The Dillon Examiner (Dillon, Mont.) 1891-1962, November 03, 1943, Image 2

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T H E D I L L O N E X A M I N E R DR. JAMES W . BARTON P h a s e d by Western Newspaper Union, PNEUMONIA DEATHS Dr. Barton Tust as we are congratulating our- ves that physicians are not wor- d much about their pneumonia ;es since the sulfa drugs have been shown to be so effective in curing pneumonia, thus sav­ ing many lives, we learn from physi­ cians, hospitals and insurance companies that pneumonia is again increasing. In the Statistical Bulletin, Metropoli­ tan Life Insurance company, we read: “ The rise in the death rate in pneu- onia will be noted with surprise many people who for the past w years have heard so much about e striking decline in the death rate Bowing the use of sulfa drugs in e treatment of the disease.” The ipth rate was lowered from about per cent to 3 per cent because the ilfa drugs were able to defend the )dy against what is called the coc- is form of pneumonia (small round •ganisms seen under the micro- :ope). However, the type of pneumonia hich is now causing so many cases not the coccus (pneumococcus) pe but a virus type; that is a very fly organism which cannot be seen ider the microscope. Despite their oility to defeat the pneumococcus pe of pneumonia, the sulfa drugs ive no effect upon this type of leumonia. A point of interest is that a recent udy of fatal cases of this type of leumonia among policyholders of e Metropolitan Life Insurance impany shows that a large propor- in of the deaths were among lunger persons. Of the 150 deaths ¡corded in the company’s experi- ice since last November, 36 per ant were between the ages of 15 nd 44 years, as compared with only : per cent (of the total number) of neumonia deaths in a normal year. It has been known for some time ■at war conditions increase the umber and severity of nose, throat [d lung ailments; the influenza epi- mic of 1918-19 is still in our minds, s means that during the coming ths of cold weather, the greatest ble health precautions should ken. ■ise doing hard manual labor > .ting in long hours of overtime ■ ¡i be encouraged to get as much ' as possible in their time. Ev- ', effort must be made to main- 4n good nutrition which is quite ■ssible within the limits of ration- w m V ïeadache in Morning s Sinusitis Symptom When a definite case of sinus dis- ase is present with pus formation, ■ere is no difficulty in recognizing What about mild or early cases of inflammation of the sinus? In the Canadian Medical Associa- ion Journal, Dr. Keith Hutchison, Montreal, states: “ The symptoms of acute inflam­ mation of the sinus—sinusitis—are ■eflnite and I always accept the ■idmoming headache as evidence >f a true sinusitis, even though noth- ng definite appears on the first ex- mination.” This midmorning headache is im­ portant because there are so many ■ads of headache that the physi­ cian is grateful for any and every :lue. “ When an intelligent patient re­ ports that he felt well on arising and ihen about 10 o’clock in the mom- 'ng a severe frontal headache came on which persisted till midafternoon then disappeared and the patient went to bed free of pain and discom­ fort only to go through the same «ymptoms the next day, a clear-cut diagnosis of acute catarrhal sinusitis may be made and treated according­ ly.” The treatment outlined by Dr. Hutchison is to put the patient to bed, hot cloths on the face, ephed- rine solution in the nose, plenty of fluids and a rigid rule of no smok­ ing. Two to four days’ rest general­ ly effects a cure. Because the symptoms are not se­ vere, “ just a little head cold,” many patients refuse to go to bed, with the result that the cold “ hangs on” and instead of there being simply a watery discharge from the nose, the discharge may become mucous and even pus formation occur. The patient with an early or light sinusitis should go to bed and fol­ low the treatment described if he Wishes to prevent chronic catarrh or sinusitis. QUESTION BOX * Q.—What causes neuritis? I A.—There mast be some cause - r year neuritis—infected teeth, or =ber infection, possibly pressure on ':rve supplying the arm. See your ^¡otist. -JO,—Would * half grain of saccha- -tt 'in coffee or tea be harmful for Réduit o r a boy of 17? t>»8accharin tableta (H grain) ¿ times a day will do no barm; for boy of 17 to ase. * r yfves mere energy, of coarse. M Y / F R I E N D ^ S/F L I C K A À MANY OHARA - ¿ ¡ O THE STORY SO F A R : Ten-year-old Ken McLaughlin can ride any horse on his family's Wyoming ranch, hnt he wants a colt of his own. His father, a retired army officer, refuses to give him one when he learns that Ken has not been promoted. But his' mother con­ vinces Captain McLaughlin that the colt m a y be Just what Ken needs. He has a hard time choosing his colt until he sees the yearling filly of a “ loco” mare named Rocket. Loco Is the horse breeder’s name for a no-good, untamable horse. Now Ken has come to the breakfast ta­ ble beaming with Joy and simply dying to tell someone of his discovery of Rocket and her colt. Now continue with the story. CHAPTER VII If you can raise good calves and colts on it, I guess you can raise boys, Nell reasoned. And McLaugh­ lin, with a long line of oat-eating Scotch ancestors behind his brawn and toughness, agreed. With the oatmeal there was al­ ways a big pitcher ,of yellow Guern­ sey cream and a bowl of brown sugar. Nell, smiling, pushed them toward Ken, noticing the unusual (jolor in his face. The boy flashed a glance at his mother; his eyes were dark with excitement. His whole face was lit up—transfigured really —and she felt a slight sense of shock. What had happened? He had been different all week, more sure of himself, more alert and happy, but this— Rob McLaughlin was looking at Ken too, not missing a thing. Some­ thing had happened that morning on the range— “ What horse did you ride?\ asked he. “ Lady.” “ And where is she now? On her way to the border?” jocularly. “ I put her in the Home Pasture. She’s out there at the fountain now.” “ Was she hot?\ \No sir, I cooled her off coming home.” There was a little smile of pride on Ken’s face, and Nell thought, all the right answers, so far. The examination went on. “ Did you give her a good workout?” “ Yes, sir.” “ Then don’t ride her again today. Take Baldy if you want a horse.” \Yes sir.” “ Break anything? Lose any­ thing?” \No sir.” Rob laughed. He leaned over and patted Kqn on the head. “ Good work, young man—coming along I” Ken burst out laughing. He was so excited it was hard to sit still and answer properly. He wasn’t going to tell about his colt yet—not till tomorrow when the week was up. But it was hard to hold it in, hard not to jump up and run around the kitchen, shouting and crowing. Anyway—he could tell about Rock­ et— “ I didn’t lose anything, I found something!” He boasted, shoveling in big spoonfuls of oatmeal. “ I found Rocket She’s back.” When Ken went to bed that night, he kissed his mother, and then threw his arms around her and held her hard for a moment. Smiling, she put her hand on his head. “Well, Kennie—” her violet eyes were soft and understanding. He went upstairs, smiling back at her over his shoulder, having a se­ cret with her. He knew that she knew. He lit the candle in his room and stood staring at the flickering light. This was like a last day. The last day before school is out, or before Christmas, or before his mother came back after a visit in the East. Tomorrow was the day when, really, his life would begin. He would get his colt. He couldn’t quite remember the color of her. Orange—pink—tanger­ ine color—tail and mane white, like the hair of an Albino boy at school. Albino—of course, her grandsire was the Albino—the famous Albino stud. He felt a little uneasiness at this; the Albino blood wasn’t safe blood for a filly to have. But per­ haps she hadn’t much of it. Per­ haps the cream tail and mane came from Banner, her sire. Banner had a cream tail and mane too when he was a colt; lots of sorrel colts had. He hoped' she would be docile and good—not like Rocket. Which would she take after? Rocket? Or Banner? He hadn’t had time to get a good look into her eyes. Ken began to undress. Walking around, his room, his eyes caught sight of the pictures on the wall— they didn't interest him. The speed of her! She had run away from Banner. He kept think­ ing about that. It hardly seemed possible. His father always said Rocket was the fastest horse on the ranch, and now Rocket’s filly had run away from Banner. Riding down the mountain that day Ken bad traced back all his recollections of her. The summer before, when he and Howard bad seen the spring colts, he hadn't especially noticed her. He remem­ bered that he had seen her even be­ fore that, soon after she was born. He bad been out with Gus, one day, in the meadow, during the spring holiday. They were clear­ ing some driftwood out of the irri­ gation ditch, and they had seen Rocket standing in a gully on the hillside, quiet for once, and eyeing them cautiously. “Ay bet she got a colt,\ said Gus; and they walked carefully up the draw. Rocket gave a wild snort, thrust her feet out, shook her head wickedly, then fled away. And as they reached the spot, they saw standing there the wavering, pink­ ish colt, barely able to keep its feet. It gave a little squeak and started after its mother on crooked, wob­ bling legs. “ Yee whiz! Luk at de little fllcka!” said Gus. ‘What does flicka mean, Gus?” “ Swedish for little gurl, Ken—” He had seen the filly again late in the fall. She was half pink, half yellow—with streaked untidy looking hair. She was awkward and ungain­ ly, with legs too long, haunches a little too high. And then he had gone away to school and hadn’t seen her again until now—she ran away from Ban­ ner—Her eyes—they had looked like balls of fire this morning. What color were they? Banner’s were brown with flecks of gold, or gold with flecks of brown—Her speed and her delicate curving lines made him think of a greyhound he had seen running once, but really she was more like just a little girl than any­ thing—the way her face looked, and the way her blonde hair blew—a lit­ tle girl— Ken blew out the light and got into bed, and before the smile had fad­ ed from his face, he was asleep— “ I’ll take that sorrel Ally of Rock­ et’s; the one with the cream tail and mane.” Ken made his announcement at the breakfast table. After he spoke there was a mo­ ment’s astonished silence. Nell “ Yee whiz! Luk at de little flicka!” said Gus. groped for recollection, and said, “ A sorrel filly? I can’t seem to remem­ ber that one at all—what’s her name?” But Rob remembered. The smile faded from his face as he looked at Ken. “ Rocket’s filly, Ken?” “ Yes, sir.” Ken’s face changed too. There was no mistaking his father’s displeasure. “ I was hoping you’d make a wise choice. You know what I think of Rocket—that whole line of horses—” Ken looked down; the color ebbed from his cheeks. \She’s fast, Dad, and Rocket’s fast—” “ It’s the worst line of horses I’ve got There’s never one amongst them wth real sense. The mares are hellions and the stallions out­ laws; they’re untamable.” “ I'll tame her.\ Rob guffawed. “ Not I, nor any­ one, has ever been able to really tame any one of them.” Kennie’s chest heaved. “ Better change your mind, Ken. You want a horse that’ll be a real friend to you, don't you?” “ Yes—” Kennie’s voice was un­ steady. “ Well, you’ll never make a friend of that filly. Last fall after all the colts had been weaned and separat­ ed from their dams, she and Rocket got back together—no fence’ll hold ’em—she’s all out and scarred up already from tearing through barbed wire after that wild mother of hers.” Kennie looked stubbornly at his plate. “ Change your mind?” asked How­ ard briskly. “ No.” “ I don’t remember seeing her this year,” said NelL “ No,” said Rob. “ When I drove you up a couple of months ago to look them over and name them and write down their descriptions, there was a bunch missing, don’t you re­ member?” “ Oh, yes—then she’s never been named—” “ I’ve named her,” said Ken. “ Her name is Flicka.” “ Flicka,” said Nell cheerfully “ That’s a pretty name.” But McLaughlin made no com­ ment, and there was a painful si­ lence. Ken felt he ought to look at his father, but he was afraid to. Every­ thing was changed again, they weren’t friends any more. He forced himself to look up, met his father’s angry eyes for a moment, then quickly looked down again. \W ell,\ McLaughlin barked. “ It’s your funeral—or hers. Remember one thing. I’m not going to be out of pocket on account of this—every time you turn around you cost me money—” Ken looked up, wonderingly, and shook his head. “ Time’s money, remember,” said his father. “ I had planned to give you a reasonable amount of help in breaking and taming your colt. Just enough. But there’s no such thing as enough with those horses.” Gus appeared at the door and said, “ What’s today, Boss?” McLaughlin shouted, “ We’re going out on the range to bring in the yearlings. Saddle Taggert, Lady and Shorty.” Gus disappeared, and McLaugh­ lin pushed his chair back. “ First thing to do is get her in. Do you know where the yearlings are?” “ They were on the far side of the Saddle Back late yesterday after­ noon—the west end, down by Dale’s ranch.\ \Well you’re the Boss on this round-up—you can ride Shorty.\ McLaughlin and Gus and Ken went out to bring the yearlings in. Howard stood at the County gate to open and close it. They found the yearlings easily. When they saw that they were be­ ing pursued, they took to their heels. Ken was entranced to watch Flicka —the speed of her, the power, the wildness—she led the band. He sat motionless, just watching and holding Shorty in when his fa­ ther thundered past on Taggert and shouted, \Well what’s the matter? Why didn't you turn ’ e m ?\ Ken woke up and galloped after them. Shorty brought in the whole band. The corral gates were closed, and an hour was spent shunting the po­ nies in and out and through the chutes until Flicka was left alone in the small round branding corral. Gus mounted Shorty and drove the others away, through the gate, and up the Saddle Back. But Flicka did not intend to be left. She hurled herself against the poles which walled the corral. She tried to jump them. They were seven feet high. She caught her front feet over the top rung, clung, scrambled, while Kennie held his breath for fear the slender legs would be caught between the bars and snapped. Her hold broke, she fell over backwards, rolled, screamed, tore around the corraL One of the bars broke. She hurled herself again. Another went. She saw the opening, and as neatly as a dog crawls through a fence, insert­ ed her head and forefeet, scram­ bled through and fled away, bleed­ ing in a dozen places. As Gus was coming back, just about to close the gate to the Coun­ ty Road, the sorrel whipped through it, sailed across the road and ditch with her inimitable floating leap, and went up the side of the Saddle Back like a jack rabbit. From way up the mountain, Gus heard excited whinnies, as she joined the band he had just driven up, and the last he saw of them they were strung out along the crest running like deer. “ Yee whiz!” said Gus, and stood motionless and staring until the po­ nies had disappeared over the ridge. Then he closed the gate, remount­ ed Shorty, and rode back to the corrals. Walking down from the corrals, Rob McLaughlin gave Kennie one more chance to change his mind. “ Better pick a horse that you have some hope of riding one day. I’d have got rid of this whole line of stock if they weren’t so damned fast that I’ve had the fool idea that someday there might turn out one gentle one in the lot, and I’d have a race horse. But there’s never been one so far, and it’s not going to be Flicka.” “ It’s not going to be Flicka,\ chanted Howard. ' “ Maybe she might be gentled,” said Ken; and although his lips trembled, there was fanatical de­ termination in his eye. “ Ken,” said McLaughlin, “ it’s up to you. If you say you want her, we'll get her. But she wouldn’t be the first of that line to die rather than give in. They’re beautiful and they’re fast, but let me tell you this, young man, they’re loco!” Ken flinched under his father’s direct glance. “ If I go after her again, I’D not give up whatever comes, understand what I mean by that?” “ Yes.” “ What do you say?” “ I want her.” •\That’s settled then,” and sudden­ ly Rob seemed calm and indifferent “ We’ll bring her in again tomor­ row or next day—I’ve got other work for this afternoon/’ r . (TO BE CONTIIWED) »IW M ivn THOSE SIXTEEN POINT BLUES Butter! Ah, what memories! It is now Churned Gold, Yellow Wealth, the Golden Memory of Yes­ terday and the Bright Hope of To­ morrow, but we remember when it was just Butter. _ * _ Once we spoke of it as a routine foodstuff; now we speak of it as the pirates of old once spoke of burled pieces of eight. Once we merely went to the gro­ cery store and said, “ Two pounds of your best butter” —just like that —and got it! No back talk, no argu­ ments, no raised eyebrows. Once we wrote “ Butter” on the grocery list and thought no more about it. We didn’t associate it with prestige, influence, pressure, points or poli­ ticians. There was a time when we even ordered butter over the telephone and met with no derisive laughter. Now if we order it over the tele­ phone our wires will be tapped by FBI, OPA and the neighbors. _ * _ Yesterday It was one thing to be found in the icebox at all times, pristine, cold and gleaming like a brick of gold. Today we keep it in the bank. _ * _ We can remember when people put the butter dish right out in plain view on the table WITH VISITORS PRESENT! » _ Once upon a time the waiter made it a point to slip three more butter patties on your restaurant table the moment the original patties began to disappear; now if a waiter could get three patties of butter he would eat them himself. _ • Do you recall the time when the fellow who cooked up an oyster stew used to slip four or five slabs of but­ ter into it without batting an eye? Once butter came direct from the cow. Now it has to make all the Intermediate stops at OPA stations, federal commissions, global war councils and miscellaneous gather­ ings of Washington lawyers. You don’t get butter from a cow any more; you get it from an ad­ ministrator. _ ♦ _ Butter, lovely butter, what a prob­ lem you’ve turned out to be! Once mom slapped big slabs of it on the porterhouse— (Porterhouse: a choice cut of steak; see beef.—Web­ ster Unabridged). She even put it on fish. And, boy, do you remember how she would stick a quarter of a pound of it into a baked potato! To­ day it’s a prison offense. She even read recipes which said, “ Add four heaping tablespoons of creamery butter” and FOLLOWED INSTRUCTIONS! (Without a thought about penalties, too). She fried the eggs in butter, put real butter on buttered toast and applied it to Junior’s finger for a bad burn. (Never suspecting the day would come when it might bring the police wagon.) * _ And now SIXTEEN POINTS! _ • __ That can’t be anything connected with butter. It’s a FOOTBALL SCORE, AIN’T IT? Oh Yeah! (“ If I had an opponent of real mil­ itary size I could calculate approxi­ mately where he would attack. But if one has before him military idiots one cannot even guess.” —Adolf Hit­ ler one year ago.) Those military idiots— Ach, it’s so hard to fight An enemy who isn’t smart And never looks quite bright! In full retreat and out of breath, My “ blitz” transformed to “ blotz,” I have this one consoling thought-— They are such Idiots! Vanishing Americanisms “Here’s a dime; get yourself something to eat.” “ Shut it off, quick! The tank’s full.” Til take the 75-cent dinner.” “ Go out and buy me two or three five-cent good magazines.” _ * _ “Let’s look over the meat spe­ cialties first.” “ Our forefathers did without sug­ ar until the 13th century, without coal until the 14th, without butter until the 15th and without tea, coffee or soap until the 17th. What was it you were complaining about?” — From the OPA Netcsletter. We were, since you ask, complain­ ing about the waste of paper and ink. Hollywood is making a picture based on Samson’s life, \Victory Through Hair Power,” it is said. SEW ING CIRCLE 1 7 5 7 (2-42 Smart Wool Dress VVT’HEN the mornings turn brisk it is time to think of a smart wool dress. Today we are show­ ing a design which is generally first choice for this new season’s dress—it is right for all materials, all figures. Barbara Bell Pattern No. 1757-B is de­ signed for sizes 12, 14, 16, 18, 20; 40 and 42. Corresponding bust measurements 30, 32, 34, 36, 38, 40 and 42. Size 14 (32) with short sleeves, requires 3'/ b yards 39-inch material. f v . (V« (V» ( V i (V , (V i ( V , ( V . (V« f v . ( U (V . ( V . ( V , f w (V < (V i (V , (V i ; ASK MS \ ANOTHER ? ? ? rx v e c i « , s*«.* ? (V . ( U (V i ( V (V . ( V , (V . (V i (V* (V« (V* (V* ( V * ( V ( V * ( V i (V* (V* (Vi ? A General Quiz «v>V* f ( f^* C^« O The Questions 1. What year is generally con­ sidered to have marked the “ pass­ ing of the frontier” of the United States? 2. Is one’s blood pressure higher when awake than when asleep? 3. Which is the oldest national flag in the world? 4. What is the most severe blow that can be struck by an animal? 5. Approximately what part of the total area of the United States does Texas em b race? 6. How many square miles are in the Atlantic and Pacific oceans? —~ i .* d yrt. Circle Yoked Frock “ 'T 'O O cunning for words” is the way you’ll feel about this cir­ cle yoked frock, once it is made up and on your small daughter 1 Be sure to add the ric-rac perky bow and all, as a finishing touch! * * * SEWING CIRCLE PATTERN DEPT. 530 South Wells St. Chicago Enclose 20 cents In coins for each pattern desired. Pattern No ........................ Size ............. Name ..................................................... Address . ................................................. Just 2 drops Penetro Nose Drops In each n o s t r il h e lp you breathe freer almost in s t a n t ly , so your head cold gets air. Only 25c—2% times as much for 50c. Caution: Use only as directed. Penetro Nose Drops^ DON’T LET CONSTIPATION SLOW YOU UP The Answers 1. The year 1890. 2. Yes, about 20 points higher. 3. The flag of Denmark. 4. The blow of a whale’s tail, which can dam age a large boat. 5. Texas em b races more than 8 per cent of the total area of the United States. 6. Atlantic, 41,321,000; Pacific, 68,634,000 square miles. F E E N - A - M I N T l o ? Barbara Bell Pattern No. 1867 Is de­ signed for sizes 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5 years. Size 2 dress, l 3,i yards 35 or 39-lnch ma­ terial, panties % yard, 3>/a yards rlc-rac to trim. Due to an unusually large demand and current war conditions, slightly more time is required in filling orders for a few of the most popular pattern numbers. Send your order to: *>l Yellowheads Our familiar “ greenbacks,” im ­ printed with a yellow Seal on which is named the place of cir­ culation, issued for use in Sicily, are called yellowheads. • When bowels are sluggish and you feel irritable, headachy, do as millions do — chew FEEN-A-MINT, the modem chewing-gum laxative. Simply chew FEEN-A-MINT before you go to bed, taking only in accordance with package , directions — sleep without being dis- jf turbed. Next morning gentle, thorough relief, helping you feel swell again. Try FEEN-A-MINT. Tastes good, is handy and economical. A generous family supply Skygazer The sloth, clinging to boughs, spends its lifetime looking at the sky. 1' I.

The Dillon Examiner (Dillon, Mont.), 03 Nov. 1943, located at <http://montananewspapers.org/lccn/sn85053034/1943-11-03/ed-1/seq-2/>, image provided by MONTANA NEWSPAPERS, Montana Historical Society, Helena, Montana.