N(nK:^iBKR. 191 a 



GLEANINGS IN R K E CULTURE 



A 



FEW (iays 

 ago a tHT- 

 t a i n busi- 

 u e s s 111 a 11 o ii 

 boariling a train 

 in tlie East iio- 

 t i c e d two sol- 

 diers just ahead 

 of him. One was 

 assistiiiig and 



steadying the other, and the busi- 

 ness man was a little afraid one of 

 Uncle Sam 's boys had been drinking 

 something stronger than coffee while 

 he was away from his cantonment 

 on leave. When the soldier stum- 

 bled and nearly fc^ll over the slight 

 threshold of the car, the man was 

 convinced that his surmise was 

 right. The two soldiers found a seat aii<l 

 the traveler passed and glanced at them, and 

 to his horror saw that the boy, for he was 

 apparently under 21, had lost both his eyes. 

 His comrade was bringing him home from 

 ' ' over there. ' ' 



Death is usually alluded to as the ' ' su- 

 preme sacrifice," but to me that blinded boy 

 has made the supreme sacrifice. Never again 

 can he see any of the beauty in this won- 

 derful world of ours. The love in the eyes 

 of his mother or sweetheart is but a memory 

 to him. Just when he should be at the 

 threshold of a useful life of great oppor- 

 tunities, he is thrust into a place of utter 

 darkness to learn to live with an almost 

 insurmountable physical handicap. 



For years we have been reading of the 

 great numbers of killed and maimed across 

 the water. We have read of institutions 

 where the blinded soldiers are taught useful 

 occupations and we have been asked to 

 contribute to their support. But this blind- 

 ed soldier was one of our own American 

 boys, and the business man who saw him 

 was my husband. Our casualty lists are 

 steadily growing, and gold stars are begin- 

 ning to appear in the service flags of every 

 locality. Our colleges are being turned into 

 military schools, and even our 18-year-old 

 boys are proud to be in their country's serv- 

 ice. 



A few days ago a father of a soldier at 

 the front said to me, ' ' Mrs. Puerden, this 

 war is the greatest trouble that has ever 

 come into the world." That father has 

 since gone to the land w-here there is no 

 more trouble, his death probably hastened 

 by anxiety for his son in the trenches. 



But while it is true that this war is the 

 greatest tragedy of history, all of us can 

 see bits of the silver lining to the great 

 war cloud. The spirit of unselfishness and 

 willingness to sacrifice is growing among all 

 classes. Patriotism is so strong that even 

 the most selfish dare not openly disregard 

 a request of the Food Administration or the 

 Fuel Administrator. Public ojnnion can be 

 trusted to see that such requests as that for 

 gasless Sundays are as implicitly obeyed as 

 if they were laws. Business men show an 



669 



inclination to 

 forget competi- 

 tion in co-opera- 

 tion to win the 

 war. The s a - 

 loons must go 

 and equal suf- 

 frage for women 

 is sure to come 

 in time, in spite 

 of the Senate. The world is learning 

 that useful work of every sort is 

 honorable, and that the measure of 

 a man 's success in life should be 

 gauged by his service to humanity. 

 We are all learning that those peo- 

 l)le across the water who do not 

 speak our language are not ' ' igno- 

 lant foreigners" but brave and won- 

 derful people from whom we can learn much. 

 And instead of being known as the most 

 extravagant and wasteful nation in the 

 world it looks as if we were in a fair way 

 to become known as a people who practice 

 thrift in all ways without losing our repu- 

 tation for generosity. 



Perhaps the change in public sentiment in 

 regard to thrift is nowhere more apparent 

 than in the kitchen. All of us housekeepers 

 have at times hesitated to speak to the 

 ' ' help, ' ' temporary or otherwise, about 

 throwing leftovers into the garbage pail, 

 for fear of gaining a reputation for being 

 close. But now, unless your kitchen helper 

 is densely ignorant, she cannot fail to have 

 absorbed a little of the conservation spirit 

 that is in the air. To illustrate my point I 

 am going to tell you a story that will per- 

 haps shock some fastidious soul. I had 

 given a little dinner for our 18-year-old son, 

 while he was still our boy and not Uncle 

 Sam 's, and for the main dish I provided 

 baked chicken. Immediately after the din- 

 ner when I went out to the kitchen my Hun- 

 garian Lizzie showed me a platter of chick- 

 en bones and said, "I saved these, Mrs. 

 Puerden, because there is still quite a bit 

 of meat on them, and I felt sure you would 

 not want them thrown out." Now, altho 

 I always make soup from the bones from 

 which I cut the meat for creamed or scallop- 

 ed chicken, I had never before saved bones 

 left on the plates. But I did a little swift 

 mental work and made up my mind that Liz- 

 zie should not beat me on conservation, and 

 so I said, ' ' That is right, Lizzie. Cooking 

 them over will sterilize them and they will 

 make delicious soup with the addition of a 

 few vegetables. ' ' And they did and, fur- 

 thermore, we ate the soup and enjoyed it. I 

 believe if any of us are inclined to be over- 

 fastidious, all we need to do is to read of 

 some of the revolting things the starving 

 people over in eastern Europe have been 

 obliged to do to obtain food. 



While I am on the subject of fastidious 

 people, I find so many who think they can- 

 not eat barley flour in any way. They don 't 

 like it, they cannot like it, and sometimes 

 I think thev are determined thev won 't like 



