever a girl who has not tried her youthful hand at fudge or taffy or the other simple home-made confections which have such a universal appeal? It is almost as much fun to make candy as to eat it. This month, when the young folks are home from school, there will be a raid on the sugar supply, and the store of nuts and raisins, of peel and chocolate, will be fast depleted.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0053.xml
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54
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Advertisements
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0054.xml
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55
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OXO Limited
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OXO Limited
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0055.xml
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56
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0056.xml
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56
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Advertisement: VICKS VAPORUB
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VICKS VAPORUB
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0057.xml
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56
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0058.xml
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57,60
Maclean’s Cross-word Puzzle
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Maclean’s Cross-word Puzzle
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Epicureans ought to be able to get 1 horizontal at a glance. It's another word for one of their number. At the same time, it’s a sample of the rest of the puzzle, which makes it good for the real fans. Horizontal 1. Pertaining to dainty. expensive cookery
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0059.xml
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0060.xml
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57
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W. G. PATRICK & CO. LTD.
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W. G. PATRICK & CO. LTD.
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0061.xml
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57
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J. T. Wait Co., Ltd.
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J. T. Wait Co., Ltd.
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0062.xml
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58
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Advertisement: MACLEAN’S MAGAZINE
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MACLEAN’S MAGAZINE
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0063.xml
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59,60
WOMEN AND THE HOME
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Rejuvenating the Bathroom
Good taste and sound materials are just as important in the bathroom as in any other room in the house
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F. L. DEN. SCOTT
AN INTELLIGENT home-owner, in discussing plans for a new house, remarked to the architect that the bathroom should be ranked with the entrance hall and the living room in that these rooms were furnished to meet the eyes of guests as well as for the comfort and convenience of the family.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0064.xml
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60
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Advertisement: Edison Mazda Lamp
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Edison Mazda Lamp
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0065.xml
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60
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HOURD &. CO„ LIMITED
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HOURD &. CO„ LIMITED
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0066.xml
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60
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0067.xml
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0068.xml
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THE CANADIAN SPOOL COTTON CO.
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THE CANADIAN SPOOL COTTON CO.
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0069.xml
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Bissell Carpet Sweeper Co. of Canada, Limited
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Bissell Carpet Sweeper Co. of Canada, Limited
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0070.xml
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62
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A. E. AMES & CO. LIMITED
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A. E. AMES & CO. LIMITED
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0071.xml
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Advertisement: MACLEAN’S MAGAZINE
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MACLEAN’S MAGAZINE
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0072.xml
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0073.xml
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THE FINANCIAL POST
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THE FINANCIAL POST
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0074.xml
article
62
62,63
BUSINESS & INVESTMENTS
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Canada’s Position as a Gold Producer
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F. B. HOUSSER
FOR many years Canadian mining men and those familiar at first hand with our mining industry have been preaching the importance to the country of gold mining, but it is only now, when gold is selling at a premium, that Canadians as a whole are beginning to appreciate what the industry means from a national standpoint.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0075.xml
article
63
63
BUSINESS & INVESTMENTS
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Financial Queries
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Question—I have stock in Canada Dairies. We were informed that they had sold out, and were asked to send proxies to a meeting held last winter, but have not heard from them since, neither have we received dividends. Would you please let me know what they are doing ?
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0076.xml
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63
63
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NESBITT, THOMSON and Company Limited
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NESBITT, THOMSON and Company Limited
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0077.xml
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63
63
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Advertisement
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0078.xml
article
64
64
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WIT AND WISDOM
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JOSEPH EASTON McDOUGALL
Here lies Leroy Orestes Rand, Astronomer, who sought and scanned New planets, stars and suns that race Through dim, unfathomable space. He marked the vague, erratic courses Of comets, and revealed the sources Of cosmic light in spheres that hovered In vast, new voids—by him discovered.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0079.xml
article
65
65,66
HUMOR
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SPILT MILK
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AN ACQUAINTANCE of ours, imbued with the spirit of eternal youth, used to have a peculiar type of practical joke in which he specialized, but he doesn’t do it any more. When someone would ring his telephone number in error he would pretend to be the person whom they wanted.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0080.xml
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67
67
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Gillette
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Gillette
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0081.xml
article
68
68
Brickbats and Bouquets
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Brickbats and Bouquets
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I suppose that long ere this reaches you from far-off South Africa, you will have had shoals of appreciative letters from readers who were profoundly impressed by Lieut.Col. Drew’s powerful article which has exposed the despicable methods by which those “Salesmen of Death” coined their thousands—virtually out of the blood of their fellow men.
Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0082.xml
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69
69
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Advertisement: LUX
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LUX
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0083.xml
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70
70
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Maclean's_19311201_0044_023_0084.xml