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Graeve, Oscar (ed.) / Delineator
Vol. 118, No. 6 (June, 1931)

[Continued articles and works],   pp. 40-44 PDF (3.0 MB)


Page 40

40
All Over the World
(J N New York, London, Paris,
Berlin and other great medical
centers of the world, physicians
and scientists are at work night
and day trying to find the cause,                            -    . c.
prevention and cure of cancer.
HEN the hoped-for,
worked-for and prayed-
for discovery is really made the
whole world will be told of it
by front-page headlines in
newspapers, radio broadcast-
ing and magazines.
Meanwhile science is making
steady progress in fighting the
disease which kills more peo-
ple, past 40, in the United
States than any other disease
but one-heart disease.
As in many other wars against
disease, the great weapon at
present is education-spread-
ing the knowledge that cancer
in its early stages can often
be destroyed by radium
and x-rays or removed
by surgery. But there is
no accepted proof that      I
any drug, serum or local
application can cure it.
Cancer itself is neither
hereditary nor conta-
gious. Its early develop-
ment is usually painless.
But while cancer prowls,
like a thief in the night,
attacking  and  robbing
the unwary, alert de-
fense against it is saving
thousands of lives.
Complete health exami-
nations, made in time to
locate the presence of
the enemy, are the best de-
fense against cancer.
Be suspicious of all abnormal
lumps, strange growths, swell-
ings, sores that refuse to heal,
or unusual discharges from
any part of the body. Look
out for moles, old scars, birth-
marks or warts that change in
appearance. If you have jag-
ged or broken teeth, have them
smoothed off or removed. Con-
tinued irritation of the tongue
or any other part of the body
is often the beginning of can-
cer trouble.
Quacks and charlatans, who
claim to have discovered secret
cancer   cures", prey
upon the ignorance of
their victims-and they
lose precious time when
every hour is of utmost
value in preventing the
growth of the disease.
Modern science appeals
to intelligence.  Many
untimely deaths can be
prevented by getting rid
of cancerous growths.
Especially is this true
while they are local and
confined to a small area.
Send for the Metropoli-
tan's booklet, "A Mes-
sage of Hope". Ask for
Booklet 63i-D which
will be mailed free.
METROPOLITAN LiFE INSURANCE COMPANY
FREDERICK H. EcKEIt, PRESIDENT 1-v ONE MADISON AVE., NEW YORK, N.Y.
There are so few girls' names beginning
with 'T,' but there's Flora, Frances, Fern."
Weeks passed. Lucy's clothes-line ac-
quaintance with the bride ripened into fa-
miliarity. She liked her tremendously. In
the first place, she proved to be a wonderful
housekeeper. Punctually every Monday the
clothes flapped from  the line, properly
washed. Not only that, she aired her pil-
lows and bedding regularly and she washed
her tea towels every day. All of these things
made her agreeable to know, but, in addi-
tion, she entertained in a small way.
Abbie yawned and dropped the paper to
the floor. "How many did she have to
dinner this time?"
"Four. I think they must have been rela-
tives, because she used the second best
table cover and some of her regular napkins."
SOIETHING of Lucy'sproprietary interest
in the bride communicated itself to Abbie.
She found herself thinking about them on
her way home from the library. He would
be coming home from work, too, and the
girl would be watching the clock while she
basted the meat. For years Abbie had nur-
tured a little dream in which she herself was
setting a table for two, but fate had scram-
bled it somehow, for she was the one who
came home with the latch key.
"They've got a visitor," Lucy observed
one evening, as she balanced a (loll on her
knee and adjusted the cuff gathers with her
needle.
Abbie looked up. "How do you know?"
"I saw the extra things in the washing
this morning. I know all her clothes."
"Maybe she's bought some new dresses,"
Abbie suggested. "Have you    seen my
glasses?"
"On the mantel, I'll get them. Now, why
didn't you stay comfortable? No," Lucy
took up the original topic, "it's a kind of
heavy-set middle-aged woman. The house
dresses were about forty-fours or forty-sixes.
One was dark blue and the other wa's gray
with rick-rack trimming. I imagine it's her
mother, because she's short. She's probably
here for the Christmas holidays."
Abbie glanced at the calendar. "This is
only the fifteenth. Isn't she coming early
for the holida's?"
"Well, no," Lucy 'bit off her thread re-
flectively, "she probably wants to do some
of her own shopping here, coming from a
little town, like she does."
Abbie laughed out loud.
"Laugh, if you like, Abbie Wampler, but
you'll never convince me that girl doesn't
come from the country. She housekeeps like
it. What dc these city girls know about
making jelly? She made three kinds last
summer, apple and plum and grape."
By early spring the trousseau began to
show signs of wear and neat little darns and
patches appeared on many of the garments.
The bride went up another notch with the
Wampler sisters.
It was a tremendous shock to them both
when that May Monday morning came and
the clothes were not put out.
"Maybe," Abbie suggested as she rose
from the table, "she overslept this morning."
The day dragged on. Lucy washed the
dishes and made the bed, her ears strained
for the familiar squeak. But the silence was
oppressive. Finally, she told herself, she
would shut all the doors back to the kitch-
enette, while she cleaned and dusted the
living-room. It took a whole hour and when
she went back to the kitchenette there was
still no sign of life on the little clothes-line.
Abbie asked about it the tirst thing that
night. "What time did the bride get her
washing out?"
"It hasn't," Lucy's eyes were anxious,
"been out all day."
Abbie dropped her shoe and stared. "Not
all day. Do you suppose she's away visiting?"
"I've thought of that." Lucy was fumbling
on the closet floor for Abbie's slippers.
During the whole week they were de-
pressed. Abbie and Lucy didn't talk much
about it. But Abbie brought home "Little
Women" in the middle of the week, and a
set of new tdoll patterns Friday evening.
Still it seemed as if Monday would never
come. Late Sunday Abbie mentioned it.
"She ought to be back this Monday, if
it's just a visit."
D ELIN EATOR
LIFE ON
A  CLOTHES-LINE
"I've certainly missed her," Lucy sighed.
That Monday Abbie deliberately loitered
over her coffee, and Lucy hovered near the
kitchen window.
Scrc-ec-ce! Abbie set down her coffee cup
hastily and reached for her glasses. Lucy
was already leaning out the window with a
tense face. The flapping pieces came into
view. First white squares, about as long as
your arm, a dozen of them. Then a soft
garment that straightened, settled itself in
the breeze and flung out two tiny sleeves
and next to it a diminutive shirt.
A1 baby.
Lucy clung to the window sill, Abbie clung
to Lucy and they stared. When their eyes
met they were shining and wet. They went
back into the dining-room before they could
speak.
"Isn't it," Lucy's eyes brimmed, her crutch
dropped to the floor with a bang as she sank
into the chair and openly wept, "isn't it just
too lovely for words? I never was so happy
in my life."
"Lots of folks," Abbie sniffed as she pol-
ished her glasses, "have babies."
Lucy gave a sigh of joy. "Not folks we
know."
Lucy sang as she did her work. Never
had there been such a morning. The bride
and groom had been wonderful. But a bride
and groom with a baby! There were no
words for it. There was only a lovely, com-
plete feeling.
Later on in the day the regular washing
appeared; but it was an anti-climax after
that precious little shirt had been hauled in.
"I wonder," Lucy reflected, consulting the
clock, "if that shirt had sunned long enough?
If it's the least bit damp she shouldn't put
it on the baby."
At supper time Lucy and Abbie could talk
of nothing else.
"Is it a boy or a girl?" Abbie demanded.
"I don't know," Lucy admitted.
"But surely," Abbie insisted a trifle im-
patiently, "you can tell something by the
clothes."
"But baby boys and baby girls are dressed
alike," Lucy defended her talent. "Maybe
I can tell when she puts out the blankets,
if they're trimmed in blue or pink."
"I wonder how old it is."
"I've been figuring it up," Lucy supplied
the information promptly. "She did her
washing two weeks ago today. Most women
stay in the hospital about ten days and then
they have a practical nurse at home. This
one she's got is mighty slack with the towels.
Poor little thing! She'll have a job boiling
them white again."
Two weeks passed. The nurse had gone.
The towels resumed their pristine whiteness,
but still Lucy couldn't find out if the baby
was a boy or a girl. Even the blankets didn't
clear up the question, for, maddeningly,
there was a pink one trimmed with white
rabbits and a white one with a border of blue
kittens.
"She certainly keeps him lovely and clean,"
Lucy bragged, late in the summer. Lucy
had long since decided that it must be a boy.
"Yes, it surely has a fine little mother,"
Abbie agreed, with a tart emphasis on the
neuter pronoun. Abbie wanted a boy, too,
but she wouldn't give in without evidence.
CHRISTMAS time. It seemed to Lucy the
nicert Christmas she could remember.
There was so much to think about. A baby,
blinking his round seven-month-old eyes at
tree ornaments. He would be big enough to
sit up and clutch his fingers into woolly dogs
and bleating lambs. Having a baby around
made such a difference. While Abbie carved
the little roasted hen, Lucy thought about
him, sitting in his high chair, sucking on a
drum-stick dipped in gravy. It wouldn't
hurt him a mite if it was milk gravy and they
were careful to trim all the gristle off the
bone.
Valentine's Day came. Next year he
would be big enough to know what it meant.
May again, and he was a year old. July
and August found Lucy and Abbie wonder-
ing how he was standing the heat. And, at
last, came October.
Lucy insisted afterwards that the clothes
pulley sounded different that morning, and
that was why she hobbled so swiftly from
the breakfast table. Be  (Turn to page 43)
Continued from page 34


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