Cosmopolitan 1929-03: Vol 86 Iss 3

Page 1

EBT 1999 7 1899 ~arsts Internationa combined with 6 inning — RED L] KKER

Page 2

FixX.URES, NLY in a rambling old house remodeled O could a kitchen like this be found, full of memories of ourselves asking for tastes while mother prepared a holiday dinner. Now with- out sacrificing, indeed greatly enhancing, its heart-warming friendliness has been added the color and convenience of today. In the roomy Corwith sink, placed just the right height from ? 150 ry 2500 Pounds Pressure A. VALVES, FITTINGS, AND PIPING, Sows the floor, its chromium-plated fittings readily at hand yet out of the way in a recess, is summed up the latest ideas in kitchen plumbing. For other plumbing and decorative suggestions, write for New Ideas for Bathrooms. Too, when you remodel or build, visit nearby Crane Exhibit Rooms. A responsible contractor will tell you why Crane beauty and quality costs no more. Pounds Pressure FOR DOMESTIC AND INDUSTRIAL Crane Co., General Offices, 836 S. Michigan Ave., Chicago + 23 W. 44th St., New York + Branches and sales offices in one hundred and seventy cities USE

Page 3

a » * of our time: CHEMET ELMAN HEIFETZ KREISLER MENUHIN THIBAUD THERE is no music on this earth more lovely than that of the violin... none more personal, more exquisitely defined. Since the days of Stradivarius it has been “the king of instruments.” In the hands of a master, the violin -becomes a thing of magic. It sings with a voice of gold. It laughs, storms, med- itates, and sorrows. It soars among the stars, and rides the wind. Its song is the song of life. To hear the violin as the masters play it, thousands of people flock to concert halls. They pay noteworthy prices for their seats. Sometimes they stand in line for hours. Yet the experi- ence is more than worth it. It is one of the marvels of our age that this experience—this voyage to the enchanted realms of music—need suffer no limitations of time and space. Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 Shall it be the VIOLIN? A | Here are the greatest masters Through Victor Red Seal Records the great masters of the violin live for all time and all men. Their incomparable tone, their brilliance, their very per- sonalities are vividly and imperish- ably preserved. With a library of Red Seal records you have at your command the loveli- est violin music in the world. As often as you wish you can enjoy it, when- ever your mood dictates. And you can enjoy it in privacy, in comfort, without stirring from your living-room! The great violinists, the leading or- chestras, the foremost musicians in every field have chosen to ally them- selves with Victor. For here, and here only, do they find the organization, the musicianship, the technical facil- ities to do justice to their art. It is through Victor that they give you that richest and most precious of gifts—the perfect, the inspired performance! .. . Victor Talking Machine Company, Camden, New Jersey, U.-S.- A. VICTOR Red Seal RECORDS

Page 4

hoy | Horst f sel VOL. LXXXVI_ NO. 3 combined with we Contents of osmopolitan per March, soa9 serials Red Likker by oon vit S. Cobb 20 NE > & & This Madness | by Theodore Dreiser 44 ‘6 MONTH e The Flagrant Years { [ by Samuel Hopkins Adams 62 ive and en, Illustrations by R. F. Schabelitz Son of the Gods 2 by Rex Beach 72 a N ovel about llustrations by Rico Tomaso Unknown Lands : wo Blasco Ibanez 84 M O N EK y b 12 Short Stories “ae - H The Afterthoughts of Lady Godiva annie urst by John Erskine 30 Illustrations by John La Gatta Bridges of Destiny by Rube Goldberg 36 Illustration by Jules Gotlieb Such Men Are Dangerous byElinor Glyn 38 9 j eatures llustrations by George Howe The Extraordinary Sex A Friend in Need by O. O. McIntyre 17 by W. Somerset Maugham 42 Kec opie aera os R : pe: ee ee Kisses That Don’t Mean Anything oaming Cowboy : by Katharine Newlin Burt 50 by eerres pans pane. 18 Illustrations by Pruett Carter I Learned about God from a Negress The Mystery of the Crystal Snuff-box . Wille? : by Mar gery Lawrence 56 by Honore Willsie Morrow 28 llustrations by W. E. Heitland Totiic Mech : by Zona Gale @ Women and Money by S. P. B. Mais 41 Illustration by W. G. Ratterman ° . : : A Could You Be a Platonic Friend? the} Da pveken ee by Jesse Lynch Williams 48 Absent-minded Beggar Your Wife has 50 Slaves ED begin. gl Leréner © by James Schermerhorn 54 The Stolen Fortnight ee ee by George Barr McCutcheon 76 Edison by Allan L. Benson 83 Illustrations by James Montgomery Flagg One Acrobat Too Many Shall You Let Your Daughter Fly? ‘issn, 22, Montague Glass 80 by Amelia Earhart 88 llustrations by J. Henry One Night in Nice The Amateur Rehearsal by E. Phillips Ocoee by Gluyas Williams 90 Cover Design by Harrison Fisher : 1h Published monthly by the INTERNATIONAL Macazine Company, INc., 57th St. at Eighth Avenue, New York City. Ray Longe, Tuomas J. WHITE, President. Vice-President. Copyright, 1929, by International Magazine Company, Inc. (Hearst’s gud yee and C Fourth American se gery Convention of Artistie and Literary Copyright. Canada, $3.50; Foreign $4.0 6. All subscriptions are payable in advance. Unless otherwise directed ArtHur S. Moore, Secretary. Li M . All rights reserved under terms of the cents a copy; subseription — United States and possessions, $3.00 a year; we begin all subscriptions with the current issue. Austin W. Ciark, Treasurer. sending in your renewal, please give us four weeks’ notice. When changing an address give the old address as well as the new and allow five weeks for the first — to reach you. Entered as second-class matter at_the Post Office, Ga.; Boston, Mass. ; Chicago, Ill.; Harrisburg, Paz; Was a. 3 Pittsburgh, Pa.; Cleveland, 0. Kansas City, Mo. ; Entered as second-class matter at the Post Office Department, Canada. Manuscripts must be typewritten and accom- panied by return postage. They will be handled with care, but this magazine New York, New York, under the act of March 3, 1879; additional entry at Atlanta, Los Angeles, Cal. ; Minneapolis, Minn. ; San Francisco, al. ; Syracuse, N. Y.; Seattle, y for their safety.

Page 5

MARCH, 192 , By WO BO. Meclacpre Hearst’ International combined with Osmopolitan RAY LONG, Editor 4 Friend in Need EVERAL years ago I was flattered at a dinner-party by a gracious lady who observed: “You seem to have so many real friends.” My ego ballooned with the realization she was right and it struck me at the time how unappreciative most of us are of the deeper meaning of friendship. And then a week or so later in one of those black moments that come to all I was in desperate need of a friend to whom I could turn in a full and revealing confidence. My mind was flooded with names, but out of the turbulent array I was only able to salvage two who seemed to measure up to the requirements, and they were out of the city. I could think of many whom I genuinely loved and who I am sure hold a genuine affection for me. They would go far to aid me and were the sort I could call upon day or night. And yet there was an unexplainable something that kept them from form- ing the perfect friendship of which I was in need. In a middle-West city I recall a man who had built up a great political kingdom and who gained the sobriquet of ‘‘Every- body’s Friend.” And this he seemed to be, yet I was one of a group of reporters who approached his tottering throne when every person had deserted and prison shadows fell, to hear him say: “The greatest illusion in life is friendship.” And somehow, as another illustration, I think of the late Amold Rothstein. He was a gambler and the reputed figure in many shady deals and yet in the bonhomie of Broadway he was regarded as the rarest of friends. There were a thousand legends of his loyalty. I once heard an actress tell of a time when her world crumbled and after a day of rebuffs she received word that night in her dressing-room that Rothstein, absolutely unknown to her, had Provided $50,000 in cash which she so desperately needed and for which he asked no security. Rothstein’s mysterious murder uncorked a scandal that shook the metropolis. It was not fiction that he had befriended people in high places in the upper world as well as the under. And yet one lone carriage followed his coffin to the burial-ground. While doxology was chanted, he was being reviled the length of toadway as a double-crosser. In disaster, he did not seem to have a single friend. One of the sorriest figures I know the world over is Earl Carroll, the young theatrical producer. He madeaserious blunder; but the terrible price of disgrace and imprisonment he paid was due solely to the fact that he sacrificed all on the altar of friendship. He tried to protect others. But when shackled toa group of miser- able convicts, cast into a ramshackle train-coach and half dying, he started for prison in Atlanta, there was not one of those he befriended to console him in his anguish. Today he has reestablished himself successfully, but his cher- ished ideals of friendship are gone; and clutching his frozen dream he wanders about like Banquo’s ghost. Within a fortnight I have run across him in a deserted and lonely street, his head down, thinking, thinking—vrhile New York sleeps. He moves from one cheerless hotel room to another. Not once has he returned to the office in his theater or to his bungalow sky- scraper home where he used to meet his friends. These places recall poignant memories he wants to forget. Most friendships will endure the ordinary strain, but in the great emergencies there are comparatively few that will stand the supreme test. The bread lines on the Bowery are a pathetic sym- bol of man’s inhumanity to man. A mission preacher once stood with me watching the line of rheumy-eyed, rachitic and hopeless wrecks drifting into his sanctuary for a dole of hot coffee and a free flop. “Any one of those poor creatures,” he observed, ‘“‘might have been saved from all this at the opportune time had someone only extended a helping hand. Our greatest appeal to these storm- buffeted souls is that in Jesus they will find the perfect friend.” I COME finally to Al Smith who a few months ago was the in- spiration for a perpetual fount of friendly admiration. The other morning I saw him passing along crowded Forty-second Street and not more than a half-dozen heads turned. All of this is not a pleasant topic for editorialization nor am I a preacher, but it seems to me we are becoming glutted with honeyed phrases about the beauties and joys of friendship. I believe most of us would be a little ashamed, it we searched our thoughts carefu!ly, to have it known just how far we would really go for a friend. In all the sentimental sniveling, there is in reality only one basis for an enduring friendship. It is encompassed in the Scriptural lines from St. John: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” One of the cracker-barrel Platos in our town, during a financial depression, philosophized: “Times ain’t what they used to be and never has.” That, I believe, fits some of our exaggerated ideas of friendship or I am wrong again, as usual. o

Page 6

18 TOL ARLES ] ——— /, asses Uhat} I

Page 7

Dana GIBSON Vn Ti \ —— uit): == — 7 MZ ‘ ~ ee: 3S re — 2» v sz s P ie, re ene \Yy _ oO ese Fa. —2 > Don’t Mean Anything

Page 8

By Irvin —@). GOBB Introduction: ARLY in this, the nine- teen- hundred -and- twenty-ninth Year of Grace and, of the Volstead Act, the tenth, I went to a dinner- party. It was in all regardsa conventional dinner-party of these times—that is to say, the hosts provided an abun- dance of liquor and a major- ity of the guests drank it down, drink by drink, with the eager and almost vicious speed which has seemed to mark the ceremonial of din- ing-out in private homes during this first decade since the Eighteenth Amendment was ratified. Had it been a dinner in the interior of the United States it is probable that the unhallowea and—of course — illicit distillations of the neighborhood would have been served with sugar- sirups or fruit juices to sof- ten their raw flavor and make the doses more palatable. Since this party took place in a city hard by the Atlan- tic seaboard, we had boot- leggers’ wares—alleged Scotch for the high-balls, so-called gin for the abun- dant cocktails. With as small a loss of time as possible, a number of those present got visibly under alcoholic influences. The women were the first to show the effects of such stimulation. These women behaved according to their various natures. One of them, by swiftly succeeding stages, became talkative, noisy, dis- putatious and finally out- right quarrelsome. A second one was sentimental for a while, then weepy and, be- fore they took her away, was almost maudlin. A third got sleepy and de- parted early. The rest for the most part had flushed faces and voices which occasionally got out of control. You could not say they were intoxicated but obviously they were exhilarated. In 1919, this exhibition would have been disquieting to most people; many people it would have shocked. In 1929, the run of us take it rather as a matter of course. It would appear that our sense of social averages has changed here in America these last ten years. After dinner, among the men, the talk swung around to the sub- ject of drinking; it nearly always does, as you may have noticed. One man, who had been punishing the Scotch rather feverishly, said in an undertone to two of us: . “Why the devil do we do this, anyhow? This miserable stuff 0 @.Blue Grass people—a self-reliant, high-handed, high-talking folk, lovers of women, lovers of ora- tory and disputation, lovers of horses, dogs, guns—and whisky. tastes rotten when you drink it. You feel rotten when you have drunk it and you feel rottener still next morning. I’ve got a hard day ahead of me tomorrow, too.” To his question there seemed to be no answer. A second man spoke up, addressing me particularly: “You ought to know something about good whisky,”’ he said. “You came from the South—from the country where they made the purest and the blandest and the noblest whisky that ever was —and that was Bourbon. Lordy, but that was real whisky— stuff fit for a gentleman to drink.” He sighed regretfully and reached for the synthetic substitute. What he said set me to thinking. It set me to writing. The serial which begins in this magazine was the outcome.

Page 9

IKKER As a generic term, take the word whisky. There’s a word that you can wrap a lot of other words around. It depends on your personal attitude whether these words are pleasant or unpleasant, complimentary or condemnatory, or a mixture of the same. To be specific, as in this instance, take Bourbon whisky, which in the section where they made it sometimes was called “sour-mash” and oftener was called “red likker.” In its day and time, before Prohibition came along, Bourbon whisky was one of the distinctive products of a certain area of my native state of Kentucky, was perhaps its most distinctive product. _It sprang out of the very loins of the land. It took the limestone soil and the limestone water to make it. It took also Illustrations by W. Smithson Broadhead the corn which grew in these parts. This Bourbon whisky had its friends and it had its enemies. At home and abroad, it had both. In the earlier periods of its manufacture its friends far outnum- bered its enemies. Later on, the oppo- site of this was true. There were those who claimed it made misery in the world. But its defenders de- clared that, without it, there still would have been misery in the world. These same defenders said that, used in mod- eration, it brought joy to the children of men. But those on the other side of the argument said this joy was a false and a spurious joy out of which came tears and heartaches and bloodshed and poverty. From present in- dications, it never again will be made, or at least not le- gally and under gov- ernmental sanction, excepting for vari- ous stated and cir- cumscribed pur- poses. As an insti- tution, it is gone and, as nearly as we may figure, gone for good. It’s in the past tense. Looking backward, though, we see that its history was a part of the history of the state and, in some degree, of the nation. There was romance to it—of a sort. There was poetry to it—of a sort. There was tragedy in it, and drama too. To its memory there probably always will be legends appended, and traditions and fables and by-tales. : Still looking backward, we see now in retrospect that out of it grew up an aristocracy, a feudal system, if you will, which was different from any other aristocracy anywhere, an aristocracy which was dependent on Bourbon for life, which withered and died when the making of Bourbon passed out and which never again cau be recreated. This narrative will deal with Bourbon whisky and ely

Page 10

22 with an imaginary family who for generations engaged in the dis- tillation of it. With Bourbon whisky their tribal name and their tribal records were for a great many years very closely inter- woven. It isso that you are to picture these supposititious folks. It is with intent to tell how they came to get into this line and what getting into it and staying in it did for them and to them, and how after all those years they were, by force of circumstances and the onward march of the Anglo-Saxon civilization, ousted out of it, that the narrative has been written. To get back to the beginnings of the beginnings, you must go quite a distance behind the things of today. Therefore and for as briefened a space as may be, the and s kind attention is directed réarward. IRVIN S...COBB P. S. This story is not intended as propaganda for’ ‘OF aoe anything or anybody. pr ra Poe «Agno % eo N THE ground where Number 2 bonded warehouse of Bird & Son’s Old Blockhouse Distilling Company would one day stand, the first of the Birds to come through the Gap and. along-the Wilderness Trail into this virgin country, past the mountains, sat down by his door, it being a fine spring morning, and wrote.a letter to the young governor of the young state. He wrote with a pen made by him from the-feather. of a wild. goose’s wing. He dipped his quill in ink made by his wife from the gall juice of a white oak. There was no affectation in the use of these-things. These were the pioneering times and this was the farthermost rim, the ultimate horizon, so some predicted, of the white man’s civiliza- tion on the Western Hemisphere. Hissquirrel rifle, with its light small curly-maple stock and its long heavy octagonal barrel, was propped between Isham Bird’s knees while he wrote, and the “Tnjun cigar” tree under which he sat spilled its shattered and wilting blossoms on his hunched shoulders and on the puncheon board which served him for a desk. He wetted his nib and he wrote as follows: On Bird’s Fork, May the 13, 1793 DB Sir— I gladly embrace the opportunity of leting you know our Situa- tion At This place, at present our Situation is very dangerous~the Indians Are Almost daily seen on our fronteers~And on Thursday last I seen myself 7 or Eight on the waters of Grimm’s Run; & the people at this place are Very Much discourage, the Indians Seem to Rush on so violently & no Soldiers sent to put a Stop to them~ And if this place brakes up All the settlements on this River Will brake up likewise~ Now My earnest Request of you is to order About Ten Men to our Afsistance this summer As Soon As Pofsible, your Complianc Will Very Much oblige your Very Hum? Sert Isham Bird To Isaac Shelbay Esq Governor of the state of Kaintuckey He spelt the last name of the governor according to his own peculiar fancy. But he spelt the name of the state the way most men of the Western Border did spell it in those days. They spelt it so because they pronounced it so. He folded the double sheet of thick grayish paper and backed it with the address and sealed it with a dab of sticky sweet-gum and put it by until the seal should dry. Shadwell Bird, his un- married brother, would take it with him across to the provisional capital at Lexington when he started for there on horseback the following morning at sunup, riding along the trace with its blazed saplings for markers until he issued forth six miles out from Lexington upon a rutty wagon road. It would be Shad’s first trip to Lexington. He had lately ar- rived from beyond the Cumberlands. He was aiming to marry Hannah Bartlett, younger sister of Isham’s wife. She would be out soon, if all went well; and then they would be married and then the brothers would be brothers-in-law. Bird, the elder brother, was no scribe; was better with the ax than with the quill. With an ax he could at one stroke take a kerf as broad as your hand from the heart-wood of a green hickory, but when he took his quill in hand he labored over the task. Having finished with this task, he now reared himself back for a bit of ease on his stool, which was a log butt sawed off squarely, top and bottom, and set on end. With his head against the split- log door-jamb he looked across the clearing where corn shoots were coming up in the crooked furrows. To get a crop in had been his main desire ever since he traveled out from the Yadkin the fall before, with his family and his land- warrant, and picked this site for his homestead. Red Likker Building a cabin and making it weather-tight and fortifying it with palisades against assault, had taken all winter; so his plowing had been delayed. Not all the chips which had covered his dooryard were gone; some had been burned for kindling; the rest lay about thickly. It was very peaceful there in the clearing. Pairs of redbirds, both the tufted kind and the smooth-pated kind, flickered back and forth, making quick-shifting splashes of cardinal or scarlet against the deep background of the thickets down toward the creek; and constantly flocks of parrakeets passed overhead like flights of slender green-and-yellow darts. There were hundreds of these parrakeets about; there seemed to be thousands of them. . Isham Bird’s slave man, Easter, would pause frequently. from tending with his hoe in the patch of flax between where his-master sat and where the straggly corn rows began, to look up at the fantastic gaudy little creatures. Neither Easter nor his master would have believed anyone who might have predicted—only, of course, no one in their lifetimes ever did—that of all the winged things of the forest the parrakeets would be the first mysteriously and entirely to vanish—they first and then, after years and years and all at once, the passenger-pigeons. In the brush-roofed lean-to behind the cabin the plucked, and smoked and salted carcasses of pigeons still filled sundry firkins and casks. Bird and his negro and his oldest boy, Isham Junior, had netted them at their roosts on the river in the October before, soon after the family got here from North Carolina. Made into stews, the bodies of these pigeons had furnished a winter de- pendency did the household tire of such fresh meats as venison or wild turkey or elk hams. - When Isham Bird was a much older man, indeed a very old man, a stranger named Audubon would make afar pilgrimage hither for the purpose of studying these pigeons. But now this Isham Bird was a man. in the prime of his strength and his ma- turity—a gaunt, spare, ginger-haired man with long sinewy arms and long legs, but very short-waisted—‘‘a close-coupled one”’ his neighbors called him. Sometimes they called him “High Pockets.” Except for the bickerings of the birds, it also was peaceful in the coverts which marked the creek banks at the edge of the “dead’nings.” But this tall homesteader put no faith in that peacefulness; it might be but @ false peace. That edging yonder was a soft green mask for the face of danger. That jay, now, the noisy one which screamed so stri- dently in the distance, but did not show himself—he might not be a jay at all; that rain-crow pleading for rain somewhere down in the slashes ‘might be a painted scout calling a signal for the sudden attack and, if the attack should succeed, the massacre. That owl—but this was an honest-owl—which screeched g0 close by the barred and shuttered cabin just before dawn, had brought Isham Bird to alarmed wakefulness on the instant,-and-he sitting up on his pallet and groping for his weapons. He lay always with his weapons in arm’s reach. In 1793, among these outposts, you bought your life at the price of an everlasting vigilance. You walked warily by day, and by night you had peril for your bedfellow. You had always before you hideous examples of what a slackening of this watchfulness might mean. ERE had been, for instance, the affair at the settlement in [ oui Quinn’s Bottom on the Elkhorn, and it a settlement much larger than this one here on Bird’s Fork, and much closer, too, to the encircling crescent of ‘forts’ and “stations” which on the eastward formed a dubious and uncertain line of protection for those living within its irregular half-moon. That had befallen the year before—in April, ’92, two months, about, before the state became a state. It was a large war-band from above the Ohio which struck that blithe April morning on the infant community of Quinn’s Bottom. The assault was a surprise assault and before the raiders fled they killed both of the Cooks and Lewis Martin and William Dunn’s two sons and a negro man belonging to Dunn; and they captured and carried away with them two more buck negroes. The Cooks were the first to die. For them there was no warn- ing. They were shearing the wool off their ewes in a little meadow fronting the cabin which their families shared. From the adjacent brake a volley burst forth. One of the brothers dropped in his tracks and was scalped and mutilated where he dropped. The other, shot through and through between the shoulders, was dying on his feet as he ran for the cabin. But he reached the doorstep before he fell. His wife and his brother’s wife sagan him across the threshold and made the door fast. In another instant the Indians were battering with their war hatchets at the half-timbers of the’door. Oado wn ara art | oO”

Page 11

The Home-coming Outside were thirty or more ravening savages. Inside were two women, three small children, one corpse on the floor. There a windows to be breached, which was lucky for the be- sieged. There was one gun and a powder-horn but no bullet with which to load the gun. One of the women split a scrap of lead and chewed it round between her teeth and rammed it down the barrel and she made a hole in the dried mud chinking of the wall and poked the muzzle through and fired and killed a bedaubed big warrior who was directing the attack on their citadel. So at that the Indians set fire, one place and another, to the roof of poles and thatched brush, and fell back a little way, taking cover. Then one of the widows—the one who had fired the lucky shot—climbed up to the loft and tore away part of the thatch, and her sister-in-law passed water up to her and she put out some of the fires. They ran out of water and the roof still blazed. Then the woman below handed up hens’ eggs, and the woman above, with her head and shoulders exposed to the leaden slugs and the arrows that pecked and pelted about her, smashed the eggs into the little creeping flames and doused them. But when the eggs were all gone, one small fire still burned. So she descended and she stripped from her man’s limp dead body his woolen vest and carried it aloft and spread it, all soaked

Page 12

with blood as it was, over the last bit of stub- born fire and smothered that out; and soon after that the Indians retreated. Oh, the women played their parts well. Take the earlier affair at Bryan’s Station, one of the first of these sta- tions to be set up: There the settlers had word of the enemy’s ad- vance and took refuge inside their square stock- ade and stood off the assailing force for two days and two nights. Then. their supply of water ran out and except from a spring which stood two hundred feet or so from the fortifica- tion, there was no water to be had, and from thirst the besieged be- gan to suffer grievous‘ torments. The Indians appar- ently had withdrawn, but these frontiersmen had experience of bor- der wiles; they felt sure the red men still were hid close by awaiting a moment when the whites might relax their guard. It was a woman who thought of an artifice whereby the be- leaguered might have water and yet no able- bodied fighter be killed trying to bring it. At dawn she mar- shaled all the other wo- men within the walls, the young and the old, the grandmothers and the half-grown girls, and she drilled them in what they must do. They did it, too. First though,thegates of the fort were thrown back, “the sentries, ap- parently confident and careless, lounging in the gap. Spying from their leafy ambuscades, the Indians saw these things and were heartened thereat. What they could not see was that behind the palisades the best marksmen of the garrison were crouched, their rifles poised, their eyes glued to peep-holes. Now then there issued forth between the opened gates a pro- cession of women, all bearing buckets, kettles, piggins, keelers, puncheons, jugs, water-skins, gourd-bottles, gourd-calabashes, crocks, even churns. Chatting uneoncernedly, singing, some of them, they moved with placid, unhurried steps down the gentle slope to the spring. Still without haste or seeming concern, they tilled their vessels, slowly went back up the little hill. oT until they were within a few yards of safety d‘d they break N ranks. Quickly then, like frightened partridges, they ran for shelter and as the last one scurried through, the gates were slammed to behind her while a futile scattered squall of slugs and arrows spattered against the logs and from the thwarted Shawnees arose a gobble of rage and disappointment and from the exultant “long hunters” within, an answering chorus of de- fiant, jubilant howls and derisive catcalls. Neither to those who did these things nor to those subsequent founders of the baby commonwealth who had news of them, —— it seem conceivable that a day might ever come when by a little bubbly spring gurgling from a limestone cleft, a monu- ment would stand to bear the names of those mothers and those daughters who fetched up the water, or that heroic odes would be written to glorify the memory of the woman who put out the fire with the fresh warm blood of her husband’s drained body. They did not know, those borderers of the generation of Isham Bird and his wife and his brother Shadwell and his wife, that they were making history for patriots to treasure. If they gave it a thought, they thought only of making homes for themselves out of the solitudes, of making inheritances for their children, and their children’s children. To that they dedicated themselves with a certain simple and whole-souled efficiency. They endured the greater hardships of their present lot be- cause all their days they had known great hardships. They con- tended with the obstinate aborigine and finally drove him back; and they drove back the wolf and the panther and the bear. They ate hulled hominy of their own manufacturing by a primitive process and, until more and more grist-mills were built, they mostly pounded their corn in crude mortars left behind by the Indians. They sweetened their mush with the boiled-down juices of the “sugar bush,”’ which was the maple, and the more astringent sap of the “molasses tree,” a variety of hickory. With salt from the “licks,” where the buffaloes had wallowed, daeaeee2se fr oOmnmnm

Page 13

G,''There’s a big cravin’ on for red likker like what you see, Isham.’ ‘‘That's shorely one buckleberry above my tallest persimmon. Likker that's red from char- wood—that's a new dangle to me, Shad!”’ they salted the hard-baked journey-cakes which you and I of our day call “johnny-cakes.” ‘They went barefoot in the summer and in the winter wore moccasins and buskins of deerskin or elk- hide or buffalo-hide. They wore hunting-shirts of fleece from the backs of their own sheep, which the women carded and spun and fashioned into cloth and dyed the cloth with infusions of bark and the hulls of the black walnut. Next to their bodies they wore garments of tow, which they themselves hackled from the hemp; or, in‘emergencies, garments of the hackled fibers of the nettle. They set up schoolhouses and church-houses and court-houses and gallows and whipping-posts. They made a singing sweetness on earth of what had been a ramping wilderness. They made something else of which they took no note nor speculated over, since it likewise belonged to the future. Of the spirit and the passion that was in them and of the essences of the soil and the climate and the environment, they seeded for a-breed of self-reliant, high-tempered, high-headed, high-handed, high- talking folk who would be quick to:take offense and quick with violent force to-resent it; a big-boned, fair-skinned, contentious, individualistic breed, jealous of their rights, furious in their quar- Tels, deadly in their feuds, generous in their hospitalities; a breed who in the main would take their religion and their politics very seriously and their adventures very lightly; a breed of lovers of women, lovers of oratory and of disputation, lovers of horses and horse-racing, lovers of cock- fighting and card-playing, lovers of dogs and guns—and whisky . . . Blue Grass people. OING and coming and stay- G ing overnight in Lexington, Shadwell Bird was away for three days. On the afternoon of the third day, late, they heard him approaching before anybody saw him. He was singing at the top of his voice, with no regard for _the tune. Isham Bird, harkening to it as - he stood in the littered dooryard, knitted his bushy sandy brows in displeased uneasiness. A man who sang as loudly as that while traversing the bowery bridle- trail through these woods was going out of his way to invite trouble, what with the country alive with topknotted marauders. The reason for Shad’s in- caution was revealed when he emerged into view at the verge of the clearing. He was swaying a little in the saddle, his feet free of the stirrups, the foppish fringes on his close-fitted leggings flopping against his calves. He whgoped with a tipsy hilarity at sight of Isham coming to meet him, and letting go the reins, waved one arm over his head. His rifle swung in the elbow crotch of his other arm. Getting off his mare, he dropped the flintlock and fell sprawling. Saying nothing, his brother helped him to his feet and would have helped him ungirth the mare but Shadwell motioned him back. Drinking or sober, he cared for his own horse-flesh. He cast off the saddle and the saddle-cloth and the twin saddle-pouches, and leaving them on the ground lurched off toward the brush-and- bark stable, his lathered nag trailing behind him. “Look in my saddle-poke—the right-hand one,” he called over his shoulder. ‘‘What you’ll find there’s goin’ to pleasure you mightily.” Having fed the wearied animal and bedded her, this courier presently came back, walking unsteadily, his face very flushed, to where Isham mutely awaited him. Isham’s oldest son, a boy of twelve, was there now with a cane pole over his shoulder and a sizable catch of perch and baby bass strung by their gills on a willow twig; and Isham’s wife had come outdoors to learn the tidings, bringing her girl baby in her arms. The two remaining children were too small to be interested in hearing what news the returned traveler might have brought. They were over yonder at the back side of the corn-patch bearing old Easter company. In his hand Isham held what Shadwell had bade him seek for in the saddle-bag. It was a wickered case-bottle, stoppered with a corn-cob. “Tried it yet?” said Shadwell. “Not yet.” “Well, you’d best not lose any more time then. It’s prime. Man, I tell you it’s just prime! Primest ever I swallowed any- wheres or any place.” “What is it?” ‘“Likker. What else would it be but likker?” “But it’s red!” Isham was holding the flask up to the west = 2

Page 14

26 through the meshes in the plaiting the glass, by reason of its contents, showed him a deep russety-amber shade. That was puzzling. Z “Shore, it’s red. That’s the joke about it. Red as stinkabus rum, e’en near it, yet powerful well-flavored. Take a swig and then tell me if it ain’t about the potentest likker ever you put lip to!” s AT can wait,’’ said Isham, and slipped the bottle inside his | shirt. ‘‘What’s stirrin’? What did the governor say about sendin’ us a few of his muster-men?” “Gad, but I’m hot as a she-mink!’’ exclaimed Shadwell. He shed his linsey-woolsey tunic and tossed his catskin cap inside. Then, suddenly remembering his manners, he ceremoniously shook hands with his sister-in-law. “‘Welcome back, Shaddy,” she said. Until then she had not spoken. ‘‘We’re mighty glad you’re back safe and sound. Any- thing happen on the way?” “‘Nothin’ happened to me but what was first-rate. Look at me, Tildy—don’t I look happy? But plenty that ain’t so happy is happenin’ all through these far territories.” “Indians?” Involuntarily she pressed the child closer to her. “Shorely. The cussed varmin air hazin’ the people t’other side of Lexington even worse than here on this nigh side. Two poor fellows laywayed and killed whilst bee-huntin’ just outside of Harrod’s Town last Tuesday was a week, and not hair, hide nor moccasin track to show of the lurkin’, murderin’, scurvy devils that did it. And a young gal snatched up and carried off alive and kickin’ before her mammy’s eyes whilst a-milkin’ of a cow half a day’s ride north from Logan’s Blockhouse, and the posse that formed and _fol- lowed after never caught up with ’em. “But that ain’t hold- « in’ back nor hinderin’ i the people from pourin’ in. That’s it—they’re just pourin’ in. Parties in from the Gap every week now and yester- day evenin’ a dispatch- rider bringin’ word of the biggest party yet cruisin’ down the Ohio on broadhorns and headed for Corn Island and the Falls. “‘Oh, but they’re comin’ down on us thick and fast, comin’ by the thousands. Let this keep up and purty soon Kaintuckey’s goin’ to be crowded up worse’n the old Caro- lina country we left behind us. Me, I didn’t traipse away out here for that. Me, I like it where the "habitants ain’t so pesterin’-many.” “‘Any news of my sis- ter Hannah?” “She sent word on ahead by the Bledsoes— Yadkin folks, they air, and just got in with their paws full of land- grants. She’ll be out in July or August with an- other big party that ain’t made up yet. She’s to send on word again before they start.” For a man bespoken, he said it casually. Isham broke in. “What did the gov- ernor say when you handed him my letter?” he demanded. “Did you tell him I was writin’ Red Likker not only for my own but for everybody along this fork?” ‘Well, I tell you: I didn’t see him.” “Didn’t see him?” “No. He was too busy, they said, to be seein’ everybody that’s a-beggin’ for guardeens. The one I saw was a young jimber- jawed whippersnapper of a clark that they termed the secretary. He took your letter but he didn’t let me in to where Ike Shelby was. Said you might be hearin’ later by some express journeyin’ this way—if Ike Shelby got ’round toit. But Ish, we’ll get none of the militiamen to help us out here; too many calls already in ahead of yours from settlements yet more outlyin’ even than this one and in worse fixes from the Injuns prowlin’. ‘We'll just have to make out the best way we can. Well, me, I’m comb-trimmed and heeled, and I’m feelin’ fit for frolickin’ or fightin’ and right now don’t care a thrip which one ’tis. It’s action I’m honin’ for, yes, my ladies.” He caught up his gun from the earth and patted its dusty stock. “Then we’re in a desperate and a sorry case, for shore,” said Isham Bird, sorely. Like a man beset by bad visions, he looked = _— him. His wife sped indoors almost like a creature in ight. “Take a deep nip out of that there sweet little flagon of mine and I’ll guarantee you won’t stay downcasted but’ll feel all hoped-up and contented-like in a minute,’ advised Shadwell. “T could do with another smidgin’ of it myself.” “But it’s red,” said Isham, still puzzled, as he brought the flask forth again. ‘‘Red like wine, sort of, and yet not wine but true spirits, you say. How could that be?” “T’m fixin’ to tell you. Seems like some fellow or other over yon just a fairish piece from here at the new fullin’-mill by the @."'0 Lord God, save this Union, but save also this here woman's misguided son,

Page 15

er he Mm, Irvin S. Cobb Royal Spring on the Elkhorn, made some corn likker and set it off in a boughten keg for to mellow up. Well, months passed, maybe a year or two, I don’t know how long. Then he drew off a measurin’-nogginful for to sample it and, lo and behold, in- stead of bein’ white, ’twas a pinky-brownish red like what you see. “Says he to himself then, this fellow I’m tellin’ you about, says he: ‘Damnation, it must ’a’ sp’iled on me someway.’ But it smelt right and when he tasted it, why, by Swamp Fox Marion, if it didn’t taste better’n any he’d ever tasted in his life before, I’m a liar! So he dreens off the rest of it and busts the keg open and he finds out that the insides of her is all burnt black-like. “Seems like the cooperin’ fellow that made this keg for him must ’a’ damaged the staves with live coals somehow but sealed it up and said nothin’ to nobody about it. So the fellow at the fullin’-mill didn’t say anything to anybody either. But with his own hands he coopered him up a yet bigger keg and he put a good heavy burn on her insides and he poured her full of some new triple-run and drove the bung home and set her by for a longish spell. “And bimeby, when he broached her—or leastwise that’s the tale that’s goin’ ’round—why, there was the same thing over again—red likker, the best ever. And he spread the word broad- cast and so anybody that’s got a distill of his own is free for todo the same. There’s a big cravin’ on for it already.” “Hum,” said Isham. “Now that does beat me. That’s shorely " He faltered, then: ‘‘Spare him, God, wa send him back to her—to us—to me!"’ 27 one huckleberry above my tallest persimmon. But I’ve heard our sire tell it how his sire told him that back in the old country, back in Scotland, they would use sherry casks from the Spanish countries to keep the spirits in so’s to give ’em a yellowy color and a special flavorin’. But likker that’s red from char-wood— that’s a new dangle to me!” He uncorked the flask and took a long draft. “Shad, it shorely does go down slick,” he agreed as he spat and, having wiped its mouth on his sleeve, passed the bottle. ‘Slick as a whistle, I do profess. Next batch I make us I’m goin’ to brand one keg with fire inside just for to see what comes of it.” “You’re shootin’ right you will!” The junior took the bottle down from his lips to make the response. “And if you should for- get about it when the time comes, I won’t. Because from this day forth I’m a red-likker boy.” AT a man should produce by hand his own spirits and drink them himself and sell the surplus, paying no tithe or govern- ment tax, if so be he had a surplus and could find him a market, was part of the ordained planning of things to the Birds and their kind. On that first great continental wave of emigration westward from the seaboard states, the incomers brought along their little portable stills and their small mash-tubs with them—mainly home-made wooden stills these were, but now and then you saw a treasured copper still, which would be a prized heritage from some European ancestor of the Colonial period. Of the small wild Indian peaches and the apples from trees of their own planting and of the blackberries and the native frost- grapes, they made raw, rasping hot brandies, but of the corn of their growing they made a whisky blander than any brandy, smoother to the palate and more in demand—a steadily growing flow which thenceforth would course like a sanguinary flood throughout the history of the land; be woven, like a_ bright thread, in and out of the lives of the people of the land. The demand came as the reputation for merit of these heady outputs spread. That hardy race of early American argo- nauts—those men who proudly boasted that they were “half-hoss, half-alligator” and on occasion proved it—who presently were taking their flotillas of flat- boats downstream of the Ohio into the Missis- sippi, took with them, as part of their cargoes, this new ruddy kind of whisky. Along with their po- tables they carried sor- ghum and peltries; hemp and pork; dried apples and dried peaches; to- bacco and pumpkins; grain and feed—products and produce of many sorts to be bartered off in the Spanish and the French possessions. As a shipper, Isham Bird on a somewhat later day would be engaged in this traffic and would profit thereby. He made no voyages, though. That would be for Shadwell to do. It suited Shad- well well. At the beginning it was a catch which the (Continued on page 209)

Page 16

28 QTaking little Arthur would mean endless patience, end- less thought and endeavor. And my hands and heart already were full . . . I flatly refused to be interested. \ \ i | ea from a By Honoré OME people accomplish their spir- itual growth gradually and pain- lessly. They come up from the childish plane of semisavagery as simply and surely as a fine tree develops and by middle life have established a beau- tiful and harmonious relationship with the heavens above and the earth beneath. It has not been so with me. I grow (if one may call it growth!) spasmodically and with infinite travail. Each step I have made upward toward the serene blue has been accom- plished only by conscious and titanic effort. I am cursed with a complete inability to take anything on faith. I must know or I cannot believe. And so a great deal of my life has been a long and lonely quest after the unknowable. But not all of my life. There stand up in my memory three or four experiences wherein it seemed to me I actually visioned truth and clung to it and with agony of mind and body pulled myself upward to a firm stand upon it. These experiences invariably have taken place either in the mountains or on the desert, far from crowds and the smell of gasoline. It has required a vast landscape to enlarge my focus to the seeing point. Some- times the experience has come without seeking, but of late years I have not infrequently sought the big country more or less delib- erately when some spiritual problem has confronted me. I say more or less, because in the experience I’m about to re- late I didn’t admit till afterward what had been my real purpose in going to Quaking Asp Canyon. I was writing a book on the early West and I wanted to reconstruct a picture of fur trapping. I might have made my picture from memory, for I once had seen a trapper at work in the Rockies and also there are several excellent books on fur trapping extant. But back of my hanker for meticulous accuracy was another hanker. I wanted to settle a vital personal problem by looking at it against a background of untainted wilderness. The problem was rather a curious one. A friend of mine in Boston had come to me with the story of a five-year-old boy. She was the child-placing agent for a child-adoption society and had become keenly interested in the study of subnormality. She believed that there were numerous cases among young children where highly intelligent care on the part of a mother could save a merely subnormal case from becoming what we call idiotic. She even claimed that sometimes such a child could be - brought up to normal, and she asked me to take this subnormal five-year-old into my home. I had flatly refused to be interested: I had my own family and a profession to care for. And I had what was more decisive, a horror of the abnormal or subnormal. But my friend had the persistence of a highly successful agent. She actually brought the child down to New York to see me. He was a beautiful boy—little Arthur; large for his age, with gorgeous blue eyes that one could not escape or forget, they were so hungry, so bewildered. “You see? You see?” exclaimed my friend when I commented on this look. “There’s something there—a soul struggling to thrust a curtain aside!” “You’re a sentimental goose!” I grumbled. : “Yes, I am, thank heaven!” replied my friend, holding the stolid child close in her arms.

Page 17

ral er er all bout gu , N cor CSS Wilisie Morrow I shook my head. I couldn’t! It would mean hours each day, feeding, training, watching—endless patience, endless thought } and endeavor. And my hands and heart already were full. We were arguing over the matter when Esther brought in the tea-tray. Esther was my colored cook; very tall, very dark, with a magnificent physique and liquid, pas- sionate eyes. I had not asked for tea. But I had told Esther about Arthur and this was her method of breaking into the conference. She set the tray before me, then stood staring at the child with all the negro’s love for blond. beauty. After a moment, she said, ‘You take him, madam, and I'll help you till he’s growed.” I shook my head. Esther tossed hers, disapprovingly, and went out. I turned to my friend and reiterated all my former arguments—that she’d easily find some rich person who could pay for a specialized nurse and teacher, or that he could be placed in a private school for such children; that there was a limit to my strength and the length of my working day.and to my love for children; that someone else could do the job better than I. To all of which my friend made k-:t one answer—that mother- love was the prime requisite plus a peculiar kind of intelligence. I tried to thank her flippantly for the implied compliment, but she was affronted and carried Arthur out without a further word. L was after this that I arranged to go to Quaking Asp Canyon through a man I knew in the Forestry Service. When I an- nounced my prospective trip to Esther, she was on her knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. She gave me the blank look char- acteristic of her race when it disapproves of some vagary of my race and said, sullenly, ““Yessum, I’ll keep things together till you git back—if you ever do git back,” and went on scrubbing. Ten minutes later, however, she came pounding along to my study and planted herself before my desk. ‘Madam, I’m going out there on that trip with you,” she announced. “That’s impossible, Esther!” I replied. She settled herself more firmly before me. ‘Nothing’s impos- sible the Lord wants done. He done told me out there in my kitchen to go with you. You know last time you went out in them mountains in the winter it nearly killed you. You ain’t going out again unless I go to bring your body back. I got enough money to pay my own way.” I was absolutely firm with her, even a little irritated. She subsided sulkily and I heard no more about it. Early in November, I started from New York and an hour after the train had left the station, Esther walked deliberately up the aisle of my car. She wore a tailored blue suit that must have taken several weeks’ pay and a tailored velour hat that was precisely the right covering for her dusky head. She seat- herself in my section facing me. “I hope you don’t object to colored people, madam,” she said obstinately, “because I sure have got a ticket for this upper berth.” And she had! Thus Esther went to the trapping country with me. Quaking Asp Canyon lies one hundred and fifty miles north of the railway in a forgotten section of the Rockies where there IS No grazing to tempt the sheepman (Continued on page 144) d = a G.But I came to see that since I was peculiarly fitted to care for little Arthur, he was my job. Whatever pain he cost me—well, God would see the scars.

Page 18

By ohn Erskine Who has already disclosed “The ‘Private Life of Ftelen of Troy” Illustrations by John LaGatta Before Godiva started out she informed the people of the sacrifice she was making for their sakes. Of course, this secured for her a publicity far ahead of the times. ee a ee fd on ne gee QoQ. wm - m ee ee —w =o of ~ = eh ee me eee

Page 19

p J . 0 ay ERHAPS the legend does her husband some injustice. They say he taxed his people to the point of starvation, and only by the self-forgetting heroism of his wife was he persuaded to relent. But why did it please him to impose a tax which the folk couldn’t pay? Or just how did he expect to squeeze it out of them, if they were stubborn? We are forced to content ourselves with the picturesque climax of the episode. Once every day, at least, Lady Godiva men- tioned the matter to the earl, her husband, until he lost his: temper. If she loved the rabble enough to ride naked through the principal thoroughfare in mid-afternoon, he would remit the tax. Well, she loved the rabble enough. She started in just above the old butcher shop, now long since destroyed, and kept on around the sharp corner where the town pump used to be— all the way to the public jail. She made the demonstration on the thirty-first of May, to be precise, though the exact year and century escape us. No matter how you look at the old story, the woman’s expo- sure of herself, even in a good cause, was a little startling. Some details seem to have been invented to relieve the strain. It is said, for example, that before she started out on her canter, she informed the people of the sacrifice she was making for their sakes, and without any desire to limit their freedom of action, suggested that they might properly stay within doors, until she had returned to her clothes. Of course this warning secured for her a publicity far ahead of the times. Even though the populace did remain indoors, we may assume that she had their attention. In fact, at least one ordinary fellow did lean out of the window as she went by. The legend tells us with ambiguous felicity that he was at once stricken blind. We are expected to conclude that he was dazzled by his own immodesty rather than by hers. The account does not dwell on Godiva’s personal appearance. One is tempted to call the story bourgeois—its interest is less in the lady’s beauty than in her lack of clothes. But according to another version, she did not ask the people to retire. On the contrary, she rode boldly through the streets at the hour of most congested traffic, and she had a stalwart soldier on each side of the bridle to lead the horse. Her progress, therefore, seems to have been leisurely rather than embarrassed. But she so disposed her wealth of golden hair that no one noticed anything out-of the usual. The inten- tions of this version are admirable, but-if- the townspeople were unobserving how was her sacrifice héréic? Other questions offer themselves: What happened after the ride? The earl remitted the taxes; of course, but what did she say to him when next they met? What; as a matter of fact, did he say to her? We are the answer in hieroglyphic, says the philosopher, to the questions we would put. Our observation of ourselves is proper comment upon any legend, however puzzling. It may be that the earl wasn’t so bad, after all, or his wife so unhappy. Not at the time! The episode, however, had consequences. Of course the earl never thought for a moment she’d accept his challenge. He had no more relish than any other husband for seeing his wife make such a show of herself. Uncordial as their relations had been when he dared her to do it, the real friction began, you might say, when she returned in triumph from the ordeal. AFTERTHOUGHT S Godi Ua Her maid met her at the castle door with her best dressing- gown, the one with the ermine on it, and she would have pro- ceeded to her room without a word if the earl hadn’t been wait- ing for her at the top of the staircase. In her face one could read the self-satisfaction which is permissible to a generosity like hers. The earl looked ugly as sin. ““Yousseem to have enjoyed yourself,” he began. She pretended not to hear. “T’'ll tell you right now, I’ve a good mind not to let you into the house again!” He spoke so loud that the guard on the front steps outside looked in to see what was the matter. “If you prefer,” she said, “I’ll return to the streets, whither you sent me an hour ago.” “T did nothing of the kind! I told you——” “Leofric, if you shout so loud, you’1IL——”’ “T’ll-shout as loud as I like,” said he, but lowered his voice. “T repeat, you undertook this disgraceful exhibition of your own free will. I shall never be able to look my friends in the face again. My wife, riding through the streets with nothing on!”’ “If you'll permit me to pass,’’ said Godiva, “‘I’d like to dress for tea.” He sulked till after dinner, but when they were alone once more he renewed his criticism. “To a well-governed nature,” -he said, “such an escapade would have been unthinkable. Only a depraved person would have carried it out.” “Leofric,” she said, ‘‘so far as I am concerned, the incident is finished. You are not a good judge of depravity or the oppo- site, whatever that is. Moreover, your present state of mind is not righteous indignation—it is disappointment. You thought you had named a price I wouldn’t pay. Now you wish you had stipulated something really hard.” HE earl examined the argument a second, to take hold of it by the effective end. “T named no price. If what you did wasn’t difficult for you, you're hopeless.” ‘““As you will,’”’ she said. “I repeat, the incident is finished. Anyway, it’s not on my conscience—it was your idea.” The earl forgot his manners. He walked around the table and got near enough to shake his fist at her. “Never so long as you live say I made you do that!” ““T shan’t. Don’t get excited. I said it was your idea. Of course I might have allowed the people to starve. You told me you'd be kind to them only if I rode.” “That’s the way a woman makes out a case for herself!” “Tsn’t it the truth?” “Tt is not! You began it. You said there was nothing you wouldn’t do to lift the tax.” “Well?” “And I merely pointed out that you were exaggerating. I mentioned a number of things which no polite woman would on any account be caught doing, a series of scandalous sugges- tions culminating in the fantastic idea of this ride. Ordinarily I’m not given to rhetorical flights. On this occasion I exerted myself in the hope that the irony might impress you. Imagine my sensations when I learned you had called for the horse and set out as soon as I had turned my back!” “Are you trying to deny you promised to remit the tax if I rode?” ve

Page 20

32 The earl squirmed a little. “You twist my words out of their mean- ing. Of course I never promised to remit the tax, and it never oc- curred to me that you’d make a spectacle for the vulgar.” Godiva herself was growing a little angry. “You did promise—the whole city knows it—you can’t crawl out of it now!” The earl tried to col- lect his wits. . “The whole city knows it? How could they?” “T told them. They understand it was a bar- gain. They bless me for saving them. Go back on your word now, and see which of us is unpopular!” He turned white with rage and some other emotions. She never saw him look more wicked. “Tt was like you to ad- vertise in advance! I’m through with you, Godiva! There’s only one kind of woman who’d strip in public if she got a chance. You are now free, as you suggested a moment ago, to return to the streets!” Whenever he threat- ened to turn her out of doors, she always knew the quarrel was dying a natural death. Now she smiled at him. “Don’t worry, Leofric, it wasn’t nearly so public as you think. Nobody saw me.” “Ah, you didn't really, after all ! Then the tax stands!” She laughed. ‘Don’t fool yourself—I really did. I hadn’t a stitch on. But I asked the people to stay in and keep the shut- ters closed till I had gone by. Even then it was Pati ae . ’ ‘\ The Afterthoughts of Lady Godiva to dress for tea. ‘If you'll permit me to pass, said Godiva, “I'd like as unpleasant—they appreciate what I did for their sakes—but of course I couldn’t have appeared so in public—if there had been a public.” “Thank heaven!” said the earl. He sat in a deep chair and mopped his forehead. Suddenly a reasonable doubt sprang up in him. ‘You say the shutters were all closed?” “T didn’t inspect the arrangements, Leofric—I merely asked the people to have the blinds down.” “Then any number of bleary-eyed, loose-tongued rascals may at this mo- ment be discussing your person over their tavern ale.” Godiva looked resigned. ‘It’s possible, of course. However, I count on the gratitude of your people.” The earl mopped his face again. “I wish I were sure what they are grateful for . . . So far as you are aware, no one saw you?” Godiva hesitated. ‘Practically no one.” “What does that mean?” “Tt means, Leofric, if you must know, that one man did. I didn’t wish to tell you, because you might feel upset—you have such a way of reading unpleasant meanings into the simplest accidents. But when I was rounding that corner— you know the bad spot near the pump, where you have neglected the pavements —well, just as I was passing, with my at- tention on the horse to keep him from slipping, I happened to look up, and there was a man leaning out of the window.” “What did you do then?” “T rode by, of course.” The earl gazed at her thoughtfully. ‘I’m sorry for that man,” he said. “What does he look like?” “T rode by,” repeated his wife. “If I had stared at him, he might have thought —well, I hurried along.” “Was he, by chance, old? Gray beard, perhaps? Rather bald?” “Oh, no, not at all! The one I mean was quite young. His face wore a beautiful expression — really inspired. It made me think of the way you feel in church.” “Well,’”’ said the earl, “T’m glad you didn’t stare at him. But it makes little difference. No living man, except your husband, has seen you as you rode. The fellow’s as good as dead. We'll have him in jail by night, he'll get his trial right after breakfast, and in the middle of the fore- noon we'll all go out and see him hanged.” Godiva seemed a trifle nervous. ‘Really, Leofric, I wish you wouldn’t talk that way! You sound cruel.” “T only told them I thought oe y hf “T tell you, he’ll hang before lunch tomorrow! Didn’t you / tell the people not to look?” _f Godiva cleared her throat. wad they’d better not.” “You were right. They’d better not!” They sat silent for a moment.

Page 21

ters ats, to no- leir dle, the “T ful one no ell ou int ts. 1p, its it- > Lis at ht 1? 3? John Erskine “But Leofric, I can’t feel that the man did anything very wrong. His gaze was singularly respectful. It struck me at the time that he had an admirable : mind. A really objectionable person ,''I've a good mind might have shown some improper inter- not to let you in- est, but this one managed to look as to the house,” though nothing out of the way had the earl growled. happened. In fact, he showed no interest at all.” “Vou’re sure he saw you?” “He looked straight at me, ina dreamy way—lI’ve tried to describe it. I felt he wasanoble man. I thought at the time, if you could have seen it as I did, you would have known the good side of the common people.” Leofric clapped his hands, and a servant appeared at the door. “Send me the sheriff!” The servant disappeared. Godiva approached her husband with her most appealing look. “Don’t be unkind to him, Leofric! He did nothing wrong! If I chose to ride, and he happened to see me, he’s not to blame. If anyone ought to be punished” “Of course—you ought to be! I know you enjoyed yourself. Now you'll see what it costs the fool.” “But he didn’t——” “Oh, yes, he did! It wasn’t an acci- dent. You told them all to keep their heads in.” Godiva was very red in the face. “Leofric, suppose it wasn’t an acci- dent, suppose his curiosity got the bet- ter of him. Isn’t it wise to pretend we don’t know he saw me? If you hang him, everyone will gossip—they’Il think you have a personal reason for ven- geance—you, a great lord, admitting you could be insulted by a mere towns- man!” “That’s what they will think, my dear. Meanwhile you will have the satisfaction of watching the fellow strangle.” The sheriff entered the hall, a swarthy unpleasant giant, fully armed. “Do you know the turn of the street where the paving is bad? Well, in the corner house, the one with the bay win- dow, there’s a young man with a rever- ent, inspired look on his face. Arrest him and put him in the dungeon. He’s to be hanged tomorrow.” Godiva turned pale: The sheriff wrinkled his brow. ‘Can you describe him more in particular? Several of the young men ce “Arrest as many as you think best,” said the earl. ‘Tomor- row we'll pick out the one we want.” The sheriff withdrew. Leofric got up and stretched himself. It was his habit to retire early. “I wish you wouldn’t go,” said his wife, “not till we have thrashed this out.” “Tt’s thrashed, all right,” said the earl. “But you don’t understand why—why——’ “What don’t I understand?” “Leofric, these people of yours are hungry for more than food.” “Of course they are! I told you that in the first place. They wouldn’t be satisfied, no matter what you did for them.” “Leofric, have you ever considered how little beauty there is in their lives? Nothing but work, and suffering, and—and medi- ty. When I saw that spiritual expression in the young man’s ace——”’ ? “T’'ll give my attention to it tomorrow morning,” said the earl. 4 “Very spiritual, I’ve no doubt.” After breakfast, he intimated to Godiva that she might retire to some other part of the castle, and as soon as she was gone, he had the sheriff in to report. “T arrested five, altogether,” said the swarthy giant. ‘They’re . There’s little difference all wearing that in- spired expression. between them.” “Tf it’s possible, I'd rather hang only the guilty one.” “Ah, that’s easy to say, but how will your lordship distinguish? The new gallows holds six. Why not play safe?” “No,” said the earl. “In this case I could get no satisfaction out of it unless I knew which of the five was guilty.” The sheriff showed some impatience. “If you intend to pro- ceed like a lawyer, my lord, you'll have to accuse the man of something. I thought you just wanted him hanged.” “That’s the difficulty,” said the earl. ‘The crime is serious, but I’m reluctant to talk about it. He would probably deny his guilt, anyway.” “Well, the gallows is ready whenever you are,” said the sheriff. Leofric studied a moment. ‘Where have you put the men?” “In the dungeon, as you told me.” “Perhaps that’s not the best place for them. Take them to the town jail, and give them that top row of cells.” The sheriff seemed unwilling. ‘My lord, they don’t need so much sunlight.” “No matter. My wife will probably visit them, as soon as she hears of the arrest. Her heart always responds to the afflictions

Page 22

34 of the weak-minded and the criminal. When she comes, let her in. If she stops to talk with any one of them, make a note of it and tell me.” The sheriff smiled grimly, and started off toward the cellar door which led to the dungeon. Leofric sat in his stately chair and meditated. He too indulged in a smile, from time to time. Godiva stopped to whisper to her maid: “If my husband asks where I went, tell him I had to do some shopping. I'll try to get back in an hour or so.” The servant curtsied, and Godiva slipped through the side door of the castle and hurried toward the town. On so private an errand she couldn’t call for her coach, and somehow a horse seemed inappropriate. She went on foot, dressed very plainly, with a heavy shawl over her head. When she reached the main street, she faltered—it took courage to goon. Of course they would recognize her, and there might be a few unkind enough to imagine she had come to receive their thanks, or to discover the popular reaction. She glanced up at the narrow strip of sky, where the old houses, leaning together, almost met above her head. She wished she might have come in the dark, at night, when the town would be sound asleep. It was easier to ride, she found, than to walk. She kept to the middle of the street, partly because the side- walk was too narrow, and partly because the center was less muddy. Her cautious steed had picked his way there. Women stood talking at worn doorsteps—she wondered what about. When she approached they fell silent, but never looked at her. She wasn’t recognized yet. She walked faster. N THE right her favorite butcher was whistling just inside his O shop. The tune was not recognizable. Behind his chopping- block sturdy quarters of beef and pork hung stiff and raw. He wore an apron, for the purpose, apparently, of keeping his knife clean, and around his left thumb was a bandage, where he had missed his aim. Godiva thought she had been anonymous long enough. “Well, madam, what will you have?” said the butcher, reaching for his saw. “Nothing at the moment,” said Godiva. last week’s bill.” “Why, if it isn’t my lady! Ideclare! You came in so quietly I didn’t recognize you. You’re not alone, are you?” “Y’m walking today.” He missed the allusion entirely—per- haps because she was counting out the gold under his eyes. “Right, my lady—thank you! I always say, if everyone paid as promptly as you and the earl, business would be a pleasure.” Godiva tied up her purse and put it away. The butcher leaned on the chopping-block, sociably inclined. ‘Any news at the castle, my lady?” “No—none of much importance.” “Well, my lady, isn’t that the best kind of life—one day like another? When I was young I didn’t think so.” Godiva moved toward the door. “T hope you’ll favor us with another visit, my lady. What’s this I hear about your riding down this way in the near future? We’re all expecting you.” “T rode yesterday.” “Oh, was it yesterday? I thought it was next week. That’s the way you get things mixed, in a quiet town like this.” Godiva gave him a wicked glance. “I must tell you,” she said, “the meat for which I have just paid was hardly fit for the table.” He looked penitent. ‘‘What was wrong with it, my lady?” “Age. Send us no more leather!” He stared after her, with his generous mouth agape. A hundred yards farther on, she decided to leave an order for Sunday’s bread. The baker was out, but his wife presided over the loaves—a solid woman of forty or more, who could knit stand- ing up. When Godiva arrived, she was leaning against the side of the doorway repairing the heel of an enormous sock. At first “lance she knew who the visitor was. Godiva thought her face hardened a little. “Good evening, my lady!” “T want a dozen fresh loaves by Saturday night. It’s for the Sunday dinner, and there are to be guests. You know the kind I like?” “Perfectly,” said the baker’s wife. ‘‘A dozen loaves. We have nothing that isn’t fresh. I’ll remember the order. Thank you, my lady.” She hadn’t stirred from the doorway, or invited Godiva to enter. “Perhaps I’d better speak to the baker himself—I usually deal with him. Call him, if you please.” “T stopped to pay The Afterthoughts of Lady Godiva The baker’s wife showed no enthusiasm. “He’s gone out, my lady—heaven knows when he’ll return. I’ll give him the message.” “Tn any case,” said Godiva, “I’ll indicate to you the size loaf I prefer.” Since she would go in, the woman couldn’t keep her out. Godiva had her finger on the kind she preferred when the door opened in the rear of the shop and the baker showed his flour-dusted head. His face broke into broad delight. “Tf it isn’t Lady Godiva! Well, this is an honor!” “James!” said his wife. ‘Your brother in the next street has just fallen downstairs. You’d better go over and see how he’s doing.” “Good Lord! I thought he had got over that habit!” said James. “T’ll run around later.” “You'll run now,” said his wife. The baker made a sound, un- pleasant but otherwise unintelligible, and disappeared. Godiva felt she ought to be moving on. When she passed the house at the corner, she gazed up at the window from which those understanding eyes had met hers. Other men had looked at her. He had seen with the heart. She was glad she had gone riding. Of course Leofric wouldn’t really hang him, when it came to the point. Odd that so spiritual a nature, so fine a taste, should reside in that shabby building! Perhaps if he had contacts with more fortunate people, opportunities to measure himself with the nobly born, he might some day rse to be a She was passing the candle shop. She remembered the castle was in need of candles, Besides, if Leofric inquired where she had been, it might be well to have the candle-maker’s testimony. The shutters were down, but the door was open. An old man sat in the corner, with spectacles on the end of his thin nose. “Good afternoon, Roger!” “My lady! You take me by surprise! How can I serve you?” “Three dozen more of the long tapers, Roger. Be sure they are all straight. You know how they burn if once they bend.” “My lady, that’s the fault of the weather. This warm spring is too much for the best candles in the world.” “Tf you’d open the shutters and let some air into this room,” said Godiva, ‘‘the spring wouldn’t be so warm. Of course, yester- day was an exception.” The candle-maker was slightly puzzled. “Yesterday was un- seasonable too, I should have said. But if I open the shutters, the boys throw stones at the new candles hanging up to harden. You can’t be on your guard against those young rascals. The only way is to close the windows.” “Yesterday,” said Godiva, “‘if the shutters had been open, you might have seen me riding by.” “Ah, so I understand, my lady.’”’ He smiled as though he knew more about it than she did. “Very amusing, I’m told.” He waited for her to say something. “Three dozen,” said Godiva. “Three dozen,” said the candle-maker. tomorrow.” She walked to the door, and he came out to bid her farewell in broad daylight. “It’s a fine old sport, riding,” he said. “I wish | had seen how you do it. And there’s no one like your husband, my lady, when it comes to choosing a fine horse.” “Tl send them up B THE time Godiva reached the jail, she felt discouraged. The sheriff admitted her without delay. “I suppose you want to comfort the prisoners, as usual, my lady. There’s a whole row of them who need it, waiting for execution.” “What have they done?” “We haven’t found out yet,” said the sheriff, “but they’re un- derstood to be a bad lot.” Godiva heaved a sigh. “Poor fellows! I’ve heard something about their plight. It’s really on their account I came.” The sheriff brought her to the cells. In the very first, gazing at her with the inspired expression, was the youth who had leaned from the window. She assumed a casual tone. “T’'ll talk with this one, sheriff. You needn’t wait.” The sheriff withdrew. He seemed pleased with himself. Godiva faced her admirer. “Why are you here? For what crime?” The youth groaned. “Crime? I never did a rash thing in my life! I have been an example to the neighborhood! So far as I remember, I never had a thought vou couldn’t quote from the pulpit! I am here because the world has gone mad.” “That’s easy to say,” replied Godiva. ‘We expect every crimi- nal to insist he is innocent—it’s a natural twist in the brain. But whether or not you will admit it, you must have done something.” He gave another groan. “Perhaps,” said Godiva, “you did something which could be

Page 23

G.I don’t know what the carl’s wife did, and it’s surprising how little I care,’ youth. Godiva wondered whether he had recognized her and was doing the chivalrous thing. criticized, but which wasn’t wrong in itself—something which you prefer not to regret. In adversity the best of us cling to our brightest memories, compensations, climaxes, achievements. Does the suggestion arouse in your conscience any response?” “Madam, I don’t know what you're talking about. I should think a bad action would always be regrettable. I’ve nothing to regret—unless it’s the wickedness of the sheriff in locking me up here. God punish him for it!” Ao Ae ” said the “T can’t admire your spirit,” said Godiva. ‘Let me illustrate my remarks. Suppose a woman, now, a fine lady, decided to sac- rifice her usual reticence in order to benefit those she loved.” “The case doesn’t seem specific to me, not so far,”’ said the man. “T’ll make it clear. Suppose she does, for their sakes, what ordinarily she would consider immodest. What then?” “T don’t know what then. I never tried it myself.” “T have in mind,” said Godiva, “‘the (Continued on page 198)

Page 24

By RUBE GOLDBERG CJ u1s MAN Chose the Altar and Home-life RIDGES ERRENCE BIGELOW and Clyde Manford were two boys whose lives went along the even paths which they had mapped out in the adolescent period when they were called upon to make the acquaintance of life and when, paradoxically, they were incapable of knowing what life really was. When I say they went along according to a preconceived plan I do not mean that things came out exactly as they had ex- pected. But, generally speaking, they did not digress from cer- tain fixed ideas that they had unconsciously absorbed in their home-life. Terry Bigelow had what you would call a nice’ bringing: up. His father always kissed his mother good-by in the morning and every birthday was observed with an impromptu parade into the bedroom of the fortunate member of the family who the calendar decreed should be the distinguished recipient of gifts for the moment. There was no bickering about domestic affairs. Terry’s parents had plenty of time to help him with his lessons, and, no matter how late they came home, they never forgot to give him an extra tuck in bed and kiss him on his somnolent forehead. As they say in the advertising business, he was sold on married life and knew that this world had nothing to offer to men who traveled over the years in single aloofness without the comforting and warming influence of a family. Clyde Manford had a somewhat different view, due principally to the fact that his mother had an affair with an impecunious artist and his father had sought out no one to give him consola- tion but his bootlegger. When he came home for the Christmas holidays his mother gave him a formal greeting and told him he could have the house all to himself because she had many things to attend to in town. He found a note lying on his bed containing a substantial check. The note vouchsafed the information that his father was glad he was doing so well with his studies and would get to- gether with him soon to talk over matters concerning his future. Clyde was a bit confused about the family unit of which he was a part. Everything was all right as far as the physical ele- ments were concerned. He had enough money to spend, he was independent to do as he pleased about his comings and goings, and he was getting the proper education to take his place in that vague place which was broadly spoken of as “the world.” He was vigorous and healthy, he could swim and dance and drink and play the saxophone. His vital organs all functioned properly, that is, all his vital or~ans except his heart. He had a certain amount of love for his parents and they reciprocated with a matter-of-fact son-and-parent feeling. But the warmth, the intangible comfort of proximity was entirely lacking. When he wanted real understanding, he sought the company of college pals and chorus girls. They talked about life and values with the barriers let down. He even had a few girls with whom he carried on mild flirtations from which he gained no little sat- isfaction. He had a fine time everywhere except at home. So it was no won- der that, when Terry and Clyde got to- gether after they grad- uated from college and had enough home- made gin to unbur- den their hearts, the following conversation ensued: “Listen, Clyde,” said Terry, in a tone that indicated he was about to say something profound, “the only thing in life that counts is a family. As soon as I meet the right girl I am going to get married and raise a lot of children. The wife and I will gradually grow old and all the while we will be having the pleasure of watching the children develop and carry on the traditions that were handed down to us from our parents.” “Tt’s the bunk,” answered Clyde. “Why take on a lot of burdens and duties that are unnecessary? If you are single you can have girls. When they get boisterous or whiney or clinging or old, you can give them the gate and get other girls.” “But the big thing that counts is the kids,” Terry broke in. “They grow up and have children and you Illustration by Jules Gotlieb

Page 25

All Gomedians want to play Ham/er. . Weir, why not? Here a Famous Burlesquer tells as Fine a Philosophical Story as weve ever read. + A Fats MAN Chose Bachelorhood and Freedom Destiny are the grandparent who sits back and looks over the happy masterpiece you are about to hand down to posterity. You slip into the mist of old age with sweet voices of small children ringing in your ears. It’s the hap- py old age you must look out for.” ‘*When you are old your ears will prob- ably be bad anyway,” offered Clyde. “Even so, you can hire a lot of servants and they can hand you all the boloney you want. They can wait on you and tell you what a great fellow you are and all that sort of stuff. Besides, all an old man needs is a well-supplied medicine cabinet and a nice red apple before he goes to bed.” “Well,” said Terry, “I’m not you and you’re not me. Mar- riage is my choice and bachelor- hood is yours. Neither of us has anything to sell. I'll get married and you'll stay single. If we both live, we’ll see how it works out.” “Put ’er here,” piped Clyde, grabbing Terry’s hand with both of his own. ‘We're pals, aren’t we? It’s all right if two good friends have different ideas about life. No matter what happens, we’re friends.” And so Terrence Bigelow met Lydia Vale and Clyde Manford met Bess McAllister. Bess McAllister was the beautiful blond chorine, and Clyde thought she was gorgeous. But that is a little ahead of our story. Just at present we are concerned with Terrence Bigelow and Lydia Vale. After one dance to the crooning music of the colored band at the Furnace, a night club that everybody had to visit once just to be able to talk about it, Terry and Lydia knew they would eventually get married. It may have been their state of mind, or it may have been love at first sight. Anyway, they clung together in that unhealthy atmosphere because they instinctively felt they were the only healthy things in the place. When he took her home he kissed her good night and neither felt that there was anything unholy in that kiss, even though it was bred in a stuffy night club, full of perspiring people with unholy ideas in their heads. Although it took no Hindu mystic to foretell the nuptials of these two, still they wanted to enjoy the pleasure of a courtship. They went around for three months together indulging in more or less formal conversation, only overstepping the bounds of propriety with the good-night kiss. YDIA, as you may have suspected already, was a beautiful girl. Her hair wasn’t bobbed but it looked bobbed if you liked bobbed hair. You know the kind—just swell no matter how you looked at her. She wasn’t especially brilliant. She didn’t have to be. She felt life although she did not talk too much about it, while the few intellectuals she had a chance to meet did an awful lot of talking about life without knowing how to live it. She had wonderful taste in clothes, was unspoiled and never asked for “ alligator-pear when she knew it was out of season. It was Lydia’s eyes that completely overpowered Terry. When these two rich brown constellations beamed on him from under caressing, long, dancing lashes, he was helpless.. He wished he owned the Alps so he could give her a present of a mountain peak where she could stand and let the world gaze in curious rapture. She wondered why it took him so long to propose. He also won- dered why it took him so long to propose. The fact of the matter was that it was the most momentous thing in his life and every time he started to pop the question—which was every night for three months—his heart pounded so hard he was afraid it would bump the buttons off his vest. He never had proposed to any- body before and was not aware of the fact that nobody had ever died from it. One night a great silence seemed to fall between them like a black cloud that was laden with hidden (Continued on page I 50)

Page 26

Such EN Are. a Illustrations by George Howe anZerous UDWIG KRANWERTZ—and there is a name for you that is not like everyone’s name!—felt that he required a change! Yes, a complete change. He always had been a man of mystery; there were innumerable stories about his origin and speculations as to how he had amassed his vast fortune, but no one really knew. Even his wife, Emma Ford, had no definite knowledge. She had met him in a hotel at Saratoga Beach where she had gone with her mother for recuperation and rest after her crotchety father’s death. She had intended to be a schoolteacher when she graduated—but that did not mean that she knew anything which would interest Ludwig Kran- wertz, who possessed the cultivation of the ages at his finger-tips—and if her youthful form had not been so pleasant to look upon, it is doubtful if the wedding ever would have taken place! However, the financier settled a million upon her widowed mother, the marriage took place in the office of a justice of the peace—and the couple went to Europe. That was five years ago —and Emma with pearls as big as gooseberries, yards of them—and a dethroned queen’s sap- phires, besides everything else it was possible to shower upon her—was still half asleep. She still said, “Thank you, Lud- wig—it’s real sweet of you”—and this got on Mr. Kranwertz’ nerves. He had been too busy doubling and trebling his millions to seek the cause of Emma’s dumbness. She never resented his caresses, or returned them. “As well love an india-rubber doll!”’ he often felt. But that was that! And there seemed no help for it. The world had given up its gold to Ludwig Kranwertz—and though gold means power his spirit was not free. Of what good to possess millions if he had to live like every other civilized creature? He had dreamed so often of finding a woman with mind and body and soul who might understand him and help him to spend his fortune in some fine way. A woman who would read books with him and think thoughts with him, stimulate him, and differ with him and—love him! : He had waited until he was thirty-nine—in vain—and then, 8 G,Emma ventured to look at Hurkly Ora. It was too bad of Providence—to have given her first a husband she did not want and now a most desirable lover who belonged to someone else! in desperation, he had taken Emma! So there it was—and now he felt he required change—complete change. That magnetic will of his which had drawn colossal wealth to him seemed to draw the means to pursue whatever he desired. And it sent into his office in London one day, a poor half-crazed engineer who had invented a remarkable parachute. It was so small that it could be concealed in a — bundle not much bigger than ten or twelve business etters. Ludwig Kranwertz bought it. “T’ll give you a million dollars for this—if you never make an- other—and forget that you made this one or sold it. If you re- member, by chance, and talk of the fact, you’ll only have a few hours to do it in. Is it a bargain?”

Page 27

The engineer, a sardonic person, found the deal to his taste, and in a few minutes it was a fact. The bundle, in a big envelop, lay in Ludwig Kranwertz’ pocket, and the engineer was leaving the room when Mr. Kranwertz said: “You seem a pretty clever fel’ow. Ill give you another million if within a year you invent an improved submarine—so small that it can hide on the deck of a little cargo boat. It must be safe—and hold two men—and go at forty knots. Can you do it?” : The engineer said he thought he could if the important parts were made of platinum. No one had yet seen fit to provide for the experiment in this expensive material. “Go ahead!” “T will, sir,” and the engineer left, smiling. During the year that followed, Ludwig Kranwertz transferred countless millions into various regions of the earth where he wished them to be. He no longer tried to educate Emma. When he made up his mind, he never wavered. That had been the a of his success from the days when he had been a bank clerk in Vienna. The Story of a Man who Made Over sis BODY and of a Woman wio Made Over ser SOUL When the engineer, Jim Pennington, came into his office again, exactly a year from the time when he had emerged from it, smiling, everything was ready for a great adventure! The two men looked at each other. “Hello, ‘Jim Bludso’!”’ The engineer smiled. “You did right, boss, to ‘put your trust in my cussedness.’ The boat is ready—up a cove near Southampton.” “We will go to see it today.” They went—and as they traveled in the mil- lionaire’s motor-car, they grew to like each other. Neither was loquacious, each seemed to understand a number of points without words. “Should you care to start life over again?” the Croesus asked. “No, I’d like to get on with this one. I’m learning—on your million—about nice things to eat and drink, and what silk feels like, and now I want to know women—ladies. I dreamed of them in college.” “So did I.” “T guess you’re about forty, boss.”’ “Just forty-five.” ““You’ve met some, then?” “T thought I had, but I always found I had not. They seemed everything by day—but were too generous about the nights when they heard of my millions.” “Couldn’t you keep that dark —with all your resources?” “Not for long.” The engineer became reflec- tive. “I begin to see light.” Ludwig Kranwertz glanced at the man sharply. Light was all very well, but as vet it did not suit him for anyone in his employ to see too much of it. The engineer perceived the glance and understood. “If you should want someone to operate the sub—I can do that too.” “‘As mothers can dress children?” “Precisely.” By the time they had inspected the queer-looking craft, Mr. Kranwertz had decided to let Jim Pennington far enough into his secret to be of use to him. There was one other person whom he trusted—his valet, Johnson. The household in the estate he had taken this summer thought Johnson was away on his annual holiday—and Emma, pleased with a new pink pearl bracelet which had arrived for her twenty- fifth birthday, never worried about anything concerning her hus- band’s movements. She knew vaguely that he was going to try out a marvelous airplane he had just bought, which would hold ten passengers—and that a party of men were going with him across to Havre and then on to Deauville. Emma hated flying, although she never had complained about this, their constant mode of transport. At about five o’clock in the afternoon, when the perfect English servants had brought the tea to their mistress on the perfect English lawn of Skipbrook Castle—the financier always insisted upon following the customs of the country he happened to be so- journing in—the butler handed her a telegram. Emma read it languidly and then she gave one scream and— fainted! The Mystery Czar of finance had disappeared from the eyes of man in mid-channel—walked into the back compartment of the airplane and apparently vanished into space. =m

Page 28

40 The whole thing was more than extraordinary. No one had observed a body falling—and the telescope revealed that no ship was within eight miles of their whereabouts to save him. Was it an accident? The pity was that Johnson should have been on his holiday, and a second man who was not so well acquainted with his mas- ter’s ways should have been in his place. The millionaire had not.seemed depressed, but he had written a number of letters just after they started, it was remembered. These lay upon the table ready to be posted when the plane landed. When they were opened by the police later, they were found to be instructions to the lawyers about various stocks and also about a large sum which had been settled upon Mrs. Kranwertz —and there was a letter to Emma herself. It did not actually announce suicide—but it could be taken that way. Dear Emma (it ran): My journey may go much farther than Deauville; enjoy the few dollars I have settled upon you. Return to America and be happy with the pleasures of your age and class. That is a European word of which you do not understand the various meanings as yet—and accept my grateful thanks for five years of perfect acquiescence. Sincerely yours, Ludwig Kranwertz Emma was never quite sure what made her faint. She was usually a phlegmatic creature. She never had speculated about anything—and certainly not as to whether she had or had not loved her husband. She was married to him, so of course she loved him. This had been her creed. Ludwig’s ‘few dollars” proved to be eight millions—free of encumbrances. He left her his yacht and the palatial Spanish villa he had just bought in Santa Barbara, and all his motor-cars —but not the airplanes! He had always been so considerate of her personal tastes! Of course it was suicide from depression—because his colossal fortune was found to have diminished to a mere ordinary fifty millions! And this pittance was to accumu- late for the benefit of scientific discoveries in Austria, England and America. Such ample bequests to employees and ser- vants, too! No one seemed to be forgotten— Johnson being made comparatively rich for life, which enabled him to retire like a gentle- man and travel abroad on his own. So, by the winter of 1926, the nine-day wonder at the disappearance from Life’s stage of one of the most spectacular gamblers of the century had ceased to be news. Ludwig Kranwertz was almost forgotten. But not quite—at least by Emma. In fact, she seemed to be under an obsession of his memory. In a comfortable room in a gloomy old palace in poor, changed Vienna, a man sat in a velvet dressing-gown. His head was tied round with a silk handkerchief. He held two photo- graphs in his hands—which were encased in gloves—and he looked first at one and then at the other with intense interest. They were of the fa- mous financier, Ludwig Kran- wertz. In one photo- graph he saw a man of just above medium height and rather heavy build—with short, thick, slightly retroussé nose and penetrating, beetle-browed eyes which had a Mongolian rise at the corners; a @,""You remind me of Kran- wertz, and if you won't F give up my girl, I'll get a pressman and start the hare. Take it or leave it, Ora,"’ said Jim. Such Men Are Dangerous close-cut mustache adorned a large, determined mouth. It was a full-length photograph and showed that the shoulders were par- ticularly square and the neck short. The other was a half-length, profile, and in it the strangely wrinkled, powerful hands could be seen clearly. _The man looked every bit his age—forty-five. The hair was dark and thick, but growing far back from the temples and exposing a high, broad forehead. It was cut extremely short, accentuating ears which stuck out unbecomingly. ee man in the chair got up and looked at himself in a pier- glass set between the great windows in the best light. Then he laughed. “Come now!” he called—and an elderly English valet appeared from the next room. “These wizards of Austrian doctors have done marvels, haven’t they, Johnson?” he said, after he had greeted the servant warmly. “Tt is said you can always recognize people by their eyes—but I affirm—not always!” *“You’re right, sir,” the valet agreed. Both men examined the reflection in the mirror. They saw a trim, athletic-looking figure with a neck certainly an inch longer than the one in the photo- graph and set on not aggressively square shoulders. They saw an oval face, ‘clean-shaven—with a finely cut, hawklike nose. The eyes were dark and they slanted downwards at the corners and this, with the straight brows well raised above them, gave them a slightly wistful expression. The pure olive complexion was smooth and unwrinkled. The mouth was medium-sized, stern-looking, with young, unwrinkled lips. Johnson coughed. He could hardly speak. “I can’t believe my eyes, sir. If it was not for some tones I know in your voice speak- ing to me, I’d swear you were deceiving me.” The man laughed delightedly. ‘‘And even those tones will be lower and different in another month, and then the last trace will have disappeared.” “Tf I may make so bold, sir—how was it done?” “Sit down, John- son, and I'll tell you all about it. I would not let you join me before because I want- ed your impression when the job should be almost complete.” The valet sat gin- gerly at the edge of a chair, but his mask- like face expressed in- tense interest. “You’ve heard from me, of course, how Pennington and I got away; the chute and the sub both were knock-outs. We final- ly landed in Spain— and there I said good- by to him and came on here to Herr Rosen- berg who was a college mate of my father’s. I put myself into his hands unreservedly. He might try any of his experiments on me that he pleased, so long as he promised that I should emerge a new man. He is a great surgeon. He had a colleague or two, specialists in their dif- ferent branches, but he did not let any of them see me until he had so disfigured me that they could not recognize me.” Johnson’s eyes grew wide. “But your height, sir; your build!” “Rosenberg always has (Cont. on page 124)

Page 29

By 8. P.B. Mats omen and Mon Caused AL WO things in life have always evaded me: The manage- ment of women and the management of money. On my fortieth birthday I re- ceived two letters, one from my wife, whom I adore, beseech- ing me to divorce her, the other from the Income Tax Commissioners, for whom my adoration is less notice- able, beseeching me for payment for arrears of taxes extending over five years. In neither case was I in a position to comply with the re- quest, which is, I think, sufficient proof that I have made a mudd!e of the better half of my life. Yet I began with every possible advan- tage. My parents were poor—many great men spring from poor homes; my father was a country parson; and I was closely re'ated to the peerage—a modicum of really blue blood is not only becoming but almost an essential in the make-up of the success- ful man. Yet I seem to have done everything that the very suc- cessful do except succeed. That is why my story is worth listening to. There comes a stage in the biography of all famous men when they cease: to be interesting. That stage comes when they begin to succeed. Noone can tell you how success is achieved. Therein lies its romance. That there are lessons to be learned from successful men, I should be the last todeny. But the lessons to be learned from failures are equally obvious and even more necessary, for the simple reason that there are more failures than successes. There is nothing to be learned from the man who makes no mistakes. Unluckily few modern autobiographers have the candor of Benvenuto Cellini or Pepys. They refuse to reveal their Achilles’ heel. It is only in novels that the hero is allowed to have weak- nesses. I want to show how my weaknesses, which may or may not be yours, have stood in the way of my success. Had I possessed any money-sense I should not now be chained to an office devoting to journalism what was meant for literature. Had I possessed any sense of how to appreciate women I should not now be wasting my time repining the loss of the one woman who could have made a success of me. Too many women and too little money have been the causes of most of the failures of mod- ern times. I neither gamble nor drink; I merely let my money dribble vet my fingers, having nothing to show for the spending of it. I have frittered away my affections just as I have frittered away my money. The wise man will hoard money as a safeguard against the world. The wise man will hoard up his love in order My Troubles to lavish it all on the one woman, for the girl has yet to be born who will cry “Enough!” to the man whom she loves. Now let me tell you the story of one who loved un- wisely and spent unwisely. My boyhood was quite normal and quite happy. I was an only child and therefore, of course, des- tined to perform won- ders. I had not then developed that inferi- ority complex, that sex infirmity, that curious incapacity to deal with money or women that after- wards hampered all my plans. It was at Oxford that my inferiority complex first came into play. While other men from better-known schools were obeying the herd instinct I was away down the tow-path flirting with the daughters of boatmen or shop-assis- tants. My appetite for vul- gar intrigue seems to have been insatiable. While my fellow undergrad- uates were reading Greek philos- ophers in the dignified seclusion of their rooms or pretending to be literary by reading passages from lewd poems aloud between drinks, I was to be found walking in the rain over the sodden fields of Terry Hinksey in the company of young women who were more tongue-tied than lip-tied. It was at Oxford that my total incapacity to man- age my financial affairs became noticeable. I began to cultivate the habit, which I have never lost, of ordering things without having the least chance of ever paying for them. I owe much both to and at Oxford. I came out of Oxford with a degree, but no knowledge, and once more found that the world was quite capable of continuing without my help. F2 four years I taught school and then left because I wanted to get married. My wife was one of the few girls of gentle birth with whom I had ever come into contact. I had continued my career of philandering with shop-girls unt!] a certain night at a social gathering when I noticed a dark-haired girl of extraordinary beauty talking to a friend of mine. With a sudden determination that was quite foreign to me I strode across the room and demanded an introduction. The girl obviously resented my importunity but consented to give me cne dance. She cut it and I saw no more of her for a year, when after four meetings I proposed. Six months later we married. We lived on one thousand dollars a year in a remote country town where my wife was rebuked for playing bridge for money on Sundays (Continued on page 150) +

Page 30

he DO not like long- standing engage- ments. How can you tell whether on a cer- tain day three or four weeks ahead you will wish to dine with a certain person? The chances are that in the interval something will turn up that you would much sooner do and so long a notice presages a large and formal party. But what help is there? You accept and for a month the engagement hangs over you with gloomy menace. It inter- feres with your cherished plans. It disorganizes your life. ‘There is really only one way to cope with the situation and that is to break it at the last moment. But it is the one I never have had the courage or the want of scruple to adopt. It was with a faint sense of resentment then that one June evening towards half past eight I left my lodging in Half Moon Street to walk round the corner to dine with the Macdonalds. I liked them. The Macdonalds were nice, but their parties were a toss-up; for they suffered from the delusion that if they asked six people to dine with them who had nothing in the world to say to one another the party would be dull, but if they multi- plied it by three and asked eighteen it must be amusing. I arrived a little late and Mrs. Macdonald’s drawing-room was filled with people. I knew few of them and my heart sank as I saw myself laboriously making conversation through a long dinner with two total strangers. It was a relief to me when I saw Thomas and Mary Warton come in and an unexpected pleasure when I found on going in to dinner that I had been placed next to Mary. Thomas Warton was a portrait-painter who at one time had had considerable success, but he never had fulfilled the promise of his youth and long since had ceased to be taken seriously by the critics. He made an adequate income, but at the private view of the Royal Academy no one gave more than a passing glance at the dull but conscientious portraits of fox-hunting squires and prosperous merchants which with unfailing regularity he sent to the annual exhibition. You would have liked to admire his work because he was such an amiable and kindly man. If you happened to be a writer he was so genuinely enthusiastic over anything you had done, so charmed with any success you might have had, that you wished your conscience would allow you to speak with a decent warmth of his productions. It was impossible and you were driven to the last refuge of a portrait-painter’s friend. “Tt looks as if it were a marvelous likeness,” you said. Mary Warton had been in her day a well-known concert singer and she had still the remains of a lovely voice. She must in her youth have been very handsome. Now, at fifty-five, she had a haggard look, her features were rather mannish and her skin was weather-beaten; but her short gray hair was thick and curly and her eyes were bright. She dressed picturesquely rather than fashionably and she had a weakness for strings of beads and fantastic earrings. She had a blunt manner, a quick sense of human folly and a sharp tongue, so that many people did not like her; but none* could deny that she was extremely clever. She had a very rare feeling for art. She was not only an accomplished musician, but she was a great reader and she was passionately interested in painting. Her taste ran to what was most modern. You might say she was a highbrow; she was; but her taste was almost faultless, her judgment sound and her enthusiasm honest. No one admired her more than Thomas Warton. He had fallen in love with her when she was still a singer and he had pestered her to marry him. She had refused him half a dozen times and I had a notion that she had married him in the end with hesitation. She thought that he would become a great painter and when he turned out to be but an honest journeyman of art, without originality or imagination, she felt that she had been cheated. She was bitterly mortified by the contempt with which the connoisseurs regarded him. But Thomas Warton was in love with his wife still. He had “yg greatest respect for her judgment and would sooner have xtraordinary had a word of praise from her than columns of eulogy in all the papers in London. She was too honest to say what she did not think. It wounded him bit- terly that she should hold his work in such poor esteem, and though he tried to make a joke of it you could see that at heart he resented her outspoken comments. Sometimes his long, horselike face grew red with the anger he tried to control and his eyes were dark with hatred. It was notorious among their friends that the couple did not get on. They had the distressing habit of quarreling in public and though Warton never spoke to others of Mary but with admiration, she was less discreet and her confidants had often heard how exasperating she found him. She admitted his good- ness, his generosity, his unselfishness, she admitted them ungrudg- ingly, but his defects were of a sort that make a man hard to live with, for he was argumentative, intolerant and dogmatic. But if I have given the impression that Mary Warton was a discontented, rather tiresome, pretentious woman I have been unjust to her. She was a loyal friend and excellent company. You could talk to her of any subject under the sun with the certainty of a sympathetic hearing. Her conversation was humorous and witty. She could tell a good story with point. She never repeated herself. Her vitality was immense. HE was sitting now on the left hand of her host and the talk S around her was general. I was occupied with my next-door neighbor, but I guessed by the laughter with which Mary’s sallies were greeted that she was at her brilliant best. When she was in the vein no one could approach her. “You’re in form tonight,” I remarked when at last she turned to me. “Does it surprise you?” “No, it’s what I expect of you. No wonder people tumble over one another to get you to their houses. You have the inestimable gift of making a party go.” “T do my little best to earn my dinner,” she laughed. “By the way, how’s Mawson? Someone told me the other day that he was going into a nursing-home for an operation. I hope it’s nothing serious.” Mary paused for a moment before answering, but she still smiled brightly. ‘“Haven’t you seen the paper this evening?” “No, I’ve been playing golf. I only got home in time to jump into a bath and change.” “He died at two o’clock this afternoon.” I was about to make an exclamation of horrified surprise, but she stopped me. “Take care. Tom is watching me like a lynx. They’re all 2|e se «A

Page 31

By Way omerset ' M augham they should not do what they liked. You met them sometimes sitting in a retired corner of an obscure restaurant or walking together in the Zoo and you wondered why they still took care to conceal an affair that was nobody’s business but their own. But of course there was Thomas. He never had ceased to be insanely jeal- ous of Gerrard Mawson and it was known that he had made violent scenes about him; indeed, at the QNo one admired Mary more than Thomas Warton. When she was still a singer, he had pestered her to marry him. watching me. They all know I adored him, but none of them knows for certain if he was my lover, even Tom doesn’t know, and they want to see how I’m taking it. Try to look as if you were talking of the Russian Ballet.” At that moment someone addressed her from the other side of the table, and throwing back her head a little, she flung at the speaker so quick and apt an answer that everyone round her burst out laughing. The talk once more became general and I was left to my consternation. ‘ I knew, everyone knew, that for five-and-twenty years there had existed between Gerrard Mawson and Mary Warton a Passionate attachment. It had lasted so long that even the more strait-laced of their friends, if ever they had been shocked by it, long since had Jearned to accept it with good-humored tolerance. They were middle-aged people, Mawson was sixty and Mary hot very much younger, and it was absurd that at their age end of one tempestuous period, not so very long ago, Mary had promised never to see her lover again; but of course she had broken the promise, and though she was never quite certain that Thomas knew this, she took pre- cautions to prevent him from discovering for a fact that she had not kept her word. It was hard on Thomas. I think he and Mary would have jogged on well enough together and she would have resigned herself to the fact that he was a second-rate painter if her intercourse with Mawson had not embit- tered her judgment. The contrast between her hus- band’s mediocrity and her lover’s brilliance was too galling. “With Tom I feel as if I were stifling in a closed room full of dusty knickknacks,” she told me. “With Gerrard I breathe the pure air of the mountain tops.” “Ts it possible for a woman to fall in love with a man’s mind?” I asked in a pure spirit of inquiry. ‘What else is there in Gerrard?” That, I admit, was a poser. For my part I thought, nothing; but the sex is extraordinary and I was quite ready to believe that Mary saw in Gerrard Mawson a charm and a physical attraction to which most people were blind. He was a shriveled little man, with a pale intellectual face, faded blue eyes behind his spectacles and a high dome of shiny bald head. He had none of the appear- ance of the romantic lover. On the other hand, he was certainly a very subtle critic and a felicitous essayist. I resented a little his contemptuous attitude towards English writers unless they were safely dead and buried, but this was only to his credit with the inteHigentsia who are ever ready to believe that there can be no good in what is produced in their own country, and his influence in current letters was vast. I once had told him that one had (Continued on page 1 >) vie Illustration by Addison Burbank

Page 32

By heodore reser Part Two—Aglaia DAY passed— then two, then three. The charm of Wilma began to fade. I was beginning to think of being rid of her—and for- ever. For had not she (not I, you see) been the cause of this? There was a real pain in my heart. And then, at eleven of the third night, and as I was preparing actually to go and seek her out, a note by messenger: “Darling, how can you be so cruel? I have waited so long—all day yesterday and the day before and all last night— for some word. Have you nothing to say to me? I cannot sleep. At eleven I am going for a walk along the Drive toward Grant’s Tomb, that little stone pergola where we were one night. If you cared the least bit, wouldn’t you wish me to know that at least you sympathized with me?” The words dripped with misery. I ran for my hat and stick, and called a taxi. And dubi- ous though I was about my future actions, I stepped out at the Tomb, and there she was, walk- ing along the wall toward me. And in the blaze of an arc-light, so pale— haggard, even—a limp, waxy, sunken kind of paleness. And under her eyes violet scars, as though the flesh might have been bruised. And from brooding alone. How horrible! I thought. Brutal! I hurried to her, and she, without a shade of reproach in her eyes and scarcely looking at me, took my hands in hers and held them. “Don’t say anything,” she said softly. ‘Don’t talk, please, and don’t ask me to. I can’t.” And then suddenly she turned away from me, not rudely or quickly, but gently, her shoulders and arms indicating that she was trembling and crying. “Sweetheart! Aglaia!” I said. “You know that if I didn’t care I wouldn’t be here. I was afraid tocome. I thought maybe you wouldn’t want me. But I do care. I am sorry!” “Please—please, honey,” she insisted softly.. “Don’t say i at all. Don’t. I can’t stand it. If only I hadn’t seen. ; / 4 \ Pout ee \ Oh! And she hanging on your arm like that! Oh!” and more convulsive trembling. “But Aglaia,” I pleaded, ‘“‘please—you know how I really feel toward you. You know, don’t you? Truly, you do.” But all she could say was: “Oh, honey, don’t explain. It can’t help. I cannot help it and you can’t. I know how you are and howI am. If only I hadn’t seen. It’s so hard. If only I hadn’t!”” And then suddenly adding: “Oh, hold me, hold me, please. Put your arms around me and just let me stand here, and don’t talk. You needn’t say anything.” Tears sprang to my own eyes. I couldn’t repress them. There was something about her tenderness in her suffering that devastated me completely. How remarkable, I thought, that this girl who, because of her beauty, understanding and place, Po Silence,

Page 33

MNY(ADN: BSS QShe was prepared to sail for the Isles of Greece for the winter. Would I come? ‘‘But I have never seen you before!’’ I objected. ‘ = oo need really ask favors of no one, still, because of her suscepti- bility to love, could suffer so! _ And how different, and moving, this very process of suffering in her! Generous, lovely, sensitive, colorful—so I thought of her at the time. And to think of her not requiring a word in explanation, nor offering a single reproach—merely asking to be held, to feel the warmth that sympathy, even in the soul of @ one who had most injured her, could afford her. I was and mystified. The contentious, quarreling, reprobative type of mind I could understand, and deal with, but this . . . And so for an hour or more we stood, I admitting what I could ut my temperament and my actions and apologizing for the Same when she would let me—and she merely smoothing my ds and leaning against me and saying: “Don’t! Only hold By the Author of “An American Tragedy” me, hold me!”—until at last I said: “But Aglaia, darling, what about the time? Your father and mother—you know how it is. You can’t stay out here too long, dear.” “Yes, I know, I know. Stop a taxi, will you? Ride with me almost to the door. I can’t leave you right away. But, oh, how I wish I could go along with you tonight. That would be something.” I hailed a passing taxi, and we stepped in. Within a block of her home, I’stopped it and waited while she composed herself. After a time, I said: “And what about tomorrow, Aglaia? Can’t you come in the morning?” “Yes, yes. As soon as I can get out. I will! Oh, I feel so weak, though.” And she stepped out of the cab and walked to her own door, while speculatively and really miserable for once, I returned to my own rooms. But then the next day, a complete reunion, and this in the face of Wilma and the knowledge that I was not likely to change. For all of a will to either good or evil, what shall it profit a man if in the end he has his own tem- perament to deal with? Still, sorrow for Aglaia as I might, and did, the same was none the less mingled with the knowledge that my nature was not given to a single affinity, or fever. I could not hold fast to one only. Restless, harried by my own moods in regard to beauty or interest in this and that form, many, many allured me. I was, if I may express it so, a thing of the wild, too often solitary but all the more, for that reason, free and eager to pursue the path of the free. Aglaia understood that. Her understanding was one of the strongest ties between us. None the less, for a time here, there was deep meditation concerning her fate—the probable duration of this passion in herself which was causing her so much pain. For more than once she said, “I don’t know whether I can stand this. I knew from the first how it would be and that you would be like this. But now that it has come... .” She paused and apparently speculated concerning some more practical course of action than any which she hitherto had fol- lowed, but soon came out of that to add whimsically, and with a burst of ironic laughter: as Illustrations by Marshall Frantz

Page 34

A NOVEL about a “But darling, what a magnificent liar you are! The positiveness with which you can assert your innocence!”’ And proceeded to twic me with some of the statements I had made. And in self- defense I repeated the old saw about love and war. To which she re- plied: “Oh, well, so long as I feel this way about you, what am I to do? If I didn’t care for you so much, I would soon change things, suppose. Be- sides, you will care for me awhile, yet, I know. Even if you do like her now. She’s a little younger, and she’s new—but she can’t care for you any more than I do, and I know she isn’t any more attractive. You’ll come back. Maybe I’ll even be here after she’s gone.” And that proved trie. For Wilma, for all her lure at the be- ginning, endured vitally only until the following fall, when she left New York for a road engagement —an insufficiency of poetry in her view- point and a too cal- culating desire to use one for her own pur- poses, being two of the reasons for my diminishing interest in her. At that, for some time shé continued to shower me with smart, although none too sensitive, letters con- cerning her work and her affairs, expecting me to understand and sympathize—as I did, after a fashion. But later on, a new affair, about which I heard afterwards, engaged her so completely that I heard noth- ing more. But during this time Aglaia was with me as before—in my rooms or at her home, where occasionally I found time to share a dinner with the family and enjoy the always amusing and sometimes sparkling company that centered about Martynov. That charming home! Those clever, hospitable people! And the sense of unity and restfulness that I experienced with them for all of ten years, or until time and compulsions of various kinds—business, marriage, remote removals, death—had dissi- pated them. But through all this—and as strange as it may seem to some— Aglaia was my chief support, emotionally if not always sensually. Hers was so truly a friendly—and even motherly—temperament where I was concerned, thinking always of some way in which my detached and often self-isolated temperament could be con- nected up with such a comforting social scene as she knew. And as young as she was, she understood life so well, taking my variable moods in regard to herself and others about as she - taken Wilma. Such affairs, as she saw it, grew out of one’s Se ee ee - MAN’S LOVES-~by G.But Aglaia,”’ I protested, ‘those two girls—I never looked at them more than once temperament and while they might well be frustrated, never satisfactorily could be so healed. In such cases they simply gave rise to others and—if there was anything really worth while between a man and a woman—would better be allowed to run their course. ° T ANY rate, as she once said to me, now that she had gone through one such ordeal she would not, could not, suffer as much again, and so long as she believed that she was as much cared for by me as any other, she would rest content, or try to— say nothing, pretend she hadn’t seen. For she knew now, she said, that I must be allowed to go and come and gather experi ences as I would. She could not quarrel as long as she cared as much as she truly did. But if only sometime I could see my way to getting a divorce and marrying her, that would solve all her own problems as w as mine, if I would only believe it. For once married to mé, she would not be as she was now—nervous and all that. Not a bit. I could come and go and do as I pleased. : But, for all such theories and dreams, things went on no better—treally worse, as she must often have known. In spite

Page 35

or twice, and as for flirting with them of her resolution she did worry, and one time—not so long after the Wilma affair, and when she suspected that I was becoming interested in another—which was true—came to me with an account of how only recently her father had called her into his toom and talked to her in the most loving, and yet inquiring, way. Why had the lieutenant left? Why had she let him leave? Did she not realize that she was getting older? A girl of twenty- three was not the equal of a girl of eighteen in the marriage market. And what of her one-time social interests? Once she had been 80 alive to do this and that, go here and there, whereas now, apart from her music and reading books, she had no interests, apparently, or any that he could see. Why? What did she do with her time? Was therea man? Did he know him? Was there a clandestine affair in which she had involved herself and which she could not Work out? Could he help her? Didn’t she know how much he ved her, and how, no matter what it was, she could confide in him and get help, too? And it never would go any further unless she wanted it to. Not even to her mother. Not even if it were a married man "? "Don't lie!” she cried. and it never could amount to anything. He had been young once. He had had girls, and married “vomen, and troubles, too. Her mother knew that and had stood by him. And he would stand by her and help her through —withmoney,orascheme, or silence, or all. And as he talked, so she said, he had held her in his lap and babied her. But in spite of her intense affection for him, she just couldn’t tell him. And she wouldn’t. Never! That was her secret, hers and mine to be shared by no one else. Although she knew, as he said, that he never would tell or harbor any deep feeling against her, she could not tell him. For her fear was that, regard- less of his silence, he still might come to me, in some friendly way, with some plan or scheme, and she knew how that would be. I would not like it, and she wouldn’t. No,no. I never need fear as to that. But on account of this, I pleaded with her to give me up, that I was not worth while. Here she was, I told her—beau- tiful, and with means, and able to choose any one of many whom I knew she knew and so place her- self safely for life. But when I did this, she merely put a hand over my mouth. I was to hush. Why say that now? Didn’t I really care for her a little? Had she asked me to marry her? Was she insisting on it? Well, let it go—she was just telling me what her father had said. But all the while I could feel that she was suffer- ing, secretly. The smiles and gaiety with which she faced me, at times, were, as I knew, assumed—at others, real enough. But moods or tears—however they might be when I was not by—were “‘out” in my presence. Her determination was too great, her temperament naturally too buoyant. At times, she was even inclined to laugh at my complications, some of which I went so far as to explain to her, calling her my “(Mother Confessor.” But always, always, with an undercurrent of suffering, I am sure. Aglaia, wonderful Aglaia! Wherever you are, forgive. Yet at this point, an interlude. I was called upon to do a book on Europe and furnished the means. It was an opportunity that I felt I should not put by, and so told her. At the same time, as I said to myself then, here was a situation in which, if ever Aglaia were to be shaken out of her infatuation and made to realize how hopeless was her prospect me-ward, this was it. She would not see me for six or eight months—perhaps more. She would have time to think—find someone else. The influence of her parents could, and no doubt would, be more definitely brought to bear. And yet, in spite of none too frequent letters and a mood on my part which was distracted and colored by all that I was seeing and doing, numerous (Continued on page - “T saw you.”

Page 36

Questions ws for You to CAnswer ] .—Has there ever been, in your honest opinion, such a thing as a Platonic Friendship between a man and a woman? 2.—Are such friendships pos- sible or advisable in modern times—with our excess freedom of speech and behavior? Sekt so, do husbands and wives ever inwardly and emotionally like such friendships to be enjoyed by their spouses, even when they outwardly and intellectually approve of them? 48 By fesse Lynch WILLIAMS author of “They Still Fall in Love’

Page 37

Ie YOU are a Wise Wife ora Wise Flusband, This Discussion Will NOT incerese You ould YOU be a Da tonic Friend? HAT Plato really meant does not matter now. In none of his works does he mention “Platonic” love or “Platonic” friendship anyway. If he returned to earth today and we asked him to explain, he probably would say in effect, “What d’ you mean, Platonic? Never heard of it.” Well, that’s where you and I have the advantage over Plato. We know what we mean, and the modern significance of the term does matter to us. So I’ll plunge into the subject at once by asking the reader three pertinent questions. (rt) Has there ever been, in your honest opinion, at any period since human gregariousness took the form called “civilization,” such a thing as a Platonic friendship between a man and a woman? (2) Are such friendships possible or advisable in modern times —with our excess freedom of speech and behavior? (3) If so, do husbands and wives ever inwardly and emotionally like such friendships to be enjoyed by their spouses, even when they outwardly and intellectually approve of them? Now, as I may never hear the reader’s answers to these pert'- nent or impertinent questions, I must venture to offer my own instead, such as they are. They are at least “frank and honest,” even though I do not belong to the so-called new generation, which has commendably undertaken to debunk life and love for us and therefore understands the truth about sex better than anyone possibly can who saw the nineties with his own eyes and was blinded thereby. To the first question then, my answer is, Yes. To the second question, Yes. To the third, Yes. From the beginning of civilized society, we can trace authentic tecords of success in exactly such friendships, though I admit that we, especially we writers and readers, always have paid more attention to the failures. And naturally so. A failure of this kind is far more interesting to read and write about. The news sections of our papers illustrate a similar principle in the writing and reading of the daily history of each twenty-four hours. Did you ever see any head-lines calling attention to the eminently creditable fact that John Jones is still living in peace and happiness with his wife and the little Joneses at number so-and-so on Such-and-Such Street? Naturally not. That isn’t news. Nor would it interest you and me, though we may be among those who self-righteously con- demn the newspapers for “filling their pages with scandal and divorce.” If the front page were filled with optimistic dulness, like the Story of the Joneses, we should soon stop buying newspapers. Sunshine is not news, an eclipse is. Indeed, the story of false friendship has been told so often— over the teacups as well as in type—that we are apt to smile skeptically at the mention of that somewhat soft and misunder- stood designation, “Platonic.” Offhand, we pronounce the thing an impossibility—“contrary to human nature.” But forget the connotation of the unfortunate phrase, stop thinking for a mo- Ment of the question abstractly, and look around. As a plain Matter of fact and every-day life, I do not know any man or woman, no matter how cynical or how susceptible, who has not at least a few good and useful friendships among members of the Opposite sex. If we must be cynical, let’s look at things as we really find them an 1 not as we talk about them to impress others with our sophis- tication. To tell the sad, sad “truth about human nature,” no one can go around falling in love all the while. There are so many other things to do, some of them equally desirable and even more important. And so many of these other things, please note, are done—have to be done—nowadays by men and women to- gether. Like it or dislike it, you can’t change it. And this brings us to my categorical imperative No. 2. Such friendships are more possible and less dangerous today than ever before. But it is not in spite of “the modern freedom” of speech and behavior; it is because of it. I hold no brief for or against the so-called younger generation or their awkward imitations among my own generation. I am merely sick of reading about them. Besides, the “new” generation now is old. The post-war “young” people with their dreary little depravities are no longer novel. They are awakening with dismay to the fact that there has already arrived another generation which really is young and is laughing at its immediate predecessors, and calling them old- fashioned. Hard luck, but we all come to it. 8 es social benefits, however, of that brave band of doughtv pioneers remain with us. For example, by reason of the very fact that the “b'oom has been rubbed off” by persistent pawing, that reticence has retired before ‘‘rea'ism,” that mystery has dis- appeared with the emergence of woman as a biped, and finally that there is more unmarried mating than ever before since organized soci.ty undertook the job of regulating mating—for these reasons and some better ones, friendships are possible in a way and to an extent which was difficult or disastrous in the days of dainty refinement, when all women were timorous and virtuous, or pre- tended to be, and all men were noble and bzave, or made a bluff at it, and each was too much excited by the presence of the other to think of much else but that excitement. Undoubtedly a greater number of young people are doing as they like today than formerly, but at least they know what they like and therefore what they do not like. If there is more un- legalized loving than ever, there is at least more sincere loving, regrettable as their way of gaining it may be. The bearing upon the question we are discussing now is clear enough. Today, as never before, a man occasionally can look upon a woman, and a woman upon a man, as a fellow human being, congen‘al or otherw’se, and not necessarily as a potential wife, sweetheart, mistress or temporary temptation. Men and women of today have friends among the opposite sex, because sex is not the only thing they see when they look at each other. There was a time when we, like other male animals, had only one use for females. For that matter, there are still plenty of unevolved men of that sort today—and women of a similar sort, too. They miss a lot of fun. By the same token, from their point of view, though such people aren’t capable of understanding this, they miss the quintessence of the other th'ng—and never know it. But despite the recent abortive attempt to revert to savagery on the part of those young reactionaries, who naively believed that they were “advanced,” our civilization as an organic culture is not slipping backward into the slime of “the swamp age,” but forward to a higher, healthier plane for gregarious life than we ever have reached before. This is the sound and optimistic com- pensation for all this discouraging and sometimes disgusting manifestation of the modern tendencies in regard to sex. To prove my point, though I don’t (Continued on page ay

Page 38

Jessica said: ‘I will not permit any man on this ranch to make up to Candace. She's not for the likes of any ranch hand or cowboy. I want she should be a lady.”’

OWN through that naked and livid country which lies beyond Old Munger Mountain to the north, and carries the ancient trail of the fur traders into Crystal Valley, rode Nick Lynne in a choking cloud of dust. It could hardly dim the physical radiance of him: his cap of sun-beaten copper hair, his red and white complexion, his eyes glittering like mica. He rode his wonder-horse, his Tiptoes, and he carried a ukulele on his saddle. Like a troubadour Nick rode, singing with a full, loud voice, for the joy in him must overflow, its sources mere youth and 50

health and poverty. All his possessions, -his loves and his necessities moved, chestnut and vital, there between his knees: Tiptoes, a friend, a mate, a home, a child and the prideful creation of his own will. “Oh, lovely Tiptoes, wait until the folks down Munger Mountain way sling their eyes acrost you—you’ll make ’em sit up and take notice, dern your hide!” Tenderness took unto itseif queer syllables on Nick’s range-limbered tongue. So he came down at last out of the dust and the hard glare into that green and sudden valley which carries a red hill like a’ rose in its mouth. ; “T’ll be derned,’”’ said Nick, stopping at Crystal Ford below: the bridge they use there in high water, in order to give Tiptoes a drink and to splash the alkali out of his own mouth and eyes,. “T’ll be derned if ever I seen a country that’s the match of this one. And we’ve seen a heap of country together, Tiptoes, you and me.” The valley justified his thrilled pleasure. Sunset stood among the three tall Tetons, spirits of rock and snow, so far in the distance that their tall-: ness had a quality of apparition. Beneath: them, green hills of Grovont Range inter- laced, taking fire at that one strange outcrop, of ruby stone. i Soft gray meadows fell from its, base to this gold-flecked stream and to the dark Douglas firs that marched along it. The river turned. just beyond the ford and in the land, it looped a ranch-house stood, very solid, very prosperous, beautifully placed. “There’s a lucky feller, yonder. Let’s go look in at him, shall we, Tiptoes? Looks to me like a likely stoppin’ place, the kind of a home- stead you and I would have chose for our own selves if we’d had stop- pin’ feet instead of the kind that keeps a-wanderin’.” It was the stopping place chosen seven years before by wise Jessica,, who had been the daughter of a pau- per and a crazy woman, the Jessica who at this moment approached the opposite margin of the ford. She did not know what had moved her suddenly to come down to the water’s edge, but at sight of the youth’s prostrate body on its farther bank, she stood staring, pale. Nick Lynne looked up across the running water and saw Jessica, a small honey-colored woman, sleck and pale, with the veiled look that sculptured fates sometimes have. Her small hands had extraordinary thickness and weight. She looked out with a steady gentleness of regard, “She’s plum’ dangerous,” commented Nick, an impression he was too quickly to forget. Tiptoes was the first to speak aloud. “Hay-ay-ay!” said Tiptoes, bugling. <3 Nick smiled. “My hoss here has got better manners than me, said Nick, his hat off and drops running from his darkened hair.

Page 39

his nis ng nd Ll-: th: 2 Op its, nd at nd, ie- p- By Katharine Newlin Burt owboy @ “J’'m a stray, a kind of maverick. Bein’ hayin’ season, I reckoned I might find a job with you folks. You’ve got a fine ranch here.” “It’s Ernie Bates’ ranch.” Jessica supplied him with his m‘ssing information in her small, cool voice. “Come over and drop down to the house. The boys are cleaning up for supper. You can eat—and talk to Mr. Bates.” He swung up into his saddle. The water and the.stones made a tumult about the pony’s steady little feet. Beside Jessica, Nick slid to the ground. “Will you mount, ma’am? I'll walk.” “No. You can ride. I’m not dressed for it.” “Then we'll both walk, if you please, ma’am.” HEY walked together in complete silence. She watched him TE ost of the corners of her eyes, quiet and composed as a cat, moving very easily. They came to the ranch-house where the men, all in a row, bent over their tin basins on a bench. “The boss sure gives the boys a chanct to clean up, don’t he, ma’am?”’ Nick was amused by the tremendous communal ablutions in progress. “I’m the boss that does that,” said Jessica. ‘“You’ll find a mirror over yonder where you can slick your hair. Tell me your name.” “Nick Lynne, miss. And yours?” “IT am Mrs. Emie Bates. Come in with the others when you're neat. Mr. Bates will be at the table.” She left him with fire in his face. She had had the queerest small cool smile on her lips when she had told him her name. In spite of her commands, Nick saw first to the unsaddling and the turning-out of Tiptoes. In this transaction he was aided by a new acquaintance. A long-legged girl was sitting on some fence rails near by and she called to him as soon as Mrs. Bates had gone into the house. “Say, that’s sure a pretty pony of yours, stranger.’ Nick’s heart of a boy and a horseman grew big and warm. He came to her as a child comes to his mother, Tiptoes nosing close beside his elbow. “Ain’t that the truth?” sighed Nick. . “I bet you ain’t never seed the like of her,” and he remembered with resentment that Mrs. sag had not once seemed to look at Tip- oes. This girl looked only at Tiptoes. ‘What you call her?” “Tiptoes.”’ “Ain’t that a cute name? She’s a good cow-pony, I’ll bet.” “Can turn on a button, ma’am. And say, I’ll show you some of the tricks I’ve learned her.” : “Sure. That'll be great. But we got to go in for grub now. I'm ready for it. Been on the tractor all day.” She slid down from her perch, still with her eyes on Tiptoes. She was tall and rangy, very young, big-eyed and big-mouthed in a handsome friendly fashion, freckled across the nose and with short roughish hair, its darkness tinted by the sun. “You can turn Tiptoes into the pasture yonder, sling your Illustrations by Pruett Carter saddle here. Oh. she’s a love, a jewel!” Beside this girl, rather in the fashion that Tiptoes moved be- side her master, did Nick come into the sup- per room. “Ernie Bates, now, he’s my uncle,” his conductor told him just before they entered. “My name is Candace. You'll get your job, all right. Uncle Ernie will be glad to get another hand right now.” But though he gave Nick his job, there was no gladness in Uncle Ernie’s face or voice. Gladness was not the key-note to Mr. Bates’ manner or to his mind. He was a dusty, sad old fellow, of a plodding temperament, 5]

Page 40

fifty-five years to the twenty-five of Jessica, his wife. It scared Nick faintly to find her, with her softness and her smallness, married to so sober and old a man. But he was prosperous, successful. There was no ranch so fine as his in all that corner of Wyoming. A tight, hard worker and a master, tight and hard. Under him, or at least so Nick believed until he learned better who was master, worked a gigantic foreman labor- ing with patience and meekness like an ox—and the rest of them were the familiar sunburnt faces that Nick had seen all up and down the West. All but George Garger’s, the “garbage-boy’s,” perhaps, but that face Nick hardly noticed until later when it made itself more than notice- able. Nick worked next morning in the wide sun pitching and stacking after a casual, large-minded machine which had no talent for details. Far away above him in a sloping pasture he could see bright Tiptoes, feeding in a paradi- siacal idleness. Candace sailed across his shimmering field in her great buzzing engine, moving a crank with a rhythmic jerk and slide of her young body. She came nearer to Nick, swath by swath. As she passed close, mightily whirring, she shouted down to him, “This evening—Tiptoes.”’ “Yes, ma’am,”’ he yelled back, beaming. He began to sing. His voice was beautiful, steady as a hawk’s flight. It circled the meadows. Candace kept turning her head to listen to it above the noise of her machine. URING the hot noon-hour, in the shade, his copper D head upon his blue sleeve, alone under a cottonwood tree, Nick slept. He felt himself, in dreamland, coolly touched, and rip- pled up, gasping, to his feet. “You. Mrs. Bates?’ “Yes. I’ve had a bucket of lemonade sent down to the boys. It’s over yonder. Why don’t you join them?’ “T wouldn’t be carin’ for any, thank you, ma’am. I’ve had a plenty of water. I don’t feel no thirst.” “You're more a horseman, I suppose, than a hay-hand,”’ she remarked, looking as sleek as a mouse and as cool as a little geen snake. Her dress was katydid green. “I’ve done everythin’, ma’am, gamblin’, ridin’, ropin’, hosses, cattle, farmin’, fancy ropin’ and bronco-bustin’, barkeep, biscuit-shooter and camp cook—but don’t you never please ask me to cook nothin’!—and I even sung in a minstrel show.” “‘Aren’t you pretty young for so many experiences?”’ “Twenty-seven; not so derned young. And I begun early. I’m older than you are, I reckon.’ “Yes. I figure you were surprised ——— long pause. “Yes, ma’am.”’ He answered her at last without wait- ing for her to finish her phrase. “I was—kind of. But Mr. Bates, he’s sure a man and he’s got a great ranch here, ma’am, I reckon you knowed what you was doin’ when you married him. There’s a heap of girls that wouldn’t hev had the sense.” She seemed to be laughing. It was a silent ripple, the corners of her lips pulled into sweet pockets and a long creamy wrinkle ran out from her eyelids. “Yes,” she agreed, when she was through with this, “T’ve got sense—a lot—and then some.”’ And with that she lifted to him, straight, her two eyes in the saddest long look he ever had met. Then she left him. She walked beautifully, her little feet made a play as of shadows on the grass. A moment later Nick went back to work and he sang no more that day. After supper Tiptoes greeted him with silly coquetry, with small bitings and comic gestures of delight. She told him softly the story of her day: fat grass, thistles, sunflowers, water of a forgotten sweetness, shade, rollings on the back, racings, new cronies, a good squabble or so. Below them, waving, Candace called, “Oh, bring her down, won’t you? Bring her down and show her off to the boys and to Uncle Ernie and to Aunt Jessica.” Nick strolled down to meet her, leading his docile friend. “No, ma’am,”’ he said; “I’ll show her off to nobody but just you. Is there a down tree hereabouts?”’ ”” She made a @,"'I was a-comin’ to scare you,'’ Nick said “I near fell across that log there behind you this morning.” “That'll do.” He was up across Tiptoes’ shining back and he put her through some whistling paces, when she danced jazz, waltz, minuet and Charleston to the bidding of his changeful tunes, while Candace crowed and skipped and rocked in young delight. Then he got the mare to the end of the log and teased her along it like a tight- rope walker, tiny mincing steps, step by step, steps in a row, im- possible, balancing steps. “Oh, my! Oh, my! How can she? How did you? Oh, she’s worth a real fortune. She’s just wonderful. Was she a circus ny?” “No,” Nick slid off, bowed and flung his arm across the mare’s tossing neck. ‘She’s just my pet, I reckon. Say, hold her till I get my uke. I got a new trick I been trvin’ to learn her.” nig eo ae of WD p= ao Pe od ao w@

Page 41

to Jessica. He ran and came back, vividly colored, breathing fast. He sat down near Tiptoes and played and sang. At first she pre- tended indifference and then stupidity, but gradually under temptation of a great red apple, she came close, dropped her nose to his shoulder and began to shake her head and to—sing, a quaint, not untuneful nickering in time to his chords. “Nick! Nick!” sighed Candace, thralled, her clear-water eyes almost including Nick in sudden worship. “Oh, Nick, I don’t know what to say.” Jessica came upon them so absorbed. “Which is the clown?” asked Jessica. “You or your mare, Lynne?” She turned at once to Candace, leading her away with some sane and sober message. _Nick stayed alone, abashed, turning the ukulele in his hands, pretty mare drooping beside him. Being an egotistic ad- Venturer, he could have shed tears. Instead, he swore. It would To show you what it means to snatch away his possessions from a growed man.” not be hard, he told Tiptées, to hate that woman. It was not until he had been at the ranch a week or more that Nick fell a victim to George Garger’s infatuation for him. This George was “garbage-boy.” For Nick he conceived an astonishing and anx- iously paternal devotion. He was about sixty-five years old, he stam- mered and was natu- rally inarticulate be- sides, but something, it would seem, George Garger was “‘b-b-bound to s-s-say.” “T’m b-b-b-bound to t-t-t-tell you, Nick, to k-k-keep——” It took George Garger a week to get over this piece of counsel. All the seven days at inter- vals he had held Nick up, to wag his head, to scratch it, to shake his finger and to gurgle with awful effort, “There’s s-s-s-something I’m b-b-bound to t-t-t-tell And there the fates always had intervened and he had been called imperiously pig-wards. It was, Nick thought, like death by slow tick- ling torture, Chinese. On Sunday, the first Sunday, after a noon dinner, George cornered Nick in the depths of the wood-shed, got him seated and came at slow, terrible, serpentine length to the end of that mighty objurgation: “To t-t-tell you to k-k-keep away from C-C-Candace.”’ “Why?” asked Nick, greatly surprised. Yes, he was rash enough to ask a question of George Garger! “Th-th-the mi- mi- mi - Five thousand “‘mz’s” later, Nick, dodging, apologizing, laughing, broke past him and es- ceped. He got his an- swer, however, after a fortnight. He got it piecemeal as before. But, piece by piece, as it was delivered, his experience was il- luminating it. “The mi-mi-missus——— The missus, eh? Mrs. Ernie Bates. So far, so good. Yes. It was easy to hate the missus, Jessica Bates, but there was more to her than that, so Nick’s experience was telling him. Oh, there was much, much more to her than that. There had been, meanwhile, an evening . She had come out to sit with the boys and with her husband on the long edge of the porch. Without seeming to choose her place, she had settled between Nick and a wooden post. It was curious how, as soon as she was there beside him, they seemed, Jessica and Nick, to be alone. Like a dove she s*t there, warm and (Continued on page 1 »

Page 42

our W ife has By James chermerhorn physical relief for the days involved in making the vacation trip. Once arrived there is a fairly continuous use for evening duds, however. These providential dispensations aside, the tabulation of a typical American householder listed in the social register looks something like the following: Quiet and exclusive little function at the Roger de Coverleys’. Private theatricals, concluding with breakfast. Series of dinners preceding the début of Benjamin Butler Bas- combe’s charming daughter at the Lone Glenartney Country Club, 10 to 12. : Opening new Institute of Arts. Reception to visiting art directors on @,"‘On the vacation there and artists. Addresses. Dinner at Theaters and Crafts for out-of- | is a fairly continuous town guests. he use for evening duds.” Reception and dinner for Prince William of Sweden; followed by ov the Prince’s lecture on hunting in Africa. lo Scarab Ball by local artists. In costume. Go at ten; return at. HAPSODIZES Thomas L. Peacock in his “Visions of ‘aybreak. oe no Love’ — — with pe Mame Montgomerys at Hotel Michilmackinac. | ae Attend second showing of movietones at the new cinema. Snack To chase the clouds of life’s tempestuous hours, a To strew its short but weary way with flow’rs, at home of Merton Montgomerys. : 2 New hopes to raise, new feelings to impart, Grand Opera—“Rigoletto.” Box with the Wouter Van Twillers. And pour celestial balsam on the heart; Drive to Dew Drop Inn on the Lake Shore. For this to man was lovely woman given, This fortnight’ . STS: : i : ’ ght’s social calendar implies that the average Ameri- st ont, vet work, the noblest gift of Heny'n. can man of affairs has retired from business. Wrong. He has not Bossing his leisure from seven to seven. retired from business any more than he (Scene: Ménage of any American man of affairs at the home- has retired for the night, about every going hour. Tired business man returns from the works. Putting \ other night. SS £86382 Bes hat and greatcoat on hall-tree, addresses maid.) The skeptic who considers this an en- Husband: “‘Desdemona, dost know whether my wife is going larged copy of a social chronicle does not out this evening?” know the half of it. Observe the omis- Maid: “She is, sir, directly she awakes from her siesta.” sion of the more numerous away-from- Husband: “Dost chance to know, Desdemona, whether I am A home’s such as church weddings; going with her?”’ alumni, aviation and automotive affairs; Desdemona chances to know that he is, as per arrangements of club and convention banquets; and several hours standing. Eftsoons the tired business man groans community ‘‘drive” dinners, all the way inwardly, as he makes appraisal of dress shirt worn yestereve to from Near East to No Rest. ascertain if condition of bosom and cuffs will permit Happily for the dated-up hus- another nocturnal appearance. band he gets some golf, possibly What has been predetermined in that palace of the “, some horseback riding, between prosperous is as follows: My liege lord, hying himself Y, z $ the thrice-a-week functions. His to his haven of rest (obsolete poetic form) from a full > . $ = motor-boat or yacht and the day downtown, will upon partaking of the eve- ( pool at the club make it possible ning repast accompany the wife of his bosom to for him tostay in the social swim: ~ the premiére of “‘Trelawny of the ‘Wells’,” by It will also help when some- an all-star company—it being Monday night. one brings out a reversible suit Put it down that in all probability there will be of clothes that will facilitate something doing after the show, in keeping with changing from business to formal the paraphrased last line of the opening-night pro- garb. It is estimated that this duction as the curtain falls: ‘‘Let the play go on!” will effect a saving of one work- The almost continuous and absorbing social ing day in fourteen. performance does go on. To be sure there are From this look into the social resting-spells for half of the family when it is movements of a prominent citi- milady’s guild or milord’s lodge that has sched- zen who covenanted at the altar uled a meeting for members only. to leave all and cleave only to And there are occasional life-savers for both the dear soul who signs him up like the mid-week church supper and worship, for one soirée wont oe it over at eight p.m., or a Lindbergh banquet which “s : ; is evident that he has no ex- lets everyone go home at nine because the guest @,‘He recalls the night ‘Money Musk periences with a matter that of honor is unlike a parrot. He can fly, but and ‘Sally Waters’ lured him. troubled the lamented Joseph doesn’t care to talk. Cannon when he exchanged Also when mountain and sea, springs and salubrious climes the quiet domesticity of Danville, Illinois, for the throbbing attract on this side or foreign lands beckon, there is vouchsafed metropolis. 54 S&S FSSeeewus_ _ ~ ia = Be BPSTeseensce wer % rc; ~S882 Pe2Rse &

Page 43

Tip. uds, of a 0ks S- rs of - ngs; irs; and way nus- ibly reen the ible im. me- suit tate mal this ork- cial citi- ltar y to . up r, it ex- that eph ged ing perform. s| () Slaves Illustrations by Rea Irvin “Only trouble in New York,” Congressman Joe was wont to observe, ‘“‘is what to do between midnight and the hour for re- tiring.’ Almost every metropolitan mixer, mated to a modern matron who loves life, knows a woman who knows what to do. Our married man of immense mobility—especially at night— comes to have a profound if silent admiration for the masterful- ness of Germany’s late super-industrialist, Hugo Stinnes, whose preoccupations were so numerous and absorbing that he vouch- safed his household but one night a week of his society. Gaily, every Saturday night the Stinneses set out for the theater or opera, where the mighty ironmaster slept soundly all through the production and awoke to get his loved ones’ verdict on the quality of the entertainment as the last curtain fell. Your indulgent American husband essays no such audacity as he is personally conducted through his night duties. He may nod over his morning mail, blink and yawn at the directors’ meeting, look listless enough at conference and snooze in the barber’s chair at the club; but the importance of the more than semi-occasional nocturnal] rounds calls for alertness of every fiber and faculty. There must be no sleeping on post under pain of something only a little less drastic than the death penalty. How often does the alleged social lion, whose name is kept standing in the morning paper’s “What Is Going On In Society,” share the sentiments of the dejected file at the social function to whom one of the guests imparted the information that the affair was so boresome he was going to grab his hat and beat it. “Can’t blame you a bit,” the solemn party acquiesced. “I’d go too, but I’'vegot tostick. I’m thehost!”’ Wifey—always with the best of intentions, be it said— moves in a mysterious way her husband’s business, social and political promotions to Sheinvariably putsupbridge as a thing to carry him over to the farther shore of commer- cial affluence. With martyr- dom grimness and the merri- ment of a morgue he must at- tend Mrs. Witherspoon’s post- mortems after every hand. For know ye that Brother Witherspoon as a_ business prospect is not to be sneezed at, no matter how preeminently the weaker vessel of that con- nubial collection, as a bridge expert, is to be scoffed at. Same with the dreamy mazes as managed by the well-meaning but deeply calculating madam. The next dance with the vi- vacious sub-deb may bring fond husband and Frau two steps nearer inclusion in the invitation list for the approaching coming- out sensation of the season, but to the leg-weary victim of wifely Wiles it is a much closer approach to Walt Whitman’s poetry—the feet are so mixed. Friend Wife’s coerced confederate in the night-after-night dimbing ordeal or in the stick-at-the-pinnacle-once-you-have- arrived system, forgets not the old-fashioned father and mother of his youth, how they admonished him that— “Early to bed and early to rise Makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.” ‘From symphony to jazz bedevilment was too much for the soul awakened.” Q‘‘His arrival at the office sets all storm-signals flutter- ing at ‘cloudy and colder." But he finds himself switched from that homely maxim by the twentieth-century tutelage of a life companion who is impressed with the line that modernity had added to that saying, to wit: “But you’ll never meet the live ones!” Barring Watch Night at the village church on New Year’s eve, it was the current notion that only prowlers and tipplers turned in at daybreak. Then “We won’t go home until morning” was antiphonal with “Come, landlord, fill the flowing bowl!” Now and then a too-ardent swain met the milkman on his homeward way and had to be warned by an irate father about lugging off the morning paper, but respectability as a general thing fixed upon ten—at least not later than eleven—as the hour for taps. It makes a modern go-early-and-stay-later smile wanly when he recalls the night ‘Money Musk’”’ and “Sally Waters,” schottische and polka, lured him so long after nightfall in Union Hall that he bunked on buffalo-robes which his friend in his bon-vivancy, the furrier’s clerk, spread on the store floor. It was press day in his father’s country weekly office, and the Gazette expected every member of the publisher’s family to do his or her duty at dawn. The reception, vociferous and corporal, which the oversleeping disciple of Terpsichore received when he arrived at the office at eight-thirty a.m. convinced him there and then that he must decide between being a perfect devil in a print- snop or on the dance floor. He cut out chasing the hours with flying feet, for all time. What time high-flying husband has for current reading is full of stop-signals. He decries the red flare set dead against Americanitis, the pace that kills three- quarters of a million yearly with preventable maladies. His disposition is so choleric that his matutinal arrival at the office sets all the storm-signals fluttering at “‘cloudy and colder.” The atmosphere he creates is like unto that which prevailed in an office that re- ceived word one morning that the chief was indis- posed. “Heaven grant it is nothing trivial!’’ exclaimed one of his employees, who is now a famous humorist. His mood befits the definition of a pessimist—‘‘One who of two evils chooses both.” Enervated by the overfilled night and day hours, he seeks to bring himself up to condition with a Swedish treatment at four p.m. (Office term for the vapor- boiling process and massage is “in conference.”) This tones him up not a little, but makes him forty minutes late at the portals of his domicile, over which is emblazoned at least three nights a week, Lent and midsummer excepted: “Oh, where do we go from here?” Let us close the storm-door on what follows this belated home- going. From the doorstep it may sound like vocalization. But back of it all is organization. Wifehood of the militant order has caught that maxim of efficiency that calls for an establishment so disciplined that the chief executive can leave it at any time. Madam has related that essential of commercial well-being to her household. She prides herself on being ready to leave it at any time; and on time. Her postmeridian beauty sleep is also her mobility sleep. She rests when the sun is shining so that she may be physically and mentally fit to “go to places’’ when dark- ness, like a feather, falls from the wings of night. A realtor’s confession fits in here: (Continued on page 1 32)

Page 44

Th eM .) S [ gpa Y Margery AWrence ETER WILBROUGH, well- dressed, eight-and-twenty, and on his way to meet the girl of his heart, pretty Isabel Dillingham, stood tilting his hand- some head to see into the window at Andrew Crane’s antique shop, Bury Street, St. James. It was fortunate for Mr. Crane that Mr. Wilbrough’s luxurious apartment was situated only a few doors away, so that the luck- less Peter must needs pass temp- tation every day on his way to the usual haunts of the voung man about town—and it must be admitted that Peter did not always avoid temptation, hav- ing a pretty taste in antiques and an excellent income! But his recently announced engagement to the fair Isabel, and the expenses consequent there- upon, had rendered his visits to Mr. Crane’s fewer and further be- tween than usual. Therefore it was with a beaming smile that the pro- prietor of the “Sign of the Hour- Glass” moved forward to greet him as he stepped down into the dark little shop. “The snuff-box in the window—cer- tainly, Mr. Wilbrough! You keeping well, sir?—haven’t seen you for a long time! There you are, sir—quaint little piece, and genuine. Oh, yes, sir—you N know me. Genuine enough it is, you can bank on that!” It was certainly quaint—an oblong square of clear white crystal, bound and hinged with gilt metal; the lid was formed of two pieces of crystal laid face to face, enclosing a small piece of finely worked x embroidery on faded yellow satin. A central posy of tiny flowers in shades of brown, surrounded with twirling, twisting letters in black—letters that spelt, in quaint cld- world spelling, the phrase whose oddness and incongruity had attracted Peter’s attention: “Beauty draws us by a single haire!”’ Mr. Wilbrough turned the box about in his well-manicured hands—it was less pretty than quaint; original, charming. At any rate, Isabel might like it for pins or something. He would take it—Mr. Wilbrough being still in that fatuous state of adora- tion that impels the lover to fling daily offerings’at the feet of the adored! “Right, Crane—pack it up and I’ll take it with me. Isabel might like it—or else I’ll keep it myself. G’day!” But the purchasing of the Crystal Snuff-box, swiftly as it had been effected, had delayed the hastening lover ten minutes on his way to the Carlton and tea, and it may be that sheer annoyance caused pretty Isabel Dillingham to refuse, with a toss of her gold- en-fair head, the proffered gift. It was a dull, ugly little thing, she avowed, and not in the /east interesting! And even if it had been, there was no use in Peter’s thinking he could arrive late for an appointment with her and then smooth eon over with a present. She hated waiting, and he knew she Lady —— a did! The young lady pouted all through tea and refused to be amiable. At Jast, crushed and miserable, Peter took himself off, after dropping his inamorata at the parental door in Grosvenor Square, and retired disconsolate to his apartment. Throwing the despised snuff-box morosely on the fireside table, he poured himself out a whisky and soda. It was only six- thirty, although it was growing dark—lots of time for a drink and a snooze before he need change to take Isabel out to the Embassy, at nine. He did hope she’d have recovered her temper by then— he hated doing anything to upset her—but after all, he had only been ten minutes late! Nothing to what she often was herself. Lying back in his deep leather chair, comfortably warmed by the insidious mixture of the whisky and a good log-fire, the young

Page 45

meditated, half asleep and half awake. The red glow of the fire- light flickered on the comfortable little toom, on the shining array of old pewter in the corner cupboard, on the fluted edge of an old Venetian mirror, on Chelsea porcelain and Georgian silver and antique brass. It struck a light, bright aS a tiny star, from the crystal box upon the round walnut table at his elbow; a light so bright that it arrested Mr. Wilbrough’s drowsy attention, and he stared at it, half asleep. How it winked and sparkled, that tiny corner where the fire Struck it—made one blink and dazzle to watch it. Suppose that was what those fellers did to one when they hypnotized one! Made one stare at something that dazzled, till one got sleepy— why, he was getting sleepy, actually, which was darn funny. uftf-b0x Illustrations by W.E. Heitland Ee-yah, he certainly could do with a snooze! Rowin’ with Is’bel—exhaustin’ —exhaustin’ business. Women were tryin’ things .. . Haurgh! Hongrh— haurgh!... The impeccable Sims, appearing a few moments later to attend his young lord and master, withdrew softly. Mr. Peter Wilbrough was deeply and completely asleep. Although Mr. Wilbrough was again late for his appointment with his lady-love that evening, she greeted him with a smile instead of the afternoon’s frown—being, to tell the truth, rather ashamed of her recent peevishness. By way of being extra-specially nice, to look at as well as to talk to, she had donned a new and wonderful frock of . gleaming gold tissue that seemed to catch and reflect the lights in her casque of shining yellow hair— but for the first time in their acquaintance Peter did not com- ment on the extreme good looks of his fiancée. He looked white and tired and curiously strained. Concluding that their recent quarrel was the reason for his depressed air, the girl, secretly repentant, exerted herself to be charm- ing, and even interjected a quick “Oh, it didn’t matter,” when half-way through the dinner he suddenly, as if, indeed, he had only just realized it, apologized for his late arrival. “Don’t know how it happened—but I’m awfully sorry!” Under the influence of cham- pagne, sole Florentine and the cheerful atmosphere of lights and music, Peter was regaining his old spirits if not quite his old looks—for he still looked oddly pale and tired. ‘The fact is, Belle darling, I was asleep!” Isabel laughed. “Sleepy,.were you? It doesn’t seem to have rested you much, Peter—you look all in!” “I know,” admitted the young man. “T had a rotten night- mare—must have been brooding over your wrathiness, my angel! Dreamt like the dickens and woke feeling as weak as a kitten!” “Dreaming? What about?” she queried. Peter wrinkled his brows, faintly puzzled. “T knew, exactly—but I can’t remember now!” he admitted. “Only that I was glad enough to wake up! I believe there was a woman in it; not you, but a dark woman who scared me, rather. She seemed to be running after me.” “Sounds like Sonia Varens!”’ commented Isabel dryly. Mr. Wilbrough promptly changed the subject, as the said Miss Varens, an old flame of his, was rather a sore point with Isabel. The talk drifting to a more absorbing topic, Isabel prompth forgot her betrothed’s curious dream, but not so Mr. Wilbrough. Under the cloak of eager talk and laughter, his mind kept re curring to it with an odd persistence, delving eagerly, excitedly into his memory in an endeavor to remember, to reconstruct it. For despite his admission to Isabel of his “scare,” that frightened feeling had been companioned by a curious breathless fascination Jf

Page 46

58 The Mystery of the Crystal Snuff-box that made him long to turn and look at the fear that was pursuing him—a fear feminine in form, he knew, tall and dark, but veiled, surrounded with a dark cloud of some sort through which great eyes gleamed, ever fixed on his. It had been an odd dream—but there, it was over and not worth talking about, especially since it seemed possible it might annoy Isabel again, which heaven forbid! Therefore Peter dis- creetly held his tongue, and the rest of the evening passed as usual, in dancing, chatter, light laughter and the usual half-chaffing badi-~ nage that passes for love- = arecsre™ | WHOMIEH teesiere iy . making among the casual generation of today. Peter’s car being for the moment off duty, the Dill- inghams’ sumptuous red limousine carried the two young people to their re- spective homes at last, Isabel insisting on first dropping Peter at his apartment, declaring that in his white and weary condition, which had cer- tainly returned towards the end of the evening, the quicker he got to bed the better. As the girl peered out from the car to see the man whom, despite her modern pose of nonchalance, she se- cretly adored, safely within the shelter of 12 Bury Street, she happened to glance up at his sitting- room window, a square of ruddy amber against the black front of the house. “Peter!” A sharp voice arrested Mr. Wilbrough as he inserted his latch-key into the door. “Peter, who’s that in your rooms at this time of night?” The young man stared, turned and came back to the car. Standing back, he peered up at the lighted window, perplexed. “Hullo—Sims has left the light on, that’s all!” “Don’t talk rubbish to me!” snapped the young lady, scrambling out of the car. ‘“She’s moved away now, but I saw her shadow distinctly against ‘ the blind. Peter, you’ve got a woman up there!” Strong in the conscious- ness of virtue, Mr. Wil- brough loudly protested. It was perfect rubbish—woman up there!—rot and rubbish, complete and utter, unless the impec- cable Sims had fallen from grace and concealed a woman of his own about his employer’s apartment—in which case Sims could look for instant dismissal in the morning, admirable valet though he was! But Isabel was not to be appeased—that be hanged for a tale! She would come up and see for herself. There sad been a woman there—a tall woman with a hood or something about her head. Maybe Sonia Varens, the little beast, had bribed her way into the apartment and was lying in wait for its occupant. The said young lady being quite capable of doing such a thing, as he well knew, Mr. Peter Wilbrough’s heart thumped in con- siderable apprehension as he followed his determined fiancée up the winding stairs. Great, therefore, was his relief, as great as Isabel’s angry be- ilderment, to discover the sitting-room absolutely empty, the re burning quietly on the hearth with the lamp ready lighted upon the table beside it—all things neat and orderly as the SS TT ry rrririiitiitiiitii titi hy) x TTT LLU LILA LE LE LLLELthe ee L admirable Sims invariably left them! In the bedroom no one te be seen; nobody in hiding behind the curtains. There was no denying it, the “‘woman’’ must have been a mere passing shadow, possibly thrown from a window opposite; an im- pression due to some trick of light, a figment of a jealous woman’s brain—though this last possibility was wisely not voiced by the accused, whatever his own private opinion! Standing at the window watching the car draw away up the Sr eerie ili iii iii tin cn cesercenetaitfatnatanensasen ce see ee nae e ah The snuff-box?"’ asked Crane. *‘There you N\ are, sir—quaint little piece, and genuine.” S — old-fashioned street, Peter Wilbrough heaved a sigh of celief. “‘Crazy—bless her heart, she’s perfectly crazy! Sees that con- founded Sonia Varens in every corner.” He sighed again and turned towards the room with a yawn—turned and started vio- lently! For just beyond the circle of light cast by the shaded lamp, it seemed that a woman stood, a tall woman dressed in a pale yellow satin gown, her dark hair piled high about her lovely head in countless curls and ringlets, her long white fingers resting lightly on the Crystal Box! With a gasp of terrified astonishment, Mr. Wilbrough passed his hand across his eyes and stared again—and gasped again, but this time with relief, for there was nothing there. Only the dying firelight, and the quiet room, and his whisky and soda waiting beside the lamp. Then hurriedly the young man poured out for himself ‘Om an ta am eas ti

Page 47

1e to mere | im- 1an’s ts SURI SH cee ses CES eR ETERS eS SASS SE SSA SSL SSS REE TR as eS Margery Lawrence an unusually stiff nightcap and drank it, more agitated than he cared to admit. “Lord—talk of ‘thought-transference’!’”’ he muttered as he set down the empty glass. ‘‘There’s a case for you! Poor little Belle starts yapping about some confounded woman, and for a second I actually think I see her! Must be getting balmy in my old age. Re ; : “But hang it all, it was so amazingly real! I shan’t be in such a ee y Mitusecsusee 07 ©) > i ‘Pack it up and I'll take it with me,”’ said re Wilbrough. ‘Lady Isabel might like it.”’ hurry to laugh at people talking about ghosts and so on, now I know how easy it is to think oneself into seeing ’em.”’ _It was about a week later, to be exact, that Peter Wilbrough woke to the disquieting discovery that somehow, in some curious way, he seemed to be developing a most distressing trick of blun- dering, of saying and doing the wrong thing when in company with Lady Isabel Dillingham that was, to say the least of it, not conducive to harmonious relations between them! _ Previously notable for his charming manners with women—as indeed he should be, his training having been considerable and in various experienced hands!—he now seemed increasingly in- capable, as the Irishman said, of “opening his mouth without put- ting his foot into it!” Some power beyond himself seemed to urge him to say and do the most unforgivably clumsy things. The same malign fate seemed now to be influencing him to be CY ees | I | 59 late for every appointment; to forget the when and where of meetings; to send her size six in gloves when he perfectly well knew she took fives; to get tickets for Shakespeare when she wanted to see a revue, and generally behave like a man either trying deliberately to pick a quarrel, or else becoming absent- minded and thoughtless to a really alarming degree! Amazed and offended as the young lady naturally was, her amazement was nothing to the startled perturbation of the unfortunate victim, who, panic-stricken after a series of quite outrageous slights, foresaw his adored one “chucking”: him, and gloomily declared she would be entirely justified if she did. But for once he was mistaken. Isabel Dillingham was no fool; moreover, she loved her betrothed. Real- izing, as she soon and shrewdly did, that his in- creasingly frequent lapses from good manners did not arise from any desire to be rude, but from sheer inability to help himself, she bit her lip and forgave, overlooked, made excuses, both to herself and the outside world, till Society, always acid, shrugged in- credulous shoulders and decided that “really, dar- ling Isabel seemed utterly to have lost all proper pride! Couldn’t she scc that Peter Wilbrough was fed up with the whole thing?” For, slowly but with in- creasing frequency, “things” were being said. Oddandunpleasant things, about Peter Wilbrough. Only whispered as yet, but as time went on the whispers grew. He was in- dulging in various and un- pleasant habits—“Look at the way he Jooks now, my dear, and how he dresses! And you know how smart he used to be!” He was to be met at all hours of the night, it was reported, wandering about London, wearing any old coat thrown over his eve- ning dress; wandering vaguely, with a hunted, haunted sort of look. He started when spoken to, and admitted, if one asked him why this thusness, that he “was walking because he couldn’t sleep, because of the dreams!” He had taken to refusing invitations—or worse, accepting them and then standing in some corner staring blankly at the crowd, or else muttering vaguely to himself, or talking to some imagi- nary person at his side. Dreadful! And worse still—Isabel darling, I know it’s going to hurt, but you ought to know—he keeps a woman in his apartment, or at least one visits him there! She’s been seen—not only through the window—she’s been seen, two or three times at dusk, walking be- side him in the streets, and twice Freddy Langham, who lives op- posite, has seen her dart into the doorway of Number Twelve and vanish—so of course she must have a key! It can’t be anybody decent, or he wouldn’t only meet her at night—and it’s only at night that she appears—a tall woman in a sort of dark cloak-and- hood arrangement .. . Thus Society, first in private, finally in chorus, and Isabel smiled, and setting her dimpled white chin firm, shook her head again, and yet again. She. trusted (Continued on page 206)

Page 48

The (oemplete Life 0 ATTIE MARSH came out of her house just as the gro- cery delivery cart stopped before her door. “Take them round back,” she ordered. The boy had only a bunch of radishes, but she had wished to taste to the full the splendor of having the wagon stop at her door. Every day now she ordered five cents’ worth of something, for this emotion. On a bay mare of beauty and pride, Breck Lardner was passing, his thick brown hair uncovered, his face lifted. Tattie’s attention wandered from her own distinction to his. He was to marry Marya Bradley, for whose family Tattie did “scrubben and cleanen’’—but she had taken that legend from her window now that she had a whole house. 60 » Illustration by W. G. Ratterman She forgot both house and grocer’s cart in staring after Breck Lardner. Ifa girl had a man like that . . . He passed, and Tat- tie’s eyes came back to the grocer’s cart. Seated in the grocer’s cart was a man, pink of face, black of hair, his cheap clothes pressed. Seeing Tattie, he stepped down, turned his hat over his wrist in the fashion of another day, and said: “Can I inter-est you in something in the chocolate line?” “T’m always inter-ested in chocolates,” said Tattie. The man swung down a bag, told the boy to come back for him in quarter of an hour, and followed Tattie into her house. Her house. Two rooms, at six dollars a month. Tattie, who ae eleven years had scrubbed, by the day, never before had had a home.

Page 49

on, ay « Raiferagan ~ , * G,"*Please,”’ They entered the “parlor” which she herself had papered. The major part of the floor space was occupied by a dining-room table, ork and extension, which the furniture dealer had sold her on time when she went in proudly to buy for her new home. There was one chair, there was a clock, there was a geranium on the sill of the uncurtained window. The man spread his wares. Chocolate, extracts, medicine. Put Tattie looked at him. His eyes were long and glossy, his slight mustache curved upward, his lips were red and heavy, one luck of black hair fell down his forehead. “Cinnamon chocolate,” he said, “di-rect from Egypt.” _ Tattie said. She wished that she had put on her green muslin. ‘She bought a cake of chocolate, payment on delivery. She bought a bottle of I-talian extract of almond, and another of cure-a'l. Having a home, it was impossible not to believe that she had also an income adequate to support her needs. And then the man was so reasonable. And what an opportunity! Egyptian a I-talian almond. She had never seen such white He closed his bag. “You live here with your parents?” I live here alone,” Tattie said proudly. said Tattie. “I'm going to be mar- ried tomorrow too. Is that all right with yo.2"’ Told in 1923 words b g Fre Gxcic The grocer’s delivery boy came to his cart and waited, whistling. The chocolate man emerged, saying to Tattie, in her doorway: “T’ll get here again in two weeks, if I can. Ball is the name. Magnus Ball.” |S Aleta en that Tattie worked, in those next weeks, they were delighted with her. Never had she so identified herself with theirinterests. Especially at the Bradleys’ they praised her. The Bradleys lived in the Principal House—five acres of ground about it, a clock in the tower of the frame barn, that was now a garage. In a month Marya Bradley’s marriage would be solemnized, and all winter Marya, her mother, her sisters, had worked on the trousseau and on the linens for the new house. Sometimes Tattie, wiping waxed floors, would hear them talking, would see them sitting together, in the sun, among plants and flowers. Money, beauty, marriage—these would rush upon Tattie as if gates had opened on golden clouds and light. From her great distance, she saw life. But now, she seemed to have moved nearer to life. The day after she had found Magnus Ball, Tattie met Mrs. Bradley on the stairs—a gentle little woman, with her voice pitched in her throat, and her hair in disorder, and now her hands were filled with some fine embroidery. Instead of passing her shyly, Tattie laid a red finger on that fine stitching, looked up doglike, and said: ‘A person likes nice things.” ‘Why, yes, Tattie,” said Mrs. Brad- ley, in surprise, as if the clock had spoken out in allegiance of its own to beauty. And when Tattie helped to carry up some express boxes to the guest-room, she hung about the door look- ing on, until Marya said: ‘‘Was there anything you wanted, Tattie?”’ On which Tattie burst out, from her throat: “I was wondering—if I could just—see ’em.”” While the hand- made lingerie was unpacked, Tattie stood watching. Marya Bradley, who was a handsome girl with a high chin, long earrings, moist hands and a rich, full mouth, said absently: “I hope you approve, Tattie?”’ And Tattie said: “I’ve got a pair of silk stockings of that same skin shade.”’ She went downstairs think- ing: ‘‘“Magnus would get me more.” He came again, at evening, and took her to walk. Very proudly she showed him the Bradley place, and said, proudly too, that she had cleaned there for eleven vears. “Been on your own that long?”’ Magnus Ball asked. “Longer,” said Tattie, proudly still. “I’ve lived alone since I was sixteen—that’s fourteen years.” “Mean to tell me you’ve made your way and been a good girl till now?” he asked conversationally. “T’m a good girl now,” said Tattie. “Of course you are,” said Magnus Ball, and laughed. She told him about Marya Bradley, about her parties and her friends, about Breck Lardner. “She’d ought to be the one for you,” said Tattie, ““you’re too grand for me.” “You i-dealize me,” said Magnus Ball. back to your own nice little home?” A third time Magnus Ball came, this time to deliver the choco- late, the extract, the cure-all. This time he said that he was going away, going south. Tattie listened. When she did not hear what she expected to hear, she said: ‘‘We can’t be married before you go?” “Just the minute I get back,” said Ball. “Say June first.” “Why, that,” said Tattie joyfully, (Continued on page 98) “And now shall we go

Page 50

nl ‘ws = i In Which You Meet: CoNSUELO BARRETT, an attractive young girl from the West with a mystery in her past, who, in her vain search for em- ‘ployment in New York, encountered an odd fellow— James I. Situ, known to his friends as Ipsydoodle, who had a genius for talking a lot, but revealing little about himself. Ipsy gave her much good advice and a letter to GERSTEL Corss, proprietor of a beauty salon, where Connie at last found work. There she obtained training and became a full-fledged operator. It was while she was at Corss’ shop that she gave a treatment to Rowpy PONTEFRACT, heir to millions and, as well, to an incur- able thirst for drink. It was Rowdy’s first appearance in a beauty parlor, an ordeal he had been forced to undergo as an initiation stunt to admit him to the Quiddles, a smart club of society scions. Connie turned Pontefract’s ordeal into a tri- umph by accompanying him to the dinner he gave to the club members on the night of his admission. Not long after this interesting experience Connie lost her position, when Corss’ shop was forced to close as the result of an unfortunate ac- cident to one of the clients. But Connie soon found, employ- ment through Bos ROBERTS, an operator at a smart shop—La Primavera. Connie had met Bob during her first search for work and the girls had become friends. Bob shared an apartment with MADAME VARVARA PRAVDINA, whose husband had been killed before her eyes during the Russian Revolution and whose nerves were shattered as a consequence. An uneasy sort of housemate, Connie decided, in spite of her sympathy for the Russian. Bob told Connie more about Pontefract. He was a crack athlete and heir to the millions of his uncle WALLER DANIELS, who one day came to Connie for treatment at La Primavera. She succeeded in quieting his taut nerves, but that first treatment ended in a battle of wills between them when Daniels dropped five dollars to the floor as a tip —and Connie indignantly refused to pick it up. Soon after this meeting with Waller Daniels, Rowdy, to Connie’s dis- may, asked her to become his mistress or his wife, whichever she chose. Connie pleaded for time to consider his proposals, unwilling to take a definite step with him before she had again seen Ipsy Smith. R$ IME slipped softly along in the busy quietude of La Primavera. Consuelo found herself becoming not only habituated but enslaved to the cool, rest-impregnated atmosphere of the place, where everything was subdued to a profitable suavity. She could feel her inner skin softening under the penetrative luxury. The thought of impending exile from this perfumed paradise and of the rigors of job-hunting through the reekingstreetsappalled her. Yetshehad tofaceit;she knew that she had not made good in the chill eyes of Madame Latouche, and as soon as the vacationing Barstow should return she would again be wearing out her shoes (new and costly) on the dusty round of the beauty shops. Bob Roberts brought her the glad news. “I guess you can stick if you want to. Miss Elizabeth Barstow has decided to 62 Copyright, 1929, Samuel Hopkins Adams lagran C She ‘ ja give us the shake, having another more important matter her hands.” “‘What’s that?” “Getting married.” “Banzai for Bess! Do many of the girls here marry?” “Some do. Some do the other thing and catch ’em by the le hand, like Bella.” “‘What’s your view?” It was slack Tuesday in the salon. The two friends were sittin in a vacant cubicle. Tipping back against the wall, Miss Robe’ set forth her philosophy of life and conduct. The main conside tion was to get on, to establish oneself. A small but high-cl establishment of one’s own in some fashionable suburb; that the distant but guiding star of one’s progress to higher things. S FOR marriage—perhaps. But one ought to be very sure. A course, if one did marry, that committed one to the stra and narrow path. For the wife who “played around outside” professed a healthy and hearty contempt. New York was full ’em, but—— bE 3 Sex, meantime, was a sort of emotional perquisite, an estheti¢ capacity like a taste for good music or the gourmet’s appreciation — of delicate food. Ifa girl, a working girl paying her own way a responsible only to herself, chose to go in for that sort of thin within the limits of decorum and decent appearances, far be it from Miss Roberts to cast any asparagus at her; it was her own business. But she must never let herself go to the extent of allo ing the lover to support her. Self-dependence and self-respect were, in the Robertsi ethics, synonymous. It was all a difficult problem, but on th whole an alluring one. “That sort of thing doesn’t trouble you much, I expect, bluntly surmised the lecturer. “What sort of thing?” “Why, men.” ‘What makes you think that?” “T dunno. You've got vitality and pep and all that, but some how it don’t strike me that the old body-urge would keep you awake nights.” Consuelo smiled. ‘‘Well, no; it doesn’t.” : “It’s something in your bringing-up, likely. Or maybe it just isn’t in your blood.” = “I’m not so sure. I can get a pretty strong physical revulsion against a man. So, to balance, I ought to be capable of just a8 strong a physical attraction.” : = “Tt isn’t the same thing,” the sapient Miss Roberts delivered judgment. “Of course you’re awful young yet. Some girls don’t — wake up—— What’s your idea in life?” “Just making a living at present.” “Well, you’re all set, I’d say.” “Latouche doesn’t like me.” “Latouche doesn’t like anybody. But she knows what’s good for the shop.” ; . “I’m not sure I am. I'll never make a go of the selling end.”

Page 51

By Samuel Hopkins A G'T'Ul give you five thousand dollars if you'll keep my nephew ; 3 sober for six months,’’ said Daniels. ‘‘Using whatever means Illustrations by I choose?’’ asked Connie. ‘‘Yes. Go as far as you like.” R: ¥. welecnisienade

Page 52

_ . inSain vege ES nba p06 SS AO gil oa xsi = ret stems @'I don't know that I could matey Rowdy,” said Connie. *‘Sidestep and let a real buyer in, then. Gee! One glance from him and I'd fall off Brooklyn Bridge onto his neck,"’ cried Bob. “Forget it. You’ve got the makings of a swell operator. Be- sides, you’re in it now. If you get out—what have you?” The owlet being elsewhere, its owner decided to relax her usual reticence and get an unbiased view. “I might get married.” “Yeah? Who’s the lad? Not Rowdy!” There was excitement in her face. Connie nodded. “But I don’t know if I could.” Bob misunderstood. “Ring-shy, is he? Not church-broke yet?” “Oh, no! It isn’t that. He’s been trying to ask me but I’ve bowed him off.” “Crazy like a doodle-bug. What ails the girl?” “T don’t know that I could go through with it.” “Sidestep and let a real buyer in, then. Gee! He’s the grandest-looking guy I’ve ever seen off the screen. One warm glance from him and I’d fall off Brooklyn Bridge onto his neck.” “Would you? Why?” marveled Connie. “Haven’t I just told you? He’s got the come-hither. And as for marrying him, why, even without the old man’s wad he’s got enough of his own to choke a subway tunnel.” Ron if I married him I’d have to live with him,” pointed out the girl. “Fair enough. And what’s the matter with that?” “I don’t know,” confessed Connie doubtfully. “Yes; I guess 64 I doknow. When I gave him the treatment—I didn’t exactly like it,” said she naively. Bob stared. “Do you feel that way about other men?” “I’ve never given but one other treatment to a man,” an- swered Connie, not fully understanding. ‘No; I didn’t feel that way at all about him. I was just interested in doing the best I could for him. I liked it.” “Then you’d better marry him.” og Consuelo snickered. “Think so? It was Waller Daniels.” “Then you’d better not. Not to mention his having a wife. Listen, kid. Give Rowdy a flash. He’s too good a bet to pass up. Why don’t you have him up to the flat where you can it out, man to man. I’ll see that you have the place to yourselves and if I don’t find you wearing a blush and a solitaire diamond next day, I’ll give you the boot myself.” “T suppose I’ve got to face it sooner or later.” “Good kid! When? Tomorrow?” “ “Oh, no! I told him I didn’t want to see him for three weeks. “Three weeks, my glass eye! You'll lose him, first you know. The time to go fishin’ is when the fish are bitin’. When’s the three weeks up?” It came to Connie with a shock that only a few days of grace were left. “Pretty soon. I’ll let you know when I want the apartment.”

Page 53

peal tate — bs a GE acl. a » cain % Re % i : eee aemeninarearane oie Sa ap She went to work on her cabinet, replenishing her stock, furbishing up her implements and setting them in order. Beulzh Barr was on the desk and she heard her stressfully refined tones modulated to the query: “Did you wish to see someone?” A man’s voice inquired smoothly, “Is Miss Sybil Slink in?” Beulah began to giggle. “I don’t think we’ve got anyone of that name here.” “Surely you have. You can identify her by the fact that her eyes have laughter for a secret guest.” Connie’s eyes had wrath for a by-no-means secret guest. What did Ipsy Smith mean by coming to the salon after her? It was tactless, stupid, and from a business view-point, compromising. Beulah was gurgling out: “Have you an appointment?” “Not yet. I wish to make one.” “Several of our operators are at liberty now.” ; “Con me well, girl. How many faces would you say that I ave?” “One,” burbled the mirthful attendant. “Then one operator should be able to (Continued on page —

Page 54

The 4 ‘Darli NZS AYNOR was the middle one: there were three of them. Patricia was the eldest. The fact that never at any time had she been called Patsy or Pat describes her best. Tall and slim, dark and regal, with aloof black eyes and a sulky mouth. And with two hobbies—clothes and men. Geraldine was the youngest. But she never had been called anything but Jerry since her christening. Small, without hips or breasts like a boy, was Jerry, with curling flames of bright hair licking her little face in a wind- blown bob and wide blue eyes that looked at you with a blind, transparent stare. And a rather inadequate nose but the most satisfactory mouth imaginable. And a glorious golden-white skin. Her hobbies were more numerous and more frequent than Patricia’s: tennis and boys . ukulele and boys... frat pins and boys . . . then, after a while, just boys. Gaynor was two years younger than Patricia, three years older than Jerry. She was, if one bothered to classify her at all, what the French very nicely call ché- taine. But usually no one noticed Gay- nor’s hair, which was nut-brown, or her eyes, which were a smoky-gray, or her mouth, which was much too wide for beauty, but beauti- fully generous. And she had no hobbies —she couldn’t spare time for them—but she did have many occupations. For the Darlings were poor. “Land poor,” the widowed Mrs. Dar- ling would smile rue- fully, waving a beau- tifully white and thin and blue-veined hand vaguely. ‘‘This house and planta- tion are about the oldest in Virginia, 4 and I reckon the ‘ poorest.” So Gaynor sewed dainty organdies, and dusted slender Chip- pendale, and polished old silver, and weeded the rose-garden, and fed the kittens and dogs with which the place abounded. Mrs. Darling was very given to remarking: “I really don’t know what I’d do without Gaynor.” Gaynor could have told her, but, of course, she didn’t. In- stead, she went on sewing and dusting and weeding and wearing , Patricia’s hand-me-downs. For being the middle one, Gaynor never got a new frock of her very own. Patricia did, because she was the eldest; Jerry did, because by the time Gaynor had worn Patricia’s they were too old to do over for Jerry. Very simple and quite systematic when one considered it. Gaynor had considered it. Not that it really mattered. Not even when Alan Colford came into her life did it really matter. For there was always, of course, Patricia and Jerry. Patricia saw him first. At least she said so, though Jerry claimed he had seen and looked after her on the Middlebury Road. However, Patricia’s claim seemed to be the more 66 Gaynor said seriously: *‘Orphan col- lies are terribly sensitive. You'll have to be careful in raising them.” The young man seemed not to hear her. Then he said: ‘Yes, very sensitive.” legitimately staked as she and Alan had met at the Lang- hornes’ dance, which Jerry had scorned as too wet for expressicn, and Gaynor had ignored for reasons best known only to herself. But as a matter of actual record, Gaynor had both seen and met him first, though of course she never had mentioned it. She had not wanted to mention it at the time and later—well, later, no one seemed at all interested. She had been walking in the rain through the woods above the old Mill Falls when she first heard it—that low, whimpering whine. She stopped and listened. It came from her nght— somewhere beyond the path in the green density of a thicket— a soft moaning, then pu 2 a sharp, high cry. Gaynor, recog- nizing that cry, ran swiftly in its direction. She found a collie bitch panting, whimpering, twitching, try- ing to make a bed for herself in the damp leaves beneath an er. Gaynor sank to the sodden earth beside her. ‘Poor darling, are you trying to make a lying-in kennel? Have I time to carry

Page 55

Illustrations by W.D. Stevens Po Ses you home, I wonder.”’ And she bent over and tried to lift the writhing collie while the rain splashed down on her bare head. But the dog twisted from her grasp and lay gasping and whim- pering, moving her head unhappily, her body twitching in agony. And Gaynor, born and reared in the atmosphere of the stables and kennels, knew that the animal in giving life would be denied it. She knelt, stroking the whimpering dog, miserably conscious of her own impotence in the face of relentless Nature. Then the collie raised her head. Her body bent, then suddenly relaxed. She gave again that sharp, high cry. A little later Gaynor gathered up the litter in her sweater. There were four of them, with little red noses and a persistent little snigger. Their mother lay, exhausted and quiet, upon the dark, sodden foliage; her eyes seemed to glaze even as Gaynor knelt above her. “Oh, my dear, my dear, my dear,” wept Gaynor suddenly, aloud, “if you were so delicate, why didn’t you stay at home and have your babies with proper canine obstetrics?” But the collie did not hear her. ND sitting there, with the rain streaming over her, the dead dog and the sniggering puppies, Gaynor wept softly in uni- son with the day. She was still crying when she saw him. He stood a few yards beyond the alder and he was as drenched as she was. But she did not see that at first. She saw only his face, miles, miles, miles above her: A thin, dark face with eyes that looked oddly tired and worn for so early in the morning. He said: “Please don’t cry. It had to happen. Thistle always ran away. I’ve always had to go hunting her. I’ve been hunting her all night.” Perhaps that was why his eyes looked so tired and haggard. forgot to cry, wondering about his tiredness. He knelt down across from her, Thistle’s still, wet body be- tween them. GINDERELLA » Eee? z “T’m so sorry for you I'll take the He said, flushing: about this wretched business. puppies.” She handed them, still wrapped in her sweater, to him. She said gravely: ‘It doesn’t matter—only her dying.” Then, very seriously: “Orphan collies are terribly sensitive. You'll have to be very careful in raising them.” His eyes rested thoughtfully on her glisten- ing face. He seemed not to hear her. But a moment later he said: “Yes, very sensitive.” She stood up. He continued to kneel on the ground beside the collie. She said: “Do vou wish me to take them, or send anyone to look after Thistle?” He rose quickly, as if suddenly conscious of his delinquency. He said: “Oh, no. You’ve done quite enough. I can manage easily. And thank you.” He thrust out his hand. “My name’s Alan Colford. I’ve just come to live at Arden Hall for the summer.” She put her wet, grimy hand in his. “And mine’s Gaynor Darling. I live at the Oaks—just off the Middlebury Road.” She was suddenly overcome by an enveloping shyness. She drew back her hand, flushing. “Don’t forget to keep them wrapped in flannel . . . Good-by.”” And she was gone swiftly. Yes, she had seen and met him first. For it was the following day that Jerry announced that a handsome stranger—oh, a most magnificent fellow!—had cantered past her on the Middle- bury Road and turned to look back even as she had turned in her own saddle. And it was the night following that day that Patricia had come home from the Langhorne party to tell Jerry and Gaynor the entire history, as she had learned it, of one Alan Pell Colford. Son and heir of the “Steel” Colford. (That had come first.) But not just a rich man’s son—no, a real worker. Lafayette Escadrille at the very beginning of the war and, of course, all sorts of decorations, not to mention wounds. Then, later, back to the engineering he was so mad about—in a way, the real reason for his presence in Virginia—they were Pittsburgh peo- ple. But something to do with mines had brought him here— some sort of engineering gadget to prevent those awful explo- sions. And he wasn’t married or engaged. Looked like a god and drove his car like a devil. Oh, yes, he had brought her home; was, in fact, coming to tea tomorrow, no, foday, in order to meet mother and the “family.” “T’ll tell the world you handed him an uppercut that must have knocked him for a kayo,” said Jerry, who at that time was a devotee of the literature of Mr. Witwer, though she did not at all times succeed in quoting him correctly. Patricia managed a frown for Jerry’s slang and a faint smile for her own powers of fascination at one and the same time. Then she said suddenly, turning to Gay: “Why didn’t you say that you and he had met?” Gaynor flushed. ‘“I—I never thought of it.” But Gaynor never had been a successful liar. Patricia’s narrow dark brows drew more sharply together. “Well, he did. The very first thing he asked me when we were introduced was, did I have a sister by the name of Gaynor.” - 6

Page 56

68 “T’m sure,” mocked Jerry, “that Mrs. Price would not approve of a young man with such blunt manners.” She grinned mali- ciously. “Feature anyone asking Patricia if she even had a sister—Patricia the Perfect. No family could be expected to produce another such rarity.” “Neither expected, nor does,” returned Patricia shortly. Then, to Gaynor again: “I can’t imagine why you were so close-mouthed about it. It certainly put me in an awkward position.” Gaynor drew farther back into her pillows. “I never thought that he’d remember.” But she had! She had willed so hard that he would. Only at that time she hadn’t known he was Alan Pell Colford, et cetera. At that time he was only a tired young man in shabby tweeds and muddy boots. Patricia said, “As a matter of fact, he spoke of you quite a little.” There was a faintly patronizing note in her sulky voice. It rasped Gaynor’s nerves intolerably. She said suddenly, bitterly: ‘And quite a lot about himself, evidently. Decorations and wounds, of course. Oh, no, not married or engaged. Dear me, no, I can’t abide living off the governor’s money.” Her imitation of masculine pomposity was perfect. Jerry giggled. Patricia’s nostrils flared slightly. But she laughed softly, said softly: “Oh, no, he didn’t tell me. I found out all about him from Jeff Langhorne. Mr. Colford, after speaking so nicely of you, devoted the rest of his conversation to—to impersonal topics.” “Such as ‘Do you like to walk in gardens? Isn’t the moon beautiful? What a lovely perfume—ah, yours, Miss Darling . . . Patricia Darling—such an intriguing name, but rather dangerous—for me, I mean; so tempting . . . Oh, no, this isn’t a line. I haven’t any line. ‘Cer- tainly not with you, Patricia Darling——’ ” A pillow effectively stopped Jerry’s bantering recital. Kut one—certainly Gay—could see that Patricia was secretly pleased. But when Patricia spoke, it was with a peculiar, dis- tinct emphasis: ‘Such being the case, Jerry deat—where Alan Colford’s concerned, don’t poach out of season.” And that is when the question of priority arose. “Apple sauce!” said Jerry. “I saw him first.” “But he saw me more,” said Patricia significantly, if ambiguously. “More of you, perhaps,” said Jerry, with a meaning glance at Patricia’s frock. “But give me time, darling— just wait till I spring my new swimming-suit!”’ Patricia smiled disagreeably. “Don’t think that I’m asking you to keep out of the way on that account. I only meant, don’t turn the drawing-room into a commu- nity-house parlor when he calls.” And her eyes seemed to include Gaynor in that edict as well as Jerry. Hands off—out of the way—no butting in where you’re not wanted or expected, said those black-diamond eyes. Well, if Alan Colford had given Patricia, in one evening, sufficient reason to issue that ultimatum—— Gaynor closed her eyes as if the shaded lamplight hurt them. She saw a tired young man in shabby tweeds. She opened her eyes and saw Patricia—Patricia, the ex- quisite, Patricia, the real beauty of the family—and poor, lovely little Jerry Gaynor turned her head to the wall. She said, “Please go—I want to sleep.” They went. But what Gay really wanted was to weep. ’ It was three months later. Upstairs, in the cool, dim bedroom, Mrs. Darling said, “Gaynor, I really think—I really believe Patricia will bring it off.” Gay looked at her blindly. “Bring what off, Mother?” As if she didn’t know! “This marriage with Alan Colford, of course.” Then suddenly, sharply: “Oh, if she shouldn’t! If any- thing should happen—after all my hopes, my dreams, my plans!” : Gaynor closed her eyes. She saw her mother’s hopes—a bril- liant social career for the lovely Patricia, a brilliant launching of the fascinating Jerry. Her mother’s dreams—a London season, an apartment in Paris, a villa at Cannes. Her plans— perhaps, with the Colford fortune behind her, even a title for the democratic, slangy little Jerry. The 3 Darlings But Gaynor saw also the structure of her own hopes and dreams come crashing down about her—no, flutter down about her, a jerry-built house of flimsy paper cards. She said, opening "The first thing Alan Colford asked her eyes to the blue Virginia day that seemed suddenly dark, suddenly sinister: ‘What could possibly happen, Mother?” What? Only a miracle. But Gaynor did not believe in miracles. _ Her mother looked at her without seeing her—it was a peculiar little habit Mrs. Darling reserved for Gaynor—and said, “Oh, anything; perhaps Jerry—-——”

Page 57

Nevis Shane 69 Of course, after Patricia there would always be little Jerry. But Patricia didn’t need it. She was, said the little complacent “Jt would be the—the same for you, wouldn’t it, Mother?” air about Patricia, quite able to take care of Patricia. Mrs. Darling stirred uneasily. “No. I don’t think he loves Jerry said, “‘Be a sport—give somebody else a chance once in a while. What are you trying to do—sandbag and hog-tie him?” “Don’t be vulgar,” advised her mother severely. “Don’t you be de Vere-ish,”’ re- turned Jerry with cool impudence, then suddenly vicious: “I’d like to tell him a thing or two. Patricia’s nobody’s prize Christmas pack- age!” “T suppose you think you’re the topmost angel on the tree,” said Patricia, forgetting in her fury her languid air of the ice-princess. “You’re burning up because he never looks at you.” “Oh, doesn’t he!’ mocked Jerry. “What a lot you know!” “Girls!” cried Mrs. Darling. “How can you so utterly, so dis- gustingly forget yourselves? Gay- nor, will you see if the drawing- room has been dusted?” Gaynor went out. In the long drawing-room, surrounded on three sides by the white-columned, double-storied veranda which gave to the room a perpetual dim twi- light, she stood rigid, her eyes moving slowly from side to side, their pupils dilated. This room, which she dusted every day for his coming; those Waterford glass jars kept filled with her Maré- chal roses; those cushions, made by her hands, shaken by her hands to inviting plumpness, placed carefully against the sides and back of the Spanish mahog- any sofa — they were always crushed and limp from his broad back, always faintly reminiscent of Patricia’s favorite perfume, after his going . . . The bronze knocker clattered sharply. Gaynor fled precipitately to the upper floor. While he was in the house she seemed unable to remain still. She wandered restlessly about the halls and bedrooms, and though it was late afternoon, set to work again, rearranged dressing-tables, put away Patricia’s flame-silk kimono, cleaned, for the second time, their community bathroom. Jerry ran up to wash her hands and powder her nose. She said, squinting at herself in thedim mirror: “I let him inand he gave me a long look—like this——”’ She looked hard, and what she considered passionately, at Gay- nor. “Then he said, ‘Jerry, dear child, if you get any prettier, the state will have to legislate against your appearing in public.’ And there stood Patricia in the door- way of the drawing-room, with that Dark - Lady -of-the-Sonnets ; ; ” air of hers, thinking, I reckon, me was, did I have a sister by the name of Gaynor. het she inched? ike Ciuces Guin- evere or the blesséd damsel——” Jerry—that is, not seriously. She thinks she’s crazy about hin “Damozel,” murmured Gaynor. and he might amuse himself with her. But to marry her——” “Damsel,” repeated Jerry—she could be very stubborn. “And Gaynor said, with sudden bitterness, “Then we’d better con- drawling in that come-and-kiss-me-quick-before-I-die voice of centrate on Patricia.” hers, ‘Jerry, darling’—can you feature that, Gay? Darling!— Mrs. Darling said slowly, “Yes, I think we’d better concen- ‘Jerry, darling, would you mind asking Chloe to make some iced trate on Patricia.” tea?’—to get rid of me, of course. But (Continued on page 98)

Page 58

HIS is about John Knowles. When his sister Charlotte was nine years old, she heard her mother tell Mrs. Prendergast that John, then aged twelve, was a wool-gatherer, just like his father before him. Mr. Knowles had died when Charlotte was too young to know or care what business he was in, but it kind of surprised her to learn that he had gathered wool for a living; she didn’t see how a man could make much money at that, yet her father had left his family fairly well off. And it certainly puzzled her when her mother said John was in the same line, for John went to school every day, had a hard struggle keeping up and was obliged to study, with Mrs. Knowles’ help, evenings; or when Mrs. Knowles had company or went out to dinner, John sat in his room and wrote endless lines of poetry. Charlotte decided that Mrs. Prendergast was being kidded. John’s teachers had nothing but words of praise for his efforts in English and English literature, and later for his English translations of Greek and Latin verse, but things like mathematics, history and physics interested him not at all and he was hardly ever able to answer a question in class. Some- tines he ignored the questions entirely, seeming not to have heard then. The women teachers were lenient with him because of his good looks and it was for this reason and the fact that he memor- ized whole pages of text-books just before examination time that he was able to get by. His absent-mindedness seemed to grow worse and worse as the years passed and on his high-school commencement night he - afforded his classmates much glee by appearing at the church in dinner shirt and trousers and a dark brown coat. A girl, Beth Beasley, who had loved him madly for four years, though he had never given her the slightest hope, grabbed him by the arm, led him away from the rest, explained the error in his costume and urzed him to hurry home and get the right coat. He went home and found Nora, the maid, who asked what on earth he was doing away from the church when it was just about time for the ceremonies to begin. “There’s something the matter with my clothes,” he said. “A hole in the trousers? I can patch it in a second.” “No. It’s something about my coat. They told me it was the wrong color.” “Of course!” exclaimed Nora. “You’ve got on brown when it ought to be black. Well, let’s hurry and find the black one. And you'll have to run all the way back there.” She found his black coat and left him in his room to make the change. He took off the brown coat, sat down on his bed a moment, mumbling what sounded like poetry; then rose and put the brown coat on again. Nora was not around to see him off. = ae set out for the church once more, walking slowly. When won his spurs in slapstick, here Ny j ‘: | @ he came to the little city park, he sat on one of the benches and mumbled more verse, much more verse. The ceremonies had been long under way and his mother and Charlotte, to say nothing of Beth Beasley, were panicky at his non-appearance among his classmates. At length he got up and walked on. He came to a big arc- light and noted that he had not made the proper change in coats. “Well,” he said to himself, ‘it’s too late now. I’ll just go home and wait for Mother and Charlotte. They can tell me what happened.” Mrs. Knowles and Charlotte appeared at half past ten and found him in the living-room, writing. “Why, John! What was the matter with you? You've frightened us to death!” “You oughtn’t to have left home ahead of me,” said John. . “I was there on time, but that Beasley girl discovered I’d put on this coat with my black pants and white vest and insisted that I come home and change.” “But you could have hurried home and changed and still have been only a little late.” “I did hurry home and Nora hunted up the right coat for me, but she didn’t stay to see me put it on and I happened to get into this one again. I found it out just the other side of Wilson Park. And of course there was nothing to do then but come here and wait for you.” “He’s crazy, Mother!” said Charlotte. “T honestly believe he is! John, John, what am I going to do?” “Well, you might tell me what went on.” “Oh, there were prayers and singing and the baccalaureate address by Doctor Stetson. He was perfectly wonderful'” “What did he say?” “He told why this was called ‘Commencement’; that while you

Page 59

G,‘‘How long were you over in gay Paree?’’ asked Sam. ‘I don't know,’ said John. Irene suppressed a smile at Sam's discomfiture. “It’s a thing I’ve been working on for over eight months. It’s part of a libretto.” ‘*A libretto for what?” “For an American grand opera.” “Who’s going to write the music?” “How can I tell? How can I. know whether any of our great composers will like it? But when it is finished, which will be in three or four months more, I intend to take it to New York and try to get somebody in- terested.” “In three months you'll be going to college.” ““Mother, I. don’t want to go to college.” “But I want vou young men and women were ending your high-school careers, you to, John. You must do this one thing for me. Your high-school were really just commencing life. And that’s why it’s called diploma saves you the bother of an entrance examination and ‘Commencement.’ He was wonderful!” I understand that the university practically allows you your “And they presented the diplomas,” said Charlotte. “I sup- choice of subjects. You can take the literary course, which pose Beth Beasley got yours.” “Why?” “Because she’s wild about you and that will give her an excuse to see you again soon.” “Toes she need an excuse?” “Girls don’t like——” “Listen,” interrupted John. “Does this sound any good?” He read from the scrap paper on which he had been writing: “But let no man who does not court quick death So much as whisper, breathe the softest breath Of scandal in the presence of De Setto Against this sloe-eyed princess of the Ghetto, Whose infidelity has been no- torious, But who, to him, is pure, angelic, glorious. Not those who’ve given him for years their loyalty Dare hint that she is something less than royalty.” _ “It sounds pretty,” said Mrs. Knowles. ‘What is it?” J. W. McGurk certainly won’t hurt your writing talent, and you can find time to work slowly and carefully on this opera thing until you have it per- fect. You’ve got to do this, John. Your father wanted you to. He didn’t go himself and was always sorry. Please say you will.” So John said he would and in mid- September he started for the station to catch the train for his state uni- versity, Michigan. His mother was not feeling well and neither she nor Charlotte, who had a tennis date with her boy friend, Wallie Blair, came down to see him off. This proved unfortunate. There were two trains in the station and John, without questioning anyone, boarded the one west-bound. The conductor, taking his ticket, informed him that he was going in the wrong direction for Ann Arbor and advised h‘m to get off at Niles and catch the next train east. John took the advice, but left his hand-bag and suitcase on the Chicago train. As (Continued on page mS é

Page 60

ON of the O d S ‘ AM’S valet, clad in a well-fitting suit of American clothes and carrying a derby hat, stick and gloves, paused inside the door of the living-room and bowed. When his em- ployer looked up he bowed again and his broad face broke into a smile. On duty Moy wore bright-colored silken house suits with tiny round caps to match and he spoke only Chinese, but he had been studying English of late and when he fared forth into the city on his own business he put on his newly acquired “white” language along with his “white” clothes. This being his evening off, he had stopped on the way out to ask if there was anything further his employer desired. Sam assured him that he was quite comfortable, nevertheless Moy lingered. He smiled, he looked grave, he twisted and he cracked his knuckles; finally he blurted out: ““My work for you long time now.” “Yes. It’s a good many years, Moy.” “My glad when you glad, my sad when you sad.” “Right.” “You honnable father all time good to Moy. Sure t’ing! My go to hell him an’ go to hell you, Mr. Sam.” “T’m certain you would. Is there something you want to say?” The little man nodded and puckered his face: “You very sad. My kill myself to make you happy.” “That’s wholly unnecessary. Just go out and have a good time.” “You like good time? You like laugh?” “Of course I do.” “You come ‘long me an’ you have good time. Moy voiced this invitation hopefully. “Where do you go every Thursday night?” Sam inquired curiously. ‘It’s none of my business but—you always dress up; I never hear you come in.” ““*My don’t come home until morning.’” The speaker sang these words lightly and chuckled. “That’s funny song, honnable. Nother song say, ‘Show my some way to go home.’ In China is no song like those. You like dance? You like white arms full of love?” “White arms?” Sam stirred; he shot an inquiring glance at his valet. “Do you know any white women?” “Oh, plenty! Nice keeds. Hots mamas! My have practise American dancing carefully; you come ‘long an’. have enjoyous evening with pretty ladies.” 72 Very funny.” , Illustrations by Rico Tomaso Sam declined with a gesture, but he questioned Moy further and learned that the latter spent most of his spare time, and prac- tically all of his money, in the Asiatic dance-halls. White girls were great dancers, according to Moy, and there was a peculiar excitement to the American dance due to the manner in which it was executed. All of his friends patronized the dancing-places and many had either married or were supporting girls whom they had met there. Moy explained naively that the girls took more pleasure in dancing with Oriental men than with men of their own race be- cause the former paid more liberally for the privilege. He con- fessed. that he had been pretty lonely and more than a little dis- satisfied with American life until he had learned to dance, but now he was far from discontented. Sam really should come and see the pretty ladies, hear the music, amuse himself; the spirit of his venerable father must be sorely grieved at the life his son led. While it was the duty of the living to do obeisance to the

Page 61

Concluding CX Beach's Novel — (The room, the world was revolving about Alanna. It was comfortable riding up here with Sam’s arms about her. departed, to sob at their graves and to worship their scrolls, it was not a mark of respect to forego all pleasure. It was, in fact, a disrespect; it was positively unbecoming and undignified in a superior person like Sam. Custom decreed that a man in his position should avail himself of every expensive earthly enjoy- ment—a failure to do so bespoke lack of gratitude for Celestial benevolence, and ingratitude was a vice. Women had been provided by Heaven for the entertainment of men and Sam’s illustrious forefathers had profited by that wise provision: they had taken wives by the score, concubines by the hundreds, He owed it to them, as well as to himself, to maintain the high standard of deportment they had established. As for these white girls, a person of Sam’s importance could Make them his slaves, he could steep his higher senses in the perfume of their beauty. There were girls with azure eyes and tawny hair and pallid skins, dark girls with red lips and ebony brows! They would crawl at his shoe. No white men patronized the places where Moy went, and there were other places, more expensive, where could be found the very flower of white loveli- ness: girls fit to grace the palace of a king. The insignificant speaker could not afford more than occasional visits to these exclusive dancing establish- ments, but Sam could afford it. His house was silent, cold, whereas it should be filled with laughter and warmed with love. Yearning arms were out- stretched, snowy bosoms panted for a sign of his lordly conde- scension. All this took time to tell and much of it was far beyond the range of Moy’s limited com- mand of English. Sam listened with a queer light in his eyes; he surprised his employee finally by rising and saying he would go. The little Korean was all but delirious with joy. That proved to be a strange experience for Sam. He felt as if he were on an Arabian Nights adventure and he would have given much if he had been able to see it through the eyes of his valet. To the latter it was romantic and pleasurably ex- citing; to Sam it was hollow, incredibly sordid and shock- ing. The sight of white girls in the arms of Chinese, Japanese, Filipino men evoked aston- ishment at first and then resent- ment. It was an abnormality that he found deeply repug- nant and yet he could not tell why. His white mind was work- ing again, no doubt. Moy took him first to a place on upper Broadway. It was about like any other public dance-hall except that. all the men were Asiatics. The danc- ing floor was fenced in by a railing with turnstiles at which ticket takers were posted; be- tween dances the girls rested on benches inside the enclosure. There were three men present for every woman and although Moy had said that nothing ex- cept soft drinks were served it seemed to Sam that the patrons were all drunk, for they laughed, chattered, shouted, waved their arms and rushed about in an extraordinary way. The meaning of this disorder was not at first apparent, then it dawned on Sam. The place was run in a manner to excite the animal emotions of these yellow men and to maintain them at fever-heat. The music was loud and spirited, the girls were recep- tive to attentions, and many were dressed in a manner to adver- tise their tantalizing charms. Their gowns were light, of neces- sity, but some were semitransparent. Contact with the yielding bodies of these coryphées provoked their saffron partners so swiftly that the dances were cut short. They lasted only four or five minutes and the intermissions even less. As a matter of fact, the orchestra stopped playing barely long enough for the floor to be cleared and for more tickets to eo

Page 62

74 collected. These tickets were ten cents each and were sold in books. Moy explained that the girls received five cents a dance and that some of them made as much as ten dollars a night—just from dancing. During the brief interruptions in the music the place was a riot of sound; outside the railing the patrons milled like restless cattle. Before the excitement ‘could abate appreciably the perspiring musicians resumed work and the gates again were stormed. Ten dollars a night. Two hundred dances. Sam wondered how many miles these girls covered in an evening. Son of the Gods dance-hall. Curiously he put several questions which were an- swered frankly. Yes, this went on every night. Police? Why should the police make trouble for a licensed dance-hall, open to the public and run in strict observance of local ordinances and the prohibition laws? It was an orderly place and white men were welcome, although, happily, they did not patronize it. Investigators, police-women occasionally visited the place and a few young girls had been arrested on complaint of their parents, but most of the girls had their parents’ consent to work here— G.‘We Asiatics pay high for what we want and marriage is a cheap price to Fortunately for them, the modern nautch dance is not ex- hausting. But this was not a dance, it was a corybantic frenzy, an orgias- tic revel cunningly held in check. It offended Sam to see these men—men of his very own race, some of them—tantalized and titillated by these avaricious foreigners. It was indescribably cheap and somewhat nauseating; but his respect for them did not suffer as did his respect for white womanhood. Of course his presence became known. Soon there was a craning of necks, the girls stared at him in open curiosity and talked among themselves. The proprietor of the hall, a meticulous Japanese, presented himself with a bow and expressed his appre- ciation of the honor Sam had done him. - He was servile and flat- tering, he offered his distinguished visitor the freedom of his so- miserable establishment and volunteered to procure for him any girl who suited his fancy. Sam thanked him and explained that, for tonight at least, he was only sightseeing. This was his first visit to a public some even brought their mothers along. And why not? The work was easy, the pay was good, they were treated with more courtesy here than in the average American dance-hall. Asiatics” were free-handed with white women and what a girl did outside of this place was no concern of the proprietor. Would not Mr. Lee accept and use a book of tickets? A dozen books? Some of the girls were pretty. Many were agreeably young . . . No? The speaker shrugged and nodded. He under- stood perfectly, a gentleman of Mr. Lee’s consequence must exer- cise discretion in the pursuit of his amusements. “To you I will present select address,” he said, “where matters will be found more agreeable to your liking. Surroundings are more rich and satisfactory than of here and the management 1s — correct. Polite young ladies of the non-shop-working classes can be met and the music is of excellent organization.” On a card he wrote a Riverside Drive number and this he handed to Sam. Curiosity prompted the latter to drive uptown to the address ~ given: it was that of a handsome private house. He and Moy

Page 63

Rex Beach were admitted readily; from the floor above came that same tem- t of voices they had heard in the first place and upon mounting the stairs they beheld a similar scene. This was a “club,” how- ever, hence it was furnished and run on a more pretentious scale than the public hall: The revelers were better dressed and no at- tempt was made to separate them between dances, but otherwise the procedure was about the same. There was the same turmoil and the dances were equally short. Here, again, Sam was recognized and a good deal was made over him. When, at a late hour, he drove back to Chinatown it pay for—Alice!”’ was with a deeper feeling of disdain for the white people than he ever experienced. Christians! His superiors! It made him laugh bitterly. They presumed to scorn him; a woman of that race had whipped him. What a cock-sure attitude! Sam did not like to remember that it was Alanna Wagner who had humiliated him; since their last meeting he no longer thought of her as the one who had actually struck those blows. It pleased him to reason that her hand was merely the hand of her people and to realize that she had bled with him. Alanna, as he saw it now, had been only an instrument, a handle to that whip which Nordic Prejudice had swung. _ In his mind of late she had become a symbol, rather than an individual; she was more than a white woman, she was Woman herself. She was the very core of that womanhood which mothers every race. She was the essence of his desire, their souls were Mated, but fate had shackled each to a body which the other was forbidden by some tabu to touch. They had been caught and crushed into the dust by the same 75 creaking, antiquated Juggernaut. It was a peculiar form of pro- vincialism, this contempt for foreigners, especially inasmuch as these Americans were not pure-blooded. They were a mixture of many strains and without any definite racial tradition that compared with his. But what good did it do to harbor rebellious thoughts? Always he would burn incense to Alanna as his divinity; it occurred to him now that he could ease the pain of his blistering want by embracing the shell of white womanhood if not the real- ity. These girls who had fawned upon him tonight were blood The girl had risen with a strangled cry, but Sam leaped forward. sisters of hers and he could touch their bodies. He could take any one or all of them; it might numb his suffering to hurt them as he had been hurt. He could possess them, use them, deride them and cast them aside. There was comfort in the feeling of power which came over him at this thought. His smoldering resentment was blown into a blaze a few days later when his lawyer called on what he announced to be an ex- traordinary errand. Mr. Carter was indignant and he explained his feelings by saying: “You remember that fellow Himes who had a part in the Mona Stevens affair?”’ “T’m not likely to forget him,”’ Sam declared. “Well, he has turned up again. He came to see me today on behalf of You can’t guess.” “T shan’t try.” “That Hart girl! The girl your father sent to Paris.” Sam stared incredulously at the speaker. ‘On her ‘behalf’? What has happened to her? Perhaps (Continued on page 192)

Page 64

- Pe tolen Y LETTER to her was imperative. She steadfastly had refused to go away with me, or rather, to come to me, and yet she professed to care more for me than for anyone or anything else in the world. I had been patient; patience, however, is not enduring in one who is fairly young and in love. I say fairly young, reluctantly. I am a bit over forty. There is no natural law against men over forty being in love. It is possible—indeed it is not to be denied— that the love interests of gentlemen beyond forty assume certa’n arbitrary aspects that are gratefully missing in the young of their species, the good and sufficient reason being that time has become a matter of consequence. As I say, I had been patient with her. I was not asking her to give up her home and her children forever—indeed not! A fort- night of unbridled freedom, a rare adventure, a secret enterprise— oh, there are a thousand ways in which to put it!—something to remember with a guilty conscience, if you please, for many a humdrum week and month—and yet something that even the guiltiest would not wish to forget. I put a great deal into my letters to her; I staked my ‘ove against her apprehensions. Always she replied that she was afraid—mortally afraid! She was wretchedly unhappy. She longed for the comfort of my arms, for the sound of my voice and the caress of my lips—and yet she was afraid—mortally afraid! A hundred leagues lay between us when I sent her the final letter. I could almost see her wither and whiten as she read the callous words. It was an ultimatum; it was not lightly to be put aside, as my more considerate appeals had been, with faltering excuses. I said, brutally, I fear—my ego has an honest side to it: “T shall not ask you again. After all is said and done, you owe — a to me. I shall be in Boston tomorrow night. Step out 6 ortnight and get me on the long-distance telephone. “You know where to reach me at eight o’clock. I am only asking for two weeks. Need I tell you again how much it will mean to have you all to myself for that length of time? “Make any excuse you like. Say you are going to a sanitarium, if you like, for a rest. Why be finicky now? Times haven't changed so much, have they, since you made that reckless, unexpected trip to Chicago two years ago? I will admit you surprised me. But I suppose you loved me a little more violently then than you do now. It’s only natural. et “You were willing to risk anything then. Did you give a * AMES WQVTCOWERY FLAG bs thought then to your kids? You did not! You thought of me— _ and, of course, you very selfishly and charmingly thought a lot’ about yourself and your own pleasures. You can get away. You’ve done it before. “That time in Atlantic City and again on that occasion when’ your sick husband decided that he ought to go to Bermuda for his health. I distinctly remember your saying at the time that you wished to heaven your hus-” band had to go away oftener for his health, poor wretch! You weren’t thinking about your chil- dren then, were you? Now, once and for a!l—this is the last time I'll ever ask you. You’ve got a governess to look after your kids, and servants as well. “In your last letter to me you said you had not seen hide or hair of your husband in two months and that it would be at least another three weeks before said encumbrance could possibly get back to New York. What better chance do you want? “Tell them you are going to Boston to consult a specialist but not to breathe a word of it to any- one. You might make a point of saying it is a dead secret you're keeping from hubby himself. But come you must. Leave the rest to me. “We'll sneak off into the June wilderness and lose ourselves for a couple of weeks. And we will be happy—I’ll see to that. Call me at eight tomorrow night, without fail.” I am what you might call rather a good-looking chap. At any rate, I am not repulsive to women. As a matter of fact, I’ve been quite lucky with them. I did not marry until I was well beyond thirty-five, a fact which ought to speak for itself. I cannot, off- hand, recall how many times I was engaged to be married—but that is beside the point. It doesn’t prove anything, I suppose. - However, I may be forgiven for stating that my wife

Page 65

Ve you

i appallingly jealous—and that does prove something. I am, by pro- fession, a consulting engineer. My business takes me from one end of the country to the other and frequently I am absent from my own fireside for two or three months at a time. My headquarters are in the city of Boston; the firm I represent is one of the most influential in the land. Still I ramble. What has this to do with the case? The only thing that does matter, is that.I am in love. The woman I love has a husband and two children. She doesn’t see much of him, however—poor devil! I confess to a distinct feeling of uneasiness as I waited for her reply to my letter. I rather expected to find a telegram upon my arrival in Boston, begging me to forgive her for not doing as I wished and setting forth reasons which I ought to understand by this time. It was long past eight—I was on the point of starting off to a play in what, under all the circumstances, quite properly may be described as an unreasonable state of peevishness—when the call came through. Long-distance caught me just as I was leaving my room in the hotel. It would have served her right if I had gone out before she—but the sound of her dear, excited, even agitated voice over the wire made me ashamed of the thought. She had deemed it best to go out of the house to telephone me. The children were up and were bound to ask questions. She was so excited that I confess to a very decided thrill myself, the way she put it in her haste, and—yes, apprehension; it was as if all the operators in New York listened in and were saying, “‘Ah-al naughty, naughty!”’ Besides, it was raining in New York, so that made her late. _ “Listen,” she said, after using up half a minute of valuable time in wholly superfluous greetings, as women will: “I think I can manage it all right, Dick. I’ll take the one-o’clock tomorrow. That is, if—if you are sure you still want me to come.” “Of course, I do. The one-o’clock. I’ll meet you.” _ ‘No, don’t meet me at the station. I told Miss Cornwall I simply had to go to Boston to consult—a—Doctor Smith about— about my nerves. Same old case. He treated me before, I told her. I couldn’t for the life of me, Dick, think of leaving the chil- dren without a most imperative reason. I had to give her a good one. I had to make it strong. So I made up Doctor Smith, but, goodness knows, my nerves are shot to pieces. I have an idea she thought I was lying, at that.” Just a minute, please. You haven’t told me why I am not to meet you at the station.” Are you crazy? Someone might see us.” ell, suppose someone does!”’ She seemed a bit stiff and impatient. “If you don’t mind, I Prefer to do it my own way. Iam consenting to meet you and 80 off on a secret little trip with you up into the woods—oh, B0odness!” I could hear her gasp. Never mind,” I said. ‘No one knows who you are, so say What you please. It’s all right.” ‘“ 5 cAn Adventure in ‘Romance AFTER 40 * . * 4 ty Ge wal sd Barr | Mc(outcheon “‘Well, then, listen. I will go to that little hotel on M—— Street. You know. I'll register for both of us. I'll explain that you are coming down from Maine by a later train to join me. Is that clear?” “Perfectly. Sounds reasonable. I couldn’t have thought of anything better myself.” “You are not known there, are you?” she inquired quickly. “Never was in the place in my life. They say it isn’t very respectable.” I chuckled. “‘Well,” she said, drawing the word out as if in a sigh of resolution, ‘we'll only be there for one night, so what does it really matter? I shall use an assumed name, you goose.” “Naturally. Soshould I. But seeing that you have so cleverly invented Doctor Smith, would you mind also inventing a name for us to register under? It might be proper for me to know the lady’s name as well as my own when I slip up to the desk at—say seven o’clock with my suitcase.” “Mr. and Mrs. Diggs, New York,” said she promptly. “That will match the initials on my bags, you see.” “By glory, I’m—I’m so excited I can hardly ——” “T can’t talk any longer; my time’s up and there’s a man wait- ing to get into this booth. Goodness, he’s a hard-eyed man. He hasn’t taken his eyes off this booth since——_ I wonder if he can

Ls t, < ba ae ? oy Tillustrations * by James Montgomery _ Flagg 77

Page 66

78 be the hotel detective!” She gave vent to a jerky little- laugh, breaking off to say softly: ““Good-by, sweetheart. Till tomorrow night. I know I’m doing a perfectly awful, foolish thing, but——” “Nothing of the sort. You’re being an angel!” I cried. “Well, good-by!” “Good night.” Well, I did not sleep much that night. I lay awake most of the time, picturing in my mind’s eye the delights of the promised adventure. And when I wasn’t doing that, my brain was busy with plans and the means to make this same adventure something to think about—if not to talk about—forever. Early the next morning I set about making preparations. I had a pretty definite idea in mind. Something original and therefore delectable. First of all, I went to the offices and informed the “Chief” that I was going off that day for a fortnight in the lake region with a friend—fishing, hunt- ‘ng, swimming and all that. He said I looked a bit pale and nervous and was sure that a little holiday would do me a lot of good. “J suppose your wife will know where to get in touch with you in case she wants to,” he said. I was prepared for the re- mark. Confound him, he was always thinking about that wife of mine. “Oh, certainly,” I replied readily. Perhaps a little too readily, a l:ttle too ear- nestly. “Well, have a good time, old man,” he said heartily. “Thanks,” said I. “I'll do my best.” I went straightway toa place where they dealt in second- aand automobiles. I dare say it would be better to say third- hand, for it was my idea to buy as cheaply as possible a car that could be depended upon to rattle safely along for a week or two, at the end of which time I could abandon it without conscience or re- luctance, sell it for a couple of songs or even give it away if the mood and opportunity oc- curred at one and the same time. A good-sized car, capable of carrying a tent, rolls of bed- ding, a collapsible stove and one of those baskets contain- ing dishes, cups, knives, forks, spoons and so forth; some pots and pans and wash-basins; to say nothing of towels and— well, everything a camper needs. I found just such a car with- out much trouble. The owner seemed rather glad to get r‘d of it at what I was pleased to call my price, but what I after- wards realized was indubi- tably more than he would have held out for if [ had taken the time to dicker with him. Once upon a time it had been a proud car. It had seen better days. The dealer and his mechanics had put it in fairly sound condition; if all went well it ought to surprise itself by rattling along for heaven knows how many miles. It’s amazing how much life there is in a car that everybody has given up for dead. By mid-afternoon I had everything I could think of in the way we all would like to be. stories he ever wrote. eA Legacy of Laughter OR more than thirty years George Barr McCutcheon made this world a better place in which to live because he helped make people happy. His romances set in the mythical kingdom of Graustark took thousands out of the humdrum of every- day into the magic land of fancy—yet his fanciful stories were true because they told of the lives of the kind of heroic folk The passing of George Barr McCutch- eon was a sad thing for those who loved him through his books. But he left be- hind him this, one of the most charming As you read it you will chuckle with delight. And that is as George McCutcheon would have wished it—to leave you laughing. The Stolen Fortnight of paraphernalia neatly stowed away in the tonneau and alon the running-board of the car. excited. Up to date the outlay in cash was a little short of seven hundred dollars. The thought of what lay ahead of me made the amount look like the merest nothing at all. Why, a fortnight alone in the wilds and on the by-roads with her was worth more to me than all the—aye, even a week, which she swore was all she could possibly risk. Promptly at seven-thirty o’clock—there was a train in from the north at seven-ten—I turned up at the hotel with my suitcase, “Mrs. Diggs arrived yet?’’ I inquired. “Diggs?” the clerk said doubtfully. I had a horrible fear that she might have said “Driggs” over the telephone. “From New York,” I temporized guiltily, looked on something behind a desk screen and then, to my relief, said: “Yes, sir. She’s in Three-twenty. You’re Mr. Diggs?” “No other,” said I crisply. “I'll go right up.” “2 “Three-twenty,” he said languidly to the bell-hop. I had a feeling that not only he but also the young lady cashier followed me with their eyes until I disappeared into the elevator. Then I took off my hat and mopped my very moist brow. Needless to say, I received a warm and rapturous greeting. We had dinner in our room. She had ordered it in advance of my coming. There were two vegetables that I detest. I hate carrots and I dislike plain spinach. But I ate them with relish. This was no time to hurt her feelings. I would have jumped out of the window rather than put a cloud into her vivid, radiant eyes or—— My Lord, what a love- ly, graceful, sensitive, appealing creature she is! There is no other woman in all the world like her. I told her so. We had cocktails and a bottle of cham- pagne I had managed to wheedle out of 4 friend that afternoon. This was neither a sensible nor a cautious thing to do. The waiter was no fool. He must ‘have doné some thinking. - wet There was one thing that a respectable Mr. Diggs would not do for a respectable Mrs. Diggs on a warm night: he wouldn't be giving her cocktails and champagne quite so privately as all this. Indeed, itis very doubtful if he would have given her anything but water to drink in these ex- pensive days. But, as I have mentioned before, this wasn’t an altogether respectable hotel, so we didn’t give more than a passing, rather jolly thought to the matter. Later on a cloud did come into her eyes. “If anything should happen to—to the children while I am off with you on this— why, I’d never, never forgive myself, never! And I’d never forgive you,” she said almost fiercely. I was very firm with her. “You don't think I’m going to let you back out now, do with this or-——” sir “Now please don’t be angry!” she cried. “I’m not going to back out. I shall love it—I know I shall. It will be wonderful, Dick. But just the same,” and here her pretty jaw set, “it could so easily be horrible.” a Whereupon, realizing the futility of ar gument, I had the craven satisfaction of closing her lips with kisses—meant to be tender and comforting. js We were off at a reasonably early hour the next morning. There were a number of things that I had overlooked in my purchasing tour. The oversight had to be remedied. In the first place, she wanted a veil—an unheard-of thing in these modert I was enormously thrilled and. “T just came on, sir; I'll look.” He you? Not much! You are going through

Page 67

d along f seven ade the rtnight h more ; all she in from uitcase, ht have ruiltily, é ” He es, Sir. Jiggs?” z0 right y to the ut also 1e with ito the at and George Barr McCutcheon days ot motoring—and she re- fused to take to the highroads with me unless I wore large, dark goggles. : Then there was ee” tting—by the t—over- . “it looked a bit like rain that morning); a couple of extra blankets (the nights were sure to be chilly); several culinary articles: soap, dish-cloths and a coffee-pot; two large boxes of candies (she wasn’t afraid of getting fat, it seems); certain remedies, such as aspirin and cold-cream; a big electric lan- tern (to go to bed by, she said, and to get up by if necessary); a good-sized hatchet for me to chop wood with (I certainly hadn’t thought of that); and if there was anything else she would jot it down on a pad of paper as we rattled along. Our exit from Boston was over side streets. We finally got back on the main road to Newburyport and then she settled down in the seat beside me with a sigh of relief. “No one is going to know us with all these disguises on,” said I gaily. “So why worry?” ae “You forget that I am supposed to be in a hospital for observa- tion,” said she. “If it got back to Miss Cornwall or Mother that I was gallivanting over the country in a car with you—well, I don’t mind being called a lot of things, Dick, but I draw the line at being called a liar.” “T suppose I am expected to say something about conscience making cowards of us all.” “T don’t think you have a right even to intimate that I am a coward.” “And T don’t, sweetheart. You are a perfect heroine.” “Well,” said she and that was all. That’s usually a woman’s conclusion and there is no way to meet it. By late afternoon we were well up in the sparsely settled country beyond Saco and Biddeford. We loitered a bit to admire and covet the quaint, adorable home of the late Kate Douglas Wig- gin—through veil and goggle—which we passed on our somewhat out-of-the-way journey to. what was to be our first encampment. I knew exactly where we were to pitch our tent; I had fished in this neck of the woods several times and I knew the lay of the land quite well. By this time she was forgetting everything she had left behind and was thinking only of the wonderful days to come; she was as eager and as excited as a child, exclaim- ing now and then as we scuttled through shady, leaf-sheltered woodland avenues or alongside the dancing, chortling stream. _ “It’s worth it, isn’t it?” said I gently. “Oh, it is, in- deed!” she cried. “It will be heaven- ly, Dick.” Ralf an hour later I said: “Here’s where we camp,” and forthwith per- furmed the ticklish and what at one tine seemed to be a most doubtful—feat of driving the car actoss- a roadside gully and then up.a Je? dom owner Fiance ~ netiee ey Om far-from-steep bank into as charming a woodland glade as you’d see in many a mile. _“Goodness!” she gasped, as the car stalled and snorted and backed and bellowed and finally, in what seemed a fit of exasper- ation, jerked its way fitfully to the grassy plateau which couldn’t have been more than three feet above the level of the dirt-road. We surveyed the somewhat sequestered site. A few rods back from the road rose a narrow strip of trees and beyond that lay the bank of the placid little stream that came chuckling down from the hills. : “Here’s where we set up our portable hotel,” said I enthusias- tically. “It ought to be rather jolly, pitching our own hotel wherever we happen to like, with nothing but trees for neighbors. If we don’t like it, we can pick up the whole establishment and move at an hour’s notice.” “T rather like trees for neighbors,” said she, wistfully gazing aloft. “The only thing to be said against them,” said I sententiously, “is that they whisper all night.” ’ “Let them whisper,” said she recklessly. In due time I got the tent up. Some of my enthusiasm wore off as I toiled. She did her best to help me with the poles and pegs and ropes, but even love such as mine could not make much out of her efforts. It is a nasty, brutal thing to say, but during the process of construction, such as it was, my lady was a beautiful, graceful, some- times apprehensive, ornament. When the tent was finally and securely up, I remarked that if the place suited her we , would remain right where we were for several 4 days. Nothing, I hastened to add—noting her expression—could be more lovely, more out-of-the-way, more adapted to at least a passing state of happiness, than this spot on the banks of the—I .couldn’t for the life of me remember the name of the stream. y “Where are we?” she inquired, looking up “a from the provender basket I had lifted out of y / the car. / “Paradise,” said I. “T think you’d better start a fire,” said she. I could see that she was thinking of some- thing else. That’s the way with women who know how to cook. We were too busy for the next half-hour or so to do much of anything except to give orders and to obey them. For example, I carried two buckets of water uv from the stream—almost tumbling in as I slid down the bank—chopped some fallen tree limbs and twigs into a very proper fuel, carried cushions and so forth in from the car, and by the time supper was ready my appetite had crowded sentiment (Continued on page 129)

Page 68

One -Acrobat Mans ‘Too eMany” «yf T’S A weak picture,” said Max Slotkin of the firm of ““You’re worrying over nothing, Dad,” George said. “Conrady T Governor & Slotkin, proprietors of The Governor’s has been doing this act for three years, and it’s a big hit every- Ww Theater, New York, The Governor’s Theater, Brooklyn, where. Besides, he’s got a wife and two children and he isn't, E and The Governor’s Theater, Philadelphia—“‘it’s a weak _ going to ruin his act by killing his dancing partner.” pl picture and so therefore we’ve got to give it strong support.” “What do you mean killing his dancing partner?” Governor or “And you call a team of asked. ‘‘Ain’t his dancing partner also his wife?”’ al: acrobats strong support?” “Certainly not,’’ Slotkin replied. “This is anew Doloretes he's ov Governor demanded. got this year.” wi “Conrady and Doloretes “She’s only eighteen years of age,’ y reas added: and then, ve aren’t acrobats, Dad,”. Gov- for some unknown reason, he colored slightly and wiped away; en ernor Junior protested. a little perspiration from his forehead. pu “They’re no more acrobats For a few minutes, Governor looked hard at his son. \.., co than any other team of re- g. “I told you that refrigerating system ain’t weddte s good, cre fined dancers.” 9 » aa George,” he said. “Here it is only the second of May and your m¢ George was the manager of a 2 already warm like anything.” ing the New York house, and for “You don’t suppose I’m working that system on a ne like. pe twenty-two years of age, even this,” George said. “It’s not fifty-five degrees outdoors.”’=:7 -* he Slotkin had to admit that. he “Then what are you sweating for?” Governor asked abru tly. st was a good motion-picture “Say!” Slotkin remarked. “¥ou’re enough to make any co theater manager. get hot under the collar. ‘They’re acrobats,’ sagt: “ef, “and ¥ fo “Say, listen, George,” Gov- ain’t going to have no acrobats in this theayter.’ And:why not? Sal ernor said. - “If what that The conversation took place in the apron of the stage, in, hu team of Conrady and Who’s- he this do is refined dancing, then all I can say is that they should do refined dancing be- hind a net, because when Con- rady catches ahold of this here Who’s-this by her left foot and swings her around twenty times at the rate-of a hundred miles an hour, y’ understand, if he ever Gott soll hiiten lets go, understand me, at least ten people in Row L is going to get killed at our expense.” @The curtain parted and disclosed Conrady and Illustrations Doloretes. ‘'Some queen!’’ the conductor re- b marked to George, who had hastened in to gaze on J : what to him was a picture of ravishing tig J . Hear yA

Page 69

ae onrady every- e isn’t, vernon, es he's, 1 then, | away; 800d, you're: Pog @ . ’ Some of your Laughs as you read this story may be to Loosen a Lump in your throat The Governor’s Theater, New York, which had been named after the European fashion of calling a playhouse ‘“The King’s Theater” or “The Queen’s Theater.” It also honored its _ principal owner, Jacob Governor, whose enterprise as a pur- veyor of motion-picture entertainment to the public of three great communities had created three enor- mous theaters, seat- ing six thousand people — or any- how, if you stopped to count them, four thou- sand three hundred. Each theater also possessed a symphony or- chestra of one hundred players, reckoning the man in charge of the drums and drum- mers’ accessories as thirty players and allowing the usual orchestral discount of fifty percent for the rest. “You have the nerve to ask me why not?” Governor asked in teply to Slotkin’s rhetorical question, and then, glaring at his partner, he rose heavily to his feet, with the aid of a strong ash stick, and stumped clumsily away, for Mr. Governor’s right leg Was several inches shorter than his left. In other respects, how- ever, he was a well-built man of fifty-five and allowing for @ face much changed by business worries, physical pain and unremitting hard work, he must have been a handsome man in his youth. In fact he might even have been as handsome as his son George, except that George was much taller than his father. He had, however, his father’s crisp curling hair and broad shoulders, and he also had inherited a clear, pale complexion, a straight nose and a genial disposition, for Mr. Governor Senior was only fretful on cold, damp days, when his leg hurt him. At the edge of the proscenium opening, he paused and looked up at the great chandelier of The Governor’s Theater. “I suppose if you had your way, Slotkin,” he said, “just be- cause acrobats are cheap, the house would be swarming mii acrobats, ain’t it?” George had walked across the stage with his father, but with- out attempting to assist him, for Mr. Governor was a trifle touchy about being helped in his painful locomotion. He did, however, go so far as to pat his father’s shoulder. : 8

Page 70

82 “Max isn’t thinking of hiring acrobats, Dad, and neither am I,” he said. “So forget it.” “Say, listen!” Jacob Governor cried. ‘“Can’t I say something in my own theayter or can’t I?” He glared once more at Max Slot- kin. ‘Which you know as well as I do, Slotkin, that if it wouldn’t been for an acrobat, I could climb up that there column, swing myself into the gallery and take a chance on a flying jump into the chandelier. That’s what I could do if it wasn’t for an acrobat, Slotkin,” he declared. “And would this bring a penny more into the house, besides busting a ten-thousand-dollar chandelier?” Slotkin asked jocu- larly, by way of creating an atmosphere of good humor. But un- fortunately, at that moment, Jacob Governor suffered another twinge in his right leg. He was in fact obliged to cling to his son’s arm for support. ; “Slotkin,” he said, ‘‘not only you ain’t got no derech ehretz, but vou’ ve a heart like a brick. Which all I can hope for you, Slotkin, is that you should have ten children and they should all be acro- bats, because I suppose it’s already too late to wish you such hard luck as being an acrobat yourself like I was.” He shook his son’s hand from his shoulder. “Leave go my arm. What amI? A cripple?” he said, and dis- appeared noisily into the darkness of back-stage. “The old man isn’t feeling good today,” George remarked. “‘He’s got a right not to feel good,” Slotkin said. “‘Not only the weather is bad for his leg, but you go and make that break about Conrady and Doloretes. You had no right to suggest engaging them in the first place.” “Why not?” George demanded, almost fiercely, and Slotkin shrugged. “Learn French in the regular way by a French teacher instead of from that little Doloretes,”’ he retorted. “T don’t know what you’re talking about,” George said, but his face was flaming, nevertheless. ‘‘You never saw me speak a dozen words to the girl.” “‘Not me, personally, I didn’t; but my wife knows Mrs. Conrady, and you was up there to supper after the show last night and the night before,” Slotkin said. ‘So as that little Doloretes is living with them, I take it that you didn’t go there to listen to Mr. and Mrs. Conrady eating exactly.” George lighted a cigaret in violation of the fire laws. He was giving himself time to frame a snappy comeback, but Slotkin spoke first. “You'd better cut out going there before your father knows about it, George,” he said. “That guy’s awful strict for an ex-acro- bat. You’d think in- stead of an ex-acrobat he’d been an ex-rabbi or something.” “He isn’t going to hear about it unless you tell him,” George said, but even at that very moment, Jacob Governor sat at his desk in his private office, telephoning to the doorman. “Is Conrady of that new acrobatic team in the theayter yet?” he asked. “‘He’s just arrived,” the doorman said. “Well, before he gets a chance to dress, tell him to come to me,” Jacob told him. He didn’t mean that Conrady should appear in the mana- gerial office unclothed, as if for a surgical di- agnosis. He meant @,""Did Doloretes insult you again?” Mrs. Governor that he wanted him asked. ‘‘But this isn't the same Doloretes that danced in America,’ said George. to come in his street clothes before he put One Acrobat Too Many on the full-dress suit which fitted Conrady to such perfection that the head usher of The Governor’s Theater had brought his own tailor there to see if he couldn’t make one exactly like it for sixty- five dollars. Conrady’s street clothes, however, were by no means as well-fitting. He was, in fact, a tall, thin man approaching middle age and appeared to be much worried when he entered Governor’s office. As a married man with two children, he felt that this visit pre- saged no good, and besides, both children had the mumps. “Did you want to see me, Mr. Governor?” he asked. “Sit down,” Governor said, not unkindly. ‘“You’ve got lots of time before you go on.” s didn’t sound like a call-down, and Conrady felt some- | what relieved, especially as Governor immediately handed him a cigar. “Smoke it after the show,” he said, “and tell me a few things about your act.” “Well, you seen it, didn’t you, Mr. Governor?”’ he answered, and Governor nodded. “Tt went good,” he said, “‘but ain’t it a bit gefahrlich?” “T don’t get you,” Conrady replied. “My father was an Aus- trian, but I never learned to talk it.” “Gefahrlich means dangerous,” Governor explained, and Con- ‘rady laughed. “Tf you think that’s dangerous, Mr. Governor, you should ought to have seen what I was doing three years ago,” he said, “TI was an acrobat.” “You should ought to have seen what I was doing thirty years ago,” Governor said. “I was also an acrobat.” He leaned across the desk and pointed an accusatory finger at Conrady. “But you’re still an acrobat, and you don’t know it,” he said. “Me an acrobat!” Conrady exclaimed. “Why, my act is as safe for me like I’d be in my own bed already.” “But how. about that young girl what performs with you?” Governor asked. “Is she safe if you ain’t working right?” He leaned back in his chair and blew a large cloud of smoke. “You mean that swing-around we do?” Conrady said. Governor nodded. “Well, don’t worry,” Con- rady declared. “I’ve been doing that for three years, and I ain't dropped one of them girls yet.” Governor tapped the plate-glass top of his desk. ‘‘Listen, Conrady,” he said, “I su you never heard tell of the team called The Six Pas- torellis?”’ Conrady shook his head. ‘Well, I didn’t sup- pose you had,” Jacob replied. “This was thirty-five years ago, before I came to this country. My name was Jaroslaw Gobro- ezynski and I didn’t have to be no acrobat. My father done the biggest wholesale her- ring business in Go- broczynsk, where I was born. It’s about fifty miles from Kra- kow, but I wasn’t content to stay that far from a big town like Krakow, so noth- ing must do but I must go to Krakow, and as I was a stro’ young feller, I team up (Cont. on page 114) CQ ert oer meet oe ee ~~ ee ee ee So ses esict a

Page 71

3 OWN sixty- neans e and office. t pre- t lots some- inded hings ered, t sup- Jacob ago, name obro- jidn’t robat. > the > her- | Go- re | about Kra- vasn’t that town noth- mut I akow, stro am e114) ‘piness he had been able to get out of In an Unusual Talk with i eAllan £, Benson tells Woy ForRD and (QOOLIDGE aren’t HAPPYa. WHY Golleges HAVE been interviewing Edison for twenty years and more, but here is to be set down a report of the most interesting and the most revealing interview with him that I ever had. It is out of the ordinary because I had not expected to see him and had no questions in my mind to ask him. One might say he interviewed himself. He talked for an hour, went over to his desk for a few minutes, then came back and talked some more. He told funny stories. He told why neither Ford, Coolidge, nor anybody else can be very happy. He told how much hap- life and what had prevented him from getting more. He told—— The gods were simply with me—that was all! By the merest chance, I had happened to stumble across the great man’s path when he felt like relaxing. He was no longer Edison, the greatest inventor ever produced by any age. He was Edison, the human being, glad to cast aside his problems for the moment and talk about whatever happened to enter his mind—to flit from one subject to another, pausing a moment here and remaining longer there. We all do it, but here is how Edison did it: “T have just been over to Kearny to see them begin assem- bling Ford’s new car. What a reception that car has had through- out the world! One might think it would make Ford happy for the rest of his days, but it won’t. Ford is the type of man who can’t be happy very long. His mind is too active. He sees too many things to do. His successes bring him pleasure for the moment, but such pleasures are soon swallowed up in the con- centration that is involved in the performance of the next task. “Besides, no man’s life—not even Ford’s—is composed wholly of success. It must have been an awful blow to him when the sales of his old car began to fall off. . He did not care anything about the money. The thing that must have hurt him was the thought that people were turning from him and going to some- body else. But that is all fixed now. Ford will regain his old place with a rush and be bigger than he ever was before. “As human beings are now constituted,” continued Edison, “it is impossible for them to be very happy. The only ones who are continuously happy are the ones who, having little ambition, do small things of little importance. A man whose business it is to catch butterflies is probably pretty happy all of the time. Negroes, too, are usually happy. Things that bogey knock the rest of us cold don’t seem to distress negroes “Perhaps the best funny story that I have heard for years illustrates the boundless capacity of~colored people to keep Fail to Educaten, Offers a Sure Cure for WORRY smiling. A white woman happened to meet on the street a colored girl who had worked for her a year or so before. The colored girl was wheeling a baby. The white woman pulled back the cover and looked at the child who was as black as a hat. ‘Does the baby look like its father?’ asked the white woman. ‘Har, har, har!’ laughed the colored woman. ‘I can’t tell you dat. I met dat chile’s father at a masquerade ball.’ “T told that story to Ford and John Burroughs once when we were camping, and Burroughs laughed so hard that he fell over backwards in his camp-chair. For days after Burroughs would oc- casionally break out laughing and when we would ask him what was the matter, he would say, “That story.’ “Coolidge isn’t happy. Years ago, when he was up in Massa- chusetts, he wanted to be President, but now that he’s been in the White House, he’s glad to get out of it. The responsibilities of the office are too great to permit anybody who bears them to be happy very long. “The happiest time in my life was when I was twelve years old. I was just old enough to have a good time in the world, but not old enough to understand any of its troubles. Looking back now, across eighty-two years, I can see that relatively I have been happy. I have had a better chance to be happy than have most people. But I have had plenty of unhappiness, too. “For a good many years I worried about my pay-roll; didn’t always know how I was going to meet it. My trouble has been that I have always had too much ambition and tried to do things that were sometimes financially too big for me. If I had not had so much ambition and had not tried to do so many things I probably would have been happier, but less useful. “But I have always found, when I was worrying, that the best thing to do was to put my mind upon something, work hard and forget what was troubling me. As a cure for worrying, work is better than whisky. Much better. “Human beings, as they are now constituted, are unable to be very happy, because, no matter how much they have, they want more. I refer now to material things—to money and the luxuries of life. “Dishonest people cannot be happy because, deep down in their hearts, they are always saying to themselves, ‘I am a dirty, rotten crook.’ Nor can people be happy who are small and mean, always trying to get the better of every bargain.” What Edison said about Ford’s happiness particularly inter- ested me because I once talked with Ford about it. I asked him if he was happier when he became a billionaire than he was when he was a machinist working for a few (Continued on page 10?)

Page 72

Concluding NEN OUR days went by, and the envoys of the Admiral were back with the fleet. They had not found the Grand Khan, nor had they seen any king who was friend or enemy of that powerful monarch. They had penetrated some forty miles inland to reach a vil- lage of fifty houses inhab- ited by a population which they put at about a thou- sand—the huts seemed to be community dwellings, each sheltering a large number of natives. The envoys had been welcomed like gods by the savages, men and women running out to meet them, to touch them with their fingers admiringly as be- ings come from heaven, and to kiss their hands and feet. The Spaniards inquired for the king of the coun- try; but in spite of the good offices of an interpreter from the fleet, no one could satisfy their curiosity. A few individuals seemed to stand out among the na- tives as leaders, distin- guished from the others especially by their greater fatness; but not one of these naked, painted and well-fed leading citizens bore the least resemblance to the omnipotent ‘King of Kings’ who ruled the vast empire of the East. Then the samples of cinnamon, pepper, and other spices from Seville were exhibited. Yes, such things were abundant in the country, but not just there—off to the east, far off toward the east! The disappointment could not have been more complete; and the Admiral could see no reason now for not hurrying on to those lands toward which the Indians kept pointing whenever they were asked about gold and pearls. The vessels had been successfully floated, so on Thursday, the eleventh of November, the Admiral provided in general orders: “In the name of God, Southeast, to find gold, spices, and new lands.” And the fleet set out, the Pinta as usual in the lead, the Nifia and the flag-ship following abreast at a dis- tance of some miles. On the twenty-first of November, the fleet reached the east- ern end of Cuba and struck its true course to the southeast. The vessels were still in the usual order, the Pinta, better- canvased and better-handled, far in the lead, and making the usual stabs to south and north, without delaying the slower boats behind her. But at nightfall, on the third day out, the head wind freshened, the sea grew heavier, and the Admiral suddenly decided to return to the sheltered haven in the estuary which he had named the Cape of Palms, postponing the sail to “Bohio” or Babeque till the elements should show themselves more favorable. Acting at once upon this design, he brought the flag-ship about, signaling his change of course by lights on his mastheads. The Nifa, near by, also came about, following i Admiral in his retirement. The Pinta however, some miles 8 Evidently Gonzalez intended to use the arrows as spears or lances. If ss 4 in the lead, held on through the dark, without observing that the two ships astern had dropped out of sight. The winds held unfavorable for some days and Don Cristobal lingered very willingly about the beautiful bays of Cuba; but when the Santa Maria and the Nifia finally sailed with wind astern, the lofty mountains of Babeque were soon in view. The scenery of this new island, which the natives were now calling “Haiti” reminded the Admiral of certain regions of Spain, and he gave it the name of “Hispaniola” —“Little Spain,” the “Span- ish Isle.” Cuevas was hoping for another long stop in one of the numer- ous harbors the vessels kept entering, but the Admiral was now in a hurry to see more and contented himself with sending boats ashore either to fish and hunt or to barter with the natives. The “broom” Andujar did not find Lucero on any of these landings. The fleet, which had hitherto encountered Indians either living in a state of Edenlike innocence or in rudimentary democracies, now began to find native monarchies. Don Cristo- bal thought this indicated closer proximity to the Grand Khan’s influence, and chose to treat the kings he encountered with all the formalities of royalty. He invited them aboard his ship and stripped his personal wardrobe bare to make them gifts. One day he even parted with the amber necklace which he had bought at Granada before setting out on the voyage. One other person also was extremely happy to have entered at last into realms of Divine Right. This was Diego de Arana, high constable of the fleet. The Cordoban hidalgo strutted in all his glory whenever one of these litter-borne sovereigns, attended by a veritable, though half-naked “court,” came aboard the Santa Maria to pay his respects to the Sons of Heaven.

Page 73

Cuevas could be disposed of in these wilds, Lucero would be utterly at bis mercy! Gold ornaments were much more frequent in Haiti than on the other islands, and the native dignitaries would exchange large sheets of thin gold for any bit of broken crockery or any trinket the white men had to offer. When questioned as to the sources of their gold the natives pointed inland and pronounced the word “Cibao,” a place where even the stones and earth were made of gold! This was one of the happiest moments in the Admiral’s voyage! Cibao was, of course, Cipango! “pte brother in science to the astrologers and the al- chemists, was one of the last celebrated men of the Middle Ages. Over the mysterious ocean and along the shores of the New-Found World he was to bear the same imaginative yearn- ings, the same poetic enthusiasms, which fired those who baked their faces and snuffed out their years over blasts and retorts, melting with magic incantations combinations of metal from which they hoped some day gold would spring. These dreamers toved gold as the symbol of supreme victory, the mightiest con- ceivable concentration of power, which would carry with it greater domination over men than any conqueror in history ever had wielded. The man who owned the secret of gold would be, regardless of birth or station, the lord of the whole earth! ‘The new Admiral Major of the Ocean Sea felt two forces Stirring within him, the one which was later to be called the Middle Ages, in his day passing away; the other, the New Age, which we now see beginning in his time. He was a dreamer, but a dreamer with energy, like those hermits of ardent elo- quence who kindled the Crusades. A merchant, hard-headed mM gain, as were all the traders of the Renaissance, he felt Illustrations by Walt Louderback nevertheless a poetic thrill, a mystic stirring, a shudder of divine awe, when he thought himself on the threshold of a mine of gold comparable with King Sol- omon’s. If the Admiral, as he sat meditating of an evening in the great chair of his cabin, was filled with such thoughts and feelings, not so his valet and page, Lu- cero, who was controlled by different though not less insistent preoccupa- tions. Gonzalez was now seiz- ing every pretext to ap- proach her; and on one oc- casion, as she stood at the rail alone, looking out at a coast-line which lay before the fleet, he had stolen up softly behind her and slipped an arm about her waist. She had freed her- self after a struggle and taken refuge on the top- deck of the aftcastle. And then Gonzalez had called: “IT am going to tell the whole story to Don Cristobal!” Lucero, however, was sure he would not do so. The Admiral had established stern measures of discipline aboard, since so many female Indians had been taken captive. The women were kept apart, under guard, and no one of the ship’s company was allowed to approach them. If Lucero’s own sex were made known, she would be secluded with the Indian prisoners and the former royal butler would have to abandon all hope of possess- ing her. It was more likely that, at least till the fleet set sail on its return voyage, he would keep silent in the hope sometime of finding a favorable opportunity to press his suit. This left Lucero in perpetual alarm, in fear lest at any moment she might be called upon to defend herself. She was passing the night completely dressed on her mattress at the Admiral’s door, catching fitful periods of sleep and awakening at the slightest sound from the adjoining staterooms. If worse came to worst she had still one desperate recourse— to tell everything to the Admiral herselt. Don Cristobal prob- ably would protect her, keeping her secret till the return to Spain, if not out of kindness to her—he always had been kind— then out of fear of the scandal that might ensue. Who would believe that he had been served by a woman for so many months without ever penetrating her disguise? But what after the return to Spain? As Lucero confronted this seemingly inevitable dénouement to her adventure, she could see only one outcome: conversion, a convent, separation from her lover forever! To confess the truth was hardly less disastrous than to fall into Gonzalez’ hands. It was better therefore to go on waiting. Who could say what the mystery of each new day might bring forth? 85

Page 74

For some days after the arrival in Haiti the Admiral had been in contact with a king named Guahanacari, who was being royally entertained with his courtiers aboard the flag-ship, and who had extended warm hospitality to the Spanish officers and sailors in his dominions ashore. Discovering that the main desire of the Sons of Heaven was to have gold, gold, gold, Gua- hanacari had promised to find gold; and he had invited all the palefaces to come and live on his shores, promising to give them, in exchange for such high honor, all the gold the vessels could carry. The Admiral decided, after long conferences with the king and the latter’s wise men, that the great gold-mines lay farther along the shores of Haiti; and on a Monday, the day before Christmas, the a fleet lifted anchors and was 4 : sailing along the coast before L a gentle and favorable wind. With such a glorious pros- pect of near-by wealth and an end to the long voyage, the festivities of that Christmas Eve aboard the vessels were especially joyous and good- humored. The Admiral or- dered the cooks to prepare the best dinner available for the sailors forward; and aft, among the people of the command, Diego de Arana produced bot- tles of old Cordoba which he had secretly embarked. Even the page, Salcedo, drank abun- dantly; though it was not till afterwards that Lucero re- membered with what urgency Terreros had forced the wine upon her, doubtless at a sug- gestion of the once royal butler. The banqueting was pro- longed from the “Salve” to well beyond ten o’clock. The “‘brooms”’ and apprentices sang Christmas carols to the accompaniment of Andalusian guitars, and forward, on the prow, Garvey, the Irishman, played on his harp with un- usual inspiration, mingling the silvery tinkles of his instru- ment with Irish folk-songs re- membered from his childhood and hummed in a crooning melancholy tone. The night was clear, the sea calm. The Admiral himself went to bed at eleven o’clock, as did most of the company aboard. Only one sailor and the “brooms” at the bottle were left awake to tend the helm. What danger could there be on such a holy night with such perfect weather? “The sea is like a cup of milk,’’ the Admiral remarked on en- tering his cabin. Eventually the sailor also tired of his solitary vigil. He entrusted the tiller to his ‘‘brooms’’ and, heavy with wine, lay down to sleep himself. And yet not everyone aboard the Santa Maria was sunk in slumber. Lucero, in thinking dream- ily of the evening’s ban- quet and the drunkenness of many in the crew, had crept to a window in the living-room of the Unknown Lands aftcastle, and lay looking out at the lights of the Nifia, which was following the course of the flag-ship, but a mile or two farther offshore. Suddenly .a pair of strong arms encircled her shoulders, her head was drawn back upon a man’s breast and a kiss was laid upon her youthful neck. Lucero was not taken by surprise— it was the danger which she had been fearing and which was at last presenting itself! She knew it was Gonzalez without seeing him. He was the only person who could come upon her this way, kiss her roughly with half-drunken passion, and wrestle with her as though trying to throw her to the deck. A thought flashed through her mind: Fernando was off there,,in the night, on the Nifia—he could not help her! But there was the Irishman, her one trustworthy friend on the flag-ship! Since the departure from the

Page 75

Blasco lbaiiez Cape of Palms Garvey had looked at her with even more interest than during the earlier part of the voyage. With a violent spring she tore loose from the grasp of her assail- ant and ran through the door of the living-room, toward the lad- der that led toward the prow. Unsteady on his feet from too much wine, Gonzalez did not overtake her till she had reached the foremast on the deck below. There again he was able to en- circle her with his arms, kissing her avidly about the face despite the blows with her doubled fists 87 and the scratching with her nails with which she did her best to hold him off. “Garvey, Garvey!”’ she called desperately. The Irishman came up, as silently as a cat. It was as though he had been wandering about in the night and had seen everything! Gonzalez felt two strong hands fall upon his shoul- ders, and they tore him loose from his victim and turned him around in his tracks. Free from the man’s clutch, Lucero staggered to the rail of the ship and looked back at the two men, who were now facing each other. Garvey was pointing to a black line which crossed the vessel from port to starboard. “You have crossed the chain!” he said with a fierce laugh. “I have been wait- ing for weeks to catch you here! This is my world and we are equals. Are you ready?” And he struck Gonzalez a blow full in the face, which sent the former royal butler solidly back on his heels. But Gonzalez was not a coward; even had he been, pride of station and his instinctive contempt for the lowly would have held him to the spot. He returned the blow, and under the starlight the terrified Lucero could see the two men struggling with each other, the thuds of bare knuckles on hard bones sounding in the dark. But the Spaniard was no match for Garvey in this kind of combat without weapons. A terrific blow from the Irishman’s fist suddenly stretched him full-length on the deck, where he lay, groaning with pain, but cursing, untamed, be- tween his gasps. Garvey leaped up to him and put a foot on his breast as though he intended to fasten him in that man- ner to the deck. Lucero gave a cry of alarm: ‘‘Look out, Garvey!” Gonzalez had slyly put a hand to his belt and drawn his dagger. He was now aiming a blow at the leg which was hold- ing him down. Garvey twisted at the first sense of the cold steel—the thrust gave him only a scratch. Looking down at his still- prostrate foe for an instant, as though to measure his own con- tempt, he said ominously: “T can see I’ve got to kill you! I’ve got to rid the world of you, pastry- maker of the Devil!” And he was off! But it was not in flight. @.‘‘My mother,"’ Lucero began, ‘‘told me to obey you Garvey was running to as though you were my father."’ Was there an the stack of harpoons allusion in ber words? thought Doctor Acosta. (Continued on page 135)

Page 76

Shall ‘6 COACHMAN? What’s a coachman, Mummy?” A friend of mine and her husband had been talk- ing about their chauffeur, who in the dark ages of transportation had driven the family team of bays. And their little girl, reared in this swift age of automobiles and planes, didn’t know what the word “‘coachman” meant. So they explained to little Alice that only a few years ago al- most everyone who could afford the luxury drove horses. Also, they explained to me that John, the ex-coachman-chauffeur, whose hair was sprinkled with gray, had broached the desirability of learning to fly. The world does move! But the point of the matter, of course, is eight-year-old Alice’s startling unfamiliarity with coachmen. She’d probably never seen one; and the one who drove the pumpkin coach of the fairy princess wasn’t related to real life. The only horse-drawn vehicles she recollected were drays in the business district of her western city, and a junk wagon! There are hundreds of thousands of children in America like Alice. Their parents hardly realize the minds of the youngsters don’t reach back even into the so-near yesterdays of horses. What’s more important, they do not comprehend how familiar is aviation to the boys and girls of today, who continually read and ok and think about it. Modern heroes are apt to be fliers. The CARH ART Your Daughter Ey: children, or their friends, have made or played with airplane models as their parents did with “Noah’s arks.’”’ In a kindergarten I know the children “play airplane.” One of the tots came home and danced past her mother, with her arms extended, the left pointing upwards, the right toward the ground. “What’s this, Mommie?” “A bird,” the mother guessed. “No, I’m banking.” The child was imitating the tipping of a plane as it turns. As a matter of fact, the mother had not the slightest idea what the word meant, and to make sure little daughter was not drawing on her imagination she telephoned the teacher, who reassured her. Air patter already is surprisingly commonplace with the youngsters of the land. The vocabularies of tomorrow will be studded with “ai'erons,” “tail skids,” “slips,” “stalls,” “dead sticks,” and the like. : Some children have been aloft; many of them periodically see something of flying-fields and fliers; most of them are more genu- inely familiar with affairs of the air than are their elders. Watch them at the air-ports on Saturdays. Often they come in a body as an aviation club on a tour of inspection. What criticism of the pilot who fails to make a “three-point landing”! ; In short, the year 1929 is ushering in the Flying Generation. And the stratagem of it all is that the elders must not let

Page 77

“VW lane rms und. : the wing her. the ll be dead y see enu- atch f the tion. t let

BY 4 x 4 RHR! Andee SP BRAD IATEAEO ES SERENA AE OTR eS Au Meh Ars

has a serious side. You can’t afford to make mis- e,° > *,49 . MNeger VW nbitiO™ Veg WOU. and CA og on takes—twice. So it’s really important that the and only Vink Mee nervorr ve oh eothet beginners are started right in the right sort of { dont “ve is ¥2 obavly ade yo aviation. pecs ¥E SM, \ 434 yoR penton? this ete But you can’t even talk flying with your 3 ‘ay Flow come 3 wally wrote det of ¢ _ children unless you know something of it your- themselves be left behind—for the ou _ eat } the te ag wr self. Peremptory instructions regarding avia- their own peace of mind and, es- © Now oar isn't there oul! *t as tion lack conviction if they come from one pecially, for the safety of the boys to Gnd ye in schoo anything ve do oo me who has never flown. and girls. tame 1 Could acer wR ters would am. My prescription, then, is to repeat what Go back to Alice and the would- work hort of 6% eg tO %y waste,© I’ve written before, and said to audiences be flying coachman. It’s conceiv- ot ne postin” start HY eeS tose doiné galore: “Try flying yourself.” able, isn’t it, that in a few decades am peg | actue gin two. J gviatOl: es Probably you'll like it. At least you’ll the word “chauffeur” may mean as we anxious :~ goon” eeisne to OP ‘find it neither terrifying nor uncomfort- little to a child of that moment as tation—you’ll find yourself so much closer, what would supplant motor-cars and ¢his le Yy gd, I believe, to your boys and girls to whom chauffeurs—but something might. Per- ¥. “ar yy. flying, consciously or instinctively, is such haps it will be planes, although to me it lage 'FVing ~~ an every-day matter. seems improbable that transportation in log’ any, Pen in : Modern youth regards flying as the air ever can do more than supplement trans- e - Pgs hel an every-day affair. Air travel portation on the earth. aoed by, Sangz, SE arengly a is accepted by the young- In this problem of flying, which is adding Sic, oe, My infemge e bec 2tion : sters as such a routine mat- to modern complexity, parents—especially Sss 5, S ain “de j° a Shy p2Ce ter, there is little about it CVe, is : mothers—face a great opportunity. May I belie,” folk be tasting afer 4 Gee by 1 tebg Ut worthy of curiosity, far less urge that they hasten to grasp it first, rather Loy" Pa thay fil) ant the fo Rog CDeoy re anxiety. And therein lies, per- than wait for it to overwhelm them? a. ther ng Old. g, Past ¢ And ative up, haps, a real danger. For they The letters on this page are characteris- Ny 6 lees - i Urge led Ve. Wai? are likely to’ step into a plane tic of many that come to me from young- fre tis Get hep, Pro sila, £20n " as casually as they’d try out a sters all over the country. “L.S.” (in Ving <2ll ~<a : fo friend’s roadster. But automobiling Roz e th e le, Cr. Ve i . faimess to the writers I have changed C.! ahs ag ™ ungo” the MS Boing 8h, es is a grown-up standardized industry the i itials) is “booth faa? her fivi Os Wa . wy t Nuch . ayy d awiati ai ae nitials) is tlegging”’ her flying ead oj” Man max. 2m Ae bel of —and aviation isn’t yet. —doing it secretly because her par- 8 Eg “An 478 © the, Png Some of the difficulties of early au- ents object. Which is so unneces- 8nd B® Io, fey, mrad ° ive _ See gtd tomobiling prevail in aviation today. sary, and can be so needlessly an Pron fey May re oft 7 Pag d at There is some confusion in conflicting dangerous. “B.K.” is typical of qk, ne Lin, © dim, Oy, Pe gr7 ¢ laws. The poor roads of 1908 are matched the “flv; OF ok : Om © Who Poon, 2 be 5” Shag ‘he . : : Se e “flying generation” emerging 80 bag Uf m, Ut “1, 206 & by the lack of landing-fields for airplanes from our schools. * OF ig, brian 4 1 inging now. Inspectors from the Department of Don’t say “Don’t”! Qf you don't 7033, ait Commerce have more than they can handle ad King Canute motif won’t believe the younger ; in solving air-traffic problems and they have with negatives. Instead of trying £¢MFation is interested =. “Gor as shat te ghee tas canotinn: te hold back these youngsters of im flying, ¢ ead these letters. learn from the airway. Even in its infancy yours, I do wish you mothers and flying is better regulated than was automobiling fathers would step out in front and lead them—because in flying, at a corresponding period of development. In flying, for in- aS in so many other activities, they need your help. Aviation stance, physical fitness must be proved (Continued on page 142) 8

Page 78

BA eae ko ILE Se i ict oe Gee a NX NED / a gee @

OWYAS WILLIAMS

= oP ae} <D) wile <D) ne Sean = o ae} E x % S&S &

Page 79

LZaMS // : BS CN Aa pL Daa a3 i” SE w& NS ~ SS m™e Cy ~ aval ee a OE OPIN ON

Page 80

A Spy, a Young Man in Love, a Stolen Diary, a Signal in the Dark™ “SJYARLIER in the day, Tresholm had brought his car to a ox standstill and had joined a curious little crowd of people, gazing down into the harbor of Villefranche where a JA sinister gray monster of a battle-ship lay anchored. The reason for their mild excitement was easily apparent. Instead of being surrounded by the usual stream of boats com- ing and going, the sea around the battle-ship was deserted, the gangway was drawn up, and a flag was flying which perhaps Tres- holm alone amongst that little company rightly understood—the navy flag, warning off all visitors or tradespeople of any descrip- tion. The only craft visible was the battle-ship’s own pinnace, which had just left the landing-stage. Tresholm leaned round to the back of his car, discovered his field-glasses, adjusted them and studied the scene below. The two passengers who were being escorted on board were Monsieur Desrolles, the Chef de Sireté at Monaco, and a companion whom Tresholm chanced to recognize as the Chef de Sireté at Nice. Something had happened to disturb the serenity of life upon the sullen-looking battle-ship. His understanding of the flag, and his recognition of the two men in the pinnace helped him to tealize perhaps a little more than his neighbors the probable nature of the event. He watched the pinnace cutting through the water, leaving be- a its trail of foam, watched the gangway let grudgingly down and the two visitors received on board, watched afterwards the immediate drawing up of the gangway and the sheering off of the pinnace. Then he sat back in his car once more, and drove on to Nice. It was a gay night at Maxim’s, Nice’s most fashionable bohe- mian restaurant. The tables on both sides of the room were filled; the popping of corks was incessant; the clouds of blue smoke grew denser and denser. The exhibition dancers never had been re- ceived with more favor. Tresholm, inclined to wonder why he had lingered on after a late dinner to the small hours of the morn- ing, still felt no impulse to depart. : There were two people and one circumstance in the room which interested him—the girl with the misty eyes at the table opposite and the small man who was his left-hand neighbor, a man with rather high color, a wizened face, hair as stiffly upright as porcu- pine quills. He was correctly dressed for the evening—which Tresholm was not—and he ate his supper with an Eclaireur du Soir propped up in front of him. These were the two people whom Tresholm, always observant of the world around him, had singled out as being of interest. ‘ The circumstance was another matter—a long table laid for fourteen, at the end of the room, which had been unoccupied all the evening and which was now being slowly and unwillingly dismantled under the supervision of the chief mattre d’hétel.

Page 81

gc - a Illustration by Henry Raleigh Tresholm leaned forward as the latter passed, and addressed him. “You are disappointed of some guests tonight, Louis?” he remarked. .. The man assented disconsolately. “A party of officers from the battle-ship in Villefranche Har- bor, sir,” he confided. ‘Some of them visit here most nights, but this was to be a very special affair. The wine and the supper were ordered a week ago. It was the féte-day of the one who has been our best patron here.”’ “The celebration has been postponed then?” Tresholm asked. ee maitre d’hétel approached a step nearer. “Monsieur has . not heard then of what has arrived?” ‘I have heard nothing at all,” Tresholm replied. “I have been over to Mougins for the day, playing golf. Met some friends at Casino at Cannes afterwards, and stayed here to dine on my way back to Monte Carlo. What is this happening?” The man leaned forward. The music was banging out a jazz tune, A creole chanteuse was careering up and down the room, emitting wild shrieks of corresponding melody. The moment was Propitious for confidences. The mattre d’hétel, however, appar- ently thought otherwise. The words seemed to stick in his throat. at the bottle of wine from the pail by Tresholm’s side and “One knows nothing, though one hears sometimes wild stories,” By EK. Phillips Oppenheim Master of Mystery he said. ‘‘Leave from the battle-ship has been stopped. It is a pity, for the supper has been cooked. They will come another day.” The man bowed himself away, and Tresholm, aware of the cause of his sudden reticence, continued his meal without remark. Presently he looked across at the opposite table. The girl with the smoothly brushed dark hair and the misty eyes smiled at him slightly. With nothing in his mind save the gratifica- tion of his almost imper- sonal interest, he rose to his feet and crossed the floor. ‘‘Mademoiselle. will dance?”* he invited. ~ Mademoiselle distinctly hesitated, and it seemed to Tresholm that she looked i ae over his shoulder at his ; neighbor. Then she rose slowly from her place. “If Monsieur wishes,” QThe inspector addressed Tresholm: ** Monsieur, a grave theft has been com- mitted in the neighborhood and this lady is under suspicion.”” ‘‘You arrest me!" the girl shrieked. she assented. Mademoiselle was slim and light, and although a little languid in her move- ments, graceful and correct in her steps. The dance was a success, and as Tres- holm led her back to her seat he was somehow confi- dent that his curiosity con- cerning her was justified. ‘‘Mademoiselle would care to share my table for a time?” he suggested. “We both seem to be alone.” She demurred. “Sit with me for a few minutes,” she begged. “T like this side of the room better.” Tresholm accepted her invitation and ordered wine. “Why do you prefer your table to mine?” he asked. “It is your neighbor,” she confided. “I do not like him. He looks at me all the time. I know very well that if we talked to- gether he would listen.” “Why shouldn’t he, if it amuses him?” Tresholm rejoined, smiling. “We are not going to discuss secrets of state, are we?” The girl took out her vanity-case and dabbed at her lips. “I suppose you have something to say to me,” she ventured. “T do not know what it is, but I can guess. I would prefer that Monsieur did not hear; so, I should think, would you.” Tresholm showed no signs of surprise at her unexpected speech. There had certainly been no thought of adventure in his mind when he had decided to stay here for dinner. Yet old habits were strong. At this first breath of it, he felt himself back in the old life. He was playing a part, even before he knew it. “What do you expect to hear from me?” he asked. She finished with her vanity-case and put it deliberately away. “You will probably ask me first where Arthur is,” she said, with a faint smile. “After that, you will talk business.” “Then where is Arthur?” Tresholm demanded. ‘

Page 82

94 “In the Casino.” She paused, expectant, for his next question. Then she caught the slight air of bewilderment in his face, and her own expression changed. “Eh bien?” “It seems to me,” Tresholm confessed, “that this is where I break down. Shall we dance again?” The girl shrugged her shoulders. She was evidently ill at ease I am expecting—a—a friend.” He rose to his feet. “I trust that I have not offended in any way.” She looked at him keenly. “Only by seeming to be what you are not.” She suddenly rose, and Tresholm became aware of one of the pro- fessional dancers standing at the table. She accepted his invitation to dance, and Tresholm returned to his place. His neighbor glanced up from the newspaper as he sat down, and addressed him in English, which showed only the slightest trace of a foreign accent. “Scarcely a success, e..?” “I am afraid,” Tresholm ad- mitted, concealing his surprise, “that I was not exactly popular with the young lady.” The little man dropped his eye- glass, folded up his newspaper and leaned towards his companion. “Am I right in believing that your name is Tresholm,” he asked, “and that when you regis- tered at your hotel in Monte Carlo, you described yourself as a professional gambler?” “Quite right,” Tresholm ad- mitted. ‘An effort at humor which has led to several misun- derstandings. The hotel clerk was persistent that I should fill in the space, and I could think of noth- ing else for the moment.” “Not being anxious to disclose your real profession,” the other suggested. “Having retired from it, what- ever it may have been,” was the swift rejoinder. “Retired?” “Formally and actually.” “Then what are you doing here tonight?” “T am here entirely by accident. I had been playing golf at Mou- gins, met some friends at the Casino——” “Yes, I heard you telling the mattre d@hétel all that,” was the somewhat impatient interruption. “‘With me it is unnecessary,” “May I ask who you are?” “T will tell you,” the other replied, “although I expect you know already. My name is Vigaud—Charles Vigaud—not un- known to the headquarters of the police here. Now, Mr. Tres- holm, we know one another. Presently I may have a suggestion to make to you. But wait. Things are about to happen.” There was a disturbance at the door, a hurrying forward of the vestiaire, a vision of bowing waiters, a maitre d’hétel hastening towards the place where the long table had been dismantled. Ten or twelve new arrivals were divesting themselves of hats and coats. Vigaud turned to Tresholm with a queer little smile. “Our friends, the naval officers,” he remarked. “The com- mander must be in < gracious mood,” “Do they belong to the ship that was flying the warning-off flag?” Tresholm inquired. “Tonight I am tired,’ she pleaded. “I prefer not to dance any more. Perhaps Monsieur had better return to his table. “Why?” hears.”

J before Christmas I talked with the manager of the most exclusive—and most expensive— jewelry shop in New York. “Heretofore,” he said, “we've had our largest stock of diamonds, pearls, emeralds on hand about December first, in anticipation of the Christmas buying. This year at that time our stock was smaller than at any previous time in the year. So many people had made so much money—in the stock-market and elsewhere— that we sold expensive jewels as fast as we could get them.” That’s typical of the country as awhole. Everybody’s got money, apparently; and everybody is get- ting more of it. What will be the effect on all of us? Will it bring happiness, broadened interests—that intan- gible thing called “culture’’? I’ve read what wealth did to one family in ‘‘Five and Ten,” a novel by Fannie Hurst. We be- gin it in next month’s Cosmopoli- tan. It’sa fine story.. R. L.

One Night in Nice Vigaud nodded. “This has been their usual meeting-place fp many nights,” he confided. “This morning all leave was stopped, and they were not expected.” The other shrugged his shoulders. “A robbery on board, one They came presently down the room—ten very presentable young men, the majority of them sunburnt and of excellent physique. They were popular, evidently, for shouts of welcome greeted them. The girl with the misty eye alone looked down at her plate and never onge glanced up as the long file trooped past her, — Tresholm, happening by chance to notice the fac., w.cched the young men curiously. The first half-dozen, either by design or accident, ignored her completely. Towards the end of the procession, however, one of the youngest. looking of the officers—scarcely more than a boy, in fact—glanced anxiously across at her table. He made no attempt to stop, but he scarcely removed his eyes from her bent head, Tresholm’s gaze followed the lad curiously, He fancied there was a certain tenseness in his expression, shared by none of his companions, They took their places noisily. The youth was the first to shout for cocktails. Vigaud chuckled, “An idea,” he commented—‘without 4 doubt an idea!’ “What’s it all about?” Tresholm inquired good-humoredly. His companion appeared to have become less | communicative. His little shrug of the shoul ders was more expressive than his words wer illuminating. “One asks oneself,’’ he murmured. The arrival of the unexpected guests seemed to have given a new lease of gaiety to the room The creole lady, in brilliant scarlet, alternately sang sentimental ditties arid danced with the abandon of the savage. Waiters hurried up the room with trayfuls of cocktails, and the somme lier followed with magnums of champagne. The young men from the battle-ship in par ticular settled down to enjoy themselves, and no one was more swiftly uproarious than the youth whose entrance had attracted Tresholm’s attention. Ladies with inclinations towards dancing seemed to arrive as though by mag from all directions. a Every one of the party danced, including the boy. His partner, however, was a little fair haired Frenchwoman, from whose eyes he scarcely once looked away. Tresholm, who was beginning to be intrigued by a situation which he utterly failed to under stand, ordered another bottle of wine and post- poned his intention of leaving. The girl with the misty eyes suddenly smiled across at him, with a little gesture of invitation. Tresholm hastened to her side, and she slipped eagerly into his arms. “But your hands are cold!” he exclaimed, as they swung down the room. “As cold as my heart, Monsieur—cold with fear,” she answered. He looked at her, puzzled. There was little doubt but that she was speaking the truth Such natural color as she may have po had left her cheeks so completely that the rouge remained like an ugly daub upon her livid skin. Her body was quivering. “Come to the bar,’’ she begged. “I am not fit to dance. - thought at first that you brought me a message from George We had a little code arranged—that is of no consequence—you - must help me. Indeed, you must help me.” a They sat on stools, and she swallowed eagerly the brandy which he had ordered, Then, with a whispered word of mingled excuse and injunction, she left him for a few moments. Tresholi sipped his own brandy meditatively. The barman, with whom he had some slight acquaintance, leaned across the counter. “Monsieur knows the young lady well?” he asked. _ “T never saw her before this evening,’ Tresholm replied... ~ “If Monsieur is ignorant of certain things,” the man. ad

vies

#3 E58 ep BSEs SE WES .FRE Ws -38°3 .& .3B8 z ss a Pr ee ees

Page 83

ding the eyes he ntrigued o under nd Oe “if he is not concerned, he would do well to be careful. It isa night, this, when disaster might “f wish I knew what the devil you were talking about!” Tresholm exclaimed. The man leaned a little farther over the counter. He looked furtively to the right and to the left. Then suddenly he stiffened. He examined the label on a bottle which he had been holding and replaced it upon the shelf. “The Cognac Hennessy is always good,” he ed. Mademoiselle stood once more by Tres- holm’s side. She had washed the rouge from her face, and although she was terribly pale, she looked once more herself. - “J have engaged a salon privé,” she whis- . “Monsieur will come. I have some- thing to say to him.” Tresholm frowned. He was sufficiently interested in the mystery with which he seemed to be surrounded, but the idea of the private room was unsavory to him. Then he realized that the mistiness in her eyes was not alto- gether an unreal thing. There were tears gath- ering there. This was no ordinary invitation. E FOLLOWED her down the passage, and the young barman looked after them anx- jously. With a little sigh, the latter drew his account block from his pocket, scribbled a few lines upon one of the pages torn from it and it to a gray-haired maitre d’hétel. The man nodded and made his way up the crowded room to where Tresholm’s neighbor was still seated. He handed the note across to him without a word, and se away. Vigaud adjusted his eye-glass and read the few lines carefully. Then he glanced across at the empty place opposite and shrugged. His bill was already paid as though in expec- tation of some such emergency. He made his way through the throng, received his cloak and hat from the vestiaire and strolled out into the night. Tresholm was a man rarely ill at ease, but a certain fineness of sensibility inspired in him a swift revulsion to his tawdry and meretricious environment—the too-ample couch which took up half the room, the bottle of champagne al- ready opened upon the table, the locked door, the room itself, with its brazen adornments, were all alike hideous to him. » “Mademoiselle,” he said, “you must forgive me, but I find these surroundings distasteful. Unless you can offer me an immediate explana- tion of the service which you require from me I must leave you.” “T shall explain,” she assured him quickly. “Have patience for a few moments, I beg.” “At least let me unlock the door,” he begged. “Not yet,” she insisted. ‘There must al- ways be that delay. Now I explain.” He stood icily upon the other side of the table. She poured out two glasses of cham- paene, drank one and threw the other upon the r. “You know my nationality,” she began. “For the last few years there has been unrest in this part of the world. I speak both languages. Ihave many acquaintances. In the war I was i @ government bureau. Since then, the men who were my chiefs have continued to make use of me.” She paused to listen for a moment. “Go on,” he invited, a little less coldly. “My instructions came to me a month ago, but first I had to wait for three weeks. Since then I have been working. There is a battle- ship in the harbor. My task was to make friends with one of the officers. The battle- ship is fitted with some secret device for re- sisting torpedoes. Half-way across the Atlan- tic she was submitted to tests—you under- stand, Monsieur?” te well,” Tresholm assented. “Go on.” result of those tests,” she continued, entered in the Admiral’s private diary. My task was to obtain the page upon which the Tesults were written, whilst he was away in Toulon. I succeeded.” Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 “Are you sure you haven’t been hoaxed?” he asked her. She shook her head. ‘A great deal was done for me,” she confided. “On the first visitors’ day someone whom I have never seen in my life took a wax impression of the key of the small cupboard where the diary is kept. The key was given to me four days ago. I gave it to my friend. Yesterday, he brought me the page, cut out.” “Have you parted with it yet?” “They won’t let me,” she cried, almost hys- terically. “I have been driven crazy. The French police are suspicious. They have not ventured to search my rooms, but there is an agent of the police outside my door who pre- tends to be a fireman, and they follow me in the street so that I dare not post a letter or ap- proach any of my intimates here. My tele- phone, I know, is guarded. “IT have been nearly crazy with anxiety. The man into whose hands I was to pass the page of the diary has been in the restaurant to- night, but I had to signal to him to go away. Opposite me sits Vigaud, an agent of the French police. I am terrified.” “Where is this page of the diary at the pres- ent moment?” Tresholm asked. “T have it with me,” she confided. “I throw myself upon your generosity, Monsieur. My heart has ached ever since I did this thing. I repent. I sob at night with terror. That poor boy! I saw his face this evening.” “You mean the tall youth at the end of the procession?” “Yes. They tell me if it is discovered, he will be shot. I want the page restored to him.” “What would be the good of that?” Tres- holm pointed out. “You can’t cut a page out of a diary and replace it.” “This is different,” she told him eagerly. “The book is of a different fabrication. Each day of the week is on a separate page, with holes at the top through which two clips pass. The poor boy still has the key. He could at least take his chance of replacing it.” “How are you going to communicate with him?” “T can’t,” she cried, “but you could.” “Even if I did,” Tresholm deliberated, “it seems to me long odds about his being able to replace it. Has anyone discovered it is missing?”’ “T will tell you, Monsieur, what has hap- pened,” she declared eagerly ‘The Admiral’s secretary, with whom he left his keys, had oc- casion to go to the safe. He found things dis- turbed. The alarm was given. The ship was isolated. Afterwards a search was made.” “This one page ‘rom the diary?” “Tt was not noticed. The secretary—he de- cided that he had been mistaken in the dis- turbance of the papers. People were allowed once more to come and go from the ship as they willed, but tomorrow, Monsieur—tomorrow, the Admiral returns. He will be told of the scare, and he will search for himself. It must be returned before midday tomorrow.” She listened for a moment. with the old terror in her eyes, poured out more champagne, and moving over to the couch, disarranged the cushions. “Ecoules,” she said, returning. “TI had a let- ter from him th's morning—a pathetic letter. If oniy he knew how I longed to give him back the page! No harm has been done. Nota soul has seen it. Nevertheless, when the Admiral returns, a report of the scare will be made to him and the theft will be discovered. George— he is my little friend—he will be suspected first of all because he is the Admiral’s nephew and is allowed access to his cabin. Poor boy, he is not of the nature of those who conspire. He will break down. He will confess. He will be shot.” Tresholm stood considering the problem. “You are my hope!” she cried. “Directly you came in, my heart gave a leap. You were pointed out to me at Monte Carlo. They told me that you were a great gambler. Take the risk, Monsieur. You will save this boy’s life. he are English. So little can happen to you. p? 97 She sprang away. Down the passage came footsteps which in their very tread seemed grim and official. To Tresholm she behaved like a madwoman. She flung herself upon the couch, pulled off her stockings and concealed them beneath the cushions, tore down a part of her dress, rumpled her hair and burst into a sense- less fit of gay but hysterical laughter. Then there came the knocking at the door—a brief, imperative knocking. She answered. Her voice was stifled—angry, but not terrified. “Qui est la?” “Open the door in the name of the police,” was the stern reply. “Ridicule!” she exclaimed. “Il y a quelqu’un. Allez-vous-en.”’ She beckoned Tresholm towards the couch, and he found himself for once obeying meekly. She leaned over and poured out more cham- pagne. Then she began to talk to herself. “Chériel” she cried. “Ne vous déranges pas. C'est une blague. Voyesl” She unlocked the door and stepped back with a little cry, spilling wine from her glass in the movement. A very official-looking inspector of police had entered, followed by two gen- darmes. They closed the door behind them. The inspector addressed himself to Tresholm. “Monsieur,” he said politely, “I demand par- don for this unusual intrusion, but a grave theft has been committed in the neighborhood, and this lady is under suspicion.” “You arrest me?” she shrieked. “Pas forcément!” the inspector replied. “If this gentleman and you will submit yourselves to a search, and the missing property is not discovered upon either of you, our disagreeable duty will be completed.” “But how impossible!” she exclaimed. “Search me—a woman? It is incredible!” “We have a female attendant outside,” was the civil response, “and an empty room.” She scowled at him, and then turned to Tresholm. “T ask you a thousand pardons, chéri,”’ she said. “Shall we humor this man, and then per- haps we shall be left alone?” “T am at your disposition,” he conceded. The gendarme unlocked the door, and Ma- demoiselle passed out into the care of a woman who was waiting in the passage. Tresholm di- vested himself of his outer garments, handed over his belongings and saw every pocket of his clothes turned inside out. After an even closer search of his person, the official saluted. “A thousand pardons, Monsieur,” he apolo- gized courteously. ‘Permit me to play the part of valet. I trust we are more fortunate with the lady.” “What is this missing property?” Tresholm inquired. “A packet of a hundred mille,” the man an- swered glibly. RESHOLM smiled. “A great deal of money,” he remarked, helping himself to some of the wine and passing the bottle towards the inspector. In due course the door opened, and the wo- man searcher returned with her charge. A glance between the former and the inspector was sufficient. “Perhaps,” Mademoiselle demanded angrily, “we may now be allowed to finish our wine ” “There is nothing to prevent it, Mademoi- selle,” was the inspector’s regretful reply, as he saluted and took his leave. The door was closed and locked. Mademoi- selle listened to the retreating footsteps, her hand still upon the key. Her face was drawn, and dark rims were forming under her eyes. “But this is terrible,” she murmured. “Hadn’t you better put your stockings on?” Tresholm suggested. She continued to listen fora moment. Then she stole back to the couch and drew out the stockings from beneath the pillows and pulled them on. Tresholm watched her with surprise. “But you already have stockings!” She laughed at him. “It is the safest of all hiding-places,”> she murmured. “Monsieur may feel.”

Page 84

98 She held up her leg. He leaned forward and felt the sole of her foot. There was something stiff there. “They are beautifully made by a friend at Lyons,” she confided. “No one would ever be- lieve that there is a double sole. And you— you consent now to help me?” “T’ll do my best,” Tresholm promised. The two cars full of noisy sailor boys were brought to an unexpected halt at the com- mencement of the dark descent to the Ville- franche Harbor. A long-bonneted two-seater was slewed across the road, completely barring progress. They began with one accord to shout alcoholically inspired remarks. Tresholm advanced out of the shadows. With his hat pulled over his forehead and his coat collar turned up, he was quite unrecog- nizable. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t see the Hearst's International—-Cosmopolitan for March, roag bend, put on my brakes too soon, skidded round and stalled my engine. If you fellows wouldn’t mind giving me a push onto the other road, I’ll get her going somehow or other.” They all tumbled out good-naturedly enough. In the darkness Tresholm easily managed to slip a pocketbook into the young man’s hand. “No more of this confounded foolery, mind,” he whispered. The boy looked around. They were well behind the others. “TI swear there won’t be, sir,” he groaned. “Think you'll get it back all right?” “Certain,” was the confident reply. “Tell you what, sir. You really want to know?” ‘Well, you’ve given me a lot of trouble to- night,” Tresholm acknowledged. “I'd like to feel that it wasn’t for nothing.” “Stop on the hill, sir, just before the bend. My pal’s on signaling duty tonight. I'll send you three white flashes as soon as the job’s done. He’ll think it’s for a little girl we know at Cap Ferrat.” With a final push, the car was on the right road once more, its bonnet turned. Tresholm jammed on the brakes. : They trooped back to their cars, and Tres. holm, starting his engine, curiously enough without trouble, mounted the hill. At the top he swung into the side of the road, lighted a cigaret and gazed downward. The shapes of the great battle-ship and the three attendant gunboats were defined with curious accuracy by their brilliant line of lights. Everywhere was deep silence. Suddenly the signal came, somehow elo quently dramatic, significant of a catast averted. Three times the brilliant white rays pierced the darkness. Tresholm slipped in the clutch and started off to complete his journey, Behind Mont Agel, the dawn, colorless as vet, was lightening the sky. Tattie Marsh by Zona Gale (Continued from page 61) “is the day Marya Bradley is going to be married. Howgrand. Why that,” said Tattie, “will be like a double wedding, sort of.” “Sure it will,” said Magnus, laughing. So when he left that night, he said to her: “June first. That’s the day. I’ll be here, if I’m alive. If I ain’t here, you'll know I’m dead. See?” Through the month Tattie scrubbed and cleaned at the Bradleys’. She saved enough money for a cheap gown, a cheap hat, some - shoes. It troubled her that she would not have means to make her home beautiful for her wedding. But she polished the extension table, and thought that they could be married beside it, all laid for the wedding-feast of cake and ice-cream. On the afternoon of May thirty-first, Tattie March slipped into the room where Marya Bradley sat watching her mother and sisters and her bridesmaids make net rice-bags. The sun, the flowers, the exciting disorders, held the old look of doors opening on golden clouds. Mrs. Bradley looked up kindly and said, What was it, and Tattie said baldly: “Please. I’m going to be married tomorrow too. Is that all right with you?” “Going to be married too!” they all cried, and said pleasant things toher. Tattie blushed. “I wondered, Mis’ Bradley,” she said, “whether you’d telephone down for them to send me up a w’ite dress—I want it w’ite; and a wiite straw hat. If you telephone, they’d pay some attention.” “You mean, for your wedding-gown, Tat- tie?” Mrs. Bradley asked, her hands arrested in their motion, her face in its complacence. “Yes’m,” Tattie said, and shook a little box in her hand, so that the silver pieces jingled. “I got the money,” she said. It was Marya Bradley who herself bought dress and hat, taking the box of silver, which paid for a part of the purchase. When that delivery boy came to Tattie’s house, she opened the boxes, whispering: “T’m regular happy now—seems like there’s nothing else to be.” She put on dress and hat and stood by the dining-room window. Breck Lardner galloped by like a wild man, headed for the open roads. On the morning of June first, Tattie was up early, put on her white gown, her white hat, her new shoes, and went out on the sidewalk. She walked up and down, and waited. Magnus had arrived in the early morning that first time—he might be early now. From eight until twelve o’clock she walked up and down before her door. Then she went inside and sat by her dining-room table. It was laid with a. white cloth, candles and wild flowers dotted it, and flat in the center lay a card- board picture of the Virgin Mary. Marya Bradley and Breck Lardner were to be married now, at noon. Tattie wanted to taste the moment, taste her own expectation. She sat waiting, staring at the street. She saw the crowd of men and boys passing, heard them shouting, wondered, and went out. They were following a car that went slowly. They told her: Breck Lardner, thrown over his horse’s head as he went for an early gallop. They had found him in the ditch of a lonely road at just the hour when he was to have been married. Just the hour. In her wedding-gown and hat, Tattie ran through the streets to the Bradleys’. The guests were all there, she entered and saw Marya Bradley’s terrible white face. “T’d stay,” Tattie said, “only I’m expecting my husband-to-be——” Ac AGO She ran back, inquired minutely of her neighbors. No, no one had seen such a man, Through the afternoon she walked up and down before her door. Toward six o’clock she began to feel doubt. Oh, but he had waited for the sunset—that was what Magnus would do; he noticed nice things, he would want to come in the sunset. With the flame of the sunset, she first seriously considered that Magnus, like Breck Lardner, might be dead. For had he not told her... The dark fell, and her white-gown moved up and down the walk. Midnight came, and she was standing outside. her door. “After the strokes she went in and: sat down by that din- ing-table altar. She and Marya Bradley . .. Through the night she dozed and woke; sat, - fully dressed, beside the table. With the dawn she heard running feet. She opened her door and stepped outside. From habit her feet moved toward the Bradleys’ house. She wondered at all the people on the lawn. Then she saw a servant of the house who said: “Come and mop up the porch—where they first put her down.” : 3 It was Marya. She had-gone early to the little lake and there.had laindown...° | In her wedding-dress, Tattie mopped up the porch. Then, with’ the gown’s freshness all flawed, she went back to her own house. She questioned the. neighbors minutely. No—no one had seen such a man. She went into the house, took off her wedding- gown and hat that she had worn for twenty- four hours, dressed in her cleaning clothes and started back towards the Bradleys’. “Marya and me,” thought Tattie. “Breck Lardner and Magnus. Three gone. But me— I'll have to keep on. Seems like there’s nothing else to do.” : The 3 Darlings by Nevis Shane (Continued from ‘oii ds. at that, I reckon you’d better make the tea, Gay. She meant you, of course; she knows old Chloe is napping this time of day.” Jerry, satisfied with her beauty labors, turned toward the door. She said, “I’ll take it in for you, Gay. You'd better hurry.” Gaynor gave a bitter little laugh. “Why? He won’t go for ages yet.” Jerry paused, her mouth rebellious. “You bet he won’t. She’ll spin his visit out for all it’s worth—the sneaky ’fraid-cat! Gay, what do you suppose they talk about all that time in there alone? Do you think he kisses her?” “I don’t know—or care.” Gay scrubbed the basin with fevered energy. “And you can make the tea—I’m busy.” Jerry ran down the curved stairs, singing. Gay sat suddenly down on the bathroom floor and leaned her head against the tub. Didn’t care! she had said. Oh, liar, liar. When she suffered agonies during these visits of Alan. When it was only by a frenzied activity that she could tranquilize herself. Sometimes she saw him, but not often. Sometimes Patricia would call her to mix him a special mint julep as only Gay could mix it. Or he would come out of the drawing- room just as she was passing through the hall on her way upstairs. Or they would pass each other in the garden. On the garden-meeting occasions, he always stopped her: “Where have you been, Gay? What have you been doing?” Where? Anywhere that was away from him and Patricia. Doing? Anything that would keep her from thinking of him and Patricia. “Oh, just for a walk—picking huckleberries for dinner.” She heard Jerry coming up the stairs and rose. “Oh, Gay, Alan wants to see you a minute.” Jerry looked in at the doorway. Her eyes glinted maliciously. She said: “When I went in with the tea, he gave me another look— so I stayed. Pat was furious. As if I care!” Then, remembering her mission: ‘‘He wantg to ask you something about a dog.” ; Gay went down to the hall. Her eyelids drooped over the hot flames of her eyes. Something about a dog! She did not seem to see that he had intended to shake hands. Patricia, in her graceful Queen Guinevere attitude by the door, said, “‘Alan’s collie— Her words died away upon Gaynor’s Col sciousness. Alan’s collie—the cause, the h less deus ex machina of their first meeting . « - She heard Alan’s voice laining some thing. “I took one of ’em to the vet in town, but I’m going for her in the morning and I thought——” ; She nodded without actually knowing what he thought. What did it matter? Gaynor was scrubbing the. front. veranda He

Page 85

ve know h * rool id Tres. eno At th lighted and the ed with line of ow elo- strophe ite rays d in the — aa ns nw —— Hearst's International-Gosmapolitan. for March, 1920 L. LIKE finding a new and willing assis- tant io help you with your washing, when you use Fels-Naptha Soap! For Fels-Naptha brings you ex- tra help that does the hard rubbing. Your clothes are clean, white, fresh through and through, with less work and effort on your part. What is Fels-Naptha’s secret? No secret at all! It’s just the plain, common sense truth that having two helpers instead of one is bound to make your washing easier. Soap is one helper, of course. You wouldn’t think of washing without soap to help you. But Fels-Naptha Soap brings you the extra help of good golden soap combined with plenty of naptha—two willing helpers instead of one! (Naptha, you know, is the safe, gentle dirt- loosener that “dry cleaners” use. And there’s plenty of naptha in Fels-Naptha. You can smell it!) FELS-NAPTHA THE GOLDEN BAR WITH THE CLEAN NAPTHA ODOR between clothes-hamper and clothesline Aifratielp that makes washing @anear Each golden bar brings you naptha, the dirt- loosener, and soap, the dirt-rremover, working hand-in-hand. Two brisk, busy cleaners, search- ing through every fibre of your clothes, getting out even ground-in grime without hard rubbing. That is the extra help Fels-Naptha gives you! And it gives you this extra help no matter how you use it; in washing machine or tub—in hot, cool or lukewarm water, or when your clothes are boiled. So look forward to finding something next wash- day. Get Fels-Naptha at your grocer’s today —the ten-bar carton is particularly convenient. When you’ve discovered what this extra help means to you, not only for washing but for everyday house- hold cleaning, you'll agree with the millions of women who say, “Nothing can take the place of Fels-Naptha.” Frets & Co., PHILADELPHIA

Page 86

100 the next morning. She wore a checked ging- ham dress, its sleeves rolled up above her elbows, a pair of almost shapeless golf brogues —Jerry’s, as Gaynor didn’t play golf and had, therefore, no use for such accouterments— and upon her small head a weird-looking tur- ban. Her face was unpowdered and more than a little shiny. So she wasn’t, one may see, exactly pre- pared for Alan. She heard a sharp scrunching in the driveway and before she could make a dignified retreat, there he was. He drove the huge shining dragon he errone- ously called a car, and on the seat beside him was one of Mrs. Thistle’s progeny. It yapped at Gaynor ungratefully. “Good morning,” said Alan, smiling. “T’ve brought Mary, Queen of Scots, to call on our way home from the veterinarian’s.” Gaynor sat back on her heels and stared at him. She said, “Neither Patricia nor Jerry are up yet.” Then, accusingly: “It’s not nine o'clock.” He was still smiling. ‘Well, I only just stopped to show you how splendidly our orphans are doing. This little fraud didn’t have a thing wrong with her—just tried to digest a few tacks, didn’t you, old lady?” Gaynor let him talk to her profile. She went on scrubbing—what did it matter what she did? how she looked? She went on scrubbing . .. Then suddenly, impatiently, he said: ‘“‘Gay- nor, for heaven’s sake stop that swishing a minute! I want to ask you something.” “Well?” Her tone was not encouraging. He said: “I want you to take that—that contraption off your head and drive over to the Hall with me to give your opinion on a new filly I’ve just purchased.” She looked at him bitterly. She said in a swift, bitter voice: “Thanks, but I happen to be busy; and this—this contraption on my head happens to be a dust-cap.” Alan said cruelly: “Well, whatever it is, it is perfectly hideous. And there’s no earthly reason why you can’t get up from that ridicu- lous position and come with me for a drive.” Her face was drained of every vestige of color. She said slowly, “No earthly reason, except that I don’t care to.” “Oh,” he said, and looked out at the garden. Gaynor stared blindly down at the wet scrubbing-brush. There! she thought. Per- haps that took a little of the conceit out of him—trying to patronize me, condescending to notice me when there’s no one else about to feed the flame of his vanity . . . But her throat hurt her intolerably. Alan brought his gaze back to her. He said quietly: “I’m sorry, Gay, I was so beastly rude. Won’t you show I’m forgiven by driving over to the Hall with me after all?” At his tone, the citadel of her pride and resentment crumbled hopelessly. She said, in a swift, choked voice: “Alan, I'd love to. But I can’t—I really can’t. I must finish this veranda. Patricia’s giving a bridge-party.and Aunt Chloe is too busy.” “Perhaps later?” But she shook her head. “No, it isn’t pos- sible. I’ve the sandwiches to do later.” Then Alan said deliberately, distinctly: “Gaynor, when is your afternoon off?” “My afternoon off?” And she stared at him in blank amazement. “That’s what I said: When is your after- noon off? Perhaps on that day you might care to take a drive.” Is intent, his meaning, was unmistakable. She put her hand te her mouth to hide its sudden quivering. He had deliberately, cruelly, shown her what she was—a dull drab, an unattractive and uninteresting household drudge, spineless, resistless, futile, good only for the drab things of life, such as—as—— And in that swift, bitter moment, the whole panorama of her twenty-one years went flying past her: “Gay, dear, give Jerry your dolly—don’t make her cry.” “Gay, dear, I’m sorry, but you can’t go to Hearst's International-C osmopolitan for March, 1929 the party with Patricia. Mother has a head- ache and needs her little nurse.” “Gay, dear, would you mind pressing Jerry’s pink organdy for the church supper?” “Gay, dear, have you time to mend the lace on Patricia’s slip while she’s dressing?” Patricia, Jerry—Jerry, Patricia—always, always, always... She eer at Alan with blind, swimming eyes. She said, “I don’t have afternoons off. But perhaps tomorrow——” He said, tickling Mary of Scots absently: “Well, then, I want you to spend it with me, if you don’t mind. Asa matter of fact, I want to talk with you—discuss something with you. What time shall I come and fetch you?” She still looked at him blindly. “What time?” he said again, a trifle sharply. She said faintly: “About four o’clock. Only please don’t come to the house. I—I’d rather meet you at the fork in the road.” He said, that sharp note still dominant in his voice, “Why?” Her eyelids fluttered. “Oh, nothing—only Patricia and Jerry would expect to come too. And you said you wanted to—to discuss some- thing with me.” > He laughed. “So I do. And I certainly don’t want Patricia or Jerry—especially Patricia—to hear it. At least, not just yet.” He flicked his cigaret to the sunny lawn. “Well, tomorrow at four—the fork in the road. Cheerio till then.” And with a sort of Fascist salute, he was gone, roaring down the driveway. Gaynor, on her mat, suddenly buried her face in her damp, reddened hands. She heard Patricia’s soft drawl at the up- stairs window: “Gay, who was that?” ; ef said through her fingers, “Alan Col- ord.” She heard the sudden sharp rattle of blinds above her. She looked up and saw Patricia’s dark, miraculously smooth head and flame-silk- covered shoulders thrust out of the window. “Alan? What on earth did he want at this time of morning?” Gay gathered up her scrubbing parapher- nalia. “Nothing. Only ep in on his way back to the Hall with the collie puppy.” Patricia was frowning. Something seemed to annoy her. She said sharply, as if realizing Gaynor’s position and attire for the first time: “Don’t tell me he caught you in that—that awful make-up!” Gaynor’s pointed little chin went forward. “He did. What about it? What do you care? It wasn’t you, was it?” Patricia laughed softly down at her. ‘Rather not! But after all, Alan is a gentleman, and gentlemen are inclined to be fastidious about— about the appearance and habits of their fiancée’s famil Aad Gay said, not looking up at Patricia: “Fian- cée? You mean——” But what a silly, what a ridiculous question! What could Patricia mean except just what she had said? Patricia never exerted herself to say things to Gaynor that she didn’t mean. Patricia now said: “You know exactly what I mean. Not that we’ve actually come to any definite understanding. Alan is absurdly shy for so dominant a personality. But a girl always knows when a man is in love with her, and heaven only knows Alan has demonstrated his interest in this house. Every afternoon and practically every evening. I sometimes say, ‘Alan, surely the place’—meaning myself, naturally—‘must bore you.’ But he always smiles in that swift, fascinating way of his, and says: ‘Oh, no, Patricia. This place could never bore me.’ Only his eyes are on me, and they say, ‘you,’ instead of ‘this place.’ ” Gaynor interrupted with a sudden deep weariness. “Patricia, I can’t listen any longer. There’s too much to be done.” She went down the steps and around the house, carrying the pail and soap and scrubbing- brush with her. Of course, that was what he wanted to discuss—Patricia. Patricia, with that aloof, intriguing little pose of the untouchable ice-princess, made him uncertain, unsure of him- self and his suit. He thought, no doubt, Gaynor could help him; would, no doubt, say: “Now listen, Gay, do you, or don’t you, think I’ve got a chance? I’m mad about Patricia, but she’s so much the unapproachable Queen Guinevere——” But even Queen Guinevere had succumbed to Sir Lancelot. A: contrary to habit, did not drive or ride over that afternoon. “On account of my bridge,” Patricia ex- plained. ‘He loathes a lot of silly women.” “Hot apple sauce,” said Jerry. Gay said nothing. But at six o’clock the telephone shrilled per- emptorily. “For me,” said Jerry from the hammock. “For me,” said Patricia from the piano. “Fo’ Miss Gay,” said Aunt Chloe from the dim hallway. Gaynor came out of the pantry. She said into the mouthpiece: “Hello? Yes, this is Gaynor . .. Oh, no—no, of course I’ve not forgotten ... What? ... Before three? . . . Before two? Why, I don’t know if I can make it . . . Well, if it’s that import- ant, I'll try. Good-by.” She hung up and went back toward the pantry. “Who was it?” said Jerry in the doorway. “What was it?” said Patricia on the drawing- room threshold. “Someone,” said Gay decisively, “and some- thing for just me.” And the pantry door swung to behind her. Jerry went back to her hammock. Patricia went over to the mirror to powder her nose. But Alan did not drive over to the Oaks that evening. It was ten minutes t the hour when Gaynor arrived at the fork. He was there, waiting for her in the blue shining dragon, and they drove off in the direction of town. But directly they had gone a few hundred yards, he reached into his pocket. “Look,” he said exultantly. “I’ve some- thing to show you.” And he brought forth a section of a New York paper. ‘Wonderful luck, Gay. Here, look at this.” And he laid the paper on her knees and pointed with his finger. It was an article, illustrated with sketches of gigantic steel structures and a blurred photo- graph of Alan. It announced, in discreet head- lines, that the plans of one Alan Pell Colford, son of the famous “Steel” Colford, had been accepted for the construction of a stupendous bridge to be swung across some terrific, unpro- nounceable chasm in Peru, and that said Alan Pell Colford would himself superintend that construction. It said alot more. But Gaynor saw only the last words she had read. “Opera- tions will start immediately and Mr. Colford expects to sail next pear The paper was a week old. Why, Saturday was—was day after tomorrow! She sat back, aghast at the wave of desolation that swept over her. Day after tomorrow! He said: “What is it, Gay? Aren’t you pleased? You know I once told you that this was my life’s ambition; a man’s work—no, more than that—a work for the gods,” She said, her eyes fixed unseeingly on the white ribbon of the highway: “Of course I’m pleased. Only—only it came so suddenly— the thought, I mean, of your going.” He accelerated the speed of the dragon. It roared along the road. He said at last, “That’s why I had to see you today, alone, without Jerry or Patricia.” Patricia! The thqught of her leaped sud- denly into Gaynor’s numbed consciousness. What about Patricia? No wonder Alan felt he needed aid in that direction. Only the evening in which to get properly engaged, plans formed and future dates set. They were roaring through a small hamlet where a few stately old mansions still stood, — unchanged, behind the high pickets of theif co I c h u

Page 87

of him- doubt, t, Say: , think atricia, umbed ‘ive or ia ex- len.” ed per- ock, 10 om the > Yes, course Before t know mport- ip and yay. awing- | some- owder > Oaks - when there, mn, and . But yards, some- forth a nderful he laid ith his ches of photo- t head- ‘olford, d been endous unpro- d Alan d that Opera- Solford turday olation ‘ow! ’t you at this k—no, on the se I’m lenly— on. It BY F. SCOTT FITZGERALD CORNELIUS VANDERBILT, JR. JOHN BARRYMORE Sue IS ALLIED with some of the oldest families of New York and Boston, but her grandfather and randmother were Spaniards of Spain, and “Spanish Blood ” speaks from her beautiful great eyes, her clear olive skin with its flash of pomegranate red; it is in her warm, impulsive, glancing speech, in the in- stinctive grace of all her movements. She is quick, frank, eager, intensely alive, with the naiveté of a child occasionally breaking through the utter sophistication of a debutante of the season 1928-’29. She was presented to New York society early in November at a very distinguished luncheon at a very distinguished club, and has had rather more than the usual success of charming youth. She likes nearly everything—dogs, people, the theatre, dancing, riding, swimming . . . She thinks young people now are no worse than they ever were —“just franker. We haven’t any illusions!” She has used Woodbury’s Facial Soap ever since she became a sub-deb at 14, and nothing could be more beautiful than her smooth, clear, brilliant skin. “A debutante has to have a good skin—she mustn’t take any chances. That is why I never use any soap but Woodbury’s on my face. Woodbury’s is wonder- full—it keeps my skin always soft and clear and just the way I want it to be.” Our or nunpREDs of beautiful Woodbury users, onwhom we called in big cities, in little towns,through- out the country—three distinguished judges are choosing the loveliest of each type... . Each month their photographs will appear. They represent thou- sands upon thousands of women throughout America who today owe the charm of a fresh, clear, beautiful complexion to daily care with Woodbury’s Facial ap .... Commence, now, to take care of your skin with this wonderful soap! Begin, tonight, to gain the charm of “A Skin You Love to Touch!” You can get a delightful Wood bury set, containing a large-size trial cake of Woodbury’s Facial Soap, the Facial Cream and Powder, the Cold Cream, the treatment booklet, and direc- tions for the new complete Woodbury Facial, by sending us 10 cents and your name and address. Send today! The Andrew ergens Co., 1605 Alfred St., Cincinnati, Ohio. For Canada, Andrew Jergens Co., Ltd., 1605 Sherbrooke St., Perth, Ont. Nothing could be more beautiful than her r, smooth, brilliant skin. “A debutante to have a good skin.” she says. “I never use any soap but Woodbury’s on my face.” Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 oted the Prellicst of DEBUTANTE Miss Natica de Acosta of New York City, chosen from Woodbury beauties in forty-eight States as the prettiest of debutantes © 1929 A. J. Co.

Page 88

102 fences. But several of them carried discreet boards attached to their gate-posts. Antiques. Ye Olde Booke Shoppe. The Lindens— luncheon, tea, dinner. Before its green-painted gates Alan stopped the car. He said: “Gay, I want to talk to you and I can’t—driving this noisy blunderbuss. Let’s have tea here.” She said idiotically, “But it’s too early.” Oh, to put off, to put off forever that which he had to say to her! But he got out and held open the door for her. “Well, we can have an ice, then. It doesn’t really matter.” No escape. She followed him up the walk to an awninged veranda where one old lady sat sipping lemon-water and reading a paper. They sat down at one of the little green tables. They waited. Finally an old darky wandered out, smiled at them toothlessly, repeated their order, ““Yassuh—two iced teas,” and wandered off, to return a few minutes later with a pitcher of lemonade. “We said iced tea——”’ began Alan. “Yassuh—but Ah reckon you-all ’ll like dis hyar lemonade bettah.” He wandered off. Alan began to talk about South America. Gaynor merely listened and suffered, waiting for that time when he had finished. “Tt will be far from-an easy life, Gay,” he said. “Nothing—certainly not money—can make it an easy life. I should need all the help I could get.” “I know, I know,” said Gaynor swiftly. “And your wife——” She broke off, aghast at her hideous blunder. “And my wife?” he prompted her. “Go on. What were you going to say about my wife?” She tried to dissemble. ‘“I—I hear you may be married.” Oh, worse and worse. Was there ever a more humiliating situation? “Well, I may. But where did you hear about it?” “Oh, nowhere particularly—just rumor.” “Really? Well, rumor is usually wrong, but in this case, it is—or, rather, I hope it is true.” She said, with difficulty, “Why shouldn’t it be true?” “Because,” said Alan, ‘ lady. She may say no. asked her yet.” She nodded. ‘it all depends on the You see, I haven’t “Yes, I know.” ‘tunity now, and—and all ‘least bit of encouragement—the very least Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 He smiled suddenly. “Oh, you do, do you!” She bit her lips. Another ghastly blunder! What was wrong with her, anyway? “T meant—evidently, since you didn’ t know her answer, you hadn’t asked her.” Oh, so stupid, so banal! He had stopped smili He said, “But only because I’ve never had the courage.” Ah, that was it after all! “Or the opportunity.” But those long, secluded afternoon sessions! Those languorous, silver-summer nights. “Or the slightest encouragement.” What on earth had been wrong with Patricia’s famous technique? . “But I’ve got the courage and the oppor- I need is just the bit.” He was reaching out his arms and glancing over his shoulder at the same time. “Gaynor! “You sweet! Do it—quick!—do it before that old lady looks up.” And Gaynor did—quick enough at the start, but so slow at the end that when the old lady — up, they were still at it. The old lady was ndalized. Kissing in a public lace! In full view of everybody! What next? Alan was saying: “Oh, Gay, Gay—if you knew what I’ve been through these past months! Desperately in love and never an opportunity of seeing you. All those days and nights I spent hanging around on the off- chance of a glimpse of you. And you treating me as if I were a public nuisance! Yes, you did! And the way they treated you! Like some darned slavey: You—with your intelligence, your beauty——” Gaynor said swiftly, brokenly, “Oh, Alan, but I’m not pretty.” He looked at her with a vast dark astonish- ment. “Pretty! Of course you’re not pretty in the moving-picture way that Patricia is with her absurd little poses, or the magazine- cover way that Jerry is with her impudent nose and silly audacity. You—you are lovely, Gay. Your hair is like the copper beech in autumn, and your eyes are like far-off stars just at dusk, and your mouth—it was your mouth I noticed first that morning in the woods—so very, very sweet and sensitive, Gay. A man need look no further than your mouth to know all about you, Gaynor.” $$ AAG ——_> “Alan, all this—you, me, what you're say- ing—it’s not a dream, is it?” He said in a low passionate voice: “So that is what they have succeeded in Going you.” She saw his eyes harden, his mouth tighten cruelly. “It’s been all I could do to keep silent. I think yesterday I wanted to strike—to hurt Patricia or Jerry, had they been handy. And our mother. That’s a I didn’t turn up ast evening. After my thoughts of the day, I could never again enter her house until— until, at least, you and I——” He broke off and the hardness went out of his expression. He said softly, irrelevantly, ““They made a slave of you, Gaynor, but Tom now on you shall be a queen and I, your slave.” “Would you-all like tea now?” asked the dusky ambassador of the kitchen. “It’s nearly fo’ o’clock.” “My sainted aunt!” cried Alan and jumped up. “Here you are, old fellow. Now come along, Gay. We've got to hurry.” “Yes, Alan.” “Don’t bother with your hair—just get your gloves and bag.” “Yes, Alan.” “T can’t imagine what I was thinking of— to have forgotten. Look out for that step!” “Yes, Alan.” “We've just about time to make it.” “Make what, Alan?” ‘Why, the municipal office before it closes.” She stopped, aghast. ‘Municipal office! Oh, Alan, I can’t!” had reached the car. He caught her . arm and almost threw her into it. “Not only can, but are!” he said firmly. “You’re not going back to that house even to say good-by. You can telephone from a drug store and buy a tooth-brush at the same time.” “Alan, I can’t—I simply can’t!” “Shut up and kiss me. There! Now fix your hat—it’s all over one eye.” Said Gaynor trillingly: “Oh, Alan—for my slave, how you do order me about!” He forgot to take the gear out of neutral. “Oh, Gaynor, my sweet—do I really? And after all I’ve said about Patricia and Jerry! Dearest, you must break me of the habit.” “Oh, no,” said Gay softly; “I—I rather like it.” She smiled tremulously at him. “I reckon, Alan, it—it all depends on who does it.” The Extraordinary Sex by W. Somerset Maugham (cominuea from pose 43) only to put a commonplace in French for him to mistake it for an epigram, and he had thought well enough of the gibe to use it as his own in one of his essays. Such praise as he was willing to accord his contemporaries he re- served for those who wrote in a foreign tongue. For my part, I did not find him a very agree- able companion. It never ceased to puzzle me that this dull and mannered little man should acquire so much grace, wit and gaiety when he took a pen in his hand. It puzzled me even more that a gallant and vivacious creature like Mary Warton should have cherished for him so long such undying passion. These things are inexplicable and there was evidently something in that odd, crabbed little man that appealed to women, for his wife adored him. She had led him a dog’s life, but had always refused to give him his freedom. She swore to kill herself if he left her, and sin¢e she was:unbal- anced and hysterical Gerrard was never quite certain that she would not carry. out her threat. One day, calling on Mary, I saw that she was distraught and nervous and when I asked her what was the matter she burst into tears. She had been lunching with Mawson and had found him shattered after a scene with his wife. “We can’t go on like this!” Mary cried. “Tt’s ruining all our lives.” “Why don’t you take the plunge?” “What do you mean?” “You’ve been lovers so long, you know the best and worst of one another by now; you’re getting old, you can’t count on many more years of life; it seems a pity to waste a love that has endured so long. Why don’t you chuck everything i just go off together and let come what may?’ Mary shook her head. “We’ve talked that over endlessly. It’s impossible. For years Gerrard couldn’t on account of his daughters. ‘Mrs. Mawson may have been a very fond mother, but she was a very bad one, and there was no one to see the girls were properly brought up but Gerrard. And now that they’re married he’s set in his habits. “What should we do? Go to France or Italy. I couldn’t tear Gerrard away from his friends, his club, his surroundings. And be- sides, though Thomas nags me and makes me scenes, he loves me, you know, and when it came to the point I simply shouldn’t have the heart to leave him. He’d be lost without me.” “Tt’s a situation without an issue. I’m dreadfully sorry for you.” “You need not be. I was rather wretched a little while ago, but now I’ve had a good cry I feel better. Notwithstanding all the pain, all the unhappiness this affair has caused me, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. For the few moments of ecstasy my love has brought me I would be willing to live all my life over again.” I could not help but be moved. “There’s no doubt about it,” I said. “That’s love.” “Yes, it’s love and we've just got to go through with it. There’s no way out.” And now with this tragic suddenness the way out had come. I turned a little to look at Mary and she, feeling my eyes upon her, turned too. There was a smile on her lips. “Why did you come here tonight? It must be awful for you.” She shrugged her shoulders. “What could I do? I read the oaieg - be evening paper while I was dressing. 'd asked me not to ring up the ar) Ae on account of his wife. It’s death to me. I had to come. What excuse could I give Tom? I’m not supposed to have seen Gerrard for two “Do you know that for twenty years we’d written to one another every day?” Her lower lip trembled a little, but she bit it and for a moment her face was twisted to a strange grimace; then with a smile she pulled herself together. “He was everything I had in the world, but I can’t let a party down, can I? He always said I had a social sense.” “Happily we shall break up early and you : % can go home.” “I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to” be alone. I daren’t cry because my eyes will get red and swollen, and we’ve got a lot of 2 people lunching with us tomorrow, and I. must be in good form. Tom expects to get a q : commission for a portrait out of it.” “By George, you’ve got courage.” “D’you think so? I’m heart-broken, you” " know. I suppose that’s what makes it easicr = fe for me. Gerrard would have liked me to pad me a good face on it. He would have specs the irony of the situation. It’s thing he always thought the French —. described so well.” :

Page 89

Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1920 Mes ? eee 1us 103 ande bile 7. is Young. ube Eintrancing. sence Beautiful... as the world expects her to be NTRANCINGLY BEAUTIFUL as this romantic world would wish her to be is Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt Jr. Slim as a nymph, with glorious Titian hair and a skin as fair as haw- thorn blossoms, this young bride is winning all hearts with her charm. Modern to her finger tips, Mrs. Van- derbilt is ever on the wing. In a Maine camp... in Provincetown with artists and writers . . . flitting through New York shops . . . then en route for the Far West in the big custom-built car which has crossed the continent 28 times ... At last to “‘Sagebrush,” the Vander- bilt ranch in Nevada, where much of her husband’s writing is done. Always she shares his work, his con- stant comrade and chum. The carefree life of the Western desert country de- lights them both. Mrs. Vanderbilt is a crack shot with rifle, shotgun or re- volver, and she can rope a steer as clev- erly as any cowboy. Despite her outdoor life, her con- stant travel, she has found the way to guard the flower-like freshness of her complexion. “Even on our Nevada ranch,” she says, “I have my daily ‘facial’—with Pond’s. “One can keep one’s skin really young and lovely with just these Two mar- (BELOW) Beautiful women every- where use Pond’s four preparations because they are so exquisitely fine and pure. In these special green glass jars, made by Pond’s for her dressing table, Mrs. Vanderbilt keeps the Two Creams and Freshener. Sev- eral of the dainty velvety new Cleans- ing Tissues lie ready for her use. Mrs. Cornetius VANDERBILT JR., was Miss Mary Weir of Davenport, Iowa. She is entrancingly lovely, with wistful blue-grey eyes, glorious Titian hair and skin like hawthorn bloom. This chic ensemble is of Slame-colored velvet cape over a peach chiffon frock. Send 10¢ for Pond's 4 preparations Ponp’s Extract Company, Dept. Q 112 Hudson Street... New York City. Name Street City 4 velous Creams, the exquisitely fine Tissues, the wonderfully invigorating >. 99 Tonic. I’m devoted to Pond’s, HEREVER you go, this simple daily treatment with Pond’s four preparations will preserve the fitness of your skin:— First, keep your skin immaculately clean by pore-deep cleansing, after ex- posure and every night before retiring. Spread Pond’s Cold Cream lavishly, with upward outward motion over face and neck, letting the fine oils sink deep below the skin. Then gently remove the dirt and cream with Pond’s soft Cleansing Tissues. They are finer than old linen and absorb the cream and dirt instead of rubbing it into the pores. Next, pat Pond’s Skin Freshener over your face and neck— until the skin glows. This wonderful new tonic and mild astringent closes the pores, tones, re- freshes and invigorates. Last, to complete your daytime toi- lette, and before you dress for evening, just a thistledown touch of Pond’s Van- ishing Cream for protection and as a powder base. Try this delightful Method! Send the coupon below for trial packages of Pond’s four preparations, enough to last a week. (sELow) Here in their familiar everyday containers are “the four enchanting things Pond’s makes” as Mrs. Vanderbilt says. Pond’s Cold and Vanishing Creams, Cleansing Tissues and Skin Freshener com- pose Pond’s Method—so efficacious, so quick to use. Use them yourself wherever you go, and keep lovely! Copyright, 1929, Pond’s Extract Company

Page 90

yaa \\4 \ae 8 1a Wht LEL LLL! 7 fool @. , if Gi weve arrived! Their new home is Face Brick! —the material of social distince- tion. Its interesting colorful beauty, permanent character, and known economies reflect favorably onthe owners. Their good taste and prudence are clear to see. Only one thing usually keeps any home builder from Face Brick—a false idea of the cost! Regarding not only final cost but first cost, inform yourself about Face Brick economies. Learn correctly from these books: A book full of usable ideas for home builders— few could afford to employ the talent repre- sented in this book. Also comparative cost data, information on basic construction re- quirements and other facts. Ask for“ The Story of Brick”. It's Free, In “Face Brick Bungalows and Small House Plans” there are 128 designs for smart, con- venient, ical homes. Sep booklets on 3 and 4-room homes, 5-room, 6-room, 7 and 8-room. Each 25 cents. Entire set $1. Famed architects produced 50 prize plans for the 2-story 6-room homes found in “The Home of Beauty”. Yours for 50 -ents. The most attractive and practical Fireplace de- signs—in “The Home Fires’’ —25 cents. Modernize is the modern idea for older homes. How to do it right —told in “A New House for the Old’’. Sent Free. Address the AMERICAN FACE BRICK ASSOCIATION 2144 City State Bank Building, Chicago, Ill. If you live in Canada, write to 26 Queen Street East, Toronto, Ont. EVERLASTING, EVER-BEAUTIFUL FACE BRICK Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 Roaming Cowboy (Continued from page 53) very kind. She radiated kindness. There was never in all the world a woman so harmless, so soft, so small, so still. She sat there beside Nick until the rest, man by man, even Ernie himself, had stood up and moved away. A small smooth moon was setting, a feathery moon. When it had floated down the roof-top, Jessica stood up and went in. When he was alone, Nick passed his hands across his eyes. The time he had passed be- side her had been a hundred peaceful lives. He had been saturated as by centuries of tran- quillity. But now he felt exhausted, barren. He could not find Tiptoes for good night, and in the bunk-house, lonely and unconsoled, on his hard mattress, he did not sleep at all till dawn. “The mi-mi-missus——” Yes, the: missus. There had been an after- noon, meanwhile . . . Nick had been sent out in search of a stray team and he found: himself standing beneath a great flat-topped boulder in the sun. Before him lay the tall mountains in their snows. “Ah!” said a breath. He jumped back into his body, staring, and flung up his head. ‘There, on the boulder’s top, sat the small mistress of the land. The young man drew his suppleness up beside her and sat on the boulder’s edge. “‘Ghost-mountains,”’ said Jessica, looking at them somberly. “I love them. I hate them. They scare me. They keep me always wanting the things I can’t get. Nick Lynne, away off yonder up in the dry country where I used to live, I could ‘see those mountains, taller, farther away, more ‘ghostly, more beckoning. I’ve moved down closter to them, but they don’t seem any nearer than they used to be. They’re ghost-mountains still.” She was silent and so was Nick. “The first time I came down to Bates’ ranch I was just ten years old and it seemed to me the finest place, and he the finest man, in all the world. We were so awful poor, the kind of ‘poor’ that hungers. “My father, he was stung by a land-shark, his homestead was worth nothing, not even the money to get away with. And my poor mother after she’d borne a dozen children just seemed to turn empty and noisy like something made out of tin. No sense. Rattle. Rattle. And sometimes—cry. It was misery. “Out behind our cabin—and such a cabin! A bear would scorn it—there stood a rock, something like this one. I’d go off, sunsets, and sit there staring at those mountain-heads. They made me think of one of David’s psalms, ‘Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and the King of Glory shall come in. Who is this King of Glory?’ “That’s all Ma knew to tell us. I never did get to hear the answer to that question: ‘Who is this King of Glory?’ So I used to answer it my own way. He is—love.” Such a soft, yearning word, a summer secret, Jo-ove.” Jessica caught in her breath sharply. “Then one day, years later, I was driving down again to Bates’ ranch. This time, I was to stay. I’d come down often enough between those visits. Bates had a son.” She closed her eyes in a white, face. “You know, when I came to the ford there, the day you lay drinking on the bank, I thought you were— his ghost. I found him, that day, lying there just thataway with his red hair in the water. His horse had thrown him. He was dead. We was to have been married——” Nick put out his hand to rest it upon hers but, as she moved a trifle, his fingers fell and closed lightly on her wrist. It was the embodi- ment of that soft wooing word of hers, round, smooth, with a strong hurried pulse within it—“lo-ove.” “So then, after that, I didn’t try to answer King David’s question ever again. I closed my ears. I closed my heart. The King of Glory was never to come into my life, to me. After several years I married Frank’s father. I wanted to be done with poverty, with hunger- . ing.” She laughed a little. “I’ve liked being , Mrs. Ernie Bates.” She stopped laughing. - Nick let go her wrist and slid down from the rock, a soft beating, as of her pulse, in his head, “T’ve been contented,” she said. “Frank has never haunted me, until——”’ “Until?” Nick had not meant to speak, the word whispered itself from him. “Until now.” Nick went away presently about his business, “The mi-mi-missus, she w-won’t le-le-let a m-m-man m-m-make up to C-C-Candace, Nick. She’ll th-th-throw you ou-ou-ou-out.” So came an end at last to Garger’s warning, but before he’d wrung it off his tongue, Nick Lynne had learned the lesson for himself. From the ranch-house, one noon, Candace came down to the spring. The program of her work had changed. She was no longer on her tractor. Jessica had needed her inside the house. She caught up a bucket and went to get the — ge Ley that she liked best to drink and she went down to it, singing and swinging a Jill without her Jack. Nick was swimmin in that stream and, scared and modest, hid him- self from her as she approached. As she bent over the water, singing and swinging, to dip her pail, a Jack entered the scene, one of the ranch-hands, Seedy, they' called him, a lanky and good-humored youth, blue-eyed. He had seen Candace from where he lay enjoying his noon rest under a meadow- aspen, and had come gangling over. Jessica stood like a small sentry in the kitchen door, shading her green eyes while they followed Candace down the path to the water, “Hullo, Seedy,” said Candace pleasantly. “Hullo, yourself,” said Seedy. ‘Give me your pail acrost here. I'll dip it in for you. It’s deeper here and the bottom’s cleaner.” Candace leaned far across to give him her pail and he, guffawing, caught her arm and pulled her so that she lost her balance and would have fallen into the water if he, moving into it himself, had not caught her in his arms. He carried her to his own-bank and kissed her clumsily before he set her down. “Quit fightin’. Don’t be mad,” he said. “I didn’t get you one mite wet, Can-dace.” All that then happened, happened rather fast, so that Nick, dressing hastily in order to rescue the girl if rescue should be needed, — which seemed unlikely, found himself still necessarily in ambush at the drama’s climax. Jessica, seeing Seedy’s practical joke, which looked more violent from a distance, had run out two or three startled steps, then, composing — herself, had raised two fingers to her mouth and blown a piercing whistle. To its call came running that great oxlike Berber, Bates’ fore- man and the henchman of his wife. Nick could see their brief descriptive col- loquy, the big man’s comprehending nod. e came down the path on a lumbering run; came, head down, across the deepish pool as though it had not been there and fell upon the unsuspecting comedian like an Assyrian bull. The poor astounded “Jack” had barely time to put up his arms, his fists. = There and then, while Candace protested in vain, Seedy received a pounding so fierce that — at last Nick rushed out, swearing, to give him aid. By that time Jessica s like a witch © beyond the spring. She lifted her hand. “Quit it now, Ben. He’s had enough. Fetch him here. Cold water will be good for him.” Seedy was jerked bodily through the pool like a log and thrown, wet, gasping and liber- ally bleeding, at Jessica’s small feet. She stooped and put into his torn and saturated shirt a slip of paper. “That’s your time,” said Jessica. “When you can stand up, get out of here.” She rose from him and spoke the rest of her mind to the world at large. “T will not permit any man on this ranch to H IA tere inc to $ men of t be t yeas out D mala perie yeast modi destr value

Page 91

Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 Dr: Gaston Lyon—one of the- outstanding figures of the medical profession in France, on whom his colleagues have lavished professional honors; he has been chief of the Medical Clinte of the Faculty of Paris; he is Laureate of the Academy of Medicine; he 1s author of “Consultations on Diseases of the Digestive Tract,” and many other works, 66 ° ° Yeast regulates the intestine,” says DR. GASTON LYON, of Paris “IN FRANCE, especially since the work of the scientist, Dr. L. Brocq, yeast has en- tered the realm of therapeutics, and is today in current use. It is especially used in dis- orders of the skin but should not be limited to skin diseases. It reduces intestinal fer- mentation, and regulates the functioning of the intestine. Its mode of action should be taken advantage of all the more, since yeast can be taken with- out inconvenience.”’ R. GASTON LYON, author and promi- nent physician of Paris; authority on maladies of the digestive tract, verifies the ex- perience of millions of Americans—that eating yeast relieves constipation. In an authorized interview he says, “Yeast modifies the intestinal action while not being destroyed itself.” He further points to the Value of yeast in the treatment of skin diseases and declares, “Its efficacy in this field is al- ready strongly established.” In a recent survey in the United States, half the doctors reporting said they prescribed yeast. Fleischmann’s Yeast is fresh. Unlike dried or killed yeast, it contains millions of living, active yeast plants. As they pass through your intestine daily, they combat harmful poisons, purify the whole system. Eat three cakes of Fleischmann’s Yeast every day, one cake before each meal or be- tween meals, plain or in water (hot or cold). To get full benefit you must eat it regularly and over a sufficient period of time. At all grocers and many leading cafeterias, soda fountains and lunch counters. Buy 2 or 3 days’ supply. It will keep in a cool, dry place. Start today! Write for latest booklet on Yeast in the diet —free. Health Research Dept. K-74, The Fleischmann Company, 701 Washington Street, New York, mw Se FROM THROAT TO COLON is one continuous tube. Poisons from clogged intestines spread and attack the weakest spot. Colds, sore throat, headache, bad breath, bad skin—90% of your ailments—start here, doctors now agree. And here, too, is where yeast works. For bubbling good health, keep this entire tract clean, active and healthy with Fleischmann’s Yeast. Copyright, 1929, The Fleischmann Company

Page 92

OO RULEDIVIVIRGSERDOAREIIODGSERCEAOROGOUTOROOUURRORRURODIoNOpHREDE ONES LUT COVEUUENUNAUOUERERAUDOTOUNUEHTEROUDUUUOREEUERAT INURE ARTUR OUDEHT OUURIERD TRO ER TRRSOUETOGT REURCUEN)OOTESTERCHORRUETOEEOTESEFOO PEDO ERRO BENE NUCUU RUD ETFRCETORSRRIEFCHTOOEDeVErtItERTOREOe REET ORS AUPRIDUREASEUUNVESOUCETO DOO EOUDIERDOOULUEAULONOOELOOEAEOHNONUONLUONIO EIEN te nn emo HA ASAAENLAEREARAAR SABE ANTELASUNEEEEDGGHISESEE| EERE EOTGLIORERSEETLCUNSTDLELORDL DOTNET DILEDDCELLERSIEEOERECLESETIIIERIBITTIIAIIINIED PLE TECISTESCETTESTETIS OTST TOTTI TEEN ETI OETTTOTTT ATT OTTTMOOT NUNCSODAUATATOUUIANIUAUAUAIUUAUEAGNNVAUUUITEGUAURAAALACAEIIAIIOUIAL LUTITITIITIITTITI TE Beauty, as a dollars-and-cents asset, is no longer restricted to women of the stage and screen. In the business and social world, success is equally dependent on lure and loveliness. When Manon Lescaut Face Powder has become the accepted formula among the women who live in the glare of publicity, it is the safe guide for those less in the public’s eye. Adored by the world, they turn to M. Bourjois’ newest | perfume “Evening in Paris” as the one fragrance true to their dreams of loveliness. BOURJOIS PANON LESCAUT FACE POW DER BOURJOIS, INC. PARIS AND NEW YORK. REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. UUSUUUUUIUTARUTEEIOUUEOUUREUCEUOUAUUERUAUUGUULFUUCTECEUUUUUAUUTERTQUOTEUENIQUIUOUUANIEUUIUEVENO GAAS UCORIUODUCONTNCLUROVEAUAUNOTONTOANTOUUATINDANTU ACU ODUITLAVEUNNATEAUATIILITINTATANHNNNTAAAEEENeDUEAT Wit treninitity Tene ttitiienieen ie veteiatene Tehibeeeite PATO Hearst's International—-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 j make up to Candace. She’s only sixteen and next fall I’m sending her to a town boarding- school. She is not going to be for the likes of any ranch hand or drifting cowboy. I want she should be a lady. And I want she should go to school with a free mind and a light heart.” Her eyes, enormous, vividly green, balefully opened once upon Nick. Then she beckoned to Candace who was in tears and took her hand and led her as though she had been three years old up the slope and in at the kitchen door. From the day of Seedy’s thrashing Nick’s imagination of a truant and a rebel drifted irresistibly towards clear-eyed Candace. An adventurer, male or female, is always of two minds, of the mind that wants to wander and of the mind that wants to rest, of the marrying mind and of the passionate mind, While Nick, with one eye on Berber and one ear cocked like a terrier’s for Jessica’s fierce in- tervention, gently, boldly, excitedly wooed young Candace to be his wife, his heart was sometimes in a moody torment for the en- chantments of that other woman. Her hungry gray-green eyes rested upon him so often and so dangerously. He knew that she had power. His heart tightened for her coming and relaxed for her going since these comings and these goings seemed to be some sort of speech addressed to him. Whereas Candace, why, Candace cared more for Tiptoes than she did for Nick, went about her business, not seeming aware of him at all. In fact, Tiptoes did Nick both service and disservice in his suit. She provided an excellent screen for his intention,-since Candace wooed Tiptoes by dawn and noon and dusk. Therefore, always in Tiptoes’ company, he murmured hour by hour into Candace’s half. | attentive ear. Their talk ran in this fashion “So you see, Candace, I’m not such a no- account young feller as you think. I’ve drifted a plenty, sure, but I’ve put some earnin’s by. I’ve even bought me a little property in Colorado.” “Oh, Nick, do look at her! She’s huntin’ for the apple up my sleeve.” “Ain’t that the truth? And it’s a right nice property, Candace, where I could build mea cabin ’most as good as this one if I had a girl to build it for.” “Haven’t you got a girl, Nick? That’s funny. Well, no, I guess it isn’t. Tiptoes would be enough.” To win her full attention, Nick was forced to change his theme, to give the leading réle in his saga to Tiptoes. And as the first boyish defiance of his courtship deepened into some thing tenderer and warmer, it began to hurt. at once, one evening the hurt stung him into violence. He gripped her wrist, he shook it, his mica eyes flickered with cold sparks. “You listen to me, girl. You look at me. What’s a hoss, when a man’s at your elbow? Ain’t I been tellin’ you I love you?” i Candace scared; Candace so white that her freckles stood out across her lovely skin; Candace wrenching free from him in tears— and, as she wrenched, that other horse them, jealous for the last hour of Tiptoes’ nib- blings, wheeled with his ears flat and Ni flinging the girl aside, took that vicious against his own leg-bone just below the knee. Because of pain and fright and shock neither of them was surprised that Jessica was near enough to the field corral to come like a little running ghost from among the aspen trees, to kneel beside Nick where he crouched in oo to summon Berber with her whistle and to the injured man’s painful journey down to the bunk-house. He lay there - be Meg we biting his lips and digging hi into poe cd while one of the boys gall down the country for “doc” and Jessica held a tin cup of whisky to his writhing lips.’ His eyes begged for Candace, but Candace had been sent away. It was Jessica who put hot wet cloths on his leg, Jessica who felt the bone with cool and careful fingers, Jessica who spoke softly to console his pain. She had him moved up to the living-room where he lay,

Page 93

siness, e and cellent wooed ny, he s half. ishion a no- tin’ for ht nice i mea 1a girl That’s Tiptoes forced ng réle boyish > some- Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 ilm Lovely pearls that gleam and glisten are yours to possess when cloudy film is removed from lovely teeth. that discolors the whitest teeth Are your teeth dull, lustreless? Are you prone to tooth and gum disorders? Then remove film this scientific way. (Send coupon for free 10-day supply) ODERN dental research has recently thrown: a new light on two common conditions. Dull teeth are traced to a dingy film which ordinary brushing does not effectively combat. Many serious tooth and gum disturbances are traced almost as completely to the same source—film. Thus an utterly different way of tooth cleans- ing is being adopted by thousands, known as Pepsodent. A free ten-day supply is offered you. Germs, tartar, pyorrhea, decay Run your tongue across your teeth. You will feel a film; a slippery, slimy coating. This film absorbs discolorations and makes white teeth dull and dingy. Film clings to teeth too stubbornly for usual ways of cleansing to combat successfully. It gets into crevices and stays. Germs breed and multiply in that film. The acids of decay are invited. Film hardens into Pepsodent The Special Film-Removing Dentifric: tartar. And germs, with tartar, are a proved cause of pyorrhea. Now film removed new way Film cannot resist brushing the way it did before. The new-found agents in Pepsodent curdle and loosen film so that light brushing takes it off. Thus the long and vigorous brushing necessary with old ways now ‘is ended. Its use aids in firming gums and restoring healthy color. Thus, Pepsodent answers fully the reaidias® - ments of the dental profession. It is the greatest step made in a half century’s study of tooth- cleansing methods. Give Pepsodent free to-day test If teeth are dull, “off color,” that is film. this film for ten days and see teeth lighgen Get a large tube wherever dentifrices’-« are sold. Or send coupon to nearest _ address for a ten-day tube to try. - Make this test and you will be surprised, Aemove FREE 10-DAY TUBE ff. , 4 Coupon to y 4 The Pepsodent Co., Dept. 173, 1104 S. Wabash Ave., Chicago, Ill., U.S. A. Name. Png! Offices: The Pepsodent Co., 191 George , Terente 2, Ont., Can.; 42 Southwark Bridge Se endon, S. E. 1, st | (Australia), Ltd., 73 Wentworth Ave., Sydney, N w. Only one tube he a family 3078

Page 94

In this swift age save yourself investment time and worry this way An airplane rushing a busy ex- ecutive to an emergency engage- ment is but an outward indica- tion of the fast tempo at which we live today. In other ways— less dramatic, perhaps — you try to make every working hour count for more. But possibly you haven’t realized how much time and worry you can save in the all-important matter of invest- ing your money. The National City Company, for instance, maintains offices in over 50 American cities to furnish quick investment contact with busy men. At any of these offices our representatives will gladly help you check over your present holdings or select additional in- vestments. Their recommenda- tions are backed by over 115 years of National City experi- ence and all that this implies in the way of financial knowledge and sound judgment. The National City Company National City Bank Building, New York OFFICES IN 50 AMERICAN CITIES. INTERCONNECTED BY 11,000 MILES OF PRIVATE WIRES. INTERNATIONAL BRANCHES AND CONNECTIONS: of Hits Comedy-Dramas Vaudeville Acts, Farces, Musical Musica! Readings en su dpeckfoce Sate alae up. Go Se eae E Entertainments; ACCOU NTI NG y offers acca oi tear to am- bitious men and women. for our 80-page book, “How to Learn Accounti and _the first easy lesso: ag. © will be sent free, INTERNATIONAL ACCOUNTANTS SOCIETY, Inc. A Division of the Alexander Hamilton Institute Dept.11 3411 South Michigan Ave., Chicago, Ill. SHORT STORY WRITING | > | Particalars of Dr. Esenwein’s famous forty. i] lesson course in writing and marketi =. } Secrest and sample. copy of THE ‘ER’S ~ 4 aoa oom CORRESPONDENCE 3 Springhield, Mass. Petsew Dept. SHORT spe ge Jack London said: veteran i og Short Story Game t I feel justified in giving my judgment that your simple, direct, straight-from-the- shoulder method of Bresenting the course is — w dy =e rehensive and practical e endorsed no other. and to write the stories of y to 3 = “~ stories today! Write for free book * aie at Writing’’ and details of our special offer! Also our ange Fad in English. No obligations. HOOSIER STITUTE Short Story Dept. 1203, Fort Wayne, Indiana Hearst's International—-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 vivid again and smiling, on a big couch, a very clean, sleek and courteous invalid. He wanted for nothing, for no attention, amusement, care, or nourishment. But Can- dace he did not see, or hear. He grew vaguely frightened, lying there. e Ernie Bates came in to read the paper to im. “Mr. Bates,” he broke out passionately, “where is Candace? Where is your niece?” “Why, Jess, she sent her off day after your accident when she fired Berber.”? “Sent her—fired Berber?” Bates wore his driest old-man smile. “T never took no stock in Berber,” said he, “These women! But Jess, she always swore by him. Then, just because he come to her with | some talk as to how you was courtin’ Candace | behind our backs—and I don’t see myself why ; in thunder you shouldn’t do it afore our faces, seein’ as Jess will never make a fine lady out of Candy, she’s a ranch gel first and last, loves hosses and hay a hull lot more’n she'll ever love fine clothes or books. “Well, sir, anyways, Jess, she got red-hot for some of her woman’s reasons and she says, ‘Fire him.’ So I fired him. I wasn’t unwillin’, though I did hev some use for his team which, of course, he took out with him. “But that was a good chanct to send out Candace, get her away from you boys, I guess, So off she was packed with Berber.” “‘Where—where to?’”’ Nick stammered. Ernie grunted amusedly. “Women! Why, Jess, she won’t tell me. I ain’t a-goin’ to be told—that’s all there is to that. And I guess it’s all right, if Jess says so.’ “But—but—what do you mean, Mr. Bates? Aren’t you really goin’ to find out where she is?” Nick was pulling himself up by anxious wincing inches, his face white. “Jest exactly that. I ain’t. Jess, she prom- ises she’ll let me know when she has got every- thin’ all fixed up.” “When she’s got everythin’ all fixed up,” Nick repeated slowly and let himself down against his pillows. He pretended to be sleepy, tired, and closed his eyes. Against their lids two faces set themselves as though for battle. But the face of one was vague, childish, half-conscious, while the other woman’s eyes were narrowed, scheming. “What’s bothering you, Nick?” Not Ernie’s voice. He looked ha sharply. Jessica alone stood there beside hi “T want that you should tell ae Jessica, where to you’ve sent Candace?” ‘“‘Why?” said she, soft as a dove, and seated herself upon the couch beside him, resting her hand upon the tightening muscles of his arm. “T reckon you know the reason.” “You really think you want to make love to that little girl who cares so much more for Tiptoes than she does for you?’ “Just the same, I want that ‘little girl’s’ ad- dress. Tiptoes,” Nick said, smiling a queer teasing smile, ‘might want to write to her.” Jessica, her eyes resting kindly upon him, slowly shook her head and slowly rose. “No, Nick,” she said. “No, Nick.” She was going, but he caught her wrist. “You are a-goin’ to give me that address.” She stood perfectly still just looking down at her manacle with her eyebrows a trifle lifted. “I am not going to give you her address. I tell you, Candace is not for any of you drifting cowboys. You hurt me.’ He let her go. Her wrist was marked and he muttered instinctively a shamed apology. “You'll forget her in a fortnight, Lynne, as you’ve forgotten all the others. You’ re not the man to make a home for any woman.’ “You mean you want her to marry an old man for his money?” said Nick. She raised her hand to strike him, dropped it and went out, as white as her dress. Before he was fit to mount a horse, before anyone could have suspected him of trying to mount one, Nick got himself. across Tiptoes and went down the river eight miles to the postoffice and asked for the Bateses’ mail. Sitting down on the steps outside the e- + Ss ee LD g 2 > FSeeprE ~

Page 95

929 a very ntion, _ Can- ere. per to ately, er” t your >. e id he. ore by r with ndace if why faces, essica, seated ng her s arm. love to ore for l’s’ ad- ress. rifting ed and vology. nne, as_ ‘re not ” . an old ropped before ying to Tiptoes to the ail. je the Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 ow with Frigidaire you the speed of freezing ice cubes THE NEW COLD CONTROL offers greater convenience... utmost simplicity Today Frigidaire offers a new and far-reaching development in auto- matic refrigeration. Now you can regulate, at will, the temperature in the freezing compartment. QUICK FREEZING If, for any occasion, unusually quick freezing of ice cubes is de- sired, just set the control lever at “Colder”. The temperature drops! Freezing is accomplished with much greater speed. In the freezing of desserts, vari- ous ingredients require different temperatures for best results. The Frigidaire Cold Control en- ables you to set the temperatures of the freezing compartment just right for the particular dessert you are freezing. The New Frigidaire is now equipped with the “Cold Con- trol” without added cost to the buyer. Its adoption is in keeping with the policy that has estab- lished Frigidaire’s leadership and made it the choice of more buy- ers than all other makes of elec- tric refrigerators combined. INCREDIBLY QUIET Frigidaire offers dependable re- frigeration ... a temperature in the food compartment below 50 FRIGIDAIRE PRODUCT OF GENERAL MOTORS <= degrees. Frigidaire offers eco- nomical operation so that its savings more than repay its en- tire cost. Frigidaire offers utmost convenience in the arrangement of food shelves... incredibly quiet operation ... and a low price that could be possible only as a result of quantity production. can regulate and desserts Salus a ee MAY WE SEND YOU THESE BOOKS? We should like to tell you more about the New Frigidaire ... what it will do... the work and bother it will eliminate ... the protection it offers to health. We want to give you a book of recipes for the new delicious desserts that can now be made so easily and quickly. And we want you to know how Frigidaire can be bought on the easiest of terms. You can get the complete facts at any Frigidaire display room, or mail the coupon and we shall glad- ly send you copies of the recipe book and the New Frigidaire catalog. Frigidaire Corporation, Subsidiary of General Motors Corporation, Dayton, Ohio. FRIGIDAIRE CORPORATION Dept. V-64, Dayton, Ohio Please send me copies of Frigidaire Recipe Book and the new catalog.

Page 96

TEST YOUR ARI ABILITY ERE is your opportu- nity to find out how much talent you have. Our simple, — scientific Questionnaire tests your natural sense of de- sign, proportion, color, perspec- tive, etc. It may show you the way toa bigger future—a realcareer. Feceral Students Are Successful Many federal School students are making $2,000, $4,000, $5,000 and $6,000 yearly. The Federal School is recognized every- where by employers of artists and by buy- ers of art work. Big prices are paid for drawings. Learn Commercial Art at Home If you like to draw, an almost sure indi- cation of talent, the Federal Course will quickly develop your ability to earn money. Some students earn more than the cost of the course while studying. Many na- tionally known artists have contributed exclusive, il- | lustrated lessons to the Federal Course. No previous training is needed. You will receive personal, individual criticism on your work. Send TODAY for Questionnaire! Just fill out and mail the coupon, stating your age and occupation. - There is no cost or obligation to you. ‘| | 7 ¢ Commercial Designing Send me your analysis questionnaire without cost or obligation. je i che rate tah tiny tly Soh pay Si “vod Present Age:. Occupation...... ; Address HEET Music “CENTURY” and ition of tae world’s 8a Be the world’s Best est he by the logue at your dealers, or write us. Century Music Publishing Co. 247 West 40th Street New York City building, he looked the bundle over eagerly. No letters at all for Jessica. Guiltily brazen, he came again before the ancient postmaster. “No mail for Mrs. Bates?” “She got her’n yesterday evenin’, rode down herself.” “Did she hear from Miss:Candace?” “T dunno, boy. I dunno. And, anyways,” he grinned, “I be’n told by the missus not to give in-for-ma-tion as to Candace to any of you boys and I sure get her point. She’s got the cor-rect idee for Candace’s eddication.” Body and face of Nick were consumed by the color of rage and mortification. He stood there picturesquely swearing until the old man gave way to mirth, haw-hawed and slapped his thighs. Then Nick pulled himself away. In his brain desperate and violent plans were bubbling. Unseen, he followed Jessica when, that afternoon, she went off alone into her woods. There was a storm gathering above them in the canyon and the air was darkly restless amongst the anxious trees. Nick carried a rope across his arm. He still limped a little. His face was cruel. He looked dangerous as he hurried along the trail where Jessica’s slight footprint showed here and there. She was climbin’ up, was she, to her boulder where she looked at her ghost-mountains and wove her schemes? She’d see ’em, yes, this evenin’ she’d see em, the little starin’, winkin’ witch; she’d see ’em in a new light, "through | tears—scared tears. In a wide circle he made his way about, crouching and concealed, until he was close to : the great boulder upon which she stood. Back of her was a whirling cloud the like of which Nick never had seen, and it hung over her with two purplish arms outstretched so that she seemed threatened by darker powers even than his own. Incredibly small she looked, standing against that titanic blackness before which the trees were trembling. Her face—his eyes had reached its tiny oval—wore a piteous strained | look. She was gazing at those “ghosts” of hers, and he saw her twist together her two hands. Something pricked at his throat, his heart ... Away off yonder she had lived with her crazy mother, staring at the hills, praying for a King of Glory, hungering with poverty, with lonesomeness—a small girl-thing with the will | of a queen in her thwarted brain. And she had | ridden down, like a queen, to meet her bride- | groom—and he had lain there by the ford with | his red hair in the water... dead. So, tired of hunger and lonesomeness, and | scared, perhaps—for it would not be nice to | turn empty and to rattle, rattle like a piece of tin—she ‘miarried the old, comfortable man. “The poor kid,” Nick muttered, “the poor, lonely, disappointed little kid!”’ He dropped his rope and came swiftly to- ward her across the open space. At sight of him she stepped back. “Oh, Nick, you—you scared me.” He swung "himself up beside her, captured her.hands and bent down above her. “Look-a- -here, gal,’ said Nick, using the lingo of his ignorance. but with the rhythms of a poet, “I was a-comin’ out here to scare the heart out of you.’ I’d brung a rope to. tie you up with. I was aimin’*to show you what it means to snatch away his possessions from a growed man. I don’t know—I might hev done you harm, real harm. I sure was intendin’ it. T ain’t so gentle a chap; times I’m bad, an out- law, through and through. “But I seen you up here so little, so kind of helpless-lookin’ ag’in’ them awful clouds, and I reckon I seen you for the first time for jest the thing you are—like me—hoist up atween what-I-want and what-I-will, tormented like the rest of us, a roamin’, restless, prairie- eatin’ crew, want-the-whole-earth and mean- to-get-it sort of folks. Ain’t no surrender in us, a King-of-Glory-and-Damnation sort of ple and no mistake. “But Jessica, you got to give me up. Same’s I got to give you up. There’s a man in me 15°: that wants you, wants you bad, but he ain’t Hearst's International-Cosmopol*tan for March, 1929 by no means any King of Glory. Jessica, you © are a-goin’ to give me Candy’s address and — you’re a-goin’ to let me go, afore we either of us do a mischief. And you are a-goin’ to do it because of them ghost-hills of yours, so that some day, when you’re least Jookin’ for it, their heads is goin’ to be lift’ up Jessica stared into his Pash It was splendidly transfigured with its flying copper hair and its keen pallor. He looked, against the blackness above him, like a spirit of the wind. She spoke - like an automaton. : “She’s out at Silver City, Nick, with a Mrs. | Curtiss that runs the school.” She collapsed suddenly against him. Great ice-drops smote his neck and head, clapped against the rock in smashing crystal. re He caught her up into his arms, leaped down © from the height and ran. . That same evening the hungry lover, in the midst of all the streaming storm, saddled his Tiptoes and rode blindly out of the ranch en- closure towards the river road. There had been a little cloudburst up the canyon and Crystal was a yellow torrent roaring past. No chance that he would be able to ford. He must ride farther to the bridge. Nick had left the corral, had dismount to put up bars behind him when, through raving of wind and trees, of rain and runnin river, he heard his name called in a woman’s voice. “Nick, o-oh, Ni-ick!” Nick’s wet face lifted and grew tight. So, thought, she couldn’t put it through, couldn’t” be generous, she was already repentant, ready on his tracks, that small enchantress, She would hold him, then, at the last, would follow him, perhaps. a the young man’s wild, unrooted heart temptation set its gnp. To catch the little ® saturated body up in his arms, to lift it into = the saddle and to ride away . A sweet re- = venge-—to yield to her—an interval of passion; © then she might go back, if Ernie would take” her, and he could go on, free, to Candace. “Ni-ick, oh, Nick!” She must have seen him, for she was coming faster. In the wav-— ing medium between them, she looked now tall, now small, unlike herself, long-armed, minding him of Candace. = He gritted his teeth, shut his eyes and flung. himself towards Tiptoes, catching at her rein. That pursuing wail rose high, a desperate craving sound, stopped short. A whip cracked—no, it was a shot—and as he threw himself into the saddle, Tiptoes gave a = great plunging leap. The rain lashed Nick’s ® bent, blindface. He had forgotten any danger, © any temptation, behind, before, was conscious |] only of the madness of his course. : They had passed the ford already—almost @ instantly, it seemed, the bridge must be ahead: es there, just ahead. @ He spoke to Tiptoes, bent close to her ea ee “Steady, darling. Easy, my girl.” He forced™ | his cold wet lips to whistle a dancing’ tuné, | and felt, grateful to God, sanity flow back into her scared body, soothe her running muscles |; : and check the madness of her hoofs. She was slipping down the steep trail ‘to the — bridge and suddenly—Nick lauglied ” aloud— she began walking her tight-rope walk ac FE the bridge! a “Good girl. Pretty girl,” Nick chuckled keeping up his whistle. But wash’t*-it. quaintly urchin prank for her to play—said_ to himself, astonished—to dance with vs aus across a bridge when, a scant minute. earlier, she had been a scared truant, heedless |. of his safety or her own? On the o y gprncapinn et. she stopped her = moe nonsense and went soberly. At Marshall’s, the postman’s, some hour - later, Nick stopped for shelter. He stood» streaming before the stove while the old fellow, ” in his nightshirt, fussed over him, bringing hot drinks and dry clothes. “You've chose a real night for yer getaway, | young feller. Who you after? Or whos after you? I figured when you fust come ia_ that Missus Bates, she must be worse, OF eSpace

Page 97

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 4 . What a cigarette meant there It took a lot of courage, for he was no “ladies’ man,” and she was the belle of the town. That awkward, stammering proposal... interrupted...And now.. weal she never come back? The zero hour, for a fact... the longest minutes of a lifetime. Like most men, he lived through it, sus- tained by that little friend in need... his cigarette ...the most important cigarette he ever smoked. What a cigarette means here It took a lot of courage, likewise, to propose and go through with the idea behind Chesterfield. It took courage, for it meant less profit per package than is made on most other cigarettes. Into Chesterfield we blended the finest qualities of tobacco ever offered in a cigarette at popular prices—tobacco selected regardless of cost, from all the leaf markets of the world. And when Chesterfield jumped to big volume and continued steadiby: to grow - -- we knew that this cigarette which so surely bespeaks tobacco quality to us had come equally to mean it to you. Kiggertinttzers Isbases & CAVALLA @xXAnTHI U w , Ww 4 Xanthi and Cavalla, Smyrna and Samsoun— from here come the fragile tender Turkish Burley which this mild yet satisfy ing blend,

Page 98

114 somethin’. Doc, he come past here pretty late, himself.” Nick felt confused. as sick as all that?” “Doc said she was real sick but that she’d do, if she took it real pasy.“-Hre~says.she was so glad—laughin’ and cryin’ together—that she would sure pull out of it.” “So—glad?” “Sure. Doc says her condition was natural under the circumstances even so soon as this. I reckon she always has wanted a. baby and likely thought the Lord wouldn’t be givin’ her any. And now if she’s careful, doc says, she has only a few months to wait.” Nick felt a clean high wind, saw a vision of snow-peaks against the west. The King of Glory. Little had either of them guessed in what simple and immediate guise those gates would open to admit their visitor. Marshall was talking. ‘So I kinder thought she must be worse and you was after doc ag’in.” “I’m after Candace,” said Nick. “Missus give her ad-dress, eh?” “Yes, sir, she did.” “Humph!” “Mrs. Bates—was she Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929. “What do you mean humph-ing thataway?” “Well, sir, now, I dunno, but it seems right strange to me—when Candy she’s jest went past here this afternoon, makin’ for the ranch.” “What—what are you tellin’ me? Can- dace?” “Yes, sir. Mis’ Bates, she was took ill and doc was sent for. He come by round five o’clock or thereabouts, I reckon, in the wust of that rain, and Miss Candace she was with him. I believe she asked about you, too. ‘Have you seen Nick Lynne, lately?’”’ Marshall began his maddening “Haw-haw.” “The missus,”’ he gurgled, ‘“‘she sure knowed what she was doin’ when she give you that address. Though come to think of it, I doubt she knowed Candace was on her way.” Nick was at the door. Marshall ran after the youth. “No you don’t, young feller. You can’t get back acrost Crystal tonight. Crystal bridge is gone plum’ out. It must ’a’ went jest after you——” He checked himself, laughter shocked completely-out of his old face. “But look-a-here, Lynne, that bridge went out long afore you c’d of crossed it. AE “Candy and doc, they must ’a’ been at the ranch afore you left it. They couldn’t cross the river there; they had to go the other wa: round. Candy she telled me that herself, Says she, ‘I hope the folks at the ranch know about that bridge. Hadn’t it been for doc’s s. we'd. hev gone in, I guess. He was whippin’ up his horses in a hurry, when we — seen what was wrong. There was just one bi beam that was left of it, not more’n eight inches wide.’ What’s the matter?” Nick had leaned back against the door sud- denly, his hand across his eyes. Step by mincing step, impossible tiny steps, along an eight-inch beam between a raging torrent and a streaming sky ... Tiptoes . . . while he whistled, like a clown, into her attentive ear, “Twas Candace callin’ to me,” muttered Nick. “ ’Twas Candace fired. She knowed about the bridge. She called. I wouldn’t stop, so she tried to kill Tiptoes before I could get into the saddle. Tried to kill Tiptoes—to save —me.” The color tumbled back into his face, the joy into his voice. Marshall thought the boy crazy to ride off singing into the night. One Acrobat Too Many by Montague Glass (continued from pose 62) with a couple of brothers called Kohn, and we done an act for a week in a Trinkhalle there. It was a rotten act, too. But it was my tough luck that a feller called Bela Pastor seen us work and he engaged us for his act, The Six Pastorellis. There was the two Kohn brothers, another young feller called Wilczek, myself, the boss, Bela Pastor, and the understander, a big béhémer by the name Solo- mon Weiss, only of course he called himself for the billing, Samson Agonistes.” “T never heard tell of them,” Conrady said. “Well, I’m telling you of them now,” Jacob continued. “I’m telling you that like your act our act played in safety not three years but five years, in every country of Europe, and for seven days a week, two performances a day, that feller Weiss, the understander, held us up, drunk or sober, but mostly drunk.” “You mean to say that you worked three up with a soused understander?” “He was the boss’ brother-in-law and some people wil! risk anything for a brother-in-law, even their necks,” Jacob continued.. “But it was Bordeaux what finished us. Bordeaux is where all them wines come from. They turn out a million bottles a day and we were there half a day before we gave our first perform- ance with Pinder’s Cirque Royal. “I’m telling you that when we got dressed that afternoon, Solomon Weiss had finished up half a day’s output of the entire Bordeaux neighborhood, at the lowest estimate. One up with the understander was the boss Bela Pastor and this here Wilczek. The Brothers Kohn was two up, and I was three up. The last thing I remember was that Pastor says the audience was a bunch of tough people to work to, and when I woke up, Mr. Conrady, I was in the charity hospital ten days later in Bordeaux with a fractured skull and a broken thigh, and if ever I see that understander Solomon Weiss again, I’ll strangle him with my hands so sure as my name used to be Jaroslaw Gobroczynski.” “It was a devil of a name to sign checks with, Mr. Governor, if you’ll excuse my, saying so,” Conrady said. “T changed it long before I had a nickel to sign a check for, Conrady,” Governor replied. “But I sign it now to all sorts of things. I signed this here contract for a two weeks’ en- gagement of Conrady and Doloretes.” He called it Dollar-eats, but he emphasized it so viciously that when he paused, Conrady asked what was the matter with her work. “Her work is o. k.,”” Governor said, “but there’s a cancellation clause in the contract for any reason I see fit, and there’s also an option clause that I should give you time in all my theayters, ain’t it?” Conrady nodded. “Then all I’ve got to say to you, Conrady, is that if you let this here Dollar-eats so much as speak one word to my son George, I’ll cancel the contract, and you’ll never do another day’s work for me as long as I’m in the business, nor for none of my friends, neither, if I can help it.” Again Conrady nodded. “I see what you mean,” he said. “The idea is that I should get another Doloretes. There’s lots of them as good dancers as she is, laying around idle right now.” “T don’t mean nothing of the kind,” Gover- nor declared. ‘‘You’ve got a good act and the girl is anyhow fifty percent of it.” “The girl’s a good girl,’ Conrady said. “Did I say she wasn’t?”’ Governor demanded. “But you don’t know what a good girl she is, Mr. Governor,” Conrady insisted, and it was a brave thing to do, for perhaps it was at the expense of his job. “I’ve got two kids both sick with the mumps and as that girl has had the mumps, she helps my wife out like she was a relation instead of a dancing partner.” Governor frowned fiercely at this. “T told you before, Conrady, that this here Who’s-this ain’t a dancing partner. She’s an acrobat,” he declared; “‘and I ain’t going to have no acrobats in my family. My wife and I have got other plans for the boy, so don’t forget what I told you, and also be careful of that girl.” He scrambled awkwardly to his feet. “This is what that understander Solomon Weiss did to me, Conrady,” he said by way of ending the interview; “and if ever you drop that girl, I’ll have you indicted for man- slaughter, if it’s the last thing I do.” Now, while the feature picture that week was not all that it ought to have been, neither was the weather, and nothing drives a motion-picture audience into the shelter of a warm theater so much as a cold, windy day. Moreover, the programs of The Governor’s Theater Mat 5 a reputation for variety of entertainment, just as its modern leather seats did for comfort, and the combination served to counteract the weakness of the feature film, so that by the time Conrady and Doloretes appeared on the apron of the big Governor’s ‘Theater stage, there was a burst of genuine applause from a well-filled house. In theaters devoted to the legitimate drama, the apron of the stage is that part of it which lies between the line where the curtain ordi- narily falls and the edge of the stage in which are placed the footlights, but in The Governor’s Theater, the apron was much larger and jutted out into the orchestra pit much farther than in a legitimate theater. Moreover, an additional curtain was draped over the apron so that it fell in the form of an arc immediately behind the footlights, and it was this curtain which had parted and disclosed the graceful figure of Conrady clad in his immaculate dress suit and the slender, charming form of Doloretes, Her oval head with a somewhat longish nose, like an early Italian portrait, was crowned by a mass of dark hair drawn back loosely intoa knot at the nape of her slender white neck, and - at her appearance, George had delegated his duties to the house treasurer and had hastened into the orchestral pit, to gaze his fill on what to him was a picture of ravishing beauty—and he was not altogether a poor judge at that, “Some queen!” Arnaldo Di Candia, the con- ductor, remarked to George as he tapped with his baton by way of signaling the beginning of the “Valse des Fleurs” from ‘““The Nutcracker Suite” of Tschaikovsky. For the first few moments Conrady and his partner waltzed conventionally, but by de grees they introduced new steps and postures which were punctuated by frequent applause from the audience. At last they reached the clou of their performance, the swing-around to which Mr. Governor had so persistently ob- jected. It consisted in Conrady grasping the ankle of Doloretes’ right leg while she at first balanced herself by holding onto Conrady’s elbow with her right hand. Gradually she re- leased her hold on his elbow until she was whizzing around almost horizontally, with only the grasp of her partner on her right ankle to prevent her flying out into the audience or against the sides of the proscenium opening. It was truly a dangerous feat—one which ap- pealed most strongly to the subconscious and unconscious thirst for blood which in Spain is — by bull-fights and in Harlem by prize ghts. Not once in Conrady’s career as a dancer had this thirst been assuaged, and he always had landed his somewhat disheveled condition the plaudits of the unconsciously disappointed audience. But then, on other occasions, he had not been worried by two children at home with the mumps, an employer momentarily threatening — his discharge and a dancing partner who be fore the act began had snapped her fingers his face and had poured on him a flood of French idiom of which he understood nothing” except that it was intended to be insulting. — Moreover, Conrady was accustomed to apply powdered rosin to his own hand and his pate ner’s ankle, which made the acrobatic grip by « which he held her almost unbreakable, but im | the excitement attending the quarrel betweea them, he had forgotten to do this, and when at about the tenth hair-raising whirl, he remem bered this omission, he began to perspire, 4@— rtner on her feet to receive in@ | Soe S8Se SSE868y OW FSEo re rey Sreseeremesceeee coer 1. oa

Page 99

at the ss the his grip shifted slightly. Too late he slowed down, and a shriek from the audience pro- claimed to Mr. Governor in his private office the mishap which-he had stubbornly predicted. Mr. Governor’s theaters were so modern in their appointment that he had even supplied the audience with a small hospital room fin- ished in white enamel and furnished with the most recent first-aid devices, including an ex- tremely recent doctor of medicine. That is to say, if a member of the audience fell ill, he was guaranteed the services, gratis, of Doctor Hyman J. Slotkin, whose private practise had been such that a steady job with practically nothing to do and forty-five dollars a week for doing it, seemed most attractive. He was a nephew of Max Slotkin and was really much more of a nephew than a physician, but while the audience was still shrieking, Doctor Slot- kin hurried toward the stage with his little black bag, prepared for anything. y THE time he reached there, however, Doloretes had been, so to speak, retrieved from the orchestra pit and was lying on the apron of the stage, her head resting on George’s lap. In his leap over the footlights from the or- chestra, with Doloretes in his arms, George had utterly ruined what a second violinist after- ward claimed was a genuine Guarnerius and had also stepped on the face of a ’cellist who later valued his face at nearly as much as the Guarnerius. In spite of these disasters to his players— practically ten percent of his orchestra—the conductor, Arnaldo di Candia, had immediate- ly begun a loud composition to drown out conversation back-stage, especially as those taking part in the conversation were hidden by the outer curtain which had fallen as soon as Doloretes had been lifted to the apron. The audience was thus unable to hear Mr. Jacob Governor roar: “If anybody who ain’t got no business on this stage ain’t off of it in one minute, he can consider he’s got two weeks’ notice from me personally in writing.” He had stumped from his office to the stage as fast as his deformity permitted, and there- fore by the time he arrived, Doctor Slotkin had done practically everything he could to restore Doloretes to consciousness. “What are you fooling around there for?” Gor Governor inquired. “Ain’t you got a ital room fitted up for cases like these?” He then turned to his son. “Go back to your office and stay in it,” he said, “otherwise what I said to them other loafers goes to you too.” He signaled to the house carpenter. “Six stage-hands carry her to that hospital toom,” he said. “Call ’em in here and Ill show them how to do it.” Under his direction, Doloretes was carefully laid on the small bed in the emergency hospital Ttoom of the theater, with Conrady following, and when at last he was left alone with Gover- nor.and Slotkin and the medical nephew, he e into great sobs. “Give that schliemiehl some medicinal bran- dy, doctor,” Jacob said, “and if you ain’t got any your uncle has.” “T have not,” Slotkin exclaimed, “not in this yteranyway. Those were your orders.” Governor raised his eyebrows surprisedly. “Since when was you such a spittler for orders?” he said and then he addressed the doctor: “Give him anyhow some mathematic ts of ammonia, and let me talk to this girl. seems to be conscious now.” “I don’t think she’d better talk,” Doctor Slotkin ventured to say in his quality of medi- cal man, but in his capacity of theater em- ployee, he immediately subsided when Gov- mor gave him a terrifying look, which melted ito pity and kindliness when he bent over retes. He addressed her in French, for as & member of The Six Pastorellis, the ex-Jaro- slaw Gobroczynski spoke all the European and even a couple that were only “Mademo:seile ” he began, “est-ce gue vos Parents habitent en Amérique?” Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 Doloretes shook her head and tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘Ma mére est morte,’ she replied, “et mon pére habite a Nice. Il est le concierge de V Hotel Probasco.” “Nebich!” he exclaimed. ‘Her mother’s dead and her father lives in Nice. He’s the janitor of a hotel there.” “Then I guess I’d better ring up an ambu- lance from Longvue Hospital,” Doctor Slot- kin said. “Longvue Hospital!” Jacob Governor ex- claimed. “Do you think I would let her go to a public hospital? Ring up geschwind Doctor Eichendorfer, the crook what charged me two thousand dollars for telling me he couldn’t straighten out my leg. It was anyhow the truth, even it was high-priced!’ Once more he bent over Doloretes. ‘“Restez tranquille, mademoiselle. Tout est d mes frais. “T know them people, Slotkin,” he said to his partner, “they can stand pain but expense kills em. I just told her that all her expenses would be paid.” “They will, hey?” Slotkin exlaimed. ‘“Sup- posing I have only a one-eighth interest in The Governor Theayters, one-eighth of Eichen- dorfer’s bills ain’t to be sneezed at neither.” “Say, listen,” Governor cried. ‘Was you ever an acrobat? Was you ever even a rope- walker? No! You was in the pants business and afterwards you owned a penny arcade, so where do you come in to pay her expenses? Holler when you’re hurt, Slotkin, not before.” He nodded at Conrady. “Come into my office,” he said, “I want to talk to you.” Conrady tottered after his employer and sank into a chair, where once more he covered his face with his hands and broke into sobs. “Say! Say!” Governor cried. “You’re an acrobat—ain’t it?—-and accidents like this is liable to happen to any acrobat. “Furthermore, you’ve got a heart, whereas this here Solomon Weiss what let me down, he never even come near the hospital to see what they was doing to me there, and believe me, they did a-plenty,” he continued. ‘Doctor Eichendorfer says it wasn’t Solomon Weiss I should kill but the doctors in that charity hospital. They let my bones knit so that my thigh is pretty near attached to my knee. “But that ain’t going to happen to this girl,” he declared. ‘“She’s going to have the best up- to-date treatment and she’s coming out of this in A-number-one condition no matter what it costs me.” “And J’ll pay you back, Mr. Governor, if I’ve got to save for the rest of my life,” Conrady said brokenly. “You wouldn’t positively do nothing of the kind,” Governor declared. ‘What do you think I am, anyway? I should stand by and let a girl become a cripple—which she’s already an acrobat and an orphan?” “She ain’t an orphan,” Conrady said. “She’s got anyhow a father.” “Is that so!’ Governor retorted. “Well, if you think a girl which has got left only a father and him a janitor, Conrady, ain’t an orphan, you don’t know no more about orphans than you do about janitors.” He searched in a file for Conrady’s contract. “T see you’ve got another twelve days to go on this engagement, Conrady,” he said, “which I understand you told me there was plenty of these here acrobats like Dollar-eats laying around, so go ahead and hire one, and finish out here, and if your acts goes over with the new Dollar-eats like it did with the old one, T’ll take up the option, too. But remember, no miore of them swing-arounds in my houses.” Conrady stood up unsteadily. “Mr. Gov- ernor,” he began, “what can I say?” Governor bent on him another fierce scowl. “Don’t say nothing,” he declared. ‘Keep it to yourself, otherwise every usher which has got a stomachache will expect to go to a hos- pital at my expense.” A moment later, Slotkin presented himself at Governor’s office. “She’s resting comfort- able,” Slotkin said. ““Hyman just gave her a shot of morphin. He says her thigh’s broken, and she was suffering like anything.” 117 Governor groaned aloud. “Did I ask you how she was resting or how she wasn’t rest- ing?” he demanded. “Attend to business, Slotkin, and forget about that girl.” “Say! Did I send for Eichendorfer or did you?” Slotkin retorted. “Who is talking about Eichendorfer?” Gov- ernor roared. “Which I naturally must got to make allowances for a pants-maker because the most he ever seen in the way of an accident was a needle runs through a greenhorn’s finger, but when we get three rotten feature pictures, one after the other, Slotkin, that ain’t an accident.” “Well, I wrote six times already to Golden- weiser, of the Superior Pictures that we would cancel the contract if they don’t improve,” Slotkin protested. “What good is writing?” Governor said. “Letters slip off them people like water from a duck’s neck. The thing to do is to send George out there. Let him talk turkey to them.” “A kid twenty-two talking turkey?” Slotkin exclaimed. “Say!” Governor began. “You know as well as I do that he could be fifty-two even, but there ain’t no better judge of entertainment values than that boy in the whole motion- picture business. He called the turn on ‘Flam- ing Flames’ when everybody said it was a rot- ten picture, and it grossed a couple of million; and it’s due to him that I took a half-interest in it, and it was your foolishness that because my son said for you to go in it with me, you wouldn’t touch it.” Slotkin at once grew furious. “How many times are you going to tell me this?” he demanded. “Over and over again you repeat yourself. A thousand times you’ve told me about your accident. A thousand times you’ve told me about the Pastorellis. I know their whole route which they played it for five years. You don’t know what a nuisance you make of yourself to your family and your friends. It’s time someone told you, and I’m going to do it, too. I bet I’ve heard you say once a day for ten years how you’re going to kill that understander Solomon Weiss, and yet you owe everything you’ve got to him.” “‘What!”’ Governor shouted. “Sure you do,” Slotkin continued. “You should ought to advertise for him and pay him a commission, because if he hadn’t let you down, what would you be today yet? An acro- bat, and instead, you’re a millionaire, and you don’t appreciate it. I guess you’d sooner be a top-mounter with a team of bums in a circus.” Governor’s pale face grew paler. “In the pants business you'll find bums a-plenty, Slotkin,” he said, ‘“‘but it’s only once in a hundred years where you find by acrobats a bum like Solomon Weiss, and if you must know, Slotkin, I’d a whole lot sooner associate with acrobats than with pants-manufacturers, so if you don’t mind, Slotkin, please close the door behind you and tell George he should be prepared to leave for Los Angeles tonight.” ® a brief interval, Slotkin contemplated a retort, but he noticed in time that Governor was reaching for the ink-well, and he made a hurried exit. Ten minutes later George burst into the room. “What’s all this about me going to Los Angeles?” he asked breathlessly. “Sit down, George, and don’t get excited,” Governor said. “The train don’t start till to- morrow afternoon.” “But you don’t want me to go to Los Angles now?’ George exclaimed. “Why not?” Governor asked. “Should I wait till them Superior Pictures people has un- loaded every bust they’ve got? Ain’t it enough that they’ve put over on us, one after the other, the three worst pictures of the year?” “Why don’t you tell me the real reason?” George said bitterly. “Why don’t you tell me you want me to get away from that girl, now—when she’s sick and even dying!” “You ain’t been behaving like a loafer to a young girl like that, have you?” Governor said hoarsely. “You know darned well I haven’t.”

Page 100

118 “Then what’s to keep you from going to Los Angeles?” Jacob asked and relighted his cigar in order to hide from his eyes but not from his heart that George’s underlip quivered slightly. After this he gave George further.time for controlling his feelings by searching for the Superior Pictures contract. “Now here’s where we’ve got them dead to rights,” he began, and for the next quarter of an hour, he talked business so earnestly that George was obliged to listen. They were interrupted at last by the entrance of a tall person who early in his medical career had compensated an extremely bald head with a most impressive black beard. It was Doctor : Eichendorfer who had come straight from his - patient with hardly the slightest delay. That is to say he had only lingered in the hospital room long enough to assure Doctor Hyman Slotkin that he never split fees for any reason whatever. - . “She’s in excellent condition,” he assured Governor, “although it will probably be three months before she’s able to stand on that leg.” “What did I tell you?” Governor said to George. ‘You'll be back in three weeks at’the' latest, ain’t it?” Eichendorfer looked from: father to son as’ though he — to see some sign of a ro- mance, but Governor puffed steadily at his cigar while George maintained more than a poker face. : “TI was saying to my father that you’d probably keep that girl in your sanitarium as long as it’d take me to make my trip to Los Angeles,” he said, “‘and that it would probably bankrupt her.” “Ts that girl paying her own medical ex- nses?” Ejichendorfer asked. “Certainly she is,” Governor replied: ‘She ain’t no relatio#’ of ours, Eichendorfer, and while we may advance her-some of your fees, sooner or later she’ll have:to pay them back.” “And I was certainly an optimist when I thought she’d be in your sanitarium for only three weeks, doctor,” George added. “I guess when you once get a good attraction into the house, you keep it there for a long run.” “T don’t keep patients longer than I have to,”” Doctor Eichendorfer replied sourly. ‘Es- pecially when they can’t afford it.” “Well, you’ve got one of the specially kind right here,” Governor told him. “Her father’s a janitor in France, so if you was going to charge her like her father was a janitor in New York, cut it in half and you'll be just about right.” “How do you know her father’s a janitor?” George asked sharply. She told me so herself,” Governor replied— ‘Gn French. It’s the truth, George, so I guess, Doctor Eichendorfer, we wouldn’t keep you from your patient. Do all you can for her, and we'll stand back of her, considering she’s an acrobat and a janitor’s daughter.” H HOBBLED to his feet and practically thrust the doctor out of the room. Then he turned and bent over his son. “George,” he said, “heaven knows I don’t put myself above any janitor’s daughter. Everybody’s got to make a living somehow, but you’re our only child, George, and if you was to go to work and marry an acrobat which was a janitor’s daughter and not one of our own people, neither, George, is this fair to your mommer and me?” George made no answer. “Besides, George, somebody’s got to go to Los Angeles, and you know what a schliemiehl Slotkin is,”” Governor added. George nodded sadly. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I stopped in at the sanitarium tonight just to say good-by to her,” he said. ‘Why, certainly,” Governor answered heart- ily. “Go tonight and take her some flowers.” He patted his son’s shoulder quite jovially, because he knew from his own painful experi- ence that following so severe an accident, not only would Doctor Eichendorfer refuse to let George see the patient, but that even if he did see her, she would be unable to recognize him. “But don’t be surprised if she looks worse

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929, than she is,” he said. “She might even be un- conscious even.” That evening at dinner in his apartment, Governor ate with poor appetite. “Yes, Mommer,”’ he said to his wife, “when I run away from Gobroczynsk and become an acrobat, I was one from eleven children, and still my mother didn’t forgive me.” “She was harder-hearted than I would be,” Mrs. Governor said. “I guess that boy could do anything and I’d forgive him anyway.” “Well, don’t tell him so—not just now any- way,” Governor advised her. “Because maybe you'll have to later.” «Mrs. Governor had been courted by her hus- band in the days when he was particularly afflicted with acrobatophobia. That is to say, he'had chosen’a mate who even before their marriage had looked as unlike a tra per- former as possible, and after twenty-five years of married life, and with a stature of five feet four inches, she had been obliged to cut out all starchy foods in order to keep below a hundred and eighty pounds. “That boy is never going to do anything to make us ashamed of him, Jake,” she declared. “Not if I can help it,” Governor answered, and then he related to. Mrs. Governor all the moving incidents ‘of his business day, not ex- cluding the inferior moving picture which had been at the root of all his trouble. - “So when the boy comes home, Mommer,”’ he said, ‘don’t let on you know nothing, be- cause he’s going to feel awful sick about the way that girl is suffering.” - wouldn’t breathe a word,” Mrs. Governor said. “No matter how bad he looks, just say you think he’s been working too hard and the trip to Los Angeles would do him good,” Governor told her. “You could rely upon me absolutely,” Mrs. Governor said, and she meant it, but when at half past eleven George entered the apartment, all Mr. Governor’s advice went for nothing. “George,”’ she cried, ‘‘what’s the matter? Are you sick?” George made no answer but sank into the nearest chair. His face was the color of chalk, and even his father grew alarmed. : “Nu, George,” he said, “I told you she’d be unconscious.” “She wasn’t unconscious,” George said. “She knew what she was doing. She said that you thought I was too good to associate with her, and she told me that I was never to speak to her, never to come to see her again. Mrs. Con- rady was there. She speaks French and she translated the names Doloretes called you and me. She also called us a few on her own ac- count.” Governor shrugged. ‘Well, I didn’t expect no better,’ he said, “but she’ll stay there just the same, till she’s better.” “She’s going to Longvue tomorrow,” George declared. “She won’t take a cent of our money. She hasn’t a broken leg. It’s just a dislocation, and she’ll be all right soon.” Mrs. Governor leaned over and kissed her son’s forehead. “Next week you and me will go to Atlantic City,” she said. “You need a rest.” “Atlantic City nothing,” he said. “I’m going to Los Angeles. I’m going to start some- thing with those Superior Pictures people which will bust open their entire organization.” “You've got my permission,” Governor said. “Tf it hadn’t been for that last picture of theirs, we never would have been obliged to hire an act like Conrady’s,’”’ George continued; “and why we should be tagging along with an outfit like the Superior is a mystery to me.” “That’s been my opinion for a long time,” Governor remarked. “Then if something don’t break by the time I’ve been in Los Angeles a week, wire me to come home,” he announced, but something did break. By the end of a week, George had started negotiations with the Superior Pictures people for the sale of The Governor Theaters: at a figure hitherto unheard of in the history of motion-pictures and by the end of a month, Mr. and Mrs. Governor sat in the living-room of their apartment with George and Slotkin- discussing their entire absence of future plans, © “Well, there’s one thing I ain’t going to do,” Slotkin announced. “T ain’t going back into the motion-picture business, which my. nephew - Hyman Slotkin says there’s a lot of money in the private sanitarium business if you’ve got — a good clever doctor at the head of it.” “Then that cuts out Hyman, because he went to work and give that girl a shot of mor. phin on the grounds that she had a broken leg, when today yet she’s doing four of them per. - formances a day at the Lungarno Theayter,” Governor remarked, and Mrs. Governor nudged ~ him so ostentatiously that George smiled, al- — though it was a sad enough smile. “T know all about it,” George said, “but I’ve . not tried to see her and I’m not going to—not ~ after the last time. I guess, in her French way, : she must have thought that what you told ‘ Conrady that afternoon was mighty insulting.” - “Why should I insult her?”’ Jacob said. “I simply told Conrady I didn’t want my boy to marry no acrobat, especially as she ain’t from our people; but as a matter of fact it ain’t the acrobat I cared about so much. 1 ain’t got nothing against no acrobats except one.” “TI heard tell of him before,” Slotkin in- terrupted, “but Europe’s already a big place, Mr. Governor, and as you don’t stand no chance of meeting him there after thirty years, why don’t you take Mrs. Governor and George for a trip? I should think you would want to — show them all them places you’ve been talking * about for:ten years, day in and day out.” “T’d love to see them,” Mrs. Governor said, ; as she clasped her husbaiud’s hand. 3 “And there’s no reason why you shouldn't,” / Governor said: “Bela Pastor may have got us | weak spots on the bill:once in a while, but he * always insisted we should-behave like gentle = men, which heaven knows he. done his best to keep Weiss from schickering.-I don’t know how many times he knocked him senseless with a stage brace, so therefore; Mommer, if :you and George would like to go to Europe; I’m agree- able. What do you say, George?” Ar ae ~~ mE teat us ope a CIP SLE Seger EORGE had picked up a copy of a motion- < picture weekly and was immersed in the — latest releases, especially the first showing of a. picture at the Lungarno Theater. The news item mentioned that the picture received strong support from a vaudeville bill headed by Con- rady and Doloretes and said further that this popular dance team was engaged to appear at various music-halls in Europe. “How about it, George?” Jacob said again. “How about what?” George asked. ; “A trip to Europe for you, your mommer and me,” Jacob said, and George folded the’. motion-picture weekly and put it in his pocket. “T’ll go, if you want me to,” he said as non- chalantly as he could, and thus it followed that in late September, George, sna and Mrs. Governor secured e on board one of the largest and most overdecorated steamships in the North Atlantic service. It had taken nearly four months to settle up the affairs of — The Governor’s Theaters, including the pass- ing of title to the Superior Pictures people and the settlement of two claims, one for d to what was represented to be a Guarnerius — violin belonging to a second violinist, the other for injuries to what in early youth had been considered a face, belonging to the first cellist. These were the only reminders of the ac cident which had resulted in the sale of the theaters, except that in George’s cabin on the day of sailing there was an envelop, accom- panying a basket of fruit, principally oranges. The ship was two ~~ out before George opened the envelop. The handwriting was quite unformed and childish and it contained no signature, but had it been written by Eliza- beth Barrett Browning in collaboration with Christina Rossetti it could not have appealed - so vividly to George’s imagination, nor have set his heart to beating so quickly. It read: Bon voyage . . . I amsorry I insult you. a They spent the months of October and

Lanagren a8

H

Page 101

920. lotkin~ plans, § 0 do,” — ito the ephew - ney in ve got | ise he f mor- on leg, n per- yter,": & udged — od, al- it I’ve F —not © l way, © 1 told © ting.” - d. ba: i oy to t from < s o- & =o = me PTE:

Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929

Soft foods harm the gums but Ipana and massage bring them back to health ST steal a glance, to the left or right, next time you sit down to dinner! Delicious this modern food may be... but how much chewing does it need? Day after day you eat the soft fare of civilization. Your gums are robbed of their needed work and exercise. Is it any wonder that they become soft and tender . . . that they bleed easily -.. that “pink tooth brush” comes, with its warning of worse trouble ahead? How Ipana and massage defeat “pink tooth brush” Fortunately, dentists have found a way to check the alarming spread of gum troubles, Massage the gums, they say, twice daily. For massage stirs the cir-

‘These gums without work! culation of blood within the gum walls, sweeping away impurities, toning the tiny cells and building the tissues back to firm and hardy health. And even better than massage alone is massage with Ipana Tooth Paste. For Ipana has a special ingredient—ziratol —a hemostatic and antiseptic widely used in the practice of dentistry. Its presence gives Ipana the power to tone and invigorate the depleted tissues, re- storing the gums to their normal firm- ness of texture. After you clean your teeth with Ipana, simply squeeze out some more of this delicious dentifrice and brush your gums with it gently. This gentle

This food without fibre * is frictionizing makes your gums firm, rosy—more resistant to disease and in- fection—better guardians of the health and beauty of your teeth. Make a full month’s test of Ipana The coupon offers you a ten-day trial tube of Ipana. Ten days willamply dem- onstrate Ipana’s superb cleaning power, its delicious taste. But it can only start the work of restoring gums to health. So get a full-size tube of Ipana—enough for 100 brushings. Clean your teeth, massage your gums, with Ipana, twice a day, for one full month, and learn the double joy of sparkling teeth and firm, healthy gums. v 7 7 7 BRISTOL-MYERS CO., Dept. H-39 73 West Street, New York, N. Y. Kindly send me a trial tube of PANA TOOTH PASTE. Enclosed is a two-cent stamp to cover partly the cost of packing and mailing.

Page 102

120 November in Paris, where George visited all the music-halls with the diligence of a big-time vaudeville operator looking for new material. But what George sought was a vaudeville team of established reputation called Conrady and Doloretes, and he had not succeeded in finding them when Mrs. Governor was seized with an attack of flu. Now when a tourist succumbs to flu in Paris during the month of November, as soon as the patient is able to travel, he or she is immedi- ately recommended to exchange the rain and dampness of Paris for the rain and dampness of Cannes, because there exists a medical super- stition in France that tropical heat begins on the Riviera when the summer rates at the hotels end. HEREFORE, in late November, the Gover- nor family found themselves in one of the best hotels then open in Cannes. There are some better ones which open Jater, but by this time, Jacob Governor was tired of extremely good hotels. His repertoire of eight European languages was quite-wasted in Paris, and it was not until he arrived at Cannes that he quite a long conversation in Hungarian with the proprietor of an umbrélila shop where he had gone to buy a couple of spares in case his regular umbrella should be blown inside out. ‘“‘What does one do to amuse oneself in Cannes so early in the season?” he asked the umbrella merchant. “There is always the Casine,” the umbrella dealer replied. . “Saturday there is to be the first gala dinner and at it will ap) ‘some dancers—a man and a woman—the woman young and how beautiful!” He spoke Hungarian with a-strong Pressburg accent but he kissed the‘tips of his ‘fingers.as one born and brought up in Budapest. “That is the bill,” he said, indicatifg‘a pos- ter on the wall of the shop, and right-there he lost the sale of two good hundred-and-fifty- franc umbrellas; for after one glance at the poster Jacob lurched through the doorway ‘of the shop and clumped hurriedly to his hotel. “Mommer!” he cried, “what do you think now? Conrady and Dollar-eats are here— right here in Cannes.” “Well, what of it?’”? Mrs. Governor asked. ‘What do you mean, what of it?” he retorted. “T’ll tell you what I mean,” she began. “I mean you’re blind. You don’t see nothing by what goes on right underneath your eyes.” “You mean the boy has been with her again?” he exclaimed. “T wish he had,” Mrs. Governor said sadly. “You what?” Governor cried. ‘You must be crazy.” “I am crazy!” Mrs. Governor said. “Any mother would be. My only son I’ve got to watch day after day, eating his heart out, get- ting thinner and thinner, and all because of foolishness.” “You call this foolishness—that the boy shouldn’t marry a girl called Dollar-eats!” Governor said sternly, but it had no effect on Mrs. Governor. “Say! Say!” she interrupted. “She could be called Lina Svendsen, even, and if he wants to marry her, what do I care. Only that he should be happy again. That’s all.” Fora moment Governor gazed at his wife and then threw up one hand despairingly. “All right,” he said, “if that’s what you want, Saturday night you and him can go to the gala dinner at the Casino, and then you can ask her over to your table like we done with them three acrobats in that Paris restaurant.” “You mean that?” she exclaimed, and Governor shrugged his sheulders. “Tt’s out of my hands,” he said. “I was doing it for you and for him, but if you want it otherwise, go ahead to the gala dinner. Only leave me out of it. That’s all.” He sat down and had spread out a Conti- nental edition of an English paper by way of ending the conversation, when George entered. “This is certainly some wet weather for the sunny South,” he remarked. “Where was you?” his father asked. “tonight.” > “‘Juan-les-Pins,” George answered. “It’s a resort about five miles down the line. I went to the Casino there to a gala tea. They hada couple of American dancers, and who do you suppose they were?” “T can read posters just so well as you, George,” Jacob answered. “I suppose you had a long talk with them, what?” “T had a long talk with Conrady,” George said. ‘His wife and kids are in Nice.” He sat down with his head bent and his hands clasped and hanging down between his knees in an attitude of utter dejection, and his mother rose and put her arm around him. ‘“‘What’s the matter?” she asked gently. “Did Doloretes insult you again.” “Doloretes!” he said. “Oh! This isn’t the same Doloretes. The one that danced in our theater stayed back in America. She was afraid that if she came over to France they wouldn’t let her land again in New York.” His face was-white and drawn, and now that his wife had called attention to it, Jacob began to'think the boy eres aye ill. He threw down his Continental daily and lighted a large igar with an air of great determination, _ “Well,” he said, “I don’t know about’ you folks, but I’m getting awful sick of: this. Nothing but rain.all the time. Let’s do some- thing, George. Let’s see some life. Can’t we all hire a-car and go down to Nice for dinner?” “You and George go,” Mrs. Governor said. - “The doctor said I shouldn’t go out in the night. air.” ‘ “And it’s a long ride, Dad,” George said— “and most of the road isypretty bad.” _— - “You don’t mind if George and me go and leave you alone?” Governor asked his wife. ing special which I want-to do “Why tonight?” -Mrs.’Governor insisted, and Mr. Governor shr i “Maybe you’ve’ noticed and ‘maybe you haven’t that since last May I haven’t talked much about myself, because Slotkin and me had a kind of an argument, and he said to me that I didn’t know how I repeated myself over and over again, and that I must have told him about my accident a thousand times,” he said; “but anyhow; for the thousand-and-first time, Mommer, I wanted to say that tonight thirty years ago, I left that hospital in Bordeaux. “Twenty-five years old, I was, and you couldn’t find a more ery, young feller in Europe,” he continued, “and it ain’t right that young fellers like that should be unhappy, Mommer, so therefore as long as George is feeling blue tonight, him and me is going to Nice to cheer up.” “But Dad,” George protested, “it’s raining.” “So much the better,” Governor said. ‘‘We can have a good long talk in the automobile and we won’t be interrupted by the scenery.” Accordingly, ten minutes later, George and his father were speeding toward Nice. “In the first place, George,” Governor be- gan, ‘we shouldn’t throw each other no bluffs, which what I said to Mommer a few minutes since goes, and goes to the limit.” “J didn’t quite understand what you did say,” George answered. “T said it wasn’t right that young fellers your age should be unhappy,” Governor repeated. “Who told you I was unhappy?” “And I also said,” Governor continued with- out appearing to notice the interruption, “that we shouldn’t throw no bluffs, which if you wasn’t unhappy when you came in today and told us that this Dollar-eats wasn’t that Dollar- eats, I wouldn’t be taking this trip to Nice.” “‘What’s Nice got to do with it?” George de- manded. “Didn’t I tell you her father was a janitor in Nice?” Jacob asked in return. - “You said France,” George replied. : ‘“‘Well, Nice has been France ever since an awful long time, George,” Jacob said, “and what that girl told me was that her father was janitor or concierge of the Hétel Probasco, and if this here chauffeur don’t run us into a trolley-car or over a railroad bridge, we'll be there in less than half an hour.” Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 19% ‘Mr. LeBlanc There was a long and somewhat bumpy in, terlude in the conversation. “Only one thing I want to warm George,” Jacob said at last. “You may think that our people are pretty strict about ing this way, but they ain’t a marker on what you're going to run up against with this girl;

pew At first we won’t stress the point at all.” George nodded. “Let me do the talking,” Jacob said as they descended from the car at. the carriage en. trance of the Hétel Probasco. “Now in the first place what is this girl Dollar-eats’ name?” George shrugged. ‘The only name I knoy is Doloretes,” he said as they ascended the short flight of steps leading to the lobby. ‘Well, the next time,” Governor said, “find out the girl’s name first and fall in love after wards. It’s more businesslike.” They proceeded at once to the concierge’s desk behind which was a smooth-faced youth “Ts the concierge around?” Jacob asked, “You wish-for speak him personally or cag I speak?” the youth said. ‘* “You can’t speak English anyhow,” Jacob said; ‘‘but even if you could, I want to talk to the concierge personally, and it’s important.” » “Be%So*much to have the kindness and walk this way,” the young man sajd and proceeded to the combined bar and grill-room where 4 melancholy: waiter was assisting a solitary diner to soup. Pcs “Monsieur. LeBlanc,” the smooth -faced young man said, ‘fon-vous nde < a -The solitary diner rose and_ polished a large bristling mustache with his napkin. “You wish to see me, gentlemen?” he said in-a bass voice. Hé was over six feet tall and conneqponiieny btoad, although he was not at all 3 : ‘Are you the concierge?” Jacob asked, and ¢ fingered the cross keys which adorned the lapel of his coat. “As you see,” he said, “I am.” ‘My name is Jacob Governor and this is my son, George,” Governor said, whereat the con- cierge bowed. It was the kind of bow whichis prompted as much by courtesy as by the an ticipation of favors to be received. : “Please to be seated,” the concierge said, and signed to the waiter to resume pouring the soup. The waiter did so with surprising obsequiousness, considering that he was setv- ing a concierge, and Jacob noticed it. “Perhaps we’ve made a mistake,”’ he said. “We called to see the concierge of the H td Probasco and the daughter of this conciergeis a dancer in America. Her stage names Dollar-eats.” The concierge once more polished his mus tache which was rather moist from his fint | spoonful of soup. “You have made no mistake,” he said. “I have a daughter in America. She’s my est daughter, but she makes all her own bus ness arrangements. So therefore, if you've come to see about an engagement——” He paused, made an eloquent gesture with both hands and immediately resumed his soup, “As a matter of fact, we did call to see about an engagement,” Jacob said, “but it isn'ta business engagement exactly.” ; \HE concierge was midway in the swallow ing of some soup. He gulped it hurried ly, and gasped for breath. : “English!” he exclaimed. “That’s a law guage for riddles. Forty years I’ve spoken it and still I get mixed. Do you -_ perhaps Hungarian or perhaps Polish? ‘These are my native languages. I was born behind Press burg.” “And Iwas born behind Krakow,” Jacob Governor replied in Polish; “but now I amat American, and I came here on this e night to speak to you about your daughter fot my son here. He wants to marry her.” : Apparently the concierge’s Polish and Hum garian creaked from disuse, for he imm broke into French. Pe “Ca c'est formidable,” he said and made

SSE SAeaagrer ser. werwsn ea, BPS 25 hm

Page 103

love after. concierge’s ped youth, >” he said ix feet tall zh he was isked, and eys which this is my it the con- w which is »y the an- erge said, ouring the surprising was Serv. E ” he said. the H td oncierge is - name is 1 his mus n his first » said. “I ny young: own bust if you're sture with d his soup ) see it isn'ta Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 12] ‘New ‘Rugs made from Your Old Rugs and Clothing eAt Small Cost! By Leone Mitprep MicHELL ° . £ Authority on Home Decorating L homes beautiful I am going to tell you of an economical plan I use in providing harmonious new rugs at a Cost that fits the smallest purse. What woman hasn’t pictured the kind of Tugs she wants?—closely-woven, deep-nap Tugs in the harmonious, up-to-date, two- toned effects or the colorful new Oriental, Modernistic, Oval or Hooked Patterns, By a wonderful patented process, one of the largest and oldest rug manufacturers in this country will take all kinds of old rugs, Carpets, and clothing, and reclaim the ma- terial in them so it is as good as new. This isdone by a process of shredding, washing, sterilizing, bleaching and combing. The re- claimed material is then A one whose mission it is to make f REVERSIBLE worried me before its arrival because my old material was a hodgepodge of all kinds and colors. After seeing these rich-looking rugs, I have no hesitation in recommending them for the finest homes. Your (Choice of (Colors You are not limited in your choice of colors or patterns. Your new rug can be made in any of the charming new shades— Taupe, Grey Green, Mahogany, Mole, Grey Blue, Beaver Brown, Persian Gold, Rose, Russet, Autumn Oak, or Mulberry —in any of twenty-six rich colors and combinations. You will be delighted to find these rugs are woven seamless and re- dyed any color, and woven into extremely good-look- ing Duo-Velvety rugs. Reclaimed Like New WAS more than sur- prised upon receiving my first rug to find that in €very respect it was brand new. The reclaimed mate- Nal was not evident to the Most practiced eye. This versible with thesameclose, firm nap on both sides to give double wear —features hard to find in store rugs. Hereis another very im- portant thing; these rugs can be made to your order Any Size in a week. They Let You Try ~ Your Rugs The whole thing is so simple. You send in your felis 30 New Patterns to choose from: Plain, Two-Tone, Oriental, Moderne and Hooked Patterns—Any Size. bundle of old materials. Within 10 days back come your new rugs. To quote from the manufacturer’s guarantee: “‘Subject the rugs to hard everyday wear; compare them with store rugs costing twice as much, then if you are not delighted, send them back at our ex- pense and we will pay you liberally for your old material.” A mighty strong guar- antee and one you can be absolutely sure they will live up to. The manufacturer pays transportation charges on your mate- rial from all states as explained in their book. They have branches in the large cities where you can see the rugs. Write for This Unusual Book Every home lover will welcome this splen- did book, beautifully illustrated in colors. As an interior decorator myself, I promise you that this book is well worth sending for. 1 am attaching a coupon for your convenience. Write to Dept. C- 23, O.tson Ruc Company Laflin St., Chicago. a FREE BOOK OLSON RUG CO., : Dept. C-23, Laflin St., Chicago Gentlemen: At Miss Michell’s suggestion I | | should ithe to receive a complimentary copy of “‘Home Decorating — Inexpensively,”’ tlius- trated in actual colors, also your low prices. | A | | Street (R:F.D.)..... ccc reece cece ccceceeee | | N | |

Page 104

Coucu S and colds will happen in the best regulated families, but there is no reason why they should be allowed to gettheupper hand—tobecome annoying—to the victim or to Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 . : yl joe \ ‘fs those with whom he or she - an must come in contact. At the -,—~ \ i } . oe aye. 7 | first sign of cough or cold— / d take a Luden’s—let it melt in Caney your mouth — breathe deeply ky — quick relief. : a fl upEN’s Menthol Action is unique—exclusive. There is nothing like itamong its many imitators— nothing that so quickly brings ease and com- fort to the easily irritated air passages of throatand nose. For Luden’s are made according to an old time-tested formula —a secret that has been care- fully guarded ever since the fame of Luden’s began to spread, some thirty years ago. LUDEN’S, Inc. ONE LUDEN'’S AFTER EVERY 10 CIGARETTES IS THE NEW RULE FOR SMOKERS WITH 5¢ TENDER THROATS In the triple- sealed yellow package everywhere ‘business deal? After all, my daughter i slight gesture with both hands close to hig: breast. It implied that this was a matter which wanted looking into, and it also conveyed the idea that his objections were financial. Evidently Governor considered that the con. cierge had committed a breach of the language rules under which they were conducting ne- gotiations, for at once he resorted to English, “Say! Say!” he cried. “You're a janitor, ain’t it? Whereas I ain’t boasting nor nota but ask anybody about The Governor's Theayters in New York.” The concierge shrugged his broad shoulders, “You are mistaking yourself,” he said. “You know the French language like a dictionary not like a business man. A concierge, that’s a janitor, but the concierge of the Hétel Probas. - co, formerly the concierge of the Hotel Im pératrice, is not a word in a dictionary, Mon. - sieur. He means something for which you have - no English, so therefore I can’t tell you.” He rose from the table, a good six feet three, “Have the goodness to look through the window and across the street you will see a dagen palais which you call apartment-house,” e said and then slapped his great chest with his right hand. “Mine, all mine. a “The Hotel Probasco,” he continued. “One of a chain of four—owned by a société anonyme oo you call it. And the princi stockholder———” Once more he slapped his chest. “Me again,”’ he said. = “And you let your daughter, ‘a young: girl, dance for a living?” Governor exclaimed. % “What can I do?” he said. “It’s in ‘the blood. I give you my word of honor, Mr, Governor, only that she will come home to me and she shall have a dot like a princess.” “‘A what like’a princess?” George inquired. ‘A dot,” Jacob said. “A dowry, but since the war princesses don’t have such big dots like they once had.” “This is a dot from before the war. But dance she must,” the concierge said. “She insists on dancing. Her mother was a dancer.” “Her mother doesn’t dance any longer, I suppose,”’ George said. : “Her mother is dead, olav hasholom,” the concierge said huskily, and Governor jumped. “What!” he cried. ; 2 “W hat what?” the surprised concierge asked. “What was it you said her mother was?” Governor demanded and the concierge was en- tirely mystified. a “Calm yourself, Monsieur,” he replied. “All I said that her mother was dead olav hasholom.” Jacob turned and embraced his son. aa “Did you hear that, George?” he almost shouted. “He said olav hasholom. He’s speak ing loschen hakodesh. He’s one of us. “Listen, Mr. Janitor or Mr. Millionaire,” he n, “we don’t want no dots. My son wouldn’t know what to do with a dot. He's” got a couple of million—not dots; dollars—and he made it all himself, at his age. Look at him! He’s a good boy, a fine boy. Can you want @ better husband for your daughter?’ a “Dad, Dad, please!” George murmured. “You're talking as though you were trying close a business deal.” FS “Well,” the concierge said, elevating his eyebrows, “how do I know it may not be a= a share of my property.” 4S “We don’t want your property,” Jacob cried.» “Give it to charity or to poor relations. We ~ came here thinking that you were a poor janie, tor and we’re going to treat you that way too, “Pardon?” the concierge said loftily. ae “He means that we have no dots in America and men don’t marry for money there—not — usually anyway,” George explained. “All 17 want'to do is to marry your daughter and make ~ her happy, and when I die, she shall have all that J have. “J don’t want anything you have,” he de clared. “I don’t need it. I know in the old country here they have old-fashioned ideas like settling money on the bride, or for all I know, on the bride’s family. I suppose it’s got to be done by a lawyer, so just hire one, Tl pay him.”

Page 105

Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 123 =| We know our Luckies hats how we stay slender 99 | lesen! woman who fears overweight finds keen interest in new-day and common-sense ways to keep a slender, fash- ionable figure. Overweight must be avoided. “Better to lighta Lucky whenever you crave fattening sweets.” Toasting does it. Toasting develops and improves the flavor of the world’s finest tobaccos. Lucky Strike satisfies the long- ing for things that make you fat, without interfering with a normal appetite for healthful foods. That’s why Luckies are good to smoke. Toasting makes Lucky Strike the healthy ciga- rette for you to smoke. - Many men who carefully watch their health discovered this years ago. They know that Luckies steady their nerves and do not slow up their physical vigor—prominent athletes have gone on record that this is so. They know that 20,679 phy- sicians have stated that Luckies are less irritating to the throat than other cigarettes. A reasonable proportion of sugar in the diet is recommended, but the authorities are overwhelming that too many fattening sweets are harmful and that too many such are eaten by the American people. So, for moderation’s sake we say: — “REACH FOR A LUCKY INSTEAD OF A SWEET.” The Mi Catherine Myrna ‘Murrel Finley, nem appearing ans in Ziegfeld’s * ae ; Lucky instead of a sweet. 99 No Throat Irritation- Beste ‘Tt’ Ss To asted "No Cough. Coast to coast radio every Saturday night through the National Broadcasting Comper’ network. The Tacky vena Dees oa habe in The fe Tunes that made Broadway, Broadway.”

Page 106

willful drivin alone VO ] stop shids You seldom see a skid on hard, dry roads...for dry rubber grips. But on snow, no amount of.skill will save you, once your car gets out of con- trol in a skid. For wet rubber slips and only the steel grip of WEED Tire Chains can prevent such skids, If you haven’t WEED Chains, get a set today. Keep them in your car, handy to put on the moment you feel your tires Youcan hase WEED Chains at any service sta- tion or garage. GenuineWEEDS Any garage orfill- ing station attend- ant will be gladto put your chains on for you. WEED Sivel CHAINS Grip ‘Your The concierge gazed at George in genuine astonishment. It was a toss-up as to whether he would summon the police or order a bottle of wine. Jacob intervened, however, and it was the waiter who was summoned—by Jacob and not by the concierge. “Bring a bottle of the best Tchampanyer wine,” he said, and then he addressed the con- cierge. ‘“‘You think he’s crazy but he ain’t. He’s just in love, and the custom in America is that when a man loves a girl enough to marry her, that lets the bride’s family out. All they need give her is a couple wedding presents—not even sterling—triple-plated will do, and after that they can borrow money from her husband for the rest of their lives.” Here the waiter brought the wine and Jacob leaned back in his chair. “Now we can talk this thing over calmly,” he said. “Help yourself, Mr.—er——” “LeBlanc,” the concierge interrupted, “but I never drink anything with alcohol in it.” “And you a Frenchman!” Jacob exclaimed, whereat the concierge shrugged one shoulder only. As it were, he shook off his Frenchness and became a native of Pozsony, a province of Hungary where the concierge had spoken Hungarian in public and Yiddish in private. He now had recourse to this private language, not one word of which George understood. “T have not touched a drop of liquor in over thirty years, Mr. Governor,” he said, “and T’ll tell you why. To look at me now, you would think I was always this way, but I wasn’t. These big bones had flesh on them, pounds and pounds of flesh. I was a regular béhémer. If anyone doesn’t understand the word béhémer, \et him remember the circus poster which used to describe the elephant as the behemoth of Holy Writ. “But since that day thirty years ago,” LeBlanc continued, “I’ve lost flesh year by year, and why?” He leaned across the table and poked Jacob’s sleeve with a bony forefinger. “You think your son is a fine, handsome young man, and he is,” LeBlanc said. “A finer young man of our own people, I couldn’t ask for my daughter; but here, wait a minute —listen to me first and drink afterwards!” This warning was addressed to Jacob who was about to pledge his son’s future happiness in a glass of excellent champagne. “This young man,” LeBlanc proceeded, al- though Jacob was almost too excited to pay any attention to him, “this young man was also a good, clean young fellow. Every week he sent his mother money, and he never behaved except like a good boy.” “Who is this young man you are talking about?” Jacob asked. “You wouldn’t know him, so I won’t men- tion his name,” LeBlanc said. “He was an acrobat.” ‘“‘A what?” Jacob cried. “An acrobat,” the concierge replied, “‘like me.” He rose excitedly and paced upand down. Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 “But I was a drunken acrobat, a schickerg and a murderer,” he said. “Every day for thirty years I’ve thought of it—only that | should meet that yous fellow again and ask him on my knees he should forgive me.” Tears ran down his sunken cheeks. “You was never an acrobat so you can’t ap. preciate this,” he said to Jacob. “But this young fellow he was three up one afternoon and I was the understander. You don’t know what an understander is, I suppose.” ; Jacob made no reply. He was clasping and unclasping his fingers with his hands apart, practising the art of throttling an opponent, “An understander holds up the whole tro; and did I hold them up?” the concierge cried, “T was drunk—schicker like a fool, and that yee fellow, three up, fell to the stage and roke his leg—the big bone. I never even went near him in the hospital to find out how he was getting on but I know them French hospi Today yet, he must be a cripple for life.” He sank back into his chair and covered his face with his hands. George nudged his father, “I don’t know what he’s ing about,” George said, “but if he feels that bad about losing his daughter, I’ll come to live in Nice or T'll pay his fare to America.” “Doesn’t he understand?” the concieme asked and Jacob shook his head. “Gott sei dank,” the concierge continued, “Let him not know that he marries the dea of a murderer. Let him not know that all this which I own, all this which I am, I owe to that young fellow, because that very day, I ma away from the troupe. I became a plongeur,4 glass-washer and a cleaner, and from that! worked my way up in the hotel business, till now you see me, a rich man, and an one.” As the concierge finished, Jacob ceased to exercise his fingers in the grip of death which he had so long anticipated. Instead he seemed to hear his late partner, Max Slotkin, say; “You should ought to advertise for him and ay him a commission, because if he hadn't et you down, you’d be still an acrobat ir stead of a millionaire, and you don’t appred- ate it.” And here sat the very man in front of him, and still Jacob didn’t appreciate it, for it was a rainy day and his leg pained him There was, accordingly, an embarrassi pause, and although George didn’t go the reason for it, he felt obliged to relieve it “By the way, Mr. LeBlanc,” he said, know your daughter only by her stage name, Is she really called Doloretes LeBlanc?” , “She is really called Leah Weiss,” the com cierge replied, “because LeBlanc is the Frend form of Weiss, and my real name is Solomon | Weiss.” George turned to his father. He was ready for any emergency but no emergency arose. Instead, Jacob drained his glass of champagne. “Tell me, Solomon,” he said, “do you ever ane ome of your brother-in-law Bel astor?”” Such Men Are Dangerous (continued jrom pose 49) had a theory that the rack wasn’t such a bad instrument, after all, and he has perfected one which stretches the spine and the neck—I was on it daily for three months. Then he per- formed a slight operation on the shoulder- bones, and stretched the muscles in that part, which let my shoulders drop. That was apretty serious operation. Diet and exercise did the rest of the fining process. Then he made thereat- est change: he cut the skin of my eyelids and drew it down instead of up; he cut and sewed up my mouth, changing the entire expression, and then he remade my nose—which was broken at college. And last and best—look!” With this the man pushed up the loose hand- kerchief on his forehead and disclosed thick, dark hair growing in a point on a Greek brow. “In a month even that fine reddish line at the edge of the growth will be faded, and ff it looks too white we shall have it tattooed the color of the rest of the skin. I’ve had that done to the line on the nose.” “Tt’s a miracle, sir—a miracle.” : “You can always recognize a man by his Johnson, that is why I determined on the der alteration, but it was a near thing!” _ “J don’t see how the hair was managed, sit!” “That was quite simple; my scalp was Pi loose and my forehead wrinkled into a 800 He raised the skin and drew the hair down in# different outline.” : = “Then your complexion, sir—like a girl's “I had the beauty treatment when the cuts were healed, had the whole top layers burnt of with acid.” : “And yet you can see where your beard grows—it’s miraculous, sir, little short of it!” “Yes, they are real artists here. I am havilg a treatment for the vocal cords and am ing lower every day.” "4 aa, Aan aoe tel a ee

Page 107

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 Where Best to Buy A GOOD USED CAR Your Cadillac-La Salle dealer occupies the most advanta- geous position in the buying and selling of Used Cars—as wellas New Cars * 7 ¥7 Tix used car market, generally This, as is well known, is the for- speaking, offers many excellent tunate position of all Cadillac-La values. Salle dealers. It is generally recog- nized that if you want the kind of performance, the measure of safety and ease and the inimitable beauty that Cadillac and La Salle offer, you The first of these is the position and must buy a Cadillac or La Salle. standing of the dealer from whom They are the accepted leaders of the the used car is to be purchased and finest of fine cars. the line of new cars he handles. Only a few simple and common- sense considerations are needed to guide the buyer in this field. Consequently the used cars these dealers offer are fairly priced and the stocks are large and varied. It is obvious that if his new cars are the recognized leaders in their price division he hasa considerable advan- _ tage over his so-called competitors. You may be assured that these cars The demand for his line and the are well conditioned and represent public’s receptive state of mind are exceptional values because every ~ such that he is not tempted to over- Cadillac-La Salle dealer is eager to appraise trade-ins. retain your good will. CADILLAC MOTOR CAR COMPANY Division of General Motors Corporation Detroit, Michigan Oshawa, Canada

Page 108

126 “There are still your ears to be accounted for,” Johnson ventured. The man laughed amusedly. “Yes, they stuck out like an ape’s—and never thinking about them, I had a hair-cut that accentuated their ugliness. The skin was cut behind them and they were drawn back.” “And you are wearing gloves, sir?” “T have to for another week; the operation on my hands was ticklish, I can tell you; first the skin cut and tightened at the side, and then the peeling; but I had almost to pound Rosenberg’s head to get him to do it. The fear of cracking and non-healing is so great. You'll see, how- ever, in a week. They’ll look as young as my face—all those wrinkles and moles gone!” “Mr. Pennington did not know you intended this alteration, sir?” “No, I just disappeared; he had no idea where I was making for, even—or that I had any such idea in my head.” “Beg pardon, sir—but how will you account for me? Isn’t it risky, sir?” “Yes, it may be; but you are necessary to me, Johnson, the one person I can trust. You will soon write to acquaintances in my late house- hold that you would be likely to write to and tell them you are lonely without work, and so have taken a situation with a young Hun- garian gentleman—but you don’t know if you'll like it yet and you hope to see them if you come back to England. Be sure you say a ‘young’ gentleman!” Johnson came as near to grinning as he ever had done in his life. “Why, to be sure, sir— you don’t look more than twenty-five.” “That’s gorgeous, Johnson, old boy. Call for a pint of champagne and let’s drink to Hurkly Ora—that’s my new name, made up of lucky numbers! May he enjoy his new life!” MMA KRANWERTz had been a widow for al- most a year and she was a changed being. Ludwig’s letter had achieved this, she felt, for that enigmatic sentence about “class” had rankled with her and stimulated her to study what he could possibly have meant. She was as good as anyone in America, of fine old May- flower stock, therefore there could not have been any aspersions intended in that respect. “T know,” she said to herself after a month or two; “he meant my class of intellect—the people who, like me, are half asleep. Why am I half asleep? I need not be. I won’t be! Did he kill himself because he could not stand me?” This troubled her exceedingly, and she began to remember some of the wonderful things he had said to her, the whimsical meaning of which had gone over her head. She was onl twenty-six—there was time to alter herself; she never could bring Ludwig back—and she did not know that she wanted to—but she could make something of herself. She would not go back to America—yet. She would hire a highly educated companion, travel in Europe, study all its wonderful art galleries with new eyes. She would read and she would think. Paris should make her individual clothes which should accentuate her style; no longer would she wear what she was told, or do what she was told, or eat what she was told, or—but of course not! There was no one to tell her to do anything any more. It was six months later before a sense of humor began faintly to dawn in Emma: When she realized that the aspects of things were be- ginning to make her laugh and not the things themselves, she almost felt uncomfortable! “Of course Ludwig could not stand me. I was perfectly awful!” At the end of another six months she did return to her native land and went to Santa Barbara. The strength of her character had emerged—she would not invite her mother even. She dispensed with the cultured com- panion and departed to the coast alone. And there she stayed, with only a summer visit to Europe, until her second year of widowhood was almost ended. A year after the financier’s death a very Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929. handsome young gentleman dawned upon the world of Paris and London. Of course it was obvious he was of Jewish extraction, although his strange name gave no clue to his nationality —but the nose was unmistakable, and so was the droop of his large, magnetic, rather melan- choly eyes. He appeared to be really wealthy too. Women fell at his feet and into his arms, and how his weird eyes laughed behind the melancholy interesting droop of his eyelids! It was almost eighteen months since his re- birth when he fell in with Lady Ayencourt, an attractive widow who had been Angelica Carew of Philadelphia ten years before—and now, at thirty, found herself alone in the world, incur- able war wounds at last having carried off her much-loved Bobby, that penniless, attrac- tive tenth baron of the name. Angelica was one of those exquisite creatures which America alone seems to produce—fragile as a lily to look at, with perfect health and a wit as keen as a rapier. She knew how to dress, and how to make her tiny house enchanting to her friends. She could have had lovers for every day in the week had she wanted them—but she had adored Bobby, and now was lonely and looked pathetic. Hurkly Ora was presented to her at the din- ner of a successful American at the Chateau de Madrid in Paris, and in the glancing lights and shadows of that obvious but delicious spot, he said some very intriguing things to her—so that when she got into bed that night she remembered them and knew that she had re- ceived the first thrill since Bobby died. “TI wonder who he is. I wonder if I shall see him again.” She did. He took care of that! And he was thinking, ‘Perhaps this is what I have been looking for all these years. I shall have to try her by offering her a present. Time will tell.” Time told—for Angelica refused the present which was not tendered for quite a week of acquaintanceship, and in a manner which would have made almost every other woman of her world accept it! A mere onyx and diamond brooch for her hat, but of a new shape and en- chanting workmanship. Angelica wanted it badly, but—— “No, thank you, Mr. Ora. I like thoughts more than things from people; things become old-fashioned or wear out; thoughts remain.” Hurkly Ora’s strange eyes softened and a flush came into his olive skin. He looked horribly attractive, Angelica realized. “You are not offended with me?” she haz- arded. “No, you have done just what I wanted you to do.” “Enigma!” “Angelica!” “Insolent! Let us play tennis!” They played—and fenced with one another for a fortnight—she imagining that she was keeping him exactly where she wanted him to be, with that grace and charm and intelligence which only an American woman with long training in European subtlety knows how to use with success against impetuous foreigners. Hurkly Ora appreciated her art in this game; he was more and more certain he wanted to win, so it amused him to allow her to think that she was setting the pace. He was finding life perfectly enchanting. It was much better, after all, to be thin and svelt and good-looking, with distinguished flat ears and a smooth olive skin! Women ran their fingers through his thick, dark hair now. They never had desired to do so in the days of his convict-like hair cut. He laughed often, sardonically, but was aware that he was getting some satisfaction out of it all the same. He had the odd, new feeling that women loved him for himself now! He was only believed to be “rich,” not a mil- lionaire now—and there were a number of rich young men floating about in the chic society he frequented, so for that-part he had nothing to lean upon. No, he really could begin to im- agine that he himself, “Hurkly Ora,” had emerged from unattractive fleshly trappings, like a diamond out of sawdust, and then he laughed sardonically again. So emotions in women and social success were a good deal dependent upon the satisfaction obtained by the eye! I SANTA BARBARA a team of polo players from the East arrived and won laurels for themselves, and among them was one Jim Pennington—said to have risen from nothing at all, but to have had astonishing luck about two years before. Now he was head of a num- ber of engineering companies. He was intro- duced to the rich and beautiful widow, Emma Kranwertz, and they got on at once. Emma seemed to Jim the ne plus ultra of those “ladies” he had dreamed of at college—and Jim seemed to Emma to be what she alwavs used to think she would like in a man. She wanted to wait, though, to make up her mind, until a friend, Lady Ayencourt, whom she had met in Carlsbad the year before, should pay her a promised visit. They had arranged that she should come that September. They were standing on the terrace of her Paradise Villa, looking at the beautiful view— both feeling sentimental, when a telegram was delivered. It was from Lady Ayencourt, saying she would arrive the following afternoon, and was bringing her niece and a charming Hun- garian man called Hurkly Ora—whom she was sure Emma would like. “That is very suitable,” Emma thought. “We shall then be four—chaperoned by the niece. I had better tell Jim to provide one of his friends for her.” On the Santa Fé, Hurkly Ora was talking to his valet. “Now, Johnson, I know I can count upon you not to show the least sign when you see Mrs. Kranwertz again; the very audacity of our proceeding makes it the more safe. If she has her former maid or any of the servants, you will repeat the old story—you were lonely and so took service with a young Hungarian _ gentleman who likes traveling.” Johnson answered with perfect serenity, “Very good, sir.” The night in Paris when Lady Ayencourt had suggested that Mr. Ora should come to California with her to stay with her friend, Mrs. Kranwertz, he had accepted at once; and after- wards, alone in his apartment, he had laughed and laughed. This would be a too exquisitely enjoyable experience! They motored from Los Angeles, and it was rather late in the afternoon when Emma re- ceived them in the opal-tinted sunset on the terrace overlooking the sea. Jim had not yet come from the polo field. Emma’s first impression was that she sel- dom had seen anyone handsomer than Angel- ica’s friend. She loved the way his hair grew down in that point and his perfectly flat ears— they were so well-bred looking! And it was so rare even in a man of only twenty-eight, or thereabouts, to see such a pure olive Then, suddenly, her mind went back to poor . Ludwig Kranwertz—and how coarse and snub his features were! The squareness of his shoulders used to irritate her so—because she always felt his power, and had to obey him!— and now that she never obeyed anyone, it was quite delicious to see dark, romantic Hungarian eyes looking into hers with a fire totally absent — from that sweet fellow, Jim’s! At dinner Mr. Ora sat at her right hand—_ Emma did everything thoroughly now that she — was awake. Her house was perfection; she had _ unconsciously followed all Ludwig Kran- — wertz’ teachings as to how establishments — should be conducted. Hurkly Ora observed, with some cynical — gratification, that his wishes in his former life had been carried out! Emma was vastly im- — proved too—much thinner, and her big blue — eyes seemed to have some meaning in them ~ now. He must draw her out! “You are far too young and beautiful to live all alone, Mrs. Kranwertz,” said his deep voice — with just the faintest foreign accent. methods were always bold. “You should have — someone to take care of you.” Emma could not meet his eyes; she felt @ e 2 SFSSPSE BEEPS Ses

Page 109

0d deal ined by players urels for ne Jim k about a num- is intro- ) Emma Emma “ladies” seemed to think > up her , whom , Should rranged of her view— am was , Saying on, and g Hun- she was hought. by the : one of king to t upon you see city of If she rvants, lonely arian renity, ncourt ome to d, Mrs. 1 after- aughed lisitely it was on the ot yet he sel- Angel- r grew ears— it was tht, or » skin. 0 poor . 1 snub of his se she 1im!— it was garian absent and— | at she ne had — ments ynical er life ly im- | | x blue them ~ to live . voice His | have felt a distinct flutter. “But I don’t want to marry | again. I am enjoying—freedom.” | “Were you a caged bird once?” “J suppose I was, but it was because of my | own stupidity.” “Your spirit has become free then?” | “J have tried to make it free by acquiring | knowledge. Oh! I am learning so much, and | I do not want to hand the key of the door into | anyone else’s keeping—not until I find some- one who would make a great illumination for me on the other side of it!” : Hurkly Ora almost gasped. Was this Emma—Emma!—announcing these subtle as- irations? He became thrilled with interest; drew her out further; he talked to her about the things he had always loved of art and liter- ature—and about which she had always list- ened in respectful bored silence—and his amazement deepened. Was it credible that a period of two years could have wrought such a in a woman? “T must have been an awful brute to have kept her so dumb.” And this thought made him tender. Across the table Angelica was finding Jim Pennington most refreshing. After all, these young men, not of her world, were interesting to meet. She liked Jim’s lithe, sinewy body— as thin as a rail. It reminded her of Bobby. She was so absolutely sure of Hurkly Ora that she was not concerned about his interest in their hostess—which proved that she did not know men quite as well as she thought she did. “That’s the sort of guy women always fall for,’ Jim said, looking at Mr. Ora. “They couldn’t hold him back if they tried—if he really wanted them. I don’t know why, but something about him makes me think of a man Iused to know. He’s not a bit-like him, he was years older and shorter—guess it’s that his spirit is pretty punchy—thesameas that guy’s.”” “Really? I have never seen anyone like Mr. Ora. He is a most remarkable person of an exquisite cultivation.” Jim’s pupils narrowed. “Is that necessary to you? I meant to be if I had stayed longer atcollege; I suppose a man can learn even now.” “A man can learn anything he wishes to.” “T love dancing,”” Emma was saying just then. “My husband never danced, so while he was alive I never had the chance.” “T like dancing too—especially the tango. Will you dance it with me one evening?” Hurkly Ora’s eyes said more than his words. “After dinner,” Emma answered gladly. “I have asked several friends to come round, and some musicians, but I wondered if you played bridge all the time.” “T loathe bridge.” Emma smiled delightedly. “Oh! How nice tohearthat. The hours I have yawned away in the past, trying to learn it.” Hurkly Ora remembered in his former life how he had tried to teach it to her in de~>air at the incredible boredom of their téte-a-t es! He felt glad now that she did not play bridge, and that he did not—and laughed at himself for being glad. The sardonic whimsicalness of the situation was causing him delight. Then ed down at her very white neck and saw, just where an exquisite curve began to Suggest itself, a little black mole peeping from beneath the string of marvelous pearls, and suddenly a mad thrill ran through him, and he remembered how it had delighted him the first time he had seen it and how he had bought the pearls that their whiteness should match her skin and contrast with the minute round of velvet with which Nature had adorned it. _ The friends arrived almost as they left the ng-room, and the musicians were already playing a plaintive valse from the balcony. mma, with quiet grace and assurance, began atranging for the happiness of the bridge addicts. Hurkly Ora watched her. And she had so awkward and stiff, fulfilling any social duty in the old days! Ayencourt spoke to him with the faint- est tone of anxiety in her voice. She said some- thing ordinary about the beauty of the view Hearst's International—-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 127 FREE: A week’s better shaves. Just mail the coupon below. See ee on SS SS didi dfdilid dif Small-bubble lather speeds up shaving Vastly superior to ordinary lather HAT softens a beard? Air? Plain reasoning will answer “No.” Then reason further. Big- bubble lather contains more air than small-bubble lather. Small-bubble lather is vastly more moist than ordinary lather and soaks and softens the beard more thoroughly. Colgate scientists produced the small- bubble lather — millions of men have confirmed its superiority. COLGATE LATHER Colgate’s lather (greatly magnified) showing moisture contact with beard and minimum air. A common-sense prin- ciple scientifically authenticated and proved out practical-. ly by millions of men. - Just plain reasoning Results—they’ll tell the story better than words. The minute you lather up with Col- gate’s, two things happen: 1. The soap in the lather breaks up the oil film that covers each hair. 2. Billions of tiny, moisture-laden bubbles seep down through your beard ... crowd around each whisker... soak it soft with water. Instantly your beard gets moist and pliable . .. easier to cut. . . scientifically softened right down at the base ...ready for your razor. A comparative test is easy—just mail the coupon, now. We will send also, a sample of After-Shave, a new lotion ... refreshing, delightful . . . the perfect shave finale. ORDINARY LATHER Ordinary, big-bubble lather (greatly mag- nified). Note air- filled bubbles which can’tsoften thebeard efficiently. Only water can do the job. Only smail bubbles permit sufficient water. **After Shave.” COLGATE, Dept. B-1730, 595 Fifth Avenue, New York Please send me, FREE, the seven-day trial tube of Colgate’s Rapid Shave Cream; also a sample bottle of

Page 110

128 from the windows in the moonlight—and he answered her with his usual courtesy, but it struck him that she looked a little faded beside Emma! Was it possible that he, the cynic, who had come to life again with a new body, should fall in love with his former wife! As they danced, he realized the immense possibilities which were now emerging in Emma. No woman could understand the rhythm of the tango as she was showing him that she understood it, unless there was passion in her. Passion in Emma! Then a twinge of jealousy came. Had some other man awakened her? Was that it? He looked over at Jim Pennington energetically clasping Lady Ayencourt. Could it be he? Angelica took in the situation. She realized that her friend was winning a trick in the game from her. But what did she really want? A masterful Hungarian—perhaps a year younger than herself—or a Jim Pennington who would be an adoring second Bobby? As for Jim, there was no doubt in his mind as to what he wanted, or in Emma’s either. She was thrilling as she had never done before. “How perfectly you dance,” Hurkly Ora whispered, letting his lips accidentally touch her ear as the last notes died away. Then he drew her out on the terrace. “Do I?” Emma had a catch in her breath. “T don’t believe I ever danced like that before.” “Do you know what your words imply? That it is I who have made the change. That gives me infinite pleasure! There are a number of things I should like to teach you.” “Such as?” Emma marveled at her own temerity. “The elevation of the soul—the communion of the mind—the joys of love!” Emma gasped—this kind of thing on the first evening! And said in such a deep, at- tractive foreign voice, with such a look in the passionate eyes! Why, it was taking her off her feet! She ventured to glance up at him for a moment—he was so beautifully dressed. “TI suppose he has a perfect English valet like Johnson,” flashed through her thoughts— and then her level brain went back to the man himself. She had not a single fault to find with him. But he was Angelica’s property. This was too bad of Providence—to have given her first a husband she did not want, and now a most desirable lover who belonged to some- one else! Jim Pennington was making what headway he could with Angelica. He would not have dared to say the very insinuating things Hurkly Ora was now whispering to Emma— but Angelica found his hesitating, diffident worship very soothing. Had she gone too far in her encouragement of Hurkly to draw back now? she asked herself. “Ought I to take away Angelica’s man?” wondered Emma. “Have I the courage to go ahead with this or should I jump the fence?” argued Pennington. “T have at last found what I am looking for,” decided Hurkly Ora, with no backward thoughts, “‘and I’m darned if I am going to take the wrong woman twice!”’ ExT day Jim proposed an excursion up into the lovely hills—with a luncheon basket. Everyone agreed—the niece had been paired successfully with another member of the polo team—-so the six started, the four together and the dummy pair in the young man’sautomobile. They all talked nicely—except Hurkly Ora who was provokingly silent. Emma became un- comfortable—was this perfect. creature going to develop a habit of her late husband, who would remain inscrutably silent for hours? But he did speak when they had wandered away up the hill after luncheon had been eaten. He was admiring the way Emma had ordered everything—he remembered how helpless and tiresome she had been in the past when cir- cumstances had forced him to rely upon her. “Let .us sit on this rock and look at the view,”’ Mrs. Kranwertz said, when they reached a vantage-point.. “There will be no rattle- snakes,” she went on, practically.

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 “That’s as well since we are in the Garden of Eden. You are Eve and I am Adam and we have not eaten any apple.” “T’ve often wondered—would it have grown into the same thing as in the fairy-story of the ‘Palace of Revenge’ had the serpent not ap- peared—would they have grown dreadfully bored with Paradise?” “Certainly. They had nothing to compare their happiness with; they would have been devoured by curiosity and resentful at being unable to gratify it.” This opened a train of thought in Emma’s brain. “Then you think if one found what one wanted after having known things that-one did not want, one could have a chance of not walking into the ‘Palace of Revenge’?” Hurkly Ora permitted his voice to be tender. “T think one would be grateful to Fate for allowing one to have a second chance—and that would ward off the danger of fulfilment’s suffocating one.” “A second chance? That is what troubles me sometimes; I wonder if I threw away the first one?” “If you want to, tell me about it.” Hurkly Ora moved closer to her and—accidentally— touched her arm with his smooth fingers. Emma was conscious of the touch in every nerve of her body. She always had hated the feel of Ludwig’s wrinkled hands. A great longing came to her to confide in this sympa- thetic being. “My husband was really a wonderful per- son,” she said at length, “but he dominated me so, nothing which I now know I must al- ways have had in me ever came out.” “He could not have been intelligent then.” “Oh! Yes, he was; terribly intelligent. It was my fault, but I suppose, although I did not know it, I was just like other women, awfully affected by outward appearance in a man—Ludwig was thick-set and unromantic- looking, rather stout, you know, and square, and his ears stuck out, and he had such a high forehead.” Here she glanced suddenly at Hurkly Ora. How glad she felt that he had none of these defects! s “You think appearance matters enormously to women, then?” “Yes, I do; I suppose if you were in love it wouldn’t matter, but if you are not you’re not likély to get in love if the person has all the things you don’t like.” “And what do you like?” Emma actually blushed—it was absurd of course, and she was annoyed with herself for doing it—but there it was! She looked down. “Well, I suppose I like balance. That is, things just right; and I like the marks of breed- ing, and no fat——” Hurkly Ora also looked down but it was because he was afraid some whimsical gleam might emerge from his eyes. “This is interesting,” he said abstractedly. “T have often wondered if the same man could have two different bodies, would he be loved equally in both?” “T suppose it would depend on the women.” Emma became reflective. ‘I could never have loved Ludwig and yet plenty of others did.” “And freedom has changed you?” “Oh, yes. I’ve learned things myself with- out being forced to and I’ve realized that I had no sense of humor! That is a great dis- covery for anyone to make. Ludwig had an immense sense of humor I can see now, but I couldn’t then; he just made me uncomfortable.” Hurkly Ora leaned back against the rock and his eyes looked weirdly melancholy as he at the sea. “T feel awfully sorry for your husband. He possessed a perfect woman like you and he did not know it—and the poor devil was so ugly you never troubled to teach him to understand . “T suppose not.” She began to wonder—he was silent so long—and then he said: “True love should be above any earthly things, I suppose.” “But that is only in romantic books,” responded in her sane way. “In reality, once sca really loved, it might stay if the person loved was di red—though I doubt it: it could not be kindled if he were revolting to start with.” Hurkly Ora realized that this was devastat. ingly true. And then suddenly he laughed, How astonishingly kind Fate had been to him, Here he—the real he—had returned to life with a new and attractive body, and had found a soul born in his perfect block of clay! Emma had been looking at him while he looked at the sea. Why did this slender, hand- some young man in some way remind her of Ludwig? There was no feature the same, and he was considerably taller. Could it be that Fate was going to be so kind as to send herg mate who pleased her senses, and interested her mind as well? Ludwig could have done the latter, she now knew—but oh!—never the former! Never! “I adore that black mole on your neck,” Hurkly Ora suddenly whispered irrelevantly, “T want to kiss it.” But this was too precipitate for Emma. “I see the others waving to us,” she an nounced, and rising with swift, sure move ments, she gave him her hand and suggested that they shou'd run down the hill . . . Things were also going at too fast a pace between the attractive widow and Jim Penni ton—so both she and Emma felt that i might be wiser to return to their former beaur for a little—just to give the ones they really © desired a jolt. And both ladies arranged that the rest of the picnic should be spent with the ne would have preferred. to be with the other The consequence being that both males were cross. _, into a back passage as she went | up to dress for dinner, Emma ran into

ohnson. “Why, Johnson!” Her voice died away as though she had met a ghost. “Very pleased to see you, ma’am. I’m Mr. Hurkly Ora’s valet now. I found myself lonesome without work, even after the mas ter’s generous provision for me, so I took ser- vice in Budapest. I was hoping to see you, ma’am, during our visit.” Emma said something suitable and passed on. In her well-balanced head there seemed nothing strange in all this; coincidence cer tainly, but merely coincidence that her late husband’s valet now wanted as a—lover—a lover of course who might turn into a husband—but a lover primarily. Both she and Angelica intended to relent and let their real preferences show tonight. — things move fast in a climate made for Olym- pian gods, and marriages can be a (and divorces procured) in a tenth part of time it takes in the bleak East. : “T love you and I intend that you shall belong to me,’’ Hurkly Ora told Emma on the balcony after dinner. He would not stand any mor fencing. “You’re just the biggest peach of a gitl I’ve ever met and I'll worshi yn forever!” Jim Pennington whispered fearfully to Angelica. aoe por sare Fs say to you - Pennington wied grimly to the attractive Hungarian. ee cLet’s walk on the terrace then,” Mr. Om replied. “I don’t know who you are really and I've not got a darned cent of evidence to prove what I am saying, but you keep reminding me of Ludwig Kranwertz somehow—I knew how clever he was—and if you won’t give up & girl I’m set on, I’ll get a pressman and star the hare. Take it or leave it.” F : Hurkly Ora quietly slipped his hand into the pocket of his immaculate evening coat an¢ drew forth a minute gun which he suddeéf to Jim Pennington’s temple. pressed a “T'll take it—whatever you call—but which girl do you want? We’d better know that st!” e

ould be with the man she |

=> & «< & coco = csoemreunm © eo @p 2GaeteareseTp Fe eo BS 98 BES SEB BESsaees

Page 111

Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 “You are a fool!” Jim cried. “Why, An- gelica, of course r “That is just first grade, since I want— Emma! So it almost seems as if we might shake hands!” They did. “Qh, Jim. I have to be taken care of and— and—comforted and loved.” “You'll get that from me—and more!” “Oh, Hurkly, I’ve never loved before. I adore your hair and your beautiful eyes. I wish, wish, wish I’d never been married before and you were the very first. Does that matter to a man?” But as Hurkly Ora crushed Emma in his arms, he whispered with lips on her lips: “Not always!” rae a —_ The Stolen Fortnight (Continued from page 79) more or less out of existence. I don’t believe the same condition obtained with her. Women are very sentimental. I forgot to mention that I carried two buckets of water up from the creek because I tripped over a log with the first one and had to go down for the second. My eyes were on her as I toiled over the top of the bank, so I didn’t see the log. She was standing just inside the open end of the tent, braiding her hair. She had very long, dark tresses, not a thread of gray among them. I loved the scent, the feel, the sight of her hair. Somehow, one misses a lot when the woman one loves bobs her hair. She had shed her dress and had got into a loose, commodious peignoir. I don’t remember ever having seen this particular robe before; but then that isn’t surprising. “Ts the water cold down there?” she inquired, as we sat down on our camp-stools on either side of the bridge-table I had provided for dining purposes. How good the broiled ham and eggs smelled—and the coffee! “Fairly warm,” I replied. (We had ice-water in our thermos bottles for drinking purposes.) “Wouldn’t it be gorgeous to go in swimming by moonlight?” she said, a thrill in her voice, a shy look in her eyes. ‘It has been so hot 0 ge I’ve got my bathing-suit with me. t's, I must do myself justice by going on record as saying: “‘I’ll see, dearest.” I did not intend to allow her to go into that unknown little stream without first investigating. “‘I’ll see how deep and swift it is first. Anyhow, it’ll be dark. You won’t need a bathing-suit.” “How jolly! No one is likély to come along the road tonight,” she cried. “It’s the lone- somest place I’ve ever seen.” warm, .simple dinner—after the cold luncheon in the car at midday—was a repast fit for the gods, for we were hungry and happy. “This beats any dream I ever had,” said I, ing over and taking her hand in mine. “Nothing could be more wonderful than this.” She laughed. “Oh, any goose can fry ham and eggs,” said she, pleased. The moen was high when we went down the bank and into the still, fresh pool a little below ourcamping-place. We heard two automobiles go by on the road above, not without alarm, for I had no difficulty in gathering that the Occupants were on a “‘joy-ride” and that, from This simple : habit | safeguards natural beauty of teeth and gums Keeping teeth healthy and lovely is really easier than perhaps you imagine. “Use a dentifrice that really cleans”—that is the simple rule which dentists urge. For clean teeth are likely to be healthy teeth. And healthy teeth are likely to be pretty teeth. We asked dentists this question, “What kind of dentifrice will best safeguard the health and beauty of teeth?” Their answer was simple. “A dentifrice that really cleans. Put in as much cleansing tyne as possible and leave out drugs, strong anti- septics and harsh abrasives—they are unnecessary and some- times dangerous.” Why Colgate’s Cleans Better Upon this authoritative advice we made Colgate’s. We pro- duced a toothpaste of ‘maximum cleansing power—yet so mild and pure that it cannot harm even the most delicate teeth. Colgate’s contains the most effective of all cleansing agents— ina _— mild, pure form. As you brush, this cleansing agent bursts into a bubbling, sparkling, delicious foam. This foaming, searching wave carries a fine calcium carbonate wder which cleans away mucin and food deposits and pol- ishes the enamel to shining smoothness. It penetrates between the teeth; reaches difficult surfaces—purifies and sweetens the entire mouth. We have a trial tube of Colgate’s for you. Fill out and return the coupon and it will be mailed promptly. We will send also a copy of an interesting new booklet on care of the teeth and mouth. —and Only 25c the hilarious feminine laughter and song, this harrow unfrequented byway was not without its perils for those in quest of peace and con- tentment—or adventure, for that matter. gracious!” whispered Irene, clinging to my wet arm as we stood knee-deep in the Stream, listening to the roisterers as they Passed. “I hope they won’t stop and get out.” No danger,” said I. “Why should they? ey Te not interested in campers.” “T think we should hurry back to the tent,” Said she nervously—but firmly. “It’s getting te, anyhow.” Colgate made the original 25c tube of dentifrice. It is today the largest selling toothpaste in the world. Due to enormous volume production, and to the resources of a hundred- million-dollar busi- ness, Colgate commands the finest materials and the widest scientific research to safeguard quality. Also, Colenwrete more caskeun ical. In the famous 25c tube, you get more toothpaste than in any other nationally advertised brand at that price. Name... Address _____..- COLGATE, Dept. B-1648 595 Fifth Ave., New York Gentlemen: Please send me a free trial tube of Colgate’s Rib- bon Dental Cream together with the booklet “How to Keep Teeth and Mouth Healthy.”

Page 112

130 We did not have a very restful night. To begin with the cots weren’t very comfortable. Several hoot-owls kept up a mournful dirge for hours; other birds flew squawking through the trees; a dog somewhere off in the night howled at the moon; and a whippoorwill made the neighborhood hideous with its cry of the lost and lonely. Besides, it turned quite cool and I, for one, was chilled to the marrow, for I sur- rendered my blanket to Irene. And then, soon after daybreak, a couple of cows ambled up from the road and, being inquisitive beasts, were making a rather close tour of inspection when Irene gave vent to a horrified squeal, waking me out of a final snatch of sleep, the result being that one of the heifers in retreating caught her hoof in a “guy-rope,” nearly jerking down the tent... Almost instantly a shrill voice from somewhere near by yelled: “Hey! Come out of that, darn you!” POPPED up and looked out. A young girl was chasing the cows back to the road. Catching sight of my rumpled -head, she stopped short and gave me an ultimatum. “Say, what are you doing here? Can’t you read that sign back there? It says ‘no tres- ing.’ This is private property and you etter get off before I tell Pa.” “Where do you live?” I called. ‘None of your business,” said she. “Does your pa own this land, young lady?” “No, he don’t. But you’re trespassing, just the same. This land belongs to Mr. Carter.” “Carter?” I almost guffawed. “Say, I’ve taken his little liver pills and I’ve written with his ink, and I’m not afraid of him. Send him along and I’II——” “Oh, for goodness sake!’ pleaded a voice behind me. “Send him along and I’ll pay him five dollars for permission to camp here for a day or two,” I substituted. This caused the girl to think. She grinned. “Mr. Carter lives in Boston, so he can’t come. But, say, my pa sort of runs things for him, so if you—I guess maybe Pa would let you stay for five dollars.” “Think he would, eh? You mean, he’d send the money to Mr. Carter by the first mail, eh?” “Sure, he would.” “All right, then. Tell your pa to stroll around here after breakfast and [’ll hand him the five. And here’s half a dollar. You don’t need to send it to Mr. Carter.” I tossed a coin toward her. She scuttled after it and retrieved it from the dusty road, and then waved a friendly hand to me. “T’ll fix it,” said she. I dropped the flap. “Go to sleep again, dear,” I said. “It’s only six o’clock. What an ungodly hour to be driv- ing cows.” “I’m going to get up,” said she, very wide- awake. ‘We'll have breakfast at half past six and if that man doesn’t show up before seven he will miss us. I don’t intend to let you waste your money in——” Whereupon I took her in my arms and almost smothered her. ‘Now, now! you leave this to me,” I said. “Go to sleep, there’s a dear.” And by George, that is exactly what she did. It is wise to make the story short. Sufficient unto the day is the pleasure thereof, that’s the way I put it, being a sinner who, up to date, has had no desire to:repent. It seems ludicrous to say that we made our- selves at home on the bank of the creek for three more days and nights, but we did. The father of the freckled-faced girl not only came and collected his five, but was so overcome by my liberality that he offered to supply us with fresh milk, butter, eggs and vegetables at what Jrene, who knows more about housekeeping taan I thought, regarded as exorbitant prices. It rained on the third night. Pitchforks! Moreover, it thundered terrifically and blew with all the fury of a tempest. Never have I known such flashes of lightning. At the first approach of the storm—along about midnight—we abandoned the tent for the automobile. Here again Irene’s sagacity had manifested itself. Feeling the storm in the air along about sundown, she had prevailed upon me to put up the top, attach all the side curtains and make the car as rain-proof as possible against what actually came to pass. We got thoroughly wet in the dash to the car and were obliged to change our nightclothes after we reached shelter. Fortunately the storm came out of the east and our camp was in the lee of a thick woodland, which served as a partial break for the wind. It was a dirty night. Irene huddled close to me in the back seat of the car, shuddering and jumping and uttering muffled cries while the storm was at its height. I could feel her heart pounding against me like a hammer—a warm, soft hammer. And she n to moan about her babies: what would become of them if lightning struck the car? Morning found us somewhat shot to pieces. I, for one, was cold. Keeping Irene warm was not as easy—nor as pleasant, for that matter— as it might seem. The sun, to our amazement, was_ shining brightly; the foliage and the grass were never so.green or so sparkling; a cool, gentle breeze welcomed us as we crept, stiff and sore, from the stuffy car to the ground. “Good gracious!” cried Irene, panic-stricken. “It’s broad daylight. I must get some clothes on before—— Why, look! The tent is stand- ing! Can-you believe your eyes?”’ : I rubbed them and then announced that I could. My eyes, I said, never failed me. She hurried into the tent and began dressing. I followed her. The wind had blown things about a bit but the damage was really of no account. While we were getting breakfast our freckle- faced handmaiden arrived with the milk and butter. “Frightful storm, wasn’t it, Aggie?” said Irene, who was now in the best of humors and apparently had forgotten all about her children. “When?” inquired Aggie. “Good gracious!” gasped Irene. “Didn’t— didn’t you hear it? Last night.” “No, ma’am,” said Aggie honestly. “I’m what you might call a sound sleeper.” Then she giggled. ‘I got nothing on my conscience, I guess.” I spoke up. “I think we’ll be on our way after breakfast, Aggie. I want to make —- by noon, to lay in a supply of meat an NOE “You can’t pack up this tent, mister, till the sun dries her out,” broke in Aggie sagely. “Besides, Ma is sending down some fried spring chicken and corn bread ‘long about twelve o’clock. She’ll be terrible disappointed if you clear out before then.” “We'll put off sailing until afternoon,” said I promptly. ‘Fried chicken sounds good to me.” We got away about two o’clock that after- noon—not, however, without accident. The ridge-pole came down upon my head. I am not a profane man—however, Irene put her fingers in her ears and said she was glad Aggie wasn’t there, poor child. Along about five o’clock we entered the village of Stromford with something of a dash and I was immediately arrested by the con- stable for violating the speed laws. Irene, who didn’t know what we were being arrested for, was tremendously concerned, to say the least. When she learned the truth, she was profoundly indignant. She argued that the old rattletrap couldn’t possibly break a speed law even if it went at full speed downhill. The constable said he didn’t care a dern whether it went uphill or down after it got beyond the village limits of Stromford—and_ besides, insisted Irene tri- umphantly, we were standing perfectly still when he came up and arrested us, so how could we be breaking a speed law? At this juncture I took a hand. I asked the officer to direct us to the best meat market and grocery store in town as I had a lot of things to purchase, after I had ve my fine. Whereupon he said he would let us off with a warning, and if I’d allow him to ride on the Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 running-board he’d take us to the only square- dealing store in town. It seems that his son conducted the establishment. Moreover, he told me of an excellent place about fourteen miles beyond Stromford, on a nice quiet side road, where we could make camp and be as comfortable as two bugs in a rug. “So, you see,” said I to Irene when we were well on our way, “a soft answer turneth away wrath. Never argue with a cop.” She sniffed. “Do you call that old hayseed a cop?” she wanted to know. “And what’s more, I’d like to see you break the speed limit with this piece of junk.” I was a bit angry, so I accommodated her, To my own surprise, as well as to her consterna- tion, the speedometer registered forty-four miles on a fairly straight but very bumpy a of road. She finally begged me to slow lown. “There!” said I proudly, bringing the car to a moderate pace. ‘‘Are you satisfied?” “T’m nearly dead,” said she. So then I had to put my arm around her and kiss her, almost causing the car to leave the road at a rather dangerous place. We found the camping-ground, but not at described. I could understand what he means by two bugs in a rug, for as we hove into sight of the place we beheld, to our dismay, four tents, five automobiles, ten or a dozen child: a vast and wandering assortment of discandgl newspapers, but his idea and mine of the mean- ing of the word comfortable were not at all compatible. So we hurried past. Presently we came to a cross-road. While -we stood there debating which way to turn, a very evil-looking man approached from the right-hand road. “A tramp,” said I to Irene, regarding the stranger with some curiosity. ‘Keep your veil down,” I went on jauntily. “I don’t want the wretch to see how pretty you are.” The man stopped a few yards away and stared at us—I was about to say /eered at us— an ugly grin spreading over his face. “Whatsa matter? Lost?” he inquired. I put my hand to my ear and leaned forward. as if I were quite hard of hearing. ‘What say?” I called out in my deafest monotone. “T say, are you lost?” shouted the tramp, still grinning. He winked at the veiled Irene. It was plain he had been drinking. “A leetle louder, please,” said I. “I’m kind of hard of hearing.” “Can’t you hear what I’m yellin’ at you?” “How’s that?” 'HEREUPON he made a very ugly, coarse remark to my companion and shuffleda little nearer the car. She was sitting on that side, Iam very quick-tempered, not to say gallant. I flung open the door, shouting: “T heard that, you dirty bum!” In a second I was scrambling to the ground, © heedless of Irene’s sharp cry of dismay. AsI rushed around the front of the car, he took to his heels, casting an affrighted glance over his” brawny shoulder. I heard Irene scream as I started down the road after him, full-tilt. In my youth, I was something of a runner, but I was no match for him, and I dare say he was about my own age. Suddenly he turned sharply to the right, sprawled across the ditch, flung himself over a fence, plunged through a thicket of bushes and tore into the woods. I stopped short of the fence, yelled loudly for Irene to release the dog, and then lea’ weakly on the top rail, convulsed with laughter. He looked back once. I pulled myself together | and gave the imitation for which Iam famous— ~ or infamous, if you please: the terrific barking - and snarling of a very determined dog. From a distance I heard him cry: “Call him off! Off! For Lord’s sake, mister!” Irene was doubled up with laughter—and, of course, relief—when I returned to the cat. — ““Oh, oh! I never dreamed you were 90 brave!” she cried, grabbing my arm squeezing it as I got into the seat. “You were perfectly magnificent, Dick!”

Page 113

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 131 -and writing with type helps little readexs le light of it by panting: “Yes, but just pss ate adn’! run like a whitehead. Gosh, when I think of the mess . cnamemnagil ‘ “J am sure you would have given him the thrashing he deserved,” she broke in proudly. “Well, it has taught me a lesson,” said I, starting the car. “Pll never play deaf again when I’ve got a veiled woman with me. It’s toorisky.” In course of time we came to a small village. “What town is this?” I inquired of a boy. He told me and also, after some prodding, that a very good place to camp was up the road about five miles on the bank of Wolf Creek. It was getting late; the sun would be down in an hour or so. Irene sighed. “Oh, dear! I am so tired. Isn’t there a hotel or an inn or something where we can spend the night? Really, Dick, I can’t bear the thought of putting up this tent so late as eo, 3 I jumped at the chance, like any coward. “Is there a place here, son, where they take | lodgers for the night?” And so it came to pass that we spent the ight in a very clean, cozy, jolly sort of road- ide inn, much more snugly than bugs in a rug, for it turned astonishingly cold after the sun went down and an east wind came ranging up the valley. We were off early the next morning. Irene she did not sleep well; she hated a double bed and always had, especially the kind that sags down in the middle. She wasn’t used to them, she said, and—vwell, she said a lot of other things about double beds that I con- sidered entirely out of place under the circum- stances. It wasn’t my fault, I protested, and I promised her in some heat that it never would occur again. We were barely on speaking terms at break- fast. Another thing distressed her deeply. A Portland newspaper of the day before, de- livered that morning, dwelt with ill-concealed glee on the unprecedented heat-wave that had descended upon New York City. She was very glum and peevish as we rattled along the dirt-road through the woods. “Su ,’ she had said, “Miss Cornwall took the children out in the sun and something happened to one of them—a sunstroke, or——” “Don’t be silly,” I had said, rather curtly. “They’re all right. That woman isn’t going to take ’em out in the hot sun. She doesn’t want to go out in the hot sun herself. Nobody does. So don’t worry about those confounded kids.” “They’re not confounded kids!” she flared. I became very dignified. “Humph!” said I. “No matter what you say or think,” said she, “T worship my children. I may be a bad wife but I am a good mother, I’d have you know.” We didn’t speak to each other until along about noon, and then she said—showing where her thoughts had been during the long interim: “Oh, if it were only the tenth of July and I them up in the Adirondacks where it is cool and heavenly. What a fool I was not to take the cottage from the middle of June in- stead of after the Fourth.” “But just think what you would have missed,” said I fatuously. She eyed me coldly. “What would I have missed?” she inquired haughtily. She didn’t get over her pout until camp was pitched in a lovely little grove bordering on one of the small sky-blue lakes with which this sec- tion abounded. I must admit that she did her of the work—rather doggedly, it seemed to me—and I marveled all over again at her Pluck and willingness to put up with hard- ships to which, heaven knows, she was by no means accustomed. Suddenly she came over to me and threw her arms around my neck. Forgive me, please,” she murmured. “I’ll —T'll not be beastly again.” I swallowed hard before and after kissing her. “You couldn’t be beastly if you tried,” said I pl at is . who have been beastly.” im giad to hea. you acknowledge it,” said she brightly, and then we were happy again. € stayed in the grove for a week—a it) ONE ALPHABET TO LEARN FINE “ ... with beginners HOW THE DUCKS SOS THEIR sine gud efor are re- uced through the use sae nt the dead leaves pa - which will suffice for pright moonlié trees» Over reading and writing.” + the wind shook the PROFESSOR fell, wheneve r— aucks and PATTY SMITH HILL Teacher's College, the villace passed New York calling *° In the HOW THE DUCKS GOT TH] From her introduction FEATHERS to “Manuscript Writ- ied ‘ ing,” by Marjorie Wise towaras the : n the bright Moonlight the ger Ss In the lodee ell, whenever the wind shook the ai the village trees. Over pachildren. a n° Passed great flocks of ducks ana The same letter forms used for both writing with type and reading in print ee eliminate confusion and supply a simple basis for primary studies x 7 see quickly why the Portable Typewriter is opening a new era of faster and easier child education when you realize that the letters and words which the little pupil learns to type are identical with those which he finds in reading— only one alphabet to learn. Spelling is equally simplified because the arrangement of letters in a typed word is clearly fixed in the child’s mind. This combined progress in writing, spelling and reading through the single medium of the typed word enables chil- dren to learn more, retain more and do it all with a smile. Many authorities say that the Portable Typewriter, for use in the home, is the most valuable educational tool that a. young child can have. Send for Booklet, “Writing with oN Lo | Po EDUCATIONAL BUREAU of PORTABLE TYPEWRITER MANUFACTURERS 247 Park Avenue, New York Remington Typewriter Co. Royal Typewriter Company, Inc. Remington Rand Building, Buffalo, N. Y. 316 Broadway, New York L C Smith & Corona Typewriters, Inc. Underwood Typewriter Co. 707 East Washington Street, Syracuse, N. Y. 342 Madison Avenue, New York

Page 114

132 heavenly week for both of us. We went to bed early notwithstanding the fact that our days were spent in idleness. At an astonishingly early hour in the morning we were up and about. First, an exciting dip in the cool waters of the lake, then breakfast, as merry a meal and as appetizing as you’d wish, after which the dishes and pans and cutlery were washed and neatly put away. Then we read a bit—I had brought a few novels; fished with improvised hook and line —every catch elicited a squeal from her, whether she held the pole or not; napped in the deep shade of the trees; and strange as it may seem, in spite of our dolce far niente exis- tence, were thoroughly and happily tired by nine o’clock. A farmer supplied us with eggs and milk and chickens; we made one trip back to the village for certain provisions. On that occa- sion she looked with longing eyes at a sign out- side the drug store which said in rather bold type: “Long-distance Telephone. For Rates Inquire Within.” I firmly led her away from temptation. All good things must end. It was time for us to think about getting back to the less simple, less ecstatic routine of life. “This is Thursday,” said I, puffing medita- tively at my pipe on the last night of our stay in the grove. ‘Monday, at the latest, we’ll have to start for Boston. I hate to think of it.” “That will make just twelve days,” said she, in a far-away voice. “Twelve happy days and nights,” mused I. “T’ll never forget them, Dick.” “Nor regret them?” “Why should I? That is,” she made haste to add—confound it—“if everything has gone well with—I mean in New York.” The next afternoon we pitched camp in New Hampshire, far off the beaten track. Along about nine o’clock the breeze freshened and soon was blowing strongly. A storm was coming up. I began making things tight and snug. As usual, we had stowed our bags and personal belongings in the car, which stood but a few yards from the tent. I was putting up the side curtains when I heard a sharp cry of alarm from her. An instant later she dashed out of the tent, crying: “Hurry! The cot’s on fire! Be quick!” I dashed past her as she stepped outside the tent, frantically clasping her dressing-gown to her throat. A glance showed me that her clothing was not ablaze. : One look was enough. The bedding on my cot was afire; the flames already were mounting and reaching out toward the dry wall of the tent. I rushed inside and grabbed the blazing sheets, only to drop them an instant later in order to make a hasty dive for Irene’s dress which was lying across one of the camp-stools. I picked up my own coat and waistcoat, snatched her hat from a peg near the mouth of the tent, and rushed outside. “She’s a goner!” I cried. ‘Not a chance in the world. Quick! Is there anything else in there you want to save?” “My rings and watch,” she gasped. “But let them go! Don’t go back in there.” “Where are they?” I demanded. “At the foot of my cot,” she chattered. I disappeared as she screamed, emerging a moment later with her hand-bag. The flames were licking the side of the tent by this time and the place was filling with smoke. ‘“‘What—what happened?” I choked out as we scurried to a safe distance, there to stand helpless and watch the furious glow inside the tent. “The oil-stove upset,” she said. “I was heating some water when—— Oh, Dick, I must tell you the truth! I knocked it over while I was making up your bed. I’m so sorry!” I threw my arm around her. “Don’t give it a thought, dear. Accidents will happen. And we’ve got one thing to be thankful for,” I cried as the flames broke through, lighting up the grove. “I shan’t have to be bothered about selling the tent and all that stuff I laid in to go withit. It will bea total loss and—by George, I’d better move the car. It has all our bags and things init. I say! You haven’t got much on, my dear. Pop into your dress, quickly, and then get into the car. The storm is likely to be here any minute now.” Ske shook her head, her fascinated gaze on the now leaping, soaring, swirling flames. I ran the car back a few rods to the edge of the clearing and yelled to her to join me. After she had got into her dress we sat down on the run- ning-board, huddling close together, and watched the conflagration. I heard her sigh. %Y—_$—*eIRD—__ Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 “Well, there goes our dream-world, up jp smoke,” said I. “That’s what usually happeng to dream-worlds.” “We have a lot more to be thankful for Dick, than you mentioned. You might haye been terribly burned when you rushed in,” “And your dress might have caught fir when the stove upset,” I broke in. We drew a little closer to each other, and then we sat in silence, gazing upon the chortling ruin of a happy adventure. Presently she stirred. “We have no place tp sleep tonight,” she said wearily. “T’ve been thinking,” said I. ‘There’s no sense in our staying here. As a matter of fact, the sooner we are on the move, the better We'll leave nothing behind but a heap of ashes and no one will be the wiser. Hop into the car. I’ll gather up the things over there on the ground and we'll start for somewhere while the home fires are still burning.” It was thundering in the near distance as] swung the car down into the narrow road, Nothing was left of our gipsy home save a few smoldering baskets; some of the more sub- stantial things were still blazing fitfully. “Well, anyway,” said she, “we had a good time while it lasted, didn’t we?” “T wouldn’t have missed it for the world You'll never know how happy I’ve been duri this stolen fortnight with you, dear. I wis it could go on forever.” “You'd get tired of it. Men always do.” Late the next day we limped into Boston and this time went to a decent hotel. I gave the car back to its original owner with my blessing. The next afternoon we got into a taxi at the Grand Central. Station in-New York and told the driver to take us to an apartment-building in one of the East Sixties. Arriving there, we were appropriately greeted by the doorman. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Davis. Glad to see ee back. How are you, Mr. Davis? You've n away a long time, sir.” “How are the children, William?” was her first inquiry. “Fine, ma’am, they’ve just come in from the Park. Your telegram, sir, was there waiting for ’em. Terrible excited they are, ma'am, over their pa and ma coming home like this together. Little Richard said it was just like Christmas.” Your Wife Has 50 Slaves by James Schermerhorn (continued rom pote 55) Invited to dinner, he pleaded preparation for an unusually important interview with out-of- town prospects at nine A.M. the morrow morn. His objection was waved aside with the assur- ance that the function was informal and would be over in time to permit plenty of slumber. He went. Dinner was over by nine. Wouldn’t it be jolly to take in that fractional part of the theater offering that society con- tents itself with postprandially? And, of course, Mr. Realtor would not be a killjoy and break up the party! Theater over, someone conceived the idea of going home via a Wayside Inn and taking just one whirl at roulette. When a sufficient number of twenty-spots had been offered to the god of chance, the party elected to go slumming. The outcome of the dinner engagement, that was to be without formality or frills, was that the real-estate king reached his home in time to change his clothes, grab a cup of coffee, jump into a taxi and get to the hotel to meet his prospects at the appointed hour. He didn’t fall down entirely on the important downtown lease, but he charged up to “social acceleration” his failure to write into the deal the terms he had proposed as final and which he felt he could enforce with his wits about him. But there was not enough left of him to domi- nate the situation. He was a squeezed orange. Recently a figure looming large in the National Air Transport was informed upon leaving the Boston Symphony that the next stop would be the “Bird of the Broken Pinion” café. From the divine harmonies of classic orchestration to jazz bedevilment was too much for a soul awakened and lifted higher. He has since confided to his intimates. that he did not make his mutiny as formidable as he felt like doing. From symphony to infamy was as repugnant to his tranquilized soul at the moment as going to the land of the geisha girls with a wife was to George Ade, according to information imparted to the N. A. T. official by a fellow Hoosier. Ade vowed he would “just as soon think of taking a ham sandwich to a Lord Mayor’s banquet.” But the consort’s protest against syncopation as a chaser for symphony, though less acrid, was like Mercutio’s wounds. It was enough. It served. He went home to dwell for a space in the symphonic state to which he had been ee Then what should befall but the neighborly invasion of a lively bunch who were hungering and thirsting for radio regalement. He feigned acute indigestion and fled to his boudoir. Below stairs the spirited competition of con- versation and broadcasting continued un- abated, but unconsciousness came mercifully to the symphony lover’s aggrieved spirit. We hear the wiseacres say concerning the social stress that sends the American business man to his problems so many mornings unfit, if not undone, that it is only the continuing demonstration of woman’s power over man, unchanged since Eve ate the family out of house and home. Another guess coming. As a matter of fact, it is not woman-power at all, but horse-power. Mechanization of life, domestic and industrial, has developed in America 750,000,000 horse power. In one horse-power there is eight man- power. Figure it out. You get 6,000 million mat power to do the work of the country, or fifty slaves per capita. It follows that our home makers have at their command half a hundred serfs. Behold our slave-keeping household queens quite relieved of woman’s work—once looked upon as “never done”—by the coming of labor-saving, thought-saving, time-saving, worry-saving mechanical facilities. Steinmetz, General Electric wizard, declared not long before he went to the grave that this vast mechanization will bring us ultimately to the epoch wherein the work of man, now measured for purposes of comparison as “from sun to sun” will be accomplished in a six-hour working day. This will put up to excitement craving spouses the responsibility of deepet thought in formulating a more ambitious after hours’ agenda for long-suffering, acquiescent © husbands. More than ever it will be brought to pass that it is not work that kills, but worry. Worry in the hush of the fading day ove where the poor man’s evening clothes are 0 appear forthwith and for how many more per diem—accompanied by their owner. — Whereupon it is easy to anticipate a like this between fellow directors at the meeting next day: = “Was your good wife entertaining last night?” : “Not very.”

Page 115

+ 1929 Id, up in y happens nkful f ight Pi d in.” lught fire ther, and > chortling O place to “here’s no . Like this s just like € 55) 900 horse- ight man- lion man- Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 135 Unknown Lands by Blasco [baie (continued from page 87) which were ina deck-corner under the forecastle. When he returned, Gonzalez was on his feet. The butler’s hand was clutching his dagger, and he was holding it, ready to strike, just below the level of his belt. But Garvey was armed with a harpoon, and using it as a club, he brought. it down upon his enemy’s head in a blow which Gonzalez only partially succeeded in parrying with his arm. The butler fell to the deck, and Garvey advanced upon him, the three prongs of the harpoon this time pointed downward. “J’ll spike you to the deck as I would a snake!” he cried. But just as he had raised the weapon and was aiming the blow, there came a violent shock. Garvey felt himself hurled forward, toward the prow of the vessel, as by an invisible force. The whole hull of the Santa Maria seemed to be groaning and writhing as in a death-agony, the decks buckling, the beams quivering. Then the vessel heeled, till the starboard scuppers touched the water. There was another moment of crunching and groan- ing. Finally the ship righted somewhat and came to rest. The first human voice was a cry of alarm from the “broom” at the helm. Other voices answered from between decks, fore and aft. - The Santa Maria had struck a rock! While the Admiral and his crew were being lulled to sleep in the cheer of Christmastide, a gentle current was sweeping the ship off her compass course toward some shoals that lay well offshore just beneath the surface. The sea was in flat calm. No break on the surface of the water had warned the helmsman of impending disaster. As he lay on the deck, Gonzalez was almost overrun by the rout of terrified seamen. The confusion was too great for anyone to notice his bruised face and the blood that was spat- tered on the planks about him. Finally a sailor stooped and lifted him to his feet, sup- posing that he had had a fall as the vessel struck. The butler, for that matter, was as much impressed by the accident as anyone else. He hurried to his quarters aft, thinking more about the danger to the vessel and to the enter- prise than of his quarrel with the sailor. In accord with a request transmitted to King Guahanacari by the former caterer to their Highnesses, the Santa Maria was shortly surrounded by great canoes, manned by crews of Indians. The king had wept on learning the bad news, and so had his courtiers. To be sure, weeping would not float the Floating Forest of the Sons of Heaven; but all his red- skinned subjects were at the disposal of the white men, as also was a village of bohios which happened to be located on the shore, a few hundred yards from the spot where the Santa Maria lay fast on the shoal. I A few hours everything movable and of value had been removed from the wreck and sent safely to the beach. King Guahanacari was present in person and was directing the construction of great sheds of tree trunks and thatch, to shelter this spoil of the vessel. If the crews aboard the two ships were in consternation at the misfortune which had come so unexpectedly upon them, there were two persons who found some consolation in it: the “broom” Andujar, and the page Salcedo. Fernando and Lucero were together again, for the moment ashore, but later on, at sea also; ate Admiral would now have to board the a! Don Cristobal soon recovered his spirits. The sailors were reporting that gold ornaments were numerous and conspicuous among the natives in this region. Guahanacari, moreover, had just presented him with a number of teligious masks, each with plates of gold in the ears and eyes. The precious metal seemed to act like a magic balm on all the Admiral’s mental sufferings, and he said devoutly: Isee that Our Lord caused me to go aground at this place as a command that I found a colony here. Had I not lost my ship, I could not have done so, for I could never have left them with such supplies, arms and munitions, as I now have available through the salvage from the full-rigger.” Others caught the Admiral’s enthusiasm. On learning that the Admiral was thinking of building a fort and leaving a garrison to exploit the country, all voiced approval, and many volunteered to stay and man it. Since the Santa Maria had grounded on Christmas Eve, the Admiral decided to name his new town “Nativity.” The timbers and beams of the wreck were brought ashore and a strong house was built, lofty, like a watch- tower, with a ditch and a stockade about it. It was a spacious edifice; and since quarters aboard the Nifia would be crowded, if everyone returned to Spain, it was desirable that as many as possible should take advantage of this opportunity to remain in the land of gold and spices. Those who stayed behind at Nativity could not fail to become wealthy. The Ad- miral would hurry back to Spain, to report the discovery of Asia by the route west. The list of those who could be accommodated at Nativity was soon full. It contained forty- one names! As governor the Admiral desig- nated his cousin “on the left” —Don Diego de Arana. Lieutenant-governor would be Don Pero Gonzalez, and next in authority to Don Pero, Rodrigo de Escobedo, royal commissioner and registrar of the fleet! The once royal butler was glad at last to have official status in the expedition where he would have real authority and at the same time opportunity to look after his material interests. He had not the slightest hesitation in volunteering to remain. The bravest and most adventuresome por- tion of the crews was drawn off to man the new fortress, men who preferred the mystery of this new country, of which they had seen only a strip of coast, to the hackneyed certainties of a return to Spain, a land that had palled on them and held nothing unusual in store for their futures. Whale-fishermen of the Bay of Biscay, Andalusians, the Englishman, the Irishman, such names figured on the roll of volunteers. While the Admiral was fitting the Nija for the voyage home, a report came in from the Indians that the Pinta was at anchor in a river mouth about sixty miles to the eastward. The departure was delayed for some days that a long canoe manned by King Guahana- cari’s men might carry word to the elder Pinzon. The attempt failed. The Indians, as was later learned, turned back just before reaching the Pinta, which actually lay con- cealed behind the next point. Concluding that the report was baseless and that the Pinta had never really been seen, the Admiral fixed the third of January for his own sailing homeward. On New Year’s morning Garvey approached Cuevas on the beach with an exclamation of surprise: “T see you and your brother have changed your minds and are not going to follow my advice . . . Well, stay if you prefer—things may go well with you!” - Cuevas was astounded at the words of his friend. Though they could not imagine what would be their fortunes on returning to Spain, they had not volunteered for the garrison at Nativity, and they had taken it for granted that they would sail on the Nifa. Their one thought in the whole matter was to free them- selves of Gonzalez. Garvey nevertheless had just seen their names at the bottom of the garrison roll. The names had been freshly added, with a gloss that they were to be in the personal service of the lieutenant-governor! Fernando hurried to find Lucero and tell her this important news. The Admiral was absent from his bohio at the moment, but Lucero found the list of names among his papers, and it was just as Garvey said. That same day the warden of the Nifia chanced to encounter the “broom” on the seashore and remarked indiffer- ently, as though he were speaking of something long settled: “You are doing well to stay here, young man. I would stay myself if it were not for a wife and five children who are depending on me in Palos. Captain Vicente Yanez has already replaced you on the Nifia. Terreros is taking over the work your brother has been doing for the Admiral.” The lovers looked at each other in dismay. They would not be allowed on the Nifa! Through an intrigue of their persecutor they would be left behind in this unknown land, sub- ject to his personal authority! HE evening before the departure from Nativity the “broom” Cuevas, head low, twirling his cap in his fingers to conceal his ner- vousness, approached his former master in the great Indian long house that was serving as headquarters. It had been his desire, and the desire of his brother, to return to Spain— neither he nor the page Salcedo had asked for leave to stay behind in the fort at Nativity! Don Cristobal was surprised at this com- plaint and supposed it to be due to fear. “Why,” he said, “I always took you for a boy who amounted to something! Stay here and you will make your fortune! Gold will be in here by the barrelful!” But Lucero was standing near by on pretense of putting some order into the confusion of basketry, cotton balls and other objects which Guahanacari had sent in homage to the Ad- miral to help adorn his lodgings on land. Don Cristobal happened to glance at her, and he seemed suddenly to be reminded that this “broom” of the former flag-ship and his own valet stood in particularly close dependence on his kindness. Lucero was very pale, and her evident uneasiness moved the Admiral. There was little room on the Nifia and the trip home was bound to be uncomfortable! However, Cuevas, he supposed, could be fitted in somewhere! As for Salcedo, there need be no change! During the next few days, those just pre- ceding the departure, the lovers saw their enemy, the ex-royal butler, on a number of occasions. Gonzalez already was settled ashore, occupying all by himself one of the larger huts provided by Guahanacari. As first lieutenant and immediate successor to de Arana, the governor of the fort, he seemed even more haughty than he had been as a personal friend, unattached, of the Admiral. Two “brooms” of the lost ship formed his immedi- ate staff; but Guahanacari had heeded his importunities and assigned him also a number of Indians. Cuevas saw the man more than once being carried around on the shoulders of these native servants. In fact, Gonzalez was the first white man to subject Indians to this menial service. The islanders had done such favors for the Sons of Heaven, but voluntarily as an expression of religious awe, and to assist their celestial visitors over swamps, streams and ponds. The former royal butler insisted on these honors for his own person that his new position of authority be emphasized by some unmis- takable sign. On the second of January, Don Cristobal had a final conference with Diego de Arana and the latter’s two assistants, calling their attention to all that he had left with them to meet various emergencies and predicting that a rain of gold would soon be drenching the fort at Nativity. He consigned into their hands all the merchandise which the sovereigns had provided for purposes of barter—cheap things which they could exchange at enormous profit. The long-boat from the Santa Maria would be available for explorations down the coast. He left them the fleet doctor and the fleet surgeon to attend their bodily health, and the chief gunner, “a man skilled in all

Page 116

136 kinds of mechanic,” to supervise arrangements pertaining to defense. Master Diego, the herbarist, would have charge of such explora- tions in the forests as bore upon spices, un- doubtedly present in great abundance on the island. That same night of the second of January, the Admiral was rowed out to the Nifia, and did not again come ashore. Contrary to plans, however, no start was made on the following day. A heavy sea was running, and the caravel seemed safe at her anchorage to leeward of the bars, but many of the Indians who had been taken aboard from the first islands discovered had stayed ashore. The Admiral was much concerned to take them to Spain, especially the females, and on seeing that only a few men were coming in he determined to postpone his sailing one day more and send a-boat of sailors to round the women up. ——— Cuevas had several comrades among the men in the squad and obtained permission to go with them. Lucero also found a place in the boat, obtaining her leave on the pretext that she had forgotten one or two of her master’s belongings in clearing the hut he had occupied near the fort. The two young people felt that this would be their last chance to be together in these lands of the New World, and it would be difficult for them to see each other during the long voyage on the caravel. They must make another forest exploration to some trees which reminded Fernando of the happy afternoon in Cuba. On arriving at the fort, the lovers slipped behind the huts which Guahanacari had given the white men after the destruction of their vessel, and struck out into the woods. But on this occasion, Lucero could find no relief from her instinctive fear of the deep woods, and the mere consciousness that a mile away there lay a Spanish town, inhabited by forty white men all anxious to enjoy this first day of freedom in their new home, deprived her of the sense of space, of Edenlike innocence, of liberty which she had had in Cuba. Fernando for his part was even more at home than on the other walk. He had learned much about the sounds that are heard in the forests. He was now easily able to dis- tinguish the rustle of a tree in the wind, or the movement of an animal in the bushes, from the light almost imperceptible tread of a barefoot native. Shortly they turned back from the deeper forest with the idea of finding easier walking along the sea; but they had not gone far when Fernando became aware that someone was near by, and the sounds he heard were not from naked feet but from Spanish shoes. For the moment he thought someone from the vil- lage might also be exploring; but as they made their way shoreward, it was apparent that he and Lucero were being followed. They had just arrived at a clearing near the shore when Fernando suddenly stopped and pushed Lucero behind a tree. He had recog- nized the figure of Pero Gonzalez. The butler was advancing through the outer shrubbery of the forest and following their trail. Gon- zalez had been collecting from the natives specimens of the poisoned Cariba arrows to take home with him as curiosities. Two of these he was now carrying in his right hand. Gonzalez carried no bow—he could not be hunting. Why did he have those instruments of death? Evidently he intended to use them as spears or lances—thrown accurately from a short range they would easily pierce a man from front to back! It was all clear to Cuevas. If he could be disposed of in these wilds, Lucero would be utterly at Gonzalez’ mercy. If perchance a young “broom” were found dead with the two poisoned arrows still in his back, his death would be attributed by the Spaniards to Caribs recently disembarked, or to unknown natives from the interior of the island! This reasoning, however, was the work of an instant. With a cry to Lucero to keep to cover, Fernando leaped aside just in time to escape Hearst's International—-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 an object that whizzed close by his face with that vibrant hissing sound the dragons use in fairy-tales. Gonzalez had thrown the first arrow and missed. But he was running forward, the second shaft poised in his right hand and ready to be thrown the moment the sometime royal butler should find a sure position. Cuevas darted about from tree to tree, deter- mined to give his assailant no standing mark. For a few seconds the pursuit lasted. Then, as Cuevas was making for another tree, Gonzalez hurled his second shaft, but at the tree itself, with the idea of anticipating the ‘‘broom’s” movement. The arrow struck the tree trunk just to.one side of the middle and hung there vibrating up and down, the point sunk deep under the bark. With a cry of joy the youth tore it out with a hard fast jerk and turned furiously upon his enemy. ‘Now I have you, my lord Coward!” he shouted, advancing upon Gonzalez. But the man had drawn his sword and began lunging and cutting violently in Fernando’s direction. The “broom” realized he had only his lightness of foot to rely on if he were to cope with this stronger and heavier antagonist. He backed off and leaped about, trying to prevent the battle from coming to close quar- ters and to avoid the vicious thrusts that Gonzalez kept making with the sword. But the butler reached far forward in a terrific lunge intended to pierce the boy. For a second he was off balance! And in a flash F ne plunged the poisoned arrow into his neck. - Having delivered his blow, Fernando drew back, crouching, ready to run again should the attack be.renewed. : But something fell at Gonzalez’ feet—his sword; and slowly, as if in great pain, the man raised both hands to the back of his neck; and gently one of them lifted the end of the shaft to relieve the weight which added to the anguish of the wound. Cuevas could see a stream of blood running down inside Gon- zalez’ shirt. “Come! Come quick!” Fernando called to Lucero, and seizing her by the hand ran with her in a mad dash toward the seashore. At the beach they looked back to see if Gonzalez were following. No one was in sight. They thought they still could hear groans and calls for help. Then these sounds also ceased. The butler must have fallen to the ground, his two hands still at his neck, one of them supporting the end of the cruel shaft to lighten the pull on the poisoned head. More casually then, as if nothing had hap- pened, the lovers walked along to the village and sat down at the side of the long-boat; but their eyes kept turning in furtive glances toward the edge of the woods. Someone might hear the wounded butler’s calls, and if he were found still alive he would tell what had hap- pened! It seemed as though the boat never would leave the Only a few of the missing Indians had been found and the boatswain thought the hunt should be continued as long as possible. As for women, every one of the female captives had disappeared. It was not till evening that the boat put out to the Nifa, abandoning the vain search. The dawn of the fourth of January broke, and though the wind was very light, the Nifia began raising her anchors. Her long-boat went out ahead with a cable to tow her past the shoals, behind which she had been lying, through a channel wider than the one she had followed in coming in. CONE-SHAPED mountain peak, which the Admiral compared to an Indian bohio and which looked like an island surrounded by a sea of low land, came up on the horizon ahead of the Nifia. Don Cristobal named it “Monte Cristi,”’ and since the winds were light, lingered for two days in its neighborhood. The Ad- miral was now healthily afraid of shoals, and kept sailors posted at the mastheads to spy them out far in advance. On Sunday, the sixth of January, one of the lookouts called, not a shoal, but a sail! It was the Pinta coming along, with wind astern! Water and fire-wood were put aboard at Monte Cristi, while minor repairs were at- tempted on the hull of the Nifia. However, it was necessary to head back for Spain without delay. The two caravels were in bad shape, and more from their stops in these tropical shelters than from the wear and tear of sailing, The planking was riddled by ship-worms, Both vessels had great leaks on either side of their keels. Even when these were repaired, continuous pumping was essential. On the thirteenth of January, three days before the two caravels lost the coast of Hispaniola, came the first unfriendly en- counter with natives—a first intimation of the fate that was to overtake Nativity. Some Spaniards who had gone ashore came upon a party of Indians, upward of fifty in number, naked, but otherwise different from the: natives hitherto seen on the-island. They had very long hair “such as the women wear in Castile, and with head-gears of parrot- feathers and the plumage of. other -birds.” All of them had longbows and arrows, and for a sword a club of hard wood, = The redskins feigned kindly-welcome to the palefaces, but all of a sudden-some of them flew to their weapons while-others produced thongs apparently to bind the whites after these had been taken prisoners. The seven sailors drew their cutlases and prepared their crossbows at the first sign of hostility which the red men had ventured to manifest toward them. One Indian received:a bad cut across the buttocks and another an arrow in the chest. Had the boatswain in command not interfered, the infuriated sailors would have massacred the whole force. On the evening of the fifteenth, the Admiral had a last conference with Martin Alonso. Don Cristobal had ordered a course north, and the mariner of Palos could not contain his surprise! It would have been natural to return over the route by which they had come, eastward, that is, across a sea already explored. Columbus cut off the discussion sharply: “The course will be north! In that direction we shall find fair winds. I know what I am talking about.” The words stuck in the memory of the Pinta’s captain for many days. Don Cristobal knew! How did he know? It was his first voyage over these seas, yet he “knew” that north was the direction to take in order to find favorable winds! Of all the orders that Columbus ever gave, the most interesting and important was this selection of the northern route home. Martin Alonso was convinced of the soundness of the northern course during the first days of the return journey. The two caravels met fair winds and a not uncomfortable sea, making good headway without incident of any kind. Things went well indeed from the sixteenth of January to the twelfth of February (1493). The northern course had now been change and the ships were heading east. But on this latter date the Admiral wrote in his diary: “We are beginning to have storms with high seas; if this were not a good caravel, soundly built, I should be afraid of foundering.” Thereafter the two caravels were beset by continual storms. The night of the fourteenth of February was the worst of the whole voyage. The seas went higher than ever and the wind rose to tornado force. The danger was so great that both tains thought it no longer prudent to try to hold a course. It was better to turn tail to the storm and drift wherever it carried them. The Pinta was the first to make this maneuver, and she dropped cut of sight, though she kept showing lights for most of the night, the Nifia answering by similar si ‘ At daybreak the Pinta was nowhere to be seen. The storm increased with the coming of the sun. Sailing under one lower, reefed, the

Page 117

Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for March, 19209 You can barely hear it ! W THEN a proud owner of a General Electric Refrigerator takes her friends in to see it, the first comment is apt to be “Why it’s so quiet—you can barely hear it.” The thing which seems to impress everyone is the extreme quietness with which these re- frigerators operate. Their unique construction has indeed established a new standard for quiet operation. This design, however, accomplishes some- thing even more important. It makes possible the top-unit arrangement—a distinctive fea- ture found only in the General Electric Refrigerator. Placing the unit on top makes it possible to enclose all the machinery— together with a permanent supply of metal protecting oil—in an hermetically sealed steel casing. There the hidden machinery, always oiled, remains safe from dust and difficulties. No one can tinker with it—no one needs to. Quietly, automatically, the General Electric Refrigerator gives you the perfect refrigera- tion that does away with food spoilage and safeguards health. It provides a generous supply of ice, makes menu-planning so much easier, permits you to serve the sort of food that your guests will instantly recognize as perfect . . . crisp lettuce, well-chilled bever- ages, smart desserts. For further details, drop us a card for Booklet E-3. GENERAL @@ ELECTRIC Refrigerator ELECTRIC REFRIGERATION DEPARTMENT : OF GENERAL ELECTRIC COMPANY HANNA BUILDING -_ CLEVELAND. OHIO

Page 118

138 Nifia was constantly buried under combers, though always she managed to get free. Six hours after dawn the Admiral thought the time had come to invoke celestial measures. He selected as many chick-peas as there were souls on board, cut the sign of the cross on one of them with a knife and threw them all into a sailor’s cap. He had decided to “draw a Romer.” The person to whom the marked bean fell must take a vow to visit the monas- tery of Saint Mary of Guadalupe, in the province of Extremadura, and leave an offering of five pounds of candles. Columbus was the first to draw, and the chick-pea with the sign came out in his hand; he promised to make the pilgrimage if he reached the Spanish coast alive. Twice again during the day were similar vows invoked. When, with nightfall, no relief came, the company made a vow in common to go in procession, barefoot and as naked as man’s law allowed, to any church of the Virgin they might find on the first land they reached. Fernando and Lucero sat for hours in a corner of a balcony astern, staring like hunted deer at the whitish mountains of water that advanced upon the vessel, lifting her with a mighty bounce up one slope of the wave, then dropping her down, down, down, on the other side with a speed that took the breath from their bodies. fe night of that fourteenth of February, 1493, was, beyond a doubt, the most terri- ble in the Admiral’s life. He went to his cabin, drew a piece of blank parchment from a drawer and wrote on it all that it would hold. He tried to make a legible hand despite the terrific rolling of the table and the murky light of the swaying lanterns. And he tried to be concise, that the space avail- able might contain the whole story of the voy- age and a record of all that he had seen, along with a request that the finder deliver the parchment to the sovereigns of Spain. Returning to the quarter-deck, he wrapped the document in a piece of tarred canvas and tied it securely with a string—a sailor stood at his elbow holding a piece of burning cable that the Admiral might see what he was doing. The parchment wrapped and sealed, Columbus wrote a message on the outside; a reward of a thousand ducats would be forthcoming to any- one who consigned the package to the King or Queen of Spain—but only on condition that its seal remain unbroken! Finally the package was buried in molten wax, making a cake the size of a large loaf of bread. This, in turn, was placed in a cask and headed in. Then the cask, at the Admiral’s order, was thrown into the sea. The cask never was picked up! Columbus’ precaution, had he and Martin Alonso per- ished, never would have availed! Their dis- coveries and their end would have remained a mystery! On the morning of the fifteenth, the sky brightened and the sea moderated, though still continuing high and dangerous. Land came up to larboard. Some identified it as Madeira, others as the Rock of Cintra off the port of Lisbon. But for three days still the plucky caravel hauled and tacked to stand in toward the unknown shore, without being able to make it, because of the thick weather and the tremendous seas. On Monday, the eighteenth of February, the third day before Lent, the caravel made a lee and sent a boat ashore. She was off Saint Mary’s, one of the Azores. Inhabitants of the coast furnished land- marks, that the ship might find the harbor. Saint Mary’s was a possession of the King of Portugal; and its governor learned first with surprise and then with alarm of the arrival of a Spanish vessel, which, without a doubt, had been engaged in illegal trading within Portu- guese domains. Those on board the Nifia, however, were not thinking of points of law. Their eyes were on a gable with a cross that could be distinguished over the roof-tops of Saint Mary’s. It was a Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 convent, and, as they were joyous to learn, consecrated to the Virgin. The ship’s com- any decided to go ashore and fulfil their col- ective vow of a procession. But the devoted sailors, in their shirt tails, with Vicente Yafiez Pinzon in command, were all lifting prayers of thanksgiving to the Virgin when they found themselves surrounded by a mob of islanders, backed by the governor on horseback at the head of a troop of cavalry. They were herded from the convent and lodged in the town jail. Eventually the Portuguese governor re- pented of his harshness toward these sailors in distress, and began parleys with the Admiral. The imprisoned crew was returned aboard, and Columbus, to smooth everything out, re- quested that a Portuguese priest board the Nifia to say mass. Months had gone by with- out a communion in the fleet! Then he ballasted his vessel with stone, to make her more manageable in bad weather, took some fire-wood aboard, and sailed out into the storm. The storm continued. A sudden squall tore off the Nijia’s last sails, and the caravel was wallowing in the trough of the sea, threatening at any moment to capsize. In this new emergency, the chick-peas were again brought out. Columbus was designated, by the first lot, to go barefoot and in his shirt tail to say a prayer at the shrine of Santa Maria de la Cinta, in Huelva. The crew meantime took a collective vow to fast on bread and water the first Saturday after they should reach shore. A week went by, and no land appeared. But on the fourth of March, the Nifa, tossing under bare poles broadside to a sea which seemed bent on engulfing her in every trough, descried high land which some took to be an island and others to be the shore of Europe. It proved to be the Rock of Cintra off the entrance to the river at Lisbon. Columbus was for a time in trouble with the authorities of the port because of the presence on the Nifia of two Portuguese sailors. These, it was contended, had no right to be serving in a foreign navy. The moment his anchor touched bottom in the harbor at Lisbon, Columbus hastened to notify the court of Spain of his return, through a letter addressed to his patron and friend, Luis de Santangel, styled in official papers as “Magnificent lord.”” The caravel left Lisbon on the thirteenth of March, and just before sunrise on the fifteenth, the Nifia anchored before the Isle of Saltes. She crossed the bar on the high tide at noon and Columbus was again in the basin whence he had departed on the third of August, seven months and a half before. That very afternoon another caravel crossed the bar and entered port. It was the Pinta. The heroic little vessel had not gone down, as Columbus supposed. With one mast lost she had laid a true course to Spain, without touch- ing any foreign soil, without risking arrest as Columbus had done at the Azores. In spite of the terrific storm, she had reached Bayonne in Galicia. But Martin Alonso was a dying man. For weeks he had stood at the helm, day and night, without sleeping, almost without eating, his eyes fixed on the sea for every dangerous wave. The tremendous effort had finally exhausted this prodigious athlete of the sea.- From Galicia he had dispatched one of his men across Spain to Barcelona, where the sovereigns then were, to inform them of all that had taken place. He feared that his former associate had by that time found his grace in the .im- mense ocean, with his own brother and all the friends and relatives who had manned the Nifia. Then, disregarding his own condition, he had struck out to sea again, passing the shores of Portugal without stopping, to make Palos a few hours later than Cabsiolsin He could not walk. His sailors had to carry him on their shoulders, first to his home, and then, at his request, to the convent of La R4bida. It was his wish to die in the society of those friars who so often had talked with him of the mysteries of the deep. When a letter from Queen Isabella reached Palos, in reply to the message he had sent her from —, the great mariner of Andalusia was While Columbus was making preparations at Seville for his journey to court, the inhabi- tants of the former city kept flocking to a house adjoining the so-called Arch of the Statues, in the church of Saint Nicholas. It was there that lodgi had been provided for the red men whom the discoverer had brought back from the Indies (only seven were left after the disastrous return voyage—the others had died at sea). But if a person were not satisfied with red men, he could see a wonderful display of parrots and of guaiacas—masks of human faces, fashioned of fish-bone, inlaid with gold, and with gold especially about the eyes and ears. There was also gold itself, brought from Asia! Only in moderate quantities, to be sure— just a few samples. As far as gold was con- cerned, the words of the discoverer were more brilliant than his display. It was the end of March when Golumbus was ready to leave. He would make the jour- ney himself on a mule, followed by a train of pack-animals carrying the exhibits collected on the voyage. Sailors, apprentices and “brooms,”’ who were to form his escort at the audience with the sovereigns, would go on foot, save as they chose to take advantage of mules and horses which the authorities of the towns en route might supply, by royal order. Cuevas and Lucero still remained with the Admiral. Where could they go in this coun- uy, which was theirs but which nevertheless filled them with fright because of Lucero’s birth? As long as they clung to the hero, they felt free from all suspicion and beyond the reach of the secular arm. Once they were to leave him, they would lack even the means for a livelihood! When the cortége reached Cordoba, Beatrice Enriquez, surrounded by all her kin, stepped forward out of the throngs of the curious, the two sons of the Admiral before her. Columbus could not linger in Cordoba. He had to be off at once for Barcelona, to prepare a second voyage to the lands discovered. But his eyes were full of tears as he kissed his two boys, Diego and Hernando. This man was wholly absorbed in his plans and ideas, wor- shiping himself in his worship of them. But he had a vehement passion for these two sons. They were of his blood, and the love he really knew was the love born of blood-relationship. Beatrice gazed at him, in astonishment at his present glory, but he scorned all familiarity on her part. Times had changed. He was now somebody. The Admiral Major of the Ocean Sea, the Viceroy of all New-found Lands, spoke to poor Beatrice as to a faith- ful governess who had taken good care of his sons. What surprised Don Cristobal was that Doctor Acosta failed to pay him a visit. He was eager to see the physician, to enjoy that learned men’s discomfiture at his success. HILE the squadron of discovery was ex- W Blering the islands outlying from the em- ire of the Grand Khan, King Ferdinand had n lying in bed, recovering from a knife thrust delivered by an assassin’s hand. The case called for the best medical aid available, and since Doctor Acosta had many times attended the sovereigns in Cordoba, the physician had gone to Barcelona to be within reach of the King. Acosta was still there. The king’s wound had closed, but he was still very weak. The doctor foresaw no early return to his home. Before the procession of discovery left Cordoba, Lucero had an unhoped-for encoun- ter. A woman called at the tavern where the Admiral had-lodged his escort and asked to see one Fernando Cuevas, page to Don Cristobal. The young man’s face grew pale as he saw the woman. Dressed all in black, with trim- mings as for mourning, she looked like one of

Page 119

arations e inhabi- a house atues, in as there the red tht back after the had died “a 1 disp f henmie ith gold, yes and zht from ye sure— was CcOn- ere more olumbus the jour- train of collected ces and t at the on foot, of mules ie towns with the is coun- ertheless Loot ro, they ond the were to eans for Beatrice stepped ous, the ba. He prepare d. But his two 1an was aS, WOT- n. But WO SONS. e really ionship. ment at niliarity He was _Presence—an honor conferred on few. those perpetual worshipers who spend their . days praying in the churches. But despite this devout Christian garb and a face prematurely aged and heavy with strange wrinkles, Fer- nando had no difficulty in recognizing the once fair Jewess, Debora, wife to Don Isaac Cohen, and mother of Lucero. . Since Fernando and Lucero had disappeared from Andujar on the same day and their re- spective parents knew of their affection for each other, it was taken for granted that they had run away together. But just before the ‘sailing of the fleet from Palos Fernando had | written to his mother that he was leaving for | the Indies with the expedition of Don Cristobal. Don Isaac’s wife had been living in Cordoba for some weeks and she had been looking for the boy ever since the Admiral’s party came to town. Where was Lucero? Cautioning her to show no emotion at any- i thing she might see, he asked Lucero to come to them. The former Jewess, in fact, showed no sur- prise. After her experiences of the preceding months there was nothing that could surprise her. Besides, it was not unusual for women to disguise themselves as men, in those days, in cases where secrecy was essential. Rapidly the woman recounted the adven- ‘tures which she and her family had been ithrough. They had embarked on one of the vessels of the fleet assembled for the removal of the Jews to Africa. Perhaps she had been on one of the very ships that met the squadron of discovery as it crossed the Saltes bar and struck out into the ocean. The arrival in Morocco marked the begin- ning of persecutions such as the exiles had never dreamed possible. The Moors thought of making the women and children slaves, and fathers and brothers who resisted were ruth- lessly put to the sword. Thus had Don Isaac himself perished, courageously defending his family and the little that was left of his fortune. The Lord, as even the dullest could see, had failed to work any of the miracles predicted by the rabbis; and driven back upon the coast, with bloodthirsty Moors on one side and the sea on the other, most of the exiles decided to accept baptism. Lucero’s mother had returned to Andalusia with the others, seeking the protection of ‘Doctor Acosta. The physician arranged for her baptism and found a refuge for her with other converts, paying the money for her main- ‘tenance himself. “Now that you are going to Barcelona, my child,” she told Lucero, “go and see Doctor ‘Acosta. He is there in attendance on the King. Tell him you are the daughter of Isabel de Andujar—that is my name now. You need add no more. We have often talked of you!” ,, Phe Admiral’s cortége moved on with its train of pack-animals, Fame went before Don Cristobal’s feet and the populations of the town flocked out to meet him. To give greater formality to the welcome, the King and Queen had their throne erected in a hall on the ground floor of the palace, not far from the cathedral. The mounted escort sent out to meet the Admiral drew up in the square around a Gothic fountain; and the hero with his sailor companions marched past , with their exotic trophies and entered the resi- dence of the monarchs. ., On the throne at their side sat Don Juan, the heir apparent, and on the steps of their S, many great lords of Castile and Aragon. Columbus fell to his knees some distance in front of the throne. Don Fernando was still weak and pale from his wound, but he hastened to rise and walk down the steps to lift the Admiral from that posture of humility. Then he ordered a chair without a back brought in, t Columbus might be seated in the Royal _ And the discoverer, a poet-promoter of facile Speech and ready imagination, speaking in the Presence of magnates of his country and under € Sympathetic glances of two royalties, began narrative of the mercies which God had Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1920 When showered upon him on his voyage. French Lick Y the curative prop- erties of its waters, French Lick call Springs—once an obscure trading post, has been trans- formed into America’s foremost spa. The hotel of 1840, pictured above, was built to serve those who, at that early date, came to drink the natural, sparkling, health-giving waters and take the rejuvenating baths, To her supreme gift of healing waters nature added a climate of year-round delightfulness and a countryside of surpassing charm. French Lick is sheltered by the Cumberland foothills from winter’s extremes, and refreshed during the summer season by cool breezes. First the Indians and then early pioneers made pilgrimages to French Lick to drink the waters and carry away as much as they could. Now Pluto Mineral Water, bottled at the springs, is available the world over. The magnificent hotel, shown above, is a concrete tribute to the curative powers of Pluto Mineral Water. It was built in response to the insistent demand of in- creasing thousands for comforts, conveniences and cuisine equaling the foremost metropolitan hotels. In the hotel, under its own medical supervision, are the finest baths available on this continent. Now is a wonderful, rejuvenat- ing time to visit French Lick— to tone up the system—restore the vitality after winter’s exactions— put the sparkle back in your eyes, snap in your step and vigor in your veins. Two world-famed, 18-hole golf courses offer exceptional op- portunities to the devotee. Tennis courts, hiking, horseback riding, plunges in the pool and other diversions make -a golden circle of waking hours, while per- fect rest on downy beds makes morning a benediction. French Lick is quickly acces- sible by rail or motor. Ample ga- rage facilities. Wire or write for reservations, FRENCH LICK SPRINGS HOTEL Home of Pluto Water’ Thomas D. Taggart, President Nature Won’t, FRENCH LICK, INDIANA Pluto Wi Zl

Page 120

MD MSS, Established 1832 Philadelphia JEWELS of Superlative Magnificence PEARLS POLISHED GIRDLE DIAMONDS EMERALDS RUBIES SAPPHIRES Exclusively Original Mountings of Platinum —not duplicat: Rings Bar Pins Brooches Bracelets Pendants Necklaces This exceptional Collection of Jewels is now complete, and inspection is invit WEDDING INVITATIONS (Matled upon request) Showing the now fashionable styles of Engraving BABY IS SAFE Endorsed by Specialists and Mothers m The Gordon Bassinet ap- proved by doctors, and thousands of mothers. . most comfortable way to motor with baby. No worry or tired arms for mother, greater comfort for baby. Strong metal frame, ZA covered with fine quality A \eatherette. Springs absorb # yA shocks. Folding hood. In- moan, TF _ stantly removable from car and stands on own legs for z use in hotel or home. Folds compactly for storage or train. Detachable Rubber-tired Wheels Obtainable. Quickly con- vert Bassinet into strong, attractive carriage. Instantly removed when Bassinet is needed in car. Folds compactly. All Gordon Baby Motoring Accessories are GUARANTEED OR MONEY REFUNDED—prices from $3.50 up. At dealers or by mail. SEND FOR ILLUSTRATED FOLDER. GORDON MOTOR CRIB CO., Inc., Dept. 23, 8 Bridge St., New York You may send me illustrated folder and name of nearest dealer. Cash Sales from WRITING $1643 in one month! This is the record of Lieut. Arthur J. Burks, successful Palmer student. It is but one month of the year in which he fully expects to make $18,000 from short stories. Another student writes: ‘‘I’ve sold two stories lately, one for $110 and the other, for which I received $160, has been accepted by the same magazine.”’ : There is no reason why you too cannot write stories that sell. If you have imagination and the urge to write, the Palmer Institute can help you produce the kind of stories that magazines will buy. Katharine Newlin Burt, writer of many stories in Harper's, McCall’s and Cosmopolitan, says: “I'd have started 10 years sooner on a literary career but there was no Palmer Institute then.’’ Palmer Courses are endorsed by many other famous authors, among them Rupert ughes, Ruth Comfort Mitchell and Jim Tully. Send coupon below for booklet containing stories of other Palmer successes and for full information on Palmer courses. PALMER INSTITUTE OF AUTHORSHIP Dept. 35-Q, Palmer Building, Hollywood, Calif. I am interested in: [1] Shore Story Writing [1 English and Self-Expression [] Photoplay Writing Name Address. All correspondence strictly confidential. No salesman will call. It was an overwhelming triumph for Colum- bus. On that very day the monarchs confirmed him in his titles and honors as Admiral Major of the Ocean Sea and Viceroy of All Lands he had discovered and should discover in Asia. For many successive days he was called to the palace that the King and Queen might hear in private of all that he had done and seen and of his plans for a second voyage. Amid all these pamperings and delights, the Admiral often thought with secret sadness of the men he had left behind at Nativity. He was constantly reminding the sovereigns of the town they owned in the lands beyond the sea. In his vivacious discourse, highly colored by imagination, the miserable palisade of tim- bers from a wreck, which defended a few bohios donated by a noted Indian chief, took on the proportions of a flourishing metropolis. As a matter of fact, the monarchs were not wasting time. They had sent divers mes- sengers to Seville directing Don Juan Rodriguez de Fonseca, dean of the cathedral there, to begin assembling a great fleet which the Ad- miral would review as soon as it was ready. The day after the grand welcome at the palace, Cuevas and Lucero set out to locate Doctor Acosta. At last the two young people found their way to the celebrated physician. He looked affectionately at Lucero’s male attire, in no sense surprised that she should be wearing the uniform of a ship’s helper. “My mother,” she began, “told me I should come to your Worship and obey you in every- thing, as though you were my father.” The physician glanced sharply at the girl. Was there an allusion in her words? But he could not push the inquiry further in the presence of Fernando Cuevas. “Indeed I shall take care of you as I would of my own daughter! You as well as your mother can count on me as long as I am alive.” Lucero expressed a desire to return to her mother and become once more a woman.’ For that matter, both Fernando and she had received notice that their first enlistment was over. The Admiral was disbanding the crews, | inviting those who were willing to go next voyage to report at Seville. Cuevas was talking with enthusiasm of this new adventure. He had conceived a. passion for the new lands beyond the ocean, and this time he was anxious to see those cities of the Grand Khan which he had missed on the first visit. Besides, there were no wars at present. Exploration was the best opening for a young man who thought a sword the only respectable instrument of toil. At any rate, Lucero must first become his wife. But for such a marriage baptism was essential. Lucero still felt toward the oppressors of her race the hatred her mother and Don. Isaac had inspired in her. She looked up fearfully at the physician. should be baptized?” 4 The physician smiled gently as he nodded. “Why not? Certain situations are beyond the individual! Certain sacrifices are too futile to be asked in the name of faith. Your mother took baptism to save her life. Why should you not accept the same rite to win tranquillity in your marriage? I will arrange both for the conversion and for the wedding on my return to Cordoba.” On the following day, Fernando Cuevas was walking casually about the streets near his lodgings when # recognized in the distance the slight but impressive figure of Don Alonso de Ojeda. He ran to meet him and the great gentleman remembered him at the first words. Ojeda had already heard of Cuevas’ trip to the isles of Asia. He himself was to accompany the Admiral on the second voyage. Don Alonso’s manner toward the Admiral’s on the page had noticeably changed. Fernando’s . admiration for the youthful hero of Granada was hardly greater than Don Alonso’s awe for one who been across the ocean sea..--He talked intimately and freely to Fernando, treating him more as comrade and friend than Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 ‘farther away than you went. “Your Worship thinks I , as a subordinate. After listening to Cuevas’ story of the voyage, he returned to his own adventures. ; Dojia Isabel was still confined in the convent at Cordoba, but friends had told him that Herboso was relenting. Archdeacon Fonseca had secured a royal pardon for Don Alonso’s past offenses, and was holding for him the com- mand of one of the vessels in Don Cristobal’s new fleet. It was the following day that Doctor Acosta was invited to dinner in the magnificent palace of Don Pedro de Mendoza, Grand Cardinal, and the “third sovereign of Spain.” Columbus had been assigned to the most dis- tinguished seat at the table, as highly placed as the Cardinal’s own, and at the latter’s side, For the first time in his life, the Admiral saw himself served at dinner with solemnities ac- corded for the most part to royalty. On this the Cardinal had insisted, treating Columbus further with public demonstrations of intimacy that no one should doubt that he considered the discoverer wholly as an equal. The Admiral, dressed in his scarlet uniform with a gold-hilted sword thrust into a scabbard of red Cordoba, recognized the doctor who still wore his dark cloak without a sword, with the bearing at once modest and distinguished of the established man of letters. And at the first opportunity, after dinner was over, the Ad- miral left the gentlemen crowded about him to greet this friend of less happy days. | . They spoke affably.of Cordoba and of people there, each fencing a little as though trying to avoid expression of something that was on the minds of both. But at last Columbus recalled their. last meeting, when the physician had finally and flatly rejected his plans for reaching Asia by the route west. : ae ‘Well, now, Doctor Acosta,” said the Ad- miral, “your Worship. must admit that my plan for the sail west to Cipango and Cathay was not so crazy! I have come back victorious, by the Grace of God!” Acosta answered with a smile equally ' ironical: j “But did you really get to: Asia? And how was the Grand Khan? Did you meet any of ‘ his representatives? What cities did you find ‘on described by Marco-Polo and Mande- ville?”’ Such objections were an old story with Don Cristobal. He merely shrugged his shoulders. “This was a very quick voyage. I am going back again, and, with the help of God, I wi look at things more at my leisure.” And he turned away, in order not to:seem discourteous to the important gentlemen .who were waiting for him. ; a As he left, the doctor threw one last remark after him: “TI still believe that Asia is much What do you think, Admiral? Couldn’t those islands be entirely new land, places that no one ever heard of before, a new world, perhaps, that has been waiting for centuries and centuries for someone to discover it?” This hypothesis, which the doctor had put forward on.a previous occasion, still seemed so absurd—born as it was of jealousy and chagrin —that Don Cristobal did not trouble to an- swer. With a smile of pity he walked away with his noble escort. Acosta, for his part, stood in a thoughtful mood, working at the doubts that had arisen in his mind, 4 What if there were new lands? What if © there were a new world to the westward How wonderful indeed! Re Don Cristobal had tried to reach the Indies; believing them to be three times as near as they really were. And now these new lands, to his good fortune, st forward into his path, without his knowledge or consent! a of the most portentous accidents of istory! But in that case, mused the doctor, it would not be a “discovery.” It would be a “colli- sion.” A distinction, with a difference. all the more wonderful! ; THE END

Page 121

1929 Hearst’s International—C osmopolitan for March, 1929 14] Cuevas? us e = os wo \wick onvent : . ‘ " m that a ; Nine. “onseca

\lonso’s ee z * ‘Deel eae eas Q > 1e com- be TyMU stobal’s % Acosta , palace ardinal, Pato ost dis- . fA aa placed 4 — h e ”s side, ee ' ea y \ C FYEASON tS this oi: VG lumbus aie bok %: fA Ae +3 ) H I G H scr 7 3 ’ aad ; 1 7 Sa niform si. AG eau > COMPRESSION abbard fet: “/ . % formed in its cylinders. Nature is to blame. people ; fs ¥ Nature gave us the fuel which made possible ying to ) a> the automobile —gasoline. But nature failed to make gasoline a perfect fuel. For it explodes GR a a ' ee ” i ws too soon— knocks’ and loses power — when ~> no~ it is pressed beyond certain limits. And as every one knows, it is the degree of squeezing of gasoline and air in the combustion chamber before ignition that determines the force of the explosion and the consequent power produced. So General Motors Research Laboratories undertook to find something which, when added to gasoline, would control its combustion rate and make it possible to build engines of higher compression and greater efficiency. After seven years of experiment, involving thousands of different compounds, the answer came: Ethyl fluid (contain- ing tetraethyl lead), the “anti-knock” compound which leading oil companies are mixing with good gasoline to form Ethyl Gasoline—the standard high compression fuel. National distribution of Ethyl has made possible the new models of higher compression and superior performance. A “high compression” car obviously requires high compres- sion fuel to show its best. But Ethyl Gasoline has meant even more: the millions of owners of cars of average compression can enjoy high com- pression performance by using Ethyl. For carbon automatic- ally raises compression by decreasing the size of the com- bustion chamber. Fill your tank with Ethy] today. You’|l find a real difference in driving satisfaction. ETHYL GASOLINE CORPORATION V7 abe \ = ' 4 25 Broadway, New York City * 56 Church St., Torento, Can. ye 36, Queen Anne’s Gate, London, Eng.

ernv. aTnwv. FLUID GASOUNE Knocks out that “knock” GASOLINE

Page 122

142 by test; no such practical requirements are generally necessary in securing drivers’ licenses—although I believe all states will have to follow the lead of the few who today demand certain physical qualifications. If you wish a list of ‘‘don’t’s” for prospec- tive fliers I offer some here: Don’t issue edicts against flying until you know something about it from experience. Don’t let your children fly in any but a licensed government-inspected plane. Don’t let them go up with any but experi- enced licensed pilots. Don’t, if they want to learn to fly them- selves, allow them to attend any but the best schools, about whose equipment and personnel you are thoroughly in- formed. Don’t, if they are to have a plane of their own, be penny-wise and pound-foolish; if necessary, wait until you or they can afford to buy adequate motors and dem- onstratedly established craft, rather than run the tragic risks of false econo- mies and short cuts. Don’t let the boy or girl hurry his or her training. Don’t let anyone consider flying seriously until he or she has a thorough and satis- factory medical examination. Don’t try to tell the instructor how to do the training. Don’t fail to back the youngster who has begun to fly, with your full confidence; don’t worry him by your worry. This matter of training and of equipment is very important. The life of the flier and the peace of mind of his family depend upon them so largely. Recently I attended at New Haven a meet- ing of representatives of the flying clubs of various colleges. After that meeting various Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 Shall You Let Your Daughter Fly? (Continued from page 89) letters came to me from college fliers and would- be fliers. In one institution, I was told, the dean for- bade any student to go aloft. This official, it appeared, had even gone so far as to write plaintive letters to parents of boys who had been exposed to the flying virus, warning them of its dangers. What, my correspondent asked, did I sug- gest? My proposal, following the suggestion of a well-known university man and aeronautic engineer, would be that air-minded alumni be asked to cure the dark-age attitude of the dean. If the boys had a good plane and a good in- structor, and their activities did not interfere with their college work, I think such activities should be encouraged. Alumni might also be induced to help with the financing of the club in the beginning. For collegiate aviation may be considered quite as much educational training as indulgence in mere sport. Aviation offers a definite business career, and a diversified one. Even if the student plans to become exclu- sively an aircraft designer or engineer, he still would profit by knowing the feel of planes. Colleges should provide the best possible supply of potential pilots. The future aviator can well use the advan- tages of a college education. His position will be analogous more nearly to the captain of an ocean liner than to a chauffeur, to whom he is often likened. Navigation, meteorology and engineering, besides knowledge of his craft and his art, are among the requirements of well- rounded piloting. These considerations primarily concern, of course, the potential commercial and social flying activities tomorrow of the college student of today. It doesn’t at all take into considera- tion the very important fact of military pre- paredness and the opportunities of national service in the preparation of trained aviators which are presented to the colleges today, It is fair to suppose that in any wars which the future may bring, aviation will figure as never before. A country with a goodly proportion of air- trained college men will be fortunate. So im- portant does actual flying appear to Mr. Grover Loening, one of the pioneers in aviation, that he has offered a prize of five thousand dollars for the college club which does the most flying, I think women’s colleges are eligible. An eastern university, by the way, has field- artillery training as part of its curriculum, the academic student therein receiving regular scholastic credit. Why not the same for flying? Obviously, official discouragement of sane, open-and-aboveboard flying by students inevi- tably encourages bootleg flying; the students sneak off and get their flying where they find it, Another undergraduate laid before mé the situation faced by their students’ flying club, Their membership and their financial strength were small. They wanted to buy one inexpen- sive plane, with which the group could work. Did I think a certain motor was adequate? The engine in question is almost obsolete, It’s a left-over from war stocks. For most flying—certainly for all cross-country work or flying by novices—it should be outlawed. The use of such unreliable equipment for student instruction seems to me very unwise. Incidentally, among the institutions which have successful flying clubs are the University of California and Harvard. The club at the University of Illinois admits women. Yale and other universities have clubs in various stages of development. Of this entire question of flying clubs (which primarily involves the use of a common plane by a group) the National Aeronautical Association is making a study, and from it suggestions may be secured, I’ve said I want all mothers to fly. Well, some contacts I’ve had lately with educators— * Will you keep your VITAL CHARM or face bitter years without it? * PESO oY OE Psa Stl Ce ae aen ~~ aA

Page 123

Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 the women and men who are shaping the men- tal development of the women and men of to- morrow—give me a special urge to make at least one flight compulsory for pedagogs. Perhaps the violence of this impractical de- sire is explained by information which I have just received. It concerns the students of a well-known women’s college. It appears that the dean forbids any girl to make a flight on penalty of expulsion. ‘ Looking back, can you remember the wicked- ness, the hair-raising riskiness of those duster- clad first automobile rides? However, there is much to say for that dean’s point of view. Some of the girls had been making occasional flights with men from a neighboring college, to dances, football games and the like. An accident had occurred. As I remember it, carelessness of inspection or oper- ation was the cause. The result was that col- lege discipline, too lax before, had tightened unreasonably. All flying was tabu. To my mind the sensible middle course, at college as anywhere else, is to have supervised flying. There is safe flying and unsafe ying. A plane may be misused or mishandled and its ety characteristics abused. Which brings me to an interesting letter, which I reprint here be- cause it so well continues this safety subject: Dear Miss Earhart: Out here on the Pacific Coast the people are more “air-minded,” it seems to me, than anywhere else in the United States. And with good reason. Tremendous dis- tances have separated us from the rest of the country. They have separated our large cities from each other. Flying looms up as a necessity, almost, to bind our communities together and to bring the Pacific Coast into intimate con- tact with the centers of population to the east. The air-liner service between San Francisco and Los Angeles is so punctual that many business men patronize it as a matter of routine. You will find, without doubt, that what you are doing for aviation in Cosmopoli- tan Magazine will interest your readers in the Far West particularly. You can do a great deal to further interest in and understanding of flying. You yourself flew across the continent and attended the great Air Meet at Mines Field, Los Angeles. I have encountered considerable comment apropos of that meet among airmen and that brings me to a point that Cosmopolitan might well raise. As you know, there were accidents at the meet and fliers were killed by mishaps resulting from the most dangerous sort of stunt flying. While these exhibitions are magnificent from the standpoint of tech- nical skill, nevertheless the reaction of the public is contrary to the interest of com- mercial aviation. I have heard commercial fliers say that such exhibitions are positively detrimental to the development of air lines. The pub- lic does not distinguish between the stunt flier and the operator of a twelve-passen- ger air liner with every safety factor known to the science of aeronautics. It may not be possible to prevent reck- less individuals from risking their lives needlessly in stunt flying, but your maga- zine can no doubt be of distinct service to the aeronautic industry by pointing out that there is all the difference in the world between stunt flying and legitimate com- mercial flying. Sincerely yours, FRANK J. TAYLOR, San Francisco The stunts Mr. Taylor refers to were purely for exhibition purposes. They were generally done in formation, that is, two or three planes looping together or flying on their backs, et cetera. They were performed dangerously near the ground. It seemed to me, in opposi- tion to Mr. Taylor’s view, the crowd in the grand stands did get the difference between 143 this type of flying and the safe transport kind. It seems to me people are becoming so well- versed in affairs aeronautic that they can re- gard aerobatics as they would the special riding skill exhibited at a steeplechase. There is still another side to the stunting story. Every pilot must possess the ability to get his plane into and out of every position in space which it may assume. To do so re- quires practise. The man who pilots the steady passenger planes on their runs is a safer flier if he has had the experience of stunt fly- ing, because he can instinctively do the right thing to regain equilibrium under all condi- tions in which he might suddenly find himself. Mr. Taylor is right when he says there is a difference between stunt flying and commer- cial aviation. Over the regular scheduled routes it is estimated that passengers are carried as safely as by any other means of transportation. The average of casualties per passenger mile in air travel includes those of outlaw flying, experi- ment, inexperience and war maneuvers, as well as those due to lack of proper facilities. Even with these debits, air travel, from the statistics available, appears to be as safe as automobiling. Train travel is by statistics safest of all. The passenger air lines, with their elaborate measures for safety, may be compared to travel by train. But at that there would be numerous accidents, if everyone “drove” trains! Passenger air lines have trained pilots who take every precaution, and their methods are not to be confused with those of even the experts who stunt for exhibition. Our language changes. “Coachman” is obsolescent. ‘Chauffeur’? may become so: Certainly it is reasonable to foresee that “air- way” will win in our language as definite a place as has “railway” or “highway.” If you have any questions about aviation, writeto Miss Amelia Earhart, Cosmopolitan Magazine, 57th St. at 8th Ave., N. Y. C. ee today, is crowded with oppor- tunities for enjoyment. There is freedom in the air—music—the exhil- aration of speed! Every moment is worth living. Only . . . you must be able to stand the pace. Vital charm, the alive- ness of glowing health, is the modern girl’s most precious possession. You ° see for yourself how unerringly the world is drawn to it and Magnesia—long recognized as a safe, effective antacid. When you brush your teeth with Squibb’s Dental Cream, tiny particles of Milk of Mag- nesia penetrate into all the places where your tooth-brush cannot reach. They neutralize the acids which are there at the time. And they remain for a considerable time giving protec- tion after use. 40 cents a large tube. Copyright 1929 by E. R. Squibb & Sons pays court to it. One of the greatest ene- mies of .health is dental trouble. For tooth decay often causes premature old age. It may strike poison- ously at your heart, your nerves, at the delicate mem- branes that cover your joints and whose injury brings crippling rheumatism. Protect yourself. See your dentist regularly and use Squibb’s Dental Cream. It does not merely clean. It neutralizes the treacher- ous acids at The Danger Line which cause tooth decay and gum irritations. Squibb’s Dental Cream Contains more than 50 per THE “PRICELESS INGREDIENT” OF EVERY PRODUCT cent of Squibb’s Milk of IS THE HONOR AND INTEGRITY OF ITS MAKER * SQUIBB’S DENTAL CREAM *

Page 124

144

early everybody needs a mild digestive stimulant

t

VER 30 years ago Dr. Beeman perfected this delicious chew- ing gum—as the best way of giving wholesome and pleasant aid to digestive action. No other brand has ever equaled Beeman’s Pepsin Gum in this respect, or in its keenness of flavor and wonderful smoothness. Buy a package or a box today. You'll enjoy it after meals, and — BEEMANS PEPSIN GUM aids digestion

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 I Learned About God Continued from page 20) or cattleman and no minerals for the miner. But there are tangled forests of aspen and blue spruce, of hemlock and cottonwood, and there are rushing forest streams, and acres and acres of fern and berries in the summer and deep snows in the-winter—a trappers’ paradise. The first day out of the junction, we traveled with the rural postman, making forty miles up and slowly up from brown, snowless plains to a level gray mesa at the two-thousand-foot level, and beyond this to a higher mesa where alfalfa stacks marked the last of the ranches. Here the postman left us and turned back. Although I had a letter from the forester, Rancher Jones looked on us with suspicion. I think he believes to this day that I was a prohibition agent, because I preferred coffee to raisin jack for thawing out my frozen stomach. However, there was an advantage to us in his suspicions. He was so anxious to be rid of us that he was entirely willing to rent us horses for the winter and to send us up to Quaking Asp Canyon in his sheep wagon driven by a Mexican in his employ. It took us five days to complete the slow ascent to John Marston’s place in Quaking Asp, following an all-but-imperceptible trail. In the morning, when we emerged from our camp for the last lap of our trek, there lay be- fore us to the north a line of barren peaks in black and white, buttressed by heavily forested spurs, dark green. A little to the left a deep cleft lay between two of the peaks. This the Mexican told us was a pass to the nearest town, fifty miles beyond. Beneath the pass lay Quaking Asp Canyon. The sn ws were now so deep that we left the sheep wagon in the spruce grove and packed the four animals with our bags and bedding. The remainder of the journey was not difficult afoot, for we followed a well-used deer trail until we actually reached the edge of the canyon. This was about five hundred yards in width and so thickly grown with aspen that it was not easy to distinguish the creek to which the deer slots led. We moved a quarter of a mile along this creek and came about dusk to a log house. A woman opened the door to the Mexican’s call and stood with the lamplight outlining a figure as magnificently proportioned as Esther’s. “Come in!” she cried. ‘We weren’t looking for you for another two weeks. John was going to leave to meet you tomorrow. Pedro, you take the critters to the corral. You'll find John and Jackie there. They'll show you where to put the bags. Come in! My Lord! You brought a nigger with you!” I put my hand hastily on Esther’s arm. The colored woman gave Mrs. Marston a long look. “T reckon, Miz Marston, you don’t know that nigger is a fighting word where I come from!” Mrs. Marston smiled at Esther. “You'll have to excuse me, miss,” she said. “You know I live out of the world as much as a porcupine in a squaw tree.” “That’s all nght, Miz Marston,” Esther smiled too. “I’m a colored woman and I ain’t ashamed of it.” “Where are you going to stow us, Mrs. Marston? On the roof?” I asked, for I was perishing with the cold while these social dis- tinctions were being arranged. The cabin contained but one room. In one corner stood a bed covered by a handsome crocheted spread. In the opposite corner, a narrow bunk with a patchwork-quilt covering. In a third corner, the kitchen stove, and in the fourth, a cupboard. The log walls were hung with a miscellany of traps, bridles, lariats, spurs, guns and colored calendars. Piled on boards stretched above the rafters was a huge assortment of pelts. Mrs. Marston laughed. “I don’t blame you for feeling worried. But you needn’t be. There’s a little cabin just a piece down the creek that was always used by a trapper from Pueblo till this winter. I cleaned that up for you. I’ll'go right over’and get a fire lighted.” She would not permit Esther to acco her, but pulled a ragged Mackinaw over her gingham dress and went out. She must have passed the man who came in immediately, Tall as were Esther and Mrs. Marston, John - Marston was taller. He was a lean, tanned fellow of middle age, with a drooping walrus mustache and gray eyes. He wore blue over- alls and did not remove a brown cloth cap which covered his ears. But he was glad to see us and shook hands with us both, staring all the time at Esther and telling us how sorry he. was he hadn’t been the one to bring us in. ee “Beaver is running fine and as it’s still closed. season on ’em I want to get all I can before — a government inspector comes. Seen Mr, Stort lately?” Stort was my friend, the forester. We were talking about Stort when the Mexi- can came in followed by the finest-looking boy of sixteen I had ever seen. He was : and unkempt but nothing could hide the that Jackie was his mother in masculine form;a — blue-eyed, auburn-haired boy, as beautiful as — Angelo’s young David. But he was bashful to the point of surliness. His mother came back — before he could find words with which to retort — to his father’s reproval of his bad manners, Esther and Mrs. Marston at once dished the — Fried antelope steak—it was close supper. season for antelope, also—fried potatoes, soda- biscuit, coffee, canned milk, corn-sirup. We all sat down together, Esther and Mexican on either side of Jackie, and we all ravenously. I should have been glad to stay with them afterward, answering questions about New York, but I was tired almost to tears and asked to go to our cabin. oe That five-minute walk remains in my with extraordinary clarity. I was not habituated to the relief from the noise and bad — air of the city. It seemed to me then and still seems to me that nothing could be more ex quisite than the moonlight through the 3 lace beauty of the aspens. a And the silence! Oh, just for one ent now of such silence! There was a little trail through knee-deep snow that crossed the ite bound creek where the hole broken for the night’s watering was already t came to pause before a tiny cabin with a stick of fire-wood for a doorstep. I’d exchange

finest hotel suite in New York for that this instant. It was twelve feet square and contained @ tiny cook-stove, two wooden bunks, a table, a cupboard and a couple of log chairs. And it contained, too, the smell of burning cedar, of bedticks fresh-filled with alfalfa hay, of adobe that plastered the chinks in wall and roof. I had a tingling sense of home-coming. We soon settled into a routine. We took our meals with the Marstons. They were glad of this, Mrs. Marston told Esther, for money was very scarce with them. Esther adjusted herself cleverly. She took a t liking to Mrs. Marston, and after the ight duties of our cabin were finished, she daily adjourned to the other house and p' to lift a part of Mrs. Marston’s burdens. The Marstons had lived in this isolation for seven- teen years. My job was to ride the traps with John Marston and I made my initial trip on the second day after our arrival. As Esther held my Mackinaw for me, she blurted out, ‘I want either Miz Marston or me to go with you!” “Don’t be silly, Esther,” I replied. “Does Marston want to ride out with a parade of women? Anyhow Mrs. Marston says that she doesn’t ride any more than she can help and you’d be scared to death on these trails.” “It would sure kill me,” agreed Esther, “but that man is a bad egg.” a “You know, Esther, Marston had be Mr. Stort’s guide for years and Mr. Stort he’s as decent and honest a fellow as ever live “Nobody knows a man excepting a

He

Page 125

1929 bake _ 33 sEFL, a pS S&ks VEER. Spibee aks © Le e° ae ROUGH quantity production, improv- ed manufacturing and merchandising methods and volume sales, it is now possible to present the largest, most stylish and most powerful Willys-Knight Six ever offered at so low a price—a value that breaks through the cost barrier! Fashioned to the minute, the new Willys- Knight Six is distinguished by sweep and verve of line, harmony of color, perfect sym- metry and proportion that place it in the front rank of the most outstanding crea- tions of today’s style specialists. And of course, the new Willys-Knight Six Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1020 Another Advance in leadership The New EEWS-KRIG i Six COACH "1045 Coupe $1045; Sedan $1145; Tour- ing $1045; Roadster $1045. Wire wheels included. Prices f. o. b. Toledo, Ohio, and specifications subject to change without notice. Equipment, other than standard, eztra. is notable for the velvet smoothness, silent power, rugged stamina, sustained high speed, flashing activity, marked economy and increasing efficiency which have won for the patented double sleeve-valve engine its high regard with America’s most expee rienced motorists. Visit your nearest Willys-Qverland dealer and see the new Willys-Knight Six. Your first glance will reveal its beauty of design. An inspection will reveal a wealth of taste- ful appointments. A demonstration will simplify the problem of deciding what car your next one shall be. And the low price will win your instant decision. WILLYS-OVERLAND, INC., TOLEDO, OHIO WILLYS-OVERLAND SALES CO., LTD., TORONTO, CANADA ae 145 The most beautiful, largest and most powerful Knight-engined car ever offered at such low prices

Page 126

EAT YEAST IN THIS MODERN I; YOU ARE RUN DOWN, FAGGED OUT; CONSTI- PATED, AND 447 Now you can get yeast in the form you’ve always w nted. No disagreeable taste. . . just flavorful little tablets that everyone likes. Handy, easy to swallow or nice to chew; they keep. They don’t cause gas. Eat this modern yeast for constipation, in- digestion, skin disorders and general run-down conditions. The Vitamin potency of Yeast Foam Tab- lets is extremely high; it is uniform. That is why this yeast is recognized as the standard for Vitamin studies by the leading universities and by the U. S. Government. Tis is your guarantee. Get Yeast Foam Tablets from your drug- gist. Six tablets in the glassine envelope for 5c or the 10-day bottle for 50c. Northwestern Yeast Co., 1750 N. Ashland Ave. ,Chicago, Ill. Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 19a who’s been behind closed doors with him,” de- clared Esther. “Perhaps,” I nodded. ‘But Mrs. Marston says nothing against my going with him.” Esther’s great eyes took fire. ‘Do you reck- on she’d dast?” “Esther,” I demanded impatiently, “are you holding back something?” “No, I’m just telling you, madam!” “Unless you have something more than talk to give me, Esther, I’m going.” I pulled my béret over my ears and started for the door. As I lifted the latch, Esther muttered un- willingly, ““He tried to kiss me, first night I was here. I slapped his face.” I turned to face her, feeling a little sick. On these pure mountains—so close to the heavens! After a moment, I said, “Well, I have no fears for myself. Marston isn’t that much of a fool, even if he is a whelp. And you are able to take care of Esther.” Esther’s eyes held unfathomable depths. “You’d do this, madam, then call taking care of little Arthur too dirty a job?” I turned abruptly and went out. In a short time, we were on our way. Marston, a torn sheepskin-lined coat over his overalls, a cloth cap over his ears, led the way on Jimmy, a clumsily built sorrel that I soon discovered could follow a trail like a lynx. My horse, Molly, was only so-so. For an hour, until we reached the first beaver trap, we did not speak. Molly-horse pegged along on Jimmy’s heels, and as I watched the morning shadows among the as- pens and cottonwoods, I thrust aside the mem- ory of the child Arthur’s tortured eyes and con- sidered Esther. I began to fear that her presence in Quaking Asp might turn out to be dynamite. Not that her relation to any white could be anything but decent, barring an occasional necessary lying. Esther’s code demanded the strictest rectitude for the white man or woman. And with me and my family Esther was a devoted, decent, God-fearing woman. But I had reason to know that with her own race Esther was a swashbuckling bully, utterly without morals. In other words, she led the double life that our civilization has forced on the more primitive of the negroes. No, I had no fears that Esther would be anything but disgusted by Marston. But that her presence might make trouble between the trapper and his wife was not improbable. This is not a record of fur trapping, so I shall not go into the details of that day, or of the many subsequent days that I rode the trails after Marston. It is not a pretty work, trap- | ping, but we women must wear furs, I suppose! Our round covered about fifteen hard miles and it was usually dusk before we reached home with our loads of wet pelts. After the first week I told myself that what- ever John Marston might be behind closed doors, on the trail he was a good man. He was silent at his work but when we ate our luncheon he talked in a ruminative way. Usually at sunset we were at a point high on the hogback from which we could look down into the canyon and see smoke curling above the trees. It would be twilight when we round- | ed the corral and saw the cabin windows warm and yellow. Esther was invariably on hand to rush out and pull me from my saddle, for I al- ways reached home half frozen. One evening, after perhaps three weeks of this, when Marston and I rounded the corral there was no light showing in his cabin window. He said nothing, however, and I stopped at my cabin where Esther greeted me as usual. “Mrs. Marston’s lamp wasn’t lighted,” I said as she helped me unlace my riding-boots. “No, madam?” Esther’s voice showed such nice surprise that I stared at her suspiciously. As she poured my coffee, the door opened and John Marston strode in. “You two! Where’s my wife?” he shouted. “T haven’t the remotest idea,” I replied. He turned to Esther. “Where is she, nigger?” I caught Esther’s hand as sh for e reached the steaming coffee-pot. She paused. “Mr. Marston,” I ejaculated, “show as mug self-control as Esther does! Where is Jackie? He glowered at Esther, but answered, “Gon I’ve known right along that devil of OUTS Was making trouble for me.” is Esther now spoke. “I never donea thing! . listen to Miz Marston. Why should I mixy with white folks’ troubles?” ss “You mean to tell me you’ve been rod here all day and didn’t see her go?” roamed Marston. = “That’s what I mean,” retorted Esther “And I tell you what, mister, if you dont change your voice to me, I’ll tell the madamal I’ve learned about you.” eS Marston exchanged glare for glare with Esther. Then he turned to me. Ri “Why did you bring this woman out here “T won’t know that,” I replied, “until: end of our visit. Mr. Marston, hadn’t you better see what preparations they made? ]t may give you an idea.” ae “Aw, teach your teacher! They took ty horses and the pack-mule and my summ hunting outfit.” a It was on the tip of my tongue to ask why he wasn’t trailing them. But I bit the words because I was conscious sudd that I wanted the pair to escape. r had tried to kiss Esther! While I gaz him with distaste, he plunged out of thes I turned to Esther. ‘You are makin serious trouble, my dear.” 3 “T knowed she was going,”’ said Esther, I argued with her all day yesterday not t “Not to go?” I repeated. 3 “Yes, madam. She ain’t no right to g¢ all right for us colored folks to run away trouble, but you whites ought to be asl to doit. God, He knows how hard it is to be decent. But He looks to the whites! us the example, and anyhow—I dida them go. I had a blanket over the windé “Just what was Mrs. Marston’s th Esther?” I asked. 3 “She seen him try to kiss me Seems she’s had a lot of trouble like tha him and she’s chock-a-block full. But she went after him about it day before y day, he kicked her. Jackie, he tried her and there was a mess.” aie Here the door opened again and Mart put his head in. ‘Look here,” he said, * come with me. She might listen to you.” “Have some sense, Mr. Marston!” I po tested. “I can’t interfere. If your wife has taken such a step as this—a woman of he type—she must feel that she’s had som terrible provocation.” “A woman of what type?” sneered Marston “She seems to me as fine and faithful as sk is beautiful. Personally”—summoning all my courage—‘“I won’t lift a finger to bring he back.” He banged the door. A moment later W heard his horse trot past the corral. then went over to the main cabin and brought back the makings of a supper and breakfast for us. She was sullen and I made no attempt 0 break through her silence. I was very uneasy. Shortly she placed fried mush on the table and announced, “Supper is served, madam.” “So you think it’s wrong for Mrs. Marstot to leave her husband, but would be all right fo a colored woman?” I said. “Yes, madam!” “For my part,” I went on, “I think Ms Marston had a perfect right to run away. couldn’t keep her self-respect, or her son’s, até stay. Has Marston been in the habit of abut ing her?” “No, ma’am! He never did before, Dea he’s threatened to. Like last summer whet ran after some squaws camped near here. told him she wouldn’t stand it and he like he was crazy. She’d stick it out if it wasn’t for the boy. She says it’s ruil him, seeing his father so. He’s going to™ this bad, Marston. For all his ructiomsy crazy about Miz Marston.” : “T think she ought to have run away”

Page 127

on!” I pro ur wife has man of her had some »d Marston. thful as she ning all my > bring her nt later we al. Esther ind brought reakfast for attempt to ery uneasy. n the table 1 0 ” rs. Marston all right for think Ms away. She r son’s, bit of abus ore, Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 ignition Motor cea. as aii se SSE TheNew NASH 400° is the only car with all these outstanding features as regular equipment at no extra cost . . PE ee ee ee ee eer ee ge pose a Leads the World in Moter Car Value

Page 128

MR PEANUT PEG US OaT ONE

When you’ve just time to grab the train, grab a bag of Plant- ers Salted Peanuts. They are “The Nickel Lunch.” Big, delicious peanuts; brown as a Pullman Porter, crisp as a new ticket. 5 cents every- where. PLantTers Nut & CHOCOLATE COMPANY U.S.A. and Canada PLANTERS SALTED PEANUTS

Cup brown sugar; juice eight oranges, six lemons; half bottle Martini & Rossi Vermouth. two glasses plain or spring water, dash bitters. Pour in bowl with ice and pineapple slices. Stir gently. RECIPES SENT with BridgeScore Pad gratison request to W. A. TAYLOR & CO. A 94 Pine Street New York MARTINI & ROSSI NON ALCOHOLIC Vermouth

“Yes, madam, you would think so. If you’ll excuse my saying it, you’ve been running away ever since I knowed you.” “From what?” I gasped. “From God,” replied Esther. ‘You owe it to God to take that child and raise him and that’s why you came out here to this misery on the mountain tops. You run away from little Arthur, madam, and that’ll be written up against you on the Judgment Day.” She put another twist of cedar in the stove and resumed her stance before the oven. I pushed away my unfinished plate. And there was silence. It was a long half-hour before I found words. Then I said, haltingly enough, ‘Esther, if I could believe that God is aware of my little doings—well, it would make life a very differ- ent matter for me.” . “Would it make you take that little child Arthur?” demanded Esther fiercely. I sighed and repeated the - -estion to my- self. Would it? If that Ultimate Cause in which I had found faith only after many years of atheism were a conscious entity—but my mind would not compass the conception! “What do you think God is like?” I asked. “God is a spirit like the Bible says,” replied Esther. She would have said more, but someone fumbled at the latch and pushed the door open. Jackie entered and stood blinking at the candle. Each eyelash was an icicle. From the knit muffler round his neck dangled threads of crystal. His sheepskin chaps were caked with snow as if he’d ridden far through deep drifts. ‘‘Where’s your mother, Jackie?” I demanded. “She got bad with that old pain in her back and just before sundown I put her in Rand’s empty cabin, a mile this side of the Pass. She’s awful sick and I had to come back for help.” “Ts there heat in the cabin?” I asked. Jackie nodded. “She won’t freeze. What I’m afraid of is my father finding her.” I saw that his chin was trembling. My heart went out in pity to the boy. “Esther, give him some coffee,” I said, be- ginning to pull on my boots. “Madam,” Esther protested, “I’ll go up there! It’ll kill you after your hard day.” “You are no good on the trail, Esther,” I re- plied. “Besides,” smiling, “I must show you that I don’t always run away.” She scowled. “You know I didn’t mean that kind of running, madam! You boy,” turning to Jackie, “what you want us up there for?” “I want you there when Dad finds her, both of you. You’ve gotta come!” His eyes were desperate. “T reckon we gotta,” grunted Esther, mut- tering something about white folks’ troubles. As we hurriedly wrapped ourselves for the bitter journey, Jackie explained to us that Rand’s cabin was eight miles up toward the Pass. He and his mother had followed the trapping trail for the first three miles, which fact must have delayed Marston in picking up their tracks. There was only one horse left for Esther’s use—old Dave. She was afraid to mount my Molly-horse, whose one sign of life was that she shied a bit. Old Dave was raw-boned and stiff- legged and sixteen hands high. It took Jackie and me five minutes to work Esther up into the saddle. But finally we were off, Esther following Jackie, and I at the rear. It was about ten below zero and clear moon- light. When we left the canyon and began the ascent of the hogback, I was astonished at the distance the eye could travel. As we drew up at the top of the ridge, the Pass, five miles away to the north, seemed within stone’s throw. From the glazed spine of the hogback, Jackie led us to a sloping terrace dotted with cedar and with red rage ws of sandstone jutti from the snow. Slowly and slowly higher, ti each breath drawn by our horses was a groan. The trail upward looked like a cobweb cling- ing to an almost perpendicular wall. However, our horses reluctantly followed Jackie’s. But it was beautiful! I dared not look down, but I dared twist in my saddle to look back Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 at the exquisite blue and lavender silhouettes of mountain ranges ever increasing in number behind us. We had covered about six miles when, on a turn of the trail that edged a straight drop into nothingness, Molly-horse tried to turn around. I didn’t argue with her, but slipped off and tried to lead her. She wouldn’t be led. Jackie, looking back, shouted at me fiercely: ‘“‘Ain’t you got sense enough to stick to horse on a trail like this? You git right back!” I was too cold to reply. But I kept on lead. ing. Molly looked a hundred feet high at the saddle! However, Jackie was right. I had not gone far when I slipped terribly on my half. frozen feet. Then I turned ferociously on poor Molly and banged her on the nose until she agreed to let me mount without bhacki During this interlude Esther prayed, huddled on old Dave. Up and up, the Pass growing wider above us, the wind heavier, the cold more intense. It was about midnight when we reached the cabin, Esther and I were almost helpless with cold and fatigue. Jackie pulled us off our nags with- out ceremony and led the horses into the shelter of the cedars, while we stumbled into the cabin, It was lighted by a candle in a miner’s candle- stick. Esther and I paused, startled, just within the door. John Marston was brushing the snow from his knees before the fireplace! Jackie, following us in, rushed across the room to place himself beside his mother, who lay under a blanket on the bunk. For a moment we stared at one another, Marston glaring mostly at his son. I tried to speak normally. “Jackie says you are sick, Mrs. Marston, so we came up to seeif we could help. Did you sprain your back?” “T’ve had a floating kidney since Jackie was born,”’ she replied, “and riding about kills me.” “Good thing, it seems,” volunteered Marston. “You shut up!” blazed Jackie. His father gave him a look of cold fury. “Nice son you are! I'll show you just how much I appreciate you. Step outside with me while they fix your mother up!” Esther, who had been examining the crude crane in the fireplace, straightened up and drawled: ‘No, he won’t go with you, Mr Marston, less’n you want me to to the am ” Marston laughed uneasily and shrugged his shoulders. But he made no further gesture toward Jackie. Instead, he squatted against the wall opposite the fireplace. There was 0 furniture in the cabin save the bunk. “Jackie,” I said, “see if you can heat some snow-water. Mrs. Marston, won’t hot com- presses ease you as much as anything?” “Yes! Yes! Oh, I do thank you for every- thing!” she exclaimed. For an hour Jackie, Esther and I relayed steaming towels from the lard pail on the crane to Edith Marston’s body. At last she relaxed and begged us to rest. We packed her witha couple of hot-water bottles, and then Esther and I seated ourselves against the wall on either side of the fire. Jackie perched beside his mother. “Well,” drawled Marston, “what do you smart women think you are going to de Something in his ugly voice made me snap back: ‘Help your wife over the Pass.” __ He laughed. “Now you know you’re talking . like a fool, don’t you?” j “I’m a fool to mix in your affairs,” I admitted. “No, you ain’t,” said Edith Marston. “You and Esther are angels.” Esther and I smiled, but Esther shook het head and said, “Something makes me tell you again, Miz Marston, that I don’t think you should run away, though you know I hat him,” jerking her square black chin at Marston. I sighed. It was evident that Esther pro to mix in and I doubted whether any — of us could stop her. The wind howled and pounded cabin. Snowflakes drove through chinks i began to speak slowly: “I read or write. But I go to church and I against the

a lot o inherite old day the col and tol He left “Nov so’s you much b do no g¢ Ten Cor and tol How ha here in| She g look an “You and me rung < | in God Al ight, tc Mz Ma there sc¢ what yc Don’t y I expe did not s “Esth God pay troubles. lets us € can’t eve “Wher Esther, / us, ‘Here done!’ I say, ‘Het I drew We all w Coyote cabin. 7 my com me as I | seemed ti in the lay ageless w Surely, on earth, be consci the moun Scars! worked n mulated | number 1 a Art! ering t nail holes brow, on God? Di Didn’t God, in a pik then r that ac not the uy slime to t

one you t about my “He ow replied Es you owe j you pay fc Him, I'm answer for

Page 129

a lot of truth. It was you white folks that inherited the earth, not us. Back in them | old days when God talked, did He talk to |

Be»: the colored folks? No! He talked to you-all y-horse and told you what to do to get to Heaven while | He left us naked down there in Africa. | off and “Now He had a reason for that. It was | Jackie, so’s you'd set us an example. We ain’t got as | much brain as you-all. He knowed it wouldn’t | ‘0 your dono good to go down to Africa and read us the | back!” Ten Commandments. No! He gave ’em to you | n lead. and told you to preach ’em to all the earth. at the How have you done it? You-all, setting right I had here in this cabin, how you done it?” ry half- She gave each of us in turn a long piercing N poor look and not one of us stirred. She went on: ti} she “You think it was just pig luck sent madam acking, and me ’cross the earth and clean up to the top uddled rung of God’s footstool here where we could into Saint Peter’s key —_ I tell you God Almighty brung us to this very spot, to- Teal night, to settle what He was troubling us with. cabin. Miz Marston, you can’t run away from tha’ th cold there scoundrel and expect God not to ask you swith | what you done with the job He give you. ‘shelter Don’t you know that?” = cabin. I expected Marston to come to his feet. He candle. did not stir. His wife lifted her head. d, just “Esther,” she said earnestly, “I don’t think rushing God pays any attention to little things like my replace! troubles. All I believe is He gave us life and lets us do what we want to with it. And I ‘ho ia can’t ever do any good where John is.” “When Judgment Day comes,” returned nother, Esther, “the Almighty ain’t going to say to us, ‘Here, you, show me the good things you Lys you done!’ He’s going to rip open your shroud and to seeif say, ‘Here, let me look at your scars!’ ” back?” I drew a quick breath but could not speak. kie was We all were silent, enumerating our scars! lls me.” Coyotes, yelping desperately, circled the [arston. cabin. The room, the anxious, uneasy faces of my companions gradually became dim for d fury. me as I pondered on Esther’s last words. It ist how seemed to me that I was up in the Pass, alone vith me in the lavender infinity across which swept the less wind. e crude Surely, if God could be reached from any spot up and on earth, it was here—it was here. Could He yu, Mr. be conscious of me, yearning toward Him from to the mountain top? sas! It had pes to me that as I had his worked my way through the years I had accu- <a mulated more than my share of them. Their against number was one of my excuses for not taking was little Arthur. And yet, when one thought of odering those scars, say, in comparison with at some nail holes in palms and feet and a thorn-torn ot cae brow, one hesitated. What could one offer 2 God? Did God want my offering? Didn’t it come to this? If one believed in

Oo God, in a God of Whose spirit each of us was a relayed part, then each was responsible for the integrity ne crane ° His portion of that spirit. And on the degree relanil that each kept the integrity of his portion, did - witha not the upward movement of the race from the | sy _ _ depend? : , Suddenly Marston spoke. ‘“What’re you go- na ing to do, Edith?” shy Edith Marston did not look at her husband. do you Esther, she asked, “why should I be the only next?” § %€ you think owes something to God? How ne snap about my husband?” ’ He owes a lot more’n you do, Miz Marston,” ‘talking replied Esther. “But what he owes and what you Owe is separate and you can’t neither of imitted. § YOU Pay for the other. When I gets up there to

I'm a-going to have many a dirty sin to answer for a-covering up my scars, and I better

ook her 5° tty to get out of ’em by saying, ‘Lord, look tell you. Pircoris of my husbands done, don’t look at ink ; “Rs : I Rae Es But you think little Arthur is my business, _ pp *sther?” I asked, smiling a little.

Yessum, I certain! %e sav it plai im, 1 inly do. I can’t say it plain because it ain’t simple like Miz Marston’s that de I know as well as God’s my Maker

inst the And Arthur ought to be one of your scars.” inks Mies Is Arthur?” demanded Edith I a by an unaccountable impulse I told I Pl t the child and the problem he Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1920

qure of an entire year is needed to mature California Seedless Navel Oranges. Science explains that is why they contain such a quantity of vitamins. Richest in juice and finest in flavor, these Sunkist Seedless Navels are delicious beyond comparison. For that energizing, early-morning glass of juice, these delicious Navels are not only wonderful tothe taste, but you know they supply needed vitamins and mineral salts. Fresh Orange Juice, like fresh Lemon Juice, though O RAN acid in taste, is alkaline in its reaction in the body. It is known to Medical Science asamong the most potent correctives and preventives of Acidosis . . . the malady which opens the system to many ailments, forerunner of dan- gerous and dreaded diseases. There is an abundance of juicy, delicious small-sized California Navel Oranges in mar-

California Fruit Growers Exchange Dept. 1403, Box 530, Station ‘‘C”’ Los Angeles, California Enclosed find $14.95 (Canada $19.95) for one Sun- kist Junior Orange and Lemon Juice Extractor. (Please mail me a FREE copy of ‘‘Telling Fortunes with Foods,’ discussing Acidosis and containing normal anti-acidosis and Safe Reducing diets. Check if desired. (Mail me free copy of Recipe Book. Richest, /ixest-[lavored Orange Juice CALIFORNIA ket. Reasonable price makes them econom- ical and ideal for juice purposes. Every man, woman and child who is sub- jected to our faulty, unbalanced American diet, usually consisting of too many heavy, acid-forming foods and too few of the alka- line-reaction fruits and vegetables, must fight Acidosis. Oranges and Lem- ons, always available as fresh fruit, are everywhere pre- scribed to prevent and correct this prevalent and dangerous ailment. GES Send immediately for a free book, ‘‘Tell- ing Fortunes with Foods,” endoised by an eminent diet authority. It discusses Acidosis and presents normal anti-acidosis and Safe Reducing diets. Sunkist California Seedless Navel Oranges are identified by the trade mark “Sunkist” on | rausne | the skin and on the wrapper. TELLING © 1929 c. F. G. &. SEE aad aes EES a Re

Sunkist Junior Home Fruit Juice Extractor. Electrically powered ; neat, attractive. Only two parts to clean afteruse. Extracts al/ the orange or lemon juice quickly and ef- ectively. Sold under uarantee. $14.95. f your dealer can- not supply you send check or money. ar- wt)

Name Street - der to address at lefe. ‘ Carriage prepaid. In City. State Canada $19.95.

Page 130

Help Him Resist Disease This is the time of year when you should be very careful of your dog’s health. If you know what to do for him, you can probably guard him from serious illness. If Your Dog Has Any of These Symptoms, He Needs Sergeant’s Condition Pills. Do You Know? Do you know how to keep a dog well? Do you know what to do when he is sick? Do you know the symptoms.of the diseases that kill _ thousands of valuable SYMPTONS Listlessness; laziness; sluggishness; loss of appetite; dull, dry coat; irritability; ner- vousness. whee Food ’s animals yearly? These A balanced ration{ 4T things every dog owner ought to know. It costs nothing for you to find out. There are ef- fective remedies for all . dog diseases and it is a simple matter for you to know when and how to use them. Famous Dog Book Free We urge you to write for your free copy of Polk Miller’s famous Dog Book. It contains the accumulated experience of more than fifty years. In clear, non-technical language it tells the symptoms of dog diseases and the best treat- ments for each. There are useful articles on feeding, breeding and raising dogs. This book has been the guide for millions of dog lovers. It is free. Expert Advice Free If your dog develops a condition not fully explained in the dog book, write us at once. Our expert veterinarian will answer personally, sending without charge, com- lete instructions for care and treatment. ° Sergeant’s Medicines and Dog Food are on sale at dealers If you cannot obtain them, write direct. containing a_ large proportion of freshly cooked Beef. Fon dogs and puppies of all breeds. everywhere. Write for Free Sample of Sergeant’s Dog Food We Guarantee Your Dog Will Eat It Polk Miller Products Corporation 1774 W. Broad Street ichmond, Va. DOG MEDICINES Al medicine or every dog aibntend ae Oe Sole Canadian Agents: Fred J. Whitlow & Co., Toronto presented to me. When I had finished, Edith Marston said reproachfully to Esther: “And you say your poor madam ought to take that child? That she owes it to God?” “She owes everything to God,” returned Esther. She turned toward me and joined the others in a concentrated stare. And deep within me, this is what I heard: I owe everything to God, body, life, spirit and the lovely world through which I so halt- ingly make my way. Whatever I may do to help humanity on its upward march, I owe Him. To the last deep effort of the mental and spiritual power which is God within me, I must help. Since I was peculiarly fitted to care for little Arthur, he was my job. Whatever pain he cost me—well, God would see the scars! I rose slowly to my feet as one does when as- suming a burden. Esther needed no words. Great tears ran down her cheeks as she shouted: “Amen! Blessed Master, I thank You!” “You ain’t never going to do it?” protested Edith Marston. I nodded slowly and said, “If there’s any credit, which I doubt, it goes to Esther.” “T reckon it does,” agreed Edith Marston. Marston turned to his wife. ‘Well, Mama, do you still feel as if you wanted to try the Pass in the morning?” “What do you mean, Papa?” “Well, I don’t take much stock in this reli- gious talk. But nobody’s ever called me a quitter, so I reckon I can scar myself up a little if it'll do you any good. If you want to go over the Pass, I won’t stop you.” “You mean it would hurt you to have us go?” “What do you think I am, a wolverene?” de- manded John. “More and more you’ve got to acting like one,”’ replied Edith. “Well,” said John judicially, ‘““you might be partly justified. I been thinking while all this dangers. He knew the big moment had arrived. He grabbed both her hands in his and ex- ploded, “Lydia, darling, I can’t stand it an- other minute. I’ve simply got to say it. Will you marry me?” Lydia focused those devastating orbs upon him and said, with the most spurious surprise, “Terry, dear, I don’t think I’m quite ready to get married yet.” Then as an afterthought, “What kind of furniture do you think we should have in the dining-room?” ‘They burst into laughter which was smothered by kisses as they | fell into each other’s arms. It was the most natural thing in the world | that Terry should want Clyde for his best man. They still occupied adjoining rooms in the small apartment which they shared. Terry literally flew home, after, of course, supple- menting his proposal with kisses and hugs. He burst into the apartment, knocking over an umbrella-rack and a table of phonograph records. He was full of the music of love but there was no one there to hear his song. He was so excited he could not sit down. Every time he passed Lydia’s picture—the only girl’s photograph in his room—he picked it up and kissed it passionately. He went into Clyde’s room and looked at the walls, which were covered with photographs of stage ladies in various languid poses of semi- draped allurement. Many of the beautiful creatures were appearing in Broadway produc- tions and Terry could not help but admire Clyde for his ability to form the acquaintance- ship of talented ladies who were constantly being showered with foreign automobiles, orchids, Russian titles and yachts. Many of the photographs bore inscriptions written in bold, free scrawls: ‘“To Clyde, with a little of this and plenty of that, Mazie” . . . “Clyde, I crave you, Toots” . . . “To darling Clyde, with all my love, Bess.” The picture of Bess, the latest addition to Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 19% Bri dges of Destiny (Continued from page 37) talk was going on that what was matter with all three of us is that we’ ve bee, shut up in Quaking Asp too long. You ay Jackie and I might go over the Pass for the summer. And if I get to acting like a wolverey meantime, you can set a trap for me!” Edith, face flushed, looked at her son. Jaci, nodded in an embarrassed manner. Edith smiled at her husband. “I guess Igy stand you till spring, John.” “There!” sighed Esther. We all laughed and the tension broke, It came on to snow at dawn. Neve we started back for the canyon and reach home at nightfall, cold but content. A chinook wind came from the south a day so later and on its heels came the Mexican with a month’s accumulation of mail. The bundle of mail which he placed on oy cabin table did not tempt me, though I ha every reason for wanting to hear from the Fast Finally, I opened the top letter. It was from my Boston friend. She told me that littk Arthur had died. The woman who was caring for him had grown weary of the constant watchfulness he required and had locked hin in a room alone for an hour. He had fallen from a table and broken his neck. I put the letter back in the envelop, and as] did so, it was borne in on me that the woma who was caring for him and I shared the guit for his death about equally. It was notaples ant thought to contemplate. “It wasn’t to be,” Esther said simply wha I broke the news to her, later; then added, ‘I wonder why the Lord brought us out here.” “T know,” I replied. “It was to teach me that I owe to God all that is in me to give” Esther nodded, then asked wistfully, “But you won’t never forget how his eyes looked, will you, madam?” “No! No!” I answered, and my heart twist- ed. “Esther, I never shall!’ And I never have. Clyde’s collection, occupied the most promi- nent spot. She was blond and knew how tost for a photograph. She had that innocent, wide-eyed, surprised look on her face thi seemed to ask, “Is it true that in some farof countries there are women who work?” Terry said to himself, “What I can’t unde stand is how Clyde can be such a fool. Hemy be having a fine time now but it’s not leading him anywhere. By the time I have a permanett place as the head of a family, he’ll be too ol for this sort of thing and where will he be Surrounded by a lot of leeches after his money, if he has any left—with no real person to show him a little affection. I’m sorry for Clyde’ Just then none other than Clyde himsl burst into the apartment, leading a strange looking dog that seemed to be mostly cheesehound with a dash of rat. “Listen, Clyde,” Terry almost shouted, “I’m going to marry Lydia. And you're goilg to be my best man.” Clyde looked at Terry in a dazed sort of wy and then looked at the dog. “King, first yo bite the seat out of a colored bell-boy’s pat and then you take a chew out of a cab-anve* nose. How am J to tell whether you like meat or white meat?” Terry grabbed him by both shoulders a shook him violently. “Won’t you ever get aly sense? Didn’t you hear what I just told yo I’m going to get married. Married, you unde stand? To Lydia Vale. Get that—the fins, swellest, most beautiful girl in the work! Congratulate me, Clyde. You’remy best mab “T heard you the first time. Great! It's bet done before. People have been getting mart for years. Nobody yells about it any more you want to be a sap I’ll help you keep y? secret. Isn’t it too bad dogs can’t talk? Lae} at poor King. He probably wants a ginger ale or something and he has to # there looking dumb and hoping

Page 131

ch, 192 5 really ty We've ber, é You an ASS for th a wolveren ne!” Son. Jackie guess Icy broke, ev ind. reached 4 uth adaye [exican with aced on ou ough I had ym the East It was fron > that littl > Was caring he constant locked him > had fallen lop, and as! - the woman red the guilt 5 Not a pleas. simply when n added, “I ut here.” to teach me > to give.” tfully, “But s looked, will ‘heart twist- most promi- w how tosit rt innocent, r face that qquess' the answer. But King does a lot more inking than some——” “Where did you get this dog, anyway?” asked Terry, rapidly losing his patience. “And how do you know his name is King?” “His name’s got to be King,” said Clyde, with an air of authority, “and nobody gets dogs, either. All of a sudden you turn around and— bingo—there’s a dog, and his name is King.” ust then there came through the front door, which Clyde had neglected to close, a short, round, fat man with horn-rimmed glasses and | whiskers. He popped into the room, took one look at the dog and yelled, “Lena! Come here!” King, whose reign as a masculine ruler was destined to be acutely brief, obeyed the com- mand and shed his virile nom de plume. The irate stranger grabbed Clyde around the neck and shouted, “Can’t a gentleman leave his dog outside a Junch-room for a minute with- out having it stolen by a low bum like you? You ought to be arrested, you loafer. It’s lucky I happened to see you going into this place with my dog. Youskunk, you! You thief!” Having run out of epithets, the little man walked out of the apartment, closely followed by the cause of the controversy wagging her tail and making no pretense of being anything but just plain Lena, a dog of obscure parentage belonging to Otto Schmaltz. Terry did not dwell any longer on the in- cident of the dog. It was just a new chapter in an old story. Clyde was always indulging in some wild practical joke. At various times he had brought home an electric sign reading “UNDERTAKING PARLOR,” a skeleton, a live street-sweeper with his portable ash-can, a suit of armor, a gum-machine and a small horse. So, of course, the dog was of minor importance. Terry’s feeling of impatience at the irrespon- sible ramblings of Clyde was more than counter- acted by his own exhilaration. Now that he was about to embark on the great journey, he felt a certain pity for his friend. Poor Clyde, throwing his life away on shal- low women! There was no substance to it; he was building up nothing for the future. Then he fell into a sound slumber and dreamed of Lydia, and a family and a home of his own. The wedding took place in the home of Lydia’s parents. The aunts and uncles on both sides of the family remarked, with a tinge of reluctance, that it was really an ideal match. The young couple looked fine, Terry was able to support a wife and they were really in love. Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 19209 eK 2), ASRS. Everybody was early for the wedding except | the best man who was late—extremely late. The bride and groom felt a bit anxious but they knew Clyde. He would come even though he happened to pick up a giraffe or a mongoos on the way. _Finally Clyde appeared. One of the tails of his full-dress coat was entirely missing. His left eye was swollen and the white bosom of his evening shirt was batiked with blood. And, sure enough, he had an animal with him. But this time it was not a yak or an armadillo or a llama. It had only two legs and wore a uni- form. You guessed it. It was a policeman. _Clyde had a genius for taking embarrassing situations by the forelock. He avoided scenes by simply not allowing them to take place. In spite of his sensational entrance, he strode to the spot where the groom was waiting with such audacious amiability that, before anyone could realize it, the bride had taken her place alongside the groom and the minister was droning off the ritual. When the ceremony was over and the guests crowded around the lucky couple to pay their respects, Clyde slipped out with the police- man who escorted him to the station-house. Hello, sergeant,” said Clyde to the big fat man behind the desk. ere did you come from, the slaughter- house?” answered Sergeant Mooney. . ‘It was like this,” broke in Officer Kraus: I’m on the sidewalk just outside the grill- toom of the Strathmore Hotel when I hear a terrible racket. I rush inside the restaurant | Just in time to see this bird on top of another | Wears the smartest Clothes Has the Smartest Things B tu like everyone else, she is u human and...inconsistent. ER PROGRESS in clothes from trailing skirts, balloon sleeves, and monstrous hats... has amazed the world. Her home has been transformed,as by mag= ic, to refined simplicity and ensemble harmo= ny. But in one respect, she has stood stock still. Watch her when guests are invited. She goes a-borrowing silver from neighbors. She sets table in five, six, seven clashing patterns of silverware. She hastily washes pieces between courses and mar= shals them into service. sa bride, she had the wrong start. Well-mean= ing friends and relatives showered her with gift silver. A set of silverplate from father. An odd set of spoons from her girl friends. A jelly server in still another pattern. A perfect menagerie of patterns! For the first time a maker of fine silverplate has faced this problem and developed the most inex= pensive plan ever presented to acquire a complete service in one beautiful pattern. you mail the coupon below, you will receive a remarkable booklet by etiquette authorities. In four steps, at a cost you never notice (starting as low as $34.25), it leads you into the service of your dreams. + + + Originated by Holmes & Edwards, genuine Inlaid ilverplate has the endurance of sterling silver back of bowls and handles of the most used pieces, —yet is priced no more than other high grade silverplate. Tea Sets and Service Silver Matching Pageant and Century Patterns HOLMES 6 EDWARDS ] NI Al D ‘TRADE | A MARK ©isco.sze Made and Guaranteed by The HOLMES & EDWARDS SILVER CO. International Silver Co., Successor, Bridgeport, Conn Miss Ann Adams. $ Send me your booklet--** Stepping Stones to a Perfect Table Service.’’ Name. Address. City re Made in Canada by the Standard Silver Company, International Silver Co. of Canada, Ltd., ay Successor, Toronto, Can. C 329

Page 132

152 guy massaging his face with a lot of chicken a la King. The other guy is trying to poke this fellow’s eye out with a fork and.a blond dame is standing on the table yelling. “This one lifts one of them heavy covers off a platter of roast beef on a near-by serving- table and brings it down on the other guy’s head. When the atmosphere clears a little the house doctor bandages the other guy and I grabs this one and starts to take him along. The screaming dame runs out of the joint yell- ing something about getting to the show in time to make up. From the quick flash I got I’d say she was made up enough already. “This guy wipes the Russian dressing out of his eyes and tells me he,can’t go along because he’s got to be best maith 3 wedding and is late. It sounds like a gag. I*ve had ’em tell me they had to get home quick because their wife was gonna have a baby any minute. But this best-man gag seems kina dumb. I says, ‘All tight, kid, invite me to the wedding, too,’ thinking he’ll switch to the sick-wife stuff or tell me he’s Coolidge. a8 “But sure enough he takes me to the wedding and I stands in the hall while he goes right bsg to the place where the outfit is assembled, hands the groom the ring and goes through with the whole works. It’s all over and he’s on his way here with me before any of the stiffs at the wedding know what happened. He’s a nervy kid, I’ll say.” Js ELL, young man,” said Sergeant Mooney, “what was the fight about?” “Sergeant,” answered Clyde, “I was having dinner with a lady friend of mine who’s on the stage but is one of the sweetest, most——” “I didn’t ask for her description,” broke in the sergeant. “If I need any information about her one of my men can get it for me.” ‘Well, it’s not her fault if she’s beautiful and people keep staring‘at her. A fellow at the next table—one of those dark guys with a swarthy face and watery eyes and a trick hair-comb that ~ covers up a bald spot—kept staring at her all through dinner. Maybe the custems of his country are different, but that’s his worry. He sent the waiter over to Miss McAllister—I mean, my lady friend—with a note that read something like this: ‘Dear beautiful blond lady: Pardon my boldness, but one of my warm nature cannot sit so close to a heavenly star without being consumed by its brilliance. May I send you my card?’ ’ “She, of course, did not get angry because all females like flattery. She even looked over at this guy and gave him a pleased nod. That’s all he needed. He bounded over to our table in one step. I was burning up. Just then the waiter brought the chicken ¢ Ja King and—well, the officer has told you the rest.” The telephone on the desk rang. “Hello,” bellowed Sergeant Mooney. “What? A bank— three hundred and fifty thousand dollarsin bonds —two killed—wait a minute, hold the wire.” Then, turning to Officer Kraus, “Get that sap out of here. We can’t be bothered with him. Now, get three other men and go down——” And Clyde found himself out in the street, a free man. It was always like that with Clyde. He got out of trouble -just as easily as he got into it. As we said before, the lives of Terry and Clyde went along to a certain definite con- clusion and that is what we are principally concerned about. After Lydia had her first baby, Terry Junior, a fine, big, strapping boy, Doctor Farnham told her it would be just as well if she did not have any more children. Whereupon she did what a great many others have done in similar cases. She went and had another baby. This time it was a girl. A blood transfusion was the only thing that saved Lydia. For months she was too weak to display any sign of emotion over the advent of her daughter Ruth. But those deep brown eyes that had so com- pletely enslaved Terry a few years before still shone with the bright light that was generated by her fine, sweet spirit. Lydia was finally up Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 and around—a bit pale, but able to move about in a quiet sort of way. And then the business of rearing the two children really began. Terry worried a lot about Lydia and it- hurt to pay all those doctor bills. But he never quite got over marveling at the children. Lydia had periodic attacks and had to stay in bed for weeks at a time. During these periods when Lydia had to remain quiet Terry came home early and helped put the children to bed. They had a maid and she could have done it just as well alone, but Terry had the quaint idea that youngsters should receive some small personal attention from one of their parents each day. Lydia watched these fre- quent ministrations to the children and buried her head in her pillow. She could not train herself to stop crying on these occasions. + As the years went by Lydia’s attacks grew more frequent and Terry, though he bore an outward air of cheerfulness, was never un- reservedly happy except on those rare occa- sions when Lydia really felt well. She never complained and that is what hurt him most. But the children romped and grew and filled the house with noisy activity which offset the inter- ludes of ill health and assured Terry that life was giving him the best it had to offer. Once in a while fleeting thoughts of Clyde would intrude themselves upon him. Clyde— with no responsibilities but those directly con- cerned with his own person. Clyde—playing pranks, telephoning beautiful girls, receiving homage from head waiters. Clyde—who built up around himself an atmosphere of gay and irresponsible romance. But after all it was artificial! One Thanksgiving when Lydia felt ol ticularly well, she said, “Terry, dear, let’s invite Clyde up tonight. He'll ‘probably be glad to eat a nice family Thanksgiving dinner for a change.” ‘Nothing better,”’ answered Terry. “I’d like him to see what a regular family looks like.” “T’'ll call him up.” She went to the phone. “Well, well, Lydia, it’s great to hear your voice,” he said when she calléd*him. “How are you and how’s Terry and the kids?” Clyde’s voice was full of its characteristic snap. “‘We’re just fine, thanks. Won’t you come up to dinner tonight at seven? No outsiders except yourself, and you’re one of the family.” “Gee, Lydia, it’s sweet of you to think of me today. But it’s just my bad luck that I’ve got another date.” “Oh, that’s too bad, Clyde. The children will be disappointed. They look forward to such a lot of fun when you show up. I guess I’d better date you up right now for next Thanksgiving. You’re so popular.” “Great, Lydia, that’s a date. I’ll take a rain check. Thanks and good-by.” Terry knew that Clyde wouldn’t come. Families slowed up his pace. “Well, dear,” Terry said, putting his arm around Lydia, “I guess we don’t need any special entertainers to help us enjoy our own Thanksgiving dinner. Just wait till the cook sticks her head out of that kitchen door and yells, ‘Dinner’s ready.’ How about it, kids?” “Terry, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” murmured Lydia, with both her arms about his neck. “You’re just the nicest, most considerate, sweetest husband in the world.” The four of them had a marvelous time that evening—Terry, Lydia, Terry Junior and Ruth. They ate and ate until they could hardly breathe. They talked and played cards and joked and listened to the radio. It was a grand evening and the outside world was millions of miles away. They were cut off from all com- munication with everything but the spiritual wave-length over which God broadcast His blessings of domestic warmth and security. When Clyde hung up the receiver, after de- clining the invitation from Lydia, he answered a knock on his door. A messenger boy handed him a note which read: Clydie, dear: I am so sorry I can’t dine with you tonight. There is a big party at John Marin’s. I just couldn’t refuse as he has arranged to put an understudy in the , show so I can stay and enjoy myself. There are lets more evenings. Toodle-oo. Love, Bess Clyde let the paper fall on the floor and stared into space. He had known Bess for quite a few years now. They had had many good times together. He liked her a lot although he never took her very seriously. He simply took her for granted and it never occurred to him that she would not always be there to fill in his leisure time. She was the old standby and he saw to it that she had everything she wanted, even though at times the theatrical game was a bit slack. “Well, I’ll be darned,” he thought, almost aloud. “Maybe I’m losing my punch. I know I don’t do the foolish things I used to on parties, I haven’t had a fight with a traffic cop in six months. I haven’t even had a mild argument with a head waiter. These things have lost’ some of their kick.” Then he admitted to himself that perhaps the secret of his old popularity was his mis- chievous good humor—collegiate fooling. The gang always expected something unusual to happen when “crazy’’ Clyde showed up. Bess left him alone on Thanksgiving. Besides, he himself wasn’t even invited to John Marin’s party. Had he ceased to be a contribution to well-organized gaiety? It was the first Thanksgiving he had ever: spent alone. Should he call up Terry and Lydia and tell them he had changed his mind? No, it would be too big a victory for married life, No one must know that he was anything but the happy, care-free Clyde with friends about him and the music always playing. He turned on the phonograph and fell asleep. There was a smudge under each eye that may have been’ caused by two tears he forgot to wipe away. One morning a few years later a newspaper published two brief items on pages five and six respectively. One read: Lydia Bigelow, wife of Terrence Bigelow, died at seven-thirty last evening after a protracted illness. The immediate cause of death was heart trouble. At the bedside were Mr. Bigelow and the two children, Terrence Junior and Ruth. Mrs. Bigelow was the daughter of John Vale. Funeral arrangements will be announced later. On page six the item read: Bess McAllister, formerly of “The Green Dragon,” “Lead Me To It,” and “Loose Moments,” motored to Greenwich with a party of friends last night and was married to Miximillion Sanchez Gunzalus Diaz, a wealthy Mexican said to control large min- ing properties in his native land. Miss McAllister told the press she had retired from the stage and would devote her time to a social career in Mexico City with the friends of her husband, who p ia kin- ship with an ex-president. HEN Clyde came to the house of mourn- Wis and took Terry’s moist hand, all he could say was, “I’m sorry.” He felt something in his throat and could do nothing but give Terry’s hand a consoling squeeze. Ruth and Terry Junior really felt their mother’s death keenly, but in spite of themselves their seemed to be more respectful than spontaneous. Clyde, the devoted friend, felt very sad on his own account. Bess had really married the oily individual he had shampooed with chicken a la King in a restaurant some years before. Now he had to start all over and build up a new relationship with some sympathetic damsel who was good-looking, not too smart and not at all dangerous. It took time and energy. — At his comfortable stage of life Clyde did, not look forward to the ordeal with any degree of pleasure. He knew the answer to every adventure. He still loved beauty and a good time, but the rheumatism in his right arm ways started annoying him just as he believed he could still stay out as late as the next fellow. It took Terry six months to pull 258 8s oPa.0 Se sec ro ures Kn. SEAEEE E°RSSSEEE ves sae

Page 133

Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 the , er. Ruth kept telling him, “Daddy, dear, ere eat bring Mother back acting like this. ve. and be sensible. You’ve got Terry and me, haven’t you? I’ll do my best to take Mother’s r and ce. Behave yourself, you naughty boy.” quite “You’re right, Ruth, I’m the most selfish a n in the pve Here oe two great ids acting like r onest-to-goodness grown- h h ] f d ff. eh be a ehile f myself act like a whimpering child. W at a Ww a e. oO a 1 erenc e never I promise you eee — rl Md to vie i ? looked just like her mother—especially f, inches. k gh aca the phon That was what made it so just a Cw P Ina ec eee e had hard for Terry to forget. : SS ence i times But youth is cruel in spite of itself and Ruth acai and Terry Junior, in the face of their honest . Imost desire to fill the gap in their father’s life, soon know found their days filled with affairs that had arties, only a remote bearing on their father’s state of in six mind. Ruth would put her arm about his neck ument and tell him about her shopping tours and her e lost: bridge games and her innocent love-affairs. He would listen in an indulgent far-off way. srhaps A note of real enthusiasm came into her voice : mis- only when the telephone rang and she plunged ie into a conversation with a boy or a girl who 1al to looked at life through her own unquestioning Bess optimism. Terry himself. felt relieved when es, he spared the necessity of adjusting his own mel- [arin’s lowing mood to the vigor of her restless spirit. ion to When Terry Junior came home from college he too spent quite a bit of his time at the tele- 1 ever: phone. Terry was very proud of his son and Lydia Terry Junior was very proud of his dad. > “No, Each planned to have long talks with the d life. other about the future and life and people and ig but everything. But nothing very profound ever about came out of these talks. There was always a turned certain restraint. i e3 re was One day young Terry came bursting into e been his father’s room holding a telegram in his ay. hand and bubbling over with joy. “Look, Dad. spaper Read that!” he said. nd six The yellow slip was marked Dallas, Texas. Dad read: low Terry Bigelow Jr. 1319 Park Avenue, New aa York. There is a fine opening here in my ool father’s oil business and I convinced him side that you were the man for the job. Hop on iren a train and come out here right away. It low is your big chance. Answer immediately. seni R Bruce si “Isn’t that a wonderful break?” beamed Terry Junior. “You’ve heard me speak of Bruce Waldron, my roommate at college. His Teen father is one of the biggest oilmen in Texas. | ,00se Gee, what a wonderful opportunity! Dad, | th a whaddya say?” | rried An unwelcome thought formed in Terry’s | aZ, & mind. With Lydia gone and the boy away— | min- ee for good—there would be no one left | Miss t himself and Ruth. But no, he must not tired consider himself. He put his arm around his | time son’s shoulder. . 1 the “Listen, boy,” he said, “I love you. I have | kin- confidence in you. I am probably indulging in | a bit of conceit when I say I am satisfied with | your character. You’re safe. Go ahead and and hat hale DOR make good. I am with you to the limit.” There | Ww. a W O , all, was a catch in his voice but Terry Junior was | nething too happy to notice it. e e 8 gt At the train he promised his dad he would | a difference S Us £ a * deal write him letters very often and tell him every- | > » deal thing. But, of course, he didn’t. The older make ir grief Terry didn’t expect him to. Ew Ce nts aneous. Mr. Clyde Manford was listening to his pee - friend, Doctor Farnham. “Clyde,” said the genial man of science, putting down his stetho- A definite extra price scope, “I am glad to tell you that organically i betes you are in fine shape. But that doesn’t mean + eee vee . a you can skip rope and run races. You've got tobacco - goodness . = to look after your nervous system. You need a f Plenty o rest and a Go easy, have TBY: |. lice time in a mild way and there’s no ro did, telling how long you will live.” 6 oa “Why, doc,” said Clyde, “this is the most Js a tocking news I have had in years. What will 2 by pn or girls do without me? Who will sup- ' { Cc ii hve head —_— and doorkeepers? What y ome of night life itself? I am sure it ae er isn’t quite as serious as you make it. So long, GoM RE Ld E.S doc, Thanks for the advice anyway.” Liccrrr & Mysns Tosacco Co.

Page 134

rr € 4 ine) Rog e Sennen a F or new homes and apartments... SELLERS Kitchen Furniture Units replace carpentry The day of the old-fashioned, carpenter-built cupboards is swiftly Mssing. No longer need the new home or:apartment be equipped with heavy, cumbersome doors and drawers that swell and stick with every change in temperature. Sellers Unit Kitchen Furniture is replacing these old -time cupboards. It has all the advantages of fine furniture. It is built by skilled cabinetmakers in a furniture factory long famed for the quality of its product. Only hardwood thoroughly seasoned and kiln-dried is used in its construction. And it has the many ex- clusive labor-saving features that have made Sellers kitchen cabi- nets the choice of over a million women. Fifty-four separate units give maximum flexibility. The largest or smallest kitchen can be equipped with the correct amount of shelf and storage space and porceliron working area. Its cost in comparison with merecarpentry will surprise you. You save the big expense of skilled interior/‘carpenters and costly painting. Sellers unit furniture comes to you enameled like fine furniture ready to set in place. Insert and tighten bolts in holes provided and it is installed. Madeina variety of charming colors that make the kitchen a gay, inspiring spot. Free architectural service Let our kitchen experts help you design your The Sheneaoras kitchen. Send us a scaled floor plan of your kitchen St. Louis’ finest with doors, windows and sink indicated. We will apartment entirely submit plans without charge and quote prices on Sel gerard the Sellers sections required. G. I. SELLERS & Pleitsch & Price SONS CO., Dept. 430, Elwood, Indiana. SELLERS KITCHEN FURNITURE UNITS Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 On the way home, however, Clyde secretly awarded the doctor a vote of thanks. He hated to admit to himself that the lure of the night life had ceased to draw him any longer. He would rather accept the doctor’s warning as a direct order to curb an enthusiasm which he wanted people to believe he still maintained in his slightly cooling veins. The next morning at breakfast he read a letter from an old friend in San Francisco, After a few words of greeting, it went on to say: The real purpose of this letter is to ask you to give a few minutes of your valuable time to my son, Warren. He is coming to the big city to join the staff of a bank and he may need a friendly word just to keep him from getting homesick. He is a fine up- standing boy, thoroughly capable of taking care of himself. I am sure he will not put you to any inconvenience. I need not say how thankful I will be if you do this fo; me. As ever, ; Your old friend, Eddie Berl Clyde had received many letters of small im- portance such as this. But coming as it did at this particular moment, it gave him a queer idea. Why couldn’t he live his early life over again through this young man? He would show him the ropes, watch over him to see he would come out all right. Fate was munificent! Now, if the young man were only good-looking ‘and presentable! Clyde searched for his little pri- vate address book and chuckled. Not only his clothes were made to order, but Warren Berl was made to order himself. He was six feet tall, had hair that was shiny without the aid of an artificial lubricator and he had a fine, simple, ingratiating manner. As Clyde looked him over he felt the thrill of a con- noisseur approving a newly acquired treasure. Warren, of course, was a success with the girls. From time to time Clyde would sit op- posite him in some little French restaurant and listen very intently to his modest stories of how he took this one out to dinner and how he took that one motoring into the country and how he went dancing at a night club with this one. But Warren, strangely, didn’t seem to think there was as much romance in this sort of thing as Clyde had in his earlier days. — Clyde hoped the young man would indulge in a prank or two. He would have felt an es- hilarating sense of proprietorship if he had been called upon to bail Warren out of jail. But these things didn’t come off. The young fellow was too serious or innocent, or something. They were having a cocktail together when Clyde looked at his watch and said he would have to excuse himself. He was having dinner with Terrence Bigelow and his daughter Ruth at their apartment. “Why don’t you take me along?” asked Warren. “I’ve heard you talk so much about these friends of yours and still I’ve never met them. Are they so precious you don’t want to share them with anybody?” “Why,”. Clyde answered with genuine suf prise, “I didn’t know you wanted to meet them. Care-free young men like you don't want to sit around in people’s homes evening listening to a lot of dry conversation.” “But Mr. Manford, I do want to go—that is, if they'll have me.” “Why, Warren, they'll be tickled to death to have you. Only I never dreamed you wanted to go.” As the evening progressed it became ap- parent to Clyde that Warren was the sort fellow who liked “nice” girls. He had been laboring under a false assumption all the time. At ten-forty-five Clyde and Terry had e& hausted politics, stocks, theaters and reminis- cences, and had settled into a comfortable mood of meditation which had all the ear marks of a light snooze. Ruth and Warren were progressing so rapidly that she held her date book in her hand and was crossing out the names of certain male acquaintances who were merely fillers-in for evenings when she have nothing else to do. int ae a ttle ee. 2th a... me ee oe ios ten “=o. @® oo .~ i 4 2h sw PSU Dp eee

Page 135

seem to his sort S. indulge t an ex- ad been il. But ig fellow ing. er when ‘ ceremony. They felt a certain comforting ‘sonality. It was their home. He wanted it to Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 The fact was, there were really no very, very important names in that book. But she did not want to let this good-looking young man whom she had met for the first time know that he so quickly jumped inte a race where he had | very little competition. | The speed with which the affair between | Warren Berl and Ruth Bigelow progressed can | be judged by the fact that three weeks after the meeting just referred to she threw her date book away altogether. Clyde, although he was disappointed in not developing a protégé over whom he could throw his mantle of mischievous desires, could not help but heartily sanction the match. Terry, too, was proud to acquire Warren as a son-in-law. “Listen, Daddy,” said Ruth, after all the ar- rangements had been made for the wedding. “Don’t for one moment think you are losing your own precious little daughter. Things are always going to be exactly the same as they are now—only I’ll have two big men instead of one. The three of us are going to live right here and we'll have the grandest time ever. Now, none of your objections. If you even threaten to live alone, I’ll tear up all the invitations and tell Warren I never want to see him again.” “But Ruth, dear,” said Terry, “you young people must live your own lives. I don’t want to interfere. It’ll be much better if——” “No, no, no,” she broke in. “It’s all off un- less you live with us. In fact, I’m telling you right now, Daddy dear, that you are going to live with us. That’s all there is to it.” Without the help of any further words, the image of Lydia, sweet, gentle, heroic, flashed simultaneously through their minds and they held each other close. Terry Junior came on for the wedding, look- ing brown and healthy and satisfied. Of course he would like to spend a little more time with his dad but he had to hurry back because they were opening up some new oil-fields and he wanted to be there when the first gusher came through. Clyde stood next to Terry during the safety in being close to one another. After they got comfortably settled in their very nice apartment, Warren and Ruth just naturally became one of the component arcs in a social circle. Whenever they were invited out, they insisted on Terry’s being included in the party. At first he went along to please the young people. At times he even believed he was an essential part of their social life. But as the months rolled by the young couple noticed, with a slight feeling of relief which they would not openly admit, that the “old man” begged off more and more. One night he had to go to his club, another night he had some business to attend to and still another night he was simply too tired to go out. Around the house he effaced his own per- express them and not him. On Thanksgiving day Warren and Ruth held a whispered conversation in the pantry. “After all,” finished Ruth, “he won’t mind. He doesn’t enjoy this kind of a crowd anyway. He’s too old.” “He’s a wonderful man and I love him,” ventured Warren, somewhat guiltily, “but he’d put a damper on the whole thing. It’s up to you to tell him.” “No, you tell him. You’re a man.” “No, you tell him. You're his daughter.” “Oh, all right.” Ruth found her father sitting in the big chair gazing into space. “Daddy,” Ruth began, “don’t think I’m selfish or unreasonable. I wouldn’t even bring the subject up unless I knew you’d understand. But we are going to have a big gang here to- | night for dinner and we want you to join in the | party if you think you’ll enjoy it. I only wanted | to warn you that some of the bunch might get a little loud. You know how young folks are. They all love you to death, Daddy. I just wanted to tell you ahead of time, that’s all.” ‘Why, Ruth, my girl, bless your little heart,” he said; “your daddy understands. I'll just out and——” Z (Electric Fixture Extra) This superbly finished Sellers is hard- S eeheieus Host F work table free from all obstructions. Automatic extending base shelf. En- ameled metal flour bin with patented sifter. Metal bread box. Non-jamming drawers. Ant-proof casters. 8 -piece glassware set. Notice low price. As little as $5 down Vie too, can have a COLORFUL kitchen that will bring a new joy to your kitchen hours Kipling’s famous ‘‘Boots’’ might have been dedicated to the woman who spends her kitchen hours surrounded by monotonous, depress- ing sameness. What an inspiration it is to have a gay garden spot—a youthful kitchen where most irksome tasks become easy—where even dish- washing has its happy side. And you can have it. As little as $5 will put a new, stylish Sellers kitchen cabinet in your home. Sellers through new, charming colors offers a very simple way to make any kitchen beautiful. With a Sellers in rich Jade Green, de- mure Sellers Gray, smartly decorated White, trim looking Amber Oak or antique looking Silver Gray Oak, one may have a colorful kitchen at small expense. Then lacquer a stool to harmonize—some colorful linoleam— dainty flowered curtaining—and your kitchen becomes a happy spot where kitchen tasks are done with a smile and a merry little song. Thousands of women are bringing the brightness—the sunshine —the inspiration of color into their kitchen hours in this eco- nomical way. Underneath its attractive exterior, the Sellers is still the greatest of modern kitchen time- and labor-savers. In it you will find all of those many ingenious features that have made Sellers famous in millions of homes. Start your colorful kitchen by seeing the nearest Sellers dealer today. Ask to see the Sellers automatic extending base shelf that places pots and pans at your finger-tips. Let him show you all of the Sellers 15 famous features. Invest $5 now—pay the balance in small payments while you enjoy your beautiful, mod- Pa a A ern kitchen. G. I. SELLERS & SONS CO., Dept. 430, for this book show- o late. be: Elwood, Indiana. elie SELLERS KITCHEN CABINETS

Page 136

n amazing prescription for quick relief from Constipation .. . POISONS GONE minutes of Chewing HREE minutes of chewing—in three hours you are literally a different person! On this simple, modern scientific method the whole civilized world is learning to rely today. A delicious mint-flavored tablet— Feen-a-mint. Just like chewing gum, but— it contains ascientifically-adjusted quantity of one of the most remarkable laxative agents known! And because you chew Feen-a-mint, this tasteless laxative is carried into the intestinal tract gradually. No cramping, no gtiping—no poisoning of the sys- tem, either. For this laxative is not digested like ordinary laxatives—it passes unchanged from the body after its work is done. No wonder doctors endorse the prin- ciple of this new method. No wonder over a million Feen-a-mints a day are bought by ex-users of pills and salts. Keep Feen-a-mint always on hand (children love it, naturally). On sale at every drug store in the United States and Canada, Feen-a-mint The Chewing Laxative

Health Products Corporation C-3 113 N. 13th St., Newark, N. J. Please send free samples and booklet on cor- recting constipation. Name

Address.

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 “No, no,” interrupted Ruth, not too vehe- mently. “You are going to join the party.” “No, dear, I’m older than you and know best. Ican take care of myself. In fact, I just remembered an invitation I got for dinner to- night from a business associate of mine. He'll be terribly disappointed if I don’t show up.” A few more weak protests and it was all settled. Terry did not blame anyone. Nature was taking its course. But he could not drive out the memory of that wonderful es day many years ago when his little family sat around the table in supreme contentment with the disinterested world millions of miles away. That one day was his ‘touch of heaven and he could not wish for more on this earth. He stifled a’sob as he wandered aimlessly into the park, found a bench and sat down. On the same bench was seated another man. He, too, was thinking of something that made him oblivious of his surroundings. He seemed to want to cling to his memories. Terry Bige- low saw Clyde Manford and understood. He touched him on the shoulder. They looked at one another and smiled. There was a pause. ‘‘Remember,’’ said Terry, ‘how you stood up for the virtues of single blessedness and how I stood up for the great rewards of wedded bliss? Well, they both seem to have us right where we started—alone.” “There doesn’t seem to be any choice, Terry. We haven’t much to-show for either.” “T don’t know, Clyde. Marriage and bache. lorhood are two bridges over which we travel] to the same destination. We find nothing there:. but memories.” : “Perhaps we were both wrong.” “No, we were both right.” Clyde got a sudden inspiration. “I wonder,” he exclaimed, coming out of his philosophical mood, “if that old apartment-house where we used to live is still standing. Maybe it is and maybe the apartment we lived in is vacant.” “T call that an idea,” answered Terry. ‘“Let’s go and find out. We have nothing else to do.” It was in the midst of the midday traffic at the intersection of Fifth Avenue and Forty- Second Street. The crowds were surging and fighting to get across. Two fine-looking white- haired old gentlemen, immaculately dressed, clung to one another in the crowd. Motor traffic stopped. The two old gentlemen—they appeared to be nearing eighty—picked their way across arm in arm, each holding the other as though he were some priceless possession. “Be careful, Clyde,” one said. ‘You know it won’t do your rheumatism any good if you try to hurry.” “You look after your throat, Terry, and button up your coat,’”’ responded the other. When they got safely across, they heaved a sigh of relief and strolled down the Avenue, ee of everything in the world but eac other. —_—_—<.e Women and Money (Continued from page 41) and I was “sacked” for writing a novel which dealt in some detail with a philandering episode that took place in my life after marriage. I was already making a muddle of my matri- monial and my financial affairs. I left my wife too much alone. I did not notice that the amount of housework which she was under- taking was undermining her health. She neither cared for nor was physically fit for prodigious exercise. Some time later I secured a post as literary critic on a‘London morning newspaper and began the life I still lead, going fifty-five miles up from the sea every morning and returning fifty-five miles back to the sea every night. Usually, now that I am a dramatic critic as well, I do not start home until midnight. It will be seen that my wife had some grounds for her complaint of loneliness, for even during the weekends, I spent most of Saturday and Sunday walking over the downs. My defense was that she had her two chil- dren, as many friends as she liked to stay with her and as much amusement as my purse could afford. Unhappily, on the rare occasions when we did meet, discussion ran partly on the un- stable state of our finances and partly on the still more unstable state of our affections. I had learned that her affections were fixed elsewhere. Mine had become wayward. At one moment it would be she who would not divorce me, the next it would be I who would not divorce her. The truth of the matter was that I valued her companionship so highly that I could not bear with equanimity the thought of life without her, while she desired only peace and certainty. As a husband she could not tolerate me; as a friend she found me adequate. I, mean- while, like the base Indian quoted by Othello, oa throwing away a pearl richer than all her tribe. She did at least understand me and made no impossible demands upon my chivalry as other women did. If I failed to walk on the outside of the pavement she realized that I was think- ing of some article and didn’t bother. When one is in the throes of creative art one does not lightly lose whatever inspiration comes one’s way for the sake of a trifling convention. My wife i that. She is the only woman with whom I have ever had any in- timate relationship who has. The others were all jealous of my “work” and demanded an attention which I soon tired of giving. I find it as difficult to account for my con- tinued penchant for shop-girls as I do to ac- count for my failure to cope with money. Coming as I did from a home where we could rarely afford to keep even one servant, it seems strange that I should have grown up so com- pletely regardless of the value of money. Con- sidering how hard I have worked to acquire a taste for all that is best in literature and art, it seems queer that I should fail to have ac- quired a taste for women of quality. A great deal may be put down to sheer stupidity. I have signed the most ludicrous contracts for my novels in order to get immediate cash. In my anxiety to escape from my own society I have made friends with women whose vul- garity and ignorance have made me want to scream, Men with half my income possess comfort- able homes, dress well, dress their wives smart- ly and their children neatly, entertain, belong to clubs, eat, drink and are merry without hav- ing to worry the whole year through. My home has never been comfortable or clean; my clothes hang on me like a sack; I never entertain; I cannot afford a holiday; I cannot even own a car. I live in dread of the postman, for I know that he brings only bills. Genius is, I know, expected to make a hash of things. I should be content to make the mistakes that Byron and Shelley made if I had their genius. The rub lies in sharing their vices and none of their virtues. In my case there appears to be no consolation. It is not that I have given up hope, but there are moments when every man of forty must shiver at the thought of what he has left un- done. The author of “Wuthering Heights” died at thirty; the man who wrote “Endymion” died at twenty-six. I look round and regard my contemporaries at Oxford. One is Minister of Education, an- other Secretary of State for the Air, a third is a really famous novelist, and a fourth well on his way to the Woolsack. I too have it in me to be a colossus, but the time left for me to achieve my ambition is none too long. Again I have fallen down in the race of life. I don’t in the least mind dying, but I want to leave some imperishable thing behind to add to the world’s store of beauty. Up to now I have destroyed more than I have created. I

Page 137

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1920 eH RYSLER BEAUTY IS NO CHANCE CREATION poy f s classic style and beauty have won the admiration and enthusiasm of thou- of motorists the country over—New Chrysler “‘75’’ Royal Sedan, illustrated. EF OR the first time in the history of motor car design an authentic system has been devised, based upon the canons of ancient classic art. Chrysler designers realize fully that beauty is an elusive thing and that the pursuit of it in motor car design must not be hampered by too rigid adherence to laws and conventions. But Chrysler has also found that there are so many glorious precedents and inspirations in art, architecture and design, that the search for authentic and harmoni- ous symmetry can actually be reduced to something like a scientific system in which results are certain. Chrysler has left nothing to chance ... Chrysler has not teliedaloneuponthe inspiration of individual designers. Chrysler has sought instead to do something never done beforein motorcar design—to search out authenticforms of beauty which have come down the centuries unsur- passed and unchallenged and has translated them in terms of motor car beauty and motor car utility. The lengths to which Chrysler de- signers have gone in this patient pursuit of beauty will doubtless prove a revelation to those who have prob- ably accepted Chrysler symmetry and charm as fortu- nate but more or less accidental conceptions. The Chrysler process goes far deeper than any charming but accidental conception Chrysler’s matching of the exclusive slender profile radiator with the cowl bar moulding has its inspiration in the repetition of motif in the historic frieze of the ancient Parthenon. New Chrysler “65”—Six body styles priced from $1040 to $1145 7 » « New Chrysler “75"—Nine body styles prited from $1535 to $2345 7» + + New Chrysler Imperial — Five custom styles priced from.$2675 to $3475. All prices f. 0. b. Detroit

Page 138

Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 A 7 a.m. headache and an 8 oclock smile NY morning you arise feeling tired, dull and logy, go directly to the bathroom shelf and take down your bottle of Sal Hepatica ! Whisk 14 a tablespoonful into a glass of clear, pure water and drink the sparkling resultant. Sal Hepatica works promptly and by its aid many a 7 a.m. headache can be turned into an 8 o’clock smile. For the Saline method—with Sal Hepatica—not only banishes constipa- tion promptly, but it is excellent for headaches, colds and many common ills of life. For more than any other laxative, it cleans the blood stream, neutralizes acidity and rids the body of the noxious poisons of waste. It leaves you feeling fit and fine all day long! Sal Hepatica At your druggist’s 30¢, 60c, and $1.20 That’s the benefit of salines like Sal Hepatica. Every year, physicians—here as well as in Europe—send their patients to the famous spas of the continent to regain their health by drinking the saline waters. Constipation . . . self-poisoning ... headaches .. . colds . . . rheumatism . .. digestion irregularities . . . all the long train of ills that come when the system is not functioning properly are gteatly relieved by the saline method. Go to your doctor to learn more of the actual “why” and “how” of the saline way to health. Ask him about Sal Hepatica. Buy a bottle of it at your druggist’s. And when you wake up again feeling unrested and upset ... take Sal Hepatica in your before-break- fast glass of water. It is prompt in its action .. . speedy in its result. You'll feel better the whole day long. Bristot-Myers Co. Dept. E39, 71 West St., New York. Kindly send me the Free Booklet that explains more fully the benefits of Sal Hepatica. Name. Address... City. am still groping for my proper medium of self. expression. ; One day I am praised quite out of all:proy portion to my worth as a novelist with the re. sult that for a moment I think my métier lieg there. My next critic puts me in my place. I deliver a lecture one night which rousesq vast audience to almost uncontrollable ep. thusiasm and I think my vocation lies there, The next I am dumfounded by the lukewarm — Re! ness of my reception and vow never to lecture — One day I am described as one of the only — sind 3 two individualistic journalists in London. The — next I am hauled over the coals for my dulness, _ Alwa la’ wreath, always it is jerked out of reach just when I have laid my hands on it. There are times when the struggle invigor ates me, there are others when I cry for real companionship. A bachelor has friends, but J _ am not a bachelor; a husband has his wife, but - I am not a husband; a father has his children, but mine, naturally, feel the need of their mother and blame me for her absence. Iam tired of shop-girls. I should be content, thaps, if I could throw myself into my ut restlessness, loneliness and worry are Iseem to be on the verge of grasping the a aS pris Aol fi conducive to the creation of great literature, The emotion has to be recollected in tram quillity to be effective and I am the reverse of tranquil. a It is wearying to get so near every time, was very nearly a great educationist. I migl still be a great novelist. I could, I fancy, even be a great lover if wife came back. I could never be a great financier, nor hay I any desire to be. I have been miserable my- self and the cause of misery in others, butt have neither been bored nor seen myself as the occasion of boredom in others. Even my wi allows that. Life in a trench which is being incessant bombed may be extremely frightening but it certainly not tedious. I seem to have been @ war with my wife, my friends, my creditol schoolmasters and society ever since I grew u Every day of the week I get letters threateni libel actions or personal violence, from tives, public bodies, religious societies and ou& raged citizens of towns and villages that I have rela or rebuked in my novels and arti- cles. That is the worst of being an idealist. As a child I ran away from home as a pro- test against my parson father who had taken the name of the Lord in vain because the lawn- mower stuck. As a schoolmaster I was boycotted because I publicly declared that several things about the ublic-school system were rotten. I still be- ieve that it might be possible so to educate boys that they might leave school with their ardor for learning not wholly damped. I incurred the odium of newspaper proprie- tors by suggesting that it might be possible to convey news without having recourse to vul- gar stunts. I lost my wife, whose companionship means more to me than anything else in the world, because I believed that it was possible for a woman to share her companionship with many men. The truth is that I have failed altogether to acquire the technique of living. Man is born to be happy, but my happiness has always been just round the corner. Man was born to free and is everywhere in chains. I have forged my own chains, built my own cage round me and Beat my wings like an imprisoned peregrine because I can no longer soar. I have run my first lap of life with an astounding lack of judgment. It remains to_ profit from my experience. I am no misogynist or misanthrope. My friends may let me dow® a million times more, but I shall still have faith in humanity. I am as grateful to for the privilege of having been born as any man who ever lived. And after all what’s the - use of hunting if you can’t take a dozen tosses in a season? a

Page 139

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 PARFUM + EAU DE COLOGNE POUDRE JOLI SOIR. “SUNDOWN’ ouvelle Creation de CHERAMY Ams 380 RUE ST HONORE

Page 140

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, r929 ~ This Madness (Continued from page 47) and beautiful letters and cablegrams from her which I found at every important point op my route. How was her baby? Her darling? Was he happy? Was he seeing all he wished to see and meeting all the people he wished to meet? And how about the girls of England, France, FO R “* Italy, Germany? Ah, she knew! A fellow like me couldn’t be trusted anywhere. But | > still, once in a while I did give her a thought, DR A j a didn’t I? She was always thinking that I did : because she was always thinking of me. And she was just living for the day when ] AN D would return and take her in my arms. The Drive, my room—all were the same. e a Mornings, evenings and at midnight, she BRU 4 & — was still looking out on the river, and thinking . how wonderful it was when I was there and we a had seen it together. And now how sad. Broadway, Central Park West, my rooms x there. Sometimes, in driving by, she looked se . = + up and it hurt her so—the lapse of time, the : 2 : changes in life. RE Li EVE : ; And then bits of news about everybody— : and America—and herself. Yet, as I could see, PAI Re : ; ots — she was doing nothing—dreaming, reading, . = waiting. And her letters, as well as an occa- U ICKLY sional photograph, only served to stir in mea = «A desire to see her once more—to keep her for myself, since her love was so vital and so sacri- ficial and self-consuming. And in consequence, in May of the next spring, a reunion, in another suite of rooms not so far from her own home. And a bub bling ecstasy because of my return to her, which was touching and at moments i The eyes of her! The wreathy smiles—the gaiety of her step! Once more we were te gether. It had been so long—so long—but now! I felt at the time that somehow, and no i? matter what other might appear, I should still Bin th have Aglaia always somewhere—that I would ake y never wholly desert her or she me. $ th 4 And yet, scarcely had I returned and settled . myself once more in my work, than E. ap that I peared—a Daughter of the Puritans. And ae though because of her Aglaia was compelled —- to suffer once more—and perhaps even more Ps '¥ poignantly than was the case’ when Wilma pe pt was at hand—yet she did not change. with h And yet she was not spineless by any means, as I well knew—merely deeply and truly in onan love. For once in connection with this same did sh | E., when the affair was entirely new and she eiites | had just discovered it, she left me. There eieies | were days and days—even so much as eight that h | if I recall aright—and then one day seeing | her on the Drive with a young merchant heir whom I had once met at her home, I feared | with resentment born of this possessive | tion which J retained for her. Aglaia! And | with another! And after all she had written | and said to me. At once I decided to call or | get her on the telephone and reinstate m | if possible. And that same evening did so— | presenting myself at the house and when chance offered, arguing with her. But noting that she was seeking to maintain hersel | against me. Also, after a time, that things | were not as bad as they looked. It was true as I argued that there was ai other. And I had become interested in het | some. But here I was, was I not—and | her? And if—and so forth—a long story. Ia short I lied and lied—but only with hope of | retaining Aglaia—and feeling that I might knowing it, really. And finally succeediaag her body in my lap, her arms about me. she had nearly died. She was so glad I had come back. But really I must do better. She couldn’t go on if I didn’t although she couldn’t care for anyone either. But whe she suffered so she did not care what she did and so might do anything—marry another o kill herself. But oh, the pain, the pain. dul And so after that—and because of —the lying on my part! The evasions and intere:

Page 141

es! Once, before Aglaia saw E., E. } pg one standing with me at one of the corners of upper Broadway—so much more pleasing than it is today. And before part- ing—I was meeting with E. but a few minutes after—I had kissed her. - And E., strolling to meet me at a certain restaurant, had seen this. At first, because of E.’s rage, I was compelled to wait, for she had decided, as she said, never to see me again. Next, passion-wise, she had changed her mind and come to inquire concerning this other love—and her face was waxen-white with rage. I do not recall in anyone more concentrated fury. It was bloodless. After a time, since I proceeded to explain concerning Aglaia and to defy her—‘Well, let it rest at that. If you are going to leave, you are going to leave, aren’t you?”—she changed about. After all, it was an old affair. She was the newest love. She had supplanted Aglaia. And before the evening was over E. was even commiserating Aglaia. “‘Ah, she was beautiful, really beautiful.” She had stood and studied her not more than forty feet away as we talked. And she described Aglaia’s hat and dress and shoes. She was so soft and girlish and innocent-looking. How could I be so cruel, so ruthless, and treat her so? “So you sympathize with her, do you?” I commented. “And just how far? Enough to drop me for her, for instance?” The situation became complicated. There was more quarreling—intense feeling, even— which got us no further than when we began. And, similarly, Aglaia once saw E. and my- self riding north along Broadway in a roadster which E. had secured, and which she drove very well. And because she herself was in a taxi, had followed for a distance—only to give over at 157th Street. But in that time she had studied E. care- fully—and the next time we met she broached the subject of new loves in general. Who was I interested in now? Wasn’t there some new girl? Not a soul? And when I asserted val- iantly that there was not, began to laugh. Oh, what a fibber! Wasn’t I just the worst—and the best? But didn’t I know that I needn’t conceal anything from her? Hadn’t she proved that I need not? And so on to E., whom she now described as accurately as E. had described her. And the car! And the hour! And all. Would I not tell her about E.? She would not annoy me with her knowledge afterward. Goodness, hadn’t she proved that? Who was she? How long had I known her? Where did she come from? She had seen, from my actions in the car, that I was very much interested in her. Was she nice? Rich? Was that her car? She was a clever driver, she would say that for her. Where were we going? Up to Longvue? E. had on a yellow hat and a blue dress. Sure, she did. Hadn’t she followed us to 157th Street? And I had on a straw hat and a gray suit. Well, we looked smart, all right, only E. (she didn’t know her name at this time) was so little. And yet, the little ones — she laughed—they were all right, too, of course. All was grist that came to my mill. I began to be a little angry and showed it, whereupon Aglaia desisted. Was I angry? Never min , dear. She didn’t mean to be Picky, only just at first when she saw—and when she cared for me so much—she could hardly help it. It wasn’t so easy when one as much as she did. And for all her resignation, after this fashion showed how much she was hurt. And I gathered her in my arms. Yet try to explain as Ops t, there was no real explanation be- you tting and even insisting that I was Py og alone, although if she would but - lf, she could, or would, remain as she > ~the one dearest to me sympathet- By mM so many other ways. Pees Whether she ‘believed that or not, so in Genet. And on this very occasion of cence We sat in a great chair, I thinking € and its fierce, inexplicable propulsions Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 161 CLEANS hike a washup ae 5 Wenn - MASSAGES like a rubdown laa ti si lit ag A Es el Every o Br ] MEDIUM | pass pies sree rvonenct, Pro-phy-lac-tic does double duty Vira news for America’s teeth! Healthy gums mean sound, white teeth. And gums to be active and firm need a gentle massage every time you clean your teeth. That’s the glorious double benefit Pro-phy- lac-tic now offers to you! Every Pro-phy-lac-tic now cleans and massages! Pro-phy-lac-tic is scientifically shaped to clean every part of every tooth—glistening white. The live, springy bristles are perfectly spaced to clean even detween the teeth. More, they are blended so as to gently massage the gum tis- sue to firm, rosy health. Try a fresh Pro-phy -lac-tic tonight. Brush from the base of the gums to the tip of the teeth. You'll feel your whole mouth respond with a tingling sensation of good health. Pro-phy-lac-tic Brush Company, Florence, Mass. Masso Pro-phy-lac-tic —for gums needing special attention, i (i= “* Massage of the gums stimulates a better circulation of blood in them. And gums, prop- erly massaged, help keep the teeth healthy, sound and clean.’ W.P COOKE, D.M.D. Prof. of Preven- tive Dentistry, Harvard Univer- sity Dental School Oval Pro-phy-lac-tic—for small dental arches,

Page 142

A connoisseur is “one who knows” ... And the know- ing ones prefer Gil- bert Chocolates because of their incomparable qual- ity. If your neigh- borhood dealer has = not yet stocked thetneiate Gilbert’s, you of of Connoisseurs course cannot know how really superior these con- fections are. In this event, we'll make a sporting proposition. Send us your check and we will send you the assortment pre- ferred, postpaid. We guarantee that you’ll like them, or, of course, we'll make good. Cabal- lero Package $2 the und... Other Gilbert’s $1, $1.25 and |% $1.50, each package guaranteed to be fresh. John O. Gilbert Chocolate Company, Jackson, Michigan, and Los Angeles. GILBERT CHOCOLATES Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 —Aglaia thinking of—I know not what, but loving me, as I could see. Greater love hath no woman, I think, than that she will endure another for her love’s sake! -| But often I have asked of my Creator the ; meaning or wisdom of such fevers. Looking | NOW | at the race as a whole, and myself as a fair |sample of many men and women, to what | great end, exactly? | For, every two months, more or less, let us | say, there was a Wilma, or one of her type— | gay, self-sufficient, independent—who would arrive, via a party or a dinner—and with what arts of temperament, dress, figure, prevail. | And despite these others who were still with me. And yet, needless to say, I was not anxious ‘| to give up these others, either. They formed a happy social background before which I wrote so many hours a day, regularly. Useless to say, as many will, that such things should not be—that such temperaments are below this or that level of pc moral obligation and should be sternly dealt with. Let us grant that, if you will. Also that society can, when it wills, and since might is right, deal with them—with me, for instance. The important thing in connection with any study of myself and others is that these vary- ing temperaments do exist, and such situations and combinations ar ial law or aversion, or no social law and no social aversion. And I am not here to say what is to be done—only to show what is (or was) in my case. But let us study one or two of the more fleeting arrivals to which I have referred. One afternoon, for instance, in July—and in this very period of Aglaia and E.—there arrived in my studio in Tenth Street, a be- jeweled social fly, whose name or from where now I scarcely recall. Toronto, I believe. None the less, in so far as her name was con- cerned I recognized it, when she announced it, as synonymous with quick, meaningless, rest- less American wealth. (Several years later she became the center of a five-hundred-thousand- dollar jewel robbery, which was a long time in the solving.) But here she was this day, in my rooms, and twenty-eight years of age to my forty-two, small in stature, yellow hair, bright blue eyes, a pink baby face—her car, the last word in cars, outside my door, her body fresh from the hands of the hairdresser, the masseur, the dressmaker. And, for my benefit, as I sat at my desk, she posed and pirouetted in most obvious conscious- ness of her physical excellence. Wouldn’t I stop my work and talk to her? She had come all the way from Toronto and had something to say to me. To please her I walked into an adjoining room and sat in a chair, while from a couch, and without a by- your-leave, she seized several pillows and throwing them on the floor before me sank cross-legged and smiling, looking up at me. There was a glow of reflected sunlight from a rear court wall falling on her hair and face, and her legs, silkily smooth, were exposed to the knees—trim legs, slippers, garters. She was, as I have said, like a jeweled fly. And now, as she explained, she had not only wealth and a social position of sorts, but a divorce and, in addition, at the moment, a acht. The Antigone, then and there off 23rd Street in the East River. And any time be- tween September and October, did she choose, she was prepared to sail for the Isles of Greece and the Nile for the winter. Would I come? The big blue eyes beamed. The little painted mouth wreathed itself in an enticing smile. “But I have never seen you before!” “Oh, but I have seen you. Anyhow, I have read your books. And I understand you. Can’t you tell by looking at me?” “Oh, perhaps I can tell, after a fashion. But Greece! Good heavens, I’m in the middle of a book!” “But you can write on a yacht, can’t you, especially if you have everything?” My simple fly from Toronto, I thought. E»* T nswered: “Oh, excellent! And as you ere you are lovely. But can’t you see. -ifficult all this must be for me? Out of a clear sky you arrive, and I am to go t) Greece at once! But. what about my gg). nections here? My ties? Assume, for i that there might be someone for whom I carej very much. Then what?” ake is — You mean that?” “Well, why not? Do you really imagine that I am incapable of caring for anyone?” “Oh, not that. Certainly not! Not at al! But you sounded so free. Besides, I from your books——” “——_from my books that I was always free But that would leave me rather lonely, wouldn't it? I might have someone at some time o other. Besides, I am a writer. That is the way I make my living. And my work, believe it or not, comes first.” I smiled, and she sank against my knees, “Just the same, I could do as much for yoy as anyone, and more, maybe. And, well, I'm no worse than any of the others.” “Charming—clever—a yacht.” I patted her arms. “But just the same, here I am— something important to do, connections not easily broken.” Her face fell. “But if you are to be here for a few months, perhaps——?” “A few months? Well, I like that! I have other engagements myself.” There was a cool tenseness creeping into her tone. “But my dear,” I explained. ‘‘Without 9 much as a letter, and out of a clear sky, and on a hot afternoon in July—now, really.” “TI know,” she said, growing truly ser- ous, “I am a fool. But I have been reading your books, you know. I can’t tell you;] thought—well, maybe—you know.” “Yes, I know,” I said. “But we can bk friends, can’t we?” “Oh, yes, of course.” She got up, relaxed, defeated, another dream shattered, as I could see. But the huma heart, I thought—its vagaries. Who is toe plain it, or what, in the shape of effort, wil appeal to it? With a certain irrepressible sad- ness I saw her depart. My despised and e- communicated work! It was so that it affected some. And opportunities such as this could knock and enter and go and come no more, And when, again, might I sail for the Islesof Greece? Out of nowhere, and on this bright day, and because of something I had written, had come this woman, a yacht, a trip to Greece and Egypt, and thus easily I had stood here and waved it aside—as if, well, as if it wer nothing at all. I almost pinched myself to se if I were real. Yet here was my studio parlor floor opposite a very tolieaay ] in it. (You see, my irreducible pride, or var ity, say, had to add that.) And the others! Kind heaven! Somewhere there is a notebook, a day-by-day record, kept for a while because I thought the events of my life so strange. : But why more? There were so many claims like that—approaches and recessions, tentative or otherwise—some on my part, some on the part of girls whose names or char: I find it difficult at this time to recall. Yet during this kaleidoscopic process, my mood toward Aglaia one of intense liking just the same, and shot through with an admiration which was little short of love. The single sketchy hours she was content with, at time! The days in which we contrived to be together The Herculean efforts she made to achiev them. Once, I recall being depressed by thie quarrels in three different directions at once telephone messages, telegrams and letter some bitter, some wilful, and the com all but maddening. I dropped all to hurry! her, to see if I could find her. Pres se was at Stony Cove, and I called there only hear her soothing voice. “May I come down?” “Of course. Why not, darling? Will y# stay over the weekend?” “Oh, I’m so glad. Oh, wonderful!” As! she began to suggest something we And I was off to Stony Cove. AndI had a day with her in weeks. Just the si once there my entanglements troubled me, abd

Page 143

Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 “If you want muffins like mine s use Cream of Tartar cher Baking Powder - - ” , well, I'm I patted re I a tos says Mrs. Ida Bailey Allen nape——? at! I have was 8 oa “FP WOULDN’T think of using a baking Without s0 powder that was not made with Cream of Tartar,” said Mrs. Ida Bailey Allen, offering one of her feather-light, golden brown muffins just out of the oven. “Butter and eggs cost a good deal these days. And my time is worth real dollars and cents. It would be poor economy, wouldn’t it, to risk failure just to save a penny on baking powder? “Besides, there’s the difference in flavor. My tongue is a pretty good detective. I Mrs. Ipa Baiey ALLEN, internationally known food expert and cooking author- ity, whose talks are broad- cast from New York over the Columbia network. 1. Measure 2 cups sifted flour, 3 teaspoons Royal Baking Pow- -ecord, kept vents of my can tell when another baking powder has been used instead of Royal. Cream of Tartar never gives a bitter flavor.” Mrs. Allen’s praise adds weight to what the other experts say. “Cream of Tartar baking powder is the best from the health point of view,” say physicians of standing. “Most healthful,” testify hospital dietitians. Make sure that you are getting Cream of Tartar baking powder. There is only one na- tionally distributed baking powder made with Cream of Tartar. That one is Royal Baking Powder. Use Royal always. Then you’re sure... of purity . . . of delicious flavor . . . of perfect success every time. der, 14 teaspoon salt and 1 table- spoon sugar into sifter. Sift to- gether into bowl. Break 2 eggs into dry ingredients. 2. Addi cup milk a little at a time to make a rather stiff batter. With a light motion, beat well until smooth. Add 4 tablespoons melted and cooled shortening. Then mix well by stirring and do not beat. FREE: 3. Half fill greased muffin tins and bake in hot oven at 400° F. 18 to 20 minutes. Always serve muffins hot in a napkin on hot plate and immediately after taking from the oven. Muffins are excellent served with butter and maple syrup—or with honey. Keep any left-over muffins and split, toast and butter them for luncheon, tea or supper. Complete Cook Book * Nearly 350 Recipes Tue Royat Baxinc Pownper Co., Dept. C, 112 East 42nd St., New York City Please send my free copy of your Royal Cook Book. Name Address WHERE EGGS ARE EXPEN- Powder for each egg omitted. These E, a great saving can be effected muffins are delicious made exactly by reducing the number of eggs and as above without any eggs and using City using 4 teaspoon Royal Baking 4 teaspoons Royal in place of 3.

Page 144

A REVELATION Ps in be 4 FLAVOUR Especially DISTILLED for the Ameri- can market by Ho..ioway’s DISTILLING Co., Lonpon, Encianp. If your grocer does not carry it fill in and send us order form below. HOLLOWAY’S LONDON DRY NON-ALCOHOLIC B. B. Dorr & Co., 247 Park Ave., New York Enclosed you will find my check for one 26 oz. bottle of Holloway’s London Dry— costing $2.00 each (3 bottles for $5.50) ex- press collect. Also please send me without charge your illustrated book “Cordial Cock- tail Confidences” #20. Mercolized Wax Keeps Skin Young Remove all blemishes and di i + fey using pure Mercolized Wax. Get an ounce, and use as directed. Fine, almost invisible particles of aged skin peel off, until all defects, such as pimples, liver spots, tan, freckles and large pores have di d in is b ifully clear, soft and velvety, and face looks years ger. Mercolized Wax brings out the hidden beauty. Te quickly remove wrink- les and other age lines, use this face lotion: 1 ounce pow- dered saxolite and 1 half pint witch hazel. At Drug Stores. BURPEE’S Garden Book The Vegetables or Flowers you would like to see growing in your garden— tread all about them in Burpee’s Garden Book, full of pictures and garden news. Write for your copy of this garden book today. It’s free W. Atlee Burpee Co. Box 231 Phila., Pa- Saxophone, cornet, trumpet, trombone, clarinet, flute—choose any Conn instrument for band or orchestra; try it in your own bome F, EASY PAYMENTS if you decide to buy. With Conn’s easy- playing features, you make quick progress. Take your place in a or of- chestra after a short period of pleasurable practice. Send For Free Book, illustrating and describing instruments, and details of free trial offer. Men- tion instrument which interests you. C.G.Conn, L{td., 311 Conn Bldg., Elkhart, Ind. AND INSTRUMENTS BORIS URCEST MANUPACTURINS on one of the verandas looking over that wide level field that lay surrounded by kempt, clean woods, I meditated almost aloud on my ills. The devil! How was I to do this? How solve that? And Aglaia, hovering about and whispering: “What’s the matter, dear? Are they angry because you can’t love all of them at once?” “Aglaia,” I laughed. ‘You’re a witch.” “As though I didn’t know. It is the trouble, isn’t it, dear? I just feel it.” “Yes, it is the trouble,” I admitted. “Don’t worry. No one of them suffers more than I do, and if I can stand it they can. They won’t leave you. I know that. I don’t even wish they would, if it makes you any happier.” And no one being near she bent over and ki the top of my head, and I pressed her hand. She had dispelled my self-torturing gloom. - But the places in which we met throughout all this. In my studio; at hotels; road- houses; colorful, if somewhat dubious, restau- rants. But, in so far as Aglaia was concerned, always with a white, passionate love—an ecstasy, really. And once she went to Russia, Italy, France, Germany for a year. A family compulsion this—her mother’s health. But during her absence the letters! Cablegrams! More let- ters, photographs, poetry, pleas for a word. “Oh, my darling, if only you were here! The beauty of this place!” Once, I recall, after her return from Europe, she came to the studio and found another. And I not expecting her, of course. And although I should not have let her in, I did, because I had hoped that I could make her understand and go away to await a later hour when we might meet for dinner. But, unfor- tunately, because of a chair in the front room on which lay a hat, a coat, a purse and a pair of gloves, all of which I had failed to notice or recall, there was a look, and without my guess- ing at the moment what it was that she saw. And then tears. “But Aglaia, why do you cry? What is it, dearest?” “Oh, never mind. I wish I hadn’t come.” “You think there is someone here?” For answer she merely pointed to the chair. When I proceeded to admit all, there were no reproaches. “Please meet me at six or seven, will you, dear?”’ was all she said. “I feel so bad now. It was foolish of me to come, of course. I said so to myself.” She went gloomily out. Thus, roughly, and much foreshortened, I have tried to indicate Aglaia and her attitude. But how? ‘Temperaments are as variable as the sea. One might think, for instance, that Aglaia had no spirit, could never be truly angry. But at this very time, as at others before, there came an impressive instance of vari- ability. We had planned one summer night to do a Greenwich Village fiesta together. It was in Washington Mews. There were flags and lanterns and street musicians in costume—pierrots and pierrettes and booths and gipsy fortune-tellers. And on improvised balconies were all sorts of food and drink. Aglaia and I had been browsing here and there, and finally decided to sit in one of the balcony restaurants. Opposite us were two girls, waiting, I be- lieve, for two men friends. The girls were younger than Aglaia, vivid and as enticing as youth may well be. After the fashion of youth they were looking here and there for a ene tion. I examined them only casually, for on this night I thought no one more lovely than Aglaia, in her blue-flowered, white silk, flouncy dress and floppy straw hat, with its blue flower wreath. As we made our way through the crowd I had told her how lovely she looked. Yet once on the balcony, and because of these two girls, neither of whom had drawn more than a casual glance from me, she suddenly went very white. A lightninglike anger flickered in her soft eyes, and she pulled her chair back and rose. “ Aglaia! ” “T’m-not going to stay, that’s all.” Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 She was up and down the stairs, and I after her. In the crowd I caught her arm. “Darling, whatever is the matter with you? — For heaven’s sake, what’s happened? ~ See here, where are you going? Explain! Say something! Don’t just run away. What have I done? Tell me that, will you?” “Qh, don’t talk to me, please! Let me alone, will you? Let me go, I tell you!” She wrenched her arm from my affectionate grip. “I guess Isaw. I’m going home, that’s all.” “Saw what? Where? Are you mad, or am I? And I have been so happy in just looking at you. Really, I don’t understand. Please, please explain. Don’t act just wild.” “As though I didn’t know you,” she flashed. “But to bring me out here where everyone knows you, and then go smiling-at others while I sit there! Oh, I hate you at times! I do!” “Aglaia!” “Don’t talk to me! You have no heart, no kindness. You think only of yourself. Don’t talk tome! Let me alone! I want to get away, I’m never coming down here again. Never!” “But Aglaia, for heaven’s sake! Those two girls on the balcony? Why, what nonsense! I swear I never looked at them more than once or twice, and as for flirting with them——” “Don’t lie! Don’t dare to! I saw you. I guess I have eyes!” “Sweetheart, please! For heaven’s sake, lis ten to the truth if I ever told it!” “Oh, you—and the truth!” There was a long argument, in which, finally, I grew angry myself. Then tears. In my arms, in a taxicab later, she was eventually persuaded to believe that I cared for her now, and J was forgiven—for something I hadn’t done. And gladly I set it over against those occasions when I had deserved worse and gone scot-free, But imagine' After all I had done in the past, to draw her savage fire for this! And when I had done nothing at all—not a look, not a smile. To this day, I presume, I stand convicted in Aglaia’s eyes. Laughable! As tounding! And if I were to be hung, I would declare as here. What I must have been doing was this— unconsciously smiling at the proprietor and some servitors visible through a door which stood open back of the two girls. I can explain it in no other way. But if so, I was uncor scious even of that. How easy it is, you ser, for chance, or Providence, to’ hang you for something you have not done! Two or three additional incidents. There came a time when I left New York. During my absence Aglaia joined a revue of great metropolitan fame. And although each day brought letters, and the following spring we met as before, I felt that she was truly begi ning to despair of our ever being t , to fear that I was leaving for good. Yet, the following fall, when she might hav taken a principal singing and dancing rélem a Chicago duplicate of one of the romai musical-comedy successes of the summer, | deliberately let it go because, after tal with me, she became convinced that I wag work in New York all winter. She did know at that time that there was still an But this other claimed so much of my’ during that winter and the next two years! from time to time Aglaia sought consolat her musical career, undertaking concert engi ments in different cities. a In three of these—Denver, Minneapolis? Ottawa—lI joined her, a silent witness event to her poetic and artistic charm. 3 On these occasions we pares about, talk mad things about a possible final happy um one day, never to part. Never. For wh looked into Aglaia’s sweet eyes and sens the breadth and largess of the sympathy am wisdom innate in her soul, I could beliew everything, even an enduring union with he But suddenly, and as a bolt from the came—well, Cytherea—let us call her. # sunny September day. The bell rings in creaky, dusty studio, and here she is—Lii® Cyrene, a German Rhine princess, an Irish banshee! And smiling. ‘i cs at Fr wet 85 le e f b © 1926

Page 145

k 1929 Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 165 nd I after with you? ed? "See ain! Say Vhat have a ¢ L ? me wretched arge cups o} /ragran { cojfee, says Suess ‘a8 D st loo “m1 Mars. Douctas Mac Arruur e flashed. ners while | L f s! I do!” P anning er iamous Maryland suppers heart, no if. Don’t get away. Never!” Those two IKE an oasis in the pressure of busy official pe and diplomatic life in Washington comes a an invitation to Sunday evening supper at N you. I Rainbow Hill—Mrs. Douglas MacArthur’s i beautiful home in the lovely Green Spring Sake, lis Valley outside of Baltimore. Knowingly provided, from her wide experi- +h, finally, ence in entertaining, are those “large cups of dee. waded fragrant coffee.” Like others of America’s most ee aati brilliant hostesses, she serves Maxwell House. In’t done. Maxwell House Coffee takes its rightful pte place in scenes of Southern hospitality. ne in the Years ago a fine hotel in the Old South his! And became famous for its superlative coffee. ot En Travelers from all parts of the United States sble! % came to taste and remained to praise the rich , I would mellow flavor of Maxwell House Coffee. : Southerners themselves boasted of it. They vas thie said no single coffee grown could match it. jetor and : or wae And they were right. For Maxwell House an explain Coffee is not a single coffee flavor, but a rich, as UNCOM sparkling blend of selected coffees grown in » eS _~ many lands. A Southern gentleman first 5 worked out this choice blend, which ever 's. There since has appealed unfailingly to other men . = and women who know good food. | ped Let your own family and your friends enjoy spring we this delicious coffee at your table. Your gro- uly begi cer has Maxwell House Coffee. IT think of all the parties I give at my Maryland house, the most popular and informal is my Sunday evening Maryland Supper. I always serve the coffee in large cups, for somehow those large cups of fragrant coffee seem unfailingly to knit a group of diverse individuals into a cordial company. For many years the mellow blended flavor of Maxwell House Coffee has been identified with the gayest, most charming aspects of life in the Old South.” LISTEN IN ON THURSDAYS Tue GENIUS OF ONE Delightful weekly radio programs are broad- MAN gave America its apos i. : cast by the famous Maxwell House Coffee eni ideal coffee. Only after Concert Orchestra, from WJZ, WBZ, 3 countless, patient experi- WBZA, WHAM, KDKA, WJR, KYW, x : ments was the mellow, full- bem gag Pens a DI a : > ’ ’ ’ y , or Wi os porns nanny KPRC, WSB, WSM, WMC, WHAS, id § pees WLW, WBAL, WBT, WJAX, WEBC pathy Tune in every Thursday evening for the d i Maxwell House Coffee Program. ee xweit Houser © 1929, P. Co., Inc. “Good to the last drop”’ é You will be delighted, also, with Maxwell House Tea

Page 146

“The New French process MELLO-GLO Face Powder stays on longer and prevents large pores. Best of all, I never have a shiny nose when I use MELLO-GLO—it keeps ugly, shine away.” Claire Toy (now acting in Ziegfeld’s York City. “Whoopee”’), 214 Rivérside Drive, New “‘New wonderful MELLO-GLO Face Powder gives my skin an exquisite youthful bloom and spreads more smoothly. Because it is so fine, MELLO-GLO never gives a pasty or flaky look.”” Manon Maria, Baroness de Grazia (concert and radio singer), 152 E. 30th Street, New York City. Beautiful Women Prefer Mello-Glo MERICA’S most beautiful women use MELLO-GLO Face Powder because it stays on longer and prevents large pores. The soon discover that wonderful MELLO-GL meansno more shiny noses—it really keeps ugly shine away. This remarkable powder is little affected by perspiration and stays on longer. Because it is made by anew French Process, MELLO-GLO Face Powder spreads more smoothly and produces a youthful bloom which is impossible to duplicate. Ic covers up every imperfection yet does not dry the skin or irritate it. All coloring matter is passed upon by Gov- ernment chemists. Nothing could be purerthan MELLO-GLO Face Powder. , Protect yourown lovely skin with MELLO- GLO, this outstanding face powder for beau- tiful women, whichnever gives a pasty or flaky look. Buy it at your favorite store. MELLO- GLO Co., Statler Bldg., Boston, Mass. That smile! Not Pan aided by Mr. Ziegfeld could offer more. We exchanged smiles. I listened to her story. Feverishly, madly—visions, desires, all-but- impossible dreams, brewed and tossed as spume upon enormous, exhilarating waves of fancy. Let us go to Mexico! Let us go to Spain! Let us go to Hollywood! Every other thing for the time being forgotten. Without words, without explanations, in a kind of dream, a fever, we packed, slipping away on a steamer for Cuba, for New Orleans, for Panama, the West coast. And, oh, the golden days and silver nights! Once in a lifetime, perhaps, a glorious fever that is more of the mind than the flesh, a thing that rides on bright sunbeams and swift winds and sparkling waters. There were flying-fishes in schools before the boats on which we sailed. But Aglaia! After six months of madness and dreams, a letter to her. But after how many letters from her in which she stated that she understood. That I was breaking her heart. To live at all, she said, she had been compelled to return to the stage. But, oh, she had been so unhappy. And the mockery of singing in this new piece the rdle of a sweetheart, neglected at first, yet who in the end wins her heart’s desire. “But not for me in real life, I fear,” she added. “It isn’t in the cards. Sometimes as I sing I could cry.” Yet after that, letters and letters from her! And in one news of the death of her father— her darling, darling daddy. “Oh, he has really gone! And still so young.” In her letters— her words—one could feel the sobs, the tears. And two days before his death asking after me and saying: “Your old man knows. He has always known. He’s been through it all. But you'll be happy yet. You deserve it.” And the night he died—the very last minute, so she wrote—lifting up his arms as if he were going to take someone or something into them, and smiling. ‘And I know he saw something, something beautiful. Oh, I know he did. My darling daddy! I hope it was a paradise, for if there is one he deserves it.” And knowing Martynov, and really loving him, I agreed. A great, generous, boreal soul— too, too big for the humdrum of this world. His wife, Zenia, broke down completely, was ill for many months; then joining Aglaia. But Aglaia continuing: “Oh, my darling, I needed you so! If only I had had you! Love is all there is to life, and life is so short.” Yet with me at the time, Cytherea, and as emotionally and romantically involved as ever Aglaia or any other. And warbling gay songs because of her happiness—tripping in a mad white dream of her own toward whatever fate would. And the letters from others to her! A letter from someone who adored her as she adored me, begging her to return to him. Yet the two of us clinging, victimwise, in a great storm, gay and yet fearful, weary at times. But after another six months, a letter from Aglaia saying that to her joy her company was to make a trip to the coast. Would I be there still? Could we meet at Vancouver, say, or Seattle, and make the trip south together? Could I not do that for her? And, accordingly, a compromise on San Francisco, seeing how difficult it all was. And then, as the time drew near, letters and tele- grams, but to a letter-box—not my real address. Ah, she could scarcely wait! It would be so wonderful! And true enough, by subterfuge, it was pos- sible to meet her, to share at least five days with her and to see her looking little, if any, older, and singing and dancing as divinely as I knew she could and would. But with the strain of fatality ever present—the fatality of my not caring enough for her, of Cytherea’s existence and my devotion to her, of the long separation that had been and the longer sepa- ration that seemed inevitable. Surely, it was After Aglaia—Elizabeth, a personality different from Aglaia Will her love conquer the vagaries Theodore Dreiser tells the story Next Month yet sharing a common love. of a genius? Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 a mistake to have met again. And yet, happj. ness, after a fashion, for both. And then the trip south, but not together her connections, friends, introductions anj what not, making it impossible. And ong there, Cytherea reclaiming the scene for her. self, only miserable to the point of death g moments because of apprehensions, dreads, Where had I been? Was it possible that] could care for someone else? And leave hep Was fairyland vanishing before her eye? And then a long explanation there. I must & this, see this older love once more. Let there be no despair as to that. There need not be And a reconciliation which brought happines once more. Motor trips to gay beaches and restaurants and those affairs that are the spint of Hollywood. But still Aglaia brooding, as I could fed, And one dinner and evening with her, and promise of another, which was not to be ful filled. For by chance, in trying to avoid her the night before—spare her the sight of Cytherea, who, as I knew, would prove the deadliest of all contacts for her—a direct con- tact in a restaurant in Hollywood. It was in the hills, to the west of the Boule vard, a quaint, unfrequented place. And on such an evening! Anyone who knows the movie capital at all knows the lightness of the air, the largeness of the stars, the smell of the and acacia trees. And the insouciance of the denizens of that world—more like figures ina dream than beings in reality. So, at Talina’s as we entered, Aglaia and: girl friend of her company seated at a table And the step of Cytherea, swinging and dream ful, a white wool dress, a white tam, white shoes and stockings, a white fox fur. And Aglaia as lovely as ever, in green and white. But the eyes of her as we entered, Cytherea wholly unconscious. The look o Aglaia as she sensed our relationship. So here, at last, was the cause of all her woe— her rival—the one who had really taken me away, the one who had kept me in spite of her. Perhaps it was something in Cytherea’s step, her voice, her laughter, but, in a few moments and without a second glance, Aglaia with her friend was up and away. She looked sidewise, from, not at, me as she passed. I knew what had happened and that I neve should see her again. I felt it. She will not endure Cytherea, I thought.. It is too much Atlast, itis. Rightly and wisely, she has given over. And after all these years. I was dumb, Yet all the while Cytherea babbling of th wonder of the night and her happiness. Oh, we must do this, and that! And my om thoughts dark and heavy, and on right, wrong, what is endurable, what unendur: what one should be rewarded, for what pur ished. And Cytherea asking, after a time, what was wrong. I went to the place where we were to met the next evening, but Aglaia was not & I knew before I went. And useless to seek as I knew. There could be no adjustment d this. I felt it. And the next month I readd her resignation of the stage as a career, and within the year, of her engagement. With her ability to talk several languagss, her musical talents, her dignity, tact, cham, she could not fail to become a center for inter esting groups of people. She was a a home builder and in five years I learned of be “4 children, to whom she was devoting be self. e Yet to this day I know that Aglaia remails as at first she was with me—loving, und standing, forgiving. I know it. And in mé ory, hand in hand, heart to heart, we are gether in many of the beautiful mometls hours, days, that were ours. ‘ Joy, beauty—these are deathless. They # in the eternal energy of life, not in its changeld and vanishing material forms, in which, for the hour, they appear. 5 ‘$2 Fe Fk FR BEIBStEEED ERSRe epee ce S en ,BPRSSEE SESSRREEE GELS .F = = SF 2ESe Os ..s7F2F .SStEe ges

Page 147

iter a time, vere to mett not there, a ; to seek her, Edison (Continued from page 83) | dollars a week. ‘My happiness,” he replied, | “has always been the same.” That was not | quite as definite an answer as I wanted, so I | asked him if he believed that, with a billion | dellars, he was any happier than I was. — I was writing a book about Ford that winter, | seeing him every day, and he knew a good deal | about my state of mind, so he had something upon which to base an answer. I recall that he | hesitated a few seconds before answering, | then said, “No, I don’t think I am.” When Ford comes home at night, Mrs. | Ford’s usual greeting is, “Well, Henry, what | kind of a day did you have today?” and Ford’s | usual reply is, “The best day of my life,” or something like that. But Edison’s estimate of Ford’s happiness is about right. Ford, in my opinion, is approximately as happy as every man is who is doing congenial work successfully —which means that he is pretty happy most of the time, but his happiness is not at all in pro- portion to his wealth. | told these things to Edison by writing a sentence or two on a piece of paper now and then and handing it to him. “You are right about Ford,” Edison said, after reading one of the slips. ‘He is pretty happy most of the time, but he is never happy a billion dollars’ worth and sometimes he is not at all.” Edison looked out of the window and was silent. One minute, two minutes. “Benson,” he asked, “how many things can you see in three seconds?” I reached for my pad of paper and wrote: “Tt somewhat depends upon the number of things there are where I am looking.” “There is the greatest difference in people,” he continued, “‘in their ability quickly to observe.. Some of this difference probably arises from natural ability, but a good deal of it arises from “Tt is not merely a joke to say that one of the best ways to hide a thing is to hang it on the wall in the sitting-room. One of the best men we have here is always missing things that are right before his eyes. This capacity to ob- serve should be developed far and away be- yond what it is now. What good are eyes if what they see does not get through to the gray mat- ter in back of them?” Again Edison was silent and my mind had time to go back to an occasion, many years ago, when in a little less than six hours, spent in a great cement plant that he was building, Edison noted more than six hundred different things that he wanted done and wrote them all out from memory after he returned home, taking all night and half of the next day to do it. “The eyes can be trained,” Edison continued, “to take in a great deal at a glance. A few years ago, when I was working on my storage-battery, lA I trained my eyes so I could see the word | 6x Name. ‘nickel’ in three or four seconds, even if it ap- peared but once upon a page of fine print con- sisting of a thousand words. I wanted to learn all I could about nickel because I was thinking of using it in a storage-battery, so I went igh every book I could find that had to do with metals. “I never could have covered more than a fraction of this ground if I had had to read every word. Instead, I used to turn the leaves about like this” —illustrating by giving about two seconds to a page—“and if the word I Wanted was on a page I got it.” Another minute of silence. “Children could just as well be taught to read, not by words but by sentences and para- Thave trained myself to read sentences and anette at a glance. The individual words hot go through my mind at all, but I get the of them. Colleges, if they would, could teach this method of reading and it would Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 ay be of great value to their studen ts, but the don’t - sll that much.” : : 6“ human quality in its tone that ap- peals especially to the singer”.... CAROLINE ANDREWS E A hand-made Masterpiece. says of the.... : eB in Mahogany, only eet 10 Inches Long. .B. New York... . BRAMBACH BABY GRAND NDORSED by leaders in the musical world and prized in homes where beautiful tone is really enjoyed, the Brambach Baby Grand enjoys first position among all small grand pianos of popular price. The Brambach Tone Expander creates a depth and volume of tone exceeding even larger instruments. Its Piano Scale is conceded to be the finest small gtand in existence. Its Super-Sounding Board has a greater area and string length than any other small grand made. This vital factor for tone richness is guaranteed unconditionally for life. The rich beauty of Brambach tone is echoed in the exquisite cabinet- work and model designs shown by Brambach dealers. Both see and hear the Brambach ... offered you on most liberal terms. 613 West 51st St., New York City. Gentlemen: Please Baby Grand, and beautiful brochure. send me paper pattern showing exact size of the Brambach a: eee wwe Awe e wee WA fhe Brambach Piano Co., Mr. Mark P. Campbell, Pres., City *675. | Eo www @ www = oe oe we wee eo Three Steps to Beauty! Here is your opportunity to achieve the radiant, youthful complexion you have al- ways longed for. HELENA RUBINSTEIN —the world’s foremost beauty specialist— has created three preparations which will bring you beauty speedily and unfailingly! These three preparations constitute the famous “Ghree me to Beauty” (3.25) —the most marvelous beauty value in existence! Within two weeks this remark- able treatment will effect an amazing improvement in your skin! STEP 1—Cleanse and mold your skin with Helena Rubinstein’s Pas- teurized Face Cream — revitalizes and protects all types of skins. The only cream cleanser which benefits oily, disturbed skin. 1.00. STEP 2—Clear and animate the skin with Helena Rubinstein’s Beauti- ing Skinfood. Purifies, refines and bleaches. Corrects freckles, tan and sallowness. 1.00. STEP3—Tone and brace tissues with Helena Rubinstein’s Skin-toning Lotion. It irons away lines. Keeps the contour youthful. 1.25. If dealer cannot supply you, order direct. Dept.C3 8 EAST 57th STREET NEW YORK CITY

Page 148

Handy Can? oils that you The Hand and size th: anywhere. en 130 William Street How Handy! What could: possibly be handier than 3-in-One in the oval shaped The oil is so superior to common most delicate of household mech- anisms—vacuum cleaners, sewing machines, victrolas, even clocks. Can is so convenient in shape at it not only may be kept al- most anywhere but will put oil ; ‘M-UNne Prevents Rust- OILS - Cleans & Polishes It’s pure; it’s clean; it’s different—a scien- tific compound of several high Bo cd oils, each contributing its own valuable properties that are not found in ordinary oils. Nothing else just like 3-in-One. At grocery, drug, stores everywhere, in two size andyCans and three size bottles. The Big Red“One’’on the label is your protection. THREE-IN-ONE OIL COMPANY may use it on the ost notion, hardware and New York, N. Y. Kxee7 Ever try polishing fur- niture with 3-in-One? It’swonderful. Removes __g¥m surface scratches, too. [ames Uses. Generous sample and Dictionary o, 1 Fe Request them on a postal. t >) nS a ‘ 4 ’ or Sa “You can go ' BEWARE! Inflammable clean- ing fluids may dis- ‘figure you for life or kill you outright ~~, —then it’s too late for advice. ety's Sake -demand CARBONA Clean in ‘@ Fiuid Removes Gre Spots . Without Injury to Fabric or Color Does it Quickly and Easily for free booklet “All About ‘Rings’ and| How to Avoid Them in Remo % Carbona Products Co., 312 Grease WT doe St., NTC. 20* BOTTLES Araut pave STORES Edison has not much use for our so-called in- stitutions of learning, which does not mean, of course, that he regards them as useless. His criticism has to do only with what they teach and how they try to teach it. He believes the Hag schools are missing a great opportunity y not making more use of moving-pictures. Nor do college graduates, as prospective em- ployees, appeal strongly to him unless they are of a type that would have appealed to him if they never had been to college. ‘When I prepared one of my questionnaires a few years ago,’’ he said, “to test the capac- ities of applicants for employment, and col- lege graduates could not answer many of the questions, word came to me from one of the universities that they trained students not to answer such questions, but to know where the answers could be obtained. Well, I prepared fifty more questions and sent them over to the university, saying, ‘Here are some more ques- tions, there is your library—go to it.’ Not ten percent were answered correctly. “Tt is a great thing to have a hobby,” Edison suddenly exclaimed. “I met a professor in Paris a few years ago, the walls of whose rooms were covered with pipes. He had been collecting pipes for forty years and, as far as I could judge, had every kind that had ever been smoked. ‘There,’ I said to myself, ‘is a happy man.’ ” “What is your hobby?” I wrote. ““My hobby,” he replied with a grin, ‘‘is ex- } |put in the necessary local improvements, | don’t you think?” This was beyond Miss Barr. She sought refuge in the nearest unoccupied cell, where Consuelo was working. “There’s the funniest nut out there. I think he’s crazy. But awf’ly smart-looking. Will you take him?” “No.” She felt a decided distaste for any such dealings with Ipsy Smith. At first she told herself that it was because she was dis- gusted with him for coming. Later came il- lumination; it was really because she couldn’t face the intimacy of that sort of contact; not with him! Revulsion? No; it was certainly not revul- sion. Rather it was—well, she just couldn’t be sure of being quite impersonal about it where Ipsy Smith was concerned. Let Bob have him. She made the suggestion to Beulah and Bob got him. Almost immediately and much to her dis- leasure Connie had a client. ‘This prevented or from overhearing anything more than a lively alternation of voices from Bob’s room and occasional punctuations of laughter. Once she made an excuse to go out after something and caught this bit: “T never heard anyone ask so many ques- tions in my life.” In the most drawly of the Smith-tones came the reply, “Information is the life of trade. I’m thinking of going into this business.” “Tt won’t be your fault if you don’t know all there is to know about it.”” Apparently he was taking a full line of treatments, for Connie had finished with her finger-wave long before her attentive ear made out indications of an end in Bob Roberts’ division. She easily contrived to be in the outer room when Ipsy emerged. “How do you do?” he inquired politely. “You might have asked me that any time in the last two weeks.” Woy, acge you answer it now and we'll pass on to the next one.” “T’m well. But I don’t think you ought to come here.” He looked puzzled. “Where would you suggest that I go when I want my beauty polished up? To a plumber’s?” “Oh!” said Connie and managed to put a deal into the monosyllable. “T don’t believe you’re feeling as well as you yretend.. Would going out to dinner with me Ip any?” Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 21920» 19 The Flagrant Years (continued jrom pose 65) personal perimenting. What I most like to do is tp tackle a problem to which I do not know the answer and try to solve it. This rubber bug. ness just suits me. Do you know that ther are many, many plants right here in New Jer. sey that have rubber in them? There aré man other pone, not used at all now, that . a doubt have economic uses. Economie ite” is something that botanists don’t care any. thing about. They find a plant, give it a Latiy name if it hasn’t one already, put it in a cay. log and they are through.” Ss When Edison went to Florida last January for his winter “vacation” he took a carton machinery with him and several employes, “Hobby” and “vacation” mean for him*jtist now, rubber. ee This time, when Edison arose and went bac to his desk, he did not return. His mind, hay. ing had the little play-spell that it was ready for more work. A moment later} was back at his old roll-top desk, so lost in work that, to attract his-attention, one would have had to put his lips close to his ear and. shout. Nothing about Edison is more te markable than his ability to shift his mind quickly from one subject to another and to lose himself in each subject to which he tums, Having come to the surface a few moments for air, so to speak, he plunged back to the depths of thought. But in those few moments I ha got what I feel is one of the most revealing E885 58 .F8 ER eee Pee | -2SF .53 om interviews ever written. be w some “ § sed “No; I don't think it would.” She wast e going to let him get away with it so after his neglect. J — firm “Then you’ve got another engagement!” — 2dve He looked almost crestfallen—for him. Connie § Back had to stiffen herself against an inclination — AP0s waver. ps “What phenomenal powers of inference!” “Some people are born that way; iy me too much credit,” said he modestly. ; I take you to your engagement?” — Now Connie had no engagement for evening, so she decided to, fix one Bob. ‘That. would be nice,” she adm languidly. “TI’ll be at the entrance about Just by way of discipline she kept him ing ten full minutes. When sh told the taxi-driver to go by way of the Pat and make it as roundabout as possible. “What have you been doing with yoursell? she demanded as they crept along in the slr parade of late afternoon on the Avenue. “Me? Oh, in the inspired words of the “ ‘T have been leaning idly on a star And thi thinking kindly thoughts of - time and space.’ ” “Tt’s very pretty but not too convit Ipsy! What’s the matter with your nose? 1 looks as if it had been broken.” ; “You’ve put it out of joint with your and clammy treatment of me,” was proachful —_. “Tt’ll recover.” “You might as well tell me. I know the fight.” “So does your friend Miss Roberts. Ist anything you don’t know about in your! mart of pulchritude?” “Rowdy told me. And I told him he coward.” eo “That’s below the belt. He isn’t,” peer eSid 228 PEPEFETIES§ 8 bates 8 2 , Smith quietly. ‘It was a square-enou, ag : eguerer For him to pick on a man ee size?” . “Oh, be fair to me,” he pleaded. ‘ Pace least two-thirds if not three-quarters side, Moreover, I’m afraid I started it.” that ‘ “Why on earth did you start it?” : “He was getting too conversational.” eat 7 She did not ask him what about. Sh 7 surmise. Rowdy, drunk, would be li PR become confidential anywhere, or to anybe She asked anxiously: ss “Ipsy, what did you mean by’sa Z #

Page 149

oat a i 14 settle the account in your own way? fee aha not going to fight him again?” ibber busj- “Not if I keep my mental balance. That that there bluff was just for the benefit of the committee; 1 New Jer to let em ao it was my affair and they : man keep off the grass.’ at be ; That "was when you wouldn’t let them cael bed “PRowd’s all right, if he would only lay off > it a Latin: i i “Do you think he ever will?” ia “What do you want to know that for?” st Januaty “It might be important.” OE te edie’ + him jk More gravely than she had ever before heard ' & him , he said, “Don’t do it, Connie.” | went back y not?” she retorted mutinously, and mind, hay [§ added: “You’re married.” it He gave her a queer look. “Because one person gets married is no reason for everyone else getting that way.” one would “You're not much of a booster for the blessed his ear and = What have you got against d > : his a “Nothing in the world except his drinking. , & It’sinhis blood. I knowhis people. His father h he turns, and mother made life one long, sweet bat and ; both died of it before they were thirty.” “He wants to stop. Don’t you think he rents T hat could if he were helped?” t revealing “Tt’s always possible,” he said slowly. “He’d =) be worth saving, certainly. Let’s talk about something else.” “Let’s talk about you.” “Swell idea! Fascinating topic! I'll tell you some news, Connie. I’ve just sold my A to what devil?” m ‘o what devil?’ ‘oan “Error for you. To the angels. A whole firm of em. Shiniest line of halos in the whole gagement?”: advertising business. Ballantyne, Binns and im. Connie @ Backus, known to the ribald as the Three clination} | Apostles. Know ’em?” “ve heard of them.” ference!” “Nothing but good, I’m sure,” said Mr. Smith primly. “No drinking allowed. No smoking. Only respectable married men need apply. Church every Sunday for all members the firm and executives. Godly mottoes on the office walls. Hymns before action, I wouldn’t wonder. They’ve been that way ever since they put over their big religious book that gave ’em their start.” “How on earth did you land in that gallery, -my well and favorably known moral principles. ‘Morality, heavenly link! BF gga eternally drink,’” caroled Mr. “They fell for the ‘flagrant years’ layout which I’ve been polishing up during my brief retreat from the world. I took it to old Ballantyne first. He strained the idea through his white whiskers and made me a long oration about the ethical responsibilities of the adver- : eee and offered me a thousand for it. BG s the kind of stuffed shirt he is. When he a found I wouldn’t trade, he sighed and turned me over to Backus.” “Ts he a stuffed shirt, too?” “No; just a shirt. I finally got to Binns who know a private brain for his own use. He ~ liked my little scheme. ‘How much for it?’ rts. Is ther me SYS he. ‘Fifteen thousand,’ says I, ‘plus in your ‘You’re crazy,’ says he, quite pleas- antlike. ‘Plus my services for one year on contract,’ says I. ‘There’s more ideas where that one came from. Who’s loony now?” says I. Both of us,’ says he, ‘for I’m going to take you on.’ So Iam. I wish I’d said twenty.” Has that something to do with your coming here and asking Miss Roberts all those ques- ed. “Of " s ters his tide, orga I’m working up the technical ” owe: I wanted to get you to help me; not 99 : $ bad. Will you put your mighty — “If on it and think me up some details?™ t. Shee fe Tcan. But it’s out of my line.” be fi them you believe it! I’ve used some of ; to anybe ou Mad suggested already—without » I’m a swell idea-grafter.. Other- Wise Teasonably straight. What are you Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 The Eureka Man is the bonded, trusted represent- ative of the world’s larg- Are you cleaning your house BLINDFOLDED ? You can’t see oe a rug any more than you could through a blindfold. Watching your old electric cleaner pick up surface dirt and litter, you naturally think: “How beautifully it cleans.” But surface cleanliness gives you absolutely no proof that our cleaner has removed the grimy, germ- aden dirt that is trodden into the nap of floor coverings or buried in upholstery. The Eureka Man has a simple test — the famous “High-Vacuum” Dirt Test—which will show you in a moment whether rugs you think are clean are really clean, and whether your old cleaner has lost effectiveness, as many cleaners do through constant use. Remember, almost any brushing or sweep- ing device will take up the dirt you can see. But a worn or inferior cleaner, lacking in suc- tion power, leaves the dangerous embedded dirt—a perfect breeding place for moths and disease germs. The secret of the Eureka’s amazing success in more than 2,000,000 homes is its extraordi- nary suction, and its adaptability to every cleaning purpose. Let the Eureka Man show you how “Super-Vacuum” will bring you new standards of home sanitation—how it may be used to bigs moths—and to clean the inside of your motor car, your stairways, cupboards and all other hard-to-get-at places. This demonstration costs nothing — places you under no obligation. If the Eureka man does not call within a few days, phone the nearest Eureka branch or dealer. EUREKA VACUUM CLEANER CO. DETROIT, U. S. A. Largest Manufacturers of Vacuum Cleaners in the World Canadian Fa » Kitchener, Ontario. Foreign Branches: 8 Fisher St., London, W. C. 1, England; 299a-301 Castlereagh St., Sydney, Australia Grand Prize UREKA VACUUM CLEANER Welcome the Eureka Man— home sanitation expert est manufacturer of electric cleaners. He will show you many ‘‘shorteuts” to make your work easier and give you added hours of leisure.

Page 150

wg NOBODY'S I *4. out of 5 Neglect the Gu Health to Pyorrhea ANGER seems so remote when teeth are white. But, as your dentist will tell you, teeth are only as healthy as the gums. And diseases that attack the gums seldom reveal their presence until too late. So start taking proper care of the gums to preserve teeth and safeguard health from dread Pyorrhea—the disease of neglect that ravages 4 persons out of 5 after forty and thousands younger. Every morning and every night, when you brush your teeth, brush gums vigor- ously with the dentifrice specifically made for this purpose—Forhan’s for the Gums. Within a few days you’ll notice an im- provement in the way your gums look and feel. In addition, your teeth will look cleaner and whiter. For while this denti- frice helps to firm gums and keep them youthful (the surest safeguard against Pyorrhea) it also cleans teeth and protects the crevices where decay so often begins. Get This Good Habit Remember, nobody’s immune. And the safeguard against disease is proper daily care and a semi-annual visit to your dentist. Get a tube of Forhan’s from your drug- gist today. Two sizes — 35c and 60c. Start using it, morning and night. Teach your children this good habit. It will protect their health. Forhan Company, New York. Forhan’s for the Gino is far more hon B.D. 8. toothpaste. It is the formula of R. oR S. grt cake D.D. It is compounded with Forhan’s orrhea Liq fice by —— veveryuhere. You will find pie = rice es, ly effect asagum evt ec- tions that come with ‘each tube are Followed It’s good for the teeth. It’s pron yr ye > tap — Forha FOR THE GUMS bJ " Even when teeth are white MUNE’ s and Surrender a ! YOUR TEETH ARE ONLY AS HEALTHY AS YOUR GUMS Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 He glooming at your watch for? Have we got tp head in? . . . Oh, all right!” In front of the apartment-house he lifted her hand, which had somehow become involved with his several minutes earlier, and the palm. “Good night,” he said. “I’m going to Boston and points east for a short trip, Don’t take any wooden promises of reform until I get back and see you.’ As Consuelo was substituting for th younger White sister who was out on a home § treatment case the following afternoon, no! Madame Latouche came into the compat. § - ment and interrupted the facial. “How soon will you be through, Mis Barrett?” “In about fifteen minutes.” She beckoned her employee-outside.- “Can't you hurry it up?” “Not very well.” Connie had her own cop science about the job. “Mr. Daniels’ secretary has ens phoned. He wants you as soon as he gets here; won’t have anyone else. I’m sure I don’t know why.” As this expected rather than required a reply, Connie made none. To complete the facial properly took all of the fifteen minatae al esti- mated; she had no intention of scamping work on another client even for Waller Daniel He came, ushered in by the purring La touche, his face inflamed with bad temper and impatience. Off came his coat and collar and tie in a series of savage jerks. He slammed his lank form into the chair where he lay rigid, his features a mask of irritability, Consuelo deliberately opened her. cabinet. As the light flashed into it the owlet from his perch on the top shelf winked at her. It con firmed her own opinion, that wink. Mum was the word. Her client, too, seemed to be of the same mind. Strong, gentle, persuasive, her fingers kneaded his temples and forehead. There was ‘ no response from the stiffened figure in the chair. He would not help her to help him. Fe was like working on a hardwood knot. She Gral slackened her soft palms against his cheeks, on fi “Can’t you relax?”’ she murmured. * from His grunted response seemed to be a refusal two- rather than a simple - tive. Here wasa problem new to ae. oe bares for time, studying his pose. ost an supported on Oh veldce slate and heels, th § = rest of his body bridging upward. Connie was no masseuse but she had com mon sense, judgment and quick resoure. Using all of her considerable muscular she wrung the taut sinews of first one then the other. They resisted her as if a mutinous opposition of their own. She mut § © break that down. ‘“‘Please,”’ she whispered. ‘Don’t fight. me.” With a dismal and confidential in Waller Daniels said: “I’ve had a perfect. of a day. ” Pitying himself! “Don’t think about it,” said she quickly, Again he grunted. But this was a vey different species of grunt. It was yielding in a grudging way, grateful. That hard- curved spine eased down. For the next twenty minutes she gave to him te all that she had of strength, vigor, me youth. Under the play of. her skill she saw the-seamy face take on quietude ness, peace, almost rejuvenation, and. that subtle satisfaction which is akin’ creative responsiveness of womanhood, thrill of reconstituting, Sa ig: ond the ality given into her care. He sighed. “Nearly through?” “T’ll want a manicure.” “Very well.” She had finished one-hand and was ¥ on the other before he spoke again “You know my nephew, Gerald Po I believe.” “Ves,” “See much of him lately?” “No,” “Not very conversational, are your”

Page 151

Graham-Paige offers a wide variety of body types, feaiph ¢, an’ Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 171 1 Constant! Better OU are invited to inspect the Graham-Paige sixes and eights with new refinements and improvements which represent our earnest en- deavor to make our product constantly better. We believe you will appreciate the beauty, comfort, and substantial value of these motor cars — and the distinguished performance of their time-proved four-speed transmission (two high speeds — standard gear shift). A car is at your disposal. RO on five chassis— sixes and eights — at prices ranging from $885 to $2495. Car illustrated is Model 827, am’ two-passenger Coupe, $2125 (special equipment extra). s All prices at factory.

Page 152

Bad breath is a warning from a poisoned system! Don’t “cover it up” Get at its cause

HINK overthe business man’s average menu! A superabundance of proteins and very little roughage! Then take into account his day's work—stooped over his desk all day! Lastly, judge of the exercise he takes— or rather doesn’t take! Is it any wonder doctors say that practically every one of us suffers from constipation; and from its attendant train of ills— tired digestion, headaches, bad breath? And the trouble is that so many of us turn for relief to drastic cathartics or to drugs whose use may create undesirable habits. ... There is, however, an ever- increasing group of people who are combating constipation with more natural means—fresh air, Eno — health precaution—will cost you less than 3c a day. When you get up, simply take a glass of water and a generous teaspoonful of Eno. Taking this sparkling, delightful saline regularly will help to keep you fit and eager through the hardest day. For a business headache, nothing is better than a glass of Eno. You can get it at the better soda fountains everywhere.

a balanced diet, plenty of water —and complement these by the regular use of ENo, the gentle yet thorough saline laxative. Try this famous saline for one week, morning or evening. You'll use it regularly once you have tried it. You'll like its delightful sparkling taste and you'll appre- ciate its gentle cleansing .. . its freedom from griping. Unpleasant breath . . . and the condition of intestinal poison- ing that usually causes it . . . is just as inexcusable hygienically as it is socially. It is a symptom of importance—a warning of intes- tinal toxicity. Try ENo—at all druggists, 75c and $1.25 a bottle. Prepared only by J. C. Eno, Ltd., London, England. Sales Agents: Harold F. Ritchie & Co., Inc., Belmont Building, Madison Avenue at 34th Street, New York.

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929

“T thought you didn’t like talk.” She way I'm 0 feeling quite at ease with this difficult: .B be. I “There’s no use in trying to hold an 2 He: back on me,” he advised her bruskly. “I knoy | “Will: all about you and Jerry. I have my own way it to of finding out things that interest me. bd oT rather a hobby of mine.” “Pet “Not a very nice one,” was the quiet‘com taking ment. Cae “Wha “Huh! You think not? Why? Not thatf “Ar give a darn what you think.” oR fusing “Then why ask me?” ; “Bo “T’m curious about you.” ‘ot g “T think it isn’t a nice one because I don't Gran like spying.” | “Do “That’s just a name,” he retorted scornfully, “No “You needn’t be worried, however.” “Th “I’m not.” “An “I don’t know that I object particularly tp “Are your going around with my nephew.” Me Connie “You’re twitching your hand.” He t “Go easy with that prod. It wouldn’t make § his po any difference to you if I did object, eh?” * smartl “No.” = | “But it might to him.” i i No reply. “Te “What have you got to say to that?” “Nothing.” The “Tt seems to be your specialty.” ~ He grinned suelo fe ather. Approval had supplanted irascibilityin divine his expression. “‘You’re good at it. Have you the ont stopped Jerry’s drinking?” is which “He may have stopped it himself.” “He’s been sober most of the time since he comed! met you.” Bs secret, “T don’t like drunks.” stolid, “That’s the point. It looks as if your im — Placent fluence was doing it. Would you considera self-dec business proposition?” Ever “‘What is it?” questin “To keep him sober.” ished u “T have been considering it.” the dai “Oh!. You have! On what basis?” wealth “That’s the difficulty. I don’t quite know.” able lo “There’s a basis to my proposition. I'll give flesh. you five thousand dollars if you'll keep Jemy driven sober for six months.” a Consuelo studied his face. It was serious, How and less forbidding than she had seen it before, j Sued th “Using whatever means I choose?” & stale re “Yes. Go and live with him if you like.” — delusioi “I should if I married him.” _ & There | She gave it to him between the eyes. Butif @ 2nd th she expected anger or dismay- from him sht "i. was disappointed. He never even blinked. — = “Go as far as you like.” 7 & beauty “With your consent?” : “Tf the girl is on the catch.” ag ~* “Maybe there’s someone else you’d prefer le “That is also a possibility.” SG rity “Well, for example, who” he demanded, _ "Tk “Well, for example—if you’re talking merely = gh of example”—she looked at him with a oo } cool ete smile—‘‘you.” = (i “Me 7: “Yes. Why not—for example?” angle “The child’s got better sense than I'd ha any ¢ given her credit for,” he growled. “Your , ‘. right, at that. I’m more of a man than F estonth But I happen to be married, unfortunately, the ~ to a—well, we won’t go into that. But tell her: likely to keep me married.” . of the c “Ponty’s a gentleman, though,” said al reflectively. .

@ g

It did not get by. him. He snorted.

Page 153

I’m not; is that the idea? I don’t pretend to be. Haven’t got the time.” He stood up and got into his outer garments.

“will you take five dollars this time? If I hand own way it to you with a bow?” ne. It’s s. t Re “People don’t usually make conditions about et ‘com ® taking money from me,” he commented grimly. -' “What's your ladyship’s condition?” ot that I “Are you going to get me discharged for re- oe fusing to give you private treatments?” “Bosh! I’ll get you fired if I ever hear of ‘Gy giving one to anybody else.” He touched > I dont ha gently. “What about the proposition?” “Do I have to decide now?” ornfully, “No. Take two weeks. Take a month.” ‘ “Thank you. That will be plenty.” “And don’t be stupid about it. Good-by.” ularly to “Aren’t you forgetting my five dollars?” said ce Connie meekly. ? He turned at the door, shoved ghee into , his et, and bringing it out, slapped it he a et into hers with the bill. Pigs “J guess that makes us pals,” he said with a grin that was actually human. “T expect so,” agreed Connie. The monstrous regiment of women! Con- > grinned suelo found the hard old phrase of the hard old ibility in divine grimly applicable in another sense than the one he had intended, to the feminine army which daily invaded La Primavera, hoping to purchase the unpurchasable. All the human since he comedy, all the human tragedy lay close and secret, or blatant and shameless in those faces, stolid, eager, gross, avaricious, desperate, com- your in- placent, greedy, hot with hope or smug with nsider a self-deception. a Every entrant here was a seeker, eternally questing that boon which is gratuitously lav- _ @ ished upon and ruthlessly plucked away from _ the daughters of the race, more precious than wealth or position or achievement, the perish- able loveliness, the ever-fugitive youth of the flesh. The monstrous regiment of women, driven at quick-march under the lash of the l2 t years! How passionately, how feverishly they pur- sued the vanishing shadow, cherished the poor stale remnants, made believe with pitiful self- delusion that the lost beauty was still theirs! There were times when Consuelo felt that she and those who worked with her were heart- lessly merchandising these hopes and dreads. Then again, and more sensibly, she saw the beauty business as the last bulwark between these women and final surrender. After all, the fattest, shiniest “grease-pot,” the stringi- est old scrawn would be in a better case for nding some remnant of charm to strive over . preserve. ‘As other imaginative people look at stars, so Consuelo lost herself in contemplation of her fellow beings, with a sense of their infinite re- Moteness, a wonder and surmise as to what incredible and alien life was vivid in that re- mote planet of a soul. To a mind of such Mterests, La Primavera was a rolling pan- rama. What might not one learn about Women from the patronage of that discreet and retreat! .of all that striving and patience and : in the cause of self there were im- plicit or expressed teeming dramas of rivalry, of the , of conquests planned and passion outgrown. Cherchez Vhomme! Almost invari- @ man in the background. Was one of the anterooms of the theater 1s presented the never-ending play of sex. Hither repaired the wives of husbands » Misen in the world, had outgrown them and were seeking new emotional experiences. Price beauty for the woman who feels that he who was once her adorer is slipping away from her with her vanishing youth! Te any promise or prospect that she will hot pathetically trust in her an aco to refute the truth that her mirror must yet irrefutably by her? For, even in the professional haunts f the charm-sellers, “beauty. cannot keep her eyes” and above entry and exit broods

Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 <i 4

=, =

THe PHoENIx MuTUAL LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY of Hartford, Conn. ANNOUNCES A new RETIREMENT INCOME PLAN under which you get not only immediate protection for your beneficiaries but also, for yourself in later years, a guaranteed income you cannot outhve. What a dividend paying $10,000 policy will do for you it guarantees to you when you are 65 A Monruty INcomE ror Lire of ... $100.00 which assures a return of at least... . . 10,000.00 and perhaps much more, depending upon how long you live Or, if you prefer, A Casu SetTLeMenT AT Ace 65 of . . . 12,000.00 It guarantees upon death from any natural cause before age 65 A Cash PayMenT to your beneficiary of 10,000.00 Or $50 a month guaranteed for at cast 24 years and 8 months...... . Total 14,823.00 It guarantees upon death resulting from accident before age 60 A Cash PayMENT to your beneficiary of 20,000.00 Or $100 a month guaranteed for at Last 24 years and 8 months....... Total 29,646.00 It guarantees throughout permanent total disability which begins before age 60 A Monrutiy Disasitiry IncoME or. . $100.00 And the payment for you of all premiums For more information, mail the coupon below

Puoenrx MuTvuat Lire InsuRANCE COMPANY 421 Elm Street, Hartford, Conn. Please. give me full information about your new RETIREMENT INCOME PLAN.

Name Street

City State of birth

*he eternal favoritism of nature for her sons

Page 154

KEEP SLENDER RADIANTLY HEALTHY This Enjoyable sWeat Way N° longer are tedious, back- breaking exercises necessary in order to keep fit. Now, an in- genious new device, the Battle Creek Health Builder, enables you to keep lori- ously healthy—pleasingly slender— without effort on your part! The Health Builder, invented by an emi- nent 2 arcana in Battle Creek, gives a com- bined massage and exercise treatment, better than a skilled masseur. It vigorously mas- sages the heaviest muscles, peps up sluggish cicculation, aids digestion and reduces super- fluous weight. Endorsed by Famous Beauty Dorothy Knapp, star of Earl Carroll's “Vani- ties,” uses the Health Builder daily.Shesays ig: | omer pray re- commend the Health Builder to every one who is interested in keeping radiantly healchy and in retaining a beautiful fig- ure.” Here, at last, is a safe, simple, scientt method of reducing weight and keeping vigorously healthy. A Health Builder for Every Requirement Ideal for home use is the Universal Home Model, a compact enclosed Health Builder. The Athletic Model is very popular for clubs, home gymnasiums, colleges, health centers, institutions, steamships, etc., while the hand- some De Luxe Cabinet Models combine utiliry with distinctive beauty. Send for FREE Book Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, tag Send for “Health and Beauty in Fifteen Minutes a Day”—a valuable Free Book showing the Battle Creek Health Builder in operation— with complete series of bome exercise treatments, Sanitarium Equipment Co. Room AL-3888 Battle Creek, Mich. © 8. E. Co, 1989 The Battle Creek Health Builder‘; against her daughters, that women grow old while men remain young. As she worked more into active Practise, Consuelo came to know many of the regulars and to be the confidante of their individu troubles. Nine-tenths of them were oye thirty, a considerable proportion over and a few invincible fighters beyond fifty, One could not withhold respect for the gal. lant and losing battle that the best of the ol guard waged against the invincible-phalanx of the on-pressing years. What self-restraint ‘ what mortification of the appetites, what de a votion to the stern ritual of the flesh they practised in order to make themselves believe that today they looked a little younger and — oe yesterday. be e did: one’s best for them. Handling t younger and more malleable ones who Log still in the arena, the high-pressure society women, the business women who must keen constantly up to the mark, was like groom so many athietes for the daily test. As for the others, too weak-willed or indolent to help themselves, one decorated them as one wouk paint a wall.and with dye, tint and er re- stored as one best could some glaring simula- crum of their wasted attractions. =. The neurotics who came for “rest-facials” as a relief to overstrained nerves were more t Consuelo’s taste. With them she f her best results. Unprofitable, from the shop view-point, these, for they bought few prep- arations; they came for the immediate ment only. But they tipped generously, Her best neurotic was Waller Daniel: had promptly become her “regular” as enviously perceived. In one week he wast four times and would have nobody but Barrett He even brought his secretary with him ai dictated to him until Consuelo pro “How can I get you quiet if you your brain?” pee “There’s information in some of those let- ters,” he grunted, “worth a lot of money to anyone who knew how to use it.” pg “T didn’t listen.” ie “The more fool you.” a She smiled at the owlet. Her client's restless eyes caught the message. “What’s that thing?” “An owl.” ° a aN “T didn’t think it was the Statue of Lib Get out, you!” (This to the secretar hastily retired.) “What does it mean?” “Well, I think its theory is that much talk in the world.” “Tt looks it. It’s a wise yous wouldn’t be surprised. So are you; Ibe suspect, Connie.” xa “How did:you know my name?” “T heard that clumsy fool of a bro¥ girl call you that.” “She isn’t a°clumsy fool.” “Well, I don’t like her, I don’t le. Or many things.’ Bt Pee That’s because* you look at life 4 snarl,” she observed placidly. F He surprised her .by quoting unexpt “ ‘Tiger! Tiger! burning bright.’” ~. “You are, rather,.you know.” “Nobody else would dare tell me that are getting chumimy,” said he. ty “A dangerous: fellowship. for mie queried. She gave*him a return qui “ ‘They came back from the ride. Bie 2 With the lady inside Be And the smile on the face of the tiger. “J don’t want to eat you,” he disclaimed. ! “You only want to feed me to Ponty. Asa corrective to his appetite for drink.” “Have you decided?” “Not yet.” “Don't be a fool, Connie. You're coaly 4 child and this kind of opportunity doesn t—— “Please!” she _ hes tan ( to get excited and make speeches . an oh with you. You didn’t sleep hast night, did you?” + coat “Not very much.” Sods of Sa “You show it.” The long, cool, fingers were at the nape of his

Page 155

Hearst’s International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 175 What a funny way to escape a cold! VOID a cold by rinsing the hands with full strength Listerine? ° Sounds strange, doesn’t it? But there’s nothing strange about it. Just common sense, as any doctor will tell you. The live germs of conta- gious cold (the serious kind) are usually borne to the mouth on food carried by germ-laden hands. The usual washing with soap and water is not enough to remove or: destroy them. So physicians urge the use of a safe, but powerful, antisep- tic to attack the germs before they reach the throat. What could be better for this purpose than clean, sooth- ing Listerine—and so power- ful, when used full strength, that it kills even the virulent Bacillus Typhosus (typhoid) germ in 15 seconds? It is not necessary to use a large amount of Listerine. Just enough to wet the hands. A wise precaution for every- one—and especially for moth- ers preparing children’s food. Lambert Pharmacal Company, St. Louis, Mo., U.S. A. And for a SORE THROAT , . LISTERINE —of course : THE SAFE ANTISEPTIC Listerine built its reputation on , £s its ability to quickly check sore ae ‘a JOINED YET? at which is also caused by 4 g Get in the circle of men who’ve germs. At the first symptom of se found the perfect shave—the cool shave with trouble, garglewithitfullstrength a : i AVING CREAM epeat the treatment frequently. = LISTERINE SH I

Page 156

176 Ruty st. Dents A145 CUSS ESL. off-stage Hearst's {nternational-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 make-up Ruth St. Denis and Denishawn Dancers at class, in Denishawn House, N. Y. “Your make-up should enhance your personality, but never over- dramatize it. Your rouge, creams and powder must be perfect in color, in blending and lasting qual- ities. I prefer Tangee preparations myself. They are particularly ef- fective, and I am glad to recom- mend Tangee lipstick particularly. It is really more than a lipstick! Tangee protects your lips from chappingandisso natural in effect.” Ruth St. Denis, the world’s greatest expo- nent of Classical and Oriental Dancing .. . “who has brought more realization of Beauty into the world than any one being of her time.” Demand Tangee today. One lipstick for all complexions! On sale everywhere. Tangee Lipstick $1. Tangee Rouge Com- pact 75¢, Tangee Creme Rouge $1 (and for complete beauty treatment: Tangee Day Cream, Tangee Night Cream and Tangee Face Powder, $1 each). 25¢ higher in Canada. Beauty . . . for 20 Cents! Twenty cents brings you the miniature Tangee Beauty Set—all six items and the “‘Art of Make-Up.” Address Dept. C.3, The George W. Luft Co., Inc., 417 Fifth _ Avenue, New York. ee eee eee eee eee ee ee ee ee eee eee eee eee eee eee eee eee eee ee eee ee eee ee If the name Tangee does not appear on the carton and gun- metal case it is not Tangee. sighed, surrendered. At the end of the half- hour treatment he handed her a five-dollar bil], — Not only that, but he actually said, “Thank you.” Connie felt that she was getting him quite humanized which was, perhaps, part of the job of calming his nerves. Their next encounter was, however, nearly a quarrel. It came two days later in the early afternoon when she was at the intment desk. A mild and familiar voice sai ont “Miss Consuelo Barrett?” _ NYes. ” “This is Mr. Waller Daniels’ office. Mr, Waller Daniels’ secretary “Yes? About an appointment?” “Yes, That is, not exactly. Mr. Waller Daniels wishes to. know if you will dine with him at eight o’clock this evening.” “What?” said the secretarial voice in conster- nation. “I don’t think you understood me.” “Oh, yes; perfectly.” “But—well—er—am I to tell Mr. Waller Daniels that you have a previous en——” “Tell him anything or nothing,” returned Connie sweetly. “Just a moment, Miss Barrett,” said the voice hastily and was at once supplanted by r accents: “Hello! I want to know if you’ll dine with me this evening, Connie.” “T’ll be delighted.” “Eh? That’s what I thought.” There fol- lowed an indeterminate rumbli “This fool secretary of mine says you told him no.” “You did? Well, what’s changed your mind?” “T don’t like invitations from a secretary, or at second-hand,” she stated placidly. “You take all my appointments from him.” “That is a business matter. Is this business? “No; it isn’t!” Mr. Waller Daniels was evi- dently in a very bad temper. ‘What’s more, young woman, I can tell you that you’re getting too darned cocky.” That is as far as Connie heard, for the best of good reasons. Fifteen minutes jater there was Saather call for Miss Barrett. Daniels — “Somebody cut us off.” “Yes. I did.” “What for?” “Because I thought it was bad for you to get so excited,’”’ she answered serenely. Here was a case in which the soft answer failed to turn away wrath as proverbially guaranteed. Mr. Waller Daniels exploded at some length. In a breathing spell—or perhaps it was a choking spell—Connie inquired: “Did you say eight o’clock?” There was a sound which might or might not have been grudging laughter. “I get you. Why don’t you tell me at once that Ce a want me to understand that you’re a want to be treated as such?” “Tt ought not to be necessary.” “T’ll send the car for you,” he said abruptly and hung up. her was taken to the spacious mde of an old-fashioned hotel where the coolest table was decorated with special flowers. Daniels looked worn out. His first remark was: “Did you tell ’em in the salon that ( was 7 you to dinner?” course not.” “Why not?” “My pons wouldn’t have liked me to.” ay | itke your little owlet. They know, just the same, I expect.” “It doesn’t matter.” “Doesn’t it? Wait till you get back to work. It'll be the day’s biggest excitement. And it won’t hurt you any, in a business way.” He smiled. “I’m not in the habit of taking out to dinner. You know that in your they’ll say I’ve bought you.” “With a dinner?” “Not exactly. At a price. chasable, Connie?” “Ts this another business proposition?” “Tt’s a straight question. Are you?” 48 § Sh BEE sae =m Are you pur “How do I know?” said she slowly. “How

Page 157

Naller > with nster- me.” Waller urned a. & of > , re fol- is fool ind?” Ty, OF ruptly , just work. nd it , does any woman know until she’s been up inst things? I’ve never been in actual > org Bs Waller Daniels stared at her in frank admira- tion. “By heaven! You’ve got something in that pretty head of yours. More brains than poor Jerry will know how to cope with.” __ “Jerry,” she repeated. “That’s the point, isn’t it? Just now I should say I was not pur- chasable. Later—I don’t know.” He was taken aback a little. “I wasn’t think- ing of marriage as a buy-and-sell proposition.” “Tt often is, isn’t it? It would be in this “Connie, I’ve played you a dirty trick.” It was stated abruptly and moodily. “Pye heard that you did those things.” “Tt’s been part of the game I’ve always had to play. A hard game against people who’d have played me a harder one.” “T haven’t played any game with you.” “No. No; you haven’t. You wouldn’t think it worth while. If you did, you wouldn’t do it.” He had those flashes of insight into her character which surprised her. “T haven’t found out yet what is worth while.” “T knew that about you, too.” “How has the great Waller Daniels had time to find out so much about women?” His reply had in it no echo of her banter. “TI haven’t always been old, you know, Connie.” “T suppose not.” “How old do you think I am?” “When you come to the shop, you’re all of seventy,” she decided. “If I let you out of my hands looking or feeling more than fifty, I’ve muffed my job.” “’m just forty-eight. Lord! What I’ve put into those years!” “Much that you wouldn’t do over again?” “T’d do all of it and more to get where I’ve got. Forty-eight,” he mused. ‘Not too old for you, Connie,” he said deliberately, “but too . Td hurt you.” “Other people don’t hurt us unless we let them. We only hurt ourselves against them.” “Tt sounds profound but I suspect it’s only foolishness. No; I’ve never dealt in illusions, either as regards myself or others. That’s why I’ve been so successful, I reckon; that and luck. Perhaps it’s why I face life with a snarl.” “T wish I hadn’t said that.” “Probably it’s true. You’re an illusion, you know, my dear. The kind that you deal in at high rates in La Primavera. The illusion of youth and warmth and beauty that we have to learn to put away from us, sooner or later.” “Are you trying to make me sorry for you?” _ “You're too «acters young woman!” he replied ruefully. ‘Probably I was, though I didn’t realize it. You’ve caught me in one of er ee aentel moods. Careful or I'll be telling you about the old swimmin’-hole and the first pigtailed little girl I ever kissed.” “T like you that way.” “After this how am I going to hand you out tips?” “Why not?” “As between friends?” “Not in office hours. Then you’re Mr. Waller Daniels, the capitalist, and I’m a cosme- tologist. Horrid name!” He played with his iced tea for some time. Then abruptly he began: “That dirty trick I spoke of. I’ve had your record looked up in California.” Her color deepened but she made no reply, only returned his troubled gaze with a regard in which he could see no shrinking. “You went on a flight with a navy officer- aviator. Ran away from college. You were gone three days and two nights. They found you both in a cabin on a remote mountain lake. € lieutenant said that there had -been an accident to his plane and he had to land.” a doubt whether it was accidental.” i You had it all planned out?” (J? I was not running the plane.” ou mean that he faked an accident?” As € did not answer he asked: “Shall I go on?” I think you’d better.” Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1920 er sae Photo by O. Dyar, Hollywood Estuer Ratston, Paramount star, guards her lovely skin so carefully! “Lux Toilet Soap is excellent for keeping the skin delightfully smooth,” she says. 9 out of 10 screen stars guard their skein this way..- " RAQUGITE skin is woman's most compelling charm,” says Mal- colm St. Clair, well-known director for Paramount. Directors and screen stars know so well that lovely skin is the most magnetic of all charms. And in Holly- wood, among the 451 important ac- tresses, including all stars, 442 (98%) use Lux Toilet Soap to keep their skin lovely. All the great film studios, follow- ing their stars’ example, have made it the official soap in dressing rooms. Nine out of ten screen stars use this fragrant white soap. You, too, will like the way it cares for your skin. And such abundant lather! Mary Duncan, Fox star—*“Lux Toilet Soap keeps my skin so beautifully smooth and soft !™ Maariz Prevost, famous star, says: “Lux Toilet Soap gives my skin such satiny smoothness.” Lux ToiletSoap tease . 1

Page 158

178 Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 EHow a Linit Seauty Lath 0 “tone up” your skin- to have a skin with that glorious soft ‘feel’ of rare velvet— And to get it INSTANTLY- without waiting—without dis- eomfort— Merely dissolve half a pack- age of LINIT (the seientifie stareh discovery sold by gro- eers) in your bath. Step into che tub and enjoy the soothing sensation of a rich, cream-like bath. Bathe with your favor- ite soap as usual. Then feel your skin. It is like velvet?! After your LINIT bath, pow- dering is ummeecessary, as LINIT leaves just the right amount of powder on the skin, tones up your skin evenly spread, without exeess. You will find that LINIT ad- heres well, absorbs perspira- tion without caking, elimi- nates oil shine on body, hands and faee. Whether yoer skin is the dry or oily type, a LINIT bath is equally effective. Linitisa pure vegetable prod- uct—its natural color is white and it is not disguised by add- ed color or odor. Linit is sold by your Grocer. THE BATHWAY TO A SOFT. SMOOTH SKIN “After his return his wife brought suit for divorce, naming you as corespondent. How did it get into the hands of that referee? Heis a crook.” The girl shook her head. “Nor do I understand,” he agreed. “Any- way, there it was. He maneuvered your case into a position where he could get a medical commission agreed upon and ordered you to appear before it. And you ran away.” The girl’s eyes, somber and hurt, were look- pod him now; her lips were still obstinately “You left the state,” continued the investi- gator. “That’s where you were a fool. No court in the world would or could have com- pelled you to undergo that test. Didn’t your fool of a lawyer know that?” She shook her head again. “Then it’s a pity,” he broke out, “that some man in your family didn’t have the nerve to shoot that referee. That’s what he deserved,” “There wasn’t any man. . There wasn’t anyone. I was absolutely alone and free. Free to run away if I chose. And I did choose,” “Even though you could have proved your innocence?” Her mouth was close-set. “You won’t answer me?” “No.” “You can say ‘no’ more finally than anyone in the world,” he fretted. “T’ve had to learn to.” “Yes; I can well understand that. Anyway, ~ you can say that it’s none of my business.” “That isn’t entirely the reason.” “I’m going to make a guess at what is the reason. Is it because to admit the right of anyone—a commission or an individual—to raise any question as to your chastity, would seem to you in itself like a sort of invasion of your chastity? I suppose the right of privacy of soul is a kind of chastity to the obstinately reticent type of girl.” The stormy rigor of her face lightened. “And I tried to guy you on not knowing about women!” she marveled softly. “Am I forgiven for setting my investigators on your trail?” “Tt’s a public record. Besides, I cari’t see that it got you anywhere.” “Oh, didn’t it! I know all that I need to know about you,” he asserted quietly. The kindly purport of his words was unmis- takable. In spite of herself Connie’s lids quivered. She put her first question. “How?” “T don’t know that I could explain. But I’m satisfied.” “That I’m fit to enter your family?” she in- quired with recovered gaiety. Then, “Does your nephew know of this investigation?” “Certainly not.” “Tell him.” “You want me to tell him? Just the bare facts, as my investigators reported them?” “T shan’t see him again until you do.”- “T'll tell him,” promised Waller Daniels. Before the evening was over he had given her another surprise. He was secretly the financing power of the newly formed “Beauty Trust,” comb‘ning eight prominent systems, of which La Primavera was a sub-unit. Future relations between Consuelo Barrett and Rowdy Pontefract had now taken on the aspect of business. Whether she undertook it for the short term of keeping him sober through the year, or for the longer trial of mar- riage, it was just a matter of contract, so she told herself. But it wasn’t as simple as it sounded. She would have liked to talk it over with Ipsy Smith. She did lay the situation before Bob Roberts. “Never mind the measly five thousand,” was that practical young person’s advice. “Mary him, you simp.” “T’m not in love with him. Would you want to be tied to a man you didn’t love?” _ “If there was that much money in it and! didn’t plumb hate him, I’d have a try at it anyway. There’s an idea for you,” she es “Give it a trial. Go and live with him for® month. If it’s no go, you can quit.”

Page 159

ut I’m he in-

A year earlier Consuelo would have been, if| not shocked, at least faintly revolted at this | suggestion. But her experiences in the beauty | salon had brought about a psychological change | in her attitude toward the physical entity of | womanhood. Beauty, charm, personality, sex- | appeal had taken on for her the bearing of a business proposition, something that one dealt | with professionally. ; It was the penalty, or perhaps the enlighten- | ment of her environment and her trade that she | had come by inevitable logic to think of femi- | nine advantages commercially, as marketable | uct, investment in life, as important as | money for which, indeed, they were exchange- | able; but of more variable value, for there was | no fixed standard. Loveliness was no mere | joyous appanage of existence to be broadcast | and squandered; it was capital to be hoarded | and employed for the most permanent avail | while there was yet time. The flagrant years! An edged thought, that, of Ipsy Smith’s, touched with acid. She could feel the searing wind of their wings over the path that she must tread, a hovering portent, not to be eluded. Her own attractiveness— what was it? The merest happy accident of feature and expression, and how delicately perishable! A chance blow, the undermining of disease, and what would remain of it? One ‘might escape these ever-threatening accidents; none could hope to avoid or cheat the encroaching and flagrant years. Struggle against their aggressions, yes; sacrifice to them | with the ointments of lavish expenditure and the oils of patient regimen; mortify the transi- | tory flesh with exercises and denials; but in the | end the destroyers had their will of you. Consuelo had come to a realization of her | own beauty and, with some surprise, to the) power, as yet undetermined in scope, which it | conferred. More than anyone else, Waller | Daniels had brought about that enlighten- ment. But how was she to estimate its potenti- alities? To reckon its durability? Being warm and sweet to the desires of | men was on a par with being a prize-fighter or | a tennis champion. You lasted only so long; | then you slipped. You lost your grip. Pres- | ently, no more value—nothing to market— | hardly anything, even, to give away! | What price youth for Connie Barrett? | While she was still considering the position, Rowdy Pontefract called her on the shop phone. This was cortrary to stipulation. Con- nie was severe with him. Personal calls in business hours did an employee no good. “Confound the shop!” Rowdy was pettish. “You don’t have to stay there.” “But I choose to.” “Ts that definite?” he asked so dismally that she wavered. “Nothing’s definite. Except the present.” “And that’s dull as ditch-water. When am I going to see you?” Fair enough, the question; he had a right to complain of the strain upon his patience. “Well, Monday.” And as she said it, a chill went through her. Only three days off. Connie hated the inexorable necessity of decision. “For dinner?” His voice was all eagerness. “No. Meet me at Bob Roberts’ apartment at eight. We can talk there. Afterward we can go out to supper.” “Fine!” he exulted. “Good-by. And Con- nie, please be nice to me. I’ve been being tly good.” Victor, Bob Roberts’ “steady,” was giving a weekend party on a borrowed sloop, for which Connie, at her pal’s insistence, had accepted an invitation. She got back Monday morning, a little late for the shop and feeling pretty spent. A thin, depleted mood in which to face Ponty. Wouldn’t it be better—better for his chances, too—to postpone it? How disappointed he would be though. No; she’d go through with it, Everything had been arranged about the oo. Bob was dining out and though arvara Pravdina had an engagement, it was hot until after eleven, by which time every- presumably would have been settled een the younger pair.

Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 i Naat Ipttick-<Colors withoud outing

ae vs ef Rosse y seks bake Sa , EF x °& , soit : wf i ales . Guerlain, originator of the lipstick ¢ / - again leads with a new allin, | | '\delible lipstick based on an entire, { ly different principle ....it colors ¢ %, . without coating. The delicate ~ F *. texture of the lips is accentuat , i ed...not hidden under greasy, ~smeary pecs Nee intrigu. ¢ ‘ing shade.Recognized bythe _ 7 blue dot. There are Guerlain 7 _ lipsticks for every type and ~~ _occasion....each has the ‘same fresh fragrance-- distingue’ 4

ey 2 el Sok Cs 7, esa eee 8 © All indelible. ..42%° Other Guerlain Lipsticks fro yn A] 5s 50° PARIS + 68 Champs Elysees. NEW YORK 578 Madison olve. Montreal—60 Craig Street W.

Page 160

Absorb Cold Gream this way dont rub it in IRT, germs, powder, rouge cling to cold cream. Harsh towels, old pieces of un- sanitaty cloth send these beauty-destroying accumulations down into the pores. There they cause blackheads, enlarged pores—all sorts of troubles that you can avoid by removing cold cream the right way... with Kleenex Cleansing Tissues. Kleenex comes in fine, thin sheets of white tissue. It is especially absorbent. It lifts all the dirt from the pores along with cold cream. You discard it after using once—yet, using three sheets for a treatment, it costs only a few cents a day. If you haven’t yet used Kleenex let this free coupon bring you a sample package by return mail. Fill ic out now and mail it. Kleenex Cleansing Tissues C-3 Kleenex Company, Lake-Michigan Bldg., Chicago, Illinois. Please send sample to Name

Address

City. State.

Settled how? Connie could not seem to force herself to any determination. Finally she gave it up. Let events determine. A busy, trying day at La Primavera. Two grease-pots, a neurotic, three water-waves; then the trick at the appointment desk. Connie felt steadily stickier and staler all day. She was ready to decide that the job demanded too much. gy 8 was so easy. She let her mind play upon lusciously easeful prospects: Ponty’s splendid car: the miles and the heat, the clamor and the turmoil spurned behind them. Then one morning to wake up, laved in the air of some jeweled mountain meadow with a stream playing through it and a white peak of her longed-for, distant Sierras looming above; to slip, slim and naked and free into the lovely, lonely waters, to soothe body and nerves and soul in the appeasement of the deep inviolate silences, the blessed balm of solitude! But—solitude? With Ponty, and Ponty’s demands upon her ever-present. For, as her husband, Ponty would be very much present! Alternatives? She could make that-trip with him—she knew that he would be pliant to any wish of hers—without marriage. No; she could not, and she knew it. It was not so much moral sense that withheld her as—what? Tradition, maybe. A sense of good taste, of the prescribed decencies of life, of reticence. If it were a matter of being frankly a mis- tress, that was a comprehensible status with a certain definite character. But furtiveness was not in Connie’s nature. Nothing but a convulsion of passion could override that dis- taste. Swept off her feet, she might conceiv- ably be unchaste, but not calculatingly, and certainly not secretly. Feeling as she did toward Ponty, would it | not be essentially as repellent a surrender of herself to marry him? A matter of cold- blooded barter to which—— The telephone rang. A voice asking for Miss | Barrett. Following, the full-flavored rasp of | Waller Daniels’ imperative challenge. “You, Connie?” Yes.” “T’m racked to bits. Haven’t slept for two nights.” “This is my time on the desk. I can get a substitute if-you want to come now.” “No. Can’t get away till after dinner.” “Tomorrow, then?” “T’ve got to get my nerves settled for tonight, I tell you. Can you take me this evening? ... Hello! Hello! Am I cut off?” For there had been a silence. Connie was thinking rapidly. This evening of all evenings! But—business first in business hours, and all hours were business hours for special appoint- ments with regular clients. Of course a state- ment of her engagement, that particular one, | would release her. | But she could go to Ponty any time. This }man needed her. To that claim her inner womanhood responded. Perhaps, too, she ac- cepted overreadily the excuse for procrastina- tion. She would get word to Ponty. “What time, Mr. Daniels?” Did she hear a sigh of relief over the wire? “Eight o’clock. Get some dinner. Charge it to my account. I’ll want an hour and a half.” “Very well. Better not eat much dinner.” At that he swore pathetically and hung up. In very bad case, evidently, was Mr. Waller Daniels. Consuelo informed Bob and Varvara that her date at the apartment was off. It did not matter to Bob. The Russian, who was looking very worn, seemed relieved. To catch Ponty was another matter. She tried at the Barn, the Racquet Club and the Coffee House, and finally at his apartment, drawing blank each time and each time leaving word that she could not keep her appointment but would like to have him call her in the morning. That was the best she could do. Dining alone, she had time for thought, but

| | i | “

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 little inclination. She felt dull. That wouldn’t do. She must summon up her reserves of energy to give the exhausted man to whom she was, in some sense, a healer. He came, Logg a celles His face was ravaged. id I spoil anything for you?” he asked dully. “i For a moment she thought she might tell him. But her invincible reticence in all that concerned her intimately deterred her. She shook her head. “Nothing that matters.” “T’ve had two fiendish days.” At the beginning of their strange association he would have uttered his plaint first and after- ward, if at all, thought of her convenience. “Don’t you think you’d better not talk?” BY naar e eyes, netted in converging wrink' closed. He tried to adjust himself to a oat of ease, but gave the effect of inability to make his jutting bones compliant. His fingers curved stiffly and drummed. The girl began to work on his face and throat. Still there was some- thing wrong, rigid, unyielding. She drew away, considered, then took one of the gnarly hands between her own cool palms and straightened it out. It lay flaccid. She did the same with the other. Meantime the first started in to twitch. “Your toes are curled tight up,”’ she accused, “All of ’em. Aren’t they?” - He snorted. ‘How do you know that?” “You’re that way all over. Uncurl them.” He stared hollow-eyed at her and cackled with laughter, a nervous rack of mirth which presently became robust and easing. That out- burst relieved the inner pressure. His whole system became gradually tranquilized. “T'll be good,” he said simply. The clock struck the hour and then the half before he spoke again. “Have I been asleep?” “Yes. Go back. I’m going to do your hands.” : It was nearly ten when he crawled out of the chair, blinking and unsteady. ‘Oh, Lord!” he muttered. “That was good! Now I'll be fit to fight tomorrow.” He took out a fifty-dollar bill. “This was extra, very extra,” he asserted. “Extra, but not that extra.” “Tf you don’t take it,” he threatened, “T'll have a box of orchids as big as a coffin waiti for you tomorrow morning and in it an omen too green for any honest girl’s reputation, Which’ll it be?” P “ She held out her hand for the bill and tried to thank him, when he broke in on her: | “Tt’s been worth a thousand to me.” : He sent her back to the Lexington Avenue hot-box of a house in his own car, taking a taxi to his home. She was met by a landlady filled. with righteous and soul-satisfying wrath. .— “You leave this house at the end of the week, miss.” “Very well.” * Expectant of the further satisfaction of argu- ment and protest, Mrs. Spedden was aggrieved by this quiet acceptance. “And I’m goin’ to tell you why,” insisted. the raw voice. “T don’t care to hear.” “Oh! You don’t care to hear. think not! Such goings-on!” “T don’t know what you mean and it is of no importance.”’ Consuelo pushed ‘past her. “T am leaving tomorrow.” . “So do! With your rich lover, I s’pose.” The strident accusation followed the girl up the stairs. ‘Comes here in a swell car and tries to kick my door in because I won’t let him go up to your room. Calls my house a pigsty and me an old sow. I called the policeman, but he wouldn’t arrest him. What chance has the poor against the rich? Not an hour agone he stood there blasphemin’ and swearin’ he was goin’ to find you and take you——” Consuelo shut her door on the tirade. Her heart sank. Ponty was drunk again and this time it was her fault. I should After the broken engagement, Rowdy Pontefract disappears and life grows intensely dramatic and complicated for Connie Barrett and I psy Smith—-in Samuel Hopkins Adams’ April Instalment

ere ot e<s Baa eH *

Page 161

1929 ouldn’t rves of 10m she aCe Was nu?” he zht tell all that r ” S. ciation d after- ice. lk?” rinkles, posture 0 make curved O work } some- one of palms |. She ne the cused, t ? ” hem.” ackled which at out- whole e half leep?” your of the 1!” he be fit dollar erted, : “Til ai coal ation, | and her: . venue a taxi filled . week, argu- ieved sisted. tries + Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 Could You Be a “Platonic Friend? (Continued from page 49) suppose it will seem like proof to those who enjoy believing the worst of human nature—so I-won’t try to prove it—I’ll merely ask, “Where do you think I have seen Platonic friendship thriving best?” By best I mean for the great- est benefit of the individuals concerned and for society at large which is still more concerned. Strange as it may sound to the prudish and prejudiced, the best and most frequent ex- amples of Platonic friendship are to be found in those quarters where sex freedom is not feared, but runs rampant—the Latin Quarter of Paris, for example, and New York’s sub- stitute for a Latin Quarter, called ‘Greenwich Village,” which is neither so terrible nor so terribly absurd as some would have us believe. There are more good sound friendships, healthy and interesting, between men and women, married or otherwise, in the theatrical profession than among our best and “nicest” people. The average little débutante reeks with sex-consciousness. She is far more pre- occupied’ with that matter than the average young actress of the same age. How could it be otherwise? The former’s revailing ambition is to get a man interested in her, the latter’s is to get a manager interested in her. Sex, too, is interesting, but incidental. She wants a job. She has a living to make. And even the most obsessed sexualites must admit that the need for food and shelter comes before the need for mating. Self-preservation is the first, not the second, law of nature. Self- perpetuation comes later and is less impelling, more intermittent. An actress is ambitious for a career. A man is sometimes a means to that end, true. But with our débutante, men are not merely the means but the end itself, as anyone can detect who will take the trouble to stop, look and listen to the little dears. Then, too, the main interest of an actress’ life—provided she is really an actress, not one of those generically designated as “‘actresses”’ in so’ many divorce suits—is understood by her men friends. They are fellow-craftsmen. They speak the same language. But at a smart dinner dance on Park Avenue, what have the boys and girls in common, ex- cept dates and the acquaintance of other boys and girls and the papas and mamas thereof? I’m not saying that no actresses lie to please men. Indeed, I have had some of them tell me that the only way they ever got their start was by pleasing men. When I was a playwright, I saw thi going on in my own companies which I pretended not to see. Naturally. And T have been cognizant of quite as many similar goings-on uptown in other and more respect- able circles. But, according to my not-very- limited experience, there are franker, cleaner, better friendships—more of them, at any rate among fellow workers in the arts than among any other group of human beings it has been my privilege to know. Incidentally, I may add, the most beautiful and useful and congenial marriages are also among those engaged in such callings, despite all the cheap prattle about “artistic tempera- ment.” Even in the theatrical profession, in- ‘credible as it may sound, are some of the loveliest, most lasting and mutually helpful marital relations I have ever observed. Now as to my third affirmation, that hus- om and wives can and do stand for this sort Most well-mated couples, if wise, urge and aid the formation of such friendships. Truly wedded people, meaning those not mere- ly married—by church or state, which can only Pronounce you man and wife” but cannot € you completely so in the eyes of God, or your own eyes either—those who know life and married life realize that, excepting 18] The Three Secrets of Youthful Beauty new revealed. % OF THE i “V7 OUTHFUL smoothness and perfection of skin, freedom from ageing lines and other blem- ishes, 1s simply a matter of scien- tific care. Now you can give your- self this care in your own home at small cost. My salon — creations are now sold throug leading shops. Three preparations costing but $4.25 are all that is uanally necessary. They. will bringtoany womana deeper fasci- nation and a more lasting youth.” ik Smooth Out the Lines of A Bi ge and Strain Now Give Yourself at Home CHARLES’ Secret Youth-Bringing Treatments to famous beautifying and — gether cost but $4.25. Get them today at ing treatments for which thousands _your favorite shop. They are: of beautiful and fashionable women go to the CHARLES OF THE Rirz salons are now available to all for home use. For CHARLES’ secret formulas have now been placed on sale in leading depart- ment stores and druggists. With a come CHARLES’ directions. They are not expensive. In general but three preparations are essential. With amazing swiftness these magic preparations bring to a dull, lined, blemished, ageing skin the radiant fresh- ness and satiny loveliness of youth. They are sold separately and the three to- 1. Lemon Cleansing Cream Ritz, $1.25. Not only cleanses perfectly but refines, whitens, softens and smooths. 2. Skin Tonic Ritz, $1.50. Stimu- lates dull skin, helping restore youthful color, lift sagging tissues, reduce pores. 3. Skin and Tissue Builder Ritz, $1.50. To fill out shrunken tissues, pre- venting lines and pouches. Helps tokeep skin firm, full, youthfully softand smooth. Also write for CHARLES’ fascinating Beauty Book, The 4 Secrets of Youthful Beauty, and his personal advice. Simply use the Request Slip below. CHARLES OF THE RITZ Advises for Home Use For Lines and Wrinkles ANTI-WRINKLE CREAM RITZ—Marvelous ASTRINGENT RITZ—Firms and braces sag- for dry, shrivelled skin, lines, wrinkles. $2. ging muscles, drooping chin, loose skin. $2. For Enlarged Coarse Pores PORE PASTE RITZ — Quickly reduces large SKIN TONIC RITZ—Mild astringent. Closes pores brings satin-like smoothness. $1.50. pores, whitens, refines skin. $1.50. For Eruptions and Blemishes ACNE CREAM RITZ—Transforms a blem- ACNE LOTION RITZ—Quickly dries up and ished complexion,to lovely smoothness, $2. removes pimples and other eruptions. $2.25. Note: If unable to get at store, order direct. Address Charles of the Ritz, Suite 1425H,Rits-Carlton Hotel, New York. SALONS: New York — Rrtz-Caruton Hotet «.Rirz-Tower « Praza Horer i Barcray Horer « Grapstone Horer Park CuamBerRs « Atlantic City—Ritz-Cariton Hoter « Boston—Ritz-Cariton HoTer Cuantes or tax Ritz, Suite 1425H, Ritz-Carlton Hotel, New York City. s Please send me your Beauty Book, The Four Secrets of Youthful Beauty, and advise treatment for [] Thin brittle hair, (Dandruff, [7 Face lines, () Pouches, [7] Skin eruptions, [7] Enlarged pores, [7] Dry skin, [7] Oily skin, [] Red, rough hands. Address Name. City. State

Page 162

a” rsay Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 le parfum mondain fe pilus subtitl i77ue dela paix-paris URNS anaSCALDS Stop the throbbing and smarting at once with a soothing touch of Resinol Solve the mystery of quiet waters > ee" THERE is a mysterious lure in the soft ripple of shadowed waters. Let the gentle witchery of streamland lull you into understanding. Drift from sunlight “into shade . . . float through moon-mellowed pools. Solve the mystery of quiet waters—in an Old Town, > You’ll appreciate the graceful trimness of Old Town Canoes. They’re patterned after real Indian models. Light and perfectly balanced. Durable too. Priced as low as $67. From dealer or factory. Write today for free catalog. It shows and prices many light, water-tight models. Paddling, sailing and: square-stern canoes, extra-safe Sponson mod- els, dinghies and sturdy family boats. Also speedy craft for outboard motors—racing step planes and hydroplanes. Old Town Canoe Co., 1923 Main Street, Old Town, Maine. “Old Town Canoes” -— STUDY AT HOME 800 %0 > $4 annually. step by step—furnish 7 LL.B. lent. SorLLB. VERYONE admires and wants to the dance with th latest steps. being a wallflower! By my remarkable new easy method anyone can learn the newest half m ing this easy way. success is guaranteed. To prove I can quickly and ling your frien ds. “Act now and be a good dancer soon UR MURRAY, testo 28% ART . ete. There is Your own lished dan send you pli ° book “The Short Cut to Popularity, and To pay the cost of mailing, Learn in vi ; ie ELL-ANS FOR INDIGESTION 25¢ and 75¢ Pkg's Sold Everywhere brides and grooms, everyone is every meeting other human beings of the other sex. They also know that unless one’s spouse has the prerogative of making open acquaintances, openly arrived at, he or she, soon or late jn” married life, will either form pleasant friend. _ ships on the quiet, or else nobly refrain from pasa doing so in the name of “duty” and “sacrifice” — -_ a It is proverbially the nature of forbidden Well fruit to take on an imaginary sweetness which confron often isn’t there at all and wouldn’t be im. divinely agined if not forbidden. It is longed for and been m idealized, and the farther it is kept out of is broug reach the more does distance lend enchant. it up a! ment. “OTe f It is universally admitted that friends are Bead one of the greatest blessings of human exis. God dic tence. The question reduces itself therefore to either this: Should one bar out of the field of friend. inside ship a half of the whole human race, merely be- couple 1 cause one happens to have married a member Ade of that half? It seems too obviously ridiculous ail alon and wrong to waste my time arguing about it, w do e This silly notion causes much if not the most Sesals of our marital tragedy. But the theory which a star produces it is really quite comic. Consider the oss situation as it really is. as ] Young unmarried people may have dozens ee but of “boy friends” and “girl friends.” Mama Gliness and papa and all the family aid and abet them So wher in the endeavor. And yet, as a matter of fact gested and human nature, youths and maidens are cat” notoriously more foolish and inflammable than they got settled married people, who, generally speak- M ing, are older, wiser and, moreover, have al- at te ready gained what is called a “‘love-life.” Now oth ‘ really, my dear reasonable reader, could any- “se ‘ble thing be more incongruous and absurd? shoul yy Let us analyze and elucidate a little more, ished fo All our social sanctions, which we are pleased eyes of to call “the civilizing forces of society’— right in church, state, tribal tabu and public opinion— at first have been blindly based upon the amazing as- begin by sumption that when you are young and ut & That is: married you may possibly be trusted to some J unless y, extent, but when once you have found your BH ° pored mate and are married and know a thingot @ risa s two—you may not be trusted at all! ition, | Since I first began, according to my lights, in Evok to write the truth about men, women and gre- doctrine gariousness, this remarkable state of affairs orthodo: always seemed about the funniest spectacle in the Cre the whole human pageant. But the trouble is active. 1 that under the masks, behind the scenes, it by does not always remain amusing—not to the divine e poor players. Sea « Yes of us po For when there is neither justice, reason not lected, 0 common sense in any kind of prohibition, it — We ar simply does not and cannot prohibit. In producti case, it merely results in bootleg friendships. of wo Bootleg stuff is often dangerous and some many p times poisonous. the true Even in these free and easy times, when i men and women are somewhat emancipated children from the tyranny of worn-out conventions, it is not ar is still in some circles—and not merely in small, At th provincial circles either—regrettably true that pulpit, I merely to be seen in public at tea or lunches & picted ej with a member of the opposite sex causes —& | smiles and amused comment, if not malicious by turni gossip. You are suspect at once. ‘ durance Therefore, not caring to be “talked about,” But, 1 those who have had the innocent audacity ible appear together in public sometimes disap i pear together in private—not always so it @ but prob nocently. Or else they cut it all out and miss @ is a dea something mutually beneficial. And right #§ any one fully regret it. Sy n Civilization’s still uncivilized idea seems © @ you will be that once you are married you are dead, @% and usef dead, buried and laid away in the tomb, called ~ lamr by courtesy your happy home. So it is 20 @ itor hoy wonder that age pion young married | i a people of today (and others not so yé 2 Tegar arise from the grave to haunt our divore® @ as benef courts. They do not like to stay dead, thank @% @ highly you, and thus are forced by the gossip of friend’ existence or the disapproval of ‘(good pews to—well, there is to be too much alive and kicking. beneficia And the pity of it is that so often the poor T have little things are sufficiently well-mated and Gossip, might have remained perfectly well-behaved, The x

Page 163

ry day if only let alone. But even when they remain ler Sex, well-behaved, there come, with the self-in- use has ficted imprisonment of the tomb, yearnings to tances, escape, dull depression, dreary disillusionment, late in discontent, shocking flares of temper or friend- {§ jorrifying realizations of hatred and mutual n from pt. A stale, unprofitable married life, Tifice,” fot an utterly ruined one. bidden Well, there lies the human problem which » which confronts every married pair, no matter how be im- % divinely well-mated. Their marriage may have or and % teen made in Heaven, but their married life out of js brought down to earth. How will they bring chant. it up a bit? “Jt is not good for man to be alone.” That ds are is true, like so many things in the Bible. But N exis- God did not mean man and wife to be alone fore to either. And there, I think, we discover the friend. inside story of why the first young married ely be- couple moved out of their first happy home. rember Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden were iculous all alone from morning till night with nothing rout it to do except love each other and name the '€ most animals. They got bored to death and could which not stand the monotony. No friends, no new der the interests, no fresh ideas to bring into each other’s lives, not even any work to do. Noth- dozens ing but humdrum happiness and _enervating Mama @& igleness. That is not Paradise. That is Hell. t them So when the Devil in the guise of a serpent sug- of fact gested trying the fruit of the tree, “they did pa eat.” They wanted a new sensation. Well, le than they got it. We all know the results. speak- Married couples, whether they fight each _— al- other to death or merely love each other to Now death, ultimately rebel at either of these two dang: horrible forms of cruelty. They cannot and should not stand being imprisoned and pun- Pa ished for doing right. ‘Doing right” in the pleased eyes of man is not the same thing as doing ety” right in the eyes of God. It always shocks us rages at first to discover this because we usually Ng as begin by living in the fear of Man, not of God. nd ut #§- That is why so many of us die, die on our feet, O some @ unless we find God. d your J “Boredom is not a mere affliction, it is a sin. ung & ® Itisa sin against—well, I must not say Evo- uae “lution, because some readers still do not believe lights, in Evolution, and I want you to believe in my nd gre- doctrine, even though it may not sound affairs orthodox. It is a sin against the Holy Ghost, acle in the Creator’s scheme for His creation—an uble is active, revolving sphere in a whirling universe nes, it by and for the exercise of the spirit of to the divine energy, a bit of which is granted each of us poor mortals and must be used, not neg- ON Nor lected, or it will turn and rend us. ag We are here for two purposes, work and love, In production and reproduction. The true object dships. of work is not to gain the power to loaf, as too Some. Many poor souls still seem to think. Nor is an the true fulfilment of love attained by mere Marriage and monotony, or even by acquiring ‘ipated children and progeny. Marriage, in any case, ions, it is not an end but a means. . small, At the risk of being excoriated from the 1¢ that pulpit, I boldly reaffirm here what I have de- ncheo # picted elsewhere in my writings: The divine causes 5 wut a spiritual union cannot be fulfilled ulicious. by turning holy matrimony into a vulgar en- ye contest. bout, But, the reader may urge, how about the city to osible risks in these so-called Platonic disap- ? I do not consider them possible, so ii- @§ but probable risks. The alternative, however, d miss’ 1S a dead certainty. If you see too much of any one member of the opposite sex to the ex- mn of every other member of that sex, you will inevitably spoil your potentially fine useful relationship with that one. ., + 4M hot venturing to tell what to do about itor how to do it. I am merely stating what I € about it. Tregard friendships between men and women as beneficial and desirable civilizing factors in an Organized society, but I recognize the there is no real dan; i sn ger of the failure of the beneficiaries to remain mere friends. T have already alluded to the chief one— The most independent and self-sufficient Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 existence of obstacles to success—even when | H®™ SKIN always hdd the softest, most velvety look to it. She did have a nice skin. There was no deny- ing that. But that wasn’t the whole story. She knew how to enhance its loveliness by subtle make-up. The secret of its exquisite finish lay in the fragrant liquid powder base she used— Hinds Honey & Almond Cream. For Hinds Cream is a glorious base for powder. So light, so soft, so thin, it spreads evenly over your face and sinks deep into the skin. It has a friendly way, too, of smoothing away any slight roughness there may be—of giving the skin the delicate “eggshell” finish, the youthful radiance, so much admired. Here’s the way to do it: First —shake your bottle of Hinds Cream. Then with your finger tips smooth the cream into your skin until it is completely ab- sorbed. Now pat your powder on thickly. Then shake the puff free from | powder and this time smooth it over | your skin to remove the surplus pow- der. Lastly, blend the remaining traces in with your fingers. You'll find that | Hinds Cream and powder used in this It’s pat for powder! way will give your skin an alluring smooth finish, a soft bloom, that is quite enchanting. And Hinds Cream is good for the skin, too. Protects it from weathering — keeps it soft, and fresh, and young. Tomorrow morning, as a base for your make-up, try Hinds Cream. If you haven’t a bottle in the house, we’ll gladly send you a generous sample free. Just mail us your name and ad- dress on the coupon below. HIN DS 2rinent C REAM REG. U. S. PAT. OFF. “Lehn & Fink Serenade”—WJZ and 14 other stations associated with the National Broadcasting Co.—every Thursday at 8 p. m., Eastern time; 7 p. m., Central time. OL. &F.,Inc.,1929 LEHN & FINK, Sole Distribusors Dept. 589, Bloomfield, N. J. Please send me a free sample bottle of Hinds Honey & Almond Cream, the protecting cream for the skin. ( Print name and address) Name Address ESRD 2h 5 This coupon not good after March, 1930 UEOUTLUNAUUNEAAN) NASUAUNEN MI

Page 164

184 Out-of-sorts ... she didn’t know why Takes this safe laxative mothers give children and soon she enjoys glorious health Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 | had finally reached me through a clasagaall person in the world resents a r invasion of his privacy. The impudent indignity of being discussed and falsely accused is enough to arouse the rage of the most dignified and in- different of us—especially when falsely accused. I was ing of actresses a moment ago. I remember a very beautiful and intelligent one whose good name, and it was a very good name, was dragged into a hideous scandal. All who knew her knew that she was innocent. But the world did not know her. The world merely knew her to be an actress. What could you expect? The injustice hurt her horribly, as the sequel proves, but at the beginning she had not lost her charming sense of humor. She remarked one day, “If it were only true, I wouldn’t mind. I would brazen it out and feel fine and defiant. But I have all the blame and none of the fun.” She tried so hard to be a good sport about it. But the hungry pack, once on the scent, pur- sued her. Their yelps preyed on her mind. It caused nervous prostration and she died in a sanitarium—all because she was a good woman. The moral of this story may sound immoral, but the fact remains that she was hounded to death because she was innocent. Nor could she be blamed for not avoiding “even the ap- pearance of evil.” There was no ap ce of evil. She was not even a Platonic friend to the man. She scarcely knew him and never liked him. He, however, being a cad, seemed to enjoy the prestige the story brought him. His final denial came too late. I remember another case, of a man this timc, and of a true Platonic friendship. He was a member of my own profession. He had many women friends, but there was only one woman he loved, and she happened to be his own wife. Once upon a time, at a party with one of his best women friends, he was observed by an- other woman who was not a friend of his at all but had tried to be. She watched them laugh- ing and talking together. She heard them call each other “darling,” for they were the kind who kissed when they met, unless they met alone. The woman was not only a Platonic friend but a painter, and frequently illustrated my distinguished colleague’s work. They liked and admired each other enormously, as did their respective spouses. None of us who knew them well had heard a breath of scandal. One day I was informed that this well- known writer, with whom I had lost touch | since he had built a place in the country, had OW, when insidious constipation | threatens health, and life becomes a trial, take Ex-Lax. The way this safe laxative brings relief will delight you. For it tastes like chocolate candy. It is chocolate treated with a tasteless, harmless laxative agent that physicians | recommend. It quickly-relieves constipation and so | protects health, without griping or up- setting the stomach. Thousands of women keep Ex-Lax on hand, ready for every emergency. And whenever headache, dizziness, biliousness or other symptoms of constipation flash | their warning, Ex-Lax brings quick relief. | As your doctor will tell you, this safe, | non-habit-forming laxative is good for children and grown-ups. Get Ex-Lax from your dru And accept no substitutes. 10c, 25c and 50c. You can also obtain Ex-Lax “‘Fig Flavor’. ist—today. hree sizes FOR CONSTIPATION | EX-LAX TASTES LIKE CANDY | deserted his wife and children and was drink- ing himself to death. I scarcely believed the |rumor, but I looked him up to see what I could do, because I thought the world of all the people concerned. I shall never forget the way he received me, the messenger of bad tidings. “Now that is very interesting,” he said, | after I had smilingly warned him he’d better nail the story before it went any further. | “Lily”—that was the name of his wife—“has | been urging me to take a trip abroad without | her.” Their children were too young to travel | in Europe; and this wise wife knew that it was | a.writer’s job to leave home as much as it was a mother’s to stay there. “She says I have been sticking too close to the grindstone by day and the hearthstone by night, and as you know, she is always at me to join you fellows | Saturday night.” I asked him if he had any idea who started the malicious gossip. “No,” he said, “but whoever it was must have been a prophet, because I’ve just de- cided to take my wife’s advice!’’ He was not as indifferent about it as he wanted me to think. He knew how Lily would feel if the ugly story ever reached her pretty ears, as it did. I found out afterwards that they had taken the matter seriously enough to trace the rumor back to its source. It started away down in some Central American republic, where the woman he did not like and had not noticed was stationed with her husband. She had sent ‘ the story home through another woman and it Fortunately, my friend’s reputation was that he could stand it. His nice wife a more furious of the two, because the scandal. monger who started the story turned out to be, a relative whom Lily had once befriended, As for his Platonic friendship, it is still alj and doing well, although gossip has frequently done its best to destroy it. The Platonic painter lady is also a friend of mine and I was once talking to her about it. “Oh, but it is true that we are crazy about each other,” she remarked, “and we’ve often thought how interesting it would be to have ay affair, but the trouble is that it would spoil s9 many while.” ‘ She nag ns eonetgs and his marriage suppose, but also, perhaps, their good and use. ful friendship. For so often, aside from all on siderations of morality, duty and obligation to others, a friendship with a member of the posite sex is more to be desired than any other relationship. 2 That means, of course, when they do not fall in love. When this terrific condition arises, then, of course, the victims, happy or other. wise, are confronted with an entirely different situation, requiring entirely different treat. ment. In such cases, there are usually but two, things to do, either go ahead with it-or go away from it. Any middle course is to difficult or even if not entirely too dangerous, entirely too disquieting. ee And yet, have you not known of cases where there was something that might even be called “real love,” of a very fine and high type, but where the friendship was too important, 1 only for the two people immediately concerned, but for other people indirectly concerned, to be sacrificed? That, no doubt, is a most ¢ cult situation, but I have known it to be fac and solved in other ways than the two ra used by fiction writers—“going the limit,” our young people call it nowadays, or i away. Conceivably there are times when it! impossible to take either of those roads, I don’t know what “sublimation” means or how to do it, but I suppose it is sometime done. Something must be done. Perhaps th realization that the releasing of natural i pulses would spoil a possession more precious anything under the circumstances, helps. But the! ble with the fundamental emotions is that cannot see reason. They are blind. not behave logically, but psychologically. It is to be observed in passing, however, thi these so-called “irresistible impulses,” so dear to our playwriters, poets and fiction writers, are somehow usually resisted when someoie else comes into the room to observe then Perhaps the thought of someone. else coming into the mind may serve pretty well as a sub- stitute for a while, but such a perilous courses hardly to be recommended. Not for lo As a tule I should say that husbands pecially American husbands, are more tole of their wives’ friends or even admirers {@ or less mild) than the wives are of allowing their hard-working spouses to enjoy privileges, though such diversions mye much needed and deserved by husban as by wives. é For, even in this era of women in busine and the professions, a wife’s ability to “hold a man” is still regarded by other women as het most important achievement. Se, it is not so much fear of unfaithfulness as iti® a fear of her own reputation as a failure among other women that causes a wife to interfere with harmless and possibly helpful friendships. | But on both sides of the family, I the greatest detriment to the enjoyment of ag perfect friendship with an outside member the opposite sex, is that so few of them? want it to be perfect—as a friendship! many of them are too “good” or too cow to let it be anything else. And yet friendship is as well worth present ing-as marriage itself, unless the friendship ime the marriage proves a failure. In some cases, other things which are more worth — Hear.

Page 165

Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 COME ON, MOTHER—BE A SPORT Figs sPARKLING with fearless happiness in the adventure of living —living that’s all tomorrows with no yester- days—all eagerness and no regrets; the infectious charm of outdoor health, skillful at everything, confident, en- thusiastic, sane of outlook, wholesome—that is the mod- em daughter who is coaxing mother to be young again. The world is having a hard time to keep up with this daughter of today. She wants the best, usually gets it and then wants something better. She will not tolerate the traditions and drudgeries which held her mother in bond- age. That is why young women everywhere have accepted Modess. Simply because it is better. The old way was senseless. Substitutes for the old way were lacking in pliancy. Modess is amazingly soft, yielding, conforming, non- irritating. Disposable, of course. It was developed by Johnson & Johnson, world’s leading maker of surgical dressings and adhesive tape. A remarkable new filler was invented—soft as down, highly absorbent. A way was found to soften the gauze and then to cushion it with a film of cotton for greater comfort. Sides are smoothly rounded. Modess is deodorizing. Scientific laboratory tests prove it to be far more efficient in this respect. Try Modess. Its gracious ease will delight you. You will appreciate its safety and deodorizing quality. It costs no more than you ( NEW BRUNSWICK. ( N. J... U.S.A. usually pay. MODERNIZING MOTHER... . Episode Number Two SO INFINITELY FINER

Page 166

Frankness need not be indelicate .. . read “The Newer Knowledge of Feminine Hygiene’’ HERE are certain subjects so intimate that the woman of refinement often finds difficulty in discussing them with anybody. Sensitive and discriminating, she is the very type that values absolute physi- cal daintiness. And it is for her ‘The Newer Knowledge of Feminine Hygiene”’ has been written. Zonite removes objections Physicians most assuredly recommend the practice of feminine hygiene. However, they do object to the caustic and pojsonous antiseptics so many women use. They know the dangers of these poisons—dangers to the woman and all her family. Zonite absolutely removes these objections. There is no skull-and-crossbones on this bottle. Safe with little children in the home. Safe to use for oral hygiene. Yet Zonite is a powerful germ-killing antiseptic. Actually far stronger than any dilution of carbolic acid that can be allowed on the y ‘ Authoritative book—free Send coupon for frank scientific booklet. Covers the whole matter of feminine hy- giene. Zonite Products Corporation, 250 Park Avenue, New York, N. Y. Use Zonite Ointment for burns, abrasions, skin in- fections or chapped skin. Also as a powerful deodorant in greaseless cream form. Large tubes, 50c. | 4 te Lo tr ZONITE PRODUCTS CORPORATION 40-J 250 Park Avenue, New York, N. Y. Please send me free copy of the Zonite booklet or book- lets checked below. The Newer Kaowledge of Feminine Hygiene Use of Aatiseptics in the Home (Please print name) ONO ui ccsisammetghalee nip a ce ie ae aa Sam Sr nae ge TE ALLE AGREE: STEYR REO TE SAA LOUIE He RENN CBJ... wince smibmaenmastinite PR ciintnsicimiinnde (la Canada:165 Dufferin St., Toronto) | i tt ob haaaaa a Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 Absent-minded Beggar Continued from poge 71 he had also lost his trunk check, it was some days before he really got settled. We will be brief about his one year in college. It was terribly hard to escape a complete flunk. It was harder to live alone. He never remem- bered to send out laundry until there was noth- ing left to wear. He was never able to con- centrate on what went on in the classroom and never listened to a lecture. One day he wore one black shoe and one tan shoe, and four or five of his classmates followed him across the campus, reciting: “Diddle-diddle dumpling, my son Jack; One shoe brown and one shoe black.” He was always late in paying for his board Yo lodging because his mind was on something e He went home at Christmas and for spring vacation, but forgot to take along certain gar- ments in need of a woman’s tender care. June came at last and John miraculously managed to get away from Ann Arbor with the loss of one spring overcoat, four shirts, a pair of shoes, half a dozen ties and the mates of a dozen socks. He had packed in a hurry be- cause he knew that a co-ed living next door would be over to bid him good-by if he didn’t leave way ahead of time. She was not the only co-ed who had tried to become friendly. In spite of the occasional eccentricity of his attire, e girls were strong for him. One day in July, John read in a Chicago paper that a famous American composer, whom we will call Deems Taylor, had sailed for Europe, where he intended to hide until he had written a libretto of his own. John excitedly summoned his mother, asked her whether she could afford to send him abroad, told her why he wanted to go, gained her consent and bought his ticket for New York. This time Mrs. Knowles and Charlotte put him on the right train. ; The paper had not given a hint of the com- poser’s hide-away excepting that it would be somewhere in Europe, but to John, Europe and Paris were synonymous and he went direct to the steamship offices to find out when the next boat left for Cherbourg. It was there that he learned he must have a passport, and at the rt office that it was necessary to supply a certificate of birth. It was five days before he had received the document from his mother, had got his passport and passage and was ready to go. The boat was to leave at midnight and to make sure of being on time, John left his hotel and entered a taxi at half past ten. That is, he thought it was half past ten. His watch had always kept perfect time and he trusted it implicitly, paying no attention to the New York clocks. Actually it was half past eleven in New York, whatever it was in Michigan. Moreover, the driver of the taxi he selected was very drunk. He did not help with the baggage; merely waited till John had put it in the car and then asked, ‘Where to, buddy?” “The Cunard docks.” “Oh, crossing the old pond, hey?” “Ves,” “America’s good enough for me.” The starter wouldn’t work and the driver had to get out and crank. The first three attempts resulted in the crank slipping out of the cranker’s hand and the coackin sitting down abruptly on the pavement. In about twelve minutes he had the engine going. “Now then, where did you say?” “The Cunard Line.” “Where is it at? What street? What pier?” “T suppose I’ve got the number of the pier on my ticket, but it’s a lot of trouble to get it out. I don’t know what street it’s on, but you certainly ought to.” “What do you want to see Europe for? Ain’t America good enough for you?” “Come on; let’s go.” “What’s the use of going if you don’t know where?” ’ “Ask somebody where the Cunard pier is” “Oh, we can do it easier than that. Lets see, we’re at Seventieth Street. I’ll run overty the river and then cruise downtown till we se the — We can’t miss it that way.” : Well, the story goes that they got as far a Pier 97 and a big liner was just whistling its lagt warning, and by running as fast as he coulj with his heavy bags, John just managed fy dash up the gang-plank before they pulled itin, In five minutes he learned from the that his watch was an hour slow, that he was aboard an Italian boat bound for Naples and that under no circumstances would the boat stop at any port in France and drop him off, We know nothing of his experiences abroad excepting that he spent four months searching Paris for the composer and learned later that the latter had been in Naples all the time, but had completed his libretto and gone back tp America; that this was such a blow to John that’ he stayed in Paris four years, drinking and writing French libretti, two of which were accepted, set to music and tried out at the Opéra Comique, where they were terrible flops; that he never found his trunk which had come to Cherbourg on the Cunard Line, and that he grew better-looking and more absent minded every day of his life. He finally went to Havre and boarded a boat for home. Some of his friends said he probably thought the boat was bound for Finland. But the truth was that his mother had written to warn him that her investments had gone bad and she couldn’t send him any more money, At the home-town station to meet him wer his sister Charlotte and Beth Beasley, the latter squeezing his hand until it hurt and giving him a barrage of adoring looks that made him feel silly. He learned from Charlotte that his mother was bedridden and nearly broke, (She did not add that a great deal of the Knowles money had been burnt up in supplying her with sport cars, sport clothes, evening wns and liquor with which to entertain her y friends, notably Wallie Blair.) It was, however, Miss Beasley’s car that they wer using now, a car that couldn’t have cost unda twelve thousand. For Miss Beasley was the daughter of on of the town’s two wealthiest men, J. L. Beask and H. N. Comerford. I mean she was J. L daughter and not the daughter of both of them H. N. had a daughter of his own, Irene. The Comerfords had moved to town a year or# after John Knowles’ departure, and Comer ford and Beasley had established a brokerage office, with ticker service and a blackboard and everything. They couldn’t count th money they were making. : “Wait till you meet Irene Comerford,” said Charlotte. “She’s simply beautiful and all the men are crazy about her.” ; “But you’d better not let yourself be,” said Beth. ‘“She’s engaged to Sam Drake.” j Ma long has Mother been sick?” asked ohn. “Oh, since last winter.” “Sam Drake is a regular Ed Wynn,” said Beth. “You'll die!” : They were at the house. John jumped out, corralled his baggage and rushed in, forgetting to thank Miss Beasley for the ride. : “He’s just as absent-minded as ever,” said Charlotte apologetically. ‘More so, I believe. “But oh! how wonderful-looking!”’ said Beth in a voice that contained a tear. : . “You'll come in a minute, won’t you?” “Well, only for a minute, if you think I won't be in the way. I’ve got to go for Daddy m# quarter of an hour.” . But if “Daddy” was really waiting for het he waited two hours and a quarter, for was not going to leave until she seen John again, and John was upstairs a long time, talking to his mother. : When he came down, Charlotte went up leaving Beth and him‘alone. “Oh, John, it’s so heavenly to have We all mi you home again!

Page 167

Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 Her tooth paste wien: DOught her galoshes can buy with that $3 that Listerine Tooth Paste saves you every year as compared to dentifrices costing 50¢ and up. Ga- loshes, for example. Handkerchiefs. Hosiery. Perfume. Gloves. A remarkable dentifrice —yet but 25¢ T takes a great deal of money to prepare and introduce a new tooth paste. Unless the product is of exceptional merit and priced right, its chance of success is slight. Four years ago Listerine Tooth Paste was produced by the makers of Listerine. It was the final expres- sion of years of study. Today, sweeping toward leadership, it has reached and passed some of the excellent dentifrices that sell for 50¢ or more. Millions are delighted by that re- freshing sensation of mouth invigo- ration you associate with Listerine. They’re enthusiastic about the quick, safe way Listerine Tooth Paste attacks deposits and leaves teeth white and gleaming. We can offer no more convincing proof of its merit than this eager- ness on the part of the public to buy—and keep on buying. And think of paying but 25¢ in- stead of 507. That’s a saving of $3 per year per person. Worth while isn’t it? Particularly when a family is large. Lambert Pharmacal Com- pany, St. Louis, Mo., U.S. A. LISTERINE TOOTH PASTE

Page 168

“Cant har What Are YOUR Mistakes in English ? They may offend others as ~ much as these offend you F some one 7 met hor the first time made the English shown above, what sod Cc mistakes in you think of him? Would he inspire your res: Would you be inclined to make a friend of him? Would you care to introduce him to others as a close friend of yours? hese errors are easy for you to see. Perhaps however, you make different mistakes which offen other Pogue as much as these would offend you. How you know that you do not mispronounce certain words; are you always sure that the thin you say and write are grammatically correct? ° you they may seem correct, but others may know that they are wrong. Unfortunately, people will not correct you when you make mistakes; oa they do is to make a mental reservation about you. “He is ignorant and un- cultured,” they think. BOOK ON ENGLISH a Cody, a the best known teacher of practical English, has perfected and patented a remarkable device which will quickly find and correct mistakes you uncon- sciously make. Correct English soon becomes a HABIT. Mr. Cody’s remarkable new invention, the 100% Self-Correcting Method, has already improved the English of more than 50,000 pe rsons. No oii rules, no tedious copying, no Ra study. Only 15 minutes a day required. aa new book, “How to Speak and Write Masterly nglish,”’ is ready. It explains Mr. Cody’s surpris- J y easy method. Get a copy free and learn how to stop making embarrassing errors. You do not want others to judge you unfairly. Merely mail the coupon or a postal card. SHERWIN CODY SCHOOL OF ENGLISH, 143 Searle Building, Rochester, N. Y. SHERWIN CODY SCHOOL OF ENGLISH 143 Searle Building, Rochester, N. Y. Please send me your free book, ‘How to Speak and Write Masterly English.” yer te over Sample FREE on Public Spel. JOHN I. BROWN & SON, ers omni Blag- BOSTON, MASS, ers. 170022 300022 YEAR ™ For Li FE * U. S. Government Jobs Steady Work Short Hours Common Edu- 2& z FRANKLIN INSTITUTE Dent. M-225, Rochester, N.Y. cation Usually © Sirs: Rush to me without charge : (1) 32 page book with list of U. 8. Sufficient $ Government Jobs obtainable. (2) Men—Women, © Tell me how to get one of these 18 Up. O jobs. Mail Coupon teday sure. Bo Wii Re ae er / BO Seep ite {see ty «ae and I guess you know who missed you most.” “Mother did seem glad to see me.” “T wasn’t speaking of your mother.” _ “Did you get over to Chicago during the opera season?” “No, I didn’t.” “IT was wondering if they did Taylor’s new opera there and how it went.” “Did you fall in love with a French girl?” “The only ones I saw were opera-singers and I’m not blind.” “You'll fall head over heels in love with Irene Comerford. She’s the most attractive girl I ever met.” There seemed to be no reply to this. “John, tell me who’s the most attractive girl you ever met.” “T never thought about it.” “Do you think I’m terribly unattractive?” “No. Why should I?” “Why, John! I believe you’re warming up.” “A fella that’s lived in those Paris four years won’t have any trouble warming up over here.” “John, will you bring me an ash-tray?” He wasn’t listening and Miss Beasley had to get it herself. But when she sat down again, it was in a chair almost touching his and an instant later she was holding his hand. “John, dear, I want to know all about you. I want to know your plans.” ‘Well, we don’t seem to be overwhelmed with money, so my first plan is to get a job.” “That’s just what I wanted you to say.” “Why?” “Because it gives me a chance to help you.” “How?” “Daddy wants a young man in his office and T’'ll see that you’re the one.” “Me in a broker’s office! over big!” “You could learn. Besides, the work wouldn’t be hard. It’s youth and good looks he wants more than anything else.” “What for?” “To attract women customers.” “Listen, I’d drive more of them away than I'd attract. I can’t talk to women.” “Oh, Johnny, not even to me?” Charlotte had descended the stairs quietly and Beth, seeing her, released John’s hand. “You caught us in the act, Charley,” said Beth, trying to be embarrassed. “But it isn’t really serious. Just a reunion of two good pals.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, I must rush! Daddy will kill me! Good-by, Charley. Good-by, John. You might tell your sister our scheme.” “‘What’s the matter with her?” asked John. “You know perfectly well,” said Charlotte. “But tell me, what’s the scheme?” “She said her father wanted a young man in his office and that she could get me the job.” “Are you going to take it?” “No! What do I know about business?” “John, you’ve got to take it! It doesn’t make any difference what you know. They'll tell you what they want you to do. And they’ll pay you good money. That’s what’s important right now. Mother is flat broke and she needs special food, special nursing; she’ll worry herself to death over our financial status. You can save her, John, and you’ve got to doit! It would be criminal of you not to. Oh, Johnny, please! Say you will!” “T’ll think about it.” “And I know you'll think right. Now I’ve got to run over to Butch Harper’s and get some gin. Wallie’s coming in from the lake for dinner. And Irene Comerford and Sam Drake said they might stop for cocktails. It’s a shame Irene’s engaged, though I’m afraid she wouldn’t—— I mean she likes men who talk a lot and are funny. That’s what attracts her to Sam. He’s full of the devil, telling stories all the time or getting up practical jokes on somebody. If they should come before I get back, you’ll entertain them, won’t you?” “T shouldn’t think she’d need any more entertainment than he can give her.” “Well, don’t forget to laugh at his stories. And another thing, John. If Wallie should I'd certainly go Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 192 Fs on ine while I’m gone you take the an Ae ie John, decide to t that offer.” left alone, sat and stared at the ean Pa aca for five minutes. Then he went { a table, took a cigaret from the box and li it. A few puffs and he took another, j the second from the first. It surprised hi find he was smoking two at once and it en. barrassed him when a young couple | without knocking and caught him at it, “And I thought I was a fiend!” said the man who John knew at once was Sam : “Honey,” he said to the girl, “you ‘get sore at me lots of times for smoking one ae after another. What would you do if I smoked them in pairs?” 4 John was looking into the girl’s eyes. Beay. tiful! Attractive! What silly words! She spoke: “I’m Irene Comair and this is Mr. Sam Drake. I presume you are Mr, ra eg Charlotte asked us in for a cock- John was dumb. ~ “Ts Charlotte out?” He managed to answer yes. “Oh, then we’ll run along.” “She told me you were to wait,” said John, “Well, if we’re going to wait, let’s sit down and take a load off our dogs,” said Sam. The callers seated themselves on the couch and John, after laying both his cigarets on the tray, sat in a chair facing them. Never once did he take his eyes off Miss Comerford’s face, “You’re just back from gay Paree, I heat,” , said Sam. “Ves, ” “How long were you over there?” “T don’t know.” 4 Irene suppressed a smile at Sam’s evident discomfiture. Then she spoke again: : “T think Charlotte was right.” She waited for John’s question, but i asked none. “Beth and I were talking one day,” shee tinued, “and we were talking about for a change. We agreed that they were all alte Charlotte said we would eat our words if w knew you as well as she did. Then Beth sid that—— Well, I won’t make you blush.” © The telephone rang, but John made no move, It continued to ring and Irene asked whether he intended to answer it. He was still sie “ShaJi I answer it, then?” “Tf you like.” It was Wallie Blair and he ‘shied Chase to be told that iis boat had been stalled on the lake for two hours and he couldn’t peal there- before half past eight. Irene again and delivered the message to ee case she and Sam would have to go Charlotte came back. John seemed to be paying attention, but he was not. “Well, Knowles, ” said Sam, “if you're jut back in the country, maybe you haven't heard all the new stories; I mean parlor stories; Irene won’t let me tell the other kind. Did you hear the one about the two colored caddies at Pals Beach last winter?” “No. ” “Well, Fre age of the big boys—I think t was Replogle and Hutton or some ¢ that—started a round out at the Everglades Club and they happened to get two caddies who were twice as big as they were” He was interrupted by a laugh, John’s laugh It came so unexpectedly that Sam and Irene Comerford were tekiened. “Not time to laugh yet, ” said the racontett “T’m sorry,”’ said John. a “Well, one of the players hit the ball into’ i unplayable lie and asked his caddy to pice up. The caddy grinned at him and said——_ Again an interruption, but this time “not a laugh. John, looking straight at the 9% softly recited: “T’ll never know the glory of the moon Until I see it shining in your eyes; a T’ll never know the loveliness of June S Till we look up together at its clear, magnite cent, azure skies. ae Each day will be just morning, night and that t

Page 169

Jill you are mine, my loved one, sweet- “+ heart, wife, » And then T’ll know the glory of the moon, ¢ And then I’ll know the loveliness of life.” & _ “Well, for——!” exclaimed Sam Drake. “Come on, Irene. I want to get you away from this bird. I can’t compete with Eddie Guest.” : Miss Comerford got up. “I do think we ought to go,” she said. “Please tell Charlotte how sorry we were not to see her.” John rose and began to act the polite host. “Don’t let me drive you away with my dog- ! Charlotte won’t forgive me.” “Honestly we must go,” said Irene. “I would like you to tell me what that was.” “J think it will be part of a libretto I’m writ- ing, a libretto I’ve been writing for five years.” »“When did you make up those lines?” “Since you came, most of them.” “Hot apple sauce! Come on, Irene. You’re supposed to be my inspiration, not his,” said m. “Just a second,” said John. “Do you often go to your father’s cffice?” “Why do you ask that?” “Oh, never mind.” “T go there once or twice a week.” “Whenever she’s flat,” said Sam. They saw one of John’s infrequent smiles. ~ “Here’s hoping you’re frequently flat.” “Wh pal 3 But he had started up the stairs without waiting to bow them out. Charlotte came home about half past six, hot and in a bad temper. She had had two blowouts, one of them half-way home from her bootlegger’s, two miles out in the country, and five cars had disregarded her SOS. The sixth one’s occupant was an old farmer who knew as much about changing tires as she did. It had taken them half an hour to do the job. _ John told her Miss Comerford and Mr. Drake had been in for a while. She asked him what he thought of Irene. He made no reply at all, but Charlotte was used to that. Then she asked him whether Wallie Blair had tele- phoned and he said no, really thinking he was telling the truth. . At seven she gave Wallie up and dined alone with John. But when Wallie came a little after eight swore he had talked with Irene and that the latter had promised to deliver the message, there was a further display of temper, first directed toward Miss Comerford and then toward John, when John, to save Irene, ad- mitted that she might have given him the message and he might have forgotten about it. Charlotte was pacified by his promise that he would accept Mr. Beasley’s offer if Mr. 'y made one. Mr. Beasley made one next morning, a salary of two hundred dollars a week for work that could be taught him easily. He was given a private office with a desk and two chairs. No » _— 2 to — him in his duties and he wo' ave been happy polishing up his libretto if Beth Beasley had not made his _foom a second home. ‘ “Do. you like me now?” she asked, perched on his desk too close for comfort. It was his fourth day on the “job.” “Why now?” “I mean because I got you this chance.” aI liked you before that,” he said. Be you know what you’re saying?” Ags “Can’t you say it more plainly, that you’re of me, that you care a little? I know how shy you are and I have to do the talking for you. Thate to. But you won’t do it yourself.” «tat am I to say?” oe at you care for me.” “ a. does that mean it’s an under- “What kind of understanding?” “That we care for one another.” au guess we do.” ay you going to be—not so cold and Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 “Elatters with its dashing gleam . .” sas LADY HEATH England’s Foremost Woman Aviator Famous flyer and hunter of big game . . Lady Heath is re- nowned for her beauty and great daring. She has flown from Cape Town to London and hunted big game all over the globe. Lady Heath keeps her capable hands lovely with the new Cutex Liquid Polish - - . Lady Heath, now touring America to recount for us some experiences of her very enthralling life, is that delightful English combination of sportswoman and society woman everywhere ad- mired—fearless, charming, beautiful. As Lady Heath takes entire care of her own De Haviland Moth plane, we asked her whether she did not find it difficult to care for her hands. And Lady Heath said to us, “I put Cutex Nail White under my nails to keep out the grease. I use Cutex Cuticle Remover to shape the cuticle, and the Cuticle Oil to feed it, and once a week I apply the new Cutex Liquid Polish. “Really I’m quite devoted to that new Liquid Polish. It gives a dashing The new Cutex Liquid Polish flatters your nails gleam that is very flattering to my con- ception of myself.” Do these three things First—the Cuticle Remover to remove dead cuticle, soften and shape the cuticle. Second—the Polish Remover, followed by the flattering Cutex Liquid Polish. Third—apply Cutex Cuticle Cream or Cuticle Oil to keep the cuticle soft . .. Cutex preparations 35c each. Polish and Remover together 50c. Northam Warren, New York, London, Paris. Special Introductory Offer—12¢ & I enclose 12c for the Cutex Midget Manicure Set ini fiici preparations for six (If you live in Canada Box 2054, Montreal, address Post Office Canada.) Northam Warren, Dept. 9C3 114 West 17th Street, New York.

Page 170

190 Frostilla soothes that Riled Neck! if your skin talked, it would be quick to tell you that there is no such thing as a perfectly smooth shave. If your skin talked, it would probably advise you that a touch of Frostilla would restore its good humor in a twinkling. Just try Frostilla after your next shave. Pour a very little into your cupped hand. Rub it over your face gently—then across your chin—on your necx—above the collar line. Note how the “scraped” skin smooths down and the razor nicks heal up. Frostilla banishes irritation and leaves a legacy of well-being. It is invigorating— protective—with never an after-trace of stickiness. It does not draw the skin taut —but leaves your face and neck cool, soft and comforted. Keep a bottle next to your razor and make your closest shave feel like a gentle “once over.” In modern, new blue-labelled bottles, Frostilla is 50c and $1, at g and de ent stores in the U. S. and Canada. -Or write for an attractive. sample sent FREE on epee pt. 239A, The Frostilla Co., Elmira, N. Y., and Toronto, Canada. (Sales Representatives: Harold F. Ritchie & Co. Inc., Madison Avenue at 34th Street, New York. F ROSTILLA exposed and irritated skin © 1929, The Frostilla Co. Bret: Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 “Listen, Beth,” said John nervously, “I* place an order for two hundred shares of don’t know whether I can make here or not. And until I am sure of m and where I stand, I can’t think of—of other things.” “Daddy would never turn you out.” “T’ll turn myself out if I can’t do what he wants me to. I’ve got to make good on my own account, without any outside influence. If you’ll just understand that!” “T’ve waited this long, I guess I can wait a little longer,” said Beth. and left him. Well, the fifth day was something entirely different. One of the partners. H. N. Comer- ford, was in Chicago. Ata quarter of nine, the other partner, J. L. Beasley, called up to say he-was going fishing; he knew that old Fred Howard, his chief and only clerk unless you counted John Knowles was capable of running the whoe works sing’e-handed. The rest of the office force was made up of the telegraph operator the telephone girl, the marker and the pretty new stenographer Miss Davenport Old Howard was usually on deck at nine o'clock sharp. This morning his wife tele- phoned at ten after nine that he had broken a leg trying to get on a street-car. Miss Davenport came ‘nto John’s room to tell him the news and he nearly fa‘nted. When he had pul'ed himself together, he rushed into the main office and instructed the telephone girl to put all calls on his wire; he would keep Miss Davenport with h’m and when orders came in, he would write them down and repeat them aloud so she could write them down, too, and there would be less chance of mistakes. The telegraph operator 1eminded him that the daily Satket letter must be got out and sent to all customers and prospective custom- ers. John decided that it was best to start this letter at once; his ignorance of what a market letter should contain was colossal and it would take all his spare time to write it. “Make it optimistical,” was the only hint the operator offered. He hoped for help from Miss Davenport, but that good-looking young lady was proof of the saying, ““You can’t have everything ” “Did Mr. Howard ever dictate one to you?” John asked her. “Yes, every day since I’ve been here, but that’s only a week.” “How does he start them?” “T forget.” It never occurred to John that there must be dozens or hundreds of old ones around the office. He must work out one of his own. “Well,” he said, “get me a paper with the market repor’s and we’ll see what we can do.” She brought him the paper and sat down at th. desk opposite him ready to take dictation. “Here we go,” he said. ‘To customers of Beasley and Comerford: We do not like to ad- vise you to buy stocks that are not likely to go higher or at least not go lower——” The telephone rang. It was Wallie Blair asking him to come to the ‘ake Saturday after- noon and stay over Sunday. He said he couldn’t leave his mother alone. “Charlotte’s going to stay with her.” “Well, let me think it over.” “No. You've got to say yes right now. You’ve got no excuse in the world. I’m in the Maynard cottage and anybody can tell you where it is. I’ll expect you Saturday afternoon.” Perhaps if it hadn’t been for the market letter, John would have argued. As it was he said all right, so he could go on with his work. es right, Miss Davenport. What have we sai ” “ ‘We do not like to advise you to buy stocks _ are not likely to go higher or at least not go lower.’ ” “But we cannot help feeling a feeling of optimism.” “How do you spell that last word?” “Q-p-t-i-m-i-s-m. As the summer promises to be hot, we might recommend the purchase of American Ice preferred; still, one cannot al- ways depend on the weather predictions. . General Motors is another good stock.” The telephone rang. It was J. M. McInerny and he wanted to Murray Corporation at the market. wrote down the order, repeated it aloud ag jt was given to him so Miss Davenport could get it, too. She took the slip to the wager and returned for more dictation, But the telephone was ringing agai “This is Irene Comerford.” “Yes,” in a voice that shook a little, Ke fg gaa to speak to the girl, but she gave me you. Aren’t Knowles?” . 7" “Ves,” “Well, I expected to drop in the office and my father was going to send me a —_ there. If one comes, will you mail it to me at the lake? In care of Mrs. Charles Parrish, I'll be there over the weekend.” “Tl attend to it, Miss Comerford.” “Thanks. Good-by.” He wrote down Mrs. Charles Parrish’s name and then looked out the window. Miss Davyen- port waited five minutes before she asked whether the market letter was all done.. “No. I was figuring what to put in next,” The telegraph operator came in and sug. gested that as business seemed to be slow, the telephone operator might call him. instead of John to take the orders and he would-keep a record of them and give it to John later, “Tl just take this one,” said John as the telephone rang again. “Then you can handle them the rest of the day.” “K. O.,” said the operator. : A man named Francis Elliott wanted six hundred shares of American Linseed. - and Miss Davenport wrote it down. John looked at the paper to be sure there was such a stock. “Great heavens!” he exclaimed. “There are two of them, common and preferred. I’m pretty sure he said common. No, I’m sure he said preferred.” nw not my ge ogg ask him?” “That wo : silly, because I’m positive he said preferred.” Miss Davenport took the order out to the operator and came back to John’s desk. |; reel moter gd “ ‘Gen otors is another i read Miss Davenport. xe “Oh, yes. Well, U.S. Steel is always a good buy. So are the railroads, as people do eine deal of traveling these days . i the summer. People go south in the winter north in the summer, so at this time of year @ would the stocks of the north-bound railroads be the best ones to buy. Automobile stocks are also pretty good stocks to buy at this time of year as many of the tourists and vacati travel by motor rather than by rail.. They prefer it. Railroad travel is perhaps safer, but that does not affect the value of the stocks.” He ran on in this way for nearly a words, four times as many as the letter usually contained. He made a tremendous effort to talk sensibly to customers and was i relieved when four o’clock struck. “ae On the way home he worried a little about that American Linseed order, but decided that — a man who would order as many as six hundred shares would certainly deal in preferred stock instead of common. He told Charlotte about his invitation from | her friend Wallie Blair. It was no news to her. He didn’t want to go, but she said he must or Wallie would feel hurt. ? : Mr. Beasley was back next morning, which was Friday, and congratulated John on his smooth work in a pinch. Luckily, he did not see the market letter and more luckily he was shut up in his office when Francis Elliott came - in to see how his Linseed wae guine. The tele- ph operator told John who he was and ohn invited Mr. Elliott into his own room. Hanger gra he et “T'm 8 novice a game I am likely to e Kes, Would you mind telling me what your order was yesterday? Was it for the common # preferred?” ; “For the common, of course,” said Elliott, “and it’s off two and a quarter points, * - df 48 & owe eee

Page 171

ii PE Ree § b Buea ¢ hie tle dee

i

BE RE

26 BE

“But the preferred,” said John, “is up adeight points, and that is what I bought you.” Set Saale o For an instant young Mr. Knowles was in < jmminent danger of being kissed by a man with a mustache. But he dodged behind the * desk and asked Mr. Elliott if he would mind not telling either of the partners of the error. “Tell! No, sir. What I'll do is sell. And you're going to get a hundred dollars for being a novice.” At three o’clock Saturday afternoon, John started for the lake in Charlotte’s car. He had not foreseen the problem that would t him almost as soon as he had left the city limits; namely, which cottage Wallie Blair + was living in, the Maynards’ or the Parrishes’. He ‘knew he had made notes of -both those names, but simply could not remember which one had been told him by Wallie and which by Miss Comerford. “« - Two miles from the lake he was sure his » destination was the Maynards’. A mile more and he was convinced it was the Parrishes’. This conviction held and after asking directions from a cottager mowing his lawn, he soon pulled ‘up in front of the wrong place. A male servant came out to the car and ; grabbed his two pieces of baggage. - “What name, sir?” “John Knowles.” ‘Without another word, the servant carried the baggage onto the porch, opened the screen door to permit John to enter, and followed him in. A woman rose at his entrance. “Mr. John Knowles,” said the servant. “Is ‘ he to have the south room?” “John Knowles!” said the woman half under her breath. “I’m afraid there is some—— But wait a minute till I run upstairs.” Upstairs she-rapped briskly on Irene’s door 4 and went in. “Dearie,” she said, “did you invite here a beautiful sheik named John Knowles?” Irene gasped. “I did not!” “Well, he’s downstairs and he’s brought his «baggage and he seems to think he was ex- ted.” “Heavens! What in the world could make him think that?” _ “Do you know him?” ~ “Pye-met him once. He works in Father’s office. But I certainly never asked him to come here or anywhere else.” “Well, there’s evidently a misunderstanding. “ T wish you would go down and talk to him.” “T'll see him and find out how it happened,” said Irene. She was cross with him for what she believed his freshness and thought of sarcastic things to *. tell him as she hurried downstairs. But when she saw him, with the servant near by standing “ever his bags, she knew he never could be a “crasher” and that it was truly a mistake that _ had brought him there. She smiled and said: “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Knowles.” John stared at her as if she were a ghost. Then he found his voice. ~ “I suppose I’m the world’s biggest sap. I want to explain this intrusion and then I’ll "get right out. Last Thursday, the day you tele- phoned, a friend of mine here at the lake also * telephoned and asked me out for the weekend. He gave me the name of the cottage where he is staying and you gave me the name of yours. I wrote the names down, but left the slips in the office and I couldn’t remember which was which. The two names were Maynard and Parrish. On the way out here I thought and thought and thought, and of course came to the wrong conclusion. And I never can tell - _ you how sorry and humiliated I am.” Irene heard herself saying: “But I’m glad : you did guess wrong because now we can have oe you can visit your friend some other “Not for anything in the world!” Not even if I beg you?” ere’s no reason you should beg me, no Teason you should want me.” ‘It happens that I do.” If I could believe that, I’d tell my friend to let me off.” Irene noticed the servant still hovering.

. Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 “Edward, take Mr. Knowles’ bags to the south room.” And when Edward had gone upstairs, ‘“We’re going on a party tonight, you and I and Mrs. Parrish and Sam Drake. It won’t be a-late party and I don’t believe it will bore you much.” “T can’t do that, Miss Comerford. I brought no dinner clothes.” “Nobody will care.” “T would. No, Miss Comerford, you’d better let me take my bags and go over to Wallie’s.” “It’s already settled. You’re not going there.” “And I’m not going to any si “All right then. Sit here quietly and read. No. Write more of your libretto and I can boast that you got your inspiration from me.” “T’m afraid it won’t be much to boast of.” “Oh, hush! Come up now and I’ll show you your room. And of course you won’t have to dress because you'll be dining all alone.” He followed her up the stairs and was prop- erly introduced to Mrs. Parrish, whom they met in the hall. Explanations followed and the hostess acted as if she were glad he had come. John went to his room, changed into some clothes that were not quite so wrinkled, then sat and waited for events. He was not in the least conscience-stricken about Wallie Blair. He’ would go-over after dinner and give a special version of what had happened. What really had happened was that he was in love for the first time in his life and it was impos- sible for him to resist Irene’s voice and eyes. He was summoned downstairs, whe e he found Mrs. Parrish, Sam Drake and Irene in evening dress. They all had cocktails, Sam drinking five as fast as he could get them down. He had greeted John very coldly and had not uttered a word during his exhibition of rapid | guzzling. Mrs. Parrish took him to task: “Sam, you’re an old grouch! Get happy and tell us a story.” “T’'ll tell no story in the presence of a so-and- so cheap poet who hasn’t the manners to keep his mouth shut.” “Sam!” said Irene sharply. “T don’t like to be around with a so-and-so tramp and grafter who crashes into places where he is not invited or wanted.” “T assure you he is wanted.” “By whom?” “By me!” “Well, you don’t want me if you want him. We may as well get that straight right now!” “Just as you say.” “Miss Comerford,” said John, “I really ought to go over to my friend’s.” “T want, you to stay right here, and what’s more, I’m going to stay here with you. I don’t intend to go anywhere with Sam in his present condition.” “Tf I leave here without you, I’ll never come back.” “Suit yourself about that. I’m not going!” “Trene, dear,” said Mrs. Parrish, “you know I’ve got to go, don’t you? It’s the Tuttles and I’ve refused them so often.” “Of course, Ellen, you must. I’m only sorry you haven’t a decent escort.” “Her escort,” said Sam, “is at least as decent as the snake you’re throwing him over for.” “T’m not throwing anyone over.” “You-are! You love this gutter-snipe and I guess you’re welcome to him.” “Come on, Sam,” said Mrs. Parrish. “And in parting, Mr. Drake,” said John, “let me warn you that the first time we meet where no ladies are present, you’ll go home looking like the late Tom Heeney.” Irene Comerford and John were alone. “Mr. Knowles, please tell me you didn’t be- lieve what he said about my loving you.” “He said you loved a gutter-snipe.” “He was referring to you and you know it. And I don’t want you to believe him.” “There’s no danger, dear. But oh, how I’d like to!” “Why?” “Because I love you so.” “And what about Beth?” The man servant announced dinner. 19] when winter POLISHES your face!

in a cold winter wind. Though it brings a glow to your cheek and a sparkle to your eye, it robs your com- plexion of loveli- mess. Sets a gloss upon your nose. Polishes your face to an unbecoming shine. Leaves it puckered, harsh, glistening. Thank goodness, there’s Frostilla . . . This famed and fra t lotion quickly soothes a wind-fretted face. It helps to avoid “face-shine” and winter redness. It pro- tects against all exposure. To see how egos oa and beautifies, just massage a sm uantity over your face after cleansing. Note how it lubri- cates without a trace of after-stickiness. - It converts that tightly drawn, ruffled feel- ing to one of contented comfort. It ban- ishes the resentful gloss of a dry skin— and acts as a perfect base for powder. Have Frostilla handy these wintry days. Use it night and morning. Never, never, be without it. ja mniee. new Mae iebalin’ bottles, Peeetiie je t drug an artment st in the i's end Canela: “Ur evasefor am atinactne write for an b ‘ul sample sent FREE on request. ent 239, The Frostilla Co., Elmira, N. Y., and Toronto, Canada. (Sales Representatives: Harold F. Ritchie & Co. Inc., Madison Avenue at 34th Street, New York.) FROSTILLA exposed and

irritated skin

Page 172

Reducing? How much per pound are your nerves and vitality paying! Chronic fatigue, mental dull- ness, and “hair-trigger nerves” . . . are often the penalty for radical changes in our food and new fads in our diet, which de- prive the body of its fair share of nourishment. By replenish- ing the body’s vital mineral salts and aiding nature in keep- ing a reserve of strengthening elements, FELLOWS’ Syrup may ward off or relieve mental depression and physical exhaus- tion. In 58 countries, physicians prescribe this fine old tonic to rebuild energy and endurance. Not a wonder worker, FEL- LOWS’ Syrup simply acts by supplying, inconcentrated form, important “chemical foods” needed by the system. FELLOWS?’ Laxative a Tablets, a vegetable compound, are mild yet effective. At all drug stores YOU YOU ood mo in time at LJ home maki isplay cards. No selling or a al canvassing. € instruct you, furnish com- e lete ou and supply you with work. Tite to-da’ r free booklet. SM The MENHENITT COMPANY Limited Pw-me 725 Dominion Bldg., Toronto, Ont. SeanapnepeeeSBte@BaeSBeHBeHEBeBaBas “Well,” said John when they were seated at a table too big for two, “what about Beth?” “She told me you were engaged.” «a “She told me‘that, too, but I was in a posi- tion to know better.” John asked the servant where the Maynard cottage was and learned it was only four cot- tages away. “I’d like to go down there and square myself with Wallie Blair.” “You must go right after dinner,” said Irene, “but you mustn’t stay too long.” “No danger.” ; But there was danger, danger John should have foreseen and avoided by staying right | where he was. He mixed with Blair’s ribald | crew for only half an hour, but on the way back | the moon on the lake brought the accursed | libretto back into his head and drove Irene | entirely out of it. He sat on somebody’s dock and outlined a whole new scene, and when he finally returned, it was eleven o’clock and Miss Comerford had disappeared. He was sorry, but it didn’t seem strange to him. Nor did her failure to acknowledge his greeting when he found her alone in the dining- room next morning strike him as queer. And after five or ten minutes of silence, he said: “You're a lot like me. There are times when you don’t want to talk to anybody.” “Mr. Knowles, it isn’t ‘anybody’ I don’t want to talk to. It’s you.” “But why?” “Can you ask after what you did last night?” sacrifice which the wife of our earl recently made, in order to lift the tax. You know about it.” “Madam,” said the wretch, “I’m in serious trouble, and miscellaneous conversation is inappropriate. I don’t know what the earl’s wife did, and it’s surprising how little I care.” Godiva wondered whether he had recog- nized her and was doing the chivalrous thing. “T thought everyone knew the earl’s wife rode through the streets yesterday afternoon, dressed in nothing at all.” The fellow looked interested, but not pleased. ! “Tt’s the first time I heard anything like that about her. If that’s the way she behaves, I’m glad the earl has to do the worrying, not I.” Godiva held on to the cell bars, to stand firm. “She rode to save the people from the tax.” “Which one?” said the man. “The heavy one.” He laughed. “They’re all that.” “And she told the people to stay indoors and not look at her.” He laughed again. ‘Why should they? I mean, look at her? What’s the point?” Godiva lowered her voice. “If a woman were beautiful, and her beauty encountered an admiration worthy of it——” “ = probably behave herself, for all that,” e said. I'd better say, what does she want?” he said. “You’ve struck it. She doesn’t want much. She merely wants to marry you.” “Are you joking?” “Those are the very words I put to Himes. He tried to look offended and to tell me he was acting wholly upon instructions, but of course it’s his doings. It seems they met over there and became fast friends; however, he was honest enough to confess that he resented your father’s rough treatment. A plain case of malice.” “Still I don’t get what you’re driving at, Mr. Carter.” “Alice Hart is back here in New York and threatens you with a breach-of-promise action. Blackmail, of course. Settlement out of court.” “Is there another ‘child’?”” Sam’s lip curled. “No. The young lady isn’t trying to force Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 © “Do you mean my staying out so long?” : “Ves.” “Do you know what I was doing?” “T can imagine.” “Well, I wasn’t at Blair’s, drinking. I was sitting on a dock, blocking out a new scene for my silly opera.” “‘Couldn’t you have done it here?” “Do you think I could concentrate on work if I were with you?” “You did, at least you said you did, the other day. You said you made up that verse while I was right there with you.” “Dear, you know I am crazy and absent- minded and of a queer temperament. Can’t you care for me as I am?” “T’m afraid I can.” “How soon will Mrs. Parrish be down?” “Any minute.” “Then let’s settle this thing quick. I’m not engaged to Beth. You're not engaged to Sam, Let’s be engaged to each other.” “T’m afraid you’re engaged to your work.” “Tl tear it up.” “T won’t let you do that. But I’ll insist on 2 your doing whatever is left to be done rightin my presence, looking right at me.” “T don’t believe it’s possible, but I’ll try.” “Then we’re engaged.” “And remember, Miss Comerford, that being engaged to you means the loss of my job.” “What for? Maybe you don’t know it, but my father owns more stock than Mr. Beasley.” Afterthoughts of Lady Godiva (Continued from page 35) She started to walk toward the sheriff’s office, but on second thought turned back. “T came here to help you,” she said. ‘“Per- haps I can guess why you are here. If you are frank with me, I may establish your innocence. Yesterday afternoon you were leaning out of the window, in the house at the corner.” “Leaning out? I nearly fell out! I was try- ing to find the door.” “The door?” said Godiva. “Madam, I’m so near-sighted I can’t see three feet in front of me. I thought it was the door till my knees hit the sill.” “Tell the truth!” said Godiva. “You were down on your knees, gazing at the beautiful — woman who revealed herself to you.” “One of us must be crazy,” said the man, — “It really doesn’t matter which. Yes, I was on my knees. I had nearly pitched out on my head. Before getting up I paused a moment to say a prayer of thanksgiving On her way to the street Godiva met the sheriff. ‘ “How are your charges coming on, my lady?” She looked out of humor even with her own charities. “I spoke only to the first prisoner,” she said. ‘“He’s a sad case. I’m exhausted.” “He’s the one who needs you,” said the @ sheriff. ‘The others are excused.” Son of the Gods (Continued from page 75) that issue. There’s no hint of wrong-doing, in the usual sense; she’s just a shy, shrink country girl who trusted in your protestations of love and relied upon your promise to wed. Did you ever write her any letters?” “No doubt.” “Himes referred to several which breathed poetic devotion of an exalted and embarrassing nature, also to pointed attentions, expensive gifts. He says you entertained her for a week or more at a New York hotel and that she visited your home.” “All true.”’ “There’s no denying the fact that your father sent her to Paris and footed her bills up to the time of his death. Himes contends that a jury would construe such an action as due t0 ~ the interest of a prospective father-in-law. It’s all rot, of course, and there’s no cause for — ‘ a : 2

Page 173

ge 35) veriff’s k. “ P 'er- ou are cence. rut of s try- jue to e for ‘ concern, but I’m tired of seeing you shot at by snipers.” eae There was a peculiar light in Sam’s eyes when he said: “Miss Hart is a very charming girl and I was more than fond of her. What’s more, I would have married her gladly. I in- fer that she has analyzed her feeling for me and discovers it to be love.” “Analyzed your bank-account!” “Anyhow, she consents to become my wife.” “She does more than consent. She de- “Very well. I'll marry her.” For a moment Mr. Carter stared at his client as if waiting for him to finish this questionable pleasantry. Sam smiled imperturbably. “As I was saying,” the lawyer resumed, “it’s an absurd demand and not made in good faith. I advise handling it without gloves. No quix- otic notions, understand: forget she’s a former sweetheart and leave her to me.” “But wait! I flattered myself that I have charm; you destroy my illusion by assuming that the young lady is animated purely by self- * sh motives. I prefer to believe that love, not greed, moves her.” “What are you trying to say?” “Put it this way: Miss Hart is a white girl, she is young and beautiful and talented. She is willing to marry me, a Chinaman, and become the mother of my children. “You say she’s after my money. All right. I never dreamed I could buy an American wife. Of course my ancestors bought their women as you buy cattle. They took several wives as a matter of fact and there’s a manifest disad- vantage in being limited to one, love is so fickle. But times change. On the whole, I must say that Chinamen then seemed to fare as well under their system of blind selection as you Occidentals do now in choosing your wives with open eyes. “After all, one wife is about like another. Remember, I’m an inferior and offensive per- son: a naked worm, a putrid stench in the nos- trils of your people. This jewel of your supe- rior race, this intoxicating creature stoops and lifts me in her arms—white arms, full of love. She raises me to her perfumed bosom. Shall I deny myself that ecstasy? You ask too much.” “You can get white women without marrying them, if that’s what ails you,” Carter said stiffly. Without heeding this remark, Sam con- tinued: “The honorable Himes plays the part of mei-jén—what you'd call a match-maker—so the affair takes on a real Chinese flavor, doesn’t it? Assure Miss Hart, through him, that her gracious condescension makes me her servile and obedient vassal for life, it overwhelms me with undeserved happiness. “Promise her that she shall be the proud mistress of my three-roofed house, that she shall wear robes spun from shimmering moon- light and eat delicate foods from the thinnest of imperial porcelain bowls. A hundred docile servants shall bow to her. But no, my ardor Tuns away with me. Tell her merely to come and see me, so that my heart may speak its Own message.” “Come here?” “Oh, the illustrious mei-jén may come with her! He should do so. He’s the one to discuss the wedding arrangements, the bridal settle- ments and such things. A quaint and amusing custom, isn’t it?” “You'll get yourself into trouble if you take this out of my hands,” Carter warned with some heat. “Frankly, I’m not sure just how much you mean and how much you don’t mean—you’ve been acting so queerly. Any- om, she wouldn’t have the nerve to meet _ ‘Then, alas, I would be forced to doubt her sincerity.. The issue would be left open and : could not go to court. Am I right? .. . ery well. You have only to state that I insist a ealing directly with her. Tell her, if you maae, that I have lost faith in lawyers.” ;Humph! I believe that’s a fact.” : Good! Let’s conduct this delicate nego- tiation in all frankness and honesty.” Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 193 She still Looked exquisite ~ NEVER had she taken more pains with her toilette—the evening promised many things. . But before it was half over Peter’s interest in her seemed to wane. Other people’s, too! It had happened before and she could never understand why. The truth is that there is never any way of telling when a temporary de- odorant may go back on you. Unless you have used Odorono, which a phy- sician developed to check perspiration, you can never be sure of not being guilty of offending by unpleasant per- spiration odor. Why Odorono gives you continuous protection Used regularly, Odorono keeps the underarm always dry and fresh by checking per- spiration in a safe way. Odorono Regular Strength (ruby colored) keeps the underarm dry and smooth with two applications a week, used the last thing at night. Pat on freely after bathing. Do not rub in. Allow time to dry thor- oughly before putting on saat. ./ You never know when a temporary deodorant will cease to protect you... Medical science has found that per- spiration is 99% water. Its chief func- tion is to regulate body temperature. It does not rid the body of poison. Checking perspiration in small areas has no effect on health. Doctors recommend it where perspiration is annoying. A physician’s prescription A physician made Odorono 19 years ago for his own use. That is why you always feel safe in using Odorono. The regular use of Odorono gives you absolute, safe protection from the possibility of unpleasant odor and damp sticky discomfort. No longer need you worry about ruining your frocks with perspiration odor or ugly spreading stains. Odorono regular strength, Odorono No. 3 Mild for sensitive skins, and the delightful Creme Odorono are on sale at toilet goods counters everywhere. Odorono 35¢ and 60¢. Creme Odorono in tubes 25¢. Send 10¢ and the coupon below for the Odorono sample kit. night garments, Odorono No. 3 Mild (col- orless), for especially sensi- tive skins and for hurried use. Use daily or every other day, night or morning. Pat on freely after skin is Name..... bathed. Allow plenty of time to dry completely be- Street fore any clothing touches the skin, complete underarm toilette; samples of Odorono regular strength, Odorono No. 3 Mild and Creme Odorono. Dept. F-3 The Odorono Company, 947 Blair Ave., Cincinnati, O.

Page 174

Where are Granny’s flannels Perhaps they called them the “gay nineties” because the underwear was so red and:so itchy. As a girl, how Grandma used to dread October 25th, the day on which the entire family switched to heavy flannels! Then early in 1890, the good news that a pleasant medicine for colds 8 Fe been discovered. Tiny tablets, easy to take, which gave quick relief and left no distress. Every year since, Grandma has used or recommended GROVE’S BROMO QUININE. The old reliable remedy, she calls ic. Four generations of her family have used it. The lax ative and tonic ingredients don’t merely eliminate the symptoms. They help nature to side-step the cold entirely or throw it off quickly. So Granny wears no flannels any more.... For your own sake, make sure of getting the genuine! Emphasize GROVE’S when asking for GROVE’S BROMO QUININE. Price ane QUICK RELIEF FOR COLDS SINCE 1889 GROVE'S BROMO QUININE LAXATIVE TABLETS For Marking All Clothing. To prevent loss of laundry, to save ae ager as to ownership, to positively identify both and owner there is nothing like CASH’S SNARES, Woven with fast color thread on fine cambric tape CASH’S NAMES are neat, permanent, economical. Order from your dealer or write. Trial Offer J. & J. CASH, Ine. Send 10c for one dozen of your own first fi 59th Street thread on fine cambric tape’ «South Norwalk, Conn. ine eneeed Mr. Carter left in a good deal of a huff. Sam’s message, as relayed by his attorney, was not wholly pleasing to Everett Himes, but Carter declined to do more than repeat his client’s demand so an appointment was finally arranged, and on the afternoon set Alice and her companion appeared. Moy, smiling, roguish and benign, admitted them. He was in a purple pongee suit and he ducked and bobbed deferentially; having seated the callers in the reception-hall, he trotted away on his noiseless felt soles. As he opened the carved door into the living-room they heard a high-pitched, singsong female voice and the plunking of a Chinese banjo. Moy was gone for several moments; several voices sounded. Miss Hart, who was under a high nervous strain, rose and peered furtively through the half-open door, then she motioned to Himes. Sam Lee was sprawled on a couch at the far end of the room. He was in a magnificently em- broidered robe and one languid arm was around the waist of a sh’ny-headed Chinese girl. An- other girl, who held a thin-necked stringed in- strument in her hands, sat cross-legged on a cushion; both were in loose Oriental jackets and pajamalike trousers, both were giggling and tittering. Alice was both shocked and offended; she sniffed suspicious'y, for she had become aware of a peculiar sickly-sweet odor. ‘What’s that queer smell?” she whispered. “Don’t you know?” “Ts it——-?” The questioner’s eyes dilated Himes nodded, laid a finger on his lips and motioned for silence. Then he cautioned softly: “Understand, now, I do the talking.” Alice faintly signified her assent. Moy returned; he bowed them into his mas- ter’s presence. Sam Lee had risen from the couch and he invited them to be seated. He took Alice’s hand and kissed it he ran his gaze over her and in a voice unnaturally thick and queerly disconcerting he began a cercmonial speech of greeting and of welcome. Miss Hart’s attention was divided between him and the two Chinese girls who had re- treated across the room and were pretending to look out of a window into the roof-garden. They stole occasional glances over their shoul- ders and exchanged embarrassed giggles. With their calcimined faces and carmined lips, their long jackets, embroidered trousers and tiny slippers they looked like two pretty little Oriental dolls. Their hair was st fily pomaded and pierced with stick-pins and jew- eled ornaments. Bangles hung at their throats; on their wrists were many bracelets. Sam quite ignored their presence and con- tinued to shower his visitors with compliments. Alice noticed something else, too. On a tab- ouret beside the couch was a queerly shaped pipe, a peanut-oil lamp and other art’cles which evidently went with ‘hcm. An opium layout! The fellow was drugged. That accounted for his behavior, for his heavy-lidded eyes. Yes, and for the presence of those simpering creatures with the shoe-button eyes. Opium- smoking was accompanied by bestial orgies. No wonder he looked at her in a way that made her flesh creep. Everett Himes was speaking now; he and Sam were saying something about that Stevens girl. Heavens, how Chinese Sam had become! And what a change in this place since that night long ago. For the moment Alice Hart’: mind reacted only to physical stimuli, to sights, sounds, smells. So that was opium. It was breathless and hot in here. That’s how the drug affected people. Sam at the instant was overriding some pro- test of Himes’—something about refreshments. “T insist,” he repeated in that queer, thick voice. “On an occasion of this sort it would affront my household gods to ignore the cere- monies.” He clapped his hands and called out something to Moy. “The best I can offer will be tasteless and unsavory but——” Himes interrupted: ‘‘Miss Hart is pretty nervous. She didn’t want .to come here but I prevailed on her. This is a matter of some Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 delicacy and you understand my position in itt “Perfectly!” “Tm hein a friend of hers. I thought Carter and I could——” “No, no! Lawyers and undertakers ar melancholy crows. Who would have a ravey at a feast? In China when a man of means arranges a marriage or the purchase of a con. cubine he invariably treats with a go-betweeq, Your presence lessens my embarrassment,” | Alice Hart stirred and uttered a so “This is—something we can’t discuss in pu lic.” She turned a meaning glance towards f Chinese girls. The master of the house waved an indiffereas hand. “Oh, don’t mind them; they under stand no English. They are merely my pos- ture-girls, my playthings. Pretty little doll, I bought them in China.” Ata word from him they came running and knelt at his feet. He said something more; they nodded and tittered. “They consider you very beautiful.” “TJ—suppose they’re your affair,” Hime said with an effort. “I’m used to such things : but Alice——” “We don’t seem to be getting anywhere," young lady broke in, more nervously iam ore. Again Sam smiled, almost leered, at the speaker. “Patience! We have time. Let's sip our wine, exchange — fling pea- cock-feathers back and forth “This isn’t the time or the place,” Himes — asserted gruffly. “What is it, yes or no? You asked her to marry you—am I right? She wants to know what you propose to do.” se | have enough evidence to convince any court,” the girl asserted. “But why speak of courts, my dear? You — long for me, I yearn for you. I bound forward with a shout. Marry you? Well, rather!” | Once more he spoke, in some excitement, to the — Chinese girls and they uttered thin squeaks of — delight and chattered something to him. “See! It pleases them, also. You fill their hearts with joy and they surrender first place in my affec- tions to you. They’ll be like sisters to you.” “What the devil?” Himes exploded. “Are you drunk?” “With happiness, yes. - All my life I’ve wanted a white woman The thought sets me ~ wild. We Asiatics pay high for what we want and marriage is a cheap price for—Alice!?” — Miss Hart had risen with a strangled cry, but Sam leaped forward and clutched at her. ime “Let me go!” she gasped. “Never!” He drew her to him and his face was ablaze. “I’ll marry you today, this hour.” : “Let her go, d’you hear?” It was speaking, and he, too, had risen. But Sam ignored him, hoarsely he ran on: “T'll smother you with jewels, with love, passion!” “Let me—go, you beast!” Alice struggle her face distorted with loathing. “My arms are hungry for you. I’llmakeyou | Pia you’re white.” e] Himes seized the half-demented youth and flung him aside. “Alice! Wait!” the latter pleaded “Tf it’s these girls, I—I’ll send them away. find another home for them. I'll promise not to see them often. For heaven’s sake, don't — look at me like that! I’ll be good; I won't touch you until tonight. See! I’m calm! Tt | was only a frenzy at the feel of your flesh. I'll be your slave, this home will be yours, ri : choke it with the richest treasures.” Miss Hart had .ound he~ voice and hyste cally she reviled him. Himes was a him, too, but Sam only raved the louder: : “posture-girls” screamed and cowered. Ree Alice ended the scene by suddenly turning — and fleeing from the room. Himes followed het, cursing; he overtook her at the door to the steel stairway. She was sobbing and she cast ae terrified glances over her shoulder. oe When the pair had gone, Sam shouted to. Moy, saving: ““Open the windows, quickly, % and ait this place out.” The singsong girls, his Oriental slaves, i themselves upon the couch and rolled > SSSRBEES BE BS 8 SSR FS KSSe5. FS me ZEGCeRESS8 8 BPERSosee gSaSSPESS 288 RFE BE SHEEFRSES SEESSEES £22

Page 175

, 1929 ion in it” ht Carter ikers are > a Taven: of means of a con. -betweea, ‘tittered, ? ch things ywhere,” isly than , at the . Let's ling pea- > Himes 10? You it? She ” nee any r? You : forward rather!” | it, to the ueaks of . Gara irts with ry affec- to you.” 1. “Are ife I’ve sets me we want —Alice!” cry, but PT. eg his face s hour.” } ran on: | ve, with Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 yulsions of glee, and he joined in their re ter. One of them managed to gasp: , Mr. Lee, yess sal rised myself,” he admitted. ake I bound forward with a shout.’ ‘Posture-girls!’ He bought us in China. Wouldn’t that slay you, Iris? Do you mind if we tell Father and Mother?” _ “Of course not. It was nice of them to let you play in my comedy. Burlesque, rather. I wonder that those people swallowed it.” “Why, they swallowed every word.” The second girl was speaking now and wiping her eyes. “I thought I’d die when Hyacinth tried to play that banjo. And that opium!” “Yes; and what fun to wear these darling costumes,” the second sister agreed. “Will you permit me to send them around to home, along with the bracelets and the irpi and everything?” “ » ‘ ae re much too valu- able” .. . “Father wouldn't let us,” the girls protested. “I beg of you. They'll come in handy for some fancy-dress party at your school. I’m sure it would please your parents to see you in old Chinese dress. I shall apologize to them in person for bringing you into contact with a de- white woman, and now—could you ing yourselves to tackle that ceremonial repast which I ordered for my other guests?” “T'll say we could tackle it.” . . . “Gosh, I’m starving!” exclaimed the girls. Late that night Sam went alone to the house on Riverside Drive. le is not a nice word but the time came when Sam took a certain satisfaction in applying it to himself. He was indeed a rene. , a deserter, but he assumed no blame or inasmuch as he had been drummed out of his own camp for an offense of which he con- sidered himself guiltless. Harsh treatment had destroyed all his liking for, had perverted all his faith in, everything American, everything white, and having been fed forcibly on nothing but indignities, it pleased him now to give his self-styled superiors a taste of h’s diet. ‘ Of course there was precious little comfort to be had out of passively hating a whole race, but a good deal could be derived by actively venting his spleen against certain members of it. He was already at war with white men; his last experience with Alice Hart ‘nduced him to widen the scope of his hostilities so as to include white women. It struck him as unmanly and unbecom ng | to avenge himself upon the weaker sex as such, | and he did not undertake to do so, but the women he had known were, for the most part, mercenary, avaricious, depraved creatures and he took a malignant satisfaction out of exploit- ing them and exposing their vices. They pre- tended to scorn him, they shrank from his touch, but they did not scorn his money. All right, it was his cheapest possession; he ed to use it in humiliating them as they ocrecetin him. me a regular and an extravagant tron of the Oriental amusement places. He ume the prince of spenders. The girls did not interest him greatly, for they were ignorant, coarse-fibered creatures and the best of them Were conscienceless ters. Heretofore they had been able to handle their good-natured and excitable dance-hall partners about as they chose, but Sam did not permit to handle him in any such manner. Prompted by his example and aroused by his his fellow Asiatic amusement seekers took on the masterful ways of American men, with the result that the “clubs” and other Tesorts became nightmare places to the women. _Sam’s loyalty was wholly racial, he assured 1 , and yet for some reason it still angered to see white girls in bodily contact with owmen. It immeasurably degraded them, to his way of thinking. He tried to tell himself meget the opposite was true but here again his ided hi | on with his Western training, . prejudices. What ailed him, any- 195 Active Women of Today Are Free From the Handicap of Yesterday’s Hygienic Worries This new way provides absolute protection, besides ending forever the problem of disposal a + a) - EW women today still employ the hygienic methods of yesterday. There is now protection that is absolute—pro- tection that enables one to meet every day unhandicapped. Wear gayest gowns and sheerest frocks. Dance, motor, go about for hours in confidence and security. Protection women KNOW is real Kotex is more than a “sanitary pad”— it is scientific protection in the full sense of the term. (1) Kotex is the only sanitary pad in the world today filled with Cellucotton absorbent wadding, the super-absorbent of modern scientific attainment. Thus Kotex absorbs 16 times its own weight in moisture! Thus Kotex is 5 times as absorbent as the ordinary cotton pad! (2) Kotex is scientifically designed for safe and comfortable wear. It is scientifically measured to allow ample gauze covering and strong gauze ends for pinning. ait © X The New Sanitary Pad which deodorizes Use Super-size Kotex Fermerly g0c—Now 65c Super-size Kotex differs from Regu- lar Kotex only in giving the extra pro- tection of additional layers of Cellu- cotton absorbent wadding. Theadvan- tages in using it in connection with the Regular are thus obvious. Dispos- able the same way. Doctors and nurses consider it indispensable where extra protection is needed. At the new low price, you can easily afford to buy one box of Super-size to every 3 of Kotex Regular. Its extra layers of filler mean much in added comfort and security. (3) Kotex actively deodorises.* Years of scientific research were spent in de- veloping this obviously important factor. No laundry Kotex, too, ends for all time the problem of disposal. One uses it, then discards it —as easily as tissue. . Ask for them by name—Kotex Buy a box today ... comes in two sizes— the Regular and Kotex Super. 45c for a box of twelve (regular) at any drug, dry goods or department store; also obtain- able through vending cabinets in rest- rooms by West Disinfecting Co. Kotex Company, 180 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Illinois. *Kotex is the only sanitary pad that deodorizes by patented process. (Patent No. 1,670,587.)

Page 176

BETTY COMPSON applying Boncilla clasmic pack in prepara- tion for ber starring part in “Weary River” new First National romance. They wake up Then make up OVIE stars do not depend on make-up. The first step is to wake the skin, to clean it to the depths. For that they use Boncilla clasmic pack. Then come Boncilla creams and powders. That’s what beauty experts do. All the world over the clasmic pack is their first aid and their chief aid. No girl or woman ever looks her best without it. Try it tonight. It will bring a delightful surprise. Apply Bonciila clasmic pack to the face and neck. Feel it draw from the skin the dirt and grime, dead skin and hardened oil. Feel it draw the blood to the skin to nourish and revive it. Then wash it off and behold— A radiant skin, «An animated look, A clear, clean skin, cA soft, smooth skin. To girls multiplied beauty, to women new youth—and at once. The only way to such results is Boncilla clasmic pack. All toilet counters sell Boncilla clasmic pack, in sizes from $3.50 to 50c. Or, if you wish to try before you buy, send coupon for a one-week test. It will be a revelation. This is the supreme help to beauty. You cannot afford to omit it. Get it, or clip cou- pon now. Professional treatments at smart beauty and barber shops CLASMIC PACK Re eee ne ee ee ORO ee ere [ Cos — 3-29 FOR BEAUTY BOX'! | BONCILLA—Indianapolis, Ind. Mail me a one-week treatment of Boncilla with | the two creams and face powder which go with it—four samples. I enclose a dime. | Name | Address nn nie sas ean pf iline atesiisinataiil The occasional marriages, of which he heard, actually shocked him; here was a positive ab- were rapacious, unmoral and wholly undeserv- ing of wifehood; nevertheless he felt something akin to compassion for them. Miscegenation meant ostracism: their own people scorned them, as did their husbands’ people. They be- came mere legalized concubines. And what about the children issuing from such unions? He asked this question of a Filipino one night and received information that amazed him. Yes, children were a problem, especially among men whose pay was small. But for- tunately, there was a simple way to get around that. Many Filipinos, and Japanese, too, had their white wives sterilized. Sam stared at the speaker uncomprehend- ingly. Oh, it was easily done It was an ex- pensive operation, but cheap in the long run, for it enabled the wive. to go on with their work. Consent? Sam’s informant laughed. The women never knew what was going to happen to them: they were merely sent to a certain hospital on some pretext and when they came out from under the ether it was all over. So, this racial repugnance which the white people jealously cherished recoiled upon certain of their own. Vice did not prosper them; greed, indolence, depravity led them into deeper sin and the race suffered. Good! It served them right. 2 was in full swing, excitement | was high in the place on the Drive one night | when Moy sought his employer. This was | not Moy’s night off and Sam was surprised to | see him, but the Korean explained that he had | been forced to come. A gentleman had called up Sam’s house on the telephone an hour or so before and had in- sisted upon speaking with him. Moy had said that his honorable boss was meditating and could not permit his thoughts to be disturbed. Then he had politely hung up. But the stranger had called him back again, not once but repeatedly, and had made bDlas- phemous remarks about Sam’s meditations. Moy had told him to go to the devil. After a lapse of time the person had appeared in the flesh; he had stormed into Sam’s house, with strident demands for immediate audience with the owner on a matter of life and death. Moy had then admitted the truth that Mr. Lee was not at home. But the person had roared louder. He had finally given Moy a hundred-dollar bill and begged him immediately to lead the way to his employer. He was below at this instant. “Who is he?” Sam inquired. Moy looked blank. American names were so outlandish. Sam rose and went downstairs. In the ball- room, staring with amazement and incredulity at the scene before him, stood Albert Wagner. His face was haggard. When Sam spoke to him he started; he mumbled a hoarse apology at intruding. His expression was one of min- gled loathing and entreaty as he said: “T’ve been looking all over—— I’ve got to see you alone.” “T assume it must be something important.” “Alanna’s sick. Terribly sick. She—she’s calling for you.” Sam closed his eyes. Through the blaring of horns, the din of frenzied voices, the scuffling of feet he heard Wagner iraploring him, ‘For heaven’s sake, come with me! It won’t take long. Hurry, please! I’m afraid she’s—dying.” On legs that threatened to give way under him Sam followed the older man down and out into the street. A car was waiting and into this they hurried. Sam inquired through numb lips, “What has happened? Why does she want to see me? What can I do?” “She doesn’t know: she’s calling for you. She’s delirious. Rest assured I’d never have looked you up if it wasn’t necessary! It came hard, I can tell you. But I’ll pay you liberally; you can have—anything.” Wagner was too distracted to note the sudden stiffening of his passenger. Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 19 normality, as he saw it. The women, of course, : Sam spoke in an icy tone. “Don’t torture yourself. I don’t like you any better than yoy - like me.” ea “Oh, I don’t mean to offend you, but—yoy know how it is! I merely want you to stand that she doesn’t know what she’s doje When people are out of their minds like that they’re liable to—to do anything. That's what the doctor says.” “You'd better tell me what happened to her.” “T don’t know exactly. She’s been hitti it up, running wild, for months. I couldn’t a thing with her. I just—worried. I s she wore out, burned up; anyhow, she col lapsed, all of a sudden. That was several ago. I didn’t think much of it at first, ~ course I got the best doctors, and a couple of | nurses. Some time yesterday she began—er— somehow your name popped into her mind, It stuck there. Not that it means anything” “T understand.” ‘‘Well, the nurses began to ask who Sam Lee was, and if I couldn’t get hold of him just to quiet her. She doesn’t know what she’s sayi any more than a parrot; she hasn’t mental your name in months. Anyhow, the doctor seemed to think—— I—lI’m acting on his orders, sée? He said he often had to humor people with brain fever, give ’em what they wanted. Sometimes they call for people they scarcely know. Just a sick fancy.” Ina sudden fury of resentment Wagner cried: “Believe me, it was a bitter dose! i down to Chinatown! dance-hall to another. You’ve got even with me for what Alanna did to you. Here I am asking a favor of you. It’s hell, that’s whatit is.” Wagner leaned forward and took his head in his hands. j Sam spoke, as coldly as before. “P‘an-ku built the universe in fifty-one stories. i three are heavens and eighteen are hells.” “Huh? What?” “You have touched only the uppermost hell, I’ve been through all of them.” For a while the two rode in a silence broken only by an occasional incoherency from the father and by his heavy breathing. ‘Tonight's the crisis. The doctor says——” “So! You let it go as long as you dared.” — Oblivious of Sam’s words and his tone Wag- — ner talked on: “_. through till morning she’ll be all right. Or if we could get her to rest; to quit mutter © ing, even for an hour or so. They don’t know who you are—the doctor and the nurses,1 | mean, and I didn’t tell ’em.” “Don’t worry: I won’t tell them, either, And you needn’t fear that I’ll presume when she recovers. I appreciate your embarrass ment and I shall try not to add to it.” Wagner was plainly relieved, but the next instant he broke out in a panic, “She’s all I’ve got. I can’t lose her. I—I’ll pay you any: thing, Lee. I’ll bless your name.” “How can a hand be raised in blessing if itis filled with gold?” the younger man inquired A nurse met the two men as they entered the Wagner suite; she said there had been no change, she and the father left Sam alone Fiom the direction in which they had gone came a voice which the younger man did not at first recognize as Alanna’s. It was throaty, flat; it droned along monotonously. Sam strained his ears but he could make out n0 words, all he could hear was an expressionless, unceasing rivulet of sound, the very quality of which affrighted him. _ The nurse reappeared, after a few minutes, and beckoned to him; on tiptoe he followed her down a short hall and into a bedchamber, Near the window a doctor and a second nurse were whispering with Albert Wagner; whe Sam appeared the doctor moved to the bedside and spoke in a natural voice. “Here he is, Miss Wagner. Mr. Lee. Don’t worry any more: he has come to see you. Sam Lee! Don’t you under He’s right here in the room.” The sick gil continued to mutter. e Sam’s breath lay still in his lungs, he gazed at the flushed face on the pillow, a prey ee Chasing you from one ~ Alanna! Hereis Lon) BESBSesS B88 SEE _ Se2O8Er2 se

Page 177

tions suitable only for his soul to experience ar for the gods to see. Anguish and compas- sion peered from his eyes. se At a motion from the physician he moved forward to the latter’s side, but Alanna did not ize him; her lips babbled; her expression- less stare was sertitving. As the doctor ran on, repeating Sam’s name over and over, the i HT frowned in a troubled manner, her hands moved restlessly. Sam lifted one of them in his and it burned him. ae ; «S to her,” the physician directed. “Perhaps the sound of your voice——” “Alanna!” Nothing is more appalling than a vacant mind: the total blankness in Alanna’s glassy, unfocused eyes invoked a terrible fear in the speaker and a desperate yearning to aid her. His voice issued strongly but tenderly from his aching throat. “Alanna! Wake up, O Thousand Pieces of Gold! I’m here and your hand is in mine. Don’t worry any more, Alanna! Sam is here.” Her hot fingers closed over his and pul'ed weakly at them; she uttered a peevish com- int. One of the nurses whispered: ’ “She wants him to hold her. Put your arms around her, Mr. Lee.” Sam turned a white, tortured face towards the father, who closed his eyes and nodded. “Your pardon,” the young man said. Alanna’s head rolled, she cried out fretfully and lifted her arms. Sam bent lower and they encircled his neck, he felt her feverish cheek touch his. Promptly he forgot everything else. A wave of tenderness swept over him; gently he seated himself on the edge of the bed and took her to his breast. He murmured to her in a tone softer than any caress and she breathed a sigh of contentment, her lids closed. The nurse who had spoken before whispered: “Hold her as long as you can, and keep talk- ing to her. It’s the first time in twenty-four hours that her tongue has stopped. Don’t let her begin again. It burns out her vitality.” It is doubtful that Sam heard the admonition. In the agony of this heart-break, he and Alanna were alone. Dazedly he asked himself what punishment was this that the gods had put upon him. Were they utterly implacable? But thoughts of himself were less than momentary; this suffer- ing wisp of a creature in his arms was being tor- tured, too; she had endured flames hotter than his. Pity dissolved him. Poor little scorched wild rose! Brave little white rose! She had faced the fire until it withered her; she drooped now and perished for the dew. She found cool- ness only in his touch. Punishment? This was no punishment it was reward! Do not the spirits who dwell in perpetual bliss envy man his pain? The com- passionate gods had smiled upon him finally, they had given him his hour. Yes, and they given him work to do. Heedless of listening ears, he spoke to those that were deaf and some faint echo of his voice must have reached the wandering mind of the sick girl, for it paused. She harkened. The doctor and the nurses apprehensively and yet with growing relief looked on. ina had strayed a long way and she was very tired. Sam strove to rouse her, to lead her back. It was a task, however, almost beyond his power. Realizing her desperate need for aid, he called upon his father and his gods for help. He was not aware of praying: in reality it was less a prayer that he uttered than a cry fo. assistance—a Chinese cry—and certainly it was unlike any prayer these other people had ever heard. He spoke to the girl and through her to that benevolent person who had never failed him in his hours of want; he called to the Powers beyond. He implored Kwan Yin-ko, Goddess of Mercy, the one celestial being who is faultless, to show compassion to this child as she had shown it to that little girl-goddess long, long ago when China was young. _In.a way Sam was repeating that story he told Alanna, striving thereby to arouse her sleeping memory. Like Wilful she was lost and «tying for her home; she was bruised and faint Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929

Are your children awed by your gray hairs? Your growing-up children need you terribly. Do gray hairs and a consequent air of age keep you apart from them? Then you owe it to them to use NOTOX. It will help you to stay young with your family. The very nicest women use Inecto Rapid NOTOX. It is a scientific hair coloring which has no relation at all to crude, old-fashioned dyes and restorers. They coat the hair with a dull uniform paint. NOTOX isa hair coloring agent formulated on an entirely different principle. It replaces the color inside the hair shaft where the natural pigment grew. and so leaves the hair surface with all its natural healthy shine. The effect of NOTOX< is so entirely natural that you could use it without telling if you wished; most women boast of it because they are so happy to be rid of gray hairs. You Or write us for the name of a recom- You may use NO- er as pga Ratt can do anything to Notoxed hair that you do to normal (so nr 4 ci t . . . x iieun Snsehdives “Y — hair—wash it in hot, cold, hard, soft, fresh or salt water, apply NOTOX. fe depastment stores. sun it or steam it, wave it or permanently wave it. you. Colors hair inside as nature does Mfd. by Inecto, Inc., 38 West 46th St., N.Y. and by Notox, Ltd., 10 McCaal St., Toronto, Canada—Harold F. Ritchie & Co., Inc., N. ¥. © 1929, Inecto Sales Representatives Whooping | Cough

A condensed set of health rules—many of which may be easily followed right in your own home, or while traveling. You will find in this little book a wealth of information about food elements and their relation to physical welfare. Control Your Weight Without For ears Vapo-Cresolene has re- | lieved the’ Sasostcls. got v0 ing Cough. |

Use it tonight and save the child from Drugs or Tiresome Exercises wracking cough. Cresolene is widely used | Effective weight control diets, acid sas and blan ets, laxative an ood- ra Cou vo, ronchitis, ] building diets, "and diets used in pas) i Sold the correction o various chronic - - = by maladies. The book is for FREE and Bronchia sor circulation. Not a mail order ad- Asthma. druggist vertisement. Name and address on card will bring it without eost or obligation. ist 107? } Health Extension Bureau Send for descriptive booklet. 224 Good Health Building, Battle Creek,Michigan Vapo-Cresolene Co., Dept. 463, 62 Cortlandt St., N. Y. C.

Page 178

198 a The toilet, too, can 1peer Friends coming for the week-end ... or an evening of bridge . clean towels in the bathroom . .. fresh soap.... Oh! If that toilet were not so stained and discolored. Sani-Flush can clean it ... almost in a moment make it sparkle! Just sprinkle a little Sani-Flush into the toilet bowl, following direc- tions on the can. Then flush, stains and incrustations disappear. Foul odors are banished, for Sani-Flush reaches the hidden, unhealthful trap. Sani-Flush leaves the toilet spar- kling. It is harmless to plumbing connections. Use it frequently. Keep a can handy all the time. Buy Sani-Flush at your — drug or hardware store, 25c. In Canada, 35c. Sani-Flush Cleans Closet Bowls’ Without Scouring Tue Hycrenic Propucts Co. Canton, Ohio Also makers of Melo . . . a real water softener High School s Course in 2 Years This seniitet. complete High School Course—specially prepared for home study by leading me Lats cane hore all require- ments for entrance to college, business, and 20 Offer on oe eet rect Doar 290 ected Sagineers, Pus. aemeytre nape Courses siaeclinace iste = Lo) haps School, Dept. #314, Drexel tn. ead “Séth St., Chicago Bend me full information on the subject checked and how you will heip me win success in that line. wwe Architect w.Blectrical Engineer «ee Buliding Contractor .-...@eneral Education os. Automobile Engineer owes Lawyer .--Civil Engineer «Mach. Shop Practice Structural Engineer «+. MechanicalEngineer cond Business Manager os. Steam Engineer even Ce P, A. & Auditor Sanitary & Heating ene Bookkeeper oo. Surveyor & Mapping ow Draftsman & Designer a. High Scheel Graduate Name | Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 but she was young, and her runaway journey was atanend. The gentle goddess had woven, for her bleeding feet, another bridge of bright- winged birds and butterflies. Kwan Yin-ko! China! Girl-goddess! The physician and the nurses exchanged startled glances. They stared at Sam with a new and fascinated interest. Albert Wagner huddled in a chair, his elbows on his knees, his face hidden. He knew now, beyond all doubt, what had driven Alanna to this extremity and the most terrible part of it was that Sam Lee knew, too. This China boy! This yellow man! She was lying on his breast. Smiling! At rest! He was coaxing her back, helping her along the path. But—the fellow was an out- cast, a leper. He smelled of the pit. An hour ago he had been holding other white women in his arms—despicable harpies! Alanna’s face touching his! Feebly the father rocked his body. Now and then Sam spoke in Chinese: that was when his mind, his boy-mind, uncon- sciously sought the deep-cut channels fashioned in his youth. He talked feverishly, continu- ously; he dared not stop, for he knew now, as did the others, that the sound of his voice was the one, the only thread to which this girl clung. It was thin and it was strained to the snapping- point. Alanna’s body lay quiet enough, but Sam was aware that her mind was a long way off and unable to grope its way back unaided. It was dark out there; she was over the hill and she heard him only faintly. In his love alone could she find stimulat’on and so, in a thousand ways, he to'd her of it He called to her tenderly as his Silver Tulip, his Priceless Vase of Sat uma, his Exquisite Fragrance of Hyacinth. She was the flesh and the soul of his desires. Her vo'ce was the laughter of tinkling si ver be'ls stirred by the joyous wind. This was the poet-mind of an an- guished Chinese lover speaking now. He summoned the spir t of Lee Ying f-om its bamboo groves beside the bright celestial streams and implored it to ‘ead this truant Wilful back to earth. Sam had never dreamed that the chance would come to voice his yearnings; he knew them to be futile but like the nightingale that pierced its bosom with a thorn when it sang ‘ts love-song, hs ecstasy at this moment was greater than his pain. The younger of the two nurses, the one who had directed Sam to take Alanna in his arms, listened intently. She thought it al very beautiful and affecting. Here was romance and tragedy; and how he loved her! It is every woman’s dream to be loved like that. Surrep- titiously the nurse blew her nose. A cons derable time passed, then the docto1 spoke cheerfully to Albert Wagner, saying: “Well, I th nk I’ll pop off to bed. I’m pretty well done up. She’s sleeping and there’s noth- ing more to worry about. You'd better get some rest, too.” An hour later when Sam left the sick-room he found Alanna’s father waiting for him. Wagner mumb‘ed certain awkward words of gratitude, but he received a wintry smile. “Don’t thank me, sir. What little I did was not done for you.” “All the same, you’ve got to let me show my appreciation. I can’t stand obligation. I’d go crazy owing you for—for a thing like this. You’ve got me down, with my face in the dirt. I'll give you every dollar I’ve got.” Sam winced, then his face hardened unpleas- antly. ‘Money! Money! It buys every- thing, doesn’t it? It makes everything easy. Well, I can afford to pay as high as you, so let’s make a bargain. I'll give you all I’ve got for Alanna! That hurts, eh?” “That’s not the point. You misunderstand me.” Wagner struggled to express himself. “T can’t bear to be indebted to anybody, and to you of all persons.” The speaker smote his hands together and began to curse impotently. ‘* ‘He who gives you a serpent when you ask | for a fish may have nothing but serpents to give.’”” Sam uttered the quotation evenly but , of a sudden his voice changed, it grew exultant. “She’s asleep at last. She has come home, . J brought her back. J, the man you despise, She wanted me! Do you think you can pay me * He ga the door and passed out, when Alanna awoke; that e for that?” It was* daylight young, romantic-minded nurse was in the “Gee! I feel as if I’d been awfully sick,” the girl said faintly. “You have been sick, dear, but you’re all right now.’ “T had the most—wonderful dream.” “Yes, a wonderful, a beautiful dream. But we won’t talk about it yet. Go to sleep again, if you can.’ Alanna wondered drowsily why there were tears in the nurse’s eyes. Eileen Cassidy arrived home one evening, late for dinner, and as she scurried up to her room her mother called after her. “Change your dress, dearie, onc coming after supper.” “Who is it, Ma?” ‘Never mind. Put on that new blue and look your best. Make haste, for I want to ~ clear off the table and everything’s ‘getting cold. pe course you'd be late the one time I’m ina u Eileen slipped out of her street dress, scrubbed her face and hands, then put on the “new blue thing,” muttering the while. Callen! Of course they’d have callers tonight. A hard day at the office brought visitors as sure as hot weather brought rain. “Sorry I’m late but I had to go uptown after I quit work,” she explained when she seated herself at the supper table. “‘Who’s coming, and why? I'll bet it’s some of the family.” — “Your cousin Peter. Daly is in town.” “Peter Daly? My cousin? Who is Peter Daly?” - ce “Well, my cousin,” Mrs. Cassidy said; “Peter went West before you were born. He was here this afternoon and he’s coming back to see Dan and you and Jim.” “‘He’ll have to wait up late if he sees Jim. I haven’t seen him in a week.” “T remember Peter well,” Mr. Cassidy an- nounced. ‘He was on the force in Frisco the last I heard of him.” “TIsn’t it funny that we never hear from our relat ves while they have jobs? He must bein dire need, to look us up. Gee! Ma can farther West for her kinsfolk and dig up sorriest specimens——”’ “‘Peter’s a prosperous man,” the mother as- serted. visit and he’s sailing tomorrow.” “Ticket all bought?” “Of course. He’s a——” “Glory be! What a relief to meet one “i : car-fare. He’s the first one to claim ki with us until driven by want. Usually i ‘Hello, Dan! Hello, Sheila! You’rea eee sore eyes, the both of you. How long since we ” saw you? Twenty years? Tse! Tse! And us living on the next street all that time.’ Ten minutes of Irish folk-lore and then the family prayer, ‘Give us this day our Daly bread.’ Cassidy and the Daly blood is thicker than glue. Take it from me, if Cousin Peter has a dollar in his pocket, he borrowed it.” Mrs. Cassidy was offended; she rebuked ber. daughter. “And who are you to be so s Where would we be if——-?_ And by the vay, that’s a thing I want to speak about. M Daly, God rest him, was Peter’s first cousin he knew him better than I did. I was aes about our good luck and he——”’ “About our legacy?” “Exactly. He thought I was kidding him and he laughed his head off.” “We should worry about Peter’s sense of humor.” Eileen spoke with her mouth full. “He declares Malachy died stone broke.” “Humph! It’s our turn to laugh.” “He says there’s something queer about that money. I never could understand it, m with me a total stranger to Malachy, might say. Peter swears Malachy never id up a doilar in his life.” “What’s his idea? Does he think theret “He’s on his way back ito Ireland fora The | BE Fook Exe Bogs Foe

Page 179

Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 19209 Q) some mistake?” Dan Cassidy asked her. “Mistake nothing!” Eileen cut in sharply. “Banks don’t make mistakes except in their own favor.” : WES “J don’t know. He worried me with his talk. I made him promise to come back and see u, Dan. Wouldn’t it be our luck if it wasn’t my cousin Malachy at all and if there’s an- other Sheila Cassidy? God forgive me for such thoughts! And yet tho-e letters from the bank ecPeter would do well to mind his own busi-. ness,” said Cassidy, with a frown. ‘Malachy may have played the races, for all he knows.” Eileen nodded vigorously. “Sure! Or maybe he ran a little cutting plant in his basement. Just a case a day to keep the do-tor away. Wait! Don’t speak. I’m thinking. Oh, my Lord! I'll bet he’s right. I know he’s right!” “To you, now?” her mother exploded. “You read the past, the present and the future, don’t you? Why don’t you open a palm-reading parlor, Madam Thebes?” “Don’t call me smart: I’m not even bright. Gee, I’ve got a head like a hammer.” The speaker rose and rushed from the room; her parents heard her at the telephone. “Well, Cousin Peter said something. He bears out my opinion of relatvies,” Eileen pro- claimed when she returned to the dining-room. “Now don’t get excited; it’s all right. I started to call Sam Lee but I knew he wouldn’t tell me anything so I called Mr. Carter.” “T heard you asking something about Lee | - Ying. You don’t mean——?.” “T do. I was a fool not to guess, but I made Mr. Carter tell me.” “Lee Ying!” The father was astounded. “That old Chinaman!” the mother gasped. “God rest his soul! He was always doing something nice.” In much excitement Eileen explained, “I happened to think it was fifty thousand dol'ars those blackmailers tried to nick him for, and how he asked me a million questions about the family—your people, and everything—and it came over me in a flash. There’s Chinese gratitude for you! Dear, generous Lee Ying.” Alanna Wagner should have been completely cured of her breakdown by this time, but she was not. Her strength returned slowly and she could not manage to take interest in anything; in consequence she was a very real source of worry to her father. He had purposely avoided all reference to the happenings on that night when her illness had reached its crisis, for he did not like to recall them and he prayed devoutly that they never would become known to her, therefore he was immensely dismayed when she langu dly told him one day that she considered it a pretty mean trick on Sam Lee’s part to bring her back to life after she had so agreeably passed out. It would have been so much simpler, she said, to let the chapter end right there than to strug- gle on with it to an anticlimax, drinking quarts of milk and eating nauseating foods just be- cause they were nourishing. Sooner or later it would all be to do over again, anyhow. Wagner learned by judicious questioning that one of the nurses had let her tongue wag, so he discharged her and determined to have a heart-to-heart talk with his daughter as soon a8 it was safe to do so. In that conversation he promised himself to be ruthless and frank, to make an end of this affair, once for all. an opportunity occurred this evening. n discussing plans for the future and for once Alanna appeared to be in a pliant and an agreeable mood; she assured him of her TIME KNOWS THREE WAYS TO WITHER THE BEAUTY OF YOUTH aa begins to look old as soon as one of these three tragedies Lt occurs: when tiny criss-cross lines give her smooth throat a crepy texture, when a drooping underchin spoils the clean-cut contour line of youth, or when lines and wrinkles deepen at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Those three warning marks show unmistakably that a woman’s beauty is beginning to fade and grow old, no matter how young she may be in actual years. It was Dorothy Gray who discovered the first three signs of age, and who evolved simple scientific treatments and preparations for preventing and correcting them. These treatments have long proved tremendously successful in the Dorothy Gray salons. If you prefer to follow the treat- ments in your own home you can readily do so, for the same preparations used in the Dorothy Gray salons may be had at leading shops everywhere, and the Dorothy Gray method is clearly explained in the booklet which this coupon brings you. © D. G. 1929 DOROTHY GRAY Six Eighty Three Fifth Avenue, New York DOROTHY GRAY C. 3-29 683 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK ; Please send me the new Dorothy Gray booklet, “Your Dowry of Beauty.” I am particularly interested in: O) The Treatment for Lines and Wrinkles 0 The Treatment for Double Chin 0 The Treatment for Relaxed Muscles and Crepy Throat. Willingness to do anything or to go anywhere he ished y 4 go anyw _ He began, atte a few well-rehearsed pre- , ries leading up to the subject, by assur- 7 ing her that he realized exactly how matters Salons in stood between her and Sam Lee. He was deep- CHICAGO LOS ANGELES ly sympathetic, but it was a hopeless situation SAN FRANCISCO WASHINGTON Name must make up her mind to face it. Add na listened with a faint glow in her dark SALAS OOEE 6g. Gan a care ea eyes. “Um-m! You've finally decided to City operate, eh, doc?” Then, when he raised his

Page 180

200 Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 10% A dis Lighted Dowin Vitex OF ches hess - and in Such aShort tune by the Health 0 Meter LENDERNESS, grace, a . figure youthfully slim— Jlenderizing System allcanso easily beyoursif you will but followthe Health-O-MeterSlenderizingSystem that not only takes off weight but will enable you to take off weight in spots. This System, originally based on the famousWeight Control Conference held at the N. Y. Academy of Medicine, has been ampli- fied by later research in reducing the size of definite areas of the body, has the approval of physicians and the en- thusiastic endorsement of hundredswho have followed it. derizing y TY ogram i Pr li IF IIR NOTHING Th) Bt : ae Mailing the coupon below brings you this Program free. Following it will easily, pleasantly enable you to take off 5 to 50 pounds —to reduce your hips, waist, whatever desired—to regain symmetrical loveliness of body—to enhance your health and vigor. The Health-O-Meter System of reducing and slenderizing is the simplest, most scienti- fic and surest method known, and is absolutely safe. THIS PROGRAM will be sent you free by the makers of the Health-O-Meter Bath- HEALTH-O- ETER room Scale, an indispensable aid in reduc- cdutomatic Bathroom Scales ing easily and an expected feature in the CONTINENTAL SCALE WORKS | perfectly appointed bathroom. No bath- ; Dept. 36C 5703 S. Claremont Ave., Chicago ! room is complete without a Health-O- 1 Gentlemen: Please send me, without cost or ; Meter Automatic Bathroom Scale. : obligation, copy of your Slenderizing Program. For sale by all leading department, drug, tate hardware and physicians’ supply stores : | CONTINENTAL SCALE WORKS {| 4édress_ 5703 S. Claremont Ave. Chicago,Ill. | 1 City State u Choose “ Instrument AeBio Professionals Use er we a ‘Our method of Oil painting Portraits, d fgets cette iE Watton. 10! ice, e or - let. ‘Orial Art ¥ . A.C. ef rial Art Studios, inc., A. C., Ready to Build? Send for the Bennett Book of Beautiful Homes “I am happy to say that all the musicians in my present band use True-Tone Instruments” Ii you are interested in a musical instrument, you should buy the make the big professionals use—the Buescher True-Tone. They are the very finest instruments it is ible to buy, and have improved features no other instruments possess. Yet, they cost no more, > ’ Vv t ws Please send me the 90-page Bennett Book. Free 6 DAYS’ TRIAL Yor ensct.. only in Obio, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Saxophone, Trumpet, Trombone, Clarinet and New England. Elsewhere $1.00. or other instrument on trial, and if satisfactory, pay Name Bennett Homes, 939 Main St., North Tonawanda, N.Y. for it on easy monthly terms. Write your name and address | and instrument in which you are interested on margin and | BO TR cha esa ae plo ak Kd.e kek wages Vike mail for free illustrated booklets and prices. (507) WU GUE TEES sie kok oc 2 See hese eecaaectsons cig | Am interested in house............ eee kesh | Buescher Band Instrument Co. 2707 Buescher Block Elkhart, brows, “Oh, I’ve seen you scrubbing Up ani getting ready for days. You're going to cy clean and deep and either kill or cure me, - that it? Well, where’s the ether cone?” “Call it an operation, if you like. You muy know it’s utterly impossible to go on like thi. There’s absolutely nothing to be done ay = merely making yourself miserable by rooding over the fellow.” _ “Something could be done,” she told hip — “Gf I had the courage of a whippog. “What?” “Precious jellyfish, I could shut my and marry him. I wish I had the grit, but- jellyfish don’t have grit, do they?” “You couldn’t even do that, not after what I’m going to tell-you. I hate to shock and ds. appoint you, and it sounds awfully to say he isn’t worthy of you, but it’s try He’sarotter. He’sa dissolute, dissipated— “Darling! You tempt me to defy the world” “I got the surprise of my life that night] went looking for him. I always figured he had some pride and decency; I assumed he was Chinese gentleman, but he isn’t. D’you know where I found him? Ina rotten Filipino dane. hall! The most terrible place I ever saw.” “Yes? Where? Tell me about it.” Wagner acceded willingly enough to this m quest; in considerable detail he described not only that “hell-hole” on Riverside Drive, ashe called it, but also the other haunts he had ys ited in company with Sam’s valet. The pictur he painted was vivid enough; Alanna listens with interest. When he had finished sk astounded her father by saying: “Poor Sam!” “Poor Sam’! Good heavens, he needs m sympathy! He’s having a wild time with thos white girls. White girls! And yellow ma! Imagine it. That filthy joint sickened me, | never saw anything so disgraceful, so vile.” “T wonder if it’s any worse than some I'r been in. Have you seen those black-and-tam. in Harleni?” Pa “Never. What are they?” : “Colored dance-halls. They’re quite th smart thing and everybody goes.” “Did you go?”’ Wagner gasped. At Alanna’s nod he swore colorfully and with eloquence until she exclaimed, “Naughty, naughty words! Remember I’m still you daughter and blasphemy is horrifying to oned my age. Yes,” vent everywhere, tried every thing, but it u.un’t work. Sam’s doing tk same; I know all about him. I hear every dy. Now don’t jump at conclusions. I havent spoken to him and I don’t intend to.” “Then how——?” “He asked a friend to telephone the nuns every day and report to him on my conditi He couldn’t do any less, could he? Well! got her on the wire finally—she’s a girl he grew up with—and we’ve become good was here to see me this afternoon. I thi in love w:th him, too, so we have plenty total about.” After a moment Wagner said more calmly: “I’m awfully sorry, dear. You don’t knowho miserable it makes me to see you f But what are we going to do about it? Not ing. I wish I could help you break the thi up, but——” = “J broke it up once, in the only way sible,” Alanna smiled forlornly, “but you a Sam spoiled it. Let’s not talk any morea it. Run along, now, and amuse youl Please! I’m tired and I’d rather be a Honestly!” # “Very well.” Wagner stooped and Kis the thin, listless face of his daughter. “Tdi to help you fight it out if I could, and if let me. You're all I care about and I'd everything I have to see you happy. ¥! hurt—awfully hurt—and I’d kill anybody dared to hurt you, but—I’m helpless.” For a while Alanna tried to read but the Da was heavy. Her eyelids were heavy, t00;4 her brain was weary. She was tired and yet the doctor pronounced her well. £ stupid doctors were. Fixed despondency # ex ret a f geeaee Bs f Toe ||)6C l= |RSS

Page 181

ing up an Oing to ey ure me, ne?” . You muy on like this > done anj riserable by 1e told 2 whippar ut my eyes grit, but~ t after what ock and dis y hackneye ut it’s true, ipated—" , the world,” hat night I ured he had od he wasa D’ you know ipino danee. r saw.” it. ” h to this rm. scribed not Drive, as he “he had vs The pictur inished she Mothers -TryMila : 9 Children’s Musterole Just Rub Away Pain Of course, you know good old Musterole; how quickly, how easilyitrelieves chest colds, sore throat, ic and neu- ralgic pain, sore joints and muscles, stiff neck and lumbago. We also want you to know CHILDREN’S MUSTEROLE =Musterole in milder form. Unexcelled for relief of croupy coughs and colds; it pen- etrates, soothes and relieves without the blister of the old-fashioned mustard plaster. Keep a jar handy. It comes ready to apply instantly, ee fuss or bother. MUSTEROLE STEROL Better than a mustard plaster _ Sell Tailoring Earn Big Money Sell Gibson fine made-to-order all wool suits at $23.50 and $31.50, direct to wearer. Regular $40 and $55 ~alues. Over hundred large size 6x9 cloth samples furnished to ambitious men who want to earn $100 weekly. Write W. Z. Gibson, Inc., 500 Throop St., Dept. C-632, Chicage safe relief WS ark SISTED { : On page 9 you Study Nursing yi 'i%s ticted Schools of Nursing of national reputa- tion. For information regarding schools in other locations write Cosmopolitan Educational Department 57th St. at Eighth Ave., New York City i ge Fed per pair Sa reeceatreries eerste, ees oo Spd They fit like a glove. Can be worn Gerany kind o: of without detection, ‘ou can note an te saatorence inshenses ankle we ghdreiuce wile you you sleep. orésr extra benefit cient i” EERE rare tote Send Ankle and Calf measure to DR. JEANNE C. WALTER Fith Avenue New York ofCape Breton, whatrayon is made of, the meaning of Hooverize, aerostat, etc., this “Supreme Authority” Dr us i Springfi Mera Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 hers, she assumed, not infrequently led to a permanent mental unbalance, and she should make an effort to shake it off. On the other hand, insanity might be a re lief: as a matter of fact, it would be rather nice to be pleasantly demented and have a com- fortable padded cell of her own. Padded in lavender. How useless of Sam to try to forget: she had been through all that. The thing to do was to keep on remembering until you went blooie and couldn’t think any more. Rotten luck for two people who had everything. Her telephone rang and with an effort she | lifted it. Eileen Cassidy was calling her but in such a flutter of excitement that Alanna did not at first recognize her voice. Even then it was hard to understand her. Speaking of insanity, this Cassidy girl was plainly cracked, mad as a hatter: there was no sense at all to what she was saying. A white man? Sama white man? The poor child was daft; hysterical, too, for her voice was shrill, she was laughing and choking and her words fairly piled up on the wire. Sam was not Lee Ying’s son! That old Chinese importer was not his father! No, Eileen was probably all right, it was her own reason that had fled. Alanna clung dizzily to the instrument; her mouth turned dry and she could utter nothing but broken sounds; her ears began to roar until she completely lost what was being said. Well! It didn’t take long to go giddy when a person started. A moment ago she had been sane enough, now she was in the midst of the most fantastic mental tumult. And yet the Cassidy girl was actually speaking; that was her voice; this telephone was cold and solid and she didn’t fee] at all strange in her head. She | was awake, right enough; the lights were burn- | ing, her heart was beating. It was beating ter- ribly, as a matter of fact, but otherwise she was perfectly normal. “Wait! Please!” she managed to gasp. “I | don’t understand. Say it over again, slowly.” “Sam is an adopted child, or practically that. Anyhow, he isn’t Lee Ying’s son.” “T can’t believe it. How do you know?” “Tt’s the strangest thing. No wonder you think I’m raving. Well, a relative of Mother’s came to see us tonight, he’s here now. His name is Daly, Peter Da y, and he knew your ‘ather when he was a police inspector in San Fran- cisco. You see, Lee Ying came from there and Cousin Peter knew him, too. He says Sam was a foundling. Lee Ying picked him up on his doorstep. There’s no mistake about it. That explains everything, doesn’t it? I mean about Sam’s looks and——- Hello! Hello!” “Ves,” “Did you hear?” “T think so. What does he say—Sam? Why hasn’t he told me?” “He doesn’t know. I called his house a min- ute ago and he’s out. Then I called you.” “Are you—sure?” Good heavens, yes! “About the news? That’s why I’m so frantic to find him tonight. Peter’s sailing the first thing in the morning and it would be dreadful if——- Sam’s off hitting it up somewhere, I suppose. No telling when he’ll be back. He ought to know right away.” “Yes. Yes, of course. Father must know, too. Could you come up here right away and tell him? I—I’m shaking so I can’t hold on. Oh, Miss Cassidy, p-please come!” “Why, sure. Now, don’t let go of yourself. Stop it! Wait till I get there and we'll cry together . . . We’ll find Sam somehow. It all came out because Lee Ying left some money to Mother and we were telling Cousin Peter. Oh, it’s too wonderful!” Alanna did not remember who had the last word because for once she completely lost con- trol of her emotions; she laughed and she cried, she stuttered and she choked. That mental upheaval did not last long, but it served to galvanize her into something like her old self and she began to dress for the street almost before she realized why. Tears were still flowing and she was talking aloud when she faced her mirror and pulled her hat down. Sam was white! This nightmare had ended. She’d this New Powder that gives your skin a Milk Bath You can make every touch of your powder uff a milk bath for new beauty, with | eels Milk Base Face Powder, science’s newest gift of loveliness to women. An ex- isitely fragrant, silken-soft, and clinging ins powder, it suffuses the skin with the elements of pure sweet milk, enriching beauty with nature’s essence ‘of glowing health. Send the coupon with your dealer’s name and get a trial box free. (Leading drug and department stores carry the full line of Zanadu Milk Base Toiletries.) AHALAIDY A. A. Vantine & Co., Inc., 71 Fifth Ave., N.Y. C. Please send me, absolutely free, your trial box of Zanadu Milk Bath Face Powder Name St. & No. City & State Dealer’s Name Dealer’s Addre«s Cc-3 Check shade : White [) Flesh] Natural] Brunette [(] Ochre dee ee 9 TT ea arden Book “T got them at Dreer’s,” is so often the answer, when you ask a neigh- bor the secret of his suc- / cess with Vegetables or Flowers. Our 1929 Gar- den Book will help you ! choose the best Seeds, Plants and Bulbs and tell } you how to grow them. A copy free if you mention ‘osmopolitan HENRY A. DREER 1306 Spring Garden Street Philadelphia, Pa.

Page 182

The Big Chance passed this Septic by 4) % promotion ignored, a newer, less deserving man stepped over his head into the big job. And he never knew why. Septics seldom know-— it comes onsograd- ually! Lessened vigor and energy, listless mind and dull eyes, often with tainted breath and un- pleasant body odors. These are the insiduous symptoms of a septic. The cause is deepseated—in the colon. Surface treatments will not neutralize the poisons ab- sorbed from semi-constipation by a septic system. Nor will soap and water correct it. Jnner cleanli- ness is necessary. Wastes lett in the system by only partial daily movements permeate the en- tire system with this toxic taint. But the remedy is simple: Nature is signaling her need of a tiny calcium wafer! Try This Five Day Test Unaware of their condition, thousands of men and women have been delighttully amazed at the newer, fuller life they found after a few days’ use of Stuart’s Calcium Wafers: Quickened energy, ready for any task! Mental alertness and s' ened perception! Breath and body free from odor! Calcium Wafers (Stuart’s) will work wonders for any septic. Try them. - FULL BOX FREE--~ Enough for full test—ample to prove the i value to you of Stuart’s calcium wafers—will be sent you, if you mail this coupon to the Stuart Co., Dept. C13, Marshall, Mich. Jame. i FO TE SEINE INES, smcappnorbeboneses | Town H= faithful work unrewarded, his earned At All Drug Stores: 10c or 60c sizes water a - a GRAY HAIR FREE—Test Safe Way to End THRow away messy, old-time, ‘“‘crude dyes.’’ They are dangerous and noticeable. Call back natural shade by clear, colorless liquid combed through hair. Does not wash off. Leaves hair live looking and lustrous. Keeps — to curl. May apply only to gray parts. ake amazing test. 1. Test on single lock. 2. Comb through gray parts. 3. Color returns. Few cents’ worth gives complete restoration. Get full-size bottle from druggist. He will re- turn every penny if not delighted. Or write for free test supply (give color of hair) to Mary T. Goldman Co., 346-CGoldman Bidg., St. Paul, Minn. MARY T. GOLDMANS Hair Color Restorer Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 find him. He was probably at that place on Riverside Drive and thanks to her father she knew exactly where it was. She must hurry! She’d snatch him away if she had to wreck the place. The dissolute wretch! The darling! Who were those female warriors who rode out and seized their men and brought them in across their saddles? Amazons! She was a bit weak in the legs and underweight for an Ama- zon, but that didn’t matter. She laughed un- certainly as she hurried down the hall to the elevator. A wobble-kneed Amazon. Gosh! What a kick Sam would get out of this! Her father’s circumstantial description of that Asiatic club enabled her to find it without | difficulty and she was admitted readily enough | when she arrived there. The smiling Oriental | on the door told her that Sam Lee was inside. From the floor above came a babel of voices and the sounds of a restless, moving crowd. There was a reception-room at the right of the entrance-hall, which was now used as a smoking-lounge. and there several undersized Filipinos were grouped around a white | girl. Alanna paused in the doorway and looked in; they turned eager faces towards her and when she moved on to the stairway a couple of them followed her. An orchestra started playing, the dancing floor was filled with couples when the visitor mounted to its level; she pressed forward until a Japanese in dinner clothes halted her. She rightly assumed him to be the manager. “Hello!” he said. ‘You desire seeing me?” “Yes. I’m looking for Sam Lee.” The fellow eyed her inquiringly. “Ah! You friend of Mr. Sam Lee? You acquainted of Mr. Sam Lee?” Alanna nodded impatiently, eagerly she scanned the moving throng. Her pursuers from the smoking-room were at her side now and both men were asking her to dance; she ignored them and spoke again to the manager: “T must see him at once. Tell me where he is. It’s a matter of importance. Quick! I’m in a hurry.” One of the Filipino boys addressed her seized her hand, slipped his arm about her and undertook to guide her into the revolving crowd. She resisted and escaped only to find herself in the embrace of his companion. “Let go, please,” she said. ‘I’m not dancing.” “What’s the matter you not dance?” queried the manager. “No other business is engaged here but dancing.” “T don’t feel like dancing. I must see——” “What you come here for? Maybe you rep- resenting police department? Everything here is conducted excellently.” “No, no! I’m a friend of Mr. Lee’s and I must speak to him.” “So? Well, I don’t see him tonight.” “But I’m sure he’s here. The man at the door just told me.” “Mr. Sam Lee is not here.” This conversation had been carried on not without difficulty, for Alanna’s Filipino ad- mirers were insistent and they continually in- terrupted her; other patrons, too, were at- tracted by her appearance, for she was pretty, she was young, she was new. There sprang up an eager rivalry for her favor. Alanna was accustomed to servility from Asiatic men, but these fellows were anything but servile, they were not even polite; they almost fought over her, and she was crowded this way and that. She began to feel utterly helpless and more than a little bit frightened. The proprietor was plainly suspicious of her and her appeals only evoked a shrug; then he made off. The handling of men never had been much of a problem to Alanna Wagner, she never had experienced the slightest difficulty in keep- ing the most impetuous of her acquaintances within bounds, but these were not men such as she had known. They were grimacing apes, repulsive jumping-jacks with grotesque yellow faces. They leered at her, pawed at her. No doubt they realized her bewilderment, and assumed she was some innocent who had brokenly but she disregarded him until he| | OF TIS BROS.& CO. fats DIAMONDS WATCHES CASFior CREDIT! WEDDING RINGS §& #g te, 024_The -'Elite’’ 18. Thess ~ 4 WATCH—14-K white gold ive Diamonds, “$9: ved gang Fancy ae Riviera: See anaenyer Wet ng ga fed oar Ce WE Aas ER 40 hours one ’ Gaia Aled 20-¥2. Oo, $55 7 — PE sigs Adjusted to somane, ise no det auseree* Ache. 3g All Railroad Watches sold on convenient credit terms, Ti THE NATIONAL JEWELERS LOFTS ieee New Kind 0/ Works Like Magic! At last! An Automatic, simple little can cpening machine for the home! Tlis revolutionary invention in only a fewshet months has banished old can openers from over 100,000 kitchens. And no wonder Imagine an amazing lifetime device tht holds the can and cuts out the top leaving can rim slick, smooth and clean. Just-twn a crank, that's all. Approved by Goo Housekeeping Inst., Modern Priscilla, ete. Write today for special introductory adve- tising offer. CENTRAL STATES MFG.CO. Dept. C-1262 4500 Mary Ave., St. Louis, Me. ave Your Feet When all else fails, end your suffer the AGENTS Men and Women make $6 to $12 an hour, full or spare time. Big, worth- while commis- aon 99 }**QUICK LUNCH A New Food for Your Dog Pure fresh meat combined with wholesome cereals and thoroughily cooked. Send 50¢ today for trial order of 3-1 lb. cans postpaid. i 4 Battle Creek Food Com 302 State Street, Battle Creek, while taking it,’’ says Fl Bd McElwee. We train beginners, 0M tical nurses, and mothers by fasclae® ing home-study method. Courses © dorsed by physicians. Open to men and women H 2° — a teenie = - t. creeds, years. oney-back agreement. CHICAGO SCHOOL OF NURSING Dept. 83 421 §. Ashland Boulevard, Chit Please send me your free fascinating booklet, Opportunities in Nursing,” and 32 sample lesson Name City

Page 183

inde B He fi é aah it ise ~ > ~ Li Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 The season's SMARTEST COMPACT - fashionable women declare E in every smart shop on Fifth Avenue today —Tre-Jur’s gay, colorful new “Oblong Double” compact! In colors to match your a costume—red, blue, green or black. Adorably / chic-and only$1.00. Contains finest qual- ity powder, rouge, unbreakable mirror, two puffs. Refills al- ways obtainable. At your favorite shop or order direct. House OF Tre-Jur, Inc. 19 W. 18th St. New York TRE-JUR ART cABeee thru the only art school operated as a department of a large art or- eestion, who have actually pro- ced over a quarter million draw- ings for leading advertisers. Where else can you get so wide an experi- ence? Home study instruction. Write for illustrated book telling of our successful students. MEYER BOTH COMPANY Michigan Ave. at 20th St. Dept. 94 Chicago, Ill. GOOD NEWS for B BLONDES me I. your hair darken- } Ring? Is it dull? Faded? Streaked? 1 Bring back its true f° olden beauty with londex, the special shampoo for blondes only. Givesnewlifeand sparkle to dull, faded hair — keeps it light, bright and lovely. Safe — no dyes or harsh meemicale — fine for p. Used bya million Seton At all lead- ing drug and depart- ment stores. | wandered in there by mistake. them the more. Beasts! Her heart was pounding horribly and it hurt her. She wanted to strike out at these grin- | ning, lustful faces. She was growing faint, too, and there was no breath in her lungs. But she couldn’t faint here—not among these animals. The very thought terrified her. What a fool she had been to come here; she should have sent her father or waited. A wave of blackness | rose and threatened to overwhelm her, but she | fought it down. If she lost consciousness here what would happen? In desperation she stretched herself higher and looked over the crowd. She saw Sam almost at once; he was coming down the stairs, but her thin cry was lost in the hubbub. Then | the music stopped. Alanna screamed his name | again and pushed towards him. But her knees | bent, her bones were like rope. A fine Amazon she was! A—swooning warrior. Never mind, he had heard her: he was charg: | ing in her direction. She could see the top of | his head. She was growing numb and that | black wave was rolling over her again . . No need to fight itdown. Samwas coming . The room, the world was revolving, it was | falling away and she floated over it. Higher | and higher she was borne. Nice and comfort- able up here riding on a cloud with Sam. Noth- | ing to worry about with his arms around her | . Alanna sighed in exquisite contentment. This inflamed | PROFITS | COSTS | | APPROPRIATIONS | PLANS FOR FINANCING Become an ‘Expert Accountant The Profession that Pays The demand for skilled accountants—men who really know their mess—is unceasing. Big cor- porations are in constant need of expert counsel in Auditing, Cost Accounting, Business Law, Organi- | zation, Management, Finance, Men who prove their | qualifications in this important branch of business are rapidly pr dtor executive posi- tions—given an opportunity to earn real salaries. Send for This Book—It’s Free Are you ambitious to make as oe wry in business—to fit yourseif for positions paying $3 . $10,000a year and even better? Then you will find aSeltee 6 2 64- -~page book, **Ac- countancy, the fession that Pays,’’ of the greatest help and inspiration—and—LaSalle will send it to you FREE. For | the sake of a brighter future, clip and iaail the coupon NOW. | That downy cloud upon which Alanna rode | ran aground, it began to bump and to jolt her roughly. A flat tire probably. What filthy luck! A voice was calling her over and over: it | was Sam’s, and he was shaking her. How rude | of him! Why was he rushing her through a | blinding flicker of lights and shadows? The | film had run off its sprockets perhaps; anyhow, the whole theater was rocking and swaying. | Pshaw! This wasn’t a theater, she wasn’t | riding on a cloud; this was a taxicab. Yonder | was the glow of the meter and the back of the | | driver’s head. That air felt good and those | | incandescent flashes that came and went were | —street lights. Certainly. Whizzing street | lights and this was Sam at her side. Probably | she had fainted. “Yes, you fainted.” speaking. It was Sam’s voice | “Thank heaven you’re better! Do | you hear me, Alanna? I’m taking you home.” gy Her senses returned with a rush. “I remem- | ber now. How did I get away from that place and—those men?” “T carried you out. Tell me how you got there? What a terrible fright you gave me.” Alanna was fully conscious at last. Feeling | fine, too. How silly of her to faint. | “Sam!” she broke out. ‘You’re white! | White! That’s why I went there.” “Yes, yes! We'll be home in a minute.” “T’m all right, honestly! I couldn’t wait to. tell you and—the man is sailing in the morning, | so I had to hurry. There’s nothing in the way, | no barrier at all. Oh, Sam! Sam! You’re not Lee Ying’s son. It’s a mistake. You're white, white, white! Don’t you understand?” The listener was aghast. This was dreadful. Poor sick child! “T understand,” he said soothingly. “But please don’t excite yourself. Close your eyes, we'll be there in a jiffy.” “No, no! Listen to me.” Alanna struggled out of his arms, agitated words poured from her lips. She clutched at him and shook him feebly, babbling meanwhile something about Eileen Cassidy, a police inspector, San Fran- cisco, Lee Ying, a white baby. How could he face Albert Wagner? How could he explain where he had encountered | Alanna? Questions like these raced through | Sam’s mind. It was bad enough to find her in | that infamous resort, but this was ten times | worse. Well, he had saved her reason once, perhaps—— He pricked up his ears and turned a startled | face towards her, for she had ceased her gibber-. ish and was speaking in a normal tone. | carbo “Sam! Quit shushing me. If you don’t stop | THB treating me like a lunatic I—I’ll let out a yell. os ees o Find Yourself Through LaSalle!=s =e = LaSalle Extension University Dept. 355-H Chicago I should be glad to have details of your salary- fncrenging plan and a copy of “Ten Years Promotion in One,’’ all without obligation. 0 Higher Accountancy oie oe oe Oo C0 Modern Salesmanship 0 Traffic Management OD ate Station Management CLaw—Degree of L1.B. O Telegraphy () Commercial Law OM [] Industrial Management UO ene! Bookkeeping [Factory Management UC. P. A. Coaching (] Banking and Finance O Business English OC Personnel M Oc ial S CD Modern Business Correspondence 0 Credit and Collection Correspondence ~ toh oO Effective Speaking Name Present Position Address CAMPBELL’S Infra-Red Rays relieve maison or troubles causing aches and painsin the body. The Campbell Infra-Red Ray Lamp concentrates a mild beam of Infra-Red Rays upon any part of the body. These rays penetrate ye into the tissues. As they penetrate they create an active circulation of the bl ost ailments are due to congestion—relieve the congestion and you relieve the ailment. Nature her- self doesthe healing byactive,normal blood circulation, Why Suffer Needless Pain? If you or some friend have a_troublesome ailment, a lamp like this is a blessing. May be used safely by anyone, Relieve bronchial trouble, Neuralgia, Neuritis, Rheu- matism, Lumbago, Flu and many other ailments. Tell Us Your Trouble |Get Our Book on Infra-Red Rays Quotes leading authorities as well as users Infra-Red Rays have brought wonderful results for others. Let us send you their letters. Write today for our book giving details. CAMPBELL COMPANY 1024 Union Avenue -_ Alliance, Ohio

Page 184

tfect, sea-shell come plexion so irreststibly con you'll be r ? you want that delighted with the wonderful way Dr. Edwards’ Olive Tablets work. An efficient substitute for calomel, mild in action yet effective, these tablets quickly and safely help to banish un- sightly blemishes and pimples. The flush of health is restored to cheeks. So mild yet so effective A tested compound of vegetable ingredients | mixed with olive oil which Dr. Edwards has prescribed to his patients, these tablets restore the liver and bowels to normalcy, thus remov- ing the cause of pimples, lifelessness. They bring back precious buoyancy and vigor that make childhood so tater a 4 If you are bothered with dread constipation, pimples, colorless skin; if you feel old and ter- | tibly low, take one Dr. Edwards’ Olive Tablet each night. Within a few days, you'll smile with happiness. For health will return and with it youth and clear skin. Get Dr. Edwards’ Olive Tablets from your druggist, 15c, 30c, 60c. Buy the large size, to have them handy, always. Know them by their olive color. ae NDI ide ‘ vi

Proper care is essential to a healthy scalp ~ and the culture of beautiful hair. Millions of women now find scalp comfort and beauty of coiffure in using Newbro’s Herpicide—a pure, safe and effective antiseptic—made especially for the hair and scalp. Just try Herpicide. Use it before dressing your hair. Occasional cleansing with Herpicide Tar Soap and the daily application of Newbro’s Her- picide will bring to you the charm and beauty of youthful hair. Sold at drug counters. Applied at barber and beauty shops. Send toc for trial samples. The HERPICIDE CO. Detrom. Mic. e clay but in the potter’s skill.”

I’m not delirious: I’m as sensible as you are. | I’m trying to tell you something of the greatest importance to both of us and it won’t register. It sounds wild, I know, and too dramatic for any use but it’s true.” “A'--na!” he cried in a choking voice. “If you're not out of your head, thea I am.” “That’s better! Now then, I’il give it to you in a medicine dropper: take it slowly. A | relative of Eileen Cassidy’s, by the name of | Daly, is in New York and he declares you’re no | more a Chinese than he is.”’ | “Absurd! What proof is there?” | “Proof enough, I fancy; we’ll find out when | we get to the hotel. All I can do is repeat what she told me over the telephone.” This the speaker proceeded to do and by the time she had finished they had arrived at their destination. Ina daze Sam paid the driver and assisted Alanna into the hotel; he felt sure this hallucination would be broken at any moment. It was a half-hour later. In the parlor of the Wagner suite, Mr. Peter Daly, spurred on by Eileen, had told his story in minutest detail and none of his listeners had followed it more closely than had Albert Wagner. The speaker con- cluded by saying: “There’s no possible doubt about it. Dunne gave me his report on it at the time, and we | talked it over later: how he saw Lee Ying pick | the little fellow up on his doorstep and how the | old man and his wife insisted that he had been sent in answer to their prayers. Dunne is still alive; he’ll be glad to verify everything I’ve | ‘said. Mr. Wagner, you know something about | | the Chinese: they put great faith in their gods | | —the good ones do, and Lee Ying was devout. | But the looks of Sam there is enough to prove | what I’m telling you. He’s no Chinese.” Eileen offered substantiation by declaring, | “T knew Sam’s father—I mean Lee Ying— | better than anybody. He was my dearest | friend. He always called Sam a ‘Son of the! Gods.’ He declared he was.more than a son: | the Princess of the Colored Clouds had sent | him. I used to wonder what he meant but now | ' I understand.” “As a matter of fact, Dunne nearly got him- | | self into a jam over the thing by talking too | much,” Daly continued. ‘I was on the desk at | the time, and knowing Lee Ying was high caste | and rich and a fine gentleman, we figured the | lad would have a.good home and amount to | something. But some of the mission workers heard a rumor and began asking questions. “They’d have taken him away and put him into a public institution so as to make a Chris- | tian out of him. Two to one he’d have turned | out a yegg. Lee Ying got wind of it and came | to see me in great trouble of mind and soon | after he moved here to New York. That ended the matter. Why, I remember the kid well, | dressed up like a ittle mandarin. He was one of the sights of Chinatown.” Curiously Sam inquired: “Who am I?” Daly shrugged. ‘My guess is no better than yours. Nobody ever claimed you. But who- ever you are, I guess you must have good stuff in you.” | “My father d'sbelieved in heredity. He used to say that the virtue of a vase lay not in the

Eileen’s eyes were shining and she spoke with conviction: ‘They have fairies in Ireland, why |not in China? Lee Ying knew things we'll never understand. He called you a superior being, a prince. I think he was right.” “And so do I,” Alanna said softly. She laid her cheek against Sam’s sleeve. Daly smiled and then looked at his watch. “Well, it’s getting late and that’s all I can tell you. I’m mighty glad that I happened along in time to help two heart-broken lovers. Mr. Wagner, it looks to me as if it’s about time to say, ‘Bless you, my children!’ ” The father rose, laid a kindly hand upon Sam’s shoulder and said in a tone of utmost sin- cerity, “I can’t see that it makes any great | difference who you are or what you are, my boy. The only thing that concerns me is Alanna’s | happiness. I’ve been terribly sorry for both of | | you kids.”

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1gaq No ‘Tt’ No “But’s”~

Miss Pearl Jacobus, Illinois You Can Earn Money Our Way! Miss PEARL JACOBUS of Illinois writes as fol- lows of our spare-time, money. plan: ‘It is surprising to me that more hav not taken advantage of the wonderful tunity which is theirs merely for the I have been in the game two years and have in- creased my business 100% over the previow year. Wouldn’t you, too, like to turn your leisure moments into cash, just as Miss Jacobus and thousands of other men and women are doing? You can, for sf you've never before earned a penny ia Even if your life— sf the duties of home-making or busines Even if keep you busy most of the Bode Even if you’re on in years—or in your 'teens— °f you've no business training or experienc Even t of any kind— Regardless of anything like this, the things you'r always longed for—the home of your own, the car, new wardrobe, the radio, the travel, the college edu cation for the children and the countless other things of life that only money can buy—can yours in exchange for spare time otherwise How? By acting as spare-time subscription representative for Cosmopolitan, Good Housekeeping and our other famous magazines. We pay you well. Where? Right in your own neighborhood. You don’t eva have to leave the house if you don’t want to. When? In your spare time, beginning right away. Wend your help in handling our tremendous volume of ne¥ and renewal orders, and your profits start at oneel Clip the coupon, and ask us for full detail TODAY! You'll be delighted with the ness simplicity of the plan. ousands —why not you? There are no “if” sui or “‘but’s’’—and you can earn money our way! p= ====>»Clip and Mail TODAY!--<<"""" nn og A329, Cosmopolitan, 57th St. at 8th Ave., New York, N. Y. Please tell me about your Spare-Time Earning Plan, and send me at once, without obligatiol, a FREE Money-Making Outfit. | I ' 1 I ! ! |

Page 185

Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 Chinatown, always late in closing its eyes, was asleep when Sam Lee ceased pacing the walks of his garden and stared down into the | /'BEAUTY SECRETS OF empty canyons beneath him. Dawn was not faraway. So, he wasa white man! Lee Ying’s virtuous acts had lived after him, his dead hand had reached forth and unveiled the truth. This night had marked an epoch in Sam’s life and yet the significance of it failed to stir him as it should. What did provoke a genuine tumult in his soul, of course, was the result of that disclosure. There indeed was something stunning, something overpowering, and he wondered if it, too, might not be the work of that beneficent spirit which looked after him. Lee Ying, the man of many mercies. Was this his final sacrifice? . . . Much luck, great riches and high honor were what Sam’s auguries had foretold and they had come true, but in reality, all those blessings had flowed directly from Lee Ying’s hand: he, Sam, had done nothing to warrant them, he ‘had not even proved himself worthy of them. He was glad to know that he was white, nevertheless an odd resentment smoldered in the back of his mind; it offended him to gain stature through that fact alone. In what way was he better now than he had been at sun- down? Yesterday he was the son of a gentle, a noble, a charitable and a godly man, today he was a gutter-snipe, and yet he had attained caste. His honors had multiplied. His prin- cess had opened her arms. Lee Ying’s blood was not his in him ran the blood of some drunken roustabout, perhaps, or some furtive jackal of the slums. The mother who had borne him was not Pan Yi, of blessed memory, but for all he knew, an unwed woman of the streets. In that he must take pride. Great credit now attached to him. Chinese gods appreciate humor; doubtless they were smiling broadly. During these several hours he had been say- ing farewell to Chinatown, to this high-perched home and all its deities, for with the coming of sunrise a new life for him would dawn and he realized that thenceforth he would be as much out of place here as he had been elsewhere. It had been a sad, a wistful parting; it had meant the tearing up of tender roots. As he had walked here under the stars he had been aware of a tall familiar figure at his side; it had moved step by step with him. Their souls had met. How high Lee Ying towered over other men. What other son had known a father such as he? Sam entered his house and went on into his own chamber. Slowly, meditatively, he dis- robed and purified himself, then he put on his ceremonial Chinese robe, his cap with the tuby button, his white hose and silken slippers. On silent feet he moved to the door of that shrine where Lee Ying had bent in worship to his deities. He slid the panel back stepped inside and closed it behind him. He lighted the joss-sticks, then he knelt before the golden tablet on the wall and bowed his head. When he spoke it was in the singsong lan- guage he had learned at the knees of Pan Yi: “O Benevolent One, to whom I owe all joy and happiness, and whose virtues I revere, my prayers float Heavenward to you. In this still hour of the dawn your unworthy son is beset by loneliness and yearning, his love and his longing beat him to the ground. He gropes in darkness. Make him to know the permanence and the cg of truth. Cleave to him as he clings to “You have resigned your earthly dignities | and you walk clear-eyed beside the bright | waters of celestial streams; all wisdom and | understanding is yours. Pause, I beseech you, | and plant deep in my heart the roots of faith in | teality and the eternity of our oneness. bd of nothing you created me, you clad me | rom your bounty; I paid you back in grief and | intment but my soul is sick and it calls to you. a grain of sand; around the jewel of _ love for me I pledge myself to build a ; you.” monument to my enduring trust in Tue END A pearl is but a temple built by pain | FAMOUS BEAUTIES Lovely VIOLET HEMING .. . One of the most popular stars on the dramatic stage. Her deft characteriza- tions, shadings and fine sense of emo- tional expression have created a vast poe bg of admirers. Naturally her striking blonde beauty has not been a hindrance to her success. Bestows Beauty Promotes Growth uickly it adorns the eyes with deserving loveliness” MISS VIOLET HEMING REFERS TO THIS SMART EYE MAKE- UP THAT PROMOTES LASH GROWTH 4 ise subtle art of make-up gives to natural beauty the glowing brilliance of perfection. So it is only natural that famous beauties should appropriate for their own— new Cream Winx that comes in the dainty, silvery vanitie. Without a hint of artificiality, this fashionable lash dressing adorns the eyes with enchanting loveliness. A light caress of lashes with finger- tips or eyebrow brush. A sweep of the brows. And behold!...Eyes seem larger, more alluring and expressive. This bewitching beauty blooms as Cream Winx makes the lashes softly lustrous and shadowy. It is easy to apply, as simple as pow- der. It is safe. As it glorifies the lashes it promotes their growth. Give your eyes the loveliness they deserve. Add smart Cream Winx to the indispensable beauty aids in your toilette. Sold in the silvery vanitie, wafer-thin, at all toilet goods counters. Only 75c complete, black or brown shade Where you find Cream Winx you'll find Cake Winx. For those who prefer the cake-form of lash dressing there is none quite so effective. 75c complete, black or brown shade. Ross Company, 243 West 17th Street, New York. Men or women earn time. Fascinating work. Nothing to sell. We teach you at Furnish all tools and material. ARTCRAFT STU DIOS, Dept. T, 427 Diversey Parkway, Chicago. Learn at hom in sjare time to make smart becoming clothes in latest styles for ¥% the usual cost. Earn spare-time money or $20 to $40 a week sewing for friends. Fascinating new method. Step-by-step picture instructions. Any one can learn. Write TODAY for full story of the Woman's Institute and FREE SAMPLE LESSON. See for yourself WOMAN'S INSTITUTE, how easily you can learn. Dept. $1-P, Scranton, Pa FINE MEDIUM $25 to $50 a week at home. All or part Don’t Scratch Thousands of sufferers from skin troubles have found welcome relief from itching in ZEMO, the antiseptic treatment for all skin afflictions. All druggists, 35c, 60c and $1.00. zZemo FOR SKIN IRRITATIONS Address

Page 186

dulils eyes March gales are here again, with their accompanying dust. Don’t let it rob your eyes of their sparkle or, worse still, cause a bloodshot condition. Use Murine daily to rid them of irritating particles and keep them clear and shining. This eye-brightening lotion is entirely free from belladonna and other harmful ingredients. Write Murine Co., 9 E. Ohio St., Chicago, for free booklet filled with help- ful hints on the care of the eyes. No EYES A Pure Breath You carry a breath like Spring with you this NEW way HERE is now scientific and instant protection against bad breath. May-Breath is an antiseptic mouth-wash in tablet form ... dainty little tablets that you carry with you, in a purse or pocket, always. Not acandy. For that won’t do. Not merely a perfume. For that simply cries out con- cealment. A single tablet stops bad breath instantly, whether from mouth, stomach, food or smoking. Get May-Breath at drug, cigar and confec- tionery counters. Costs only few cents. May-Breath An antiseptic mouth wash in tablet form Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 The Cr ys tal Snuff-box (Continued from page 50) Peter—although her trust was daily having to face many dire attacks from within as well as without. When Lady Mary Stanley, the disseminator of the piece of news about Freddy Langham, had departed, Isabel sat lost in anxious thought, in her own little sanctum at the top of the tall house in Grosvenor Square. What was the best thing to do now? she wondered. She had long ago given up her idea that Sonia Varens had anything to do with Peter’s strange behavior. Sonia was safely in Cannes and, report had it, engaged to an Italian mar- chése, so that was that. No! This was some- thing much odder, more disquieting than any ordinary affaire. Once, in the beginning, her fiancé had blunderingly tried to discuss the situation with her. “T’m always having these funny dreams now —can’t get away from them. I get up some- times in the night and walk and walk rather than let myself sleep, they worry me so! No —nothing definite—but it’s always a woman! A woman who scares me stiff—and fascinates me at the same time. “T wish to heaven I could see her face clearly. I see her eyes, and when she looks at me straight I feel as if she was sucking all my whole self, my soul and everything, out of me with her eyes. “T feel often that the only thing that saves me from letting go is the thought of you! I hang on to you like mad—try- to shut my eyes and picture you. And then slowly, very slowly, I seem to sort of ‘come out of it,’ as if I were ris- ing to the surface and gasping for air, after. swimming a bit too long under water! “T can’t make it out. I try to get away from her, but she pursues me. It’s awful! At first it was only at night she came—in dreams; but now—now she comes as soon as it gets dusk! “TI come in late, and just before I turn up the light I see the gleam of her yellow gown, the shine of her great eyes—looking at me, always looking, with a sort of odd secret smile, as if she was trying to say, ‘Let go, don’t struggle any more; you know I’m bound to win in the long run!’ “‘And the worst of it all is, Belle, that I feel she’s right; sooner or later she’l' catch me when I’m too tired to fight, too tired even to think of you, and she’ll win! I shan’t be able to stand out any more. I can’t make out why she wants me, or what she wants me for, can you?” She knew! She knew that for some reason Something from the Outer Spaces, some sinister, ruthless Thing that once wore feminine flesh, had come near and touched Peter Wilbrough, and that he was right—unless something could be done, sooner or later this Woman who had come to woo him, to possess and vanquish him utterly and completely, would win—and pre- sumably retreat, triumphant, whence she came, with her prey: the soul, the very inner man himself, of Peter Wilbrough. The thought was utterly horvible. It couldn’t ve! It couldn’t! After a moment’s indecision the girl ran out of the room, and in a few minutes, huddled in a Sur coat, was pushing home the self-starter of the smart little blue car that had been Peter’s first present to her after the announcing of their engagement. It was barely seven-thirty when she drew up outside Number Twelve. A slightly surprised Sims admitted her to | the apartment but its occupant was still out. The girl dropped wearily into a chair. “Give me a whisky and soda, Sims, for good ness’ sake! I'll wait. You don’t suppose he’ll be long, do you?” Sims’ long lean face was wooden, expres- sionless, as he poured out the required drink. “Couldn’t say, me lady. Very uncertain these days, Mr. Peter is, to be sure. Was you dinin’ with ’im tonight, me lady?” “Yes. We were dining out somewhere and dancing—just to try to cheer him up, get him out of himself a bit.” She drank a gulp of the stirzing spirits thankfully. “But I don’t feel like it, after all. Think we’ll go and have a grill somewhere, and not bother to change.” “Right, me lady. Then I’ll put out a dark suit for Mr. Peter.” The man moved to the door and paused. At the moment Isabel glanced after him and their eyes met in a sudden glance of understanding. “Sims! You—know?” The valet moved his feet uncomfortably ang twisted the door-handle. “T don’t know, me lady, but I seen—what Mr. Peter says ’e seen—I seen the Woman!” It seemed to Isabel afterwards, looking that at that moment there grew a faint Some. thing in the room, a feeling as if a Presence, passing, halted and turned to listen, cool, alert. “Seen Her!” Her voice sank to a whisper too, and it seemed the Silence in the room grey deeper and more dire. “When? How often?” “Not at first. I useter think Mr. Peterd just ’ad one or two extra when ’e talked about ’er at first. But then—I wasn’t sure! I tried to kid myself it was just fancy-like, but it wasn’t. I seen ’er the first time a day or 99 after Mr. Peter brought ’ome the Crystal Bor there. I got a feelin’ She’s something to do with that thing. I don’t like it. “First she was just a whisper in the dark, an odd scent like a sort of perfume, that came and went quick as a breath. Then a shadow that wasn’t just like other shadows, that used to stand watchin’ Mr. Peter while ’e slept, and slip away be’ind the curtain or the screen when I stared ’ard—there wasn’t nothing there, ever, when I stared really ’ard. But always just be’ind your eye, if you get me, me lady—a blink, and she wasn’t there! Only a shadow— an ordinary shadow. But before the blink— she ’ad been there, I’d take me dyin’ oath! “‘Now—now she’s clearer. It’s as if she was more sure-like, and sometimes shows ’erself to me by way of sayin’, ‘Yah, boo! J got ’im, for all of you, and I don’t care!’ But me lady,’er eyes that watch and watch ’im! . . . I pny the Lord she don’t never turn and look at me p with them eyes Surely the room was growing cold and¢older! With a huge effort Isabel pulled herself together and smiled defiantly, courageously. “Tsee. Isee! Well, we have to fight, Sims— what, I don’t know, but something strange and dreadful. We've got to fight it, all of us.” Sims was leaning against the half-open door of the kitchen. As he turned to go he “Fight? You can take it from me, me lady, Mr: Peter’s got no more fight left in ’im, and. can’t do nothing! I’m—outside. It’s 9 that’s the one thing She can’t kill—yet. Peter’s just ’angin’ onto you. If she can onc get past you, she’ll get ’im, for good and all.” The door closed behind him, and silence descended upon the room. Lying back in the deep chair beside the fire, the girl linked her hands behind her head, the left starred with the winking emerald of her engagement ring. Thoughtfully she twisted it round and round. It fitted very loosely; her finger must have got thinner. Idly she drew it off, her attention momen tarily distracted from the sinister conversation with Sims, and of a sudden dropped it upon the glowing hearth—dropped it umac countably, since she had been holding it quilt firmly! Springing to her feet, she fished it out of the embers with the poker just in tims to drop it again, and as she dived for-it the table, knocked it sideways most cl again into the fire! : A faint impression was growing, an impr sion horrible but persistent, that there W& something more than mere accident in this @ deavor to make her lose or spoil her ring. When she rescued the jewel from the fire for the third time and, again dropping it, upon it as she stepped forward to pick it up from the carpet, the impression became conviction, % albeit her cheeks were hot with mi de fiance and terror, the girl spoke alou to the unseen Presence that watched her. ; &F Boa oF RSPR SSE BESEE C8 PP_LS5eF Sages ges RZSLIRes BES | PaCRS SS SES ea oie Behe wee ck es i

Page 187

, 1929 avea grill ut a dark used. At and their standing, ‘tably and en—what oman!” int Pre: ust have got jon momet- conversation ed it ed it umac ding it quite fished it out n tim | for-it ost cl x, an impre it there we nt in this r ring. m the fire fot _ —and horribly real, for all her shadowiness! “J know, now, you’ve been trying all along to break things between Peter and me! I know it’s you that’s managed to cloud his mind and his memory so that he forgets things, muddles, puts everybody against him, so that you can isolate him, get him all to yourself! I know— and I love him still and I’m going to stick to him .. . Now, what are you going to do?” Clutching the battered scrap of metal that had been her cherished ring, the girl backed against the fire and waited breathlessly—oddly convinced, despite the emptiness of the quiet firelit room, that she spoke to One who not only heard but would answer, though not in words. Straightening herself resolutely, she waited, then spoke again. “Pll tell you—I believe Sims is right. I be- lieve you came into this place with the Crystal Box! And I’m going to smash it and see what happens then! It’s my last hope—and I don’t know what will happen, but I’m going to do it!” Although her words were brave, the chal- was spoken in little more than a broken whisper—for in truth a Power was growing so swiftly, so terribly, in the shadow-filled room that for all her courage the girl was shak- ing in every limb. In the firelight the Crystal Box glimmered demurely. Clenching her hands, Isabel stepped forward to pick it up, but reeled back, gasping and startled—for the Woman was there! Behind the Box she grew swiftly into shape, one long white hand covering the shining thing as though to defend it: Though the shapes of the furniture, the outline of the window and the velvet folds of the curtains were to be seen through her, still she was there, menacing, grim Tall and slender and beautiful, but with a dark and lurid loveliness that terrified while it al- lured, in a yellow satin gown, with her hair piled high in a fantastic tower of black curls. Half-numbed with the fascination of sheer terror, the girl noted it: that was the “hood” so many people had seen—that she herself had seen in shadowy profile against the blind that evening so long ago. Even as she stared, the Shadow seemed to melt, to waver. Surely the room was swiftly growing dark! The outline of the Woman was growing fainter, her yellow gown blurring into the shadows that poured up now, it seemed, from every side like streaming veils of blackness. Only the glow of two terrible eyes shone out from beneath the shadow of that cloud of dusky hair. Like lambent stars of evil they shone, telentless, unwinking, holding one’s own gaze with a fierce, dominant intensity that seemed to sear one’s very soul within one . . . Oh, poor Peter, what he had suffered! How he must have struggled, to hold out for so long against this terrible Power, this Will that forced one’s own will down, cowering, impo- tent, feeble, however hard one fought! Now the shadows poured up faster and faster; like long ribbons of hair they seemed! Dark streaming hair—long curling strands that wound and twisted about one’s fingers . . . O God, she was sinking, sinking into dark- héss—everything was dim and clouded except se two eyes, luminous, dreadful, merciless, Set in a mist of streaming silken hair—hair that clouded, that stifled, that drowned, utterly and entirely .. . Peter! Peter! Help! _ Indeed, it was fortunate for Lady Isabel Dil- that Peter, wearily dragging himself up the last flight of stairs, heard the wild cry within, and thrusting his key into the lock, tumbled distracted into the sitting-room. same moment an affrighted Sims rushed from the kitchen, and between them they talsed the prone figure of the girl, from where lay on the hearth before the dancing fire. She had fallen face forward, and her con- gested face and stifled shriek told their own story—she was half strangled, and more than half—but after a strong dram of brandy, she fame more or less to herself and, curled thank- fully within the circle of Peter Wilbrough’s out her incredible story. Listen- Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 cause she knows it’s safe. so. even lumbago. genuine Aspirin. All druggists. ~take it / Tts Bayer The nurse tells you to take Bayer Aspirin be- Doctors have told her It has no effect on the heart, so take it to stop a headache or check a cold. For almost in- stant relief of neuralgia, neuritis, rheumatism; But be sure it’s Bayer—the COASPIRI Aspirin is the trade mark of Bayer Manufacture of Monoaceticacidester of Salicylicacid Our Rainbow Club Can Help You to— »>increase the house- hold budget or to meet personal expenses add pretty things to your Hope Chest >> raise money fora club fund or to meet a col- lege pledge save for emergency bills or the rainy day ------—-—-—-Mail Coupon-—-—--—--- Helen Willard, Director Rainbow Club, Good Housekeeping Sith St. at 6th Ave., New York, N. Y. Please let me know without obligation to me how I may earn extra money through your Rainbow Club. ing, the young man nodded soberly. lub Feet Mary Eloise Laur was born with Club Feet. Photos and parents’ letter show result of treatment at McLain Sanitarium: Our daughter’s Club Feet were straightened at McLain Sanita- rium in 344 months. She is now 3 years old and her feet are per- fect. Through our home physician we ned of this Institution which we heartily recommend. MRS. ROY LAUR, Ina, Illinois McLain Sanitarium (established 1898) is a private institution devoted tothe treatment of crippled, deformed and paralyzed con- ditions generally. No surgical operation requiring chloroform orgeneral anaesthetics. Plaster Paris not used. Patients received without delay. Parents retain full charge of children if desired. Write for Free Books ““Deformities and Paralysis,” and“References,”which show and tell of McLain Sanita- rium’s facilities for treating Club Feet, Infantile Paral- ysis, Spinal Diseases and De- formities, Hip and Knee Dis- ease, Wry Neck, Etc. Also illustrated magazine, “Sani- tarium News,” mailed free every 60 days. McLAIN ORTHOPEDIC SANITARIUM 936 Aubert Ave.. St. Louis, Mo., U. S. A.

Page 188

It. the’ Dance hits a Manes Wo can resist the charm of eyes that say what lips dare not —and need not! On every occasion, lovely, expressive eyes—framed by dark, long, gracefully sweeping lashes—are an aid to popularity... Eyes ever so beautiful in themselves lack something when the eyelashes are not deftly emphasized. Just a touch of May- belline, the harmless eyelash beautifier, is all that is needed . .. Beautiful women of the Stage and screen, smart social leaders, the most popular debutantes— all use Maybelline to instantly darken the eyelashes and to make them appear longer, more graceful, and the Y es irresistibly expressive. Follow this delightful new vogue that women everywhere are observing. Buy harmless Maybelline today. You will be amazed at the new soulful beauty of your eyes. Solid or toad ag Liquid Maybell: Black or Brown, 75¢ at all Toilet Goods nters. MAYBELLINE CO, CHICAGO Liquid (Water- eg Cptlah Frontier ——wormr-y How to have Lovely, Lustrous Hair~always! Does your hair ever seen dull to you~drab, life- less? Have you not wished for something that would keep it looking prettier—richer in tone? The secret lies in proper shampooing! Not just soap-and-water “‘washings”, but regular use of a shampoo that really beautifies—one that was created especially to improve dull hair and add that little something extra so often lacking. If you really wish to make your hair bewitchingly lovely—just one Golden Glint Shampoo will show you the way! No other shampoo, anywhere, like it! Does more than merely cleanse. It gives your hair a “‘tiny-tint”—a wee little bit—not much—hardly perceptible. But whata difference it makes in one’s appearance; that exquisite softness of tone that everyone admires! Millions use regularly! You'll like it! There’s a youth-imparting touch—a beauty specialist’s secret in its formula. At your dealers’, 25c, orsend for free sample. J. W. KOBI CO. 642 Rainier Ave., Dept. C, Seattle, Wash. Please send a free sample. Name Adé@ress City -iosesinbiitliaiesaigcacis aman Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 i “T know. I’ve seen her. I know, my dar- ling!” Reverently he kissed her hand. “But you’ve won, sweet—how I know, I can’t tell— but you have! I knew the minute I heard you scream! All my manhood, my energy, my own self—everything She sapped from me—came back with a rush, and I know now from the a of things i in here that it’s all over. But OW He turned as Sims spoke at his elbow, hold- ing out something i in one lean palm. “Ere, sir—I found it on the floor. Just fallert orf the table, when me lady fell down.” It was the Crystal Box! Or rather what re- mained of it, for the fall to the tiled hearth had broken and ruined it forever, and only a few shining shards and’ fragments, a wisp of em- broidered satin and what looked like a scrap of paper remained. Sims laid the pieces thankfully on the divan and retired, as the two lovers looked soberly at each other. “Tt’s done. I broke her—‘focus,’ or what- ever they call it!” whispered Isabel fearfully. “T felt—suddenly, today, I knew that that, in some way, brought her at first, and if it was broken, her power would be broken too, and she would go away.” But Peter was already examining the scraps. “Look! I think we’ve got the clue to the whole thing!”’ He held out a folded scrap of paper, which evidently had been inserted be- tween the two slips of crystal that, laid to- gether, had formed the lid. As the young man spelt out the old crabbed writing the mystery of the Crystal Box and its dreadful Owner was made elear at last and the haunting of Peter Wilbrough laid finally and completely to rest. Within this Boxe I have hid, knoweing More than my Neighboures of hidden Things, a Secret Waye backe from the Dethe to wych I goe. Many I won to mee by the darke gloary of my Haire, and to my maister’s service—for wych hee has enspelled my Haire so that it shall still serve mee, for all Dethe and His minions! Bure yellow and thin with age, was Ps dly—“‘Eliz. Denning.” Awed into silence, the two turned over the remaining fragments, and a cry from Isabel brought her lover’s head round, startled. “Peter, here she is—on the back of the other piece of the lid!” It was true. Painted on a slip of ivory fixed to the crystal was the miniature of a woman. Of the Woman herself—clad in a gown of yellow satin, her eyes, even in the miniature, dark and dreadfully intent be- neath her luxuriant hair. And under the min- iature in another hand was written “Eliz. Denning. Burnt asa Wytch. December 1668.” It is worthy of note that on further investi- gation the embroidery on the scrap of yellow satin was found to be executed in human hair; the posy of flowers in varied natural brown shades—pieces of her victims’ hair, or so Isabel with a shiver avowed—and the legend around them, the strange words “Beauty drawes us by a single haire,” with a strand of the Woman’s own. At least, it matched the picture’s dark locks, and what of the strange words—‘‘a Secret Waye backe’’? What should that mean, indeed, if not that while that strand of living “Haire” remained in the world of men, the Woman might find her “Waye backe” there, did she choose? - At any rate the unholy thing was promptly consigned to the fire, and so the Horror passed away. Two things only, remain to remind Peter and Isabel of the five weeks of terror: first, Peter has a rooted dislike of women, how- ever charming, with dark silky hair, and second, a fine ineradicable white line like a scar around Isabel’s delicate throat. Should the curious comment upon it, Peter hastily in- tervenes, for Isabel shivers a little, and a look comes into her eyes that he hates to see, knowing as he does how near she went to death to save him—since that sinister mark could only have been made, or so the doctors declare, Lift Off! No pain-—not a bit! Touch any corn with “Freezone” and in- stantly it stops hurt- ing, then shortly lifts off. ‘*Freezone’’ re- moves hard and soft corns and callouses. All druggists. 2 y Free Information ,Q% ast A specialized service in choosing a school ab- solutely free of charge to you. For busy parents and questioning boys and girls reliable inf tion about the kind of school desired. ay select hurriedly when expert advice can be by writing to THE CHICAGO DAILY NEWS ~— SCHOOL AND COLLEGE BUREAU Dept. C, 15 N. Wells St., Chicago, Illinois. Most ailments start from poor siteination (c tion or semi- ~eoustipetion). tates at vitality, undermine Tonight —NATURE’S REWEDY- ight try NR—NA ot an ordinary laxa' will aid in longi Eg san a and that hea’ ivy. logey, pep Mild, safe, purely ha ane sie FREE 222 Sscrmsci A.H. LEWIS MEDICINE CO., Dept.4A, ST. TO-NIGHT 2IGH Color of my hair by a single strangling strand of hair! a Fer.§ F538 PSESSTERS MSPBSEESree ex ce Beconecrparces EPs e. BAF g RE EES PEGE € opred. Fey

Page 189

Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 Red Likker (Continued from page 27) keel-boatmen sang that caught his fancy. It ran like this: Come all ye fine young fellows Who have got a mind to range Into some far-off countree Your fortunes for to change. We'll lay us down upon the banks Of the blessed O-hi-o; Through the wildwoods we’ll wander, And we'll chase the buffalo! He loved it all and most of all he loved the semibarbaric rudeness of it—the company, the camping on bar or island, the thousand-and- odd-miles’ stretch of gantlet-running between hostile tribes and past the dens of river pirates who were just as fierce and just as treacherous as the tribesmen and far shrewder; the mad de- bauch when the voyagers with their primitive jes came safely to New Orleans—if they did: the long, leisurely, perilous journey home- ward-bound over the famous and bloody Natchez Trail. He made three of these trips and each trip was gone for months on months. That sort of thing was not for Isham, the soberer and more thoughtful, the cannier man of the two. He served his county in the first years of its foundation as a magistrate; later went to Frankfort to serve it as a legislator; and dying in the fulness of years, was, by his own direction on his death-bed, buried in his buckskin hunting-shirt with his long rifle in the coffin by his side, his bullet pouch at his belt, his powder-horn swung by its broad strap over his shoulder; and sewed fast to the front breadth of the strap, four black scalp-locks and one tawny one—the black tufts being from Indians of his own killing and the paler one a circlet of hair lifted for bounty from a Hessian shot by him in the Revolution. Likewise from his death-bed the patriarch dictated his will, leaving to his eldest son, among other possessions, his “great distill” and to his second son his “‘least distill,” meaning by that his lesser one. He provided suitably, and according to his means, for his third son and for his daughter Adelaide and for his aged widow, who survived him by two years; and finally out of his remaining store of this world’s made small benefactions for each of his black slaves and for Kathie McMullen, the Irish: bound girl who had been superior servant in the, household since her childhood. He left, besides, six hundred acres of land, cleared and uncleared, with the buildings, the outbuildings, the plenishings and the gear upon them, charging though that this land not be agri off but kept together as an inheritance his male line. He left nothing at all to his brother Shadwell Bird, despite that Shadwell Bird, now an elderly man himself, had need of whatsoever might come his way. Long before, the ways of the brothers who also were brothers-in-law had parted. Their was after the death of Hannah Bartlett shadwell’s wife. He had one child by her, a male child and Gideon his name, before she at eighteen of the spotted sickness wh’ch Sprang up out of the dank new ground, so People believed, and which by the hundreds its victims one wet summer. Then he took up with a half-breed Cherokee woman by her begat a whole covey of black- eyed bronzy-skinned young ones. t squaw-mothered brood of his was to be born after he quit the place of gently rolling swales which the brothers first had preempted, Squatted some twelve miles distant in the abled country along the river in a place of heavy timber and sha y creeks and many dark hollows and as many steep roach-backed hills. He followed the game—the turkeys and the Grouse and the deer, all seeking denser coverts 4 the incoming streams of Easterners in- The wt from living trickles to living torrents. . alo and the elk already had disap- Peated before that advance. Shad Bird was of Ge Children’s stomachs sour, and need an anti-acid. Keep their system sweet with Phillips Milk of Magnesia! When tongue or breath tells of acid condition, it’s time for Phillips Milk of Magnesia. Most men and women have been comforted by this universal sweetener—more mothers should in- voke its aid for their children. It is Makes Lite Sweeter a pleasant thing to take, yet neutral- izes more acid than the harsher things too often employed for the purpose. Phillips is the genuine, prescrip- tional product physicians endorse for general use. The name Phillips is im- portant; don’t buy a less perfect prod- uct and expect it to have the same perfect results. Demand PHILLIPS Milk of S. Registered Trade d Phillips Chemical Company and its predecessor Charles H. Phillips since 1876. “Mik of Magnesia” has deen the U. Magnesia Mark of the Charles H. Write for Free Guide Book, “HOW TO OBTAIN A PATENT” ®and Record of Invention Blank. Send model or sketch and description of your invention for our Inspection and Advice Free. Terms Reasonable. Victor J. Evans & Co., 753 Ninth, Washington, D. C. Setting-Up Exercises s for Your FACE— LIFT SAGGING MUSCLES REMOVE DOUBLE CHIN Kathryn Murray’s 5 Minute-a-day Facial Exer- cises, by strengthening flabby, drooping mus- cles, quickly banish crow’s feet, double chin, sagging cheeks, sallow complexion, etc., and restore in a safe, natural way the bloom and animation of youth. No mas- sage—no lotions—no straps—no skill re- quired. Results guaranteed. 15 years of successful use. Book free! Mailed in plain envelope. Write today! KATHRYN MURRAY Suite 348, 5 Se. Wabash Ave.,Chicago Skin Troubles CLEARED UP—OFTEN IN 24 HOURS amy Blackheads, Acne Eruptions on the Face or Body, Barbers Itch, Eczema, Enlarged Pores, Oily or Shiny Skin. *‘Clear-Tone’’ has been tried and tested in over 300,000 cases. Used like toilet water. Is simply magical in prompt results. At All Druggists—with Proven Directions. Ask Your Druggist—You Can Rely on Clear-Tone FOR SKIN AND COMPLEXION DRAWING offerrx Pleasure with Profit If you like to draw let your talent make your fortune. Publishers pay millions of dollars every year for illustrations. Just notice the art-work in this magazine. Drawing is easy to learn the ‘‘Federal Home- Study Way.’? More than fifty famous artists contribute exclusive lessons and drawings to the Federal Course—they show you their ‘‘tricks of the trade.’’ Including Illustrating, Cartooning, Lettering, Poster Designing and Window Card Illustrating. re Why drudge when you might be [@ an artist? e your interest in drawing seriously. Send for Free @ Book ‘“‘A Road To Bigger Things.’’ Write your name, age, occupation [J ; and address on the margin of this | | adv. Tear out and MAIL TODAY, & : Federal School of Illustrating 3039 Federal School Bldg., Minneapolis, Miun.

Page 190

210 2 DIAMONDS from Jason Weiler & Sons, Boston, Mass. America’s leading diamond importers | and save 20 to 40%. For over 50 years the house of Jason Weiler & Sons, of Boston, has been one of the lead- ing diamond importing concerns in America selling direct by mail to customers and deal- ers alike all over the world. Note these ex- amples of. our under- selling ability:— 18K Solid White Gold Ring in exquisitely - pierced 4 square-prong ; a design mounted with $150.00 full-cut blue-white Dia- mond and 6 smaller Diamonds set in the new step-side effect. Our price di- $150.00 rect to you Beautiful Solid Plati- ay, aS . “fl 4 Ladies’ num Ring, exquisitely hand carved and pierced. Set with fine, full- cut, blue - white Diamond in combina- tion with 2 marquise shaped and 8 smaller Diamonds onthesides. $200.00 Upon request rings will be sent to any bank you may name or any Express Co. with privi- lege of examination. Our diamond guarantee for full value for all time goes with every purchase. If you desire to purchase on a Ese payment basis we | the advantages of our BUDGET PAYMENT PLAN. WRITE TODAY FOR THIS FREE CATALOG “HOW TO BUY DIAMONDS” This book is beauti- fully illustrated. Tells how to judge, select and buy diamonds. Tells how they mine, cut and market diamonds. This book, showing weights, sizes, prices and quali- ties, $20.00 to $20,- 000.00, is considered an authority. * ‘son Weiler & Sons vvd Washington St., Boston, Mass. Corner of Washington and Franklin Streets Diamond Importers since 1876 Foreign Agencies: Antwerp, Amsterdam and London Stop Pain of Burns From the kitchen range, from scald- ing water, from gas or electric heaters —the menace of burns around the home is constant. Keep Unguentine, the famous antiseptic surgical dress- ing used in hospitals, ready at hand. Soothes pain quickly, wards off infec- tion and scars. Buy Unguentine today. At your druggist’s, 50¢. Send for ‘‘What To wich, N. Y. Can- adian address, 193 Spadina Ave., Toronto, 5 oP est 85 on ynovt Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 |those—and they were many—who rather would stalk down their food than raise it out of ; the soil. So he retreated as the cane-brakes did, to the remoter broken parts, abandoning the pastures, as the cane-brake had done. It was curious how the.cane which once had so thickly clothed this wide plateau fled before the farmer. You did not have to plow it out of your meadow. It seemed to quit the meadow of its own accord. This year it would be every- where hereabouts, tall and lusty, and next year it would all be gone save for a few stunty clumps, growing steadily thinner and punier. As the cane went away a new kind of grass, spreading like a magic carpet, took its place on the “barrens” and in the made pastures. You had only to clear away the timber, grub up the roots, make sunny spaces where before there had been deep shade, and here it came. was said that Fin’ey, the Irishman whose eyes were the first white man’s eyes to look upon the great hunting-ground which the Cherokees called by the Algonquin word Kentucky, meaning the level place, brought it with him. Daniel Boone may have been the Pathfinder but John Finley, a lesser-known man, was the Pathmaker, for he showed Boone the way. But long before that he, the adventurous trader, went with certain friendly Shawnee braves to their favorite camping spot of Eskippakithika and there set him up a hut impounded within a log stockade and spread his trade goods in his fortress. As the story had it, he had carried his wares wrapped against breakage in hay grown of a stock brought by someone from Great Britain, | and he cast this hay upon the earth and it | seeded itself in the sod and presently grew with a luxuriance almost beyond imagining. So for |a spell the pioneers of Boone’s day and Ken- | ton’s, which also was the day of Isham Bird, dubbed it English grass or Lancaster grass, after Lancaster in Pennsylvania. where Fin- ley lived. But presently, marking how when the wind stirred the heavy seed-heads their yellow pods against the deep lush color of the stems cast a soft bluish overlay upon the whole r ppling field, they fell to calling it blue-grass. But except in the time of ripening and except when the breeze rump'ed it, it was about the greenest grass you ever saw. Cattle, feeding on it, throve most amazingly. Now Shadwell Bird, the ex-keel-boater, saw in the advancing blue-grass not a promise but a threat to his most beloved pursuits. So he took his gun and his chattels and his dumpy, copperish-colored mate and he went where the rolling lands gave way to the rocky lands. Others did likewise and therefrom dated a cleavage both social and political, between the knob-dwellers, who as time passed grew poorer for the most part, and the slave-owning field- dwellers, who for the most part grew prosperous and very proud of themselves and their country and began putting on the airs of aristocrats. That difference, that division, that contrast, was to persist through the next century and in tury, which is this present one. It set men of a common stock off into opposing and antago- nistic groups. It mainly made Clay men of the one and Jackson men of the other, since Clay in his time was the leader of the gentry, so called, and Jackson was the god of the poorer ones, the plain people. And after Clay and long after Jackson, it would, in the great War between Sections, lead armed men to spring at the throats of their own kinsmen and to shed blood that was in some degree at least the very blood that ran in them. That would be in 1861, so many, many years after Squire Isham Bird was laid away in his grave with his rifle. barrel pressing against his nonagenarian shoulder. We're coming to 1861 now. On into and past that summer of 1861 the state still maintained the vain pretense and the empty mockery of “armed neutrality”; There was a tradition about this grass. It. a measure still persists on into the next cen-; maintained it officially, that is, not otherwise, Day by day it became more and more a vanity and yet more of a mocking and an emptiness, Today the harassed governor would by solemn proclamation warn the unheeding “Tennessee volunteers” not to profane the sovereignty of the soil; tomorrow would be answering Lin. coln’s call for three regiments with an indignant broadside by telegraph—‘Kentucky will never furnish troops for the wicked purpose of sub. duing her sister Southern States.” And while his distracted Excellency thus fulminated and thundered, under his very nose the citizens were organizing for the Separation or for the Union. This now was a household rent against itself—in the mountains along the eastern boundaries sentiment almost s 4 for the old order of things, in the ex! western end of the state sentiment for See overwhelmingly strong, and hereabouts th richer central portions sundering by dist by neighborhoods, by families. a Typical of this last was one county wi borders on its widest flank marched’ with borders of the county wherein the capital sto At its county-seat half a day’s ride by he back from the executive mansion, a squa was forming for service under that young low John Morgan over at Lexington, who! cied himself a potential commander of cay There was no secrecy about it. On the trary, there was a great advertising ¢ From week to week a notice was publi: the home paper calling for recruits. Ifa could not furnish his own mount, a m would be furnished for him. Report wii weapons at Lillard’s general merchandise on the main street two doors from the House. Signed, Attila Bird, Rodman Slaug Joshua Lillard, J. C. B. Desha, Homer’ liffe, Patrick Francis Moon, et cetera. All day and every day the back é Lillard’s store buzzed like a roused ne wasps. On the afternoon of a day wi buzzed with a heightened vehemence, a) ling but sinewy youngster named. Tyler: red into the core of the nest where, b table, there sat a tawny-haired, sparely man some three years or so his seniof addressing him particularly, this youth,’ Watts, with the air of one bringing news, “Do you know whut? That dam’ Uj crowd—of all the gall I ever heared te they’ve gone and opened ’em up a @ right down here on the other side of this§ not three squares frum here—at Lindsay’ ness factory. It’s the truth, I tell yo just come frum there. They’ve got a over the door and ever’thing.” The young man behind the desk, Attila by name, eyed the talebearer quizzicall “You must have overslept yourself, Watts,” he said dryly, and at this about him there was a general snigg “Since early this morning the rest of us have known what you're telling us. Somed us have known for weeks it was bound to hap pen. We sort of thought they’d probably wait, though, till we moved out before they'd: “Then what’re you-all settin’ here fur?” @& manded Watts hotly. “Minding our own business—and p it for us to mind,” answered Bird serene “But ain’t you goin’ to do nothin’? goin’ to let that cussed flag go on flaun' wavin’ right in our very faces? Ain’t ain’t we—goin’ to march down there in and snatch it down? Ain’t we goin’ tof ’em there in their rat-hole and clean ’em “Well now, I’ll tell you, Private Watts, a those suggestions of yours: Speaking 10! present, I’ll tell you in a minute what ¥ decided on. But first I’ll ask Sergeant Ham Sinclair here to say a few words concerning Gi ” ag. A middle-aged bearded man, the oldest in view, spoke up. “Son,” he said, “I still can’t help frum sort of tender feelin’s with reguards to there old stripetty flag. You see, I m under her—me and Zach’ry Taylor and several others—and I fit under her, yas, 9 a tte aa eecons

Page 191

a h SS ee eee The Views | of a ‘Successful Woman on topics of the day Woman's Ambitions Capacity for Success Ability and Reward Self Confidence Opportunity and Fitness Making Money The Flapper in Business Sex and Advancement Babies and a Career Woman's Era How to Start— Your Own Business Financial Independence Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 POTS,PANS AND MILLIONS: By Edith Mae Cummings cA Message to All Women- who wish to Succeed in Business Tus, the first book ever published on woman's success in business and how to attain it, pulsates with answers to the very questions that have often vexed you. Powerfully dramatic, intense with interest and moving swiftly to a conclusion that seems almost too good to be true, it vividly por- trays a new era of business success for women, the winning of an income and how every woman may turn her ability . . . into money. Imagine, if you can, a woman unusually handicapped with genuine grie and responsibility, rising above all obstacles and in but a ew short years becoming a millionaire. Such is this story, based on fact, which definitely formulates for every woman the way to financial independence . . . worthwhile business and professional achievement. Edith Mae Cummings’ phenomenal success and her advice to women on how to succeed in business, as plainly stated in Pots, Pans and Millions, is the book of the year; a contribution to Literature as well as to the business women of America. Here is a book that is both new and unusual, one you will eagerly read ... enjoy... reread ... and profit by. Accomplish- ment supersedes dreams. Facts replace theories. And woman is gloriously guided into her own without fear or favor. A mes- sage to all women who desire to be economically independent, to make the most of their opportunity and to have a successful business of their own. The First Edition of Pots, Pans and Millions will be off the Press about February roth. To make sure of your copy send in your name now. $3.50 postpaid. | MAIL THIS COUPON TODAY . ( ) Enclosed find $3.50 for which you are to send me a First Edition Copy of i “Pots, Pans and Millions” by Edith Mae Cummings. 8( ) Send me your Free Descriptive Brochure of Edith Mae Cummings’ new - book, “Pots, Pans and Millions.” § Send check or Money Order for Book or signify your request for Brochure by : marking bracketed space. Money refunded if not satisfactory. NATIONAL SCHGDL OF BUSINESS SCIENCE FOR WOMEN National Press Building. Washington, D.C.

Page 192

Here’s a wonderful way ' to get it Our beautifully illustrated book tells how. It tells all about our new methods of art decoration, art treatment and how anybody can learn without previous training or ex- perience. It contains page after page of handsome color illustrations of what you can make and sell. You can make good money and this book is FREE Our system is amazingly easy to learn and the profits are larger than in almost any other business. You can produce beautiful finished art objects dlmost from the beginning. You don’t have to know how to draw or have any experience. Be- A gin making money now. All supplies are sent by us with the instructions and many have made $25 the first week. Some society women have taken up this work for their own amusement— Either way, pleasure or — it’s the most delightful ome work you can imagine. Write Now for your 4 of this valuable book ; it’s FREE Fireside Industries Dept. 23-C Adrian, Mich. FIRESIDE INDUSTRIES, Dept. 23-C, Adrian, Mich. Gentlemen: Send me free book and com- plete plan for making money. DANDRUFE A Sure Way to End It There is one sure way that never fails to re- move dandruff completely, and that is to dissolve it, Then you.destroy it entirely. To do this, just apply a little Liquid Arvon at night before retiring; use enough to moisten the scalp and rub it in gently with the finger tips. By morning, most, if not all, of your dandruff will be gone, and two or three more applications will completely dissolve and entirely destroy every single sign and trace of it, no matter how much dandruff you may have. You will find, too, that all itching of the scalp will stop instantly and your hair will be lustrous, glossy, silky and soft, and look and feel a hun- dred times better. You can get Liquid Arvon at any drug store, and a four ounce bottle is all you will need. P arts remedy has never been known to ail. ‘Music Lessons } UNDER MASTER TEACHERS 2 At Hom thi ri Lag amedny | with Sualiar vinee ob test comparison. any Sector: We allow larger diamond to ever offered ty in exchange for a for FREE justrated as as 00 a WEEK. Write for Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, toag with Mexico. And there’s boys here whos daddies and granddaddies fit under her in 1812, and Ya further back eo that even. Be “Son, it ain’t that we've got a ve ag’inst, it’s the fellers that air bidin’ ume now. They’re our middlin’-meat, or will be when the fuzees start poppin’. But that flag's all hunky-dory. Come to that, she’s ez mudi our’n ez she is.their’n. She’s fell into bad com pany for the time bein’, that’s all. And that ain’t her fault, ez I see it and ez all here sees it, So let her flaunt!” pint But how about cleanin’ out that there bunch of traitors to their own land and their own cause?” “Hasn’t a free-born white man got a right to be wrong—if he thinks he’s right?” said Bird softly. “It’s the brave man who takes sides when taking sides may be It’s the coward who waits until he con aa side is the stronger before he shows his colors.” “But there ain’t more’n half ez many of 'em ez they is of us. We could handle ’em easy,” demurred the newcomer. “A second reason why we shouldn’t » against them,” stated Bird. “And a thin reason is that we want no bloodshed here on the streets of the town where we live. There be enough good American blood spilt befor very long to satisfy a butcher, I’m thinking And a fourth reason is that whichever cro gets licked in this war is going to need some friends in the winner’s camp when they all get back home again . . . How do you know how many of them there are?” ©” “TI ast questions, that’s how. And I went acrost and looked ’em over, close up. Through a window I sort of counted heads.’ e “Oh, you went across? Well, we decided among ourselves here that until we got away all of us would stay on our side of the street— this side, I mean—and leave them alone o their side. That was an agreement, now it’s an order, Private Watts. But you didn’t know about its being an order and since you did cros, acy. you can tell us about how many have nswornin. I suppose they’re sweari “Yas, they air. ere’s about fifty signe up so fur. But they’re expectin’ more.” _ “Fifty, eh? That’s more than I’d d Still, that’s a regular hotbed of northem sympathizers out by the river. A in of them are from the Knobs, I take it?” “Some, but not all. They ain’t all trash, any manner of means. There’s some ownin’ families—rich families—rep More’n you’d think fur. That’s whut graves me wuss’n anything almost. F’rinstance nov, Roddy”—he was addressing a handsome welt set-up youth—“f’rinstance now, ‘your Om cousin, John Brown Fry, he’s there in ’em bigger’n life-size, bein’ all swelled-up amd chested-out and struttin’ like a cock a “Oh, that cousin of mine!” said men, there has to be one black sheep in every flock. But Johnny Boy’s our only black sheep. I-can say that much for my tribe. His ow twin sister has quit speaking to him—sweaB she never will speak to him again.” ie “J s’posn’ prob’ly you seen my baby brother thar, too—Willie Scarr?” said a hulking fam hand, reddened and shamefaced. Be 3 “I didn’t see him but I heared tell he'd ® ported. But I did see one of ’em that’s sor off-side :kinnery of your’n, Tilla—’scuse ™ Jake Bird, he’s there. They’re talkin’ of Mit Lindsay one. But Dunc, bein’ well-off a® havin’ went to academy, he’s more labie® git it, they say. But whut book-learnin: to do with fightin’, I can’t see.” you, Tyler Watts?” asked Attila Bird, his qe lids crinkling humorously. “We're a mixegm outfit here in the Blue Grass. We can’t al to start trouble yet with our own people.” “But ain’t no notice a-tall to be took of renegades ag’inst our own dear South a little bit under her, endurin’ of the late war. “All right then,” argued Watts, “let that | good many Slaughter, and laughed ruefully. “Well, gentle- i Ish’d say-Cap’n Bird. Your fur-distant cous fur their commandin’ officer—him or Due = “But you do see how the rest of it is, ont ASERL oFEPAES Rg 8572585458. 5E022)88 282 Fs SRR EGEEEE. EEERS © 952s 286E828 Seraceyageuse axces

Page 193

our own sacred principles?” It was evident ere whose is weedy young man had been listening erin 1812, core orators and had imbibed some fine | =o language. “Why, single-handed, I’ll bet I kin ta me ' two of ’em, all by myself!” ueoae ae ta worry, Tyler.” Bird’s tone was or will be friendly rather than dictatorial. “You'll proba- that flag’ find fighting a-plenty where we’re going. 'S €Z is is not going to be any ninety-day pic- > bad com nic. This war is going to last, that’s my guess. And that Those crazy Abolitionists up North may think ere sees it, we'll just get tired and quit of our own accord hog ty soon; and some of the fire-eaters farther “let that south than this may deceive themselves into ” out that believing a Yankee won’t fight you. But we n land and who live here on the debatable ground—we know better than these fellows do what the Zot a right thing is bound to be. We know it’s bound to ght?” said be bitter and desperate and hard-fought. who takes “Finally there’s this: We, here, are not a mob any longer, nor a crowd even. What any on aa of us might do as individuals we can’t do as his colors.” soldiers. Since yesterday we’re a company any of em and by your votes I was elected the captain of ’em easy,” this company and from this on we’ll have dis- fe ipline in the ranks or I’ll know the reason ouldn’t @ .” He was snapping the words out now. nd a third “You forgot to salute just now, Private ed hereon @ Watts, when you ran in here in such a swivit. e. There'll Don’t forget next time! But for your own in- spilt before formation I may tell that before we ride away n thinking tomorrow morning, due and proper notice will over aa be taken of the presence of that headquarters need some § of theirs down at Lindsay’s harness factory.” they all get § Behind his hand he winked to sundry men who i happento § shared with him a certain secret. “Now, i Lieutenant Slaughter, let’s go over those muster-rolls and check up on ’em once more!” ». Through a It was threatening rain, an overcast but hot we decided morning when, having saddled up in the lot e got away behind the livery-stable adjoining their rendez- the street— vous, the troopers rode out upon the highway n alone on which ran north and south. There was a nt, now it’s symbolism about the way this highway ran. didn’t know § Over it these volunteers would ride today— Du did cross, going south. Over it, also, tomorrow or the many have § next day, perhaps, another file of men would go vearing-in? forth—tramping northward. fifty signe Those who went this day were nearly all nORe F young men, many of them slim supple boys in ’d expected, their teens. There was little about them to of northem @ suggest a military unit—no uniforms yet, a maly @ mixture of weapons for equipment, gay rag- it?” oe quilts rolled behind their saddles for bedding, cas pots and pans tied on fore and aft like curious some slave § excrescences, like metal malformations. resented, An effort at moving in squad formation was rep! ( vhut graves stance ne idsome we your om > in oe resulting only in a confused stragg’e. But every man among them sat his horse easily; was at ease on a horse, that was plainly to be seen. And they had a bugler and a color-bearer and _ their leader had a crimson sash bound about his slender waist. A few were better dressed, better capari- soned, better provided-for than the rest. Three » § orfour had with them black body-servants who were mounted on stout work-horses whereas their masters rode thoroughbred stock. These excited darky boys were grinning broadly, their white teeth showing in their black faces. For the moment, however, the skylarking Spirit which until now had marked their plans ing on this gay rollick called going to war was gone from the white troopers. This Was good-by for them. Right down the street mder, lining both sides of the dusty roadway, the sidewalks, the front yards, the doors the windows, their kinspeople and neigh- ors and friends were waiting; their womenfolk too, wives and mothers and sisters and sweet- t , In a few instances, daughters—all iting to bid them good-by and wave to them and cheer for them and watch them idllog ag away to join forces with that young fellow Morgan’s men. __shey passed the Mansion House, passed the the , passed the center of things where stead were thickest. On beyond there, head of the column came abreast of Lind- harness factory and then their newly M captain gave the order to halt. He Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 turned his mare so that he looked toward a} clump of men, fifty or sixty of them, who) massed on the narrow sidewalk upon the left. | The looks upon the faces of these grouped | men were watchful, in some instances sullen, | in one or two cases obviously apprehensive— | not daunted but uneasy. They were all very | quiet. Perhaps half of them were armed. | Fowling-pieces and rifles were in their hands, pepper-box pistols and derringers and butcher- | knives in belts about their middles. Above their heads a small United States flag hung | limp and skimpy in the heat. In the forward row of them was young Duncan Lindsay, gallant and debonair and | smartly groomed, a recent graduate of an | eastern college. He was smiling slightly—a | smile with nervousness behind it. Alongside him and topping him by half a head, stood Jacob Bird, a spindly but wiry- | looking figure, with very black eyes and a swarthy skin and—strange complement for | such coloring—a crop of pale reddish hair. He | was bareheaded and in his shirt-sleeves. He | was not smiling. As the riders swung about, | facing his party, Jacob Bird’s right hand closed on the grip of a heavy cap-and-ball pistol. Attila Bird caught the movement and the | menace that was in it. He threw up his right arm, the palm o the hand outward and open in a gesture that was part a salute part a hail. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said, in his high-pitched whimsical voice, “I crave your indulgence. For myself and for these gentle- men here, I have something to say to you.” “We'll be g'ad to hear anything you care to say—within bounds,” replied young Lindsay. | “T shall endeavor to keep within bounds, thank you,” returned Bird. “As you may | have heard, gentlemen, we purpose going away today. We understand that you shortly con- template a departure—'n the opposite direction | from ours. We are all of us Kentuckians. Most of us grew up together in this old county. | We have been playmates, schoolmates, neigh- bors friends. Some of us are kinfolks.” He let his eyes flicker toward his frowning | cousin, then sideways and rearward to where | his younger brother, Don Carlos Bird, in the ranks behind him bestrode a prancing gelding. “We are parting now. It may be for a long | time. When next we meet—if we do meet— it may be that we’ll look upon one another’s | faces through gunpowder smoke. And not all of us are coming back again, either. So, gentle- men, we have stopped today to bid you farewell and to wish for each one of you good luck and a safe return even though we do not wich your cause good luck. We claim there’s neither treason nor disloyalty there. Will you shake hands with us?” “We'll do more than that, Attila Bird!” shouted Duncan Lindsay, his voice suddenly oo husky and tremulous, and with a grace- ul sweeping bow, off came his new black hat of shiny varnished straw. ‘“We’ll give you a real genuine Kentucky yell as you go away.” Bird spurred his horse forward. “Jake!” he cried out in a half-bantering tone as he bent in the saddle. “I'll start with you—away back yonder we budded from the same vine. Turn loose that pop-gun and touch flesh with me.” But Jake Bird seemed not to hear him. He was wriggling back into the press behind him— the only man of his company who pressed rear- ward. The rest all shoved forward, their hands outstretched, their features working. With a jostled clatter from pendent frying- pans and a battered coffee-pot, a blocky equestrian—one Gabe Scarr—slid off his plow- horse. Blubbering loudly, he roughly seized a seventeen-year-old weepy-eyed boy out of the huddle of the Federalists and squeezed him to his breast. “You derned stubborn deluded little fool!” he exclaimed. “You mind whut Mammy told you and you take good keer of yourse’f. ’Cause ef you don’t, I’m a-goin’ to—I’m a-goin’ to——” He glared over his brother’s shoulder. “Dunc Lindsay, gol-dern you, you look out fur this here little fool. Don’t you let nothin’ hap- *Cause ef you do I’m a-goin’ to pen to him. Could You Meet An Emergency Threatening Your Dog’s Life? Write for your copy of this authoritative 104 page textbook. It tells all about dogs —care, fe i di MAILED FREE! d etc CHOW-CHOW This breed originated in northern China centuries ago. A true “one man” dog resembling the Eskimo Dog. His color is solid—red, smoke-blue or black, as a rule. The only breed with a black tongue. ESSENTIAL NEEDS FOR EVERY DOG LOVER’S Imperial Medicines are needed by almost all dogs. Each of these is the finest of its kind. Each combines perfect safety with highest efficacy. To use any of lower quality is not fair to the animal who will always give his best for you. Keep him free from fleas; skin clean and coat gleaming. Treat him for dangerous intestinal worms. Keep him regular with Glover’s Laxative Pills and toned up with Glover’s Condition Pills. Use Glover’s Cresol Disinfectant as a positive germicide in his bath, on his feeding pans, kennel and bedding. VETERINARY WELFARE SERVICE...FREE WRITE fully to our veterinarian for advice in any matter concerning dogs, cats, birds or farm livestock. H. CLAY GLOVER CO., Inc. Dept. C, 119 Fifth Avenue, New York, N. Y. Sales Agents: Harold F. Ritchie & Co., Inc., New York

Page 194

the Jewel of ka e gland crownof England’sat- tractions stands York, the show city of the North. York... of the Roman legions, Saxon adven- turers and Danish Kings. York with its hundreds of vivid episodes of his- tory... rollicking Tudors, bold Eliza- bethans and gallant Cavaliers. Dominating this scene of greatness stands the sublime cathedral. .. glorious York Minster... England’s treasure house of stained glass. To contem- plate this 1,300 year old temple, with its Jesse window, Five Sisters window and lofty vaulting, is a sight ever to be remembered. Up and down the entire East Coast of England are countless points of ex- quisite beauty and interest for Amer- icans. Lincoln, Cambridge, Peter- borough, Durham and Ely. What pictures these names recall! Great castles and abbeys, dancing rivers, and historic associations set amid the most celebrated rural scenery in the world. Pu England is the garden of Europe, a refreshing tonic, where you will be really welcome. Write for free illustrated guide No. 24, containing many delight ful trips. H. J. KETCHAM, General Agent 311 Fifth Avenue, New York London and North Eastern Railway OF ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND frail ithe daylights out of you next time I see u. “T’ll look after him, Gabe,” answered Lind- say, his shaky laugh rising clear in the tumult. “By Godfrey, Dunc Lindsay, you’d better!” They broke grips, fell apart, both factions whooping hoarsely. The troopers re-formed, went off down the hoof-pocked road in a thumping hand-gallop their little standard whipping out, their bugle sounding, the dust rising and swirling until its gray curtain hid the twinkling feet of the horses. Their shapes diminished in the humid distance and the bugle note came back to the ears of these they were leaving behind them as a thin faint trickle of music; and a countrywoman in a bunchy black calico frock ran out ‘into the middle of Main Street and stood there, her arms widely and stiffly extended in the posture of one nailed to a cross, and bleated and screamed. ‘“‘He’s gone!” she was proclaiming. ‘He’s gone. My onliest boy child is gone frum me— gone, gone, gone!” The sound of her grief rose in a shrill screech. She stood there, the living cruciform, a heart- breaking, heart-broken spectacle. Down from her veranda and out into the roadway came swiftly Mrs. Judge Bledsoe, who was dignified and cultured, a Roman mother among mothers, one who was credited with having said grimly, just the week before, “Mine tell me they’re ready and waiting. If they don’t go, I’m going to kill them with my own hands; and if they do go, it’s going to kill me.”’ She had said it smilingly, while blinking very fast.to keep back the tears. This morn- ing, dry-eyed and outwardly placid, she had seen them depart. Now she strove to take this countrywoman in her arms and comfort her. “T’ve sent three of mine off,” she said. “All I had. I sent them proudly, gladly. I wish I had more sons to give . . . Come along with me, won’t you? Come on into my house. We'll have a good cry together. I’ve just been saving up for a good cry.” But the stretch-armed countrywoman was not to be comforted. “You've got three,” she answered. ‘“You’re rich in sons. I’m poor—I ain’t got only jist the one. Let me be, you woman. I can’t bear it—oh, I can’t bear it! He’s gone, he’s gone!” Quite near by was another countrywoman and this one did not sob or wail, but with a sudden terrible fierceness pounced on a gaunt man, downcast and stern-looking, who until now had kept himself half hidden behind one of the tall wooden pillars of the court-house with his hungry eyes staring at that diminish- ing dust cloud to the southward. She clutched him by both sleeves and dragged him down the steps and out into the open. “All my life till this minute I’ve minded you, James Menifee,” she declared loudly. “Be- cause I’m your lawful wedded wife, I’ve minded you in all things. _But now, now fur onc’t you’re goin’ to do ez I say, not ez you say.” As though for vindication of her disobedi- ence, she turned to those about them. ‘“‘Because he holds by the Union, he wouldn’t give our boy his blessin’; n6t even today,” she told them. ‘He wouldn’t say nothin’ a-tall to him, not a single word. He wanted that I shouldn’t come in to tell him good-by. But when I was gone he sneaked_off and followed along behind me,. unbeknéwnst—this man, |a@my husband, my Hal’s father, and him a preacher!” She shook the man violently. “You’re a preacher, ain’t you? You call yourself a preacher of the Gospel! All right then, you pray to your God that He’ll send our Hal back safe and sound. Pray, I tell you!” “Loose your holts on me, woman, and I'll pray,” he said. She released him. He closed his eyes and lifted his face toward the murky skies and in a quick hush which had fallen on this particular group he began. ‘ “O Merciful Father,” he prayed, “in this, the dreadfulest hour of its need, save Thou this here beloved Union of ours. Preserve it, O Lord, frum them that wouldst destroy it. Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 Don’t let traitors tear down and tromple this Union that was boughten and paid fy with the blood of our fathers. Don’t——" “Not that, not that!” she bade him. “{g, him you got to pray fur, here and now!” He went on: “O Lord God, save this Union, like I just now ast you, but O Dear God, save also this here woman’s misguided son, her” He faltered, his voice cracking and choking then in a great strong voice of Sending: ; God, our son, our first-born! Spare him, and send him back to her—to us—to me, Send my boy back to me! Fur the sake of Your own begotten Son, Jesus Christ, Amen/’ When the others there looked once more ty the south, the little dust cloud was gone, Four years of it, nearly, and in the of the fourth year of that war, on a showery cool. ish morning, Private Don Carlos Bird lay fag downward on the wet and muddied earth jp what had been a fence corner, with his feet ty a smoldering fire of fence rails. Two years riding with Morgan’s Raiders; one year of a Northern prison where he caught dysentery and jail fever and the vermin fed on him; then exchanged and through this last year serving here in Virginia with a Louisiana foot-regiment —that had been this soldier’s record. He was a seasoned veteran, a man who seen a dozen pitched battles and skirmishes past counting, and he was not yet twenty-om sna old. He was in fact a worn-out, starving y and he was crying bitterly. _He was crying partly from weakness but mainly because the day before Lee had surrendered. He was rack of bones, a rag scarecrow, a famished halt naked shell, and his weeping wrenched his frame “Hello there, Reb,” said a voice, Beppe most over him. From the pillow of his wasted arms, he lifted a begrimed and streaked face that was fuzzed over with straggly whis kers. One of the victorious bluebellies, a heavy man, heavily burdened, well-fed-looking, ina whole but weather-beaten uniform, was stand- ing above him. Bird stared and said nothing. The Yankee grinned—gloatingly, the other “Hello, young Reb,” he said again. “Tf you feei like you look, I’d say you musth feelin’ purty dauncy!” “Damn you!” Bird said. “If you’ve come here to laugh at me and taunt at me, I'll kil you!” Feebly, he was getting to his knees. “Hold your horses, buddy. I didn’t com here to laugh at you, not ’specially, I I come here under orders to find you.” “Orders to find me? I’ve surrendered—# my general has.” “Well, leastwise, orders was to find som such a-lookin’ Johnny as you are. You ‘peat to fill the bill about as well as any I’ve sea Tell me. something: About how long hasit been since you had a real square fillin’ meald shore-nuff human vittles in you?” “What business is that of yours?” “Makin’ it my business. Go on, tell m, son! I’m right wishful to know.” 2 “I can’t hardly remember, it’s so far beck —_ the last — weeks I — ; Pe parched corn—until my gums and my too sore. The last meat I had was abouts week ago when I killed a rat in a and cooked him on a ramrod.” ! “Sort of thought as much; anyhow, colonel did. Colonel Trautman, Ni Pennsylvania Volunteers—that’s him. He bat the idee.” While he was saying these thing the stranger was wriggling out of canvas pack and undoing it and producing skillet, a blackened pot, then various small wrapped parcels. ‘Yep, the colonel he says® all us boys for each one to draw him a dou ration this mornin’ and go find — Johnny and go sheers with him on breaklast “You jest lay still and leave me kick ® some of these here live chunks till they # blazin’ good and ’bout ten minutes from | oF u and me are goin’ to be eatin’. Heres belly and here’s hardtack bisquits—I’l soakin’ them soft—and here’s some coifé here’s some sugar and now then, by gu if here ain’t a chunk of salt-horse!” > ray : his soiled é SLES ¢ nS

Page 195

Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 TRAVEL GUIDE (Osmop olitan TRAVEL SERVICE Cosmopolitan Travel Service offers’ you practical suggestions on travel. A letter or postcard will bring you the information you desire. Travel literature of all companies concerning any part of the world will be sent free of charge. Also note Cosmopolitan’s own travel library listed below. Order them by number at toc each; complete set $1.50. Address: Cosmopolitan Travel Service, 57th Street at Eighth Avenue, New York City. he spring B a ape 4 cd earth | olit SWITZER cd cath osmopolitan : LAND n his feet to ‘wo years o ; ne e year ofa Travel Library t d 1. South America and Central Amer- mn him; then ring . 2. South E nd the Medi- rear ‘seg So = Tegumeat 3. The Pacific Coast and the Great . Southwest, 10c. an who had 4. The Orient, 10c. 5. Florida, 10c. twenty-one 6. That Trip to Europe, 10c. ut, starving 7. The Canadian Rockies and North- € was crying west National Parks, 10c be the 8. saa hag rd of Colorado and © was a ornia, b mished half. 9. ™ Great van. ee the St ° awrence ley, pete 10.. New England and the Adiron- spea dacks, 10c. ely 11, ~ Be and Surrounding Re- raggly whis 12, Around the World Cruising, 15c. llies, a heavy By D. E. Lorenz, Ph. D. ooking, ina 13. Mediterranean Cruising, 15c. , was stand By D. E. Lorenz, Ph. D. be 7 14. Hawaii, 10c. i . aid 15. Norway, Sweden, Denmark, 10c. Electrification adds to the smooth, " ‘sik a 16. North Carolina, 10c. restful, la he oa flight — eT e . . it madkes you must be Qa the more beautiful tha Ee ros G tema EUROPE $720 day ba mm . you've til 4 a i 200 All Expense Tours $225 up. Booklet Free ; me, I'll tu Euro ry ALLEN TOURS ae _ ra rhea aay ot . . . . And when the fleets last fall ‘di int ae ji brought back from Europe the tens of lly, I didn’t Away in the East where the sun rises—a thousands of contented Americans you.” little more than five days from New York their praise for Switzerland was unan- ren —lies England—America’s Gateway to imous . . . . the outstanding event Europe...Think of the England of the of the entire trip in every respect! o find = er aeons Fesnklioe and sag a Ra Shir ‘aes sieieid A SAA ni pepebatives You *- leigh, Frobisher and Rainier in the. west; thi ion? ny I’ve be *r Of sintagel with King Arthur _ Pw BORDER to etn + long has ts in council; Glastonbury, founde ’ : illin’ meal d by Joseph of Arimathea. Then roam Don’t hy 8 siete! i hustling through romantic Somerset, Hampshire, throug a boamaee euteul country rs??? Dorset and Kent to wondrous old m the world and yet see nothing of on, tell m, Canterbury, see of every Primate since its real beauty. Be sure to visit ” Augustine, where the Black Prince rests. Geneva, Lausanne, Montreux, - far po ¥ollow the dawn to England and land at Plymouth Berne, Bernese Oberland, Jung- alg peg ir Bea peasants tba adl get, (yale tant id fraujoch, Loetschberg, Zermatt- fi drigal and II 1- ? 2 my comes. heneah Se ee Gornergrat, Furka-Oberalp, Gri- . Guide No. 60, containing full information, sons, Zurich, Lucerne and its Lake 4 gladly sent on request. District, St. Gothard and Lugano. anyhow, _ KW. C. GRAND, Gen. Agt., 505 Fifth Ave., N.Y. ss 2, WRITE US FOR LITERATURE ‘in RE }©6XGREAT WESTERN USING THE COUPON BELOW these this d of his soiled an SWISS roducing he mai in Nogales is Mexico! various stil SOUTHERN —ten gon hate—‘ontnarall the Mn'and fee of || FEDERAL RAILROADS nel he says : Pl\Nosales ("No-géL.iss) is Arizona’s 34-milehigh || 475 Fifth Avenue New York him @ * Railway $ of Eng land beter aene preted of ‘cen tend nations ES LEAT OLD 5 a Ste a id a 4 PPP A AL bP rSv vei b agro Pra Pret tutu | with a Soca ene LS pe —— and n break gp oe i ee a tm hee Eu R O i a Esmee any mountain air—just a mighty good place to Please send me illustrated booklets and map. from nov * r E fortable accommodations, Write for Booklet, then come - . op peg ged eennony irene ana Southern Pacific or Transcontinental Highway AOS SE ESI Dra 1 Sa ae OO Ore on y' a Write for our Booklet C NOGALES WONDERLAND CLUB, Inc., FN ER RE ST SIRS Bah Pp Oe a eee See N , Arizona. with a list of all-expense tours $300 tees oases A send me free illustrated booklet 811 RERERE CARLETON TOURS “tater | | Nene Addeoec

Page 196

Biarritz and the Pyrenees for Easter ...then follow spring to the gay northern beaches! If you’re the man of average means, you'll find you’re rich...in France ....To travel, to be amused, to en- tertain, to get the cosmopolitan view- oint you've always wanted... how ittle it needs to cost!...The gayety of Biarritz at Easter with the long waves flashing in the sun... it isn’t reserved for millionaires...it’s yours.... Pau with its solid gold climate and its frieze of diamond mountains offers you health... financially and physi- cally both .... Corsica sits in the blue Mediterranean under a cloudless sky ...and when you get tired of Napoleon, here’s where you catch your trout.... Later on in the spring you can run up to LeTouquet...and even if the Prince of Wales is there the price won’t keep you out....LaBaule provides you weekends with a gay Parisian crowd .... Everywhere you go... for pleasure, culture, rest or just because the whim takes you... you're pleasantly sur- prised to find how fara dollarstretches. Information and literature on request RAILWAYS OF FRANCE General Representatives INTERNATIONAS WAGON-LITS, 701 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK, OR ANY TOURIST AGENCY

“Hush up your talking, I can’t stand it!” cried Bird. “And pardner, for Lord’s sake hurry!” It was his mouth that watered now, not his eyes. Presently there was breakfast. The Yankee didn’t eat much although he seemed a man who ordinarily might prove a willing gormandizer. Bird did most of the eating. Having eaten, a false strength came to him. He stood on his legs; made ready to move off. “What you fixin’ to do now?” asked his late host. “T’m going home,” said Bird. “At least I’m heading for there. I reckon there’s nothing else for me to do—this war’s about over, I figure. I haven’t seen my home for it’s going on three years and nine months now.” “Where is home for you, cumrud?” “West of here—almost due west, I’d say.” “How far west?” “A matter of three hundred miles, I guess.” “Calculate to ride or walk?” “Walk.” “Humph!” The Northerner was squinting at Bird’s feet. They were wrapped in ravelly torn scraps of sacking and from these wrapp:ngs the toes showed crusted with dried dirt. “Here, wait a bit, cumrud,”’ said the Federal. He hunkered down on a pile of rails and undid the clasps of his heavy cowhide half-boots and drew the boots off. Then, after a brief con- sideration, he also took off his thick cotton socks which originally had been wh'te and were now caked with damp dust but entire. “Here,” he said, “you take and wear these here. I ain’t requirin’ ’em—I got a still better pair of brogar . in my traps jest over there where we’re camped.’ The transfer was made. Dry-shod young Bird went limping across the trampled miry field. The o!der man_ barefoo ed, stood watch- ing him go. Bird had trave'ed perhaps fifty rods before it occurred to h’m that he had not thanked his benefactor. He looked back. The big Yankee was starng at hm. The Yankee did a funny thing. He straightened stiffly and his right hand came up to the brim , —a =e aw we Oo i i An ok ae ce se gz 2. BeEeocrerrse

Page 197

se, MOV- h of Te no ee im there ough he after he > easter und his ne at a > Major “Now it never will be,” Attila told him. | : 2 - “Your sweetheart’s still waiting for you,” | yosemite VALLEY, FAMED ROUND THE WORLD, A FEW HOURS ONLY FROM SAN FRANCISCO said Don Carlos. “I heard that yesterday.” “T knew she would—Sally’s the kind that sticks,” said Attila. “I want to get married the very first thing. Lord knows what I’ve | got left to get married on though They slept that night at the roadside under his pair of threadbare blankets, breakfasted next morning at a shanty where an old black -woman gave them a share of what she had. About ten o’clock the two were skirting the belt of broken lands along the rive-, taking turns about in the saddle. As they went down into a tiny shut-in valley, Attila, whose turn it was to ride, said: “Well, we’re nearly there. When we get to the top of the next hill we’ll be able to see the chimneys on the home place. Six miles more— and then home! Boy, think of it—home!” But at the bottom, just as they were passing an abandoned shanty which ‘tood among brambles on the shore of a small branch, shots came from one bushy fringe of the little ravine, ' Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 217 hitting both of them. Attila had his side- arms—two heavy pistols in his saddle-holsters, | his officer’s sword girthed about him. Don) was without weapons of any sort. The colonel drew and fired back swiftly in the | direction from which the shots had come, and | heard a grunt and a threshing in the brush. Under a scattering fire he dropped off and half carried, half dragged his brother out of the road and over to the shack, where they took refuge | beneath the floor, sheltered behind the log | ends on which it was propped. Attila was wounded in the fleshy part of one | shoulder, Don in the neck, slightly, and | through the ankle. It was the latter wound | which had crippled him. But it was a third | wound, of which he was not even aware—a | glancing shot which pierced his thigh on the | inner side and opened .the big artery there— which caused him to bleed to death where he lay slightly behind Attila. The latter, concerned with replying to the fire of their unseen assailants, knew nothing of this. When finally the bushwhackers drew off without ever having shown themselves, he looked back and there was the boy stretched out in a red puddle, dead. The identity of the murderers was never definitely established. But the section had for years been harassed by a band of so-called regulators — guerrillas, really — who among Unionists professed to favor the Union and among Confederate sympathizers claimed to be for the South, but who preyed indiscrimi- nately on whosoever was weak or defenseless or unprotected. Lately and outwardly, they had been all for the Union. Afterwards Colonel Bird used to say that the bullet which he carried deeply imbedded in his left shoulder muscles, and which worked back and forth and bothered him sometimes during a change of weather, might possibly be a souvenir from a distant relative—for at least one of the younger Birds out of the Knobs had ranged with these coat-turning outlaws.. As to that, though, he of course could not be sure. Nor was it ever known what the motive for the ambushing had been. Whether the assas- sins were actuated by a wanton desire to kill or whether they coveted the horse which Attila Tode, no one definitely might say. In any event, the marauders drew off with- out taking the horse. The animal was standing in the road when the colonel finally emerged from hiding; and, unaided, he somehow man- aged to heave his brother’s slack body across the saddle and tie it there, he staggering along- side during those remaining six miles; and that was the manner of their home-coming. It was pretty hard on Colonel Bird, the job teadjusting himself to a peace which was by nO means peaceful. Against him, as against majority of his recent comrades-in-arms, Stood handicaps; their former slaves dis- organized and uprooted, drifting like lost sheep, and for the most part unwilling to work; the $ soon to be done by the Freedmen’s ik? . e dream that must come true. CALIFORNIA for your next vacation. Lifting their rugged crests to the sky of deepest blue, sheer walls of granite, mag- nificent in their beauty, rise on all sides from the floor of Yosemite Valley. A few hours’ distance by marvelously scenic highway is the Mariposa grove of Big Trees— magnificent veterans of two, three and five thousand years. Almost in their shadow you can play golf—a mile in the air, in a setting of alpine glory. California calls to you this summer. A vacation spent in this famed playland wil’ be one of double profit. For you will have good chance to study the state’s practical opportunities. Thousandsarrive in California every year, for a holiday, and find the business opening that per- mits them permanently to remain, with their families, ‘“where life is better.” Plan your trip by way of — San Francisco This city is the central gateway to the Pacific Coast—to the Redwood Empire rT sepeadone site deneeshoclte folont with its mystic groves; mountain-high lakes, geysers and petrified forests; sever- al national parks; thousands of square miles of national forest for camping and fishing; scenic rail lines and motor high- ways; the long foaming coastline of the blue Pacific; and scores of spectacular golf courses, on one of which the 1929 national amateur tournament will be held September 2 to 7. San Francisco is itself a holiday city of sparkling interest. It is the coolest summer city in America. Average tem- perature in summer 59°, and it doesn’t rain. Low roundtrip railroad rates to San Francisco and the Pacific Coast begin- ning May 22. The Victory Highway (U. S. Highway No. 40) will be in good condition. Or you can come steamship via Panama Canal. Let Californians Inc., a non-profit organization, send you a new book— “California Vacations.” It is free. ET CALIFORNIANS, INC. Dept. 103 703 Market Street, San Francisco You may send the free book on “California Vacations” at once to: TIN. co: sacseh Acatneneninamcaindtihinneinisndiniatéaandamesinatinassaces I isciiniciticiineinninglisimsinaatinareices Se Pa TE

Page 198

£EVE, FOEN

i H

GERMAN TOUDE ” "INFORMATION OFFICE ."} NEW YORK, B Please send me Illustrated Travel Brochures on Beautiful Germany. Name, Address am $08

: peaks, and Romance floats her 7 but one of countless theills in 7) progress, modern comfort, unex- { greatest enterlainment program. | And then: your trip through | than a vacation at home!

ealization in stone of dream-

like beauty, proud castles an

picturesque ruins crown Ger-

many’s wooded hills and rocky

banner from their ancient fowers.

Revel in this glory of a great past, Germany, land of unsurpassed scenic charms, of great cathe- deals, medieval fowns, quaint old inns—and of twentieth century celled transportation, the world’s beautiful Germany is cheaper

SP PSSOOSSESSOSESSEOOSESESOSOEEESSESESSESESESOSEOS

The LEADING STUDENT TOURS on Cunard supremacy! 7000 satis- fied guests! They for the hegglast sumaue of year tne ti B STUDENTS VEL CluB S5i-F8 AVE

|

Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 Bureau and it fraudulently keeping alive the fictional prospect of “forty acres and a mule” tor every ex-bondsman; black troops with shin- ing bayonets yet on duty in districts which by : the peo gyoncone of certain provost ma remained unpacified—districts which never ' could be pacified until those same black t |and those same bright bayonets were with drawn; martial law pressing heavy on the land; threats of further confiscations of the property of those “lately in rebellion”; many men pro- scribed; a few men, recently leaders but now outlawed, gone to foreign parts; irregular bands of so-called vigilantes—a little later they would call themselves the Ku Klux—seeking to bring order out of chaos and only making the chaos more chaotic; then the smaller annoyances, the petty tyrannies of local satraps; oh, even here in a state which, technically at least, had never quitted the Union, there was among the vanquished a plenitude of causes for concern, . And Lincoln, the compassionate man, dead; and Johnson, the drunken man, and the vacil- lating, roaring and scolding and hiccuping in the White House; and Davis lying with chains on him in a cell at Fortress Monroe. And Congress dominated by Thad Stevens and dour old Jim Lane and Sumner the vou And talk of “reconstruction” and “conquered provinces” in the air up yonder at Washington. And new ominous words creeping into the language—“carpetbagger,” for instance, and | “‘scalawag”—words which were ugly-sounding to start with and would in time, to southem ears, become the ugliest words ever spoken. It chafed Colonel Bird that he, who had | fought fairly and had taken the oath in good faith, still should be disfranchised, still should lie under disqualifying bans and bounds. It | chafed him that his place should be so run | down, and he, for lack of funds and lack of labor, helpless to remedy this.

He had a widowed mother to look out for and a wife already and a child expected. Within a week after his return he had married pretty, demure Sally Grover and she, who eight months before had been a bride, now was about to bear him a babe. ° It irked him to sit by with idle hands while | debts piled up, while his credit stretched and at the same time shrank, while his six hundred rich acres went to seed—and weedseed at that. Still, weeds could not altogether take the pas- | tures away from the blue-grass. That was one | good thing about it: there were fields where the blue-grass grew ranker than the cheating weeds did. In a warm April following a rainy spell, it would grow taller than a colt’s hoofs in twenty-four hours; that was the claim they made for it. One winter’s day—it was the winter of ’65- 66—he came in from bird-shooting, with his old pointer bitch at his heels, and having left his bag of game at the kitchen, he came around the house and sat down on the top step of the wide deep porch in the mild, almost afternoon sunshine. His dog was dozing at his feet while her tail went ‘hump-thump-thump against the board tread. The board badly needed repainting. All the framework needed paint, and the metalwork, too. The face of the building, being of mel- lowed, weathered red brick, looked, by contrast with its trim, fine and good. It was a house built after the approved early Virginian pattern, with round wooden pillars, with shutters for all the windows excepting the upper front windows which, being set high under the overhang of the rtico, had, instead of shutters, small wrought- iron balconies jutting out like flower br: from the wall. Bird’s Nest was the name of this place, a name bestowed by its founder. Leading down to the turnpike there ran, at either side of a driveway, a row of trees, honey- locusts and black walnuts alternating. colonel’s grandfather, having built the house and christened it, then had planted these trees. Myriads of dried brown seed-pods, like the pods of enormously overgrown beans, from the locusts, whereas the walnuts com- stantly shed down their big nuts cased im blackened hulls. Yellowish-green leaves

Baa_ygsgsgeoe SSssesoonev #52. ww so £2528 egcoeres i B 5’ Saint a SOBepess@esest. VZeseegecr SBEHARP Bes Be BBs SBAB S42 gpB oO

Page 199

Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 dung to the lower limbs of the walnut trees but the locusts were bare except for their pods and their clusters of long wicked thorns. As Colonel Bird sat there in the thinning December sunlight and felt the evening chill sharpen the air, he saw a friend of his, one Captain Felix Joseph O’Shea, lately of the Brigade, turn in at the opened double gates and stride briskly up the drive. He rose to greet the newcomer, who was a shabby but somehow dapper individual, in his early thirties. “Great news, Tilla Bird,” called out Captain O'Shea. “Great news from Frankfort. It just came and I’ve stopped by, hoofing it out from town, to tell you. That blanket amnesty bill today—passed both houses with a whoop. We’re free men once more. We're citizens of Kentucky and of the Republic! “Oh, there’ll be a howl from the Radicals in Congress that you could hear nine miles off —but the divil and all with them! What can they do? It was Union men behind a Unionist governor who put that blessed bill through the Legislature today—but good Democrats, thank God for it, even if they are Unionists. So let the Black Republicans rave their heads off.” “May they choke on their own ravings,” said Colonel Bird. ‘This thing calls for a cele- bration, O’Shea. There’re materials on my sideboard. How did the vote stand?” “In the House it carried by sixty-two to thirty-two; in the Senate, by twenty-two to twelve—practically two to one.” “T can guess who, in the Senate, cast one vote in opposition—my venerable but unesteemed distant connection, the Honorable Giles Bird?” “He did.” “He would.” “Never mind that clabbered old mongrel or whatever it is he is. Never mind any of the rest of that soured and bigoted minority. They'll all be snowed under next election. We're back in the saddle again, Tilla—free men and back in the saddle and rearing to go.” “Yes, we’re free, as you say. And I’m glad of that. And I’m proud that Kentuckians have proved to the nation that no matter what sectional differences may have been dividing us a year ago we’re ready now to stand to- gether against all the world and the govern- ment—yes, if it comes to that, against the standing army of the United States. But God pity our people farther south than this!”’ “Amen to that, too,” said Captain O’Shea piously. “You never spoke truer words in your life... Tilla, what’s delaying that entertainment you just mentioned? I’m shouting happy tonight. Tomorrow I’m going to reopen that law office of mine. Bright and early I’ll have a darky in there, dusting the dust off my law books and kindling up a fire in the ag = genes And I’m going to start Tunning for office right away.” “What office?” : “I haven’t decided yet. But the point is I'm going to run. I aim to get the bulge on about a thousand other fellows who’ll be taken with the same craving. I’ll run on my Con- federate record, that’ll be enough. From the Sentiment that’s springing up; it looks like Kentucky waited until the war was over before vg aad to secede. What are you aiming “That’s the trouble with me—I don’t know yet. I’ve got to work it out. I’m troubled in my mind about it . . . Well, let’s go inside and wet those tumblers.” In the long, rather bare and cheerless-looking old | -room, Colonel Bird was presently mixing two toddies. : How is your good lady, suh?” asked Cap- tain O’Shea, becoming all at once mannered

<i w

Harry A. Franck, author- traveler, in the accompany- ing article, has described with great clarity the advan- tages of this unique steam- ship service. You go as you please, stopping where you lease for as long as you like. hen when you are ready, continue on a similar ship in identical accommodations. Every week a President Liner sails from Los Angeles and San Francisco for Hono- lulu, Yokohama, Kobe, Shanghai, Hong Kong and Manila, and fortnightly on to Singapore, Penang, Colom- bo, Suez, Port Said, Alex- andria, Naples, Genoa, Mar- seilles, New York and Boston. You sail aboard palatial President Liners, broad of beam, steady and comfort- able. Spacious decks. Lux- urious public rooms. A swimming pool. Outside rooms with beds, not berths. A cuisine famous among world travelers. From Seattle these Presi- dent Liners sail every two weeks for the same Oriental ports and Round the World. There is a similar service returning from the Orient to Seattle, De Angeles and San Francisco. From New York to Cali- fornia via Havana and Panama, President Liners sail fortnightly. COMPLETE INFORMATION FROM ANY STEAMSHIP OR TOURIST AGENT | oe Pecrad Baca Gontrak jing my * Fad Noted traveler explains new way to see the World “The world does, indeed, improve—or at least ways of seeiag it do. In the days of my youth there were only two ways of encircling the globe. First, wholly ‘on your own,’ working out your own schedules and arranging for transportation, again and again, each time you here move on... Secondly, the same on 3 all the way round, with never time enough in any one country to get more than a tantalizing glimpse. “Today you may circumnavigate much as if in your own private yacht. Weekly and fortnightly sailings around the world in palatial American liners, from either the Atlantic or the Pacific seaboard. Stopovers anywhere en route, within the broad limit of two years! Time to spread yourself, to follow an impulse and go off at a tangent wherever word reaches you of some- thing you simply must see or do to be happy the rest of your life. When the excursion is over, ui, back to another palatial liner of the same line and, as simply as reentering your own home, on again, until the urge to explore another new world once more comes upon you...” Hang G. Frome, World Traveler and Author of A VAGABOND JOURNEY AROUND THE WORLD. WANDERING IN NORTHERN CHINA, East OF SIAM.

5 24 AND 32 BROADWAY, NEW YORK; 604 PIPTH AVE., NEW YORK, N. ¥.; 210 SO. SIXTEENTH ST., PHILADELPHIA; 177 STATE ST., BOSTON, MASS.; TIO SOUTH DEARBORN ST., CHICAGO, ILL.; $14 W. SIXTH ST., LOS ANGELES, CALIP. ; ROBERT DOLLAR BLDG., SAN FRANCISCO; L004 CONNECT CUT N. W., WASH., D. C.; DIME BANK BUILDING, DETROIT; UNION TRUST BLDG., CLEVELAND, OHIO; 152 BROADWAY, PORTLAND, OREGON; 21 PLAZZA DEL POPOLO, ROME, ITALY; If BIS RUB SCRIBE, PARIS, FRANCE; 22 BILLITER STREET, E. C. 3, LONDON; 4TH AT UNIVERSITY, SSATTLE, WASH.; YOKOHAMA, KOBE, SHANGHAI, HONG KONG, MANILA. ceremonious and speaking in the sonorous measured voice which subsequently, and on a hot-far-distant day, he would uplift in the ational Congress to champion the cause of the throttled and prostrate Cotton States. splendidly, thank you.” the great event—ah-hem?” Captain pegs delicately. ‘When, if I might Sit eice?” as to ask, is the great event to “

Page 200

In. May the trees that shade Hawaii’s gardens burst into round domes of gold and pink and scarlet flame. You should see these almost- tropic islands of Oahu, Kauai, Maui and Ha- waii then—and all through the summer! Close your eyes, and the cool breeze tells you that you’ re summering on a northern lake. Open them—and here miraculously are the iri- descent sea, the mist-shrouded volcanic peaks, the sunny beaches, coral reefs, and the gorgeous colors of the tropics! Great, restful hotel-palaces add a note of luxury to Hawaii’s native charm. Secluded cot- tage-hotels and quiet inns invite you to a summer of restfulness you've never known before. Yet there is an abund- ance of things to do— golf, of course, on a dozen verdant courses. Surf boarding and out- rigger-canoeing on pA Waikiki’s cool combers; game- fishing, ci Wat - MATSON LINE from SAN FRANCISCO —— every Wednesday and every other Saturday over smooth seas fast on de luxe liners; also popular one-class steamers. Novel entertainment features—glorious fun. At- tractive all-expense Island tours. Regular sailings from Seattle and Portland, Ore. See your travel agency or Matson Line: 215 Market St., San Francisco; 535 Fifth Ave., New York; 140 So. Dearborn St., Chicago; 1805 Elm St., Dallas; 723 Seventh St., Los Angeles; 1319 Fourth Ave., Seattle; 8214 Fourth St., Portland, Ore. HAWAITI Vari WORLD’S (uchante 3 me Pagornd Jee HAWAII her the glowing flame tiees bloom/ lawn-bowls, motoring, shopping in quaint Ori- ental bazaars; inter-island cruises; sightseeing among the volcanic wonderlands of Hawaii U.S. National Park, the mountain-tops and lovely beaches of Oahu, Kauai, Hawaii and Maui. Hawaii is only 2,000 miles (four to six days’ delightful voyage) from the Pacific Coast, and all-inclusive tours range upward from $300 for three weeks, to $400 and $500, including steamers, hotels and sightseeing, for a month’s trip. De luxe accommodations, also, equal to those of Europe’s most renowned resorts. Ask your local railroad or travel agent how to arrange your trip so as to include low summer round trip fares to all the Pacific Coast and visits to the great National Parksen route, sailing to Hawaii or returning via Los Angeles, San Fran- cisco, Seattle or Van- couver. Hawaii re- quires no pass- ports—this is a U.S. Territory. LASSCO LINE from LOS ANGELES Sailings every Saturday over the delightful Southern route on Lassco luxury liners and popular cabin cruisers. De luxe* accommodations; also economy tours on all-expense tickets. Ask at any authorized travel agency or at Los Angeles Steamship Company offices: 730 So. Broadway, Los An- geles; sos Fifth Ave., New York; 140 So. Dearborn St., Chicago; 1329 Kirby Bldg., Dallas; 685 Market St., San Francisco; 119 W. Ocean Ave., Long Beach, Calif.; 217 E. Broadway, San Diego, Calif. Name Street No. - HAWAIE TOURIST BUREAU P. 0. BOX 3615, SAN FRANCISCO—P. 0, BOX 375, LOS ANGELES—P. 0. BOX 2120, HONOLULU, HAWAII Please send me Hawaii booklet in colors and a copy of **Tourfax” travel guide, 172 City Hearst's International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 “We figure that she will be confined within the next six weeks or so. Gad, Felix, but Pm hoping my first child is a man child! W. I’ve got a presentiment that it will be so; bet you a purty I’m right. Even when I was nothing but a shaver, the darkies on the place said I had the gift sometimes of second sight, So I’m prophesying a boy—a lusty fine boy.” “I rejoice, suh, in your prospective good fortune.” Captain O’Shea was still using the — ritualistic tone. “And this boy, now—the young gentleman will, I presume, bear your own honored name?” “He will not—not if I have any say-so in the matter. My mother, God bless her, went infor _ fancy names. Historical names for her sons, high-flown names out of poetry books for her daughters—that was her pet notion. I reckon maybe she wanted to get away, as far as she could, from the Biblical names and the homely old English names that our forebears in this country were usually saddled with. “You know what the fad was here in this region a generation behind us. I take it our good mothers aimed to prove that we belonged to the quality-folks now. So when we were too little to protest, they toted us up to the baptismal font and the terrible deed was done.” “Not the Irish, though,” interjected his friend. ‘As long as the calendar of the saints holds out we’re provided for.” “But look how it was with us: I hada brother named Montezuma—he died in in- fancy; the burden was too much for him, I reckon. And one named Charlemagne—think of packing that load around with you!—anda scary colt dragged him to death when he was twelve. And there was Don Carlos, poor boy, who went this past spring—you know how. And my younger sister, who was Alfaretta, died at sixteen in the flower of her girlhood, “And my older sister, Juanita—Mrs. Ringo, over at Danville, you know?—she loses her husband and turns into a crank on this crazy impossible temperance issue and actually, I honestly believe would like to forget her sex and go around making speeches on the subject. Of course she never will but she comes right out and threatens to, sometimes. And I’m Attila, the only one of the male line that’s left. “T figure there’s bad luck in such naming as we had. So, with my boy that’s waiting to be born upstairs, I’m going back once more to the old times. He’ll be plain Isham Bird— for his granddaddy, who built this house, and for his great-granddaddy, old ’Squire Bird, who came out through the Gap and had the fore- sight to grab off this sweet little piece of out- doors from the Indians.” “T drink then to your son and heir—to Isham Bird, the third—and to your good lady, suh, and to your long life and prosperity and to theirs.” Captain O’Shea left no heel-taps but only the dregs of the sugar-sirup at the bottom. “That’s excellent sour mash,” he stated. “Of your own private stock, doubtless?” “Yes, you might say 1 inherited it. Lord knows how many years it’s been aging in the wood. My granddaddy made it for family and neighborhood consumption—you know—farm whisky, as some of the old-timers still call it. He was a master hand, they say, at that sort of thing. He should have been; he perfected his art under Mysterious Jimmy Crow down on Glen’s Creek. And all the time I was off with the army soldiering, Mother managed to keep about ten barrels of it—the last ten barrels that we owned—hidden away from — thirsty prowlers and Yankee foragers. “T reckon, in a way of speaking, she had to keep it hidden away from Juanita, too, who'd like to see every good red drop of it spilt out on the ground and wasted, she having gone daft on the question of drinking, as I was just now telling you. She’s got the delusion in her head that whisky is the curse of every other genera tion amongst us—that one generation the stuff and that some promising member of the next generation ruins himself trying drink it all up. Well, my father drank too” much, as I’ll admit and you’ll remember.” BP S23 S835 ©. o - : Ss eee “y,

Page 201

“Hearst’s International—Cosmopolitan for March, 1929 The ex-infantryman nodded gravely. “But held it, suh, like a gentleman always.” “Oh, of course. But nevertheless he let it kill him finally—that is, if good likker ever really killed anybody. Still, he died in his prime .. . Well, anyhow, I’ve still got about ten barrels, pretty near it, tucked away.” “You are vastly favored. I envy you. I’ve been dependent on Gip Purdy’s grocery for my supply and Gip’s stock of tavern goods is pretty sorry stuf_—rank and poor.” “Then by all means have another toddy. And if my darky boy Dave can rustle up a jug around the pantry somehow, perhaps you'll let me send you over a couple of gallons or so.” “Will I let you? Bird, you offer me liquid rubies of great price. To be able to make such likker was a most precious gift. And for some- body to resume making it would be a precious boon to humanity. Need I say more?” Suddenly the colonel’s eyes were glistening. “You’ve said enough, Felix, and you’ve given me an idea—this very minute you gave it to me. And I’m much beholden to you for it.” “T would say the gratitude is all on my part. But how have I given you an idea?” “Why, by what you just said. Felix, it’s an inspiration. I’m going to set up as a regular distiller—commercially, I mean. I’m going into the business of making good Bourbon.” “But this infernal excise tax that the Aboli- tionists put on likker during the war as a reve- nue measure—to help raise money to help beat us—mind you, a tax that’s collectable at the source and not at the market-place, as it used to be—isn’t that calculated to cripple you?” “Felix, don’t curse a blessing in disguise. My guess is that before long that new law, if it’s en- forced, will cut off the illicit supply from here and there and everywhere and increase the de- mand for properly made stuff coming through channels that are legitimate and licensed. Be- sides, didn’t thousands of Federal soldiers— from the East, from the North, from the North- west and even from the far West—didn’t they get the taste, whilst they were down here fighting us, for genuine Bourbon? They surely did, if they had any sense at all. Why, man, the market’s ready-made and waiting.” “Perhaps you are right. At any rate, kindly put me down as your first customer.” “T know I’m right—I feel it in my bones. But you needn’t be in such a hurry about open- ing an account, Felix. I’ve got to raise some working capital to start with. Well, now that the halters and hobbles are off of us and some few of the smarter negroes are showing signs of settling down and behaving themselves, land values will soon be going back where they properly belong. I ought to be able to put a fair-sized mortgage on this place. Tobe Lander in town—he’s got ready money to put out—at a price.” “Trash!” and Captain O’Shea snorted. “True, but mark you, man, trash with cash. The bottom-sill is on the top for the time being. Remember, if you please, it was the trimmers and the dodgers and the shufflers who stayed at home and took their profits after Johnny had gone for a sojer.” . “Don’t worry. ‘There’s a great day a-comin’ in the mawnin’.’ Turn the rascals out—that’s to be the motto from this time on.” ‘Turn ’em out, by all means. But mean- ‘while we have to deal with conditions as they are, not as they should be. I, for one, shall deal with Brer Fox Lander . . . By Jove, I’ve just hatched another notion: Down yonder on creek bank less than a quarter of a mile from here, there’s still standing what’s left of the old log block-house that the first. Isham— Old High Pockets, as they called him—built for a protection against the savages. And in ere was where his son, the second Isham, set up his little old copper still and his little horse-mill for grinding the grain. ow, then, I’m going to set up my plant on Same identical site, once I get that far along folloS to keep alive the family tradition and I Ww the ancient precedents, eh? Last time Peeped inside the ruins some of the old mash- tubs were still there, rotting and dropping RNS a IC) ‘| Name Water Fireworks surprise you at every turn in Yellowstone National Park. There are springs that boil and bubble—sap- phire and turquoise pools of hot water— the rainbow-hued Grand Canyon—gey- sefs, most exciting of all. Old Faithful erupts every hour, search-lights playing at night upon its plumes. Friendly bears—can- yons— lakes—water- falls—the thrills of Cody Road—all are included in a North- ern Pacific Yellow- stone Vacation. Go in one Yellow- stone Gateway, out another. Extra sight- seeing—no extracost. Northern Pacific Railway Mail this coupon to E. E. Nelson, P.T.M., 44 N. P. Bidg., St. Paul, Minn. eeeoee BooksorTripslam Round TripSummer interested in ( v ) Fare from Chicago 0 Yellowstone Park ° CO Ranch Vacations 0 Rocky Mts. [Helena-Butte} O Inland Empire (Spokane) 0 Pacific Northwest ie © Rainier Park Tacoun 0 Alaska [Skagway] . . O Burlington Escorted Tours (all-expense) $140.04 to $239.51 O Canadian Northwest 90.30 “North Coast Limited” The Train West! The Yellowstone . CometzZ te aff Pullman Train Chicago to Yellowstone MY VACATION TRIP]

Page 202

Hearst's International-Cosmopolitan for March, 19% “We pay him 5100 a WEEK” ““Anp he’s worth every cent of it. Came here several years ago asking for a job. He got just that—a small job at a small salary. “Then I forgot about him—hardly knew he was on the payroll until one day I got a letter from the Interna- tional Correspondence Schools telling me that Thomas C. Andrews had en- rolled for a course and had received a mark of 98 for his first lesson. “*There’s a man worth watching,’ I said to myself, so I began to keep tabs on his work. Pretty soon he began coming to me with suggestions. I could almost see him growing. “Somehow, he was the first man I thought of whenever there was a posi- tion open. And he always made good because he was always preparing him- self for the job ahead. We pay him $100 a week now and he’s going to be earning even a larger salary some day. I wish we had more men like him.” ee, Ae a How do you stand when your em- ployer checks up his men for promo- tion? Does he think of you? Is there really any reason why you should be selected ? Ask yourself these questions fairly. You must face them if you expect advancement and more money. For now, more than ever, the big jobs are going to men with special training. There is an easy, fascinating way for you to get this special training right at home in spare time. One hour a day, spent with the I. C. S, in the quiet of your own home, will bring you more money, more comforts, more pleasure, all that success means. Don’t let another priceless hour of spare time go to waste! Without cost or obligation, let us prove that we can help you. Mark and mail this coupon for interesting descriptive booklets. CaTeRN AT, CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS Universal University’’ "et "2520- C, Seranton, Penna. Without cost or obligation, please send me py of your booklet, ““‘Who Wins and Why,’’ and full, sation lars about the subject before which I have marked X in the list below: BUSINESS TRAINING COURSES }Business Management Salesmanship Industrial Management |Personnel Management Traffic Management mer pce | and C. P.A.Coaching Cost Accounting Bookkeep Secretarial Work OSpanish (2 French TECHNICAL AND IN Name Street Address. City. Occupation... Persons residing bs Canada should song this coupon to the Schools C Limited, International Cor Montreal, Canada. apart, and yet, after all these years, you could catch a faint whiff of that old 2 clinging to the wood like a perfume—li beautiful old perfume, Felix O’Shea . . . ] while I’m pelsvering here over these lo o -dreams of mine, that next round of tod¢ — held up. Your pardon for the delaj The dusk had changed to darkness wi Captain O’Shea went thence, lifting his f high and stepping with care, but carrying! cargo as a gentleman should. E As for the colonel, he supped alone, wit honed appetite, in the barren high-ceiling dining-room, and for his supper had the histg four h’s of a Central Kentucky household. | had ham, hominy, hoe-cake and honey, | spread before him at once; and the ham been hickory-cured in his own smoke-houseag the hominy also was home-made, having t leached of its outer armor with a steepi ng lye from wood-ashes—big bluish-white gr which seemed to refute the laws of physics: smoking more freely when they were tal cold than when they were heated a After supper he went upstairs whe e young wife, big and unwieldy with his ¢ took her ease in their bedchamber, tended an elderly negress called Mom Aggie. He! on the side of the broad four-poster bed w which his wife lay, and while he stroked smooth hands and she smiled gently and wore the invisible lovely halo of neai motherhood, he told her of the splendid” news from Frankfort and of O’Shea’s plan: more at length, of his own newly spa schemes; and to these last she gave her. proval just as all through their life te she did give her approval to whatsoev might design. “4 By the lamplight there he talked until] time, reviewing his project, repeating de’ elaborating on them, and she saying littl if was: her way, but pledging assent wit h tranquil look and with pressure of her s! fingers. They were lovers, these twe . been lovers from boyhood and girlhood; continue through their life together alw be lovers even though about once in so@ the husband slipped away to Lexington @ Louisville for a fling of infidelity. 2 His visions took on shape and exp in feeding upon his swiftly kindled enthus He canvassed various titles, then at len 7 on a title for the brand he meant to facture. By gad, it would be the Old house Brand! “With luck and by bestirring myself, To to be the first, or almost the first in the hereabouts,”’ he went on. He smote his violently. “Not I, but we! My boy ai Bird and Son—that shall be the firm. | great day you give him to me, sweetheart, day he becomes the junior partner. ) course he’s going to be a boy!” At that she pursed up her lips to be k and he, seeing the rush of tears in her confident eyes, cried just a little bi while he bent down and enfolded her in his@ In his predictions, the colonel, so it we turn out, had been both right and wrong, = child was a male child and came into the W comely and well-formed; but Bird & Son: not the first in the field although afterw rated as among the pioneers there. F or 4 far-looking men in this region already ha d| lotting as was now this ambitious young! had been preparing the groundwork for 3 before so very long would become one OF state’s celebrated industries—perhaps its celebrated industry, and certainly one ¢ most respected and respectable industr an industry invested with a sort of b . fame to it and with a glamor of roma aura of luxury, a fetish of poetry, or, a0 a sort of poetry. In the April Instalment of Irvin Cobb’s Novel of the Blue Gras young Isham Bird, son of Att in his drinking and his love-maki sows the seed of tragedy for the Ba

Page 203