Harper's Bazaar 1925-08: Vol 60

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% 4 : i : " ‘ 4X — - ete - rae ae Poa ° oe, PY ba q ce eur i - at wad vm , of i i ¥ A} SCORE OF LAUGHS FOR THOSE ON THE NES 08) 2 tid COBB ra" by IRVIN S. A STORY WITH

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ATWATER KENT In some of the beautiful homes in America there has arisen a definite de- mand for an unob- . To trusive radio meet this need we offer the Atwater Kent Model 20 Compact. THERE ARE Atwater Kent receiving sets and radio speakers to meet every desire. Hear the Atwater Kent Radio Artists every Thursday evening at 9 o’cluk Is it your wish that your set be incon- ae Beale tiled alee spicuous? For you there is this Model 20 stations —WEAF New York, WJAR Providence; wet! Boston; wri Phil adelphia; WCAE Pittsburgh; WGR Buffalo; WEAR Cleveland ; wwy De- lis-St. Paul; Compact, shown in the accompanying illustration. It has ex- . S troit; WCCO Minneap actly the some patts as Mardin, MODEL 10— 80 DOLLARS In thehome of Miss Ets De W OLre, the interior decorator, you will find the Atwater Kent Model 20 Compact, This set is priced at 80 dollars. © eee agape CT — its performance is the same— yet it oc- cupics only half the space. Put it among your favorite pieces. It is so small and so simple of line that it completely blends with its surroundings. MODEL 20—80 DOLLARS ATWATER KENT MFG. CO. A. Atwater Kent, President PHILADELPHIA PENNSYLVANIA woc Davenport; WSAI Cincinnati. our famous Model 20 Prices slightly higher from the Rockies west, and in Canada.

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——s Number 2554 s8th Year The Avis y Sevaped les modéles reproduits dans notre magazine sont la propriété de leurs créateurs. tutions ou contrefagons méme_ partielles peuvent toujours Les re productions, imi- entrainer contre leurs auteurs des poursuites de la part des créateurs et de ? Association des Arts Plastiques et A ppliqués en France et a U Etranger. MrpsuMMER MopbeEs "THE vital question at this time of the year is the old one, what is Paris going to do to our silhouette? Then there are minor questions, but inevitable questions. Is there a new waist-line, or what have you? Is the Directoire line going to make its appearance? How long are skirts to be? \ll of these questions are discussed and answered as far as it is possible to answer them at this time of the year. Marie Lyons discusses the change in the silhouette in an article beginning on page fifty-nine. Baron de Mever, in an informing article, gives us the opinions of some of the greatest couturiers of Paris on the question of the waist- line for late summer and autumn. EXACTLY THE CoRrrREcT Hart ATS have become such a fine art that it is impossible to be technical enough in their discussion. The brim must be thus and thus when it is made of felt; if it is made of velours it must be so and so. New fabrics are being used by Reboux and Agn‘s. Shapes change subtly and overnight. Beginning on page seventy is a section of the newest hats from Paris and New York designers. You will find the hat that is the correct complement for your late summer town costume, and the sports hats to finish your season in the country. NEXT MONTH: THE Midseason DRAMATIZATION OF Fashions Number AUGUST 1925 Cover by Erté—*t La Coquette” The Folie St. James, Paris Photograph by Baron de Mever.. ere **Hands Across the Sea,’”” A Humorous Story about an Englishman in America, by Irvin S. Cobb Drawings by Ralph Barton , eek “Where is the Waist-line?’’ Baron de Mever Asks this Vital Question of Many Couturiers Photographs by Baron de Mever..... Ae ARO SPOR ce “The Overlapping Grip,’’ A Story of an Intricate Bit of Detecting, by Arthur Somers Roche Illustrated by Wallace Morgan Reboux’s New Grosgrain Hat Drawing by Etienne Drian. ‘Certain New Tendencies in the Mode,”” by Marie Lyons Drawn by Reynaldo Luza creer ey tees 50, Drawn by Helen Dryden by William J. Locke Illustrated by Henry Raleigh : eee Picnicking in August Made Delightful with Especially Adaptable Motor-cars and Accessories Drawings by Samuel Davis Otis Smart Midseason Hats Drawn by Grace Hart... . "Os 735 75, 74, Portrait of Mrs. William Galey Lord... . ’ we ie ‘The Life of Edgar Saltus,’’ Continuing the Biography of an Exotic Genius, by Marie Saltus Portrait from a photograph, by Maloca Grenet .......00000.04. ‘Paris Thinks About the Silhouette,”’ by Marjorie Howard Snapshots taken at the French Races Drawings by Mary MacKinnon Drawings by A. Soulié Drawings by Reynaldo Lusa. ee ee * Brains are Really Everything,’ Concluding the Diary of a Hasty Traveler, by Anita Loos Diagrams by Ralph Barton Last Minute Sketches from Paris Harper’s Bazar Shops for Out-of-town Readers ‘““THE GREEN HAT,’ BY MICHAEL ARLEN il Magazine Company. 119 West 4oth Street $6.00. All subscriptior 02, 600, 64, 66,

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BRARPER’S BAZAR She Jo bic ff F Jerné 4, So ary Atairway i rofidence of Me. J. Sebel

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1925 for A UGUST HANDS ACROSS THE With Malice But that week happened to the Gridleys. Sub- stantially, these were Mrs. Gridley’s own words as used in speaking of the phenomena. She said it seemed like to her that was exactly the way it was. To begin with, their waitress quit practically without any warning at all. Apparently afflicted by that strange and sudden migratory impulse which at times affects most of the birds and many of the hired help, she just up and walked out be- tween two suns. In the second place, the water famine reached a point of acuteness where the board of village trustees forbade the use of water for all-over bathing pur- poses or for wetting down lawns or washing cars or sprinkling streets or spraying flowerbeds, even; and Mr. Gridley, as one of the trustees, felt it in- cumbent upon him to set a proper example before the rest of the community by putting his own household upon the strictest of rations, abluently speaking. In the third place, Mr. Jeffrys Boyce-Upchurch, the eminent English novelist, became their guest. And fourthly, although not occurring in this order, the Gridleys took on a butler of the interesting name of Launcelot Ditto. ic SEEMED like everything that was happening Te a considerable extent, three of these events were interrelated. The drought, which had brought on the shortage in the Ingleglade reservoir, was the isolated exception, a manifestation of freaky nature and of absolutely unprecedented weather conditions. But the others were more or less coordinated. If their old waitress had not quit on them the Giidleys would not have been in the market for a Toward None and Charity Smile not Without a Wise By Irvin S. Coss Drawings by Ralph Barton successor to her, and if Mr. Boyce-Upchurch had not been coming to stay with them it was possible that she might not have quit at all—there was a suspicion that she was influenced by a private ob- jection to so much company in the heat of the summer; Mrs. Gridley’s mother and sister from Baltimore, the latter bringing her little boy with her, having just concluded a two weeks’ stay; and if it had not been Mr. Boyce-Upchurch who was coming, but some less important person, they would have been content with hiring for the vacancy a new servant who also was a female and home-grown, or if not exactly home-grown, one belonging to almost any of the commoner Nordic stocks—say Scandinavian or Celtic—whereas it was felt that the advent of a Boyce-Upchurch called for something of an especially rich and fruity imported variety in the line of butlers. At least. such was the language employed by Mrs. Gridley’s brother, Mr. Oliver Braid, in describing this phase of the issue. He—young Mr. Braid- was the only member of the household who declined to take the situation seriously. In this regard he stood quite alone. Mr. Gridley took it seriously, as, to a more or less degree, did the neighbors also. But Mrs. Gridley took it most seriously of all. Its seriousness began to lay hold upon her in the morning on a Monday, which proverbially is a bothersome day for housewives anyhow, when Miss Rena Belle Titworthy, the recording secretary of the Ingleglade Woman’s Club, and its only salaried officer, called to break the word to her, the word being that in the judgment of a majority of the ac- tive workers in the club, Mrs. Gridley should have the distinguished pleasure of entertaining Mr. Boyce-Upchurch on the occasion of his impending SKA for All visit. In a more vulgar circle of life the same thing has been termed passing the buck. Such, though, was the phrasing of Miss Titworthy; “honor of entertaining’’ was what she said. “But,” expostulated Mrs. Gridley, “‘but—of course I feel flattered and I am sure Henry will, too, when he comes home to-night and hears about it—but I’m afraid we couldn’t make such a prominent man comfortable. Our house is rather small and all that, and besides there’s Olga having packed up and left only last night and all that. Really, don’t you think, Miss Rena Belle, that he would prefer to go to the hotel where he could be— you know—quieter and more to himself? Or to Mrs. Wainwright’s? . She’s the president of the club, and she’s the madame chairman of the execu- tive committee besides, and naturally the pleasure of having Mr. Boyce-Upchurch should go to her. Her house is a mansion almost, while we—”’ Miss Titworthy caught her up right there. “No,” said Miss Titworthy firmly. ISS Titworthy had authority about her and a considerable distinction. She was large and deep-chested and combined in her manner the magis- terial and the managerial and, subtly, the maternal. She had all that a truly maternal woman should have, except children. And, as just stated, she was large, while on the other hand Mrs. Gridley was slight and, upon the whole, plastic by temperament, not to say bordering on the yielding. And bulk, in such cases, counts. “Pardon me,” said Miss Titworthy, still more firmly, ‘“‘pardorn me, my dear, but no. Madame Chairman Wainwright is closing up her place to go to her other place in the Berkshires; you must have

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46 kaown that. Probably you forgot it. And the hotel is quite out of the question. I had a letter only yesterday from Mr. Boyce - Upchurch, written by him personally—it seems he doesn’t carry a secretary with him on his tour—saying he preferred stopping at some pri- vate home. He mentioned the inconveniences of American hotels and something about their exceedingly high rates. I’m going to keep it as a souvenir. And what with Madame Chairman Wainwright closing up, and being the first vice-president—well, there you are, aren’t you?”’ concluded Miss Titworthy with a gesture which was meant to be a death blow to further argument. “And then the water being shut off—I’m thinking of that, too,” said Mrs. Gridley, but in a weakening tone. “Henry had the plumber come and discon- nect all three of the bathtubs. He said he wasn’t going to put temptation in the way of his own family or himself, either. I know lots of people are doing it on the sly—using a hose, too— but I can’t even have a little water in a sprinkling-can for my poor withered flowers. Look at them out of that window there— just literally drying up. “And we’re sending all the wash, even the flat pieces, to the Eagle Laundry. And Henry is going to his club in town for a bath every day, and I’m doing the best I can with the wash- basin and a sponge; and the way Norah—that’s my cook’s name—and Delia, the waitress; now that Olga has gone, Delia’s the only other girl we’ve got left-—the way those two carry on and complain you’d think I was personally responsible for the fact that not a drop of rain has fallen in over two months. And the English being such great hands for their tubs and all, and Mr. Boyce-Upchurch be- ing an Englishman and all, why, I’m honestly afraid, Miss Rena Belle, that he'll be awfully put out.’’ so, you *Numbers of friendly persons met Mr. Boyce-U pchurch that afternoon.” summer? HARPER’S BAZAR out a girl, provided there’s any Think I must rid myself of the wescut. “T dessay he’ll be able to accommodate himself to a condition over which none of us has any control,” stated Miss Titworthy. ‘“‘He’ll arrive Wednesday afternoon on the five o’clock boat. He asked that he be met with a car. I dessay you'll be wanting to give a little dinner to him Wednesday evening. I don’t know what he'll want to do Thursday morning—be driven around, I imagine. And Thursday afternoon there’s the reception at the Woman’s Club and his lecture is that night, and Friday he leaves for Trenton, where he has his next date on Saturday. He did write something about preferring to be motored over to Trenton.” “IT could take him myself,’ said Mrs. Gridley, her citadel undermined and she rapidly capitulating, ‘“‘if he doesn’t mind going in a two-seated runabout.” “There'll be no_ trouble about the car,” stated Miss Titworthy. ‘‘No doubt some one will proffer the use of a touring-car.”’ “Well, that point is settled then,” agreed Mrs. Gridley, now entirely committed to over the undertaking. ‘But I must get somebody in and broken in to take Olga’s place between now and Wed- nesday. Really that gives me only to-day and _to- morrow, and help is so hard to get, you’ve no idea, Miss Titworthy! I suppose I’d better run into town this afternoon and go to the employment agencies. No, I can’t—there’s my bridge lesson. And to-morrow is the Ferguses’ tea. I can’t go then, either. I promised Mrs. Fergus I’d pour. I suppose I'll have to get Henry or my brother Oliver to do it. But neither one of them would know how to pick **Tell me, is America always so frightfully warm in ce) choice at the agencies to pick from—oh, dear!” “Have you thought of a but- ler?” inquired Miss Titworthy. ‘A butler?” : “Yes, instead of a waitress, You'll pardon the suggestion, but I was thinking that Mr. Boyce-Upchurch being a for- eigner and accustomed, of course, to butlers, and a butler giving a sort of air—a tone, as it were— to a household, that perhaps— well—”’ They had fallen on fertile ground, those seeds. They were sprouting, germinating. Be- fore the massive shoulders of the Ingleglade Woman’s Club’s effi- cient recording secretary had vanished down the bowery and winding reaches of Edgecliff Avenue, they were putting forth small green speculative shoots through Mrs. Gridley’s mind. Always and ever, from the very first days of her married life, Mrs. Gridley had toted in the back of her mind a picture of an establishment in which the butler, a figure of dignity and poise and gray-striped trousers in the daytime but full dress by night, would be the chief of staff. As what woman has not? And now for the gratifying of that secret ambition she had an excuse and a reason and a — | . “c- . = =H Justification. IHAPTER two of this narra- tive brings us to another conversation. At this stage the narrative seems somehow to fall naturally into chapters, but one has a premonition that toward the last it will become a thing of cut-backs and close-ups and iris-ins and fade-outs, like a movie. It brings us to this other conversation, which ensued over the telephone and passed between Mrs. Gridley and her brother, Mr. Oliver Braid. “Well, Dumplings,” said that gentleman, speak- ing at noon of Tuesday from his office, “the hellish deed is done!” “You got me one, then?” she answered eagerly. “Got one? Madam, you wrong me and you low- rate him. I got the One and only One—the Original One. The only misleading thing about him is his name. Be prepared for a pleasant shock. It’s Launcelot Ditto. I now ask you to let that soak into your tissues and be absorbed by the system. Only Ditto means more of the same, and if I’m any judge, there aren’t any more at home like him and there never will be. But the Launcelot part fits like a union suit. “Oh, girl, I’m telling you he’s got everything, including the adenoids. Not the puny domestic brand of our own faulty and deficient land, mind you, but the large super-extra fine export, golden- russet adenoid of that favored island whose boast is that Britons never shall be slaves except to catarrh. And he’s as solemn as a Masonic funeral. And he stepped right out of a book by way of the stage. He ought to be serving strawberries and Devonshire cream on the terrace to the curate of St. Ives and the dear old Dowager Duchess of What-you-may-call-’em, while the haw-haw blooms in the hedgerows. He ought to be coming on at the beginning of Act One to answer the tele- phone and pat the sofa pillows and fold up ‘The Pink ’Un,’ and sigh deeply to himself because the Young Marster is going to the dogs. He ought to be outlining the plot to a housekeeper in rustling black silk named Meadows.” “Ollie Braid, are you delirious?” “Not at all. I am dazed, dazzled, blinded, but I am not delirious. I can half shut my eyes and see him in his hours of ease sitting in our buttery perus- ing that sprightly volume with full-page illustrations entitled ‘The Stately Homes of Old England.’ Sounds pretty good, eh what? Good—hell! He’s perfect. He certainly ought to do a lot for us socially over there in Ingleglade. I can half shut ’em again and see the local peasantry turning a

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AUGUST 1925 for “And what’s terrapin?’ asked Mr. Jeffrys Boyce-U pchurch. sort of turtle, eh? lovely pea-green with envy as he issues forth on the front lawn to set up the archery butts so that we may practise up on our butting. That’s another place where the buttery will come in handy.”’ “He was willing to come out, then?” “Well, at first he did balk a little on the idea of demeaning himself by accepting a position with the lower or commuting classes. The country, yes; the town, perhaps, but the environs—well, hardly. That was his attitude. But with my lilting love song I won him, he-siren that I am. I told him Ingleglade was not really suburban but merely outlying, if one gets what one means. That wasn’t deception, that was diplomacy. Anyhow, haven't we got some of the outlyingest real-estate dealers in the entire State of New Jersey? Do we not combine all the drawbacks of the city, with few or none of the advantages of the country? “T often sit and wonder whence comes this magic power of mine for bending strong natures to my will. The crowning stroke was when I told him Boyce-Upchurch was so shortly to honor us. That won him. He admires Boyce-Upchurch tremen- dously. Not his books—he hasn’t read ’em—but it I sha’n't touch it. seems he knows Boyce-Upchurch’s uncle, who’s an archduke or a belted earl or something well up among the face cards.” “You talk too much, Ollie. funny and you aren’t.”’ “Oh, but madam—”’ “Shut up a minute! He has course?”’ “‘Fair lady, sweet dame, I plight you my solemn word that with the references he’s got from noble British families he could be our ambassador to the Court of St. James the day after he took out his naturalization papers. He’s temporarily unat- tached, but only because he hasn’t been able to find anybody worthy of him. He’s taking us on trial. Why, hark ye, lass, he used to work for the ‘Un’rable ’Urrible "Ubbs. He’s got the documents to prove it.” “The what?” “I’m merely telling you what he said. It didn’t sound like a name to me, either, at first. But now it’s beginning to grow on me; I may make a song out of it.” “When did you arrange for him to come out?” You think you’re references, of ‘Oh, Take it away, please.’”’ “This very night. I’m chaperoning him person- ally. We are to meet at the ferry on this side, and I’m to wear a primrose in my buttonhole in case he’s forgotten how I look. I’m reading up now on the history of the Norman Conquest. I want to be prepared to meet him on his own ground should he care for casual conversation on the way over.” “Ollie, you always were an idiot.”’ “Dear wench, ‘tis a family failing. I have a sister, a flower-like slip of a thing, but, alas, she suffers from pollen in the pod.” “And what’s more, she’s going to give you a hard slap the first chance.’’ Over the line her voice took on an uncertain tone. “‘Of course I know you’re exaggerating frightfully but—” “As regards Launcelot, you couldn’t exaggerate. He confounds the powers of description. He baffles the most inventive imagination. He—” “Oh, ‘do listen! All at once I’m beginning to worry about Norah. I hadn't thought of her until right now.”’ “What of Norah?” “Well, from what you say and even making allowances for your (Continued on page 104)

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HARPER’S BAZAR wn r | | | DEMEYER: Ballroom in reidk nce of MM\r M. de Wendel

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for A UGUST 1925 Reboux now makes hats, oddly enough, of shirred taffeta, and they are ex- traordinarily smart. Sometimes they are shaded from light to dark. Posed by Baroness de Meyer. MODELE nEPOSE WHERE IS THE WAIST-LINE? Baron de Meyer Asks This Vital Question of Many 18 rue Vaneau, Paris. HERE is to be no description of fashions to- day, for I am nothing if not versatile and have turned reporter for a time, interviewing the most prominent creators of the mode in Paris, solely for the sake of my American readers. Madame Lanvin was the first to be interviewed. She received me in her office and was, as usual, very gracious. This is what I said to her: ‘‘ Madame Lanvin, may I talk to you, or rather will you talk to me?”’ And when I added, “‘For I plan to give the readers of Harper’s Bazar the benefit of our conversation,” she laughed and inquired: ‘‘Why, Baron de Meyer, isn’t that quite a new departure? Of your writing for the magazine I knew, but that I, Jeanne Lanvin, am expected to talk for Harper’s Bazar seems to me quite the limit.’ “It may be so,” I said, “but don’t let it limit your conversa- tion.” I started my interview with an obvious question, “Will this Exposition of Decorative Arts have a marked influence on the coming mode?” This is what she answered: “Certainly it will influence fashions, if only to the extent of making dressmakers realize that to copy is not only robbery, but espe- cially a big commercial mistake. It once again Proves my theory that every designer should only produce personal creations, and that an individual Stamp must be given to every model. The creator’s personality should be recognizable at a glance. Couturiers, with an Divergence = This, to my mind, is the keynote to success in modern dressmaking. ‘*\ creator of fashions is an individual possessed of an original conception of the current mode. He must have but one point of view running through his entire work, a ‘style’ of his own. There is the ‘style Jeanne Lanvin,’ the ‘style Madeleine Vion- net,’ the ‘style Poiret,’ and so on. “Yes, my taste runs to modernity, though I call myself moderately modern in my work. I always try to remain strictly Jeanne Lanvin in all I design, both in color and detail. My ‘style’ resembles no other. “‘When starting on a new collection, I begin by having a set of designs made. After this I try out colorings, some of them made especially to order. My embroideries are all conceived, designed, and executed under my direction. All this results in an ensemble which gives an impression as if constructed from a plan for architecture. From a small number of models, which form a basis, I work out an entire collection. One idea endlessly varied may be dis- covered on fifty different models. It becomes the keynote of one season’s fashion. “Certainly I work from books, but also from inspiration which comes to me in museums or possibly in Italy, in Spain, and, of course, in Paris. ‘No, I never have any definite plan when starting on a new collection. One cannot transform fashions to any great extent because one has the wish to do of Opinion Interesting so. Fashions evolve, and an evolution has to take its course. It is slow. For instance, I could not change the waist-line all of a sudden. Women must get used to a new style before they are willing to adopt it. The low waist-line is at present thought becoming because it has been worn that way for five or six years. In time it will be raised and will, after a while, be considered quite as becoming as the low one is now. ““Yes, I do believe in the return of a shorter waist- line in the near future. “Even though I dislike extremely abbreviated skirts, I am in favor of the short skirt. No, we shall never revert to a long skirt for street wear. “Yes, a robe de style may be made to suit all ages. I consider these gowns quite modern. Their neck- lines and their décolletage are dated 1925. They are very difficult of execution and are dresses quite outside of current fashions. A robe de style is a very special kind of gown, suitable only for special people, and to be worn on very special occasions. “Certainly not—there can be no question of my trying to revolutionize fashions. To start with, I haven’t a revolutionary mind and secondly, I don’t consider any of us fashion creators sufficiently powerful to decree a complete change of styles. The public has to be considered. The woman selects, and what she selects becomes the mode. We dressmakers may lead toward new fashions,

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52 but it remains for the really smart woman, the one whose taste and elegance have weight in Paris, to adopt these fashions and have them accepted.” WITH MADAME MADE- VIONNET INTERVIEW LEINE M* NEXT appointment was with Madame Vionnet. She had very kindly sent word she would spare me half an hour. “Short skirts? Certainly not,” said Madame Vionnet, “except for sports wear. I shall never approve of them. None of the models in my col- lections are ever shown short. The women who make alterations to the skirt length do it without my consent. Women in excessively abbreviated skirts shock me horribly, except in the case of a very young woman possessed of exquisite legs. Shapely nether limbs are very rare, and those I am forced to see make me feel hot all over. At times I have actually felt myself blushing. Either what I see is beautiful and I am full of admiration, or it is unsightly and it shocks me. What is but ordinary, I don’t notice at all. “Ves, I adore wide skirts. They have charm and are truly feminine, though only suitable for women with slim figures. They seem, however, not to be popular with the general public, in spite of being devoid of stiffening and quite unlike the bulgy dresses of former days. They can naturally only be worn in the evening, and would be out of place and impractical for the street. “As to corsets and ceintures, they nowadays are obsolete. Strong muscles are more useful than corsets, except maybe for women of fifty, who have neglected any kind of sport in their youth. The present generation is given every chance of im- proving their figures from an esthetic point of view by using the innumerable methods which for fifteen or twenty years have been within every- Le ANVIN JEANNE L “Yes, I do believe in the return of a shorter waist-line in the near future. || “No, we shall never revert to a long skirt for Street wear. “Ves, a robe de style may be made to suit all || ages. I consider these gowns quite modern.” HARPER’S BAZAR to me, let me give you the benefit of my experi- ence.’ I would proffer a helping hand. I might possibly not grasp the new point of view, no more than I was understood myself when I first started to express myself. Yet, I like to think I would.” INTERVIEW WITH PAUL PorrReEr “ NE tires of too much ornamentation. It is, therefore, gradually being suppressed. \ style doesn’t merely result because of certain ornaments being used. What produces a style is architectural foundation. Ornamentation is but an addition which experience has taught me can generally be suppressed with advantage, for it rarely adds anything very useful. Richness js nowadays too often mistaken for beauty, and ornament for character. Clothes these days mostly consist of bits of embroidery fastened on women. They are too elaborate. I shall, there- fore, attempt to suppress what is superfluous, shall simplify my models, in fact, shall become austere and affect a monklike quality—trappiste. The result will be gowns of purest line and cut, hardly decorated, which will give them an inten- sity of expression quite dramatic. “Yes, I am against short skirts. On entering the reception room in my establishment, I notice my many clients seated around the wall. It is nothing but an exhibition of legs. A sad sight! Formerly no one wore low shoes and ankles kept slim. They didn’t thicken, as they do now. There being no support to women’s ankles, these cannot be made to support the body. They become swollen because of fatigue. ‘Short skirts, flesh hose—hm! The least I can say about them is that they are unbecoming. American papers, when I visited the United States some years ago, made out that I was partial to thick ankles. I, of course, protested, for I never expressed such absurd views. I dis- like being misquoted. “There is a tendency of reverting to more tender shades, though I myself seem unable to free myself entirely of the oriental atmosphere. “T am averse to the perfectly straight gown. It was invented by people who knew no better, and, especially, didn’t know their profession. The chemise gown was made popular because of the sort in the days when I actually was transforming the mode; even though, at the time, I did cause quite a sensation, no one imagined I would have the far-reaching influence i eventually had in the dressmaking world. ** As responsible for the change of line and fashion which have taken place in the last thirty years, one must consider firstly Madame Gerber. She started. dressmaking at a time when bodices con- sisted of quantities of small parts, backs, fronts and small side pieces, including a boned lining. All these, when assembled, produced a bodice. Madame Gerber was the first designer to cease making lined waists, and was the first to use a separate founda- tion which, however, still was slightly boned, even to the collar. Bodice, skirt, and sleeves were all made separately, and when assembled formed a gown which was worn over a separate foundation. “Tt was I, however, who, in turn, changed | | body’s reach. Why should a well-built woman only call for admiration if she happens to be sylph- like? Beautiful proportions are certainly important, but failing these, there is charm and there is intelli- gence Brains are every inch as valuable as slenderness. “Altering prevailing fashions? Why, what an idea! No one thought of asking me anything of the all this. I eliminated any kind of foundation and freed dresses of whalebones. The fit of my gowns is solely the result of a good cut. I know my business thoroughly. My style in clothes is simplicity, for trimmings don’t interest me. Alas, one has but one vision, but one way to be true to oneself. ~_ ? “No, I have certainly nothing to say on the subject of waist-lines. There are no definite rules that can be followed. For instance, I am distressed to a young woman, petite, with a small and lovely bust, accentuating a very low waist-line, nor do I consider a slim woman looking her best with a waist-line placed too low, while on the contrary a heavily built woman should be elongated at any cost. For her a demarca- tion below the hips is desirable. Good pro- see PAUL POIRET EDWARD portions should be aimed at in all cases, an I} MOLYNEUX “Yes, I am against short skirts. On entering equilibrium, a balance. “T consider American women to be more care- “Most women seem to watch the fashions more than their own figures, and hardly ever adapt the most suitable fashions to these same figures. } “T have an intuitive feeling that some- where in the world a very young being, un known to us as yet, is waiting for its turn to replace all of us dressmakers. the reception room in my establishment, I ful about details than anyone else. often as smartly turned out as any well-dressed Frenchwoman. Englishwomen are much slower to adapt themselves to the French point For my win- ter collection I shall use much lace and a great deal of brocade. Most designs which have | been made for me are unobtrusive, and I shall || use them as if they were plain materials.” LL " They are notice my many clients seated around the wall. A sad sight! Formerly, no one wore low shoes and ankles kept slim. They didn’t thicken, as they do now. There being no support to women’s It is nothing but an exhibition of legs. of view as regards dress. This mysteri- || ous person will, some day, upset all our standards of dress and will be the great in- novater. I wish I knew where to look for this genius. I would call out and say, ‘Come ankles, they become swollen because of fatigue. Short skirts, flesh hose The least I can || say about them is that they are unbecoming.” hm!

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for A UGUST 1925 many people with no experience whatsoever who elected to become dressmakers. It is much easier to drape straight-hanging materials than to at- tempt to make them fit. I consider this type of gown to be more in the nature of a covering than of a dress. La haule couture should protest and should create models more complicated in cut, more sophisticated. Such clothes would be less easily vulgarized.” INTERVIEW WITH JEAN PaTou “J BELIEVE the raised waist-line that I was the first to launch will have far-reaching conse- quences. For instance, for a number of years piece-dyed silks have been used exclusively. They offer great advantages, including the facility of fabrication and the ease with which it enables one to dye one’s stock material into any given shade within thirty or sixty days. This universally adopted method, however, sounds the death war- rant of what is termed, in France, /a haute cou- ture, for in this way new colorings are too easily copied and get rapidly vulgarized. “T am therefore reverting to thread dyeing as it was practised in days gone by. It takes from five to six months to produce such textures, time being a defense in our struggle against the copyist. Up to now the unprecedented vogue of the robe chemise has stood in the way of using these textures, for they lacked suppleness. Since, how- ever, we find the waist gradually creeping up toward its normal position, there is a tendency to use heavier textures. These lend themselves to being cut on the bias, and are also suitable for the wider skirts. “For the kind of models I propose to make this season, materials rich in quality and heavy in weight are quite essential. Yes, I shall attempt to give more freedom of motion to my models, keep- ing, nevertheless, to the narrow silhouette. Yes, a MADELEINE VIONNET “Short skirts? Certainly not, except for sports wear. I shall never approve of them. The women who make alterations to the skirt lengths do it without my consent. Women in ex- cessively abbreviated skirts shock me horribly. Either what I see is beautiful, and I am full of admiration, or it is unsightly and shocks me. What is but ordinary I don’t notice.” 53 constantly create new models, they are the last to notice the gradual change of the mode. It adapts itself very gradually, according to develop- ments. It is the outcome of the new kind of life. However wealthy, few women can afford to re- new their entire wardrobe twice a year. Last year’s dresses should therefore not be made to appear totally out of date. “It is a mistake to imagine that the luxurious installation of a modern couturier influences his prices. It enters but for a small part in his ex- penses. A big loss are large collections, high- priced cutters, fitters, and the staff in general. It should interest clients to know that a customer is not expected to pay more because of rich and tasteful surroundings. “Simplification of styles to the uninitiated means simplicity. To the technician it means complication. Textures are getting more precious from day to day and the way of cutting such materials more sophisticated. My collections teach me, however, that a simple chiffon gown devoid of any trimming, yet cleverly cut and carried out, is my best seller. For the evening, however, I consider nothing rich enough. I plan to make my evening gowns more elaborate, more magnificent every season. “We live at a time when social life has gradu- ally regained its pre-war importance and festivi- ties have become more splendid than ever before. Magnificent gowns, therefore, are a necessity.” INTERVIEW WITH MR. MOLYNEUS “7 AM not planning any changes this season. Fashions will be much the same, with slight modifications, of course. It seems hopeless to force novelty. It must evolve gradually. Last year some houses tried to launch the high waist- line, but were unsuccessful. Women can not be forced to adopt styles they do not care for. They I shall use a great deal of mousseline de soie, and a large amount of it in stock. It has been made for want slimness of line, with a graceful floating I shall feature taffeta and wide width milliner’s velvet. This will be quite a novelty. I am weary of the straight gown and shall try to revert to the fashions of 1860, modified of course, adapted to modern purposes, quite up to date. “Though there are few artizans left in France capable of producing milliner’s velvet, I have quite ve LELONG LUCIEN “Simplification of styles to the uninitiated means simplicity. To the technician it means complication. Textures gelling more precious from day to day and the way of cutting such materials more sophisticated. My col- lections teach me, however, that a simple chiffon gown devoid of any trimming, yet cleverly cut and carried out, is my best seller. For the evening, however, I plan to make my gowns more elaborate, more magnificent every season.” are } me exclusively. I mean to use excessively rich materials, warm in coloring and of a quality only obtainable by thread dyeing. Some of my new shades are dark bois de rose, palissandre rouge, and light oak, all three beautiful warm winter colors. ‘“‘Last season, on the day of presenting my new collection, many foreign buyers seemed surprised and disconcerted by my entirely new line. They considered my small revolution as too daring a move. They left, postponing their decisions and their orders. A day or two later, however, after due consideration given to the matter, they returned and decided to accept my new departure. In fact, they placed even better orders with me than the year before. ““My women clients came to much more rapid decisions. From the very start they enthusiastically applauded fashions which at last contained a novelty.” INTERVIEW WITH LUCIEN LELONG " HY talk of skirts being long or short, waists more or less raised? These seem to me matters of minor importance, as compared to the psychological and eco- nomic point of view. Isn’t it more interesting to be told why dresses should be as expensive as they are, and why there is so little change in fashions? Fashions don’t seem to vary, because the days when designers were seeking inspiration from the past are no more. We now find inspiration in our own period—a beautiful one to live in, full of constantly renewed interest and evolution. “For one thing, women now lead an ac- tive life, and have to be dressed accordingly. No couturier can nowadays impose the fash- ion his clients disapprove of. In building up a collection he must therefore be guided by existing conditions, and has to produce clothes adapted to the present mode of life. Skirts can hardly get shorter, nor do I be- lieve we shall witness an increase in mascu- line fashions. For my part, however, I will be more inclined to shorten, than to lengthen, my skirts. “As to the waist—I see it rising. There are certain tendencies against which it is useless to battle. Because dressmakers movement. ‘“What do you wish me to say about American women? Oh, yes, they rapidly acquire the French chic while in Paris, even though they lose it again after a prolonged residence in America. I consider them to be more careful about details than any one else. PATOU JEAN “TI believe the raised waist-line I was the first to launch will have far-reaching consequences. For the kind of models I propose to make this season, materials rich in quality and heavy in weight are quite essential. Yes, I shall attempt to give more freedom of motion to my models, keeping, nevertheless, to the narrow silhouette. I am weary of the straight gown and shall try to revert to the fashions of 1860, modified, adapted to modern pur poses.” American women are often as smartly

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HARPER’S BAZAR Lady Diana Manners has exactly the cool blonde type of beauty that may wear a black picture hat. This is really the only shape of large hat that is permissible this season, and this only with certain costumes. well-dressed Frenchwoman. Englishwomen are much slower to adapt themselves to the French point of view as regards dress. They hardly ever bother about details, such as shoes, hose, et cetera. Very few of them are really chic, in spite of being often very lovely. A fashionable gown is all they are interested in, and possibly a becoming hat. “With regard to materials suitable for sports clothes, I cannot find them in France. The right design may be obtained, but never the quality of texture. I import all my sports materials from England and Ireland. “For my winter collection I shall use much lace and a great deal of brocade. Most designs which have been made for me are very unobtrusive, and I shall use them as if they were crépe or plain ma- terials. They will be a great feature of my new collection.” turned out as any WITH MLL} CHANEL INTERVIEW “My dear friend: “Your letter was forwarded. It reached me in Scotland, knee deep in water, catching salmon. Fancy having to submit to what practically amounts to an interview during my vacation. It needs all of the real affection I have for you not to send a wire with just one word—‘ Impossible.’ But my doing so would disappoint you. So, here’s my reply: “‘Tt’s up to you to find the way of giving to what I say the shape of an interview. Make the best of your material. Yes, I love Ja mode. It is beau- tiful always, except when deformed through bad judgment. My style in clothes is the result of life as it is lived to-day. It is practical, simple, but elegant. Badly interpreted, it becomes absurd. “Women should look like women, not attempt to be sham men. There are but few well-dressed women in the world. Among thousands, twenty at the utmost meet my approval, and even so. ! These, however, are not easily identified. Their faces are mostly invisible. All one sees of them is a gown, a hat, a shaved neck, and their jaw. “Every period has its own particular style. What was becoming to women in 1830 is no more so in 1925. As long as I continue in business my clothes will be strictly 1925, 1927, 1930, and so on. “My models will always be up to date, never retrospective. If I were to make inferior models and should cease to please, 1 would have sense enough to retire gracefully. It would be the end of my career. Whatever happens, I shall be true to my own style and certainly shall never seek inspiration from any other. “T don’t intend revolutionizing fashions. On the contrary, I shall attempt to standardize simplicity. My creations are de luxe, though the most luxurious models in my establishment are not evening dresses. They are a skirt and a ¢ricot. “People are in the habit of saying—‘Chanel is the most expensive maison de couture in Paris.’ Yet, in spite of making not the slightest effort to advertise and of quietly pursuing my own way, I am very successful. “‘T love short skirts. They are youthful. Why prevent women from looking young? I lengthen and shorten them alternatively every season. Did I not follow the general fashion in skirt lengths, I might be considered eccentric, and I detest eccen- tricity above everything else. Next season I shall lengthen them, for I don’t approve of women showing their kneecaps. I call this a decided eccentricity. ‘I adore a beautiful line, but I don’t particularly care for what is termed the normal waist-line. The nude figure shows no interruption anywhere. It is said of a low waist-line that it shortens the legs, but a shortened bust is even worse. I consider the belt most suitable placed about the hips, for it lengthens the bust and produces an impression of freeing it. Personally I wear my belt exactly on the hip-bone. In the last analysis, nothing alters the figure God has given us; we can but try to improve it. “There is a great deal I might say on the subject of line, it being one of my hobbies, but as much as I love my profession I don’t work for art’s sake alone. Giving away my ideas too freely might be injudicious. “To conclude, you might say a word about the Exposition, on which you asked my impression. It strikes me as the triumph of the modern depart- ment store and as the end of the artizan devoid of creative genius. It seems to kill everything not of first quality. Dressmaking of the future will con- sist of the de luxe creations of the few against the output of the glorified department store. Will that do? I hope so. ‘€ Au revoir—I shall be back in Paris next month. “Ever yours, “GABRIELLE CHANEL.”

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wn oa for AUGUST 1925 AGNES Sadly C [ bly 3 : — ——h is ) « | C Or~ / ( alkin 7 iT) Theo St / INTC of ————

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56 HARPER’S BAZAR “Although two days had elapsed since the papers had told of the assault, knots of curious, gossipy people lingered outside the modest residence of the fugitive clerk.” THE OVERLAPPING GRIP A Story of an Intricate Bit of Detecting by the Fascinating Tony By T EXACTLY five-thirty on a Saturday Ay etter George Barland walked into the private office of his employer, Annister Stout. He placed on the desk before which his employer sat two papers—they were unimportant routine letters—for Stout to sign. The financier reached for a pen; a slight movement on the part of his con- fidential clerk attracted his attention. Barland was usually so motionless. Stout looked up to surprise upon the ordinarily impas- sive face of the clerk an expression of demoniac ‘ triumph. Barland’s right hand was raised in air; its fingers clutched a short object, encased, Stout thought, in black material that might have been a woolen sock. Instinctively, the financier dodged to one side; the weapon, instead of landing on his right temple, glanced off his ear. However, although it did not fracture the skull, the blow was sufficiently powerful to knock the old man from his swivel chair, deposit him sprawling upon the floor, and render him un- conscious until Sunday morning at eight o’clock. Shortly after that hour, his feeble moans attracted the attention of ascrub-woman. She entered Stout’s office by means of the pass-key with which she was provided, summoned the assistant superintendent, and Stout was taken in an ambulance to the hospital. It was in a private room at this institution that Tony Stark and I found the old gentleman and heard his discreet, so ARTHUR SOMERS Illustrated by Wallace Morgan story, which I have set down in my own words in ~ the paragraphs preceding this. “Anything else you care to add?” asked Tony. The nurse made a quick motion toward my friend and began smoothing the old man’s pillow. He brushed her away with a vigorous though withered and mottled hand. “You lemme talk,” he growled. “But Dr. Greenough,”’ protested the nurse. Old Stout chuckled. “I’ve given this hospital, all told, seven hundred thousand dollars. If that doesn’t buy me the right to do what I please, I don’t know what does. There ain’t a damn’ thing the matter with me but a headache. ‘Concussion,’ says your Dr. Greenough. Say, I been concussed a lot worse by a pair of brass knucks when I was in construction work. And once, when I was stranded in Callao, I shipped on a bark to Frisco, and there was a square-head third mate that concussed me with a belaying pin harder than Barland ever could with a bit of lead pipe wrapped in a sock. I’m O. K., I am, except I feel kinda weak. And some- thing else: I ain’t had a day in bed sinct I was shot by a Mex bartender down Vera Cruz way. I got rest coming to me. Just drift gently outa the picture, little girl, or I’ll use language.” The nurse tossed an indignant bobbed head, then relented as the old man grinned at her. She bent swiftly over and kissed his leathery cheek. Stark RocHE “Goings on, goings on,” growled the delighted invalid. ‘This is a heluva immoral place for me to give seven hundred thousand dollars to. Kiss me again, honey.” He chuckled roaringly as the pretty nurse went through the door. “* Ain’t it hell the way we old hardened plutocrats get gypped by any skirt that notices us? ‘Aged banker’s love-letters read in court. Nurse sues for heart-balm.’ I can see the head-lines now. Ineeda guardeen. [unquestionably do. That wallop on the ear musta knocked me cuckoo. Here I am a crusty old curmudgeon, swapping kisses with a twenty- year-old gal—well, what the hell do you make of it all, anyway?” “How much did Barland get away with?” asked Stark. “Well, I was wondering when you’d ask that,” growled Stout. ‘Say, can a guy that wears pants like yours have any real dome on him?” Tony Stark glanced down at his extremely full English trousers, with the plaits just below the waist- band. He smoothed the lapels of his double- breasted coat, paying particular attention to the setting of a carnation in the buttonhole. “You look hard, and you're soft,” he said. “I look soft, and I’m hard. If a nurse kisses you, you grin. If a nurse kissed me, I’d order her from the ” room.

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for AUGUST 1925 “* Stark thr at the man who sat within the room. ““Yea, bo, and she’d come back,’’ exclaimed Stout joyously. ‘Young feller, you and me oughta git out together and raise a little hell some day.” “You are a very old man and should be thinking of your soul,” admonished Stark, gravely. ‘My soul can take care of itself,’’ replied the old man. ‘“‘While my arteries are all right, I won’t bother about nothing else. Well, let’s git to busi- ness. I been here sinct Sunday and this is Wednes- day. The police have been here and questioned me. They’d oughta got Barland in twenty-four hours. They haven’t landed him in seventy-two. So Frank Wayland recommended you. You're here. But damned if I expected a society dude—but you’re hard, you sé All right.” He sat painfully up in bed and shook a bony forefinger at my friend. ‘‘Barland knew what was in the safe: ninety thousand in cash and over a hundred in negotiable bonds. He walked out with » violently open the door of the cabin. ‘em. The son-of-a-gun! I can see it all, now. He got tied up in a traffic jam, so he said, early Satur- day afternoon, and got to the bank too late to deposit the cash. As if he couldn’t have got in the side door! But he didn’t, and I didn’t bawl him out. He’d worked for me twenty years. And I figured that safe of mine was as good as any bank. So it is too, unless a man has the combination, or the door is wide open. Well, go git me Barland.” Tony Stark smiled. “Your confidence is flatter- ing,” he said. ‘I hope to be able to arrest him— A veritable earthquake occurred among the covers of the bed, as old Stout wriggled to a more upright position. “Who said anything about arresting Barla he roared. ‘‘That’s a police job, not yours.” “But you want him turned over—”’ “T said to git him, and that’s all I said,’ in- terrupted the banker: ‘When you git him, bring ” His right hand leveled a revolver ‘It’s all up, Barland,’ he said quietly.” him to me. I’m sixty-eight years old, and Bar- land’s only forty. and he’s one-seventy. But so help me Hannah, I can take him. And I’m gonna take him. I’m a gonna bust his gizzard, I am, and feed it to the sparrows. I employ a man for twenty years; I pay him his salary when he’s sick for half a year; I raise his wages every six months, until I’m paying him ten thousand a year for work that I could hire for half that. For Bar land ain’t got brains. Just reliable . . . I thought. I treat him right, and he gyps me. I want my money back, if I can git it. But mostly I want ten minutes with him. Then the police can have him, but not before. Git me?” “You'll burst a blood vessel some day in your anger,’” commented Stark tranquilly “T’'ll bust some fresh young feller’s nose first,’’ declared Stout. He grinned happily at my friend. “You got a grand way (Continued on page 92) I weigh one-fifty-three

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58 HARPER’S BAZAR | 4 AK hot XA lrow Grofiain At A _— “by. brian

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for AUGUST 1925 Princess dress Back flare CERTAIN IN 4 Great Change 1s Coming Over the Silhouette and NEW THE Bustle Sloping neck-line TENDENCIES MODE Several Unusual Innovations are Being Tested Out in the Pre-opening Models By EVERAL strong new influences are being felt in the mode. No change in fashion is so fundamental as a change in silhouette, and it is just here, after a period of so many years of the straight silhouette that it seemed as though this tradition would never be broken, that the change is taking place. We will not say that the straight silhouette has passed, but the flaring, fluttering silhouette is certainly newer, smarter, and more dominant. It was long a question as to just what silhouette would supplant the straight line when its day was finally over, and many different broken silhouettes were tried out from season to season, but never achieved any great degree of chic or popularity, until finally the flaring silhouette, which made its appearance a season or so ago, began to impress itself upon the mode. A panel was hung here, a plait inserted there, a scarf or a sash attached elsewhere, until the iron-clad tube began to break and melt and women emerged great, fluttering butterflies with tendrils and wings of delicate fabric floating in all directions. We now definitely have, holding a higher place in fashionable estimation than the straight-line dress, a skirt flaring widely at the hem. The waist is extremely long and close fitting and then breaks into a flower-like fulness at the knees. The whole feeling of the new silhouette is animation—a welcome relief after the static tube. Not only does the abbreviated skirt—merely a ruffle from just above the knees to just below them—flutter, but there are capes, bibs, wings, scarfs, streamers, petals, panels, ruffles, jabots—every conceivable form of floating fabric a dress can carry. Naturally, not all dresses follow this recipe. This description applies particularly to the dance dress—the gown that can be made in light and airy fabrics such as the chiffons and crépes. But the tendency is felt throughout the entire realm of dress, and even the severe sport dress has its flare, its plait, its scarf. A much more animated mode than we have had for years is now actually in existence. On the question of the flare, there are four opinions—all good. A skirt may flare in front, in the back, on the sides, or all round. It is only the second of these opinions that is at all startling. We MARIE LYONS have grown accustomed to the others, but the flare at the back is decidedly new. Harper’s Bazar showed the first model of this style shown in any fashion publication in its May issue, page ninety-five. It is an unusual line and at first glance may seem not particularly pleasing, but it is nevertheless a grateful and gracious break in the tubular silhouette. The tight, straight skirt is difficult to walk in, and this freedom at the back allows for the bend of the leg and gives a yielding, graceful line. On pages sixty and sixty-one are shown examples, not exaggerated but retaining their simplicity and grace, of this new line as interpreted by Chéruit, Berthe, and Louise- boulanger. The tendency toward long and longer bodices, fitting ever more closely, and ending ina brief ruffle of a skirt, is bringing us gradually to the old princess dress. There can scarcely be a question that this is the style to which we are coming. It has developed so imper- ceptibly that we are not surprised by its line. First the bodice grew long, then it grew tight, particularly around the hips, then it added a flaring ruffle, and there we are! It can never look exactly like the old princess dress, as women no longer have waist-lines any more than they have busts. The hour-glass figure is gone forever and the uncorseted figure gives a quite different air to the princess gown than was given it in its previous revival—but the line of to-day is truer to the original moyen Gge princess gown than was that of the previous revival. An excellent example of this style is shown on page sixty-four, where the dress is given an added quaintness by the faint shirrings on the hips. The bustle is another means of breaking the straight line that has been several times essayed, but never with any great success. So far it simply hasn’t taken. The very slight back drapery shown on page sixty-two is one of the most recent attempts. Another recent development in fashions is the new neck-line. This is the line that slopes downward from front to back. The scarf is a favorite means of achieving this line, but it is often obtained merely by the cut. A detail of this feature is the doubling of the material at the neck to emphasize the cut, as illustrated in the small sketches on pages sixty-two and sixty-three.

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60 An excellent example of the new tendency is an apricot Sappho velvet evening gown made with this beautiful artificial silk velvet running several ways of the material to give many reflections. Not only the fulness in the back and the huge bows at the sides but also the décolletage sloping lower in the back than in the front are new. Velvet is being much used for the fall. Chéruit is using it almost entirely for the afternoon. HARPER’S BAZAR oo SHEALE-N*¢DRY DE Ne LOUISEBOULANGER Models on both pages from HATTIE CARNEGIE

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for AUGUST 1925 61 THE MOST IMPORTANT RECENT TENDENCY IN THE MODE IS THE USE OF THE FLARE AT THE BACK OF THE SKIRT BERTHE Of “boy blue” Salome velvet is this dress with box plaits across the back only. There is a shirt front outlined in a lighter shade of blue poplin and a tie of two shades of the blue poplin. The skirt, slit up on both sides, is like all these skirts, longer in the back. So far the flare has been at the front of the skirt, at the sides, or all around—never at the back only. This is a new de- velopment, and is here shown in a black chiffon velvet dress with godets set in across the back. Vest and tie are of beige satin with beige chiffon. CHERUIT

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= o> ( J Y, | 7, 7 va ; 4 ; f Ji} BERTHI Here the new high-in-front, low-in- back neck-line is shown to ad- vantage. Note the double, triangu- lar folds of material used to accent it and the usual bow in back. The dress is of fuchsia crépe roma, and has panels with a border of clipped fuchsia marabou. Models on both pages from THURN There is constant talk of the bustle without much evidence of it. Here Paquin simulates a slight bustle with a falling drapery and flowers to accent the backward movement of the skirt—a tendency to- ward a less simple, slightly more ‘“dressmakery” style now noticeable in the mode. The gown is of jade green satin and likewise displays the neck- line excessively low in back and higher in front. THERE PAQUIN “¢ Dressmakery” HARPER’S BAZAR IS A TENDENCY TOWARD A Draped, Slightly Bustled, More

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for AUGUST 1925 PATOU A MARKED NEW FEATURE OF THE COMING MODE Is the Neck-Line High in Front and Low in Back Patou has made a charming dress of dark blue silk with white polka-dots, the features of which are a circular apron and a square neck-line with a scarf which comes high up on the throat and is looped low in back to give the desired new neck-line. Apron, bow, and scarf give the feeling of moving always in a slight breeze, which is so fashionable. Bibs are in fashion—as is anything that will flutter to get away from that static feeling that was in- herent in the straight, tight mode. This gown of printed black, green, and white crépe has in addi- tion flying circular panels on the skirt, a fluttering girdle, and a scarf which loops low in the back to _give the new neck-line, high in front and low in back. 63 « ta: Cue Se RK NN BERTHE

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THE MODE A LONG, SLIGHTLY DG@UILLET ~~. IS TENDING TOWARD DRAPED PRINCESS BODICE With a Short, Flaring Skirt A very significant gown is this where the waist is not only extremely long but likewise slightly shirred, giving a strong princess feeling with its flaring skirt. The jabot, bertha, and little cuffs give added flutter to a gown already full of animation, with its excessively full, light skirt. The gown is of old-rose chiffon, an old-fashioned color which is coming very much to the fore. The ribbon at the neck is pink metal cloth. The flare, the flutter, the godet, are su- preme. The flaring skirt which arrived a short time ago is now definitely re- placing the long-established straight silhouette. The bodice of this evening gown is of white chiffon; the full, pointed, fluttering skirt of black chiffon; the whole over a rose slip. White chiffon flowers are applied to the skirt with crystal beads; the rose scarf has godet ends of three shades of rose. HARPER’S BAZAR BERTHE The skirt of this cyclamen crépe de Chine evening gown consists of sepa- rate, circular, detached panels, with a very large rose in shades of cycla- men velvet in flat folds on each panel. sal © CHANTAL

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for AUGUST 1925 65 a — . = ee a ee eee , i i | { | j | { i / ! t ‘ ; f i } ! L ee “a a Se Sf a Rae EN 8 Ste a CHANEL "7 a = T an ani Dalal Lal a T\ 1? 7 V7 XN THE STRAIGHT SILHOUETTE IS DEFINITELY IKY + n BEING SUPPLANTED Animation is the keynote of the mode. Not only the skirt must flare and flutter but bows with long streamer ends and scarfs must give added motion so that alady in evening dress is little more than a breeze made Models on both pages visible. This exquisite gown is of pale pink chiffon with circular, scalloped from flounces with bows on the shoulders that flutter to the floor and a pink FRANCES CLYNE scarf with inseis of a rosy beige chiffon—a final, exquisite note of color.

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66 THE GREAT PANDOLFO The Story of the Complete Romanticist and High Adventurer in a Mechanical Age By WIi.LuiaAMm Illustrated by “Even now Paula could not com prehend Pandolfo’s inevitable fall. He loomed before her, A BRIEF RETELLING OF THE STORY? IRM in his determination to marry her, Sir Victor had been unsuccessful. Paula Field didn’t in the least want to marry him. And yet, when he came to say good-by to her before leaving on a business trip to Brazil, his love for her was so deep and sincere that her heart was really touched for the first time since she had met him. During the months of his absence Paula was frequently in touch with his faithful and devoted secretary, Gregory Uglow. Perhaps it was his enthusiastic tales of Pandolfo’s goodness, or perhaps it was the prompting of her own heart, but some impulse spurred her to cable Pandolfo that she would marry him. And then, like a bolt from the blue, came Pan- dolfo’s wire to his secretary: “On way home. Just married.” There was the bald fact. For- tunately Paula’s wire had been rescued by Uglow, so there was now nothing to do but consign the entire affair to oblivion. Pandolfo’s companion on shipboard, Nesta de Bréville, had won him by the age-old stratagem of working a man up to the point of wanting to be consoled, and then consoling him. Paula saw Lady Pandolfo several times after their arrival in London, always with a strange assortment of people: hard, commonplace women and men who were frarikly living on their wits. What was Pandolfo’s wife doing in such promiscuous com- pany? That he married the siren in ignorance of her sirenic past, Paula felt assured. The inevitable encounter between Paula and Sir Victor took place on a gray March morning, when he confessed that he had been a fool and that Paula was the only woman in the world for him and that he was the only man in the world for Paula. Then came tidings that Paulinium Steel Limited was going into liquidation, and Paula realized that in this crisis Lady Pandolfo was rather a millstone round Sir Victor’s neck than an ark of safety. To a note of sympathy, written by Paula, Pandolfo answered with unwonted gloom: “When the sun is eclipsed, there’s nothing to do but wait until the darkness is over.” A day or two later Paula’s father burst unex- pectedly upon her with a story which left her aghast. Mr. Veresy, it seemed, had made a very fantastic mortgage transaction with Pandolfo, the terms of which, if Pandolfo’s affairs were liquidated, Henry LOCKE . Raleigh immense.” would leave Mr. Veresy financially ruined also. Paula spoke words of consolation, and conscious of her power, telephoned to Pandolfo, only to find that he had gone to Monte Carlo. ‘‘The damned fellow has done a bolt,” cried Mr. Veresy. SEVENTH PART ANDOLFO had not bolted in Mr. Veresy’s sense of the word. A telegram from his wife had sent him flying south. Ordinary mortals must book seats on the Blue Train a month in advance. Pandolfo’s peculiar wizardry found a berth at a few hours’ notice. Broken in fortune, not even quite certain whether he was committing a criminal offense in leaving England and his snarling pack of creditor wolves, he felt again the old thrill of power when the wagon-lit agent met him at Calais, hat in hand. “Oui, monsieur, it is all arranged. We received instructions and there happened, justement, to be one compartment cancelled at the last moment.” It is only the powerful who can command the cancellation of a compartment at the last moment. Pandolfo, like a king, followed the deeply impressed porter who carried his luggage, and entered the oblong box, which the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits fondly imagine to be the last word in the luxury of travel. How long his kingship would endure was another matter. He gave the porter twenty francs. He dined. He slept. At noon ona March day blazing with sunshine, he stepped out of the train at Monte Carlo. He looked around the platform, seeking, if not a welcoming, at least a greeting face. There was the usual throng of friends meeting friends, and gay handshakes and embraces, and the laughter and the excitement of the fortunate so- journers in proclaiming to late fog-bound and rain- sodden travelers the glories of sun and sky. Pan- dolfo frowned as though his kingship had passed from him. Leaving his suit-case in charge of the conductor of the hotel omnibus, he mounted by the lift to the Casino terrace and strolled slowly along, filling his lungs with the warm, sweet air and his eyes with the blue of the enchanted sea. For the moment troubles melted in the golden light. He went up the terrace steps and stood watching the familiar scene. The gray mountains beyond, the trim and tiny miniature park, the circular gar- den, the white Hotel de Paris on the left, the Café HARPER’S BAZAR de Paris with its gay terrace of crowded tables, the idle men and women, crossing and recrossing, the long line of the Casino, the pigeons fluttering about its cornices, the continuous trickle of humans enter- ing and emerging from the small doors, like bees using their hive. Time might have stood still from such a morning three years ago when he had last stood on that spot. Nothing had changed. The same cheery black door- keeper, his blue coat ablaze with war decorations, stood with the same smile outside the Hotel de Paris. The same cars wheeled around discreetly. He turned with a sigh, and prepared to cross the square in the direction of the hotel where his wife was staying, when he saw her run down the Casino steps. He advanced, bare-headed, to greet her. shook hands. “T really meant to meet your train and I only went in there to put in time. But there was a run on my numbers. It would have been wicked to They leave. “T hope you found it worth your while,” said he. “T picked up twelve thousand.” “My congratulations.” HEY walked a few paces in silence. At last she said: “Tt was very decent of you to come. Until I got your telegram I didn’t know whether you would or not.” ““You’re my wife. You’re Lady Pandolfo. You wired me you were in terrible trouble. I couldn’t do otherwise than come.” Then, dropping the ironical, he flashed round on her, “What have you been doing now?” She looked up at him rather frightened. ‘‘Hadn’t we better wait until you’ve been to the hotel and changed? I’ve got you a comfortable room at the Paris, as I wired you. My hotel’s chock-a-block. ... You must be so tired after your long journey.” He laughed. ‘Have you ever seen me tired? Or the worse for traveling?” He looked as spruce and point-device in his blue-striped suit and clean linen as any of the men lounging in that lounger’s para- dise. ‘There are all conveniences for cleanliness on the Blue Train.” He drew off his new wash-leather gloves which he put in his pocket, and displayed immaculate hands. ‘‘No; I am hungry: it is nearly one o’clock. What you have to say would be

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ra while. You're a woman of many phases,’ said Pandolfo after a ‘This is my first introduction to you as a gambler.’ ” 67 ——— better said in the comfort of the open air over a comfortable lunch table, than in the stuffiness of a private room ina hotel. For there, God knows when one’d get anything to eat.” HE halted in their slow course, by the tobac- \’ conist’s at the corner of the Café de Paris. “T’d sooner we were alone,” she said, with the hardening of the eyes to which he had grown accus- tomed. ‘But if it’s your good pleasure. ... At any rate, you'll promise not to make a scene.” An habitual gesture accompanied a laugh. ‘‘ And throw my arms about—?” ““You’re doing it now,” she said. “Forgive me. The Knight of the British Empire shall strangle the Neapolitan lazzarone. I promise. And when I break my promise, it’s what insurance policies refer to as an Act of God. Have I ever broken a promise that I’ve made you?” “T do you the credit—”’ she began almost reluc- tantly, and the meaningless words which she would have said died away. “Let us lunch, then. Here? There is noise— music and chatter. We can talk without being over- heard. It’s ideal.” He made way for her. “Will you?” She paused for an instant before obeying his courteous gesture. “If you only knew how I hate your damned perfect manners!”’ Threading their way through the miniature forest of gaudy umbrellas that shaded the terrace tables, they reached the end where the pleasant restaurant began. A maitre d’hétel rushed forward, presented a table in a corner remote from the band. “Ah, Monsieur Pandolfo, il y a déiad longtemps—” et cetera, et cetera. Pandolfo called him by name, asked news of his family. There was a newcomer three years ago. Precisely. The child was in perfect health. Ran about like a grown-up person. Always at Sospel? Mais oui, Monsieur Pandolfo. The mountain air. There was nothing like it. And what would Mon- sieur desire? Habit made him present the long menu card. Monsieur in his grand manner waved it away, and, like a god ordaining, ordered the meal. ‘*And two sweet Martinis at once and then your excellent Monaco beer which I have not had for three years. I don’t consult you, my dear Nesta, for I know your tastes. Still, if you have a caprice . . . Veuve Clicquot, Chateau Yquem. .. .?” A smile, in spite of her preoccupation, came into her eyes. “You know. You always do.” “Eh bien. Ca y est.” He dismissed the maitre @ hétel. Their last lunch together? It may be so. Per haps not quite so exciting as Browning's ride. But it has possibilities. At any rate, let us hope that Jules will put the fear of Pandolfo into the chef. 4; LBOW on table, cheeks supported in her fists, she looked at him. “After all, Victor, you’re a wonderful man.” He unfolded his napkin. ‘Have I ever said any- thing to the contrary?”’ ““How could you remember the man’s name and his child and where his rotten family lived?” “Tt has been my business to be a master of de- tail,” said he. The waiter set the hors d’wuvre. Ever courteous host, he consulted her choice. The meal began. “Will you now tell me what’s the trouble?” She made a gesture toward the Casino over the way. “Taat is.” “How much? “Everything.” She entered upon the gambler’s story of. black and relentless ill-luck, representing herself as the innocent victim of diabolic agencies. She had begun by winning. It was necessary for her to win, in view of the precariousness of her income in the immediate future. Had he not told her that he was ruined and that, henceforward, she must (Continued on page 112)

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68 HARPER’S BAZAR ~ | The Willys-Knight roadster above has been designed largely for camping and long touring and carries four passengers comfortably. Under the deck seat in the rear is a spacious compartment for a camping outfit. A very convenient lunch kit, made in the shape of a foot rest, contains all the necessary silverware and dishes for serving a picnic supper for six. Besides the two bottles there is an ample coffee pot. Lewis & Conger. For ice, fruit, and cold drinks, this light-weight rattan basket is indispensable on a supper picnic. Between the rattan and the metal lining is a special packing making it practically air-tight. Abercrombie and Fitch. (Right) This auto caddy, which can be locked to the running board of any automobile, ts ada ptable also for carrying guns and rods. Wilson & Co. Then, when the moon is up and the water like a mirrer and we long for music, we bring out our radio, a super- heterodyne set with six tubes, batteries, loud speaker and aerial all packed in a case. Abercrombie and Fitch. PICNICKING IN AUGUST MADE DELIGHTFUL WITH ESPECIALLY ADAPTABLE MOTOR-CARS AND ACCESSORIES

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for AUGUST 1925 OR Ne te wae ar Toes Le Baron makes a special outing body for a Peerless roadster. The lunch kit compartment in the rear of the deck is especially designed for the space and con- tains full equipment for four persons. The zinc ice-box has a drain leading to the ground. The com- partment in the right door is for flasks and glasses, and there is a locker for golf bags or fishing tackle. MARMON We often take the Marmon sedan on a picnic as there is such ample room between the two spare tires and the back of the tonneau for the hamper and lunch kits. Then, too, it is so pleasant, when you are driving, to look ahead at the mountain view and sunset through an undivided wind-shield. PEERLESS Drawings by Samuel Davis Otis 69

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70 HARPER’S BAZAR a ay 7 py. aS. RE wT ws eS > SS PARIS HAS NOW ADOPTED THE SMALL GROSGRAIN HAT How long ago was it that we declared the cloche to be gone, like the snows of yesteryear? This is surely a cloche, this tiny Le Monnier hat of pink-beige grosgrain ribbon, a cloche with a brim that rolls back, but at heart and un- deniably a cloche. The square-folded bits of grosgrain all over the crown are amusing and most undeniably smart.

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for AUGUST 1925 This is a cloche, simple and un- adorned. It is made by Susy of quite narrow bands of gros- grain, sewn together with that French irregularity and charm. All over the crown of a black Le Monnier grosgrain hat are sewn little half-moons of white bakelite. There is almost no brim at all in the back of it. A new Susy hat that ts really a variation of the cloche has two large shell-like cocardes of grosgrain to match the hat. The color is the soft pinkish tan that the Parisian likes. ™~ THE GROSGRAIN HAT IS VARIED IN SHAPE AND CHARACTER Hats on both pages from ROLLEE An almost brimless hat of heavy grosgrain from Claire Merey has two fringed points that turn up in front and serve as a brim. The back has a narrow brim. Again the translated cloche, with the crown slightly squared and the brim turned up in back. Very heavy grosgrain in dull fuchsia is used for this hat from Suzy.

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72 HARPER’S BAZAR THE SMALL HAT JS, OF COURSE, THE UNERRINGLY SMART HAT Molyneux gives the small velours hat a rather unusual and new : — wer re ites ne is made a bit like a sou’wester, turned up in the front and down in the back. From the very middle of the nape of the neck the brim is cut in an open space. shape. The crown of this green velours is a little dome, while the brim turns up abruptly and is stitched with silver threads. Hats from NATHAN GIBSON CLARK The large felt or straw capeline, clean cut and simple, is the only large hat permissible now, but it is very smart and smart women are wearing it with summer frocks. This one is of black, fine felt with a black satin ribbon bound tightly about the close-fitting crown.

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for AUGUST 1925 - VELOURS IS EXCEEDINGLY SMART FOR LATE SUMMER WEAR Another green velours hat, this a little lighter than the one on page seventy-five, more the color we called “ Lanvin green”’ several seasons ago has heavy grosgrain cocardes in front. The cocardes are of green and mauve, a smart com bination for a sports hat. The sharply upturned brim gains most of its style by having scarcely any brim in the back at all. The crown is rather high. A velours hat with a decided air of formality is of a very lovely fuchsia shade, made with a rather high crown and a narrow cleverly tilted brim. A sweeping aigrette of fine glycerined ostrich, of the exact shade of the hat, is the touch that de- termines the character of the hat and lifts it out Hats from of the sports class and makes it wearable with JAY-THORPE figured chiffon frocks or matching crépe frocks.

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HARPER’S BAZAR THE SIMPLE LARGE HAT ' IS HAVING A SMART SEASON This does not mean that the large hat has superseded the tiny close-fitting hat by any means; it merely means that a large hat is now permissible with certain costumes, a thing unheard of last season. The flowered chiffon frock and vividly colored crépe marocain frock have been largely responsible for this return of the large capeline. The hat shown above is of dull mauve felt, with the brim unbound. The ornament in front is of beaten gold and gold thread embroidery. Hat from NATHAN GIBSON CLARK

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AUGUST 1925 for \ { ' | -* i ae i bag ? tea g its. oa © ie } és, i, “a fy A STREET HAT OF VELOURS AND HEAVY GROSGRAIN RIBBON Soft green velours, that soft delicious color known as “ Reboux green” is used for this hat. This type of slightly high crown that is neither pointed nor squared is extremely smart for the obviously tailored hat. The military cocarde is of very heavy cotton grosgrain ribbon. It is a bit more formal than the soft little sports hat to be pulled on hastily over one’s eyes and down to the nape of one’s closely shingled neck. Hat from JAY-THORPE

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MRS WILLIAM GALEY LORD HARPER’S BAZAR Prominent among the numerous summer weddings was that of Miss Frances Norton and Mr. Lord, solemnized in the Church of St. Vincent Ferrer and followed by a reception at Sherry’s. A daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Sheridan S. Norton of Park Avenue and Westbury, Long Island, the bride had as her chief attendant her sister, Mrs. Cornelius Vanderbilt Whitney. Mr. Lord is a son of Mr.and Mrs. Charles Edwin Lord of Tarrytown-on-the-H udson. ye ss ain

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for AUGUST 1925 TRAIT COS ETL, This portrait, drawn from a photograph of Edgar Saltus taken when he was about forty years of age, shows his unusual personal fascination. Is. THE LIFE An Intimate Exotic As Part Two HE next vital experience in Mr. Saltus’ life was his divorce from Helen Read. Hopelessly unsuited to be the husband of any woman who expected to find a normal, conventional and altogether rational being, this marriage was doomed to failure from the first. From his rooms on Fifth Avenue, at a large Italian table of carved olive wood (the same table on which I am writing these lines), he turned out novels like flapjacks, entertaining his acquaintances in the intervals. Among the friends of the first Mrs. Saltus was a girl belonging to one of the oldest and best families in the country. Spanish in coloring, high bred in features, a champion at sports and a belle at the balls, she was sufficiently attractive to arrest the attention of a connoisseur. Owing to her friendship with his wife, she saw a great deal of Mr. Saltus also. Their acquaintance, however, had begun Many years before, when as a youth in Germany he had met the girl and her family. Too young at that time to think of marriage they had been semi- sweethearts. a It was only to be expected then, that his side of the story was put forward with all the cleverness of a master of his craft, and what man, no matter how much in the wrong, does not consider himself much abused? In this case, he gained not only a sym- pathetic listener, but an ally. Tea in his rooms perhaps, a luncheon in some quiet and secluded restaurant to talk it over, and tongues began to wag. That wagging was more Genius Revelation Who Was of an Was as He By Marte SALTUS easily started than stopped. It gained momentum Before it reached its height, Mrs. Saltus brought an action for divorce, naming her one-time friend as one of the corespondents. At this time, Edgar Saltus was at the height of his fame. The newspapers reeked with the scandal. There were editions after editions in which his name appeared in large type. To protect the name of the alleged corespondent, Mr. Saltus fought tooth and nail. However much he had been at fault in his treatment of Helen Read, his intentions now were to be chivalrous in the extreme, to protect the girl who had been dragged into such a maelstrom After a great deal of delay, of mud-throwing and heart-breaking, the name of her one-time friend having been withdrawn and all suggestions of in- discretion retracted, a divorce was given to Helen Read. FTER the divorce Mr. Saltus threw himself into his work. ‘Madame Sapphira” was the immediate result. Aimed at his first wife in an attempt to vindicate himself, with a thin plot and written as it was with a purpose, it not only failed to interest, but reacted rather unpleasantly upon himself. Writing continuously until about two p. m., he would stop for a bite, and then go at it again until four. Hating routine and regularity above all things, his copy alone was excepted. It was his habit to write a book in the rough, jotting down the main 77 i OF EDGAR SALTUS Astonishing anda Well Known Misunderstood facts and the dialogue. The next writing put it into readable form, and on this second he always worked the hardest, transforming halting sentences into graceful transitions, interjecting epigrams, witti- cisms, and clever dialogue, and penetrating the whole with his personality. The third writing (and he never wrote a book less than three times) gave it its final coat of varnish. Burnishing the finished product with untiring skill it scintillated at last. Poetry came more easily to him than prose. He had to school himself at first to avoid falling into it. On his knees before the spirit of Flaubert he pruned and polished his work, At four, it was his custom to go for a walk. Never interested in sports, walking only because he recognized the necessity for keeping himself in physical trim, it was Spartan for him to do some- thing he disliked and to keep on doing it. Pride kept him on the job. The “Pocket Apollo” could not let himself go the way of least resistance. Shortly before this time his brother Frank, who, at the last, had become a physical wreck, had passed on. Outwardly this appeared to affect Mr. Saltus but little. In reality it touched the vital center of his hidden self. A photograph of Frank Saltus on a Shetland pony, against which the child Edgar was leaning, hung in the latter’s room forever after. In it the likeness between them is striking. It is the only picture extant of Frank as a child. Not long after the divorce and while he was still much in the limelight, (Continued on page 119)

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"9 HARPER’S BAZAR The Baronne de Lauriston at the races. She is carry- Lhe Grand Duke Dimitri and Mile. Missonne at the polo ing one of the favorite smart seat-canes from Briggs. matches at Bagatelle. Notice the crépe de Chine coat. Mlle. de Brossia wearing a Poiret frock of midnight blue The Comtesse de Rochechouart at the races, in a flowered with silver edges and a royal blue crépe tie in front. chiffon frock, printed in shades of rose, and a wide hat. SMART PARIS SEEN IN CHARACTERISTIC COSTUMES AT THE RACES |

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AUGUST 1925 for Madame Revel in a black crépe coat with a large shawl collar of beige fox and a hat that exactly matches the fur. PARIS THINKS ABOUT THE suit and a Reboux hat. Marquise d’Armaille at the races, wearing a Vionnet Comtesse de Chavagnac at right. SILIMOUETTE This is the Time of Year When There is a Strong Undercurrent of Thought Among the ARIS has been immensely interesting this summer, what with the exhibition, the unusual heat and sunshine, and the multitude from all climes and countries brought together to its tree- shaded avenues and boulevards. There is inspira- tion in this living whirlpool; inspiration which should find a reflection in the clothes that the Paris creators are about to pass before professional eyes this August. The modernistic tendencies in applied art at the present exhibition may easily influence both their cut and decoration. On the other hand, the very fulness of the realiza- tion of these tendencies at the present exhibition may drive the designers in the opposite direction, resulting in a reaction. In the Same manner, the Grand Prix Ball at the Opéra, at the close of the official season, representing this year a Creole féte of the time of Joséphine de Beauharnais, may cast the final decisive vote in favor of the high waist-line with which the designers have been playing for some time; or this embodiment of their thought may be sufficient to turn them in the other direction. Of these two possibilities, we cannot yet know exactly which will be fulfilled in the August collec- tions. And even after they have been shown, the winter mode will still remain in process of precipita- tion, until smart Paris comes back from its wander- ings, about the middle of October, and sets the seal of its expert selection upon the proffered wares. In the meantime, all is speculation; and among the signs and wonders in the sartorial sky, I have selected the three predictions sketched on these pages, as the tipster selects his fancies for the Grand Priv. to the Openings By HOWARD MARIJORIE Louiseboulanger, one of the very foremost of the advance guard, offers a ‘“‘peacock”’ silhouette, the ampleness of its filmy white skirts spreading in proud dignity at the back and sides, while they are lifted in front to show the feet “‘like mice beneath her petticoat.” Worth, the house combining a with a nice appreciation of present-day needs, plunges for the raised waist-line in an evening frock of that odd ‘‘faded lilac” shade which is new in the gamut of wearable colors Drecoll, in the person of Madeleine, a designer with the most bullet-proof courage of her artistic convictions, stakes her all upon the fitted corsage and the flaring skirt. Here is a creator who refuses to be put off with the *‘ whatever is, is right’ formula. “‘T long to change the silhouette,”’ she says; “‘but while women continue to insist upon the freedom of the body, the task is almost impossible. Don’t imagine that I wish for the return of the boned corset—far from it. But I should like to see more adjustment, more subtle cut, more form in clothes. So I propose to fit closely the slender upper figure and get my contrast in the flaring short skirts below.” noble tradition Tee PoOssreIiLitIes FoR Fatt ALL the designers with whom I have talked 4 Magree that we are farther than usual, at this time, from accurate prophesy of the coming mode. The tendency to adjust fabric to the upper body is one of the few sure indications we have. Most of the creators agree that in order to preserve the Couturters, Preliminary illusion of youth—the first requirement of modern fashions—these fitted lines will have to finish in wide abbreviated skirts. Yet. incongruously enough, another of the strong possibilities for fall is the longer skirt. How can we reconcile this contradiction? The answer is found in discrimination of type. Clothes are certainly crystallizing into a mode which will be as typical of our times as powder and hoops were typical of the eighteenth century. But during the Grand Siécle life had to adjust itself to clothes, not clothes to life as in our day. And so our great- great-grandmothers found themselves in gorgeous silks and satins at all hours of their day, deeply décolleté on a frozen winter morning, crinolined even in the confinement of a traveling coach, agonizingly corseted in iron bands, wooden *‘ busks,”’ and triple-starched linen on horseback. We, in our recent glorious emancipation from constriction and trappings, have swung, perhaps, to the opposite limit of the pendulum That explains the intrusion of the slim, straight, short, sports type even into the formal evening mode. On _ page eighty-eight you will see what might be called an evening sports frock that was sketched at Deauville. It carries out in silver lamé and green satin exactly the same model which we find on every golf links in the civilized world in wool jersey, crépe de Chine, or kasha. And we have the nerve to laugh at the idea of early morning marketing in a low-necked crinolined brocade! Obviously, lamé and satin sports frocks in the ballroom are as great an anomaly. But the nature of a pendulum is to swing back,

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mo meen AN 80 Louiseboulanger always has been the exponent of the different silhouette. This ** peacock”’ line is a new one of her inventions; new, but instantly to be recognized as Louiseboulanger. and many observers think that it has gone quite far enough in the so-called ‘rational’? direction, and that we shall gradually react toward a greater formalism. What I think is, that we shall see a greater differentiation in types of dress; and I was confirmed in this opinion, when I observed, during the social events of the Paris season, an indication of the lengthening of the ubiquitous short skirt for formal afternoon attire. Example is much better than precept; so I offer that of Cécile Sorel, always a personality in the Paris world of clothes, whom I met coming out of Hellstern’s one hot morning, in a very short plaited skirt of navy crépe, with one of Lanvin’s polka-dot jumper blouses; and the next day, at luncheon in the gardens of Armenonville, in an ankle-length tan chiffon, the skirt a mass of “‘handkerchiefs,”’ folded in triangles. The prettiest frock that I saw at the Prix de Diane at Chantilly was a yellow organdie, shirred in five rows all round the center of the body and the hips, and with a really long skirt, quite circular, blowing about over a petticoat of plaited white lace. Can you imagine anything so sweetly feminine in a world of * boyish” clothes? HARPER’S BAZAR How delightful, sensible, and appropriate it would be, if we could continue our short, straight boyish lines for morning wear; be prettily flounced or flared for afternoon social events; and, in the eve- ning, appear in stately draperies, or in brief unham- pering dance frocks, according to circumstances! EvEN GREATER UNIFORMITY HE Paris edition of a Chicago newspaper con- sulted some of the leading dressmakers the other day on the probable persistence of the present simple fashions. The consensus of opinion was that the tendency instead of becoming more individualistic is toward an even greater uniformity. Jean Charles Worth found two reasons for present practicality; the sports craze, and the more psychological one of women’s emancipation, socially and _ politically. Women’s share in modern life is so much more important than it used to be that they no longer require to attract attention by fantastic clothes. Long ago, I heard Lady Duff Gordon express the same opinion, while warning women that simplicity might lead to neglect. w. " 10d DI — 4 2 GA S BD -QBY m . el Poa goe et ~~ - LOUISEBOULANGER Madame Lanvin declared that clothes are an expression of contemporary life, and that it is impossible for either dressmakers or clients to change modes of dressing without first changing modes of living. Dceuillet has given up expecting fundamental style changes, contenting himself with new details. Lelong put the thing on an economic basis, declaring that women cannot afford a com- plete change of wardrobe twice a year, or even every year. Lewis, the milliner, invoked the over- whelming desire of the modern woman to appear young, citing the perennial cloche as proof. Only Poiret, the iconoclast, bewailed our static state, and voiced an ardent wish that fashions might suffer a sea change into something new and strange. Every one of these opinions has weight, and the combined result is probably the answer. Logically, then, our best forecast for the new season is con- tinued simplicity, with an increasing adaptation of style to occasion, and novelty only in details. After all, the idea of static fashions is a very old one, and there is plenty of precedent for it. The famous Julie de Lespinasse, though a victim of genteel poverty, was found when she died to possess ‘orty

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for AUGUST 1925 Mlle. Madeleine at Drecoll wishes to out- line the upper part of the body in a subtle way, to top a flaring skirt. Here in black velvet and gray squirrel. Worth’s new line sug- gests an Empire silhou- elte, without actually re- producing it. The line is suggested by the trim- ming. In pale blue charmeuse with silver. 81 | ee | DRECOLL silks and satins, to the scandal of her executors. They, being mere men, did not realize that these gowns were the accumulation of twenty careful years, during which the mode had conveniently stood very nearly still. And if such a voluminous and inconvenient mode could prolong its life so long, surely our practical, appropriate one may be granted a bit of grace. That our present fashions do develop slowly and gradually is incontestable. I have a Jenny frock that I ordered five years ago. It is still perfectly wearable; in black reps, its skirt short, in panels, its bodice perfectly simple, bateau necked, with long plain sleeves. The only “funny” thing about it is the belt. I ordered it when waist-lines had just gone to the top of the hip. Since then they have been down to the knees and up again; until at the moment the belt-line of my frock is just about right. It has had more ups and downs than the column in the Place Vendéme; it has been sup- pressed altogether; and its place is still a moot point in next winter’s fashions. Let me whisper in your ear my opinion that you may continuc to place your waist just where it is becoming to you, or just where the style of your frock calls for it, for the present. By next February there may be another story to tell. Among the fashions definitely established this summer is the vogue of fulness whenever material allows for it, and the vogue of color. Both, modified by winter exigencies, will continue. The latter added tremendous freshness and gaiety to the fétes of the Paris June. Quantities of pink of all shades, mauves playing both ends (toward blue and toward red) from the center, greens from Nile to myrtle, clear yellows, the entire gamut of blues— what a change from last year’s whites and beiges! The newest note among them was the blue. I was reminded of the old rhyme: Green is forsaken, yellow forsworn. Blue is the sweetest color that’s worn. Nevertheless, blue has one great defect among its qualities—it does not vibrate. Blue should never be the color of a foreground personality. Observe a group of women on a dance floor—the blue ones leave holes. Green, on the contrary, always cries WORTH aloud its presence, and so, many women choose it in spite of its French reputation for bringing bad luck. ‘“‘After green, you'll wear black,’”’ runs an old proverb. Very new, also, in this summer’s palette, are the purples. Here is a color of which one can only say that it is all right for those who like it. Personally I suffer it gladly when it runs toward the shades of “‘ink” and “‘prune,”’ and loathe it when it verges on the churchly red or the funereal blue. I have already mentioned in a former article the distinguished charm of transparent black chiffon in the mass of so much color, especially as a back- ground for lovely jewels. Speaking of chiffon reminds me that another of the definite features of the season is the acceptance of chiffon sports clothes. This sounds like a con- tradiction in terms. Chantal, the designer, who, though a newcomer, is attracting the attention of the discriminating, must have the credit of this innovation, which is particularly charming. And talking of chiffon sports clothes leads me inevitably to the weather. Weather, you know,

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Tl al me en JEUNE FILLE FROCKS FROM THE PARIS HOUSES oO 2, ee ee Ol, . REDFERN HARPER’S BAZAR —— — Gay colors are charming for the young girl for late summer wear. An unusually fresh combination of color and fabric is this ensemble of orange and white kasha cloth, combined to give a youthful effect. The coat is orange, lined with white crépe. Only the front of this frock, designed to go with the coat shown with it, is plaited. This front is applied apron-wise and held there by the trimming of wh te crépe de Chine. The frock itself is of white kasha cloth, to match the white coat lining. This frock is part of an ensemble in gray crépe de Chine, made with plain and plaited crépe com- bined, which is a very smart effect just now. The collar and cuffs are of lighter gray, to match a hat of grosgrain ribbon stitched with a line of silver. Redfern has used a most youthful line for this young girl’s frock of beige chiffon. The lower part of the skirt is painted with many colored ower designs, and around the neck is a plaiting of ribbons that repeats the colors of the flowers. 4

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gece jor AUGUST 1925 bay The very small girl can wear the “vareuse” blouse as well as the smart woman. Lanvin makes this frock of navy blue alpaca, with the skirt of striped wool. besides being the one sure-fire subject of conversa- tion known to civilization, has succeeded in making itself frightfully important in civilization itself. Lots of deep theories of race development, racial character, achievement, and long-worded things like that, are based on it. Of course, fundamentally, it is the starting-point of the mode, since in the ideal climate of the first garden the mode had no existence. This year, for the first time since 1921, we had a hot and sunny June, and the effects of it will be felt in the clothes which you will be wearing as far ahead as next January! One of the accepted rules of good dressing was the necessity of some sort of a coat in the street. Last year, this coat almost invariably had a fur collar. All very well in cool, gray Paris, but pretty trying in New York or Chicago, under a brass sky with a temperature of ninety in the shade. “Tant pis!” said Paris. But this year Paris thermo- meters ran up to an astonishing eighty-eight, and off came the coats in a moment, even the thinnest chiffon ones which a far-seeing mode had provided; and the dress became once more as important as the An unusually gracious “jeune fille” frock, and one that is typically Lanvin, is of pale blue toile de soie with large black dahlias embroidered on the wide sleeves. coat, instead of a mere accessory of it, as it has been. As for fur collars, madame declared that the very idea of fur made her hot by suggestion, so she refused even to think about it. Milliners longing for the artistic license of wide brims, prepared themselves to supply the succes- sion of tiny hats which were all that women would consider. But Old Sol was tired of looking down on so many little round heads, alike as peas in a pod; and his powerful arguments brought back the broad brims in a rush with which the milliners could hardly cope. The accepted form turns up smartly in the back, while the front brims have a bonnet-like tendency, Early in the season, I went down to Deauville for a week-end, through blossoming Normandy, its flower-strewn fields lit with incandescent poppies, its hedges a Sunday-school treat of hawthorn, piled like giant dishes of strawberry and vanilla ice- cream, its waste places turned into treasure houses full of the golden nuggets of the gorse. There I saw quantities of chiffon and Georgette sports clothes, color symphonies in crépe de Chine and LANVIN Lanvin uses the vivid royal blue, so smart at the moment, in crépe de Chine for a collar and tie on this light blue alpaca. The long straight blouse is buttoned on. « kasha, flower-garden prints, and a novelty in frocks and coats of soft-colored plaid taffeta of wonderful suppleness. I observed the vogue of colored crépe de Chine coats to match hats of felt or the new straw weaves of djemba or sangha. -I noticed that, al- though the fashion of matching everything, coat, frock, and hat, was one of the leading notes of the season, some very discriminating colorists had begun already to tire of this changeless agreement, and were planning costumes in which subtle color harmonies, or daring contrasts varied the monotony. I saw that sports clothes are adopting collars, at least as high as the base of the neck. There, in the baccara rooms at night, I observed that heads are as small and sleek as ever; and again I realized why, when one woman, wearing the typical abbreviated evening frock, passed with her hair in a huge chignon, looking as if she were ready to topple over backwards. There I saw more colored slippers, matching the hue of the frock, than I had seen in Paris; with an occasional pair of stockings to match, still looking more old-fashioned than advanced. I noted colored (Concluded on page 94)

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Ae ee ee tee 84 HARPER’S CALLOT MAKES PAJAMAS THAT ARE THREE-PIECE COSTUMES These are Callot’s favorite pajamas. It is really a three-piece costume, consisting of wide straight trousers, like those of a Chinese woman, a straight vest, and a three-quarter coat. The vest is pulled on over the head, and is black satin to match the trousers; the coat is of magnificent Coudurier brocade, bordered with bands of brown and cornflower blue satin, as are the trousers and vest. The vogue for wearing decora- tive pajamas on the sands was started in the Lido some seasons ago. BAZAR

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for AUGUST 1925 85 MOLYNEUX THE SMART ROBE D’INTERIEUR IS A PAIR OF CHARMING PAJAMAS Paris makes many of its new pajamas three-piece costumes, with straight loose jackets worn over a blouse or vest-like garment that pulls down over the hips. The black chiffon coat has green applied flowers to match the green crépe de Chine trousers. An amusing French translation of Oliver Twist is made of black tussore, very dull and heavy, over a white Georgette crépe blouse. This is rather extreme, but is very charming when worn by a tall slender woman with long limbs. Over black crépe de Chine trousers, cut straight and wide, is a slip-on top of white crépe de Chine, printed in color. The design of this white over- slip is very gay, in vivid orange, beige, and NOWITSKY yellow. The motifs fall in long futuristic points. NOWITSKY

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HARPER’S BAZAR

“I looked at him and looked at him and said it was sweet of him to be so full of nothing but sentiment.” BRAINS ARE Closing cq June 14: ELL, Dorothy and I arrived at New York yesterday because Mr. Eisman finally de- cided to send us home because Mr. Eisman said that all of his button profession would not stand the strain of educating me much more in Europe. So Mr. Eisman had to go to Berlin to look up all of his starving relatives in Berlin, who have done nothing but starve since the War, so he wrote me just before we sailed and he said that he had dug up all his starving relatives in Berlin and he had looked them all over, and he decided not to bring them to America because there was not one of his starving relatives who could travel on a railroad ticket with out paying excess fare for overweight. So then Dorothy and I took the boat. So all the way over on the boat I had to make up my mind whether I really wanted to marry the famous Henry H. Spofiard, or not, because he was waiting for me to arrive at New York and he was so impatient that he could hardly wait for me to arrive at New York. Because Henry is really a very famous fiance for a girl, because he is one of the richest gentlemen in America, but he is not the kind of gentleman that a girl could marry and overlook, because he has noth- ing to do but go around with a girl all of the time, and when a gentleman like Henry is around with a girl all of the time, it really begins to seem as if time was almost endless. But I have not wasted all of my time on Henry, even if I do not marry him, because I have some letters from Henry which would come in very, very handy if I did not marry Henry. So Dorothy seems to agree with me quite a lot, because Dorothy says the only thing she could stand being to Henry, would be to be his widow at the age of 18. So all the way coming over on the boat I decided not to bother to speak to any gentleman on the boat, because what good does it do to meet gentlemen when there is nothing to do on a boat but go shop ping at the little shop where they do not have any thing that costs more than five dollars, and besides if I did meet any gentleman on the boat, he would want to see me off the boat, and then we would bump into Henry. So I did not even bother to meet any gentlemen on the boat. But then I heard that there was a gentleman on the boat who was quite a dealer who deals in nothing but unset diamonds from a town called Amsterdam. So I met the gentleman, and we went around together quite a lot, but we had quite a quarrel the night before we landed, so I did not even bother to look at him when I came down the Pages from the A Ha s zy Traveler By Awnita Loos Diagrams by Ralph Barton gangplank, and I put the unset diamonds in my handbag so I did not have to declare them at the customs. So Henry was waiting for me at the customs, be- cause he had come up from Pennsylvania to meet

** My debut was the greatest success.” me, because their country estate is at Pennsylvania, and Henry’s father is very, very ill at Pennsylvania, so Henry has to stay there practically all of the time. So then all of the reporters came on the boat and all of the reporters heard about how Henry and I were engaged to one another and they all wanted to know REALLY EVERYTHING Diary of what [ was, before I became engaged to Henry, so I told them that I was nothing but a society girl from Little Rock, Arkansas. So then I became quite angry with Dorothy because one of the reporters asked Dorothy when I made my debut in society at Little Rock, and Dorothy said I made my debut at the Elks annual street fair and carnival at the age of 15. I mean Dorothy never really overlooks any chance to be unrefined, even when she is talking to literary gentlemen like reporters. So Henry brought me to the apartment in his Rolls Royce, and while we were coming to the apart- ment he said he wanted to give me my engagement ring and I really became all thrills. So then he said that he had gone to Cartiers and he had looked over all the engagement rings in Cartiers and after he had looked them all over he had decided that they were not half good enough for me. So then he took a box out of his pocket and I really became intreeged. So then Henry said that when he looked at all of those large size diamonds he really felt that they did not have any sentiment, so he was going to give me his class ring from Amherst College insted. So then I looked at him and looked at him, but I am to full of self controle to say anything at this stage of the game, so I said it was really very sweet of him to be so full of nothing but sentiment. So then Henry said that he would have to go back to Pennsylvania to talk to his father about us getting married, because his father has really got his heart set on us not getting married. So I told Henry that perhaps if I would meet his father, I would win him over, because I always seem to win gentlemen over. But Henry says that that is just the trouble, because some girl is always winning his father over, and they hardly dare to let him go out of their sight, and they hardly dare let him go to church because the last time he went to church alone some girl won him over on the street corner and he arrived back home with all of his pocket money gone, and they could not be- lieve him when he said that he had put it in the plate, because he has not put more than a dime in the plate for the last fifty years. So it seems that the real reason why his father does not want Henry to marry me, is because his father says that Henry always has all of the fun, and every time Henry’s father wants to have some fun of his own, Henry always stops him and Henry will not even let him be sick at a hospital where he could have some fun of his own, but he keeps him at home

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AUGUST $925 for Aa “When a gentleman is as feeble as Henry's father is he cannot keep one eye on a girl and the other on his cereal.” where he has to have a nurse who Henry picked out for him who is a male nurse. So all of his objections seems to be nothing but the spirit of resiprosity. But Henry says that all his objections cannot last much longer because he is nearly 90 years of age after all, and Nature must take its course sooner or later. So Dorothy says what a fool I am to waste all of my time on Henry, when I might manage to meet Henry’s father and the whole thing would be over in a few months and I would practically own the state of Pennsylvania. But I do not think I had ought to take Dorothy’s advice because Henry’s father is watched like a hawk and Henry himself is his Power of Attorney, so no good could really come of it after all. Because why should [ listen to the advice of a girl like Dorothy who travelled all over Europe and all she came home with was a bangle! So then Henry spent the evening at the apartment and then he had to go back to Pennsylvania to be at Pennsylvania Thursday morning, because every Thursday morning he belongs to a society who do nothing but senshure all of the photoplays. So they cut out all of the pieces out of all the photoplays that show things that are riskay, that people ought not to look at. So then they put all of the riskay pieces together and they run them over and over again. So it would really be quite a hard thing to drag Henry away from one of his Thursday morn- ings and he can hardly wait from one Thursday morning to another. Because he really does not seem to enjoy anything so much as senshuring photoplays and after a photoplay has once been senshured he seems to lose all of his interest in it. So after Henry left I held quite a conversation with Lulu, who is my maid who looked out for my apartment while I was away. So Lulu really thinks I had ought to marry Mr. Spoffard after all, because Lulu says that she kept studying Mr. Spoffard all of the time she was unpacking all of my trunks, and Lulu says she is sure that any time I feel as if I had to get away from Mr. Spoffard I could just set him down on the floor, and give him a packet of riskay french postcards to senshure and stay away as long as I like. So Henry went back to Pennsylvania and he is going to arrange for me to come down to Pennsyl- vania for a week-end and meet all of his family. But if all of Henry’s family are as full of reforms as Henry seems to be, it will be quite an ordeal even for a girl like I. Because I really do not mind being refined, but when a girl has to be refined and reformed at tke same time there seems to be a limit to almost every- thing. June 15: ESTERDAY morning was quite an ordeal for a refined girl because all of the newspapers all printed the story of how Henry and I are engaged to one another, but they all seemed to leave out the part about me being a society girl except one news- paper, and that was the newspaper that quoted what Dorothy said about me being a debutant at the Elk’s Carnival. So I called up Dorothy at the Ritz aN Pe and I told Dorothy that a girl like she had ought to keep her mouth closed in the presents of reporters. So it seems that quite a lot of reporters kept calling Dorothy up but Dorothy said she really did not say anything to any of them except one reporter asked her what I used for money and she told him buttons. So Dorothy really should not have said such a thing, because quite a few people seem to know that Mr. Eisman is educating me and Mr. Ejisman is practi- cally known all over Chicago as Gus Eisman the Button King, so one thing might suggest another until people’s minds might begin to think some- thing. But Dorothy said that she did not say anything more about me being a debutant at Little Rock, be- cause after all Dorothy knows that I really did not make any debut in Little Rock, because just when it was time to make my debut in Little Rock, it was the time when my gentleman friend Mr. Jennings became shot, and after the trial was over and all of the Jury had let me off, I was really much to fatigued to make any debut. So then Dorothy said, why don’t we throw a party now and you can become a debutant now and put them all in their place, because it seems that Dorothy is dying for a party. So that is really the first sensible suggestion that Dorothy has made yet, because I think that every girl who is engaged to a gentleman who has a fine old family like Henry, had really ought to be a debutant. So I told her to come right over and we would plan my debut but we would better keep it (Continued on page 96) “Mr. Montrose recited ‘The Shooting of Dan McGrew’ until you could almost hear the gun go off.”

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HARPER’S BAZAR 88

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for AUGUST 1925 89

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pene Ratan Tn Washable doeskin gloves are always useful in summer for sports. These have a ring-fastening slrap, $3.75. Lustrous synthetic pearls 134 yards long, $18.50. “‘Kasha,”’ a sports perfume in ‘Blonde’ or “ Bru- nelle,” $5.75. Pin of red stones and brilliants, $16.75. A smart flat coral-colored necklace. $29.50. Three-strand pearl bracelet with colored stone clasp, $14.75. 1 unusual woven imported Frencl shoe, soft and pliable, made ot interlaced white kid strips. $22. An exact copy of a Le Monnier French hat made in blending shades of orchid, fuchsia and purple gros- grain belting in rectangles, $45. (Above) An amusing black and white chintzs bag with key lock and patent-leather base, convenient for the beach, $25.25. Three purses of gaily patterned cretonne in various colorings. Oblong gate-frame, key- fastening purse, $8.95. Flat square envelop purse with modern design and semi-pouch purse, $6.95 each. HARPER’S BAZAR SHOPS FOR OUT-OF-TOWN READERS HARPER’S BAZAR NY of the articles photographed may be purchased through Harper’s Bazar. Make check payable to Har- per’s Bazar Shopping Service, 119 West 4oth St., New York, N. Y. Soft white kid slip-on gloves, blanket- stitched at one end in colored kid. Stitching in variety of colors, $4.50. Convenient flat cigaret case with pocket for matches in black or colored silk moire, or in gold or silver kid, $6.95. Five, pearls mounted on a Sterling silver pin, $5.50. Two pairs of drop pearl earrings—one with large round pearl, $7.95; the other, $6.95. Novel strap arrangement on a pair of blond kid slippers gives a flatter- ing line to the ankle. Price, $14.

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fo! AUGUST 1925 91 PRINTANIER! Aptly is this dainty soup named ‘‘Printanier”’ the Springtime soup! For in the Spring it is made. Just when the vegetables are youngest and freshest, when their tints and flavors are most delicate. This beautifully clear soup is made with richest consomme of choice beef. The carrots and white turnips are cut in small fancy shapes, and celery, peas, Savoy cabbage, parsley and a touch of leek are in the fine blend. A Campbell’s masterpiece, in high favor for the formal luncheon and dinner. Serve it JELLIED also pal Simply put the can in the ice-box overnight and the f = soup becomes a dainty, amber-colored jelly —a charming & ¥ delicacy. Ri TAN 4 ace . | WAT 21 kinds 12 cents a can @ U ‘ es \\\ \ n 4 iif \\ N . I’ve received an invitation— be of . alt wee) I said ““Yes’’, and so would you CAMPBELL Soup COMPANY oir ; wr To a Campbell’s Soup collation, ; CAMDEN, NJ USA Y - So I’m happy through and through!

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ne cima ea sextet ON A ARIE EL NS ANN te ; ' with you, you fresh young feller. I aim to git well and rested mighty soon, so’s we can go on that party I mentioned.” “T’'ll lead you to church,” said Tony severely. “Haw, haw, haw,” boomed old Stout. His laughter reverberated in my ears even after the pretty nurse had ushered us out of the room and the door had been closed behind us. . “A grand old man,” chuckled Tony, as we stepped into his car. “4 brutal tongue and a gentle heart.” His thin lips set harshly. “T’ll want five minutes with Barland, myself.”’ EYED him curiously. Since my introduc- tion into the mystery of Mad Tony Stark’s private life, and my learning that the apparent idler, whose wild pranks were the delighted despair of society and the press, was really the ablest private detective in America, I had never seen him angered at a matter that concerned him professionally. I chided him now. “You told me once that anger hindered the mental processes,”’ I remarked. He nodded. “So it does. But I’m human, Custis, after all. Frank Wayland told me quite a bit about Stout. Wayland has been his attorney for twenty years. Now, a man can’t hide his character from his lawyer or his confidential clerk. Wayland swears by the old man. Barland ought to have sworn by him. This is more than a case of assault and robbery. It’s a case of black betrayal. For Wayland told me more than Stout did. Wayland told me, last night when he asked me to take up the case, that Stout had con- tributed to the support of Barland’s invalid sister for eight years, done a dozen decencies that should have won the clerk’s gratitude. And his reward is an attempted murder.” He waved a gay hand to a traffic policeman, who bestowed a beaming smile upon the young gentleman of fashion, never suspecting that Tony Stark was a confidant of the com- missioner. In fact, only a few men in the detective bureau knew of Stark’s professional activities, while his friends and the general public never dreamed of them. “Well, what do you do first?’ I demanded, as we shot up the Avenue. “Lunch,” he replied. He turned into a side street, crossed to Park Avenue, and stopped before the Café Louis. He turned the car over to his chauffeur and we entered. A dozen men and women greeted him joy- ously, invited him to their tables, offered him surreptitious views of flasks. E REFUSED them all; he must eat quickly, as he had important business to transact. So he told them, and they jeered at the mere idea that Mad Anthony Stark could possibly have any business. But we finally got a table in a corner. “Anything to do this afternoon?” he asked, as we ate our Spanish melons. I could hardly keep the exultation from my voice as I answered him that I had nothing on hand. To be able to play even a minor part in the secret dramas of which Anthony Stark was the protagonist was the acme of my ambitions. “Well, you’ve read the papers.” I nodde 1. “They tell no more than Stout has told us," he said. “Except that the police are active. Now, I’ve talked with Wayland, as you know. And this morning, before we visited Stout, I chatted with Stout’s office force. Here’s what I know: until three years ago Barland lived in modest rooms on West Tenth Street. Then he bought a bungalow in Pelham, became a member of the Inlet Golf Club, and—that’s all. I want you to run up to Pelham, interview his servant, if he has any, and then visit the golf club and pick up what you can.” “Delighted,” I said. “‘ And you?” “The man couldn’t have lunched in the neighborhood of Wall Street for twenty years without making some friends—or, at least, acquaintances—even if he had no association with the office staff employed by Stout out side of business hours. Some one must know something which will help me to find his hiding-place.”’ “Then you don’t think he fled the city?” I inquired. “It was a planned robbery. He'd know that the police would be watching every exit from the city,”’ he retorted. “But he had from Saturday night until Sunday morning,”’ I objected. “He couldn’t be sure of having more than a few minutes,”’ said Stark. “And this man played certainties.” “How can you possibly be sure that he was as careful as that?” I asked. “Because he waited twenty years for just the right opportunity.” “How do you know it wasn’t a sudden impulse?” I argued. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Because, according to what I’ve learned about him, he was the exact opposite of impulsiveness. Arthur Somers Roche’s Story (Continued from page 57) He was slow of speech, methodical—exactly the type of man to plan the deed, not commit it hastily. Therefore, not the man to fly from New York immediately the crime was con- summated. Rather, he’d hide in the city, without seeming to hide. He’d slip quietly into some niche already prepared for him, carry on as usual, until the hue and cry died away, and then—not until then, mind you— depart quietly and modestly from the city.” “You may be right,” I said reluctantly. “But despite all the indications gleaned by talk with his acquaintances, you can’t know that the crime wasn’t impulsive.” He smiled quietly. ‘“Barland left the weapon behind him. A piece of lead pipe encased in a black woolen sock. The sock was size twelve; Barland wore no bigger than a ten sock; a clerk in Stout’s office told me that his foot was about the same size— larger, if anything—as Barland’s. The clerk wears an eight and a half shoe. Also, the sock was of the heaviest and coarsest material, evidently meant for a laborer. Barland didn't pick this sock out of a dresser drawer. Follow me? He bought it for a special purpose.” A little thing, perhaps, but it shows, I think, the instant and logical processes of his mind. I debated the matter with him no further. And as soon as we had finished luncheon, I took a taxi to the Grand Central and a train to Pelham. HAD little difficulty in finding Barland’s bungalow. Although two days had elapsed since Monday morning’s New York papers had told of the assault upon Annister Stout, knots of curious, gossipy people lingered outside the modest residence of the fugitive confidential clerk. One of these supplied me with the information that Barland had kept no servant, but had been supposed to cook his own breakfast, lunch and dine in town, and on week-ends and holidays to get his meals at the golf club. My informant was the driver of the delivery car of a grocery store which supplied Barland with his modest needs, so I took his word for the facts he gave me. Then I went to the golf club. The secretary was averse to talking, but I had seen Hagen win the British Open the previous summer and my reference to that event unlocked his lips. Not that there was much he could tell me. Summed up, it amounted to this: Three years ago Barland had joined the club. He was a perfect duffer, never having played before. And yet to-day he was a seven handi- cap man, and was credited with several rounds in better than seventy-eight. “And he only played week-ends and holidays,” said the secretary. “I don’t know how he did it. He could count on breaking eighty-five every time he played and that, within three years of taking up the game, is almost miraculous. It shows, though, what persistency will do for a man.” And that was all, save that Barland made no friends and few acquaintances, usually playing alone, save in tournaments. He paid his bills with checks on the Pelham Grand Loan and Trust Company. THANKED him and made my way to the bank he had mentioned. It was after hours, but the cashier received me graciously. Yes, Barland had banked there: his balance had usually been around four thousand dol- lars, but within a week he had withdrawn most of it. Yes, in checks payable to him- self, for which he had received cash. I smiled rucfully at this. It so completely bore out Stark’s theory of premeditation. And then, just before I boarded the train back to New York, I purchased an afternoon metropolitan paper. There was a headline on the first page, and beneath it a brief story which follows: “Clothed in a laborer’s costume, the body of George Barland, who assaulted and robbed his employer, Annister Stout, the millionaire private banker, on Saturday afternoon, was fished from the East River this morning by the harbor police. <A bullet wound disfigured the face con- siderably, indicating that Barland had probably stood upon a dock as he fired the suicidal shot. He had doubtless then pitched into the river. The discovery of a rubber-wrapped, waterproof packet, in which were a hundred thousand-dollar bonds which corresponded to the descrip- tion of the bonds stolen from Annister Stout, led the police to communicate with employees of the millionaire, who is still confined in St. Dominick’s Hospital. “‘Tdentification was made by two em- ployees, despite the marks made by the bullet. His hair, his eyes, his figure, plus the discovery of the bonds, made mistake impossible, asserted the clerks. The police hope to trace the dead man’s whereabouts during the past three days, and intimate that they can recover the stolen cash.” I laughed at myself. All my investigations had been valueless. Also, I decided that Stark’s theory of premeditation had been destroyed. The man’s suicide proved that his crime had been impulsive. He had acted suddenly, repented as swiftly, and acted impulsively again. I felt a bit superior when I dropped in at Stark’s apartment. I told him what I thought. ““You seem to be right,” he said. “I can’t credit it, but—I’ve seen the body in the morgue, listened as the clerks identified him and—well, much obliged, old man. I saw a paper just after you’d boarded the train, too late to save you a useless journey. Sorry.” “Tt’s all right,” I told him. I could afford to be magnanimous. That wonderfully logical brain had for once proved less logical than my own. “The poor chap,” I said. ““Went off his head. I wish I’d talked with him before he killed himself. I’ve never broken -ninety, and I’ve been playing golf for fifteen years. Yet this man, playing only week-ends, cuts his game to an average in the low eighties in three years. It’s incredible.” “Are you serious?” asked Stark. He had leaped from his chair and was staring at me. “About my game?” ‘About his,”’ he cried, impatiently. “So the club secretary at Pelham told me,” I said. ‘“ What’s up?” I asked, surprised. For Stark had doffed the velvet smoking jacket which he wore, and was climbing into another coat, was reaching for his hat, was stuffing a case with cigarets. He lighted one, and grinned quizzically at me. “T’m going to visit the morgue again,” he said. ‘‘As for you—I want you to find the indoor golf school that Barland attended practically every noon—or late afternoon— during the past three years. It is probably located in the financial district, near Wall Street. Talk with the professional who gave him his lessons. So long.” E, THE host, was dashing from the apartment before I, the guest, had fully digested his instructions. And when I had fully comprehended them, they held no meaning for me. Barland had killed himself; of what value to learn how he had acquired his remarkable golf game? Still, the matter had a private interest for me; I’d like to talk with the teacher who had so capably in- structed the dead clerk. Perhaps he could impart some of his genius to me. And as I telephoned a clerk of a sporting- goods store and inquired the names and addresses of the likely golf teachers, I envied Stark’s quick reaction to my news. Now that Stark had suggested indoor golf instruction the thing was ridiculously obvious. In no other way could Barland have acquired his mastery of the game. Yet the solution of the riddle would never have occurred to me. My clerk in the sporting-goods store gave me the names of two golf professionals who ran schools down-town. As they were located near to one another, I didn’t bother to telephone. And, as it happened, the first one upon whom I called, Alec McLouth, was the man who had taught Barland. He talked freely to me. “Sure, I taught him. Four afternoons a week, winter and summer, barring the fort- night when he took his vacation, and the month each winter when I go South. I was proud of him, I was. He had nothing when he came to me, not even an idea. But I grooved his swing, and each Monday he’d make reports to me of how he did over the week-end. Funny that a man with the makings of a great golfer should do the thing he did. It’s the last thing I’d have thought of him.” “Tt’s the last thing one thinks of any one,” I commented. “T suppose that’s true,” he admitted gloomily. ‘It’s a queer world.” Upon which profound observation, I left him, and went home. It was now after six o'clock, and I was dressing for dinner when Tony Stark telephoned me. I told him what McLouth had said to me. I couldn’t under- stand Tony's exclamation when I repeated the professional’s statement as to the grooved quality of Barland’s golf swing. “He didn’t mention what grip he taught Barland, did he?” he asked. “Yes. The overlapping,” I replied. He uttered another exclamation of delight. ““Why the extreme joy?” I asked. “Tell you about it later,”’ he laughed. He hung up bruskly, leaving me in a state of bewildered irritation. This frame of mind was not soothed by the dinner party which I later attended. For there happened to be present a rather pompous banker who, when the Stout-Barland case was mentioned, took occasion to deliver a lecture on the tendencies of the present age. It ran to violent crime, he declared, because of the bad example set by the richer classes. Their extravagant idleness invited imitation on the part of the poor. Every time the escapade of some rich youth was printed in the papers, it incited scores of HARPER’S BAZAR THE OVERLAPPING GRIP young men to criminality. For example that young idler Anthony Wayne Stark was perhaps as vicious an example for the poor as he could think of. I wanted to tell him what an ass he was, but held my tongue. | wanted to point out the fact that Barland was not a poor youth, but a mature man, drawing a living wage from a kindly employer, but why argue with people who are asinine enough to adopt theories? I took a very bad temper to bed with me. I telephoned Stark the next morning, to be informed by his valet that he had not come home last night, that he had not sent any message. I hung around my rooms until noon, hoping for some word from my friend then gave him up. Restless, I went down to Alec McLouth’s shop, and asked for a lesson. “You ain’t the only one interested in Barland,” said McLouth, as I took my stance upon the rope carpet which served as practice tee. “Police been around?” I asked. He shook his fiery red head. “No, sir A gentleman like yourself, sir. Wanted to be shown just how Barland gripped the club. Now, I wonder what he meant by wanting to know that, sir?” I described my friend Stark, and McLouth recognized the description. And the zest went out of my lesson, although the pro- fessional was good enough to state that he found little the matter with my form; he suggested that I concentrate a little more on each shot, a bit of advice easy to give but hard to follow. LUNCHED alone at the Café Louis, and then went back to my rooms. Stark had not telephoned, and inquiry of his valet brought the information that his master had not been heard from yet. I dined, dis- gruntled, in my rooms, fuming and fretting because Stark had not thought fit to take me into his confidence, invite my aid. But at nine o’clock he telephoned me. “Got a pencil handy?” he asked, cutting short my reproachful greeting. I got one, and a pad of paper. “Take these addresses,” he ordered. I wrote down, at his dictation, the numbers and streets of at least twenty houses. “Get a taxi—visit them all—if it takes all night. Find if any of them lost a boarder in the past few days. I'll be at your rooms when you return.” He hung up before I could ask explanation, and I stared ruefully at the list I had written down. This was the most amazing quest on which I had ever embarked. For the houses were all on streets near the water-front of the lower East Side. Sailors’ or longshoremen’s living quarters, I judged. Certainly an un- pleasant district to visit late at night. I took the precaution to put a small revolver in a pocket before I left the house. Also, I changed from dinner clothes into a rough day suit. Even the taximan seemed surprised when I gave him my first address. I think he took me for some sort of gentleman crook, or perhaps thought I was paying blackmail. However, he did not demur, and I began my weary round, which did not end until after midnight, and which cost me patience and money. For the landlords—or ladies—were suspicious, and disinclined to talk until I had told them a tale of a wild brother, and had re- inforced my story with the tender of money. UT when I returned I was in possession of the valuable information that John Larsen, aged forty, stevedore, had been missing since Sunday evening from his boarding-house. I gave a good description of the man to Stark, whom I found sleeping as though exhausted in my rooms. “Remind you of any one?” he asked. I went over the description mentally. Height five feet ten, weight about one hundred and seventy, brown hair and eyes. . -. “Barland,” I exclaimed. ‘“ But—he’s not been a stevedore!” : “Occur to you to wonder about the ninety thousand cash that was not found on the body?” he demanded. ase “But this man Larsen had been living in this boarding-house for three months. He d just received news of a legacy from some relative in Sweden. Had had talks with the lawyer who told him—that’s why nothing was thought of his absence. Not that down there the landlords would think much anyway. “ Any one see the lawyer?” Stark asked. “No, but Larsen had talked—had an engagement with him for Saturday night “Which he probably kept,” said Stark, yawning. “Well, can you put me up for the rest of the night?” A “Certainly,” I said. ‘But first tell me He yawned gapingly. “My dear fellow, I’mallin. Been up all last night, frequenting sailors’ blind tigers, drinking filthy liquor, finding out what crimping is still being done in the port of New York, finding out who Il Jan (Concluded on page 94)

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94 ae + ee enn me ee a \— xO) Furs of quality and elegance thal are not only the syn bols of fashion, bul of social value as EX. well ---- cho&s CKEL & SONS inc. One Family Management Since 1863 546 FIFTH AVENUE R Where 45" St Crosses §" Avenue- * © - — ° THE Arthur Somers HARPER’S BAZAR OVERLAPPING GRIP Roche’s Story (Concluded from page 92) a man in a foreign country without seeing his passport- 7 short, getting in touch with a side of life I’d never seen before. _ I’m sleepy. But in the morning. . He could be stubborn; also, I was his assis- tant on sufferance. So I asked him no more questions, but showed him into a spare room, outfitted him with pajamas, and, tired, went to bed and sleep myself. But in the morning my curiosity burst all bounds. “Why on earth did you spend a whole night making inquiries about crooked ship-captains, and all the rest of it?’’ I demanded. He drank his orange juice with gusto. “‘Because, my dear chap, I didn’t give Barland credit for the brains he unquestionably has. I thought that he’d adopt crude methods. I was wrong. You showed me that he was more subtle than I’d dreamed.” “y>” “T had been to a hundred, more or less, boarding-houses. Tired, I sent you to the rest. You came back and told me of a missing Swede. There would be a better way of escaping this country than bribing a merchant captain to take one. To sail, on a regular liner, as a passenger, with a duly certified passport—Barland might be an Anglicized version of Bjarlandt, mightn’t it? And Bjarlandt is a fairly good Swedish name.” He grinned gaily at me, and I, bewildered, in a veritable maze of theories and mad conclusions, could only gape at him. And he would talk no more, seeming to enjoy my peevish mystification. After breakfast, he consulted the morning newspapers. Looking up, he spoke to me. ‘Like to visit the Oscar Fourth?” he asked. | “She sails at ten. “T don’t think it’s fair to mystify me so much,” I protested. “Neither do I,” he admitted. “All right, then, I believe that Barland is sailing for Sweden, to-day, on the Oscar Fourth, under the name and passport of your friend Larsen whose body at present lies in the morgue under the name of Barland.’ “But why?” I demanded. body has been identified— “Not the face; the bullet wound rendered that impossible. The possession of the bonds led his fellow clerks to believe it must be Barland. The rest of the identification was based on hair, figure—’ “But you heard them; you believed- He cut me short. “Until later informe ition came from McLouth. That information made me wonder at the missing cash. Barland was clever. The finding of the bonds would make every one believe Larsen was himself. The cash would be a nine-days wonder, and he—satisfied with ,hinety thousand—would be free to enjoy it.’ “But what possible information could McLouth have given you?” I demanded. “He showed me the grip that he had taught Barland,” he replied. “But what on earth— “Come on; get dressed,” he cried. We were breakfasting in pajamas. ‘Can you lend me linen?” I had my man supply him with the neces- sary articles, and in an hour, fully forty minutes before the scheduled sailing time of the Oscar Fourth, we were at the dock. There was some slight difficulty in getting per- mission to board the steamer, but Stark dis- played a badge given him by the Police Commissioner, and we went up the gang- plank. Consultation of the passenger list told us the number of the stateroom engaged in the name of Larsen, and Stark smiled triumphantly. ““Barland’s “T knew,” he said, “‘that he’d sail at th first possible opportunity after the discoy of of his—Barland’s—alleged body. He would lie hidden until the papers told him of a discovery, then, knowing that the watch f the steamers and trains had ceased he'd sail. Doubtless, he’d engaged pass; we . later boats to Sweden as well as on this on ” This theory we investigated later an: > Stark’ s reasoning to be correct. “But why Sweden, particularly?” I asked. “The man missing from the boarding- house was a Swede. Barland also is probably of Swedish extraction, speaks the language— Sweden first, and later some pleasant golfing resort in the south of France. Ninety thousand dollars, translated into francs, makes a respectable fortune. Is this the room?” he asked of the steward who was conducting us. The man _ nodded wonderingly. Stark motioned him to step aside, then threw violently open the door of the cabin. His right h: ind leveled a revolver at the man who sat within the room. “Tt’s all up, Barland,” he said quietly, The seated man sprang from the berth: two reports rang out together; but Stark’s aim was the better; my friend was untouched, while Barland went down with a bullet through his shoulder. 1 found ARNED clever,” said old man Stout, as we related the arrest of the missing clerk and the recovery of ninety thousand dollars. “But I’d hoped for a crack at him myself.” ““You’d have had it, if he hadn’t drawn a gun. I intended to bring him to you, and, if you weren’t well enough, to have beaten him up myself, but “And he killed a laborer with whom he’d made friends, to have an identity, passports, and all that?” “‘Cold-bloodedly. He's confessed it all. He pretended to be from a lawyer's office with news of an _ inheritance. He took Larsen out for a walk, inveigled him to a dock. shot him, planted the bonds on the dead man, went to a boarding-house where, as a laborer, he’d rented a room—lI stayed up all one night trying to locate him. I felt sure that, having passed off a laborer’s body as his own, he’d be living somewhere in the neighborhood, that he’d have had to pose as a laborer at first in order to meet the man who'd resemble him- self. But I couldn’t, and my friend Custis Burt,” he glanced gratefully at me, “located Larsen’s lodging-place and name. That’s what Barland did. Looked for a man who'd resemble himself slightly. Made his acquain- tance as a fellow-laborer. At night, he told me. Then, dressed more sprucely, posing as a lawyer, the man didn’t recognize him. The murder was simple. So, as a matter of fact, was his detection.” “To hear you tell it,” scoffed Stout. “But how,” I demanded, “did you know th: at the dead man wasn’t Barland?” ““You mentioned his golf score. I play the game a little. I'd seen the palms of the man lifted from the East River. Those palms were calloused, like a laborer’s, in the very center of the hand. But no good golfer has callouses save at the bases of the fingers and on the fingers themselves. You said that Barland could break eighty. I asked Mc- Louth what grip Barland used. He said it was the overlapping grip. Such a gmp couldn’t possibly leave such marks upon a man’s hand, especially upon the right hand. So—the hair wasn’t Barland’s. The rest . . . Was simple.” PARIS THINKS ABOUT THE SILHOUETTE Marjorie Howard’s Article Concluded from page 83) linen sandals in the daytime matching sports frocks; and a predominance of plain cham pagne- -colored pumps with exactly matched hose in the day time; and rose-beige or cara- mel-colored satin slippers with matching or paler biscuit stockings at night. I saw a few long-sleeved evening dresses, notably one in gold crepe-like material trimmed with wide golden bands. I saw a Dolly sister in pomegranate red crépe, long- sleeved and strewn with groups of shiny gold spangles like a Fra Angelico angel. Rumor had it that she was stockingless but I could not look away from her long sleeves to find out. I made up my mind that white evening gowns, especially glittering ones, were the most satisfactory, particularly with pale beige instead of white or silver footgear; because the beige brings the lower limbs into harmony with the arms and shoulders. I esté iblished definitely that diamonds have superse ded pearls as the je “wel par excellence, an expens sive vogue of which I shall have more to say hereafter. I realized more strongly that the fad for masses of false pearls is definitely over. I established the fact that I was in good company with my continual personal prefer- ence of neutral beige tones for sports clothes. I confirmed my impression that the bag is . placing the envelop purse in the hands 0 many smart women. I saw that heavy pull-on artest. gloves of white chamois were the smarts And I had an opportunity to do all pat three days because there was fine insteat rainy weather!

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for AUGUST 1925 juain- e told ng asa The f fact, kn yw lay the 1e man palms e very fer has “rs and d that | | i & because armony iblished Is + masses in good pull-on martest. | this in stead of

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Bt ni ge SRT ads ene ae ee 96 ‘ 6 ; \4 i rom a California hillside/ or, f ‘tee Z . ef / Be wBPE joie de vivre of eager youth is Le Ye amin these newest Crystal Velours by Meadowbrook. But—a mo- ment! they are not made for the multi- tude but for a type. It is the girl who ought to have a Jor- dan car who falls in love with her Mead- owbrook velour. It is the girl who knows the sure sophistication of taste—who wears a brave and jaunty color to the manner born, and shuns the outré rib- bon that is one too many. For such a girl (regardless of lying years!) Meadowbrook has this newest velour, unmatched in all America. It is ) soft as thistledown from a California hillside, light as the wing of that gull at . S/A Santa Barbara, dyed in shimmering col- - ors born of California sunshine. And at that particular shop in your city where one always finds the best there is further proof that good taste Fi need not consult the purse. \ ,»\ me Owe — as California SPORTS HATS ‘Town ey Country Simon Mitutnery Co., Meavowsroox Bipc., 989 Market St., San Francisco Easresn Saces Orrice, Louis Strauss ff Son, 15 West 38thSr., New York City HARPER’S BAZAR | BRAINS ARE REALLY EVERYTHING Anita Loos’s Story | (Continued from page 87) very, very quiet and give it tomorrow night, because if Henry heard I was making my debut he would come up from Pennsylvania and he would practically spoil the party, because all Henry has to do to spoil a party is to arrive at it. So then Dorothy came over and we planned my debut. So first we decided to have some en- graved invitations engraved, but it always takes quite a little time to have invitations engraved, and it would really be foolish to have all the invitations engraved because all of the gentlemen we were going to invite to my debut were all members of the Racquet Club, so I could just write out a notice that I was having a debut and give it to Willie Gwynn and have Willie Gwynn post it on the Racquet Club board. So Willie Gwynn posted it on the club board and then he called me up and he told me that he had never seen so much enthusiasm since the Dempsey-Firpo fight, and he said that the whole Racquet Club would be there in a body. So then we had to plan about what girls we would ask to my debut. Because I have not seemed to meet so many society women yet, because of course a girl does not meet society women until her debut is all over, and then all the society women all come and call on a debutant. But I know practically all of the society men, because practically all of the so- ciety men belong to the Racquet Club, so after I have the Racquet Club at my debut, all I have to do to take my real place in society is to meet their mothers and sisters, because I know practically all of their sweethearts now. But I always seem to think that it is delight- ful to have quite a lot of girls at a party, if a girl has quite a lot of gentlemen at a party, and it is quite delightful to have all the girls from the Follies, but I really could not invite them because, after all, they are not in my set. So then I thought it all over and I thought that, even if it was not etiquette to invite them toa party, it really would be etiquette to hire them to come to a party and be entertainers, and after they were entertainers they could mix in- to the party and it really would not be a social error. So then the telephone rang and Dorothy answered it and it seems that it was Joe Sanguinetti, who is almost the official boot- legger for the whole Racquet Club, and Joe said he had heard about my debut and if he could come to my debut and bring his club, which is the Silver Spray Social Club of Brooklyn, he would supply all of the liquor and he would guarantee to practically run the rum fleet up to the front door. So Dorothy told him he could come, and she hung up the telephone before she told me his proposition, and I became quite angry with Dorothy because, after all, the Silver Spray Social Club is not even mentioned in the Social Register and it really has no place at a girl’s debut. But Dorothy said by the time the party got into swing, anyone would have to be a genius if he could tell whether he belonged to the Racquet Club, the Silver Spray Social Club, or the Knights of Pythias. But I really was almost sorry that I asked Dorothy to help plan my debut, except that Dorothy is really very very good to have at a party if the police come in, because Dorothy always knows how to manage the police, and I never knew a policeman yet who did not finish up by being madly in love with Dorothy. So then Dorothy called up all of the reporters on all of the news- papers and invited them all to my debut, so they could see it with their own eyes. So Dorothy says that she is going to see to it that my debut lands on the front page of all of the newspapers, if we have to commit a murder to do it. June 10: ELL it has been three days since my debut party started but I finally got tired and left the party last night and went to bed because I always seem to lose all of my interest in a party after a few days, but Dorothy never loses her interest in a party and when I woke up this morning Dorothy was just saying goodbye to some of the guests. I mean Dorothy seems to have quite a lot of vitality, because the last guests of the party were guests we picked up when the party went to take a swim at Long Beach the day before yesterday, and they were practically fresh, but Dorothy had gone clear through the party from beginning to end without cven stopping to go to a Turkish bath as most of the gentlemen had to do. So my debut has really been very novel, because quite a lot of the guests who finished up at my debut were not the same guests that started out at it, and it is really quite a novel for a girl to have so many different kinds of gentlemen at her debut. So it has really been a very great success because all! of the news- papers all have quite a lot of write-ups about my debut and I really felt quite proud when I saw the front page of the Daily Views and it said in large size headlines, “LORELEI’S DEBUT A wow!” And Zits’ Weekley came right out and said that if this party marks my entrance into society, they only hope that they can live to see what I will spring once I have overcome my debutant reserve and taken my place in the world. So I really had to apologise to Dorothy about asking Joe Sanguinetti to my debut be- cause it was wonderful the way he got all of the liquor to the party and he more than kept his word. I mean he had his bootleggers run up from the wharf in taxis, right to the apart- ment, and the only trouble he had was, that once the bootleggers delivered the liquor, he could not get them to leave the party. finally there was quite a little quarrel because Willie Gwynn claimed that Joe’s bootleggers were snubbing the members of his club be- cause they would not let the boys from the Racquet Club sing in their quartet. But Joe’s bootleggers said that the Racquet Club boys wanted to sing songs that were unrefined, while they wanted to sing songs about Mother. So then everybody started to take sides, but the girls from the Follies were all with Joe’s bootleggers from the start because practically all we girls were listening to them with tears steaming from our eyes. So that made the Racquet Club jealous and one thing led to another until somebody rang for an ambulants and then the police came in. So Dorothy, as usual, won over all of the police. So it seems that the police all have orders from Judge Schultzmeyer, who is the famous judge who tries all of the prohibition cases, that any time they break into a party that looks like it was going to be a good party, to call him up no matter what time of the day or night it is, because Judge Schultzmeyer dearly loves a party. So the Police called up Judge Schultzmeyer and he was down in less than no time. So during the party both Joe Sanguinetti and Judge Schultzmeyer fell madly in love with Dorothy. So Joe and the Judge had quite a little quarrel because the Judge told Joe that if his stuff was fit to drink he would set the Law after him and confiscate it, but his stuff was not worth the while of any gentleman to confiscate who had any respect for his stomach, and he would not lower him- self to confiscate it. So along about nine o'clock in the morning Judge Schultzmeyer had to leave the party and go to court to try all of the criminals who break all of the laws, so he had to leave Dorothy and Joe together and he was very very angry. And I really felt quite sorry for any person who went up before Judge Schultzmeyer that morning, because he gave everybody go days and was back at the party by twelve o'clock. So then he stuck to the party until we were all going down to Long Beach to take a swim day before yester- day when he seemed to become unconscious, so we dropped him off at a sanitorium in Garden City. So my debut party was really the greatest success of the social season, because the second night of my debut party was the night when Willie Gwynn’s sister was having a house party at the Gwynn estate on Long Island, and Willie Gwynn said that all of the eligible gentlemen in New York were conspicuous by their absents at his sister’s party, because they were all at my party. So it seems as if I am really going to be quite a famous hostess if I can just bring my mind to the point of being Mrs. Henry Spoffard Jr. Well Henry called up this morning and Henry said he had finally got his father’s mind so that he thought it was safe for me to meet him and he was coming up to get me this afternoon so that I can meet his family and see his famous old historical home at Penn- sylvania. So then he asked about my debut party which some of the Philadelphia papers seemed to mention. But I told him that my debut was really not so much planned, as it was spontaneous, and I did not have the heart to call him up at a moments notice and take him away from his father at such a time for reasons which were nothing but social. 3 So now I am getting ready to visit Henry's family and I feel as if my whole future depends ‘on it. Because if I can not stand Henry’s family any more than I can stand Henry the whole thing will probly come to an end in the law court. June 21: : WELL I am now spending the weekend with Henry’s family at his old family mansion outside of Philadelphia, and I am beginning to think, after all, that there 1s something else in the world besides family. And I am beginning to think that family life is only fit for those who can stand it. For in- stants, they always seem to get up very early in Henry’s family. I mean it really is not so bad to get up early when there is something to get up early about, but when a girl gets up early and there is nothing to get up early about, it really begins to seem as if there was no sense to it. So yesterday we all got up early and that was when I met all of Henry’s family, because Henry and I motored down to Pennsylvania and everybody was in bed when we arrivec because it was after nine o'clock. So in the (Continued on page 98) ee

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for AUGUST 1925 Bae AN. SPECIAL AGENCY ee os F GHeceolLaras is nt ve

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98 = ee we soe MODEL BY More than 200 selected stores in leading cities of the United States offer the well- dressed woman the opportunity to pro- cure Models by Mangone. For further in- formation address Mangone, Neu York. ° ATE Summer and Autumn will find this Man- gone creation decidedly the proper Coat for The fur enhances the warmth of Sport wear. Oriental color and de- sign in the novelty French fabric. HARPER’S BAZAR BRAINS ARE REALLY EVERYTHING Anita Loos’s Story (Continued from page 96) morning Henry’s mother came to my room to get me up in time for breakfast because Henry’s mother is very very fond of me, and she always wants to copy all of my gowns and she always loves to look through all of my things to see what I have got. So she found a box of liqueur candies that are full of liqueurs and she was really very delighted. So I finally got dressed and she finally threw the empty box away and I helped her down stairs to the dining room. So Henry was waiting in the dining room with his sister and that was when I met his sister. So it seems that Henry’s sister has never been the same since the war, because she never had on a man’s collar and a necktie until she drove an ambulants in the war, and now they can not get her to take them off. Because ever since the armistice Henry’s sister seems to have the idea that regular womens clothes are affeminate. So Henry’s sister seems to think of nothing but either horses or automobiles and when she is not in a garage the only other place she is happy in is a stable. I mean she really pays very little attention to all of her family and she seems to pay less attention to Henry than anybody else because she seems to have the idea that Henry’s brains are not so viril. So then we all waited for Henry’s father to come in so that he could read the Bible out loud be- fore breakfast. So then something happened that really was a miracle because it seems that Henry’s father has practically lived in a wheel chair for months and months and his male nurse has to wheel him everywhere. So his male nurse wheeled him into the dining room in his wheel chair and then Henry said “Father, this is going to be your little daughter in law,” and Henry’s father took one good look at me and got right out of his wheel chair and walked! So then everybody was very very surprised, but Henry was not so surprised because Henry knows his father like a book. So then they all tried to calm his father down, and then his father tried to read out of the Bible but he could hardly keep his mind on the Bible and he could hardly eat a bite because when a gentleman is as feeble as Henry’s father is, he can not keep one eye on a girl and the other eye on his cereal and cream without coming to grief. So Henry finally be- came quite discouradged and he told his father he would have to get back to his room or he would have a relapse. So then the male nurse wheeled him back to his room and it really was pathetic because he cried like a baby. So I got to thinking over what Dorothy advised me about Henry’s father and I got to thinking that if Henry’s father could only get away from everybody and have some time of his own, Dorothy’s advise might not be so bad after all. So after breakfast we all got ready to go to church, but Henry’s sister does not go to church because Henry’s sister always likes to spend every Sunday in the garage taking their Ford farm truck apart and putting it back to- gether again, and Henry says that what the war did to a girl like his sister is really worse than the war itself. So then Henry and his mother and I all went to church. So we came home from church and we had luncheon and it seems that luncheon is practically the same as breakfast except that Henry’s father could not come down to luncheon because after he met me he contracted such a violent fever that they had to send for the Doctor. So in the afternoon Henry went to prayer meeting and I was left alone with Henry’s mother so that we could rest up so that we could go to church after supper. So Henry’s mother thinks I am nothing but sunshine and she will hardly let me get out of her sight, be- cause Henry’s mother’s brains have never really been strong since she was a child, and she hates to be by herself because, when she is by herself, they hardly seem to work at all. So she loves to try on all of my hats and she loves to tell me how all the boys in the choir can hardly keep their eyes off her. So of course a girl has to agree with her, and it is quite difficult to agree with a person when you have to do it very very loudly through an ear trumpet because sooner or later your voice has to give out. So then supper turned out to be practically the same thing as luncheon only by supper time all of the novelty seemed to wear off. So then I told Henry that I had too much of a headache to go to church again, so Henry and his mother went to church and I went to my room and I sat down and thought and I de- cided that life was really too short to spend it in being proud of your family even if they did have a great deal of money. So the best thing for me to do is to think up some scheme to make Henry decide not to marry me and to take what I can get out of it and be satisfied. June 22: ELL, yesterday I made Henry put me on the train at Philadelphia and I made him stay at Philadelphia so he could be near his father if his father seemed to take any more relapses. Sol sat in my drawing room on the train and I decided that the time had come to get rid of Henry at any cost. So I decided that the thing that discourages gentlemen more than anything else is shopping. Because even Mr. Eisman, who was practically born for we girls to shop on, and who knows just what to expect, often gets quite discouraged over all of my shopping. So I decided I would get to New York and I would go to Cartiers and | would run up quite a large sized bill on Henry’s credit, because after all our engagement has been announced in all of the newspapers, and Henry’s credit is really my credit. So while I was thinking it all over there was a knock on the drawing room door, so I told him to come in and it was a gentleman who said he had seen me quite a lot in New York and he had always wanted to have an intro- duction to me, because we had quite a lot of friends who were common. So then he gave me his card and his name was on his card and it was Mr. Gilbertson Montrose and his profes- sion is a scenario writer. So then I asked him to sit down and then we held a literary con- versation. So I really feel as if yesterday was a turning point in my life, because at last I have met a gentleman who is not only an artist but who has got brains besides. I mean he is the kind of a gentleman that a girl could sit at his feet and listen to for days and days and nearly always learnsomething or other. Because, after all, there is nothing that gives a girl more of a thrill than brains in a gentleman, especially after a girl has been spending the week end with Henry. So Mr. Montrose talked and talked all of the way to New York and I sat there and did nothing else but listen. Sc accord- ing to Mr. Montrose’s opinion Shakespear is a very great jélaywrite, and he thinks that Hamlet is quite a famous tragedy and as far as novels are concerned he believes that nearly everybody had ought to read Dickens, And when we got on the subject of poetry h: recited ““The Shooting of Dan McGrew” until you could almost hear the gun go off. So it was very intellectual to listen to all of Mr. Montrose’s conversation, after coming from Henry’s family who really never say any- thing that will even bear repeating. And then I asked Mr. Montrose to tell me all about himself. So it seems that Mr. Montrose was on his way home from Washing- ton D. C., where he went to see the Bulgarian Ambassadore to see if he could get Bulgaria to finance a scenario he has written which is a great historical subject which is founded on the sex life of Dolly Madison. So it seems that Mr. Montrose has met quite a lot of Bul- garians in a Bulgarian restaurant on Lexington Avenue and that was what gave him the idea to get the money from Bulgaria. Because Mr. Montrose said that he could fill his scenario full of Bulgarian propoganda, be- cause he told the Bulgarian Ambassadore that every time he realised how ignorant all of the American film fans were on the subject of Bulgaria, it made him flinch. So I told Mr. Montrose that it made me feel very very small to talk to a gentleman like he, who knew so much about Bulgaria, be- cause practically all I knew about Bulgaria was Zoolack. So Mr. Montrose said that the Bulgarian Ambassadore did not seem to think that Dolly Madison had so much about her that was pertinent to present day Bulgaria, but Mr. Montrose explained to him that that was because he knew practically nothing about dramatic construction. Because Mr. Mont- rose said he could fix his scenario so that Dolly Madison could have one lover who was 4 Bulgarian, who wanted to marry her. So then Dolly Madison would get to wondering what her great, great grandchildren would be like if she married a Bulgarian, and then she could sit down and have a vision of Bulgaria in 1925. So that was when Mr. Montrose would take a trip to Bulgaria to photograph the vision. But the Bulgarian Ambassadore turned down the whole proposition, but he gave Mr. Montrose quite a large size bottle of the Bulgarian national drink. So the Bul- garian national drink looks like nothing so much as water, and it really does not taste so strong, but about five minutes afterwards you begin to realise your mistake. But I thought to myself that if realizing my mistake could make me forget what I went through in Pennsylvania, I really owed it to myself to forget everything. So then we had another drink. So then Mr. Montrose told me that he had quite a hard time getting along in the motion picture profession, because all of his scenarios are all over their head. Because when Mr. Montrose writes about sex it is full of sy- chology, but when everybody else writes about it, it is full of nothing but transparent negli- gays and ornamental bath tubs. {nd Mr. Montrose says that there is no future 1n the motion pictures until the motion pictures get their sex motives straightened out, and realize that a woman of 25 can have just as many Se* problems as a flapper of 16. Because Mr. (Continued on page 100)

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ead eS TERS er oy ee ee om 100 * yes YOUR Chin Line» Suggest Age? Notice the difference in the under- chin of these two photographs of the same young woman — you too can lose ten years in your appearance by reducing a too full under-chin with the Dorothy Gray Patter and the use of her correcting cream and as- tringent—try it and see for yourself. There is a particular and effec- tive treatment for restoring its youthfulness Dorothy Gray specializes in: Correcting chin lines Correcting drooping muscles Correcting relaxed contour For relaxed muscles Dorothy Gray says both cream and astringent are necessary for the best results : 1 Cleansing Cream — use night and morn- ® ing to cleanse the skin of impurities. $1.00, $1.75. 2 Orange Flower Skin @ Tonic—use after Cleansing Cream to tone and refresh the skin. 85c, $1.75. Use one of these creams patted 3. into the skin for ten minutes each night with a Dorothy Gray Patter, $2.50. Pat gently if face is thin, firmly if face is plump. If face is plump — use TissueCream.$1.00,$1.75. Or if face is thin — use Special Skin Food. $1.00, $1.75. Or if skin is exceeding- ly dry and relaxed —use Special Mixture. $4.50. Russian Astringent 4. Cream — mix with a few drops of the Tonic—pat into the skin until absorbed as pro- tection against sun and wind- burn and as a lovely powder base. $3.00, $5.50. Russian Astringent 5. Lotion — for skin that is unduly oily—takes away the shine. $3.00, $5.50. On the dressing table of the Woman who plans to look her loveliest! DOROTHY GRAY’S Moisture-Proof Day Time Powder — six shades, samples sent on request. $1.50. DOROTHY GRAY’S Sunburn Powder—created specially to tone in with tanned skin, moisture-proof, takes away shine, defies detection. $1.50. DOROTHY GRAY’S Russian Bleach Cream —a nightly application of which will quickly remove tan, sunburn and freckles. $2.00, $4.00. While passing through New York City plan to visit the DOROTHY GRAY STUDIOS and take the special instruction treatment Sink into a smooth linen-covered chair in one of the quiet, darkened, fan cooled rooms. There is no reason why you too may not obtain the results pictured here. We will teach you how to manipulate, pat and mould your face to make the firm muscles and perfect chin line of youth. Miss Gray, personally, will select preparations for your particular needs—which you may use in your own home to get the wonderful results pictured here. DOROTHY GRAY PREPARATIONS sold by the leading stores throughout the country or write direct to Docothy, Gray. 153 ifth Avenue SPECIAL RECOMMENDATION CARD DEAR MISS GRAY—Will you please write Read, check and mail to Dorothy and tell me the preparations you recommend Gray,753 Fifth Ave., New YorkCity for my use. ae Many facial conditions require medical attention and in such cases a physician should be consulted. Oo uO panes H poubieChin [] and biack- [ O O Flabbinessand Thin Face and droop under im Neck O the chin . A dry and Sagging Face Bs gh. I eccece Soscien harsh skin Enlarged pores heads First signs of slight droop under the chin Tan and Sal- low skin Lees *s HARPER’S BAZAR BRAINS ARE REALLY EVERYTHING Anita Story (Continued from page 08) Montrose likes to write about women of the world, and he refuses to have women of the world played by small size girls of 15 who know nothing about life and who have not even been through the detention home. So we both arrived in New York before we even realized it, and then I got to thinking how the same trip with Henry in his Rolls Royce seemed like about 24 hours, and that was what gave me the idea that money was not every- thing, because after all, it is only brains that count. So Mr. Montrose took me home and we are going to have luncheon together at the Primrose Tea Room practically every day and keep right on holding literary conversations. So then I had to figure out how to get rid of Henry and at the same time not do anything that would make me any trouble later. So I sent for Dorothy because Dorothy 1s not so good at intreeging a gentleman with money, but she ought to be full of ideas on how to get rid of one. So at first Dorothy said, why didnt I take a chance and marry Henry because she had an idea that if Henry married me he would com- mit suicide about two weeks later. But then I told her about my plan to do quite a lot of shopping, and I told her that I would send for Henry and I would manage it so that I would not be in the apartment when he came, but she could be there and she could start a con- versation with him and she could tell him about all of my shopping and how extravagant I seemed to be and he would be in the poor house in less than a year if he married me. So Dorothy said for me to take one fare- well look at Henry and leave him to her, be- cause she would fix him so that the next time I saw him would be in the witness box and I might not even recognize him because she would throw a scare into him that might change his whole physical apearance and he might never look the same. So I decided to leave him in the hands of Dorothy and hope for the best. July ro: WELL. last month was really almost a diary in itself, and I have to begin to realize that I am one of the kind of girls that things happen to. And I really have to admit, after all, that life is really wonderful. Be- cause so much has happened in the last few weeks that it almost makes a girl's brains whirl. I mean in the first place I went shopping at Cartiers and bought quite a delightful large size square cut emerald and quite a long rope of large size pearls on Henry’s credit. So then I called up Henry on the long distants tele- phone and told him that I wanted to see him quite a lot, so he was very very pleased and he said that he would come right up to New York. I mean Henry loves encouradgment, but [ never believe in to much encouradgment for Henry because if a gentleman gets too much encouradgment he gets to a point where he takes it for granted, and when a gentleman takes it for granted, it is quite difficult to get anything out of a gentleman. So then I told Dorothy to come to the apartment and be there when Henry came, and to show Henry what I bought on his credit, and to tell him how extravagant I seem to be, and how I seem to keep on getting worse. So I told Dorothy to go on as far as she liked, so long as she did not insinuate any- thing against my character, because the more spotless my character seems to be, the better things might turn out later. So Henry was due at the apartment about 1.20, so I had Lulu get some luncheon for he and Dorothy and then I told Dorothy to tell him that I had gone out because I had suddenly heard about the Russian Crown Jewels that some Russian Grand duchess or other had for sale at the Ritz. So then I went to the Primrose Tea Room to have luncheon with Mr. Montrose because Mr. Montrose loves to tell me all of his plans, and he says that I am so full of intelect that I seem to remind him quite a lot of a girl called Madame Recamier who all the intellectual gentlemen used to tell all of their plans to, even when there was a French revolution going on all around them. So Mr. Montrose and I had a delicious luncheon, except that I never seem to notice what I am eating when I am with Mr. Mont- rose because when Mr. Montrose talks a girl wants to do nothing but listen. But all of the time I was listening, I was thinking about Dorothy and I was worrying for fear Dorothy would go to far, and tell Henry something that would not be so good for me afterwards. So finally even Mr. Montrose seemed to notice it, and he said “‘What’s the matter little woman, a penny for your thoughts.” So then I told him everything, and he seemed to think quite a lot and finally he said to me “‘It is really too bad that you feel as if the social life of Mr. Spoffard bored you, be- cause Mr. Spoffard would be ideal to finance my scenario,” and Mr. Montrose said that he had been thinking from the very first how ideal I would be to play Dolly Madison. So that started me thinking and I told Mr. Montrose that I expected to have quite a large size amount of money later on, and [ would finance it myself. But Mr. Montrose said that would be to late, because all of the motion picture corporations were all after it now, and it would be snapped up almost immediately. So then I became almost in a panick, be- cause I suddenly decided that if I married Henry and worked in the motion pictures at the same time, society life with Henry would not really be so bad. Because if a girl was as busy as all that, it really would not seem to matter so much if she had to stand Henry when she was not busy. But then I realized what Dorothy was up to, and I told Mr Montrose that I was almost afraid it was to late. So I hurried to the telephone and I called up Dorothy at the apartment and I asked her what she had said to Henry. So Dorothy said that she showed him the square cut emerald and told him that I just bought it as a knick-knack to go with a green dress, but I had got a spot on the dress, so I was going to give them both to Lulu. So she said she showed him the pearls and she said that after I had bought them, I was sorry I did not get pink ones because white ones were so common, so I was going to have Lulu un- string them and have Lulu sew them on a negligay. So then she told him she was rather sorry I meant to buy the Russian Crown jewels because she had a feeling they were un- lucky, but I said to her, that if I found out they were, I could toss them over my left shoulder into the Hudson river some night when there was a new moon, and it would take away the curse. So then she said that Henry began to get restless. So then she told him she was very glad I was going to get married at last be- cause I had had such bad luck, that every time I became engaged something seemed to happen to my fiance. So Henry asked her “What,” for instance. So Dorothy said a couple were in the insane asylum, one had shot himself for debt, and the county farm was taking care of the remainder. So Henry asked her how they got that way. So Dorcthy told him it was nothing but my extravaganse, and she told him that she was surpised that he had never heard about it, because all I had to do was to take luncheon at the Ritz with some prominent broker and the next day the bottom would drop out of the market. And she told him that she did not want to in- sinuate anything, but that I had dined with a very, very prominent German the day before German marks started to colapse. So I became almost frantic and I told Dorothy to hold Henry at the apartment until I could get up there and explain. So I held the telephone while Dorothy went to see if Henry would wait. So Dorothy came back in a minute and she said that the parlor was empty, but that if I would hurry down to Broadway no doubt I would see a cloud of dust heading towards the Pennsylvania sta- tion, and that would be Henry. So then I went back to Mr. Montrose, and I told him that I must catch Henry at the Pennsylvania Station at any cost. And if any- one were to say that we left the Primrose tea room in a hurry, it would be putting it quite mildly. So we got to the Pennsylvania Sta- tion and I just had time to get on board the train to Philadelphia and I left Mr. Montrose standing at the train biting his finger nails in all of his anxiety. But I called out to him to go to his Hotel and I would telephone the re- sult as soon as the train arrived. So then I went through the train, and there was Henry with a look on his face which I shall never forget. So when he saw me he really seemed to shrink to 1% his natural size. So then I sat down beside him and I told him that I was thoroughly ashamed of how he acted, and if his love for me could not stand a little test that I and Dorothy had thought up, more in the spirit of fun than anything else, never wanted to speak to such a gentleman again. And I told him that if he could not tell the difference between a real square cut emerald and one from the ten cent store, that he had ought to be ashamed of himself. And I told him that if he thought that every string of white beads were pearls, it was no wonder he could make such a mistake in judging the character of a girl. So then I began to cry be- cause of all of Henry’s lack of faith. 50 then he tried to cheer me up but I was to hurt to even give him a decent word until we per past Newark. But by the time we were ee Newark, Henry was crying himself, and i always makes me feel so tender hearted to listen to a gentleman cry that I finally et him. So, of course, as soon as I got home had to take them back to Cartiers. 4 So then I explained to Henry how I wante our life to mean something and I wanted to (Concluded on page 102)

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ed for AUGUST 1925 Every Month Sees emand Growing Greater There has never been any let-up in the veritable clamor for the Chrysler Six since Walter P. Chrysler’s remarkable achievement was first launched. The public grows more and more enthusiastic over the car’s unequaled results, more and more appreciative of quality and perform- ance, riding and driving abilities, roadability and economy that cannot be enjoyed else- where at any price. The Chrysler was inspired by a vision and it was designed and manufactured to meet a demand for a car of medium price with qualities that hitherto belonged exclusively to high-priced, heavy and uneconomical creations. Sales mounting to new high peaks monthly indicate that the Chrysler Six has not only satisfied this demand but has gone far beyond. The Chrysler Six, of course, includes many proved engineering developments which, since introduced by Chrysler, have changed all standards of motor car quality. Among these are the Purolator—an oil-filter that automatically and continuously cleanses all the motor oil; an air-cleaner that keeps road dust and grit out of the cylinders; seven- bearing crankshaft and camshaft; thermo- static control of motor heat; a new type of rear spring suspension that eliminates side- sway; Watson stabilators which, by compen- sating for all road inequalities, positively eliminate rebound shock at any speed, and a score of others. The best way to understand Chrysler advan- tages is to let your nearest Chrysler dealer translate them into terms of actual perform- ance. He is eager to have you ride in the car and drive it. Touring Car, Phaeton, Coach, Roadster, Sedan, Royal Coupe, Brougham, Imperial and Crown-Im- perial—attractively priced from $1395 to $2195, f.0.b. Detroit subject to current government tax. Bodies by Fisher on all Chrysler Six enclosed models. All models equipped with balloon tires. There are Chrysler dealers and superior Chrysler service everywhere. All dealers are in posi- tion to extend the convenience of time-payments. Ask about Chrysler’s attractive plan. CHRYSLER SALES CORPORATION, DETROIT, MICHIGAN CHRYSLER MOTOR COMPANY OF CANADA, LIMITED, WINDSOR, ONTARIO 101

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SenbeSokcntorbetontiorSe PANO” Inc. Wholesale Dept. GOWNS (?OSTUMES “WRAPS SPORTSWEAR Announces An arrangement with M. MAURICE CHALOM Noted French Artist who Designed the Atelier of Lucien Lelong, to Decorate the salons in the New Five-Story Establishment Recently Purchased by Miss Carnegie at 42-44 EAST 49th STREET Which Will Be Completed in Time for Our Fall Opening e Now Showing Summer Super-Styles at 251 WEST 86th STREET NEW YORK HARPER’S BAZAR BRAINS ARE REALLY EVERYTHING Antta Loos’s Story (Concluded from page 100) make the World a better place than it seemed to have been yet. And I told him that he knew so much about the film profession on account of senshuring all of the films that I thought he had ought to go into the film pro- fession. Because I told him that a gentleman like he really owed it to the world to make pure films so that he could be an example to all of the film corporations and show the world what pure films were like. So Henry became very, very intreeged because he had never thought of the film profession before. So then I told how we could get H. Gilbertson Mont- rose to write the senarios, and he to senshure them, and I could act in them and by the time we all got through, they would be a work of art. But they would even be purer than most works of art seem to be. So by the time we had got to Philadelphia Henry said that he would do it, but he did not think I had ought to act in them. But I told him from what I had seen of society women trying to break in- to the films, I did not believe that it would be so declasée if one of them really landed. So I even talked him into that. So when we got to Henry’s county estate, we told all of Henry’s family and they were all delighted. Because it is the first time since the war that Henry’s family have had anything definite to put their minds on. I mean Henry’s sister really jumped at the idea be- cause she said she would take charge of the studio trucks and keep them at a bed-rock figure. So I even promised Henry’s mother that she could act in the films. I mean I even believe that we could put in a close-up of her from time to time, because after all, nearly every photoplay has to have some comedy relief. And I promised Henry’s father that we would wheel him through the studios and let him look at all of the actresses and he nearly had another relapse. So I called up Mr. Montrose and made an appointment with him to meet Henry and talk it all over, and Mr. Montrose said, “Bless you, little woman.” So I am almost beginning to believe it, when everybody says I am nothing but sunshine because everybody I come into contract with always seems to become happy. I mean with the exception of Mr. Eisman. Because when I got back to New York, I opened all of his cablegrams and I realized that he was due to arrive on the Aquitania the very next day. So I met him at the Aguitania and I took him to luncheon at the Ritz and I told him all about everything. So then he became very, very depressed because he said that just as soon as he had got me all educated, I had to go off and get married. But I told him that he ought to be very proud of me, because in the future, when he would see me at luncheon at the Ritz as the wife of the famous Henry H. Spoffard, I would always bow to him, if I saw him, and he could point me out to all of his friends and tell them that it was he, Gus Eisman himself, who educated me up to my station. So that cheered Mr. Eisman up a lot and I really do not care what he says to his friends, because, after all, his friends are not in my set, and whatever he says to them it will not get around in my circle. So after our luncheon was all over, I really think that, even if Mr. Eisman was not so happy, he could not help having a sort of a feeling of relief especially when he thinks of all my shopping. So after that came my wedding and all of the Society people in New York and Phila- delphia came to my wedding and they were all so sweet to me, because practically every one of them has written a senario. And every- body all says my wedding was very, very beautiful. I mean even Dorothy said it was very beautiful, only Dorothy said she had to concentrate on the massacre of the Armenians to keep herself from laughing right out loud in everybody’s face. But that only shows that not even Matrimony is sacred to a girl like Dorothy. And after the wedding was over, I overheard Dorothy talking to Mr. Montrose, and she was telling Mr. Montrose that she thought that I would be great in the movies if he would write me a part that only had three expressions, Joy, Sorrow, and In- digestion. So I do not really believe that Dorothy is such a true friend after all. So Henry and I did not go on any honey- moon because I told Henry that it really would be selfish for us to go off alone together, when all of our activities seemed to need us so much. Because, after all, I have to spend quite a lot of time with Mr. Montrose going over the senario together because Mr. Montrose says I am full of nothing so much as ideas. So, in order to give Henry something to do while Mr. Montrose and I are working on the senario, I got Henry to organize a Welfare League among all of the extra girls and get them to tell him all of their problems so he can give them all of his spiritual aid. And it has really been a very, very great success, be- cause there is not much work going on at the other studios at present so all of the extra girls have nothing better to do and they all know that Henry will not give them a job at our studio unless they belong. So the worse they tell Henry they have been before they met him. the better he likes it and Dorothy says that she was at the studio yesterday and she says that if the senarios those extra girls have written around themselves to tell Henry could only be screened and gotten past the sensors, the movies would move right up out of their infancy. So Henry says that I have opened up a whole new world for him and he really has never been so happy in his life. And it really seems as if everyone I know has never been so happy in their lives. Because I make Henry let his father come to the studio every day and he has never been so happy in his life. Be- cause, after all, every studio has to have some- body who seems to be a pest, and in our case it might just as well be Henry’s father. So I have given orders to all of the electricians not to drop any lights on him, but to let him have a good time because, after all, it is the first one he has had. And as far as Henry’s mother is concerned, she is having her hair bobbed and her face lifted and getting ready to play Carmen because she saw a girl called Madam Calve play it when she was on her honey- moon and she has always really felt that she could do it better. So I do not discouradge her, but I just let her go ahead and enjoy her- self. But 1 am not going to bother to speak to the electricians about Henry’s mother. And Henry’s sister has never been so happy since the Battle of Verdun, because she has six trucks and 15 horses to look after and she says that the motion picture profession 1s the nearest thing to war that she has struck since the Armistice. So even Dorothy is very happy because Dorothy says that she had had more laughs this month than Eddie Cantor gets in a year. And when it comes to Mr. Montrose, I really believe that he is happier than anybody else, because of all of the under- standing and sympathy he seems to get out of me. And so I am very happy myself because, after all, the greatest thing in life is to always be making everybody else happy. And so, while everybody is so happy, I really think it is a good time to finish my diary because after all, | am to busy going over my senarios with Mr. Montrose to keep up any other kind of literary work. And I am so busy bringing sunshine into the life of Henry that I really think, with everything else I seem to acom- plish, that it is really all a girl had ought to try to do. Ard so I say goodbye to my diary feeling that, after all, everything always turns out for the best. The End.

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New York Office: 489 Fifth Avenue If your favorite shop cannot supply you, write us direct, giving bust and low waist measures. Snuggle band $12; brassiere $4; Snuggleband-ensemble $13.50 = — —— HANDS Irvin S. ACROSS Cobb’s HARPER’S BAZAR THE SEA Story (Continued from page 47) romancing, he must be very English. And Norah's so—so Irish Delia 1s too, for that matter. But especially Norah.” ‘Strange. but I had noticed that myself about our Norah ” “Notice it?—I should say. She calls the English—what is it she calls them: ” ‘“‘Black-and-Tans. Also Saxon oppressors. Also a name which 1s pronounced by hissing first and then gritting the teeth in a bitter manner. I think it’s an old Gaelic word signifying Oliver Cromwell You may recall having heard that Norah has a brother who had some personal misunderstanding with the authorities in Dublin in the year 1916. He became at that time very seriously an- tagonized toward them. And it looks to me as though Norah was inclined to take his side in the controversy.” ‘Naturally. But she may make trouble I hadn’t thought of that before. And if he should happen to do anything or say any thing to arouse her or 1f she should take one of her grudges against Mr. Boyce-Upchurch— oh, I’m scared, Ollie!” ‘Prithee be blithe and gay once more. Norah and I understand each other. We have a bond between us or will have one as soon as I tell her privately that I’m contributing to a fund for financing an uprising on the part of those poor downtrodden Hindoos out in East India. Immediately on my arrival this evening I'll take Norah apart and—’ “You'll do what?” “Don’t worry I’m going to put her back together again, so you'd never notice it. But I'll take her apart and beg her for my sake to remain calm, cool and collected. You leave Norah to me” ‘*] suppose I’ll have to, since there’s noth- ing else to be done. And, Ollie. you may be a born idiot but just the same you're a dear for going to all this trouble on my account and I do appreciate it There—I m throwing you a kiss by wire ” “Appreciate Launcelot—that, God wot will be reward enough for me, fond heart. And in case either our butler or our guest. or both of them, should desire to call the tenants in from the estate, all to stand and join them in singing the Royal Anthem, please re- member how it goes—God Save the King until Norah's Brother Can Get at Him!” ITTO shifted from civilian served dinner that evening. It became a meal that was more than a meal; it became a ceremonial There was a formalism to it, there was pomp and circumstance. The passing of a dish was invested with a ritual- istic essence Under Ditto’s ministrations so simple a dessert as cold rice pudding took on a new meaning. One wondered what Ditto could have done with a fancy ice. One felt that merely with a loaf of bread and a jug of wine and none of the other ingredients of old Omar's recipe for a pleasant evening, he nevertheless could have fabricated the plau- sible illusion of a banquet of courses. Mrs Gridley was thrilled to her marrows—possi- bly a trifle self-conscious, but thrilled. After dinner and a visit to the service wing, Mr. Braid sought out his sister on the veranda, where she was doing what most of her sister flower-lovers of parched Ingleglade were doing at that same hour—wishing for rain “Well, Dumplings,” he said, ‘‘you may continue to be your own serene self. In me behold plenipotentiary doing plenipotenching by the day, week or job, satisfaction guaran- teed or money refunded. I’ve just had a little heart-to-heart chat with Norah and there isn’t a cloud in the sky as large as a man’s hand.” ““I wish there were—this terrible drought!” she said, her thoughts divided between the two concerns uppermost in her mind. “‘What did you say to her?” “IT approached the subject with my cus- tomary tact. Witha significant glance toward the visiting nobleman, I reminded Norah that blood was thicker than water, to wh’ch she piously responded by thanking God for three thousand miles of the water. Still, I think she’s going to keep the peace. For the moment, she's impressed, or shall I say fas- cinated. Ditto is high-hatting her something scandalous and she’s taking it. For all our Norah's democratic principles, she evidently carries in her blood the taint of a lurking admiration for aristocratic bearings, and Ditto is satisfying the treasonable instinct which until now she has had no chance to gratify— at least. not while living with us. As for Delia, that shameless hussy is licking the spoon and begging for more. She’s a traitor to Un‘ted Ireland and the memory of Daniel O’Connell, is Delia. “Mind vou, I’m not predicting that the spell of the present hour will endure. The ancient feud may blaze up. We may vet have a race war in our kitchen. For all you know, vou may at this moment be sitting pretty on a seething volcano. but unless something unforeseen occurs I think I may safely promise you peace and harmony during garb and ~ the great event which 1s about to ensue in our hitherto simple lives. “For, as I said yust now, Norab ig ander a thrall—temporary, perhaps, but a thrall just the same. Well, I confess to being all thralled- up myself. That certainly was a high-church dinner—that one to-night was. Several times I was almost overcome by a well-nigh irrepressible temptation to get up and ask Ditto to take my place and let me pass things to him.” j “I don’t believe there ever has been such 3 drought,” said Mrs. Gridley. “Ho, hum. well I suppose we'll all get used to this grandeur 1n time.” said Mr. Braid “" wonder if he ts gomg to put on his full canonicals every night no matter whether we have company or not? I wish on nights when we do have very special company he’d lend me his regalia and wear mine_ I expect he'd regard it as presuming if I asked tor the ad- dress of his tailor What do you think, Dumplings?” “T wish it would rain,” said Mrs. Gridley “And I hope and pray Norah doesn't fly off into one of her tantrums. I wonder doc Mr. Boyce-Upchurch like Thousand Island dressing or the Russian better? What were you just saying, Ollie?” ME: BRAID tapped his skull with his fore- finger. *Ah, the family failing.” he murmured, “that dread curse which afflicts our line' With some of the inmates it day by day grows worse. And there’s nothing to be done—it’s congenital.” ‘*T expect the best thing to do is just to take a chance on the Russian dressing,” said Mrs Gridley. ‘If he doesn’t like it why he doesn’t like it and I can’t help myself. | didn’t catch what you said just then. Ollie.” ‘Abstraction overcomes the victim; the mind wanders; the reason totters,”’ said Mr. Braid. ‘By the way, I wonder if Ditto would care to have his room brightened with a group view of the royal family—the King in shoot- ing costume, the Queen wearing the sort of hat that the King would probably like to shoot: the lesser members grouped about You know the kind of thing I mean.” “Would you start off to-morrow night with clams or a melon, if you were I?” asked Mrs Gridley “Or, perhaps, he'd prefer an equestrian photograph of the Prince of Wales,” said Mr. Braid. ‘I know where I can pick up one second-hand. I'll stop by to-morrow and price it. It’s a very unusual pose. Shows the Prince on the horse.” “Melon, I guess,” said Mrs. Gridley ‘““Most Englishmen like cantaloupes, I hear They’re not so common among them.” “My duty being done. I think I shall retire to my chamber to take a slight, not to say sketchy. bath mm a shaving mug.” said Mr. Braid. ‘“*T wish it would rain,” said Mrs Gridley. UMBERS of friendly persons met Mr. Boyce-Upchurch at the boat that Wednesday afternoon. Miss Titworthy inevi- tably was there riding hard, so to speak, on a swaying flock of ewes of the Ingleglade Woman’s Club, and organizing a sort of im- promptu welcoming committee at the ferry house. Mrs. Gridley missed this, though She had to stay outside with her runabout. Her husband and brother—the latter had escorted Mr Boyce-Upchurch to 125th Street from the University Club, where he had been the guest of some one since finishing his New England swing the week before— were with the visiting celebrity They surrendered him over to Miss Tit- worthy, who made him run the gantlet of the double receiving line and introduced him to all the ladies. Of these a bolder one would seek to detain him a minute while she told him how much she admired his books and which one of them she admired most, but an awed and timider one would merely say she was so glad to meet him, having heard of him so often. Practically every timider one said this. It was as though she followed a memo- rized formula. Now and then was a bolder bold one who breasted forward and sort ot cooed in the manner of a restrained but secretly amorous hen-pigeon. Mr. Boyce-Upchurch bore up very well under the strain of it all. Indeed he seemed rather to expect it. having been in this coun- try for several months now and having lec- tured as far west as Omaha. He plowed along between the greeters, a rather short and compact figure but very dignified, with his monocle beaming ruddy in the rays of the late afternoon sun and with a set smile on his face, and murmuring the conventional words The ceremonial being concluded, the two gentlemen reclaimed him and _led him outside and there he met Mrs. Gridley, who drove him up the Palisades Road, her husband and brother following in a chartered taxi wit i Mr. Boyce-Upchurch’s luggage. There was (Continued on page 106) re. -~ 68 €& rm & ose DMD + DAD Fe ~~ a

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for AV6EOST 1925 105 “The sunny heat and brilliant light of summer make it necessary to care for your skin each day to keep it fair and soft.” UMMER seems to emphasize every fault of the skin. If your skin has a tendency to dryness, the heat and glare of summer sunshine will parch and dry the tissues even more. If your skin is relaxed and oily, warm weather in- creases the relaxation and oiliness. Elizabeth Arden recommends at this sea- son that you care for your skin faithfully to protect it and to correct its faults. An Elizabeth Arden Treatment is based on three fundamental steps which supply every need of the skin to make it naturally lovely. Particularly at this season of outdoor life, the correct and gentle Cleansing—with Venetian Cleans- ing Cream—is an important protection, a preventive of coarseness and rough- ness. The Toning—with Ardena Skin Tonic and Speczal Astringent—refreshes and whitens the skin, closes the pores, and restores the tone and elasticity of thetissues. The Nourishing—with Orange Skin Food or Velva Cream—keeps every skin cell full and firm, and so prevents dryness, lines and wrinkles. Do continue your Elizabeth Arden Treatments faithfully during the sm- mer. Follow the same method in your ELIZABETH ARDEN recommends these Preparations for your care of the skin at home. Venetian Cleansing Cream. Melts into the pores, rids them of dust and impurities, leaves theskin softand receptive. $1,$2,$3 $6. Venetian Ardena Skin Tonic. Tones, firms and whitens the skin. Use with and after Cleansing Cream. 85¢, $2, $3.75, $4.75. Venetian Orange Skin Food. A rich, nourishing cream, the best deep tissue build- er, keeps the skin full and firm, rounds out wrinkles, lines and hollows. $1, $1.75, $2.75, $4.25. Venetian Velva Cream. A delicate skin food for sensitive skins. Recommended also daily care of the skin at home. Take a generous supply of the necessary Arden Venetian Preparations with you on your travels. Elizabeth Arden will be happy to advise you about their correct use, and about the particular requirements of your skin, if you write her. Says ELIZABETH ARDEN SEASIDE Ta are two kinds of seaside. There are what one might call the wet and the dry seaside. The wet seaside is represented by a few cottages in a state of great un- tidiness, and people who decide to exist in bathing suits. I think they enjoy the seaside, these. They bathe with intensity and frequency; they watch their arms and faces passing from crimson to brown; they re- turn to the city in the somewhat unappetising condition that be- speaks perfect well-being. (I con- fess to a certain depravity of taste; perfect health does not seem to me to be perfect beauty; a little decay is an excellent thing.) But it is the dry seaside which interests me more, the seaside one may witness at Southampton, at Newport, at Deauville, or Cowes. Here are thousands of men and wo- men, the latter exquisitely gowned, and the former so well-dressed that one might almost call them gowned. The white drill, white charmeuse, white georgette or whatever it is, floats by the white linen or flannel of perfectly creased trousers. And not only have they clothes, but they change their clothes. From ten in the morning to one, white and blue. Smart lunch frock of sand-coloured something or other. Then afternoon «An ELIZABETH ARDEN Treatment Photographed in Paris by Baron DeMeyer Venetian Lille Lotion. An exquisite Venetian Travellers’ Bath Salts. Twelve bridge, the band, walking on the front and such-like exhaustions. Dinner, another frock, and if this one is too Jong, yet another frock to dance in. The more energetic natur- ally indulge in the violent sports of tennis and golf, which, as everybody for a full face, as it nourishes without fat- tening. $1, $2, $3, $6. Venetian Special Astringent. For flac- cid cheeks and neck. Lifts and strengthens the tissues, tightens the skin. $2.25, $4. Venetian Muscle Oil. A penetrating oil tich in the elements which restore sunken tissues or flabby muscles. $1, $2.50, $4. Venetian Pore Cream. Greascless as- tringent cream, closes open pores, corrects their inactivity. Smooth over coarse pores at bedtime. $1, $2.50. finishing lotion. Corrects a moist oily shine, prevents sunburn and freckles. Leaves a be- coming bloom on the skin. Six shades. $1.50, $2.50. Venetian Waterproof Cream. A water- proof finishing cream, delightful for sports. A superb foundation cream for evening. $3. Poudre d’Illusion. Exquisite powder, fine, pure, flattering, in a satin lined box. Illusion (a peach blend), Rachel, Ocre, White, and a new becoming shade called Minerva. $3. cubes of fine pure salts, in a smart box. Three perfumes, Rose, Nirvana, Russian Pine. $2. Arden Lemonies Soap. Bland soap of wonderful quality and purity, made in re- plica of the sweet lime of the East. Won- derful to whiten the hands. soc, $2.50 a box of six cakes. Write for a copy of *“The Quest of The Beautiful,’’ Elizabeth Arden’s book de- scribing the correct care of your skin according to her famous method. perceives, are essentially aquatic. Bridge is another aquatic game. So is getting on in society. Why these people go to the seaside I really don’t know, since all they do is to transport there Park Avenue or the Rue de la Paix. I am perfectly sure that no good comes out of the seaside unless one conducts oneself untidily, disrep- utably, unconventionally, unless one makes oneself so uncomfortable that one is glad to get back to town, this Venetian Amoretta Cream. A_ van- ishing and protective cream, gives the skin Elizabeth Arden’s Venetian Toilet Preparations and Babani Perfumes a soft natural finish, prevents tan and wind burn. Anexcellentpowder foundation. $1,$2. being the object of holidays. —W. L. GEORGE are on sale at smart shops everywhere (Written especially for Elizabeth Arden) ELIZABETH ARDEN NEW YORK, 673 FIFTH AVENUE WASHINGTON: 1147 Connecticut Ave. ATLANTIC CITY: Ritz-Carlton Block PHILADELPHIA: 133 South 18th Street SAN FRANCISCO: 233 Grant Avenue LOS ANGELES: 600 West 7th Street NEWPORT: Casino Block LONDON: 25 Old Bond Street PARIS: 2 rue de la Paix BOSTON: 192 Boylston Street DETROIT: 318 Book Building SOUTHAMPTON: Job’s Lane

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The Cucumber Emulsion (Emulsion de Con- combres) used with it helps the skin to absorb it more readily. Miss Earle established ‘in Paris, years ago, an exclusive salon familiar to women of wealth and social prominence on the Continent, in England and in this country. Later, American society leaders persuaded her to come to New York, where she now spends most of her time. - - » Send for Miss Earle’s new booklet; answer her ques- tionnaire so she can recommend a home treatment for your skin. Marie Earle’s preparations are probably on sale in your favorite shop. If not, order them from the New York Salon at 600 Madison Avenue. Ask for the list of places where they are carried. The Essential Cream, in generous jars, $1.90 and up. ¥ Pes atl P| g@adrne Anzpre §h Essenrnd gh 5! bree # Kid Viggo fO arte Ca rle/ NEW YORK |\HANDS Irotin S. ACROSS Cobb’s HARPER’S BAZAR THE Story SEA (Continued from page 104) quite a good deal of luggage, including a strapped steamer-rug and two very bulging, very rugged-looking kitbags and a leather hat- box and a mysterious flat package in paper wrappings which Mr. Braid told Mr. Gridley he was sure must contain a framed steel engraving of the Death of Nelson. Mr. Braid pattered on. “For a truly great and towering giant of literature, our friend seems very easy to con- trol in money matters Docile—that’s the word for it, docile. He let me tip the porter at the club for bringing down these two tons of his detachable belongings, and on the way up Madison Avenue he called a halt and let me jump out and go in a shop and buy him an extra strap for his blanket roll here, and he graciously suffered me to pay for a telegram he sent from the other side, and also for that shoe-shine and those evening papers he got on the boat. Told me he hadn’t learned to distinguish our Yankee small change. Always getting the coins mixed up, he said. Maybe he hasn’t had any experience.” “Rather brusk in his way of speaking to a fellow,” admitted Mr. Gridley. ‘“‘You might almost call it short. And rather fussy about getting what he wants, I should say. Still, I suppose he has a great deal on his mind. He told me he’s writing his book on his \merican impress‘ons as he goes along.” “Launcelot will fairly dote on him,” said Mr. Braid. ‘ Mark my words, Launcelot is just going to fall in love with him on the spot.” Meanwhile, Mrs. Gridley was endeavoring to explain to Mr. Boyce-Upchurch why it was that in a town lying practically on a river so large and so wide as the Hudson there could be a water shortage. He couldn’t appear to grasp it. He declared it to be extraordinary. HIS matter of a water shortage appar- ently lingered in his mind, for, half an hour later as he was on the point of going aloft to his room to dress for dinner, he called back to his host from half-way up the stairs: “T say, Gridley, no water in the taps, your wife tells me. Extraordinary, what? Tell you what: I'll be needing a rub-down to- night—hot climate here and all that. So later on just let one of your people fetch up a portable tub to my room and bring up lots of water, will you? The water needn’t be hot. Like it warm, though. Speak about it, will you, to that slavey of yours?”’ Mrs. Gridley gave a quick little wincing gasp and a hunted look about her. But Delia had gone to carry Mr. Boyce-Upchurch’s waistcoat up-stairs. The episode of the waistcoat occurred a few minutes before, immediately after the guest had been ushered into the house. “Frightfully warm,” he remarked on enter- ing the living-room. ‘Tell me, is America always so frightfully warm in summer?” Then, without waiting for an answer, he said: “Think I must rid myself of the wescut. All over perspiration, you know.” So saying, he took off first his coat and next his waist- coat and hung the waistcoat on a chair and then put the coat back on again. Still, as Mr. Braid remarked in an under- tone to nobody in particular, it wasn’t ex- actly as though Mr. Boyce-Upchurch had stripped to his shirt-sleeves because, as Mr. Braid pointed out to himself, the waistband of the trousers came up so high, especially at the back, and the suspenders—he caught himself here and mentally used the word “braces” instead—the braces were so nice and broad that you didn’t see enough of the shirt really to count. And anyhow, the whole thing was over practically in a minute. INNER was at seven-thirty, with twelve at the table and place cards, and Delia impressed to aid Ditto at serving, and the finest show of flowers that Mrs. Gridley’s parched and famished garden could yield. She had spent two hours that afternoon picking the least wilted looking of the blossoms and designing the decorative effects. Little things occurred, one or two of them occurring before the dinner got under way. Ditto approached the lady of the house. “Madame,” he said throatily, in the style of one who regally bears yet more regal tidings, ‘*Madame, Mr. Boyce-Upchurch doesn’t care for cocktails. ’E would prefer a sherry and bittez.” “Oh!” exclaimed Mrs. Gridley in a small panic of dismay, ‘‘oh, I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid there isn’t any sherry.” ““There’s cooking sherry out in the kitchen, sis,’ said Mr. Braid, who stood alongside her smiling happily about nothing apparently ““Tackled it myself the other day when I was feeling dare-devilish.” “But the bitters—whatever they are! “Give him some of that cooking sherry of yours and he'll never miss the bitters.” ““Sh-h-h,”’ she warned, “he might hear you. He didn’t, though. Mr. Boyce-Upchurch was in At that moment conversation with his neighbor. He was speaking of the hors d@uvres which had just been passed, following the cocktails. It developed that the relish attracted him and at the same time repelled. Undeniably Norah’s fancy ran to the concoction of dishes notably appetizers and salads, which one read about in certain standard women’s magazines. Her initial offering this night had novelty about it, with a touch of mystery Its general aspect suggested that Norah had drowned a number of inoffensive an- chovies in thick mayonnaise and then, re- penting of the crime, had vainly endeavored to resuscitate her victims with grated cheese “Messy-looking, eh?’’ Mr. Boyce-Upchurch was pointing an accusing finger at the coiled remains on a bit of toast which his neighbor had accepted, and he was speaking in a fairly clear voice audible to any who might be near at hand. “Glad I didn’t take one. Curious fancy, eh what, having the savory before dinner instead of afterwards— that is, if the ghastly thing is meant to be a savory?” That, substantially, was all that happened in the preliminary stages of the dinner party, There was one more trifling incident which perhaps, is worthy to be recorded, but this did not occur until the second course was brought on. The second course was terrapin, Mrs. Gridley was a Marylander and she had been at pains to order real diamond-backs from down on the eastern shore and person- ally to make the stew according to an old recipe in her family. Besides, the middle of July was not the regular season for terrapin, and it had required some generalship to insure prime specimens, and so naturally Mrs. Grid- ley was proud when the terrapin came on, with the last of her hoarded and now van- ishing store of Madeira accompanying it in tiny glasses. Mr. Boyce-Upchurch sniffed at the fra- grance arising from the dish which had been put before him. He sniffed rather with the air of a reluctant patient going under the ether, and with his spoon he stirred up from the bottom fragments of the rubbery black meat and bits of the queer-shaped little bones and then he inquired what this might be. He emphasized the ‘“‘this.”’ “It’s terrapin,” explained Mrs. Gridley. who had been waiting through a small pause for him to taste the mixture and give his verdict. “‘One of the special dishes of my own state.” “And what’s terrapin?’”’ he pressed. She told him. : “Oh,” he said, “‘sort of turtle, eh? I sha’n’t touch it. Take it away, please,” this to the reverential Ditto hovering in the immediate background. FROM this point on, the talk ceased to be general. In spots, the dinner compara- tively was silent, then again in other spots conversation abounded. From his seat near the foot, Mr. Braid kept casting interpola- tions in the direction of the farther end of the table. Repeatedly his sister squelched him. At least, she tried to do so. He seemed to thrive on polite rebuffs, though. For instance, when Miss ‘Rachel Semmes, who was one of Ingleglade’s most literary women, bent forward from her favored posi- tion almost directly opposite the guest of honor and said, facing eagerly toward him over the table: “Oh, Mr. Boyce-Upchurch, tell me of English letters!’’ Mr. Braid broke right in: “Let’s all talk about English letters,” he suggested. ‘“‘My favorite one is Z. Well, I like H, too, fairly well. But to me, after all, Z is the most intriguing. What’s your favor- ite, everybody?” lere, as later, his attempted levity met deservedly the interposed barrier of Miss Semmes’ ignoring shoulders. She twisted in her place, turning her back on him, the more forcibly to administer the reproof, and with her eyes agleam behind her glasses and her lips making little attentive sucked-in gasping sounds, she harkened while Mr. Boyce- Upchurch discoursed to her of English letters with frequent references to his own contribu- tions in that great field. ; As the traveled observer in his own time may have noted, there is a type of cultured Britisher who regards it as stupid to appear smart in strange company, and yet another type who regards it as smart to appear stupid. Mr. Boyce-Upchurch fell into neither group- ing. He spoke with a fluency, with an au- thoritative definiteness, with a finality. which checked all counter-thoughts at their sources. In his criticisms of this one and that one, he was severe or he was commendatory, #5 the merits of the individual case required. He did not give opinions so much as he rendered judgments. There was about him a convinc- ing firmness. There was never even a trace, a suggestion of doubt. There were passages delivered with such eloquence that almost it (Continued on page 108)

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Sample of the perforated rubber and a Gree charming brochure on written request. PERFOLASTIC, Inc. « 225 West 57th Street, New York City MODELS: Step-In (New); Clasp-Around; Front and Back Lace; Bathing and Sport Model; Brassiere; Diaphragm Vanisher; Abdominal Belt Rubber Girdle YY EN noe A T E |'HANDS Irvin S. ACROSS Cobb’s HARPER’S BAZAR THE SEA Story (Continued from page 106) seemed to some present as though Mr. Boyce-Upchurch must be quoting from a familiar manuscript. As, if the truth must be known, he was. Still, had not all of intellec- tual America as far west as Omaha acclaimed “Masters of the Modern English Novel, with Selected Readings from the Author’s Own Books” as a noteworthy platform achieve- ment? Thus the evening passed, and the Gridleys’ dinner party. All had adjourned back again to the living-room, where coffee and cigarets were being handed about. when from without came gusts of a warm swift wind blowing the curtains in and bringing a breath of moistness. “Oh, I believe it’s really fixing to rain,” declared Mrs. Gridley, hopefully, and on this, as if in confirmation, they all heard off to the northwest a grumble of distant summer thunder. Then the horizon to the west split asunder and the red lightning ran down the skies in zigzag streaks, like cracks in a hot stove, and lusty big drops spattered on the porch roof above. P THE steeple of the First Baptist Church of Ingleglade, two blocks distant, the clock struck eleven times. Except for the kitchen wing the residence of the Gridleys on Edgecliff Avenue was, as to its lower floor, all dark and shuttered. The rain beat down steadily. no longer in scattered drops but in sheets. It was drunk up by the thirsty earth. It made a sticky compound of a precious wagonload of stable leavings with which Mrs. Gridley. one week before, had mulched her specimen roses in their bed under the living- room windows. It whipped and it drenched a single over- looked garment dangling on the clothes- line between the two cherry-trees in the back yard. Daylight, to any discriminating eye, would have revealed it as a garment apper- taining to the worthy and broad-beamed Norah; would have proven. too, that Norah was not one who held by these flimsy, new- fangled notions of latter-day times in the details of feminine lingerie—an ample gar- ment, stoutly fashioned, generously cut, in- timate, bifurcated, white, fit for a Christian woman to wear. It surreptitiously had been laved that morning in the sink and wrung out and hung for drying upon a lately almost disused rope, and then, in the press of culi- nary duties, forgotten. Now the rain was more or less having its way with it, making its limp ornamentation of ruffles limper still, making the horn buttons upon its strong waistband slippery. So much for the exterior of this peaceful homestead. Let us peep within, hither and yon. Above in the main guest room, Mr. Boyce- Upchurch fretted as he undressed for bed. He felt a distinct sense of irritation. He had set forth his desires regarding a portable tub and plenty of water to be made ready against his hour of retiring, yet unaccountably these had not been provided. His pores called for refreshment; it was beastly annoying. A thought, an inspirational thought, came to him. He crossed to his front window and drew back the twin sashes. The sashes opened quite down to the floor and immediately out- side, and from the same level, just as he re- membered having noted it following his arrival, the roof of the veranda sloped away with a gentle slant. The light behind him showed its flat tin covering glistening and smooth, with a myriad of soft warm drops splashing and stippling upon it. Beyond was cloaking impenetrable blackness, a deep and Stygian gloom; the most confirmed Styg could have desired none deeper So Mr. Boyce-Upchurch walked back and entered the bathroom. There, from a pitcher, he poured the basin full of water and then stripped to what among athletes is known as the buff, meaning by that the pink, and he dipped an embroidered guest towel in the basin and with it sopped himself from head to feet, then dampened a cake of soap and wielded it until his body and his head and his limbs and members richly had been sudded. This done he recrossed his chamber, pausing only to turn out the lights. He stepped out upon the porch roof, gasping slightly as the , acc torrent struck him on his bare flesh. *;ROM the head of the stairs Mr. Gridley, in a puzzled way, called down: “Say, Emaline!” ‘In a minute—I’m just making sure every- thing is locked up down here,” answered Mrs. Gridley in a voice oddly strained. “Say, do you know what?” Mr. Gridley retreated a few steps downward. “He’s gone and put his shoes outside his door in the hall What do you suppose the big idea is?”’ **Put out to be cleaned,” explained Mr. Braid from the foot of the stairs. ‘Quaint old custom—William the Conqueror always put his out. But don’t call ‘em shoes; that’s one of those crude Americanisms of yours. The proper word is boot.” “Well, who in thunder does he expect jg going to clean them? That’s what I want to know!” demanded the pestered Mr, Gridley “Perhaps the slavey—” began Mr, Braid “T wonder if he thinks I’m going to shine ’em?” inquired Mr. Gridley, his tone plain- tive, querulous, protesting. He straightened himself with a resolution. “Well, I’m not! Here’s one worm that’s beginning to turn.” “There’s Ditto,” speculated Mrs. Gridley, “T wouldn’t dare suggest such a thing to either of those other two. But maybe possibly Ditto—” “Never, except over my dead body,” de- clared Mr. Braid. ‘I'd as soon ask his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury to press my pants for me. Fie, for shame, Dumplings!” “But who—” “T, gallant Jack Harkaway, the volunteer fireman,” proclaimed Mr. Braid. “I, Michael Strogoff, the Courier of the Tsar—I’ll shine his doggone shoes—I mean, his doggone boots. I'll slip up and get ’em new. There’s a brush and some polish out back somewheres. Only, by rights, I should have some of the genuine Day and Martin to do it with. And I ought to whistle through my teeth. In Dickens they always whistled through their teeth, cleaning shoes.” “Well, for one, I’m going to take a couple of aspirin tablets and go straight to bed,” said Mrs. Gridley. ‘‘Thank goodness for one thing. anyway—it’s just coming down in bucketfuls outside!” ON THE porch top in the darkness, Mr. Boyce-Upchurch gasped anew but happily. The last of the lather coursed in rivulets down his legs; his grateful pores opened widely and he outstretched his arms, the better to let the soothing cloudburst from on high strike upon his expanded chest. On the sudsy underfooting his bare soles slipped—first one sole began to slip, then the other began to slip. He gasped once more, but with a different inflection. His spread hands grasped frantically and closed on voidity. Involuntarily he sat down, painfully and with great violence. His curved fingers, still clutching, skittered over stark metal surfaces as he picked up speed. He slid thence, offbound and slantwise, toward the edge. He gave one low muffled cry. He slid faster. He slid across the spouting gutter, over the verge, on, out, down, into swallowing space. UT in the service ell the last of the wastage from the Gridleys’ dinner-party was being disposed of and the place tidied up against the next gustatory event in this house, which would be breakfast. Along the con- necting passage from his butlers pantry, where he racked up tableware, Ditto was speaking rearward to the two occupants of the kitchen. He had been speaking practically without cessation for twenty minutes. With the h’s it would have taken longer—probably twenty-two to twenty-four minutes. He was speaking of the habits, customs and general excellencies of the British upper classes among whom the greater part of his active life congenially had been spent. He was approaching a specific illustration in sup- port and confirmation of his thesis. He reached it: “Now, you tyke Mr. Boyce-Upchurch, now. Wot pride of bearin’ ’e’s got! Wot control! Wot a flow of language when the spirit moves ’?im! Always the marster of any situation— that’s ’im all oaver. Never losin’ ‘is ead. Never jostled out of ’is stride. Never lackin’ for a word. Stock of the old bulldog—that’s wot it is!” Where he stood, so discoursing, he could not see Norah. Perhaps it was just as well he could not see her. For a spell was lifting from Norah. If there is such a word as “unen- glamoured,” then ‘‘unenglamoured” is the proper word for describing what Norah rapidly was becoming. ; From Delia the tattle-tale, Norah had just now heard whispered things. She was sitting at ease, resting after an arduous spell of labors, but about her were signs and portents —small repressed signs but withal significant. The lips tightly were compressed; one toe tapped the floor with an ominous little tattoo; through the clenched teeth she made a low, steady, wasp-like humming noise; in the eyes smoldered and kindled a hostile bale. It was plain that before long Norah would herself be moved to utterance. She did but bide her time. However, as stated, Ditto could not see. He proceeded to carry on: ‘No nonsens€ abaht ’im, I tell you. Knows wot ’e wants and speaks up and arsks for it, stryte out. (Concluded on page 110) tio

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What more exquisite way of emphasizing your individual charms? ” 4 - GIARDINI (newest) $9.50, $12 AMBRE DE DELHI $2.75, $7, $9, $12 LIGEIA $2.75, $7, $9.50, $10 MING $2.75, $6.50, $9, $9.50 AFGHANI $2.75, $7, $9, $9.50 CHYPRE $2.75, $7, $9, $12.50 SOUSOUKI . 2.75, $6.50, $9, $12 JASMIN DE COREE $2.75, $6.50, $8.50, $9.50 YASMAK $2.75, $7, $9.50, $12 Babani Perfumes are on sale at the Salons of Elizabeth Arden—at the big 5th Avenue stores—and at more than 1200 smart shops all over the world . BABAN) Perfumes of Paris Presented by ELIZABETH ARDEN DE CAMERON, INC., 681 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK EXCLUSIVE AGENTS FOR BABANI IN AMERICA ‘HANDS Irvin ACROSS S. Caves HARPER’S BAZAR THE SEA Story (Concluded from page 108) EVERAL of Mrs. Gridley’s specimen rose- bushes served somewhat to break the force of Mr. Boyce-Upchurch’s crash, though their intertwining barbed fronds sorely scratched him here and there as he plunged through to earth. He struck broadside in something soft and gelatinous. Dazed and shaken, he somehow got upon his feet and first he disentangled himself from the crushed- down thorny covert and then he felt himself all over to make sure no important bones were broken. Very naturally, the thought next uppermost with him, springing forward in his mind through a swirl of confused emotions, was to reenter the house and return, without de- tection, to his room. He darted up the front porch steps and tried the front door. It was barred fast. He tried the windows giving upon the porch; their blinds were drawn, latched from within. Out again in the storm he half circled the main body of the house, fumbling in the cloaking blackness at yet more snugly fast- ened windows. An unbelievable, an appalling, an incredible conviction began to fasten its horrid talons upon Mr. Boyce-Upchurch. He could not get in without arousing some one, and certainly in this, his present state, he dared not arouse any one in order to get in. Yet he must get in. Desperation, verging already on despair, mounted in his swirling brain. Past a jog in the side wall he saw, thirty feet on beyond and checkering through some lattice-work, a foggy shaft of light from a rain- washed window. As cautiously he moved toward it a taut obstacle in the nature of a cord or small hawser rasped him just under the nose, and, shrinking back, he was aware of a ghostly white article swinging gently within arm-reach of him. Partly by touch, partly by sight, he made out its texture— woven linen or cotton cloth, limp and clammy with wetness—and he made out its contours; divined likewise its customary purposes. At home a few old-fashioned ladies still were addicts; he recognized the pattern. In emergency it would provide partial covering— of asort. Most surely this was an emergency. And yet— As he hesitated, with tentative fingers still pawing the sopping shape of it, and torn between a great loathing and a great compel- ling temptation, a sound of a human voice penetrated the clapboards alongside him and caused him to cower down close. a OGGONE it!” Mr. Braid, bearing in one hand a brace of varnished boots of Regent Street manufacture, stumbled over a sharp-cornered object in the inky darkness of the cuddy behind the living-room and barked his shins, and his cry was wrung with anguish. “Doggone it!” he repeated, communing with himself. ‘‘Who’s gone and hid the infernal electric light in this infernal Mam- moth Cave of a storeroom? And where in thunder is that box of polish and that blacking brush? I’m sure I saw ’em here the other day on one of these dad-blamed shelves. Ouch!” His exploring arm had brought what from weight and impact might have been an iron crowbar to clatter down upon his shoulders. As a matter of fact, it was the discarded handle of a patent detachable mop. “Oh, damn!” soliloquized Mr. Braid. “Everything else in the condemned world is here but what I’m after. And I haven’t got any matches and I can’t find the light bulb. Maybe Norah or Delia’ll know.” He backed out of the cavernous closet into the hall, heading for the kitchen by way of the intervening pantry. HAT vocal threat of peril from within diminished, died out. Mr. Boyce-Up- church straightened himself, and in that same instant, piercing the night from a distance but drawing nearer, came to his dripping ears the warning of a real and an acute danger. A dog—a very large and a very fierce dog, to judge by its volume of noise output ail coming toward him from the right and coming very swiftly. S The Thwaites’ police dog, born in Germany but always spoken of by its owners as Belgian was the self-constituted night guard of alj premises in the entire block. To her vigilant senses suspicions of a prowler abroad had floated out of the void. Baying, belling, she was now bounding across lots to investi- gate. With a frenzied snatch, Mr. Boyce-Up- church tore the pendant flapping thing free from its clothes-pin moorings and he thrust his two legs into its two legs and convulsively he clutched its hemmed girth about his middle and forgetting ali else save that a menacing monster was almost upon him breathing its hot panted breaths upon his flinching rear. e flung himself headlong toward that sheltering entryway whence the blurry radiance poured. NLARGING upon his subject, stepped into the kitchen. “‘As I was syin’ a bit ago, tyke Mr. Boyce- Upchurch,” he continued. “Look at ‘im, I arsk you. Poise, composture, dign ty—that’s ’im agyne! It’s qualities like them as mykes the English wot they are the ’ole world over. It’s—” ‘Saints defind us!’ shrieked Norah, start- ing up. In through the back door burst Mr. Boyce- Upchurch, and slammed it to behind him and backed against it, and for a measurable space stood there speechless, transfixed as it were, being, in a way of speaking, breeched but otherwise completely uncovered excepting for certain clingy smears of compost—compost is the word we will use, please—upon the face and torso. Delia’s scream was just a plain scream, but Norah’s further outcry took on the form of articulated words: “Proud, sez you? Yis, too proud to sup our cocktails, but not too proud to be ram- pagin’ around in the rain turnin’ somersaults in somebody’s cow-yard. Dignified, you sez? Yis, too dignified to ate the vittles I was after fixin’ fur him, but not too dignified to come l’apin’ in on two dacint women wearin’ nothin’ only a pair of somebody’s—whooroo, whooroo—it’s me own best Sunday pair he’s wearin’!”’ On the linoleum of the butler’s pantry behind them Mr. Oliver Braid laid him down, holding in either hand a Regent Street boot and uttered gurgling sounds denoting a beautiful joy. Ditto From the American of July 22: Among the passengers sailing to-day on the Mulrovia for Southampton was Mr. Jeffrys Boyce-Upchurch, the well-known English novelist, returning home after suddenly breaking off his lecture tour in this country on account of lameness resulting from a severe fall which he is reported to have had less than a week ago while filling an engagement in New Jersey. Mr. Boyce-Upchurch declined to see the reporters desirous of questioning him regarding the accident. Walking with a pro- nounced limp, he went aboard early this morning and remained secluded in his state- room until sailing time. From the Times, same date, under Situa- tions Wanted: BUTLER, English, unimpeachable _ ref- erences, long experience, perfectly qualified, desires employment in cultured household, city preferred. Positively will not accept position where other servants are Irish. Address: L. D., General Delivery.

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112 ihe ste te tte he ee Ne 0 | NE of the very few perfumes acceptable to the woman of gen- uine social distinction is Rigaud’s Un Air Embaumé, an authentic and most intriguing Parisian fragrance. [ And the prices are not as high as you would expect. | RI aMNe, UGE TT 4 nveg MONE, Us ae © What a whale of a difference just a few cents make HARPER’S BAZAR THE GREAT PANDOLFO William J. Locke’s Novel (Continued from page 67) cut down her expenses to a limit he could not yet define? If he could not make the money, she must make it herself. The tables seemed the most certain way. And she would have made it had it not been for the dark league of devils aforesaid. She had kept a few hundred francs. The good angels battling on her side had thrust her into the room that morning and had temporarily prevailed over the Powers of Darkness, seeing that she had come out with twelve thousand francs. Pandolfo drank his Martini. ‘What have you been playing? Not this morning—but before?” “‘ Trente et quarante.” “The great game? Maximums?” She confessed. It was the only way to make the fortune she required. ““When you left me,” said he, “we calcu- lated that you would have enough, in ready money at the bank, to live on comfortably for at least a year. You yourself suggested a sum.” “And you increased it. I can’t accuse you of lack of generosity,”’ she conceded. He bowed acknowledgment. “And all that has gone?” “Yes, it’s gone. Beyond my twelve thou- sand francs I haven’t a penny. Oh, I know I’ve played the fool. I’m grateful to you for not cursing me.” “Who could curse on such a morning and in such pleasant surroundings?” He glanced round and catching sight of a city acquaintance some few tables away, smiled and swept a hand of greeting. “You’re resolved,” she said bitterly, “that no one should suspect you of being other than the perfect galantuomo.” “But am I not, my dear Nesta?” said he, with a laugh. She pushed away her plate. “‘How you can eat, I don’t know.” “I’m hungry and food is good and the sun is shining and I have faith in my power to survive any catastrophe.” HE shrugged her shoulders, made a pre- tense of picking at the next dish to which she was served. But, aware of the importance of flaunting, before this gay social world around them, her cordial relations with her husband, she divagated into the gossip of the place, named the people who were there, talked distractedly of the hotel. Then re- turned to her last amazing run of ill-luck. It had created a small sensation. The wretched papers had got hold of it. She said devastating things about newspapers. He agreed that sometimes they missed the finer shades of tact and discretion. As she knew, they had been busy for some time with his own affairs. At last, hunger satisfied, a cigar between his lips and a glass of old Armagnac before him, he said: ‘“‘ A telegram would have brought you funds for immediate necessities. A letter would have explained your—may I say so—la- mentable position. Unless there is some- thing you’ve not yet told me, why bring me here?” He held out a match across the table to light the cigaret which shook ever so slightly between her fingers. “I don’t know whether it’s cruel or con- siderate of you to make me say everything to you here.” He bent forward. ‘“Can’t you, of all people, realize that the Englishman is some- times afraid of the Neapolitan? What else has happened?” “Well— Can't you see, I’m penniless?” “At a pinch, there are your jewels—” She looked away from him. ‘They’ve been stolen. I’ve been robbed.” He laid down his cigar and contemplated her fragile fairness and falseness. The ad- justment of his mind to hers took some moments. He shook his head. “Do you still, after all this time, take me for a fool? If you had been robbed, that is the first frantic news you would have given me. Why more lies? Didn’t we agree the night before you left London that we should be done with them?” HERE she sat opposite to him, pink and fair and powdered and rouged and penciled, all in discreet accordance with modern conven- tion. She was a beautiful woman of her type, irreproachably dressed, and, but for a certain air of distinction, would have passed _un- noticed among the hundred women of all ages similarly made up and attired, who took part in that cool pageant of idleness. Noth- ing about her to betray the woman that he had long since known her to be. Her dark- blue eyes beamed candor, and the little crisscross lines of anxiety beneath them were all but massaged away; her lips and teeth when she smiled were those of a girl. Who could remark the flash of hardness, the twist of cruelty? She was as fair now as on that first day when he met her on the steamer’s deck. And she lied now as she had lied then. But in those early days she had some object— marriage with a man in good position. Had she, in manner no matter however grandly heroic, revealed to him the blatant truths of her past life, he would never have married her. In self-defense she had flung the fact at him some time since, and he had yielded. Daugh- ter of Hagar, although self-constituted, she was within her rights. Caveat emptor. He had found it in his heart to forgive her. His recognition did not restore romantic passion; but it provided a basis of life. His sole stipu- lation was that there should be no more lies. pan now came this absurd, this idiotic false- 0 “THEY'RE pawned,” she said, “at half, quarter their value. Isn’t that robbery? I didn’t want to sell them outright. I hoped to make enough to get them back. . . .” ““You’re a woman of many phases,” said he after a while. “This is my first introduc- tion to you as a gambler.” “T’ve gambled with life since I was a school- girl. You, too, have gambled with life. You ought to understand. You say you’re down and out. I’m down and out. What’s the difference between us?” “T take your point,” said he. “TI agree that we're both adventurers. I used the word in its constricted sense—the local sense.” “Tn that sense, I’ve never gambled before. Not seriously.” “Why?” he asked gently. “It would be interesting to know.” She bit her lip. “A great intellect like yours ought to guess. Before I married you I had men either behind me or in prospect. I had no need to try to make money at gaming tables.” He swept a hand over his smooth bronze hair. “I am answered. I’m sorry. Unwit- tingly I opened a chapter that we agreed should be closed.” “Tt has got to be opened again, anyway,” she said after a pause. ‘I hate myself.” ““No, my dear Nesta, you hate me.” She drew a breath and looked around and leaned across the table. “T don’t. It’s myself. I know I’ve been a rotten wife to you; it’s because I’m not built that way. It’s my fault or my misfortune, whichever you like. But, for what it’s worth, I’ve been faithful to you. You must take that as truth. I have some sense of honor. That’s really why I asked you to come.” AN? while waiting for his reply, she pressed with peculiar care the stub of her cigaret against the ash-tray. “Tt goes without saying—the contrary idea is fantastically insulting—that I have held you above suspicion.” “‘Ceesar’s wife!”’ she checked a touch of the hysterical. ‘No, Victor—I was a fool to marry a man like you,” she continued, her eyes averted. “I ought to have known better. Oh, it’s a tribute to you and not a reproach. ‘ There are some women who are mergers and others who aren’t. I’m like you—a mergee.” She flashed a wry smile. “I've wanted everything—and I’ve had everything from men. Their lives, their interests haven't concerned me. .. . I thought you were like the others—in that way. You gave profusely —lI’m talking seriously for once, Victor. You gave like a god—but all the time, I felt the vast hand of the god over me, compelling me to him, to his personality, to his personal sphere, to something I didn’t care a hang about, to something I should never be able to appreciate or understand. I express myself badly. . . . I wanted all the things you ve given me, but as you couldn’t share them, what use have they been to me? Nothing. . . Oh, we've had all this out before. - - - “Perhaps not quite so openly, my dear Nesta,” said Pandolfo. He bent forward with the bottle of old Armagnac. “‘Just a tiny drop to deceive the gaping herd. They think I’m ruined. They know that you've lost what in their eyes constitutes a fortune at the (Continued on page I14) “Fit _

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Remember the name “KISLAV” when you ask to see them. .... BUSCARLET (Paris) Mfrs. DAVID & BLUM, Ine. 84 Madison Avenue, New York 942 P.K. 973 Hand-sewn All shades i FRANKLIN SIMON & CO. Sole Agents in NEW YORK 990 Tailored All shades j —— —_—__4 a | | | HARPER’S BAZAR THE GREAT PANDOLFO William J. Locke’s Novel (Continued from page 112) tables, and we’re objects of damnable inter- est. Put the glass again to your lips.” He bowed and smiled with uplifted glass and they seemed to pledge each other. “Tsn’t it great comedy?” She warmed to his words ‘Why the devil did I ever marry you? What a lover you would make!” She drank off her Armagnac with a little air of recklessness. “‘ Yes, you’re right. You have the faculty of always being right—up to a point. Your word ‘openly.’ It’s quite true. We can’t lose our tempers and make a scene. We can tell each other deadly things, with a sm‘le on our faces. And we've got to keep the smile. What were we saying? Oh, yes. Your life mattered nothing to me. And why? Because, my dear, I’m not a wife. Perhaps if we had had a child, things might have been different. But I doubt it. I very much doubt it. I’m the born cocotte. .. . “Oh, it’s no use your holding up polite hands. You’ve got the truth at last and you know it to be truth. I lay myself bare before you, Just as I’m not the woman to be wife or mother, I’m not either a Messalina, or one of the grandes amoureuses ... Manon Les- caut, La Dame aux Camellias—et cetera. That side of things is to me of the least im- portance. Oh—I don’t want to be physi- ological—you must know what I mean. Yet, you don’t. Men, even Great Pandolfos, are dense. How canI explain? There are certain queer men who can’t conceive any other way of earning their living than by hunting up genealogies in museums. It’s their trade decreed by the Almighty. So there are cer- tain queer women who are impelled to follow the oldest profession in the world. It’s God’s decree. They can’t help it. I’m one of them. There’s no question of religion, conscience, or morality. . . . Of course, for a woman and a wife to say such a thing to her husband across a luncheon table in the middle of all this sunshine and beauty seems the last word of cynicism. It may be—but at any rate, in my case, it’s truth. “When I married you, I thought I could retire. Like most other professions, it has its anxieties and its disillusions.’”’ She broke into a nervous laugh. ‘‘There is always the mirage of marriage before us, the almshouse for our old age. . . . With me, the devil of it was, that I wasn’t old enough. ...I was afraid and ran into the almshouse too soon. ... I’m sure you were right to have this talk out here. Within four walls—I shouldn’t like those twitching fingers of yours.” HE open-air restaurant began to thin. Already a trickle of idiot bees was dis- appearing into the hive across the way. The orchestra struck up its last number—a flam- ing jazz. “T still don’t know,” said Pandolfo, “why you asked me to come.” She regarded him anxiously. ““You’ve made no reply to what I’ve just told you. You’ve sat there, a man with a mask, a man I’ve never met before. I think I’ve shown myself to you as soul-naked as a woman can.” He threw his cigar away behind the screen of tubbed foliage. “What did you expect me to answer?” ** As you seem to be keeping hold over your- self, you might very politely tell me to go back to my métier and the place I belong to, and that you cursed the day you married me and so forth and so forth. And that you would welcome any opportunity I gave you for regaining your freedom. . . . You found me out very quickly. Whatever vou felt for me soon went. My fault, ladmit. We hated the sight and the sound of each other. Now I’ve told you the truth at last, as far as my brain can express truth—and that’s a very difficult thing for a woman like me—accus- tomed to run to earth at every sign of danger, instead of going the straight course—now I’ve confessed the mad fool I’ve been here and, as I said, stripped myself soul-naked, you must loathe me. Why don’t you say so? Then I'll know where I am.” Said he with a smile, “I’ve never admired you so much as at this moment.” She drew a short breath and looked from side to side in an odd way. “You've committed an act of amazing folly,” he continued. ‘But it was great folly.” He swept one of his big gestures. ‘For the first time you reveal yourself as a spacious human creature. Forgive me if I seem to be critical. Why have we never met before in this wide horizon? You’ve kept yourself cramped within narrow limits—why? You are capable of great things, if you only knew it.” “Because I’ve lost a fortune in a few weeks and confessed myself what I am?” “Precisely,” said he. She could not repress a wistful admiration in her eyes. ““You are magnificent!” He leaned back in his chair. “*So are you. Here we are facing the world without a penny piece between us. gamblers both.” He lit another cigar. The orchestra crashed out the final chords of the jazz tune and packed up their instruments. Pandolfo called the leader and gave him largesse. To-morrow would be ruin, stern and bleak. He would have fallen down from his high estate. But let him fall like Lucifer. He beckoned the waiter ready with folded bill on plate. Lar- gesse again. Nesta watched his superb dis- dain of economical pettiness. When the crowd of beneficiaries had bowed themselves away, she leaned again across the table. “Won’t you be frank with me—let me know the exact truth? You say you're ruined. What does it mean?” “Until I can come to a settlement with my creditors—the petition in bankruptcy will be presented very soon—I have only a few hundred pounds I can honestly call my own.” She lay back, white, half stunned. Her brain had not grasped the significance of the catastrophe. In a few words he sketched the situation. As they were meeting frankly for the first time since their relationship, it was right that she should know. She bent for- ward again, haggardly. “My God! Then what’s going to happen to me?” “What I have is yours,” said he, grandly. “Tt won’t keep you long in Monte Carlo. I should advise your living in retreat for a while—until things right themselves. If you’re big enough to live in a tiny way fora few months—a sacrifice, I admit—I am big enough to come to your aid and replace you in your position.” Great WAITER came up following the routine of changing the ash-laden plates. Pan- dolfo waved him away impatiently. By this time theirs was almost the only table oc- cupied. Nesta, struggling with new con- ceptions, made one or two vain attempts to speak. An unaccustomed lump in her throat choked her. At last— “You gave me a check for six thousand pounds. If you only have a few hundred now, you must have given me everything you had—” “T don’t count what I give,” said he. “It’s not my way.” “Tt isn’t. Now I know it. my God, what a fool I’ve been! Tell me, Victor. as one human soul to another, wouldn’t you like to get rid of me... to put me out of your life altogether? . . . On that voyage out you told me of a woman you were in love with. Paula Field. I came in as the consoler. One of the tricks of my trade. ... You know’ your Shakespeare.... It was only because Rosaline turned him down that Romeo took up with Juliet... . Oh, I know all about it. But I’ve never mentioned Rosaline, have I? At any rate, I've been discreet. I’ve heard vaguely about her. I’ve seen her once or twice. A beautiful statuesque woman....I can give you every just cause... it’s as easy as falling off a log.” He frowned and rose, and mechanically she rose too. “Let us walk a little. You’re losing self- control. There's another hour or two of sun- shine.” They descended, past the fountain, to the eastern end of the Casino Terrace, almost deserted in the afternoons. They stood by the parapet overlooking the railway line, with the green tiled, toy signal-box in front of them. “You can’t prevent me, if I choose to doit, she said at last. He took her somewhat roughly by the shoulders. ‘‘Do you think that I—I, Victor Pandolfo—am the man to accept that su- preme sacrifice?” ; She looked into his eyes with a faltering courage. “Is there another man in the world who would talk of what I mean as a sacrifice? But there would be none. I'd go back, of my own free choice, to my old life of luxury - - - which you can’t afford to give me any longer. He said: ‘For the last time, I tell you, don’t lie. You would never go back of your own choice. For the last two hours you ve shown yourself too big to do it.” “But if I did and gave you proof, you would divorce me,” she persisted. The man flamed and to her and to the blue Mediterranean and to the sedate uniformed gardicn, some twenty yards away, He thundered: ‘9 ” “ Too late. Oh, He made wild gestures, reverberating, “No.” Then he stood before her. “T give, but I don’t accept—least of all dishonor,” he declared dramatically. The weary-souled woman could not repress a smile of mockery. “The Old Guard dies but never surren- ders.” 3 His mood changed and he laughed: “Well, (Continued on page 116)

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It comes in the form of a delightful scented powder—all you need to do is to shake on ‘Bon Odor” in the morning and you will feel a wonderful re- lief from perspiration and body odors for at least twenty-four hours—Notice how differ- ent and cool you will feel even in the warmest days after you apply “‘ Bon Odor” —It is guaranteed not to harm the most deli- cate skin—applied on pimples, red skin, or eruptions, it will quickly heal them. YOU SHOULD NOT GO TO THE BEACH WITHOUT A CAN OF “BON ODOR” IN Broadway, N size sample of ‘* BON ODOR” and booklet. FREE COUPON No. 117 E SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH LABORATORIES a generous sample size 1841 > we Ga will be sent absolutely FREE to every reader of HARPER'S BAzAR—simply mail i You can buy it direct from the Scientific Research Laboratories, or ask your druggist to order it for you. sells for 50 cents a large-size Send me absolutely Free of charge one large- THE William J. Locke’s HARPER’S BAZAR GREAT PANDOLFO Novel (Continued from page 114) that’s the end of this foolery.” And he grew eloquent over the azure of sea and sky as they strolled along. They emerged into the Casino Square. He pointed to the steps of the room and the three mean little entrance doors. He pointed carelessly. “Don’t go in them again.” He felt his hand by her side seized for an instant in a nervous grip. “Never again. I promise.” “Good,” said he. Then he returned to a previous phase of thought. ‘I should have loved to see you playing the great game and losing a fortune. It appeals to me. It’s immense.” She upturned a wistful face. ‘I wish to God I could do something really big—to help you.” . With a wave of both arms he said: “Just be big. It’s being and not doing that matters.” Her shoulders moved helplessly. “Tf only I had taken the trouble to know you a year ago. I’ve been a fool. Things night have been so different. I should have been by your side, helping you, encouraging you, comforting you, in the way ordinary women do, when their men are up against it.” “Every human being’s a foo!; but it doesn’t do to saturate oneself with the consciousness of it. It leads to morbidness.” They sat once more, this time on one of the benches by the circular garden, at the other end of which a nondescript seedy man was absorbed in penciling calculations in a dirty note-book. Pandolfo said: “Even now you haven’t told me why you sent for me.” She opened her bag, as though to draw out mirror and powder puff, and then shut it. A maneuver for the gaining of a fraction of time. “Surely it was enough. I was without a sou and awfully afraid. And I wanted some kind of talk with you. As far as I’m con- cerned, you’ve done infinitely more than I had hoped for. I see my way clear now, thanks to your goodness. I swear I'll not give you any more trouble than I can help.” “Are you sure you don’t need me any longer?” “Quite sure, Victor. You’ve eased my mind. You’ve given me something—” she laughed somewhat nervously, “‘something to live for. I'll disappear to-morrow into one of the little country places about here, Sospel, where your friend the maitre d’hétel comes from, and live cheaply on my twelve thousand francs and what you can afford to send me. I'll try to begin to be big by being little. You can trust me.” “T can trust you,” said he gravely. He looked up at the Casino clock. ‘In this happy case, I can go back to London with a free mind. . . .” She proclaimed genuine concern. This dreadful journey just for two or three hours’ talk? “Could we say more in twenty-three?” twenty-two or E EXPLAINED the delicate position ot a man about to be declared bankrupt. Already he had taken a certain risk. Should she need his presence, he would take more. But the saving of twenty-four hours was im- portant. He would take the Blue Train, due in twenty minutes. Just time to get his bag from the Hotel de Paris and walk down to the station. He leaped to his feet, and with an apology, left her and strode into the hotel. Presently he reappeared. “We might be strolling down. The bag follows.” “But you haven’t a berth on the Blue Train.” ‘“That’s a matter of no importance what- ever,” said he, enjoying, perhaps for the last time, the delightful sweets of power. She accompanied him to the railway station. A letter shown to the chef de train procured bowing assurance of the utmost possible being done for his accommodation. Before mount- ing to the carriage, he bent down and kissed her. She flushed and looked at him somewhat bewildered. The great gleaming train of luxury moved out of the station and she waved a rag of a handkerchief to the signaling hat until it disappeared. ABEAVILY built man of fleshy good-looks standing on the steps of the Hotel de Paris advanced to meet her as she entered the square from the Casino Terrace. ‘*What’s he doing here?” he asked abruptly. “Nothing. He’s just gone.” “Then what was he doing?” “T sent for him—to tell him,” she replied defiantly. ‘He seems to have taken it pretty casually.” “‘T didn’t tell him.” The man laughed in derision. “Of all the feminine contradictiousness! Thought better of it at the last minute. Well, you’re wise. Let’s go into the Sporting Bar and have a drink and talk it over.” “There’s nothing to talk over,” said Nesta, “and I’m not going into the Sporting Club,” ’ Mr. Monte Dangerfield stuck his hands in his pockets and straddled, like Apollyon across the way, for she would have passed out “No, no, my dear Nesta, let us have this out. It isn’t as if we were strangers. We've been excellent pals for a long time—and you know the kind of man I am... .” “T certainly do,” she said. “Good. No need for frills on either side I’ve made you a perfectly sound offer, I've been wanting to make it for months, but I’ve not had an opportunity. Now the oppor- tunity’s come. I’m a man of the world, my dear, and not amug. And you yourself. . . » “Better leave my description out of the story,” she put in, with a glint in her eyes “In a man of the world it’s a want of tact.” She clenched her hands at the insult of his laugh, as he made rejoinder. “Well, old girl. There’s my offer. You can take it or leave it. Only you know what leaving it means. I repeat, I’m not a mug.” “You can do what you like.” “You refuse?” we ag He withdrew his hands from his pockets, “Come, come,” said he. “Be sensible. I know that Pandolfo hasn’t a bean, and you don’t care a tuppenny damn for him.” ~ “‘That’s where you make your mistake,” she retorted, ‘‘I’d give my soul for him.” “Since when?” “Since I made up my mind not to tell him. And now I’ve had as much as I can stand. Let me pass.” “Tl give you to the end of the week to think it over.” You can give me till the Day of Judgment, and I sha’n’t change.”’ “Then you take the consequences, my dear.” : He lifted his hat with ironical politeness and she hurried away. Hours afterwards she was still sitting in her hotel room staring at the mad ruin of her life. She magnified to divine dimensions the man’s vast and comprehending forgiveness. At each recurrent memory of his farewell kiss, the helpless tears streaked her face. [It WAS Spencer Babington who first brought the news to Paula, contained in a cutting or two from financial newspapers; the real story of the liquidation of the Paulinium Steel Company, Limited. All the shares of the concern had been bought up by the Chairman and Managing Director, Sir Victor Pandolfo, who henceforward was solely responsible. ‘““What does it mean?” she asked. “Bedlam,”’ said he. He expounded to her the immunity of shareholders and even directors under the Limited Liability Companies Act. Except in case of fraud, directors, too, went off scot- free. Here there could be no charge against Pandolfo. He hated the man, she knew, his cock-sureness, his boastfulness, his way of wiping people off the earth. But to the devil is due. About this particular devil there was a splendid craziness. When Spencer had gone, she rang up Gregory whose time for deserting Mr. Micaw- ber had not yet arrived. Would he dine with her? He regretted the impossibility, as Pan- dolfo was arriving that evening from Monte Carlo. She made a puzzled calculation. “‘Why, he must have only spent a few hours there.” ““You know what he is,”’ said Gregory. She dined alone and sat down to her writing. About ten o’clock the telephone rang. Greg- ory declared himself free. Pandolfo, dog- tired, had gone to bed with a novel. Could he come round? He came. She showed him the cuttings that Spencer had left. Why hadn’t he told her? “T thought you knew. The first paragraph was spite. He suspected that dreadful fellow Joram, the secretary, who naturally had lost his job. But it was contradicted immedi- ately—the real reasons for liquidation being given. That’s why Pandolfo’s going through the bankruptcy court,” said he. He gave her to understand that there had been a devil of a to-do. The Board of Direc- tors, led on by the aforesaid Joram and Inn- water, had conspired together to accuse him of fraudulent representation. They talked loudly of prosecution. ‘The infamy of it!” cried Paula. [Iz WAS then, Gregory continued, that ; Pandolfo had made his indignant offer. He could only guess at the scene, not having been present, and only having learned what happened from a furiously inarticulate master. They had but to name the price they set upon their shares and he would buy them all out, paying up the extra liability per unpaid share. The shares, as Paula knew, were 4 privately held—not quoted—not in reach of the general public. The Board itself, (Continued on page 117) Pes g3aQq.0 36238 Ss" ct of ee >» => "wos Sa" reo wees 3s =O oh

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ORAL for AUGUST 1925 THE GREAT PANDOLFO William J. Locke’s Novel (Continued from page 116) including Pandolfo, held them all. As far as Gregory gathered, Pandolfo had arisen in his wrath and clubbed them right and left. Sooner poverty or death than an impugnment of his honor. He had come to them with the certainty, as far as human things can be certain, of a vast fortune. He had swept them up into the Empyrean of his vision. (“Pandolfo’s words to me,” said Gregory.) But above all human things was an inscrutable God—and the same God who had decreed that the revered and inno- cent ancestors of Mr. Mosenheim (one of the directors) should hang up their harps by the waters of Babylon, had now closed the seam of the precious ore which was the basis of Paulin- ium. Who were they to defy a decree of the Almighty? Some one—obviously a profane and atheistical person—retorted that if it hadn’t been for his misplaced confidence in a notori- ously untrustworthy deity, they wouldn’t have lost their money. They would not lose their money, thundered Pandolfo. He _ himself would pay for his visions. All his life long he had caused no man the loss of a penny. He had given and not taken. (‘‘You can hear him saying it,”’ said Gregory.) What did they consider a fair price? One or two (‘‘Noble fellows,”’ said Pandolfo) were for going into Iquidation as a company and getting what they could out of the bricks and mortar of the immense Staffordshire works. But the majority decided on acceptance of Pandolfo’s offer. And so, after much wrangling in which Pandolfo’s solicitor, fully authorized, took a leading part—Pandolfo having grandly left the room as one who scorned the haggling ways of men—a price per share was agreed upon. To pay them, he had sacrificed practically all that remained of his private fortune. He possessed, as far as Gregory knew, apart from his interests in former inventions, the worthless business of Paulinium Limited, the small Bermondsey experimental factory, the Staffordshire works, his house, pictures, and cars. And his liabilities were colossal. He was filing his own petition in bankruptcy. “My father’s a shareholder,” said Paula. “The only one, then, outside the ring; but he'll be paid the fixed price.” He smiled. “These things can’t be done in a couple of days.’ She brightened. After all her father would be able to continue to pay the interest. Then her brow clouded again, when she recalled the details of the lunatic agreement. She shook a head lost in fog. ND Pandolfo? Apart from being dog- tired, how was he? Gregory reported a radiant and a hungry man. He was full of his experiences in the train during the preceding night. This time there was really not a vacant berth. An attendant put his own end berth at his disposal. Rob the poor fellow of his few hours sleep? Never, Pandolfo had cried, slipping into his hand, however, the hundred francs for which he had been willing to barter his night’s rest. He had sat on the seat at the end of the corridor and schemed out a new electric lift that would knock out of existence all the elevators in the universe. “He drew diagrams on the table-cloth be- tween mouthfuls,” said Gregory. He had drunk a glass of port—‘ the last of the ’7o perhaps, my boy, I'll be able to allow myself,”’ risen, stretched himself, yawned vastly and gone to bed with the latest novel of Monsieur Gaston Leroux. Not a word about Lady Pandolfo, save the curtest answer to conventional inquiry. She was perfectly well, enjoying the serener atmos- phere of the Midi. ‘He must have gone on purpose to see her,” said Paula. “Who knows, dearest of ladies, the purposes of Pandolfo?” To both of them, the chosen and intir;*t¢ disciple and the woman around whom ve had woven the spell of his vitality, he ymained the Great Sphinx. : After Gregory had gone, Paula tied to construct him as a definite entit-> & See him in the round, so to speak, as 2° could see her father, Spencer Babingt-» ‘ lara Demeter, Gregory... . Apart #om that secret and inscrutable chambe 0f the soul, whose mys- tery murderer ax saint hold in common, all these were comprehensible human beings. Their attit-~¢ toward life was obvious to the most a.feless observer; they trod, each in his owl direction, a beaten path; for most of their actions she could predicate the motive; in any emergency she coud, without claim to in- fallibility, predict wiat they would do. Her mind, instinctively pychological, and further trained by the hard =xperimental work that every novelist must :o through in order to make men and womn emerge, with some semblance of life, fron the mere black print on the cold white papr, could classify them all into type categories. There were hundred. of Claras, hundreds of Spencers, hundreds ¢ elderly ex-dragoons, hundreds—she had tozonfess—of Gregory Uglows. But not a conceivable pigeonhole for Pandolfo. She could relate him with nothing in her experience. He defied the typical comparison, whereby one arrives at one’s concept of another fellow-creature. She had to draw upon the past, to set up by his side the mystifying figures of the Italian Renaissance; the great princes who lived gaily under the imminent peril of the assassin, unscrupulous as every prince adventurer must be in self-defense; who gave their artistic soul to the poet or the painter and expressed the gift in lavish generosity; who, despising meanness as they despised cowardice, show- ered their bounty far and wide; feasted joy- ously on peacocks (flaunting, tail-bedecked and imagination stirring, though damnably tough birds) and on wine drunk from golden goblets chased by artists of genius who pul- sated with all the noble emotions; while, im- mediately below the stone flags of the proud vaulted hall, a gentleman whom they hap- pened to dislike sat in chains, in a filthy, cold, dark dungeon, covered with sores, eaten up by vermin, munching, so as to keep another day’s undesirable life in him, a crust of moldy bread. ANDOLFO himself, swaggering over his spiritual ancestor, the Great Pandolfo of Rimini, had evoked the comparison. It was true that Pandolfo would not feast callously above the tortured body of his enemy. The centuries had wiped thoughtless cruelty out of human nature. Cruelty survives as a rare vice. The old taint survived in him only as a phenomenon of reaction. Once, to hurt was an assertion of power. Pandolfo’s assertion was the converse. Yet translate the magnifi- cent and esthetic sensuality of the Italian prince into terms of equally magnificent al- truistic egotism, and you had Pandolfo, a vague figure all the same, whom she could not divest of Wardour Street trappings. That was the nearest she could get to him. And all this romantic Renaissance conception became abortive when she remarked his origin. On one side, the scum of Naples; on the other the solid yeoman stock of his mother, the virtuous English housemaid in a solid English family. No, neither to type present nor past, could she relate him. He was a being apart, incalcul- able, fantastic, according to her standard of normality. Who could gauge his purposes? Even now she could not comprehend his inevitable fall. He loomed before her, im- mense. The next day she saw Clara Demeter, and told her of her abduction at the hands of Pandolfo and his renewed declaration of their indissoluble destinies. Cried Clara, buxom, incarnation of com- mon sense, “‘What’s the man playing at? Is he going to divorce or kill his wife, or does he expect you to go off with him, disregarding her existence altogether?” Paula didn’t know. She must leave the solution to the future. In the meantime it behooved her to stand by his side in his hour of need. “T could never make out whether you cared for him or whether you didn’t,” said Lady Demeter. Paula clasped helpless hands on her ™P- “There are times when I feel I could g'¥© UP the whole world for him.” : Clara hinted that, if she had ac up to this sentiment a couple of years ~£0, she might have avoided the present cefplication. Paula went away, rather se~ 4t Clara’s lack of intelligent sympathv T LAST «me the public crash, the cul- mip~10n of weeks of underground work- ing, ©he press howled over the fall of the (rst Pandolfo. It proclaimed him the orld’s greatest fool. His liabilities were enormous. All his possessions were swept automatically into the administrative hands of an official. House, pictures, furniture, cars, factories, securities, patents, all passed out of his control. He seemed, so far as Paula could understand, to be caught in an inextricable web of legal complications. He dashed in to see her, in response to a letter of sympathy. “Ves, I’ve failed. But what a colossal failure!’”” He was proud of it. “And it’s not I—” he touched heart and brain—“that am responsible. I’m but a victim of the irony of the High Gods. This bursting of the dam that they have ordained has swept every- thing away for the moment. I stand up penniless, liable to criminal prosecution, if I order two or three suits of clothes from my tailor. Ican only enjoy the phantasmagorica\ grotesqueness of the situation. For daily bread I am dependent on the charity of my creditors. Perhaps not exactly that. They’re ravenous for golden eggs, so they can’t kill the goose. They must let me go on with my laying. But, my dear, the humor of it!” He laughed aloud, as though the High Gods had played him the silliest trick, not realizing that before they had come to the end of their mirth, he would get the better of them. 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Simply dissolve Florazona in our bath. Stay in for fifteen minutes; and om 8 ounces to 1 pound of weight melts away FLORAZONA Absolutely Harmless Physicians, nurses, and thousands of delighted users recommend this matural way to reduce. Florazona contains no epsom salts, no alum Absolutely pure and harmless. Simple, safe, sure, matural. Convince yourself that Florazona will reduce your weight 8 to 15 pounds in only two weeks! 14 treatments only $3.50 postpaid. At drug and department stores, or direct. Money-Back Guarantee aadres® cw: THE GREAT PANDOLFO William J. @eeke’s Novel (Continued from page 117) “T’ve never had an invention fail in my life,” he declared. ‘‘With proved material, of course. I’ve half a dozen roughly worked out, which the necessary concentration on Paulinium has not allowed me to perfect. I’m a free man now. I can snap my fingers at the High Gods. I am still young. I was born to fortune and the great things of the earth, and in another year or two everything will be mine again.” He took her by the elbows and held her with his eyes. “You believe me.” She said: “ Yes, you are unconquerable.” “I’m the most hopelessly ruined man on God’s earth. Do I look like it?” She cried idiotically: ‘No. You look like a god.” He flung his arm round her and kissed her on the mouth. “You're mine, as I always told you.” He drew her to the sofa, sat by her side and poured out rhapsody into her enchanted ear. His marriage. Had she herself not analyzed the whole human condition? There was no such thing as love between them. Yet she, too, his wife, was a woman of great nature. She had offered to set him free. He had re- fused. Neither he nor his Paula would ac- cept such a gift of dishonor. She sat, her senses awakened, her mind half | numbed, close by his side, encircled in his em- brace, her head on his shoulder. It was her first physical surrender. “Tf you only had been a little patient and waited for me,” she said. “I did once offer to marry you.” He started round and his grip grew tighter. “When? Good God, when?” GHE told him the history of the cable. He leaped to his feet and clapped his hands to his head. Of all the insensate fools! He de- served everything. Then he turned on Greg- ory. How dared he suppress the message? “How dared he save it for you without consulting me? To have given it to you would have been monstrous.” “That's true. That’s true.” He strode about the room. At last he stood before her, with his usual gesture of out- stretched arms, and his face illuminated by sudden inspiration. “Don’t you see? That makes it all the more imperative. You've confessed at last.” “T suppose so,” she said. He cried triumphantly. position at all about it.” She smiled helplessly. “What do you want me to do?” “What I want is that you should defy the world and come with me and that, together, we should rebuild the great names Pandolfo and Paola... . In that way we can make reparation to a woman We have wronged. We can then give her her freeduy,” “It seems impossible that a Woman whom you married should not love you. How could she help it? Are you sure?” “T am sure,” he said. ‘‘Our life togecher has been a chronicle of unhappiness. My late hurried visit to her revealed to me an unsuspected nobility of character—but love— no. It’s on account of that nobility that you and I must give, not she.” Only then did she realize, with startling suddenness, the vast scope of his demand! She clapped her hands before her eyes and sprang to her feet “There’s no sup- “This kind of talk is horrible.” “Tt’s frank and honest,” said he, “and it’s big talk—talk that the little people couldn’t understand.” All the traditions of her blood rebelled; the blood of the Veresys who had for centuries been too proud to do anything significant. Sheer blood instinct spoke. “T don’t see it. Why should I be dragged through the mud, when there’s a woman, on your own showing—and on hers—to whom mud doesn’t matter—who’s perfectly willing togive you cause—call it only technical cause?” “She’s not willing. She holds my name and her position in honor. She would sacri- fice herself as an act of expiation, God forgive me, for the wrong she thinks she has done me. As I said before, you and I, Victor and Paula, can’t accept that. Ah, no!” E TOWERED above her, dramatically. Then, as she sat with bowed head, he yielded. ‘Yes. Isee that is more than I dare ask. I, too, can give technical cause without there being a breath on your fair name. Nowa- days there’s no need to flog a woman with a horsewhip or desert her . . . one formal offense is enough. What does the ha’porth of scandal matter to me? I’m drenched in scandal of another sort already. But all who know me, even my enemies, will recognize a technicality. No one can point at me and say, ‘I knew all along he was a man of disso- lute life.’” She shivered at the cold vulgarity of the proposal. “It seems more horrid than the other idea.”’ He flung his arms wide: ‘Then what the devil are we going to do? There’s only the other alternative.” A hand clasped on breast. that,” she said. But when he sprang forward, after the way of men, to seal the wondrous bargain in an embrace, she thrust both hands forward to keep him off. “Please go, Victor, please go. alone to think.” He mastered her wrists. “Thought is the curse of happiness. Any- body can think himself into hell in half an “T’d sooner I must be hour. I don’t ask you to think. I want you to feel. That’s all that matters in the world.” Her superb body grew limp and she shook an averted head. “T wish to God I could. Let me go, please. . . » It’s uncomfortable, my dear. ... Yes, your holding me makes me rebellious. I’m a woman accustomed to freedom. There—” when he had released her—‘‘that’s better. We can talk like reasonable beings.” “T’ve never talked like a reasonable being in my life,” he declared. ‘What I’ve been telling you now isn’t reasonable. To all intents and purposes, I’m a penniless adventurer. I come to the Queen of Women and I say, ‘Join with me in my fortunes to come.’ It’s divine unreason. But it’s for you to reply.”’ She laughed, bewildered. ‘““To-morrow—or the day after—give me i to get the divine unreason into my head.” SD stood before him in an attitude of dis- missal 4th commanding and imploring. He could not ut obey. aa ll come 1., your answer to-morrow,” he Sé . (To be concluded ~, she September issue) The School Department of Har per’s Bazar will supply you, upon request, with a list of the best schools which, even at this late date, can still take a few more students. These schools have the distinction of being especially recommended as the finest of their kind to be found anywhere. a selection from this highly recommenced list. You will ve better satisfied to make Write for it to Kenneth W. Chambers, 119 West oth Street, New York City. HARPER’S BAZAR Heautifia ¥ eller shoppes to Sq show you A iss) a Ne 29 ret QVCO Re side by side with the hand made. (onomical aunder Perfectly lways Tdeautiful > POINT DE PARIS BINCHE VALS C) BZ be by} é. i BIRKIN AND COMPANY NEW YORK,N.% Exquisite Anita Stewart, posed in a double Pon- tiac Strain silver fox neckpiece. 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Harper’s’ Bazar has made arrange- ments sothat charge customers simply telephone and have the Harper’s Bazar sent to them and charged exactly in the same way that you’d or- der a bottle of your favorite perfume or a new book by an author you like. may new So, around the first of each month, Just Telephone and Say, ‘‘Send me Harper’s Bazar and Charge It.’’ | friends in Cuba. THE LIFE OF EDGAR SALTUS By Mr. Saltus met at a dinner party a married woman, a Mrs. A—. well known, wealthy, once divorced, and the heroine of many romances. She took one look at the “ Pocket Apollo” and decided that she had met her fate. During this interval Mr. Saltus had become engaged to Miss Elsie Smith—a talented and | charming high-bred girl belonging to one of | the oldest New York families—and as he | expected to marry her the following year he | was not seeking an affair. Seeking or not, the | affair followed him, and was the cause, in- | direct but unmistakable, of the wrecking of | what might have been a happy life with his second wife. Quoting Mr. Saltus, it began in this way: The day after the dinner, while serving tea in his rooms to his fiancée, a knock came at the door. That was unprecedented. No one was better barricaded against intrusion than he. Not only were lift-men and bell-boys well paid, but instructed in a law more drastic than that of the Medes and Persians. It was to the effect that the people he wanted to see he would arrange to have reach him. Others who called, no matter whom or what their errand, were to be told that he was in conference with an Archbishop. If they still persisted they were to be told that he was dead. By what guue, subterfuge, or bribe Mrs. A— had turned the trick Mr. Saltus had forgotten. After repeated knocking he decided to go to the door, which he did, with hell-fire in his eyes, as his fiancée stepped behind a portiére. Determined to throttle the intruder he flung open the door. Cool and fresh as a gardenia, Mrs. A— walked in. It was an awkward moment. In that instant he no doubt remembered some of the careless com- pliments of the night before. Going up to him, Mrs. A— looked into his eyes and said: ‘*T love you, and I have come to tell you of it. Dine with me to-night.” That was more awkward still. Even his ingenuity was taxed. Kissing her hand, telling her that she had dragged him from the heroine of a novel so abruptly that he was not normal, and promising to dine with her that evening, he bowed her out. No one else could have managed it so cleverly. The lady of the first part then reappearing, he laughed. Telling her that his promise to Mrs. A— was the only way of sending her off, he sat down at once and wrote her a letter saying that it would be impossible for him to dine with her after all. This he gave to his fiancée and asked her to send it by a messenger on her way home. T WAS well done. Knowing that his mail was bursting with letters from love-sick women, knowing also that no scrap-book, however large, could hold the letters, locks of hair, and photographs, that poured in on him daily, and accepting it as a part of a literary man’s life, she accepted this as well. They laughed over the episode and brushed it aside. As a matter of fact, Mr. Saltus played fair. He did not go to dine, but as soon as he was alone, he sent another note less formal than the first asking Mrs. A— to return the former note unopened, and saying that though dinner was impossible, he would give himself the pleasure of calling afterward. This he did, and it turned the scales of his life. Questioned next day by his fiancée as to whether or not he had changed his mind and gone to dinner he denied it vigorously. After that both ladies were invited for tea, great care being taken, however, that they should never meet again. The following summer Mrs. A— with a party of friends went abroad. Mr. Saltus joined them, safe in the knowledge that his fiancée was away with her family where, being decidedly persona non grata, he could not be expected to follow. The summer passed, and again he joined Mrs. A— and her Spring saw him in New York again. A year had elapsed, during which he had seen his fiancée occasionally, Mrs. A— often. In two letters written by Mrs. A—, which were found between the leaves of an old novel after Mr. Saltus’ death, a love that counted no cost, passionate and paralyz- ing, oozes from the pages: ‘‘ How could I live if you should cease to love me?”’ was asked again and again. Cease he did, however. There are those so constituted that they can drift out of an affair so gradually that it is over without any perceptible transition. It was that way with Edgar Saltus. HAT affair over, he remembered the ring he had given and the girl to whom he was engaged. In spite of living in a social world poles apart from Mrs. A—, and in spite of absence and travel, rumors of the affair had filtered to his fiancée. Straightforward her- self, scorning subterfuge as weakness, she | asked him to tell her the truth. With right- Marie Saltus (Continued from page 77) eous indignation Mr. Saltus denied it in toto, declaring it was an invention intended to discredit him in her eyes. It was in this that he made the mistake of his life. Talking it over with me years afterward he admitted that had he told her the truth, loving him as she did, she would probably in the end have forgiven him. It was the streak of fear, fear of a moment’s unpleasantness, which was his undoing. Taking the easiest way, for the time being, he reiterated his denials. In glancing over the scenario of Edgar Saltus’ life, this act at the pinnacle of his popularity and fame, may, in the region behind effects, have set in motion forces which tore the peplum of popularity from him, and in spite of his genius pushed him into semi- obscurity at the last. His denials accepted, and there being no reason for delay, he married Elsie Smith in Paris in 1895. It should have been a happy marriage, the two having sufficient in common and neither being in their first youth. Its rapid failure is therefore all the more pathetic. Going from Paris to the south of France, the first mishap was that of breaking his ankle. Unable to stand pain, Mr. Saltus fainted three times while it was being set. That rather dis- gusted his wife. HE incident was slight but that which followed was not so. Unable, because of his ankle, to get about freely, and wanting some cigarets from a trunk, Mrs. Saltus volun- teered to get them. She got the shock and surprise of her life as well. Carelessness over his personal effects was a characteristic of Mr. Saltus. That carelessness was his un- doing upon this occasion. Beside the cigarets lay a letter from Mrs. A—. His wife read it. There and then she knew that she had married him as the result of a fabrication. A scene followed. Furious at his detection, Mr. Saltus upbraided her for reading a letter not intended for her eyes. It was the begin- ning of the end. One cannot at this day know or judge the inner ethics of it all. Mr. Saltus’ side only has been poured into my ears. One thing, however, is certain. Mrs. Saltus, who suffered deeply at his hands, considered herself more than justified in all that she did. ETURNING to the United States with his wife, Edgar Saltus took an apartment in East 18th’ Street, where, on an upper floor, his mother had lived for some time. Though his relations with his wife were strained to the breaking point, a link held them. Mrs. Saltus expected to become a mother in the autumn of 1897. It was at this juncture that Mr. Saltus thought of journalism. His popularity as a novelist as well as his exchequer had dwindled. This was directly due to his divorce, the fighting of which had been expensive both in coin and character. Journalism held out a hand. A literary man should, he believed, be able to tackle anything with his pen. The New York Journal, as the American was then known, gave him his first assign- ment. It was to go to Sing Sing prison and after seeing a murderer electrocuted to write it up from his unique angle. That, for a man who could not hear about a cut finger without shuddering! It might have been a knockout the first day. All night he fought with him- self. To refuse the first assignment meant the door of journalism shut in his face. To go and faint at the sight might mean worse. With characteristic ingenuity he mapped out a plan. “Go to Sing Sing prison? With pleasure.”” Imagination being one of his greatest assets, he sat up all night picturing and then writing the scene, taking a new slant on it, peppering his copy with witticism and metaphors, and the work was done. One might suppose he had supped on electrocutions. Stuffing the copy in his pocket he went to the death house and, in spite of his trembling legs, went with the officials near the chair it- self. Then he closed his eyes. Next morning when his article appeared, the editor compli- mented him. ‘Edgar Saltus only could have seen so much in so little,” he said. Thereafter he was launched as a journalist, writing Sunday specials almost continuously. With this and with Collier’s Weekly, for which he edited a column called “‘The Note Book,” and a history which he was compiling for Collier’s also, Mr. Saltus’ working hours were ten out of the twenty-four, and his output greater than at any time since he had flowered into print. Working continuously when indoors, taking his meals at the old Everett House then on the upper corner of Union Square, he lived in a world of his own, accepting things as they were. Writing of him at that time Town Topics said: “Time deals gently with Edgar Saltus. In spite of his arduous literary labors he is the (Continued on page 120) | | | 119 Amazing! ..... but true You can “erase” needless hair Just rotate this neat pink disk over face, arms or legs and you erase the hair. As quickly and daintily used as a powder compact. Immediate results. DRY APPLICATION ODORLESS HARMLESS No nauseous paste to mix, heat or spill. No blade or lather to prepare. No greasy cream to soil the clothing. 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Made by the TROTTEUR HAT 661 Fifth Avenue COMPANY New York By Marie HARPER’S BAZAR ‘THE LIFE OF EDGAR SALTUS Saltus (Continued from page 119) same Edgar he was fifteen years ago. Slick, dark, jaunty. He has not taken on flesh and preserves the trim youthful shape of years ago. Tripping up the Avenue a day or two ago in his new straw hat and blue serge suit it was hard to believe that he was not a summer man of this season’s vintage. How does he do it? Concerning his work a pretty woman once said to him: ‘Mr. Saltus, I never know what construction to put on your books.’ ‘Put the worst,’ was the author’s reply.” ‘THE following summers he spent with his mother at Narragansett Pier. Second only to Newport in that day, it was a most fashion- able resort. Smartness and beauty vied with each other, not only in Sherry’s Casino but in the large hotels which now no longer exist. The smart set absent from Newport was to be found at the Pier. Bar Harbor excepted, there was nowhere else to go and swim—in the swim. At this epoch, to his fame as a novelist and journalist, Mr. Saltus added that of being a Don Juan as well. Don Juan and Casanova rolled into one, with a bit thrown in for good measure, would have paled beside the reputa- tion enveloping him. A whisper followed his footsteps. It was to the effect that not only was his first wife glad to flee with her life, but that his second was but waiting the psycho- logical moment to follow suit. Young girls were warned against being seen with him. Elder women had to be restrained from flinging themselves in his way. When he appeared in the Casino he became the center of interest. This was understandable, for he was startlingly handsome. A few years past forty, his thick black hair parted in the center, his chiseled features emphasized by the tilt of his head, his small mustache twisted to a hair, he gazed upon the world through eyes of pansy-purple, which, while con- temptuous, were saddened by all that he had suppressed in silence. Slight, scrupulously turned out, a walking-stick always in his hand, he stood in relief against the other men at the Pier—an Olympian in a world of mortals. CONNECTION of my family’s, a child- hood playmate of my cousins, and a companion in youth of my eldest half-brother, he was hurled into my life by a huge wave. We were in bathing at the time. I was spending that summer at Narragan- sett with my brother, happy in the vacation from school, where, misusing the time for practicing music in scribbling, I imagined myself an embryonic Ouida. In the circum- stances a QOuidaesque hero seemed worth bothering with. “Here, Edgar,’”’ my brother caught Mr. Saltus by the arm, “‘disabuse this kid of the idea that she can learn to write.” Mr. Saltus turned, but a wave was quicker. It took him like a top, spinning him around and around, depositing him finally at my feet. He attempted to rise. The undertow thought otherwise. With his accustomed facetious flattery, he asked: “What do I get for lying at the feet of a child?” ““\ kick,’’ was the reply, action following the words. Our introduction was effected. Going up on the beach we sat down on the sand. It was a brilliant July morning. ‘“So you think you would like to write, Bambina? Don’t. Take fatherly advice. A woman’s sole duty in life is to charm and do nothing. Only old scoundrels like myself should work. Behold the result.” ““You were badly brought up,” he was told. “How would you have tackled the job?” he inquired. “Taking you down would have suited me much better.”’ That amused him. He laughed. “Of course. It is only from babes like you that age learns nowadays. How is it that you are the one of your family I meet last?’”’ He hesitated. ‘*No—not last, for I seem always to have remembered you. Long ago you closed a door and left me in darkness. Now you open it again and smile. You should never do anything but smile; and yet you have —oh, I don’t know what. You take me back to Rome, back and back through lives and lives—if such were true.” I hastened to reassure him. “Such things are true, surely. From the time I was able to think at all, I remembered many events from former lives. I have no recollection of knowing you, however.” “But you believe that you lived before. I'll tell you what I have never mentioned to any one. From an agnostic it would not ring true. If I have written anything which will! live it is ‘Imperial Purple.’ The reason is simple. If there is anything in the theory at all, I lived in Rome. I was an eye-witness of the killing of Cesar. The story of it ran off my pen. Text-books were needless. I wrote as I remembered and truth penetrates. Later I tried to write of Greece and failed. It was mechanical. There was no sub-conscious memory to help me. A pretty theory—that is all. When a bee dies it ceases to hum.” Joining my brother and myself, Mr. Saltus lunched at the Casino. Later that after. noon, overtaking us on the road with his bicycle, he joined us again. So satisfied and overbearing was his exterior, so arrogant his veneer, that it was with difficulty one could penetrate it and see the overindulged and pampered little boy, full of fun and longing to play, sympathetic and full of sentiment hiding the best beneath the worst, fearful of being misunderstood, of being his real self. Coming face to face with a little girl more pampered and self-willed even than himself gave him a shock That evening, a woman friend of my brother’s making a fourth, we were Mr. Saltus’ guests for dinner at the Casino. In those days Sherry’s old Casino was a fairy- land of fashion, beauty, and smartness. It presented a brilliant scene at that moment. In faultless evening clothes, with his dark coloring emphasized by the expanse of shirt front, Mr. Saltus looked what he may have been, an Oriental trying to adapt himself to a foreign environment. He was, on the con- trary, silhouetted against it. INNER over, my brother took his friend to watch the dancing. We were supposed to follow. At Mr. Saltus’ suggestion, however, we turned and went to the upper turret of the Casino. From there we stood and looked down upon the panorama below. It was an interesting sight. At tables shaded by im- mense colored umbrellas made visible by multiple electric lights, the murmur of well- turned-out men talking to beautiful women rose like the hum of bees. The orchestra, which was unusually fine, muted their voices with the plaintive strains of the “‘Liebestod.”’ Mr. Saltus could not tell one note from another nor could he play on any musical instrument, but he had an ear as sensitive to the slightest discord as a com- poser’s. It spoke a language he understood. That language was mine also. The “Liebes- tod” spoke even more clearly to me, satur- ated as I had been with Wagner and the various motifs of his masterpieces since babyhood. Music moved me profoundly. When he turned at last, it was to see tears in my eyes. He said nothing. There is that in silence which is more forceful than words. That also was a language he under- stood. The orchestra ceased. The hum be- gan again, but from a far-distant ball-room there filtered the faint but unmistakable notes of ‘“‘Love’s Dream After the Ball.” July twilights are long. Still silent, we watched a sky of coral and jade melt into a night spattered with stars. A schoolgirl with little knowledge of men, save that gleaned from Scott and Ouida, it was no wonder that at his first words I had the surprise of my life. In true Ouidaesque style Mr. Saltus took a fold of my gown in his hands, dropped to his knees, and kissing it said: ‘All my life I have been a rudderless ship seeking harbor. Now I am home. I come a weary and sinful pilgrim to knock at the portals of paradise.” Indignant in the belief that I was considered too young to be treated as an equal, regarding him in spite of his extreme beauty as too old to be thinking seriously about the future, his words were received with a blaze of anger. A hasty and dignified exit was called for. That, however, was not easy to make. His back against the gate, Mr. Saltus went on talking. He said a great deal and he said it well. ONLY that morning a woman sitting on the veranda of the hotel where we were stop- ping had entertained the other old women who were knitting with the recital of Mr. Saltus life and his misdeeds. One remark constantly interjected had amused me: : “‘He boasts that every novel he has written has been dug from a woman’s heart.” This I threw at him like a bomb. He took it standing. He had to stand to control the gate which was the sole exit from the turret. Thereupon and in spite of my efforts to go, he told me the story of his life m brief, pouring it out as rapidly as he could, admitting his mistakes and wrong-doing, confessing three- fold the iniquities which had been put to his discredit by the public. Carrying it up fo date, he admitted that though he was under the same roof with his wife, he was not living with her and that he wanted to be free to start life over again. : “You are so young, I can almost bring you up,”’ he said. : “Bring me up, indeed,” I exclaimed. ~ You will dig no experience out of my heart. The shadow of your personality shall never cloud my life.” That seemed a fine phrase at the time. Still indignant and fearful of being considered an ignorant child, I became silent. That was the way a Ouida heroine should act. Disregarding both my silence and my (Continued on page 121) patie so 0 aaa ee

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Know facts given in this book—how to judge fur quality—what furs wear longest—the true names as well as trade names of furs—see the low prices quoted on quality furs in this book before buying any furs anywhere. 71st Anniversary Sal Now Going on~Rediced Prices The confidence fur buyers place in Albrecht's catalog | To know | the facts given in the new and entrancingly interesting | has been won by seventy years of service. Albrecht catalog will save money and guard against error in your choice of furs. This book shows why Albrecht Registered Furs protect you in every way. Get your copy now—it is free. Send the coupon to E. Albrecht & Son, 81 Sixth Street, St. Paul, Minn. THE LIFE OF EDGAR SALTUS By Marie Saltus (Continued from page 120) resentment, Mr. Saltus went on_ talking: “T don’t like your name. It means sorrow, and every Marie who has encountered the Saltus family has suffered from it. You shall be the exception. I will use the name you invented when as a baby you tried to pro- nounce it—Mowgy. That is your name and being such a pert little puss I will add that for good measure—Mowgy-Puss. Now what animal will you attach to me?” HILE speaking Mr. Saltus had released his hold on the gate. He was anxious to know what animal I would assign to him. Afterward he confessed that he had expected me to say a lion. That would have pleased him too well. Distracting his attention from the exit, I moved nearer to it. Answering, “A skunk,”’ I emphasized it with a sudden bolt through the gate and rushed down- stairs to the Casino. An avalanche overwhelmed us there. Our absence having become prolonged, my brother, with Archibald Clavering Gunter, who warned him of my danger with every step, had searched not only the Casino but the sands. There was a heated scene. The | friendship of years snapped like a wish-bone , and I was dragged back to the hotel. Albrecht Furs FOUN ee 1855 Minnesota By ¥ RE GISTERED FURS—Be sure oe Albrecht Registra- tifieate is sealed on the fur you bu: Saint Paul tion ———. There it might have ended, would probably have ended, and the biography of Edgar Saltus have fallen into other hands than mine to write, but well-intentioned friends and relatives assisted things so superabundantly, that what might have died a natural death took on new life and flourished. Forbidden to speak to Mr. Saltus under penalty of being sent home to my father, it became at once an interesting romance. The following morning there was not a dowager in the hotel unacquainted with my misdeed and none omitted to add their warning and advice. Hearing of the adventure and that I was taking a landslide to perdition and was hell-bent, friends called to warn and save me. Dear old Gunter with genuine kindness of heart came also. “IT am a very busy man just now,” he said, “but if you are determined to learn how to write, and will wait till I get this novel off my mind, I will take you in hand and see what I can make of you.” Every one did their duty. The only one not offering advice was the hotel cat. Not per- mitted for a moment to leave my brother’s side I seemed safe and secure. It was all in the seeming, for Mr. Saltus was a very ingenious man. The early afternoon papers from New York used to reach the Pier about three, boys taking them to all the hotels on the front. One stopped at ours. We were sit- ting on the veranda at the time and my brother bought a paper as usual. With a knowing wink the newsboy shoved another into my hand. While every one else was reading I unfolded it. A note from Mr. Saltus fell out. It suggested that after I was sup- posed to be in bed that evening, I slip out, go down a back staircase and meet the writer at a place on the beach he designated. It was urgent. It was more. It suggested that if I did not appear he would drink himself into delirium, and then come to the hotel and have it out with my brother. Youth is credulous. I met him at the place suggested. After that the newsboy served as a postman. Letters came and went. There was a thrill in doing it under their noses. It came out at last, however. I was returned to my father minus a character, and the family warned to watch me very closely. So fate went on weaving its web, and the karmic links of anterior lives reached out binding our destiny. UTUMN came and the paw of the tiger that destiny is, reached out. It was a paw of velvet, however. I was called to the telephone one afternoon to speak to my violin teacher. Such a call was not unexpected. It had all been arranged beforehand, and it was Mr. Saltus saying “‘ Hello!” None of the family had seen my violin teacher or heard his voice. All they knew was that I practised many hours a day. The arrangement worked to perfection. If I went off for my lessons a little earlier than necessary, it was unnoticed. The bicycle was useful also. Considered a healthful and needed exercise, I was encour- aged to ride every afternoon, and Mr. Saltus and I would meet on Riverside Drive for a chat. Barring his little daughter, Elsie, of whom Mr. Saltus was exceedingly fond, he made no mention of his family life, nor did I. This was in pre-flapper days. The world was very old- fashioned. Strange as it may seem in this emancipated era, any friendship between a married man and a young girl was looked upon not only as disgraceful but impossible. We talked it over. Realizing that while he remained under the roof with his wife, he owed her more than he could ever pay, realiz- ing too that any indiscretion of mine must react upon a greatly beloved father, I closed the episode—or thought I had. Within a few days after this Mrs. Francis Henry Saltus, Mr. Saltus’ mother, called and invited me to tea at her home. There, at least, one would be free from censure. Other invitations followed and were accepted. f there was a being on earth whom Mr. Saltus truly loved it was his mother. His deference to her and his solicitude for her were beautiful. It would have been tragic otherwise, considering how her entire life had been devoted to him. So frequently was I a guest in his mother’s drawing-room, that it was difficult for my family to debar Mr. Saltus from our home. His interest in my father’s library being ac- cepted as evidence of his fitness, he was per- mitted to call. Better, they thought, for me to receive him under their roof than meet in secret, where unpleasant constructions might be put upon it. Like the proverbial camel, his nose once safely in the tent of the enemy, the rest followed. He was accepted as a friend of the family. Strange enough, it was not so much a romantic attachment as fundamental quali- ties in common, that made possible the bond between a young girl and a middle-aged man. In contracting a temperament like his own, but in exaggerated form, it meant not only a common language, but the revealing to him- self of his high-strung nervous excitability and absent-mindedness in the mirror of those qualities in another. With a girl never popular at school be- cause of her desire for silence and solitude, having more interest in reading than in games, he felt himself to be absolutely at home. With the understanding and sympathy of a brilliant man with a wealth of information on every subject under heaven at his finger tips, he turned himself into my Alma Mater. BOUT this time an incident occurred which was not only characteristic of Mr. Saltus’ weakest side, but was so far-reaching in its effects that no biography would be complete without it. Admiring letters from women were his daily diet. As a rule he ignored them. At one time I started to make a scrap-book of them for him, calling it The Dollymops Daily. When a week or so would go by without bringing in a fresh batch of them, Mr. Saltus was told that his stock was going down, and that he should have more care for his mustache. Among these letters was one from England, from a Dorothy S With it was the photograph of a high- bred and pretty girl. Her letter was different from the average one. Mr. Saltus answered it, and a correspondence began between them. Knowing of him only through his stories and articles in the news- papers, in ignorance that he was not only a married man but a father as well, she assumed that he was neither, and she wrote him to the effect that she was sure he was her affinity and all the rest of it. That was the time to have eased off, but Mr. Saltus did not. Her letters interested him. She was too far away to cause him inconvenience, for the moment at least, and material for stories might result. Answering again he brushed aside the possibility of future unpleasantness, and sent her an inexpensive ring. The girl took this very seriously. Replying to his vague compli- ments, she formally accepted him and sent him a ring in return, which he brought up to me as a joke. Horritied at the way she had taken it and fearing possible results, he wrote to her, saying that he was en route to South America on an assignment for a newspaper, and hoped it would end there. Far from it. After several unanswered letters, the girl’s mother, having ascertained in some way that he was still in New York, sent him a note by registered mail telling him that her daughter, always delicate, had gone utterly to pieces over his silence, and asking the reason of it. ‘he more involved it became, the less in- clined was Mr. Saltus to face it, confess the truth, and admit that he had replied for amusement only. No amount of hammering at him could make him realize that he was playing with the affections of a human being who might suffer in consequence. It had been only a diversion to him. He could not see why it should not be the same to her. Weeks passed. Another letter from the mother saying that the girl had gone into hasty tuberculosis and was in the south of France, again urged him to write to her. This last appeal sent Mr. Saltus almost into a fit. “For God’s sake, tell the truth and have it over with,” he was urged again and again. It seemed to be beyond him. What he had begun only as an amusement, without a thought of harm, had developed into a mon- ster waiting to dev our him. When he finally answered the letter it was (Continued on page 12 { } | | | 121 PHOTO BY JAMES HARGIS CONNELLY. CHICAGO “Whatloveliness Peter Pan‘OPAL HUE’ Powder seems toholdforthecomplexion! I have foundit toreflect vivid beauty under any kind of light—day or night. It giv es me positive assuranceof perfect appearance at all times. Ann Winston in “Is Zat So?” Prismatic Beauty seeeeeeevees the new vogue HE mysterious combination of cleverly blended OPAL HUES in this new powder actually gives to the complexion a new, prismatic beauty that reveals utmost loveliness under any kind of light—day or night. Quite naturally, then, one feels the assurance of perfect appearance whether one is dining, dancing, mo- toring—whether at the theatre, in the country or at the beach. Of course such an exquisite creation must be more than a face powder. 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For Scalp Treatment Send for ““GLOVER’S Handbook on the Scalp and Hair.” An authoritative analysis. Suggests practical methods of treatment. FREE on request. It will tell you many things you should know. Write today. Address Dept. A.F.9 H. CLAY GLOVER CO., Inc. 119-121 Fifth Avenue New YorkCity Barbers or Hair Dressers Next Month— The GREEN HAT (in Play Form) by Michael Arlen The play that has already proved a _ sensation in Detroit and Chicago and that, when it is produced in New York in September is expected to make the- atrical history. It may be difficult to se- cure good seats for ‘“* The Green Hat” for weeks and months but you can read itin Harper’s Bazar. The radiant Katherine Cornell, as probably you have noted, is to play the part of the shame- ful, shameless lady, Iris March. The first two acts will be published in the Sep- tember Harper’s Bazar; the last two in October. September Harper’s Bazar On Sale September rst THE LIFE OF EDGAR By Marie SALTUS Saltus (Continued from page 121) to say that he was in the bankruptcy court, utterly penniless, and, in the circumstances, thought it best to drop out of her life. ‘Now,” he said, ,, they will not think me worth following up.’ FTER that the letters ceased and he heard nothing more, and it was several years before the dénouement occurred. On the heels of this episode came a crushing grief. Mr. Saltus’ mother died very suddenly. The shock stunned him. It took him into a realm hitherto unknown—even unthought of, and it was a long time before he could re- adjust himself to life. From the shock of this death Mr. Saltus’ health went to pieces, and the following spring saw him off to Europe. I was abroad also that year, but in another part of the continent and it was months later before we met again. On this trip, however, Mr. Saltus made one of the few acquaintances destined to last until the end of his life. Among those at the a aptain’ s table and seated next to him, was a Miss G young, beautiful, and belonging to one of the best families from whom ambas- sadors had been chosen. Nimble of tongue and optimistic of spirit, she did much to drag him from the extreme depression into which he had been submerged by his mother’s passing. Spiritual, unselfish, always thinking and doing for others. she represented a type of woman never encountered by him before. She saw the best in him and ignored the worst. To penetrate the depths of his depres- sion, finding an agnostic hard soil to saturate, she finally persuaded him to go and consult a medium. With the open mind which Mr. Saltus always had, he agreed to do so, and, upon his return to New York in the autumn, he sought out and went to Margaret Stewart, a woman celebrated in her day as a remarkable psychic. What she told him was rather upsetting to the firm philosophy of his life. It suggested possibilities. Not only did he receive a curiously characteristic message, purporting to come from his mother, but certain things concerning his home life and his future were predicted. These predictions included my- | self, and were to the effect that Mr. Saltus would ultimately be enabled to marry me and have his happiest years late in life. He lost no time in rushing up to my home with this news. Assuming at first to pooh-pooh spiritu: ilism as moonshine, his interest nevertheless in- creased. On the lookout for frauds, yet hoping as well to get something concrete to tie to, he went from medium to medium and from séance to séance. Critical, curious and cautious, unwilling to accept the phenomena presented, he was yet more unwilling to give up the quest. After months of experimenting along these lines, his decision, based on what he had both seen and heard was, that though the major part of it was fraudulent, and the identity of the entity giving the message open to question, there was proof to his mind at least, of the persistence of personality after death. That granted, a larger question presented itself. Accepting life to be continuous, the bee did not cease to hum as he had so long affirmed. On the contrary, the belief in re- incarnation became a necessity. It intrigued his imagination more than any subject on earth. T WAS at this time that Mrs. Saltus and himself, having lived separate lives under one roof to little purpose, disagreed further. Mr. Saltus wanted her to divorce him. Think- ing, perhaps, that she had suffered sufficiently at his hands, and having had enough of matri- mony, she had no desire for the divorce or for further experiments. Besides, there was the little girl—Elsie. Loving her devotedly, although children in the abstract bored and annoyed him beyond expression, Mr. Saltus used to quote her childish prattle with pride. A pussy cat became a “puff-tat’’ because of her, and it was her tiny hands which until then had held them together. An incident aggravating the estrangement caused Mrs. Saltus to take the little girl and leave the apartment. Incidentally, she left his life forever. Nothing « can be said to put Mr. Saltus in the right in this affair. From the first hour of his association with his second wife, he had been absolutely and en- tirely in the wrong. That wrong was not deliberate, however. He would not have harmed a hair of her head on purpose. It was the result of the one weak link in his character. As a matter of fact Mrs. Saltus had been too indulgent and forgiving. These qualities, charming in themselves, gave a temperament such as his an exaggerated latitude to develop the domineering and irritable nature inherent in him. The wonder is not that Mrs. Saltus left him. It is that she remained so long. They never lived under the same roof again. Mr. Saltus took what remained of the old Italian olive-wood furniture belonging to his early HARPER’S BAZAR home in Seventeenth Street and his books, and | took an apartment in the Park Madison around the corner from the Manhattan Club. This club had been a semi-home to him for | years, a general headquarters both to write in and to receive letters and it offered quiet and good food as well. Moving on short notice, his belongings were tossed into the apartment any which way to be put into order later, a later which never | arrived. With a few books in bookcases and more piled in various corners of the living- | room, the latter semi-covered by draperies | which were never put to use again, and vari- | ous pieces of clothing he did not need on top of this, he started in to create a new atmos- phere in which to work. HE material for “Historia Amoris” ing been put into shape for use, Mr. Saltus began to study along a new line. Puzzled and confused as to what he really believed, he agreed after much urging to study the sacred books of the East. With the enthusiasm Balboa may have felt at discovering an unknown ocean, Mr. Saltus went up the heights to the Garden of God, steeping himself in the perfume of occult and esoteric lore. It was at this time that the effects of his careless letters to the English girl came home | with a shock. Rushing up to my house one evening, white and shaken with emotion, he said that a young man had called to see him at the Manhattan Club, just as he was finish- ing his dinner. Some inner force had induced him to grant an interview. After introducing himself as a brother of Dorothy S- e€ told Mr. Saltus that the girl had, shes. his last letter, gone into a decline and died. He himself was not only ill, but in want, with a wife to take care of. After exhausting every effort to get employment in the States, he had reluctantly turned to the man he considered an enemy with a debt to pay. Mr. Saltus was horrified. Needless to say that the brother and wife were looked after, not alone by him but by my family as well. Scourged by the episode Mr. Saltus suffered keenly. Suggesting after a time, and more or less to lift his mind from depression, that I would assist him in selecting and condensing notes on the vital points of the sacred books of the East, Mr. Saltus decided that he compress them into a single volume. of the Ghostland” thought. comparatively short time. The preparation and the condensing of the material spread over years. At the time he began writing the book I went abroad. Believing that in taking the initiative and Saltus | seeking a divorce from his wife Mrs. would strike back ane secure it herself, Mr. Saltus brought a suit against her, asking at the same time for the custody of his little daughter. This act being looked upon with disapproval by my family, regarded as more dangerous than dynamite, the ocean was hailed as a splendid moat be- tween a skilled sheik and a young girl. It meant another summer abroad for me. URING the time which had elapsed since the summer in Narraganseti Pier Mr. Saltus had drifted away a great deal from his old friends. Barring Miss G——, with whom he dined every Sunday and saw frequently, Bob Davis, who was too busy to give him much time, and James Huneker were his only friends. The influence of Miss G ~ had done much to make Mr. Saltus’ view-point on life happier. She enjoyed the stimulus of his hav- | could | “Lords | was created in the world of | The actual writing of it took a | his friendship still | mind, and with unselfish interest she intro- | duced him to those who could further his | interests and made her home a place where he could bring his mending and his difficulties. | Her atmosphere was one of peace and he sorely needed it. That atmosphere was lacking in my home. Tolerated only because he was regarded as less dangerous within than without, neither meals nor mending were offered. From me he received not peace but the sword, and that sharpened and thrust into vulnerable places. His copy was criticized, his view-point scorned, and his personality put under a searchlight that left him seared and shaken. In spite of all this the diet must have been full of vitamines and he was loath to relin- quish it. abroad staggered him. His suit for divorce failed. Mrs. Saltus, obviously aware of his motives, saw no reason to fall in with them, and the attempt was not calculated to reflect credit on himself. The newspapers were none too kind. Any man who tries to divorce his wife is unpopular. Neither fish nor fowl, married nor free, his position was an ambiguous one, calculated to involve others in possible complications. (Continued on page 123) The fact that I was really going | $$ A Man Tried to Bring Beauty to a lown— T WAS a little Eng- lish town, narrow and provincial. The man tried to induce its inhabitants to lead different lives, simpler and healthier. He dreamed of a town of artists, each artist striving to cre- ate beauty in his own Way. He saw a vision of clean, wide streets and buildings of noble pro- portions. He saw man’s love for his fellow men as a sacred, vivid thing. This is the theme of Hugh Walpole’s NEW NOVEL which starts in the OCTOBER HARPER’S BAZAR Harper's Bazar Has Developed Two Notable Services for its Readers— . . . a School Service devoted to bringing the right school and the right pupil to- gether. It has helped in hundreds of cases The information it furnishes is scientific, exact — and human. Address all inquiries to Kenneth N. Cham- bers, care of Harper’s Bazar, 119 West goth Street, New York. Travel Service unique in that it of- fers “‘travel informa- tion for women from a woman.” Your in- quiries about travel anywhere and at any time will be given very personal atten- tion. Write to Adeline Snapp, whose address, of course, is the same as above. ws = & es

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for AUGUST 1925 THE LIFE OF EDGAR SALTUS By Marie Saltus (Continued from page 122 Tt was in 1903. “Lords of the Ghostland” took on shape very slowly. Mr. Saltus seemed unable to focus his mind on anything. Well he knew that the relatives with whom I was stopping abroad had lined up a lot of eligibles, many of whom I already knew. They ranged from an Italian Prince with a time-worn title and a moth-eaten tumble-down palace, to an English millionaire of recent vintage. They were a job lot, accumulated to offset and counteract his influence. Anchored and handicapped by a wife and child and a repu- tation none too immaculate, he saw his posi- tion with clarity. AREFUL and painstaking in the writing of letters to editors and friends, Mr. Saltus invariably wrote to me on a yellow copy pad and in pencil. These letters, which poured in several at a time on every steamer, rose as a smoke screen between the eligibles and himself as he expected them to do. He seemed to need me so badly. Above and be- yond every other sentiment he inspired was the desire not only to protect him from the outside world—that was simple, but to pro- tect him against the greater danger—himself and his weaknesses. Disregarding the wishes and plans of those with whom I was stopping, November -saw me on the Celtic en route for New York. The following spring found things in status quo. “Lords of the Ghostland” was no nearer completion, and Mr. Saltus as far from free as before. Another European trip was arranged for me to sail on the Celtic early in May. Once again Mr. Saltus was disconsolate, and as be- fore the ‘“‘wows”’ and lamentations began. Toward the last, however, he appeared to accept it with a great deal of philosophy. Among the crowd of well wishers at the boat with arms full of fruit, flowers, pillows, and sweets, was Mr. Saltus. He had said good- by the night before with surprising calmness. Before any of the others left the boat, he got up, made a gracious and formal farewell and went away. That was as it should be. Family and friends were delighted to see him Half an hour later as the boat was making its way down the bay, from somewhere be- hind my deck chair a faint but unmistakable “miaw” pierced the vibration of the propeller. I turned. Cap in one hand and steamer rug in the other there stood Mr. Saltus smiling at my bewilderment. “T am the cat who came back,” he said laughing, ‘‘and I am going to sit at your side and purr for a whole blissful week, and the future can take care of itself.” Though it carried conflict and confusion into the party with me, one cannot be ejected from a ship for effrontery. Upon reaching London, however, he found himself de trop again. From the ‘home of Lady C—, where I was stopping, to his hotel in Victoria Street, one could walk without fatigue. A taxi could make it in five minutes. With the exception, however, of a few formal dinners, Mr. Saltus was not urged to consider himself at home there. On the contrary, he Was given to understand that his presence was a decided embarrassment, and that free from his influence I would probably annex one of the eligibles who, outclassing him he was told m name, money, and position, were always pushed to the fore. All this he knew, but, what was more im- portant, he knew me and the others did not. Hunting up his old rooms in Margaret Street, Cavendish Square, he re-engaged the suite he had occupied years before when writing “Mary Magdalen.” Announcing that he expected to remain all summer, he put in his mornings at the British Museum studying cuneiform. What Mr. Saltus did with his mornings did not concern Lady C— in the least. She was determined, however, that the balance of his time should be as harmless. Months before, we had planned to spend our summer in Germany that year, and a fortnight later saw us all in Homburg. For reasons of finance Mr. Saltus was unable to follow. He could write, however, and he could send wires, and he did both rather continuously. After one of the eligibles joined our party he frequently wrote twice a day. ie WAS in Paris during the end of August that he crossed our path again. We were stopping at the Elysée Palace Hotel and he at the St. James and Albany. I had advised him of our plans in time. However unwelcome he had been before, it was hospitality compared to the hostility he encountered then. The absence of money and the existence of a wife combined to put him in the category of undesirable things. It was an unpleasant situation all around. To thresh it out every day was too much of a fag. It was easier to say nothing and do as one pleased, and Paris is wonderfully adapted to teas and téte-a-tétes. The autumn found me in London with Lady C— again, and Mr. Saltus in his old rooms in Margaret Street once more. Sitting at the table where he had written “Mary Magdalen” he tried to work as before, but the Muse had fled. It was during this time that he met for the first Mr. G. F. Monkshood, who, under the name of Hatchard, embellished Piccadilly with a fascinating and unique book shop. Monkshood it was who had brought out a small volume called “Wit and Wisdom of Edgar Saltus.”’ In it were compiled epigrams, phrases and quotations from all of his earlier books. The subtle compliment pleased Mr. Saltus very much. The knowledge that he must return almost immediately to the States stupefied Mr. Saltus. He was like a man who had been sandbagged. He could not speak of it without breaking down, and yet he had not the means to live there in idleness. The week before leaving was the hardest for him. He did not want to talk. He could not, in fact Riding on the top of busses to the extreme limits of London in all directions was his only diversion. Time and again we spent a whole afternoon on one and in silence. N THE middle of September Mr. Saltus left for the States. When he finally got on the boat train for Southampton, he was like a man starting for Siberia for life. One thing alone comforted him. I agreed to leave Lady C— in a few weeks and take over his old rooms in Margaret Street. It seemed to him that some emanations of his personality persisted there, and he liked to think of me in his old haunt. Once more letters eight and ten pages long came on each steamer and Mr. Saltus hated to write letters. Sometimes there were cables of over a hundred words. The hopelessness of it all was acute. In January Mr. Saltus fell ill, or said he was ill. His letters and cables became incoherent. Then they ceased. A note came to me from the physician who was attending him. In it he asked if I could tell him if Mr. Saltus had any relatives or friends who could be called upon. He painted a patheticcase. From his a the delirium tremens looked up and eered. The letter had its effect. Mr. Saltus fol- lowed it up with a cable saying that he ex- pected to die. That was too much. Advising my family from Liverpool of my intentions and cabling him at the same time, I sailed. Mr. Saltus met me at the pier. He was looking pale and thin, but in no dying con- dition. It was the old story over again. There was no unpacking of trunks for me, however. I was off again to Mexico City in a few weeks, and he was alone as before to continue going around in circles that ended where they began. (To be concluded in the September issue)

That much-discussed play, ‘The Green Hat,” by Michael Arlen, will be published in next month’s Harper’s Bazar. Even though you may have read the book you will be inter- ested, we know, to see how Mr. Arlen has turned it into a play.

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