University of Wisconsin Digital Collections
Link to University of Wisconsin Digital Collections
Link to University of Wisconsin Digital Collections
The Gender and Women's Studies Collection

Page View

Graeve, Oscar (ed.) / Delineator
Vol. 117, No. 2 (August, 1930)

[Continued articles and works],   pp. 38-69 PDF (20.5 MB)


Page 38

DELINEATOR
Perils of
- EOUELAF
-  ) phtheria
W  Prventable
ypoda     a uo . p&
7 EQUELAE" (seh-kwe&-
lee) is the doctor's word
for the whole range of
consequences and serious com-
plications following certain ill-
nesses. Weakened hearts, kid-
neys, lungs, defective hearing
or eyesight and other physical
impairments may be the Seque-
lae of many diseases.
There is a homely old expres-
sion, "not out of the woods
yet", which fairly describes the
condition of a patient who has
successfully passed the crisis
of a serious illness.
Your doctor will tell you that
sometimes the Sequelae,
or after-effects, are more
to be dreaded than the
disease from which you
are apparently recover-
COLDS break ground for
pneumonia, influenza, or
tuberculosis. Deafness,
sinus infection, or chronic
rheumatism, or a weak-
ened heart may follow an
ordinary cold.
SCARLET FEVER may
affect the heart, kidneys
or ears.
RHEUMATIC FEVER often
seriously injures the heart.
DIPHTHERIA may injure
the heart dangerously or
cause paralysis.
Metropolitan Life Insurance Co.  Dept.80D
I Madison Ave., New York City
Flease send free booklet (or booklets) checked below:
Diphtheria             0 Whooping Cough
Typhoid Fever          7] Measles
Scarlet Fever          [] Rheumatism
Tonsils and Adenoids   O Colds
Name................................
Street Address.........................
ity   .                    Stite........
ing. Don't think him an alarmist
if his orders are strict about
not getting up from bed too
soon, or if he makes a thorough
physical examination after you
think you are entirely well.
The Metropolitan health
booklets tell in plain language
how some of the Sequelae of
diseases may be avoided. If
anyone in your family is suffer-
ing or recovering from one of
the diseases which may leave
serious after-effects, send for
the Metropolitan's booklet
concerning it and learn just
what you should know about
the possible Sequelae.
Address Booklet Dept.
83o-D  and  name the
booklet you want.   It
will be mailed free.
i~lAl
MEASLES may be followed
by pneumonia, kidney
trouble, loss of sight or
hearing.
WHOOPING COUGH may
be followed by pneumonia
or tuberculosis.
TONSILAR INFECTION
may be followed by rheu-
matic fever or heart
trouble.
TYPHOID FEVER leaves
the patient more suscep-
tible to other diseases and
sometimes affects the heart
and gall-bladder.
METROPOLITAN LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY
FREDERICK H. ECKER. PRESIDENT  ^. ONE MADISON AVE., NEW YORK, N. Y.
'4
since they put that railway here?"
The old chap had paused, leaning on his
spud.
"Ten years and more."
"What did they do with the graves in that
corner?"
"Ah! I never did 'old with that."
"What did they do with them? I asked
you."
"Why-just dug 'em up."
"And the coffins?"
"I dunno. Ax parson. They was old graves
-an 'undred years or more, mostly."
"They were not-one was my mother's-
1821."
"Ah! I mind-there was a newish stone."
"What did they do with it?"
The old chap had gazed up at him, then, as
if suddenly aware of the abnormal, on the
path before him:
"I b'lieve they couldn' trace the owner-
ax parson, 'e may know."
"How long has he been here?"
"Four year come Michaelmas.     Old
parson's dead, but present parson 'e may 'ave
some information."
LIKE some beast deprived of his kill, old
Jolyon stood. Dead! That rufian dead!
"Don't you know what they did with the
coffins-with the bones?"
"Couldn' say-buried somewhere again, I
suppose-maybe the doctors got some-
couldn' say. As I tell you, vicar, 'emay know.
And spitting on his hands, he turned again
to weeding . . .
The vicar? He had been no good, had
known nothing, or so he had said-no one
had known! Liars-yes, liars-he didn't be-
lieve a word of what they said. They hadn't
wanted to trace the owner, for fear of having
a stopper put on them! Gone, dispersed-all
but the entry of the burial! Over the ground
where she had lain, that railway sprawled,
trains roared. And he, on one of those trains,
had been forced to go back to that London
which had enmeshed his heart and soul so
that, as it were, he had betrayed her who had
borne him! But who would have thought
of such a thing? Sacred ground! Was nothing
proof against the tide of progress-not even
the dead committed to the earth?
He reached for a match, but his cigar
tasted bitter and he pitched it away. He
hadn't told Jo, he shouldn't tell Jo-not a
thing for a boy to hear. A boy would never
understand how life got hold of you when you
once began to make your way. How one
thing brought another till the past went out
of your head, and interests multiplied in an
ever-swelling tide, lapping over sentiment and
memory, and the green things of youth. A
boy would never comprehend how progress
marched inexorably on, transforming the
quiet places of the earth. And yet, perhaps
the boy ought to know-might be a lesson to
him. No! He shouldn't tell him-it would
hurt to let him know that one had let one's
own mother-! He took up The Times. Ah!
What a difference! He could remember The
Times when he first came up to London-
tiny print, such as they couldn't read now-
adays. The Times-one double sheet with the
Parliamentary debates, and a few advertise-
ments of places wanted, and people wanting
them. And look at it now, a great crackling,
flourishing affair with print twice the size!
were innocent of culture, knew nothing of
good music or art, and cared not at all for in-
ternational affairs.
In many things that make for civilization,
modern youth-both young men and girls-
is incomparably ahead of the younger gener-
ation forty years ago.
A large number of modern undergraduates
have traveled in Europe; they are well ac-
quainted with good literature, good music,
good plays; they know not only books, but the
various editions of books; many of them in-
dulge in intelligent conversation. In all these
things there has been an amazing advance.
The door creaked. What was that? Oh,
yes-tea coming in! His wife was upstairs,
unwell; and they had brought it to him here
"Send some up to your mistress," he said,
"and tell Master Jo."
Stirring his tea-his own firm's best Soo-
chong-he read about the health of Lord
Palmerston, and of how that precious
mountebank of a chap, the French Emperor,
came over on a visit. And then the boy came
in. "Ah! Here you are, Jo! Tea's getting
strong."
And as the little chap drank, old Jolyon
looked at him. Tomorrow he was going to
that great place where they turned out
prime ministers and bishops and where they
taught manners-at least he hoped so-and
how to despise trade. H'm! Would the boy
learn to despise his own father? And sud-
denly there welled up in old Jolyon all his
primeval honesty, and that peculiar inde-
pendence which made him respected among
men, and a little feared.
"You asked just now about your grand-
mother, Jo. I didn't tell you how, when I
went down thirty years after her death, I
found that her grave had been (lug up to
make room for a railway. There wasn't a
trace of it to be found, and nobody could or
would tell me anything about it."
The boy held his teaspoon above his cup,
and gazed-how innocent and untouched he
looked-then suddenly his face went pinker
and he said:
"What a shame, Dad!"
"Yes, some ruffian of a parson allowed it,
and never let us know. But it was my fault,
Jo; I ought to have been seeing to her grave
all along."
And again the boy said nothing, eating his
cake, and looking at his father. And old
Jolyon thought: "Well, I've told him."
Suddenly the boy piped up:
"That's what they did with the mummies,
Dad."
THEI mummies!    What mummies?     Oh!
Those things they had been seeing at the
British Museum. And old Jolyon was silent,
staring back over the sands of time. Odd,
how it hadn't occurred to him. Odd! Yet
the box had noticed it! Um! Now, what did
that signify? And in old Jolyon there stirred
some dim perception of mental movement be-
tween his generation and his son's. Two and
two made four. And he hadn't seen it! Queer!
But in Egypt they said it was all sand! Per-
haps things came up of their own accord.
And then-though there might be, as he had
said, descendants living, they were not sons
or grandsons. Still! The boy had seen the
hearing of it and he hadn't. He said abruptly:
"Finished your packing, Jo?"
"Yes, Dad, only do you think I could take
my white mice?"
"Well, my boy, I don't know-perhaps
they're a bit young for Eton. The place
thinks a lot of itself, you know."
"Yes, Dad."
Old Jolyon's heart turned over within him.
Bless the little chap! What he was in for!
"Did you have white mice, Dad?"
Old Jolyon shook his head.
"No, Jo; we weren't as civilized as all that
in my young day."
"I wonder if those mummies had them,"
said young Jolyon.
A lady from out of town told me she came
to New Haven to attend an important con-
cert. She hurried into a restaurant to get a
hasty meal. She had happened to enter one
filled with students; and she supposed the
conversation at the tables around her would
be devoted to athletics, motion pictures, and
automobiles. She was amazed to find that
most of the talk was excellent, interesting
conversation on interesting themes.
There is a straightforward frankness and
honesty about young people today that should
command the admiration of older men and wo-
men. Outwardly they are (Turn to page40)
SANDS OF TIME
Continued from page ii
TONSILS & ADENOJ
& fo   oYu  A
YOUTH
Continued from page 12
38


Go up to Top of Page