Harper's Bazaar 1926-04

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Harper's b =2 I 23, ITO, Submerged Identity, by Mildred Illustrated by Everett Shinn The Fragile Black Evening Frock Is Always Distinguished Drawn by Mary MacKinnon “The Smart Woman in the Saddle,” A Portfolio of Sonees Horsewoman, by Lucile Buchanan Drawn by Grace Hart : a: “Harmer John,” Continuing a New Naval of an } by Hugh Walpole Illustrated by T. D. Skidmore Last Minute Sketches from Paris Tafieta Is Revived by Many Houses Drawings by A. Soulié “Operatic Americana,” by Kathleen Howard ‘*\ Forward-looking Theater,’ by Bernard Simon ‘“The Endless Theater,” by Muriel Draper Attire for the =nglish Cathedral Town, 1 Magazine C ,Wilham Randolph He arst, ice-president R hh ! president; C ay,\ st pero Sti ect, New York City. Single pies, 50 cents. l .go to 104, iy L scription in United Ste .tes ys are payable in advance and at the full price.) u receive notice that your Then changing an address, give the old address as well and allow five weeks for the mail matter. Copyright, 1926, by the International Magazine Company, Inc. (Harper’s Bazar). appears in it may be reprinted either wholly or in part without oe rmission. and dependencies, $4.00. In Cc anz In foreign countries, $ subscription has e xpire sd it ist ew it at once, using the blan first copy to reach yor Enter » New York Pr st Office second-class Har per ’s Baans is fully protected by copyright and nothing that as the new as

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HARPER’S BAZAR OR ebowe ‘ Filver aw OR wn whan fi Dias Ce

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or APRIL 1926 Hapews Cy cg [vce sents: Sao Ti work of Goseph Flergesheimer CMNichael Cifen The Countess of Oxford and Cloquith Hugh OWalpole Cufwe Somers Roche CMiloxed Cum Qe) Yew Deas fom. the CParis Openings OT) CParon de CMeyer's Setter The Smart Woman in the Sale a) Cle _am move in this Clpxib ONunbex zs OQ)

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BHARPER’S BAZAR MRS. JOHN HENRY ISELIN, JUNIOR The wedding of Miss Lydia Merrill and John Henry Iselin, junior, united two old and pedigreed New York families. Miss Merrill, a daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Charles E. Merrill, junior, had her sister, Miss Mary Merrill, a student at Bryn Mawr, as her maid of honor. . Iselin is a son of Mr. and Mrs. John H. Iselin, senior. A reception at the Colony Club followed the ceremony in the Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church.

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for APRIL 1926 oo “I MU HAEL MICHAEL ARLEN’S popularity is one of the most astonishing things. How it ever happened that such precious charm, such touch and go wit, such lightness of method have found the Great Public is beyond us, but they have, thus refuting for the moment all theories set by the intelligentsia regarding the insensibility of the Great Public to fine things. The plot of this play has been utilized before by Mr. Arlen in a short story, but its neat handling as a one-act play gives it special interest to the thousands who are always waiting for a new play by Michael Arlen. TIME: After dinner. "Ve are looking into a drawing-room. We see two or three tall windows. They are flung wide open, for the night is sultry. Through them we can see, or we think that we can see, the trees in the gardens of Berkeley Square. ©The curtains are not drawn across the windows. They fall in folds of shining silver to the floor. It is all very charming and expensive. ©Then there is a sofa, very sober, and some cushions, very gay. At the sofa’s head stands a tall lamp. The light of this lamp falls directly on the sofa, leaving the rest of the room dim. There is also a gramophone somewhere: one of those that not unsuccessfully aspire to the dignity of a piece of furniture. On a secrétaire, a telephone. And chairs, tables, what-nots. DISCOVERED: Mrs. Loyalty, her husband, and silence. It is one of those silences. She is lying at her ease on the sofa, her head deep in a crimson cushion. Maybe she is thinking, maybe she is not. One hand hangs vaguely down so that her fingers trail along the rug. A bracelet of diamonds glitters on her slender forearm. She looks bored. And somewhere about her there is an unlighted cigaret. {Ralph Loyalty is standing near the fireplace, reading a paper, smoking a cigar. If his wife is bored with him, you can understand why. The paper rustles as he reads. {The rustling disturbs his wife. She points that out, but without marked feeling. She does very few things with any marked feeling. A still, quiet lady. Mrs. Loyatty—Dear, must you make that noise? LoyaALty—What noise? Mrs. Loyatty—That noise like money—with that paper. Loyatty—Sorry. . . . [He reads a while.]| There’s a lot of stuff here about Johnnie Galt divorcing his wife. Mrs. Loyatty—I’m not very interested in Johnnie Galt. Loyatty—Nor was she, it appears. An Argentine fellow 1s the corespondent. Mrs. Loyatry—I am told that Argentines make quite satisfactory corespondents. Quite a number of people are using them this year. [He goes on reading, rustling, smoking. She at last notices that she has not yet lit her cigaret.] Mrs. Loyatry—Match, please. [Ralph Loyalty, still reading, fumbles in his pockets, produces a match-box, and absent-mindedly throws it across the room so that it alights on her lap. She only looks at him; then lights her cigaret; and says, but entirely without bitterness.] Ii any One were to ask me frankly, I would reply that this is not my idea of an evening’s entertainment. LovaLty (reading his paper)—What would you like me to do? Stand on my head and crack nuts with my tonsils? [She does not lrouble to answer. There, lying on the sofa, she is beautiful, abstracted, melancholy. Ralph Loyalty seems suddenly to have lost interest in his paper. He is staring at his wife. Suddenly he throws the paper down.] Oh,-damn! [She has not appeared to hear him. Mrs. Loyalty has at times an exquisite talent for not hearing anything.| Well, why don't you say something? Didn’t you hear me say “‘damn’’? Mrs. Loyatty—Yes, dear. But you so seldom say anything else. LoyaLtty—Oh, so you've grown not to like my conversation, then? Mrs. Loyatry—Of course, if you like to cal/ it conversation LoyaLty—Well, go on—be clever! What do you call it? Mrs. Loyatty (vaguely)—There aren’t words, dear, to describe your lack of them. Loyattry—Thank you. I suppose you’d like me to make pretty speeches to you? Mrs. Loyatty—Oh, I don’t know what I'd like! LoyaLty—Yes, that’s just the trouble with women like you, Joan— you simply don’t know what you’d like. Mrs. Loyatty (éo the ceiling)—Yes, dear. But I am quite certain about what I don’t like. LoyaLty—Me, for instance? Mrs. Loyatty—I am very fond of you, Ralph. LoyaLtty—You’ve a damn funny way of showing it! Mrs. Loyatty—I am as God made me. LoyaLty—You were, you mean. . . . Joan, shall I tell you the real tragedy of life? Mrs. Loyatty—Tell me the name of the book instead, dear, and I will read it myself. Loyatty—The damnable tragedy of life is—that one gets used to being unhappy. Mrs. Loyatty (glancing at him, almost sitting up)—But that’s surely why one gets married, isn’t it? For if one never got married, one would never get used to being unhappy and that would be dreadful, wouldn’t it? LoyaLty (with the terr ble flair of an Englishman for being annoyed at anything that sounds in the least bit clever)—Oh, go to hell! [And, furiously, he is banging out of the room.] Mrs. Loyatty—Ralph, if you are going down to the study, will you please send me up the novel I am reading? [The only answer she gets is the slam of the door. And then, slowly, for the first time since the rise of the curtain on the private life of the Loyaltys, she moves. She rises from the sofa. She puts out her cigaret on an ash-tray somewhere. She picks up a journal and drops it. Suddenly, on an impulse, she goes swiftly to the telephone on the beautiful secrétaire near the fireplace, and takes up the receiver.| Smith, get me White’s Club, please. [She hangs up, her hand still on the telephone. She waits, thoughtfully. The bell rings.| White’s? Would you see if Mr. Carr is in the Club, please? Mrs. Loyalty. [Pause.] Just a few minutes ago? . . . Thank you. [She slowly, thoughtfully, replaces the receiver, looking as though into nothing. But Mrs. Loyalty is not a woman who takes her tragedies tragically. That must always be kept in mind. Even as she replaces

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88 the receiver, enter Smith, with a tray, on which are a decanter of whisky, syphons, etc. He is putting the tray down when Mrs. Loyalty observes him.| You can take all that away, Smith. We shall not be drinking to-night. SmirH—Very good, madam. [Exit Smith, with tray. Mrs. Loyalty, obviously at a loss for what to do, goes to the handsome gramophone and is about to play the confounded thing, when, on an impulse, she goes to the door and calls:] Smith—Smith! [She comes back. Enter Smith, without the tray, which he may have left on the stairs—or with the tray, if you like.| Ah, Smith. . . . You might just go down to the study and bring up my book. You will find it on the desk, I think—a slender blue book by a Mr. Beerbohm. Smitu (with hesitation)—Mr. Loyalty is in the study, madam. Mrs. Loyatty (As she speaks, you can instantly see why dogs and servants like her on sight.)—But that is the privilege of any gentleman, Smith, to be in the study! How does it affect my request? Smitu—Well, madam as Mr. Loyalty went in he gave me very definite instructions that he was not to be disturbed. Mrs. Loyatty (smiling)—I see. ... Very good, Smith. [Exit Smith. Mrs. Loyalty returns to the gramo- phone, and this time goes through with it. A tango is the result. Mrs. Loyalty, lighting a cigaret, goes to the door and out, leaving the door open behind her. The tango naturally goes on “haunting.” Mrs. Loyalty returns only just before the audience, thinking that the play is at an end, are preparing to set fire to the building before leaving it in a body. She re-enters slowly, the book hanging from her hand. She closes the door behind her—slowly. She walks toward the sofa. The tango goes on. Mrs. Loyalty appears to be suffering under some almost intolerable burden of thought. She commands our sympathy, for she is young and beautiful. She has to stop once, supporting herself with one hand on the back of a chair, the other being pressed to her forehead. She is, of course, also carrying a book, but all that could be arranged by an intelligent producer. At last she is sitting in a corner of the sofa, the corner under the lamp. The tango dies naturally, as it is one of those gramophones that do not need “ seeing to.”” Mrs. Loyalty opens her book, but any fool can see that she isn’t reading it. Suddenly she starts, one hand pressed to her breast. She stares toward the door, about which there is dimness. The door has opened. A dark shadow is there—a dark shadow with a white shirt. The book slips from her hand to the floor. The man comes forward. He is, of course, Hugo Carr.] Mrs. Loyatty (with relief, surprise, pleasure, and nerves)—Hugo! Carr (gaily, fondly)—Why, Joan, I never thought I would live to see you look frightened: [A shy, attractive man, this Hugo Carr: with an infinite capacity for finding “ things”’ unbearable.] Mrs. Loyatty—Well, you did come in rather like a ghost, didn’t you? Carr—You to be frightened of ghosts, Joan! You who are always so poised and calm and unafraid! Sometimes your calmness terrifies me, Joan. Mrs. Loyattry—Don’t let it terrify you to-night, please. Kiss me, Hugo. [He bends on a knee, he takes her face between his hands, he kisses her lips.| And there are fools in this world who do not think the world well lost for a kiss! [He sits beside her, close to her.| Carr—But why were you so surprised when I came in? Mrs. Loyatty—Surprised! Does a god walk into my drawing- room every evening that I should not be surprised? CarrR—For those beautiful flowers, I thank you. [He kisses her.] But didn’t Ralph tell you I was coming? I saw him before dinner at the club, and told him I might drop in later. Mrs. Loyattry—No, he didn’t tell me. [Suddenly shaking her head, as though dismissing an idea.| But, Hugo, why didn’t you let me know directly? [He is about to speak when she goes on quickly.] Wait! While you are answering that question you might as well answer another. Why haven’t you been near me this last week? Are you tired of me, dear, my so very dear? Have I become a bore to you? CARR (taking her hand)—Don’t say those things, Joan. They hurt. You know they’re not true Mrs. Loyatty—And you really love me, Hugo? You really love me? CarrR—God, haven’t I proved that? What is the matter with you HARPER’S BAZAR to-night, Joan? Haven't I proved that I love you more than—[He hesitates for a big thing| honor? Mrs. Loyatty—I’d much rather you had said “golf,” dear. I like a comparison I can get hold of. CARR (very seriously)—Some men can live and be happy without honor, Joan. Some men can love and be happy without honor. But I’m not like that. Mrs. Loyatty (very tenderly)—Poor Hugo! You've had to love without it for two years, haven’t you? Carr—Yes. ... Mrs. Loyatty (suddenly)—Do you know, Hugo, that I’ve often thought that talking of honor when one is dishonorably in love is like It makes me love more instead of less. If I ever that’s terribly wrong of an aphrodisiac. reflect upon my sins, I find them delightful me, isn’t it, Hugo? CarR (suddenly, firmly)—Listen, Joan spe ik. Mrs. Loyatty—My lord, master, beloved Carr—lI’ve had as much as I can bear of this hole and corner busi- ness. We can’t go on like this, Joan. You and I have been living a lie for two years. For two whole years we’ve been lovers—behind Ralph’s back. Your husband and my best friend. And we've always drugged ourselves by saying that we couldn’t help it Mrs. Loyatty (low)—You have. I don’t need drugs—when I love. Carr—Yes, I have. That’s why I haven't been near you this last week. I’ve been thinking, Joan Mrs. Loyatty (passing a hand gently over his forehead)—Poor, poor Hugo, you look tired’ Carr—aAnd I’ve come to a decision. That’s why I am here to-night. I’ve come to see Ralph. I am going to ask him to give you your freedom. Mrs. Loyatty (/ow)—But I’ve got my freedom, Hugo! I am free to ’ 5 ‘ e % ee love you, aren't I? No one can take that away from me—not even you:

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for APRIL 1926 CarR—There you go—confusing me again! You always begin confusing me, Joan, when I begin talking of honor— Mrs. Loyatty—Honor is such a confusing word, dear. CarR (firmly)—Listen, Joan. Ralph was my best friend. And for two years you and I have been meeting behind his back; we’ve been living this damnable lie. And he had trusted us together, Joan— he has always trusted us, he has made it easy for us. My God, it’s— it’s ghastly! Mrs. Loyatty—Yes, it’s ghastly! CARR—Joan, in the secret book in which the histories of our lives are being written down, you will appear as an angel and I as a cad. [She makes to interrupt, tenderly.| Yes, that’s how it has been these two years. You have been an angel, Joan. You have let yourself be tor- mented because you could not bear the idea of hurting Ralph. Mrs. Loyatty—You see, dear, Ralph has always loved me so. He is a very simple man. And like all simple men, he is superstitious. He believes in marriage. And he has so needed my love, it has been his one support. That’s why I haven’t been able to face the idea of telling him that I couldn’t stay married to him another minute. I couldn’t face the idea of hurting him so deeply. But that does not make me an angel, Hugo—only a coward. CARR—I’ve had a monopoly of cowardice in this thing, Joan—to take advantage of your goodness in not wanting to hurt Ralph. (Eagerly, juickly)—But it will be all right now. I’m going to tell Ralph to-night. Then everything will be all right.

89 <4 é LSorrucon DROADHEAD. es * Discovered: Mrs. Loyalty, her hus- band, and silence. She looks bored. If she is bored with him, you can under- . stand why. A man comes for- ward. He is, of course, Hugo Carr.”

Mrs. Loyatty (as though to herself)—Perhaps everything is all right as it is—as all right as anything willever be. . . . Carr—What’s that, Joan? What did you say? Mrs. Loyatty (in magnificent, imperious impatience; often used by Frenchwomen in trying moments, but rare in less savage countries) —What did I say? What does it matter what I said? What do we all say? What does it matter what we all say? Oh, dear, my very dear, we are all always saying something, discussing, wrangling, chattering—and what about? What does it matter, where does it lead to?.... Carr (bewildered and quite naturally)—Yes, but— Mrs. Loyatty—Discussing, discussing, discussing! [Se takes him closely.] Our love, my sweet, has been one endless discussion. Should we do this, should we not do that? Oh, eternal, endless! And we are not very young any more, my Hugo! We must take love while we still have the fever, we must pluck love while it is still in flower! [Her love fascinates him, as always.] And so we will be just silent for these few minutes, just divinely silent and at peace—and for the first time in two years, dear, we just won’t think of poor Ralph... . [They sit in silence, close together, his head against her shoulder, for is he not the weaker of the two? Until, of course, honor occurs to him.] CarR—But I must see Ralph to-night, dear—I simply must. Mrs. Loyatty—Peace, peace! [4 pause.] Later, dear, I will tell you something—something terrible. Carr—Terrible! Mrs. Loyatty—Later, later. [4 pause.] We comic, curious human beings who are so used to letting (Concluded on page 206)

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90 ——$—————— VIONNET BOTH AND LOWERS W AIST-LINE RAIS! THE ~ uv HARFER’S Black satin is used for this Vionnet ensemble, that bases its theme upon a repetition of points. The frock, with its waist- line that is both quite high and low, repeats the line of the coat. Vionnet cuts the sleeves of this coat in one with the coat, which gives the effect of a high waist-line. A long narrow band of ermine outlines the pointed angularity of the lines of the coat. BAZAR re

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jor APRIL 1926 NEW IDEAS FROM THE PARIS OPENINGS In Comparison with Some Seasons, the Changes this Spring Are Unsensational, Yet They Are Full of Definite Significance By MarRJoRIeE EW and old are relative terms, especially when applied to the models of the Paris dressmakers. One visitor will leave a spring collection saying, “Nothing new”; another will pronounce the same collection “too revolutionary.” Through the narrow pass between the sartorial Scylla of un- wearable models and the commercial Charybdis of lack of novelty, the French creators have to steer the bark of the grande couture; a hazardous business, crowned with extraor- dinarily frequent success. As a matter of fact, the question of novelty is like the old discussion about the inch—a great deal on the end of your nose and very little on the ankle. When the actual changes brought by the new season are but slight, then slight changes are important. In comparison with some past seasons, the changes this spring are unsensational; yet they are full of significance, and only those who don’t want to acknowledge themselves pleased will condemn the new spring clothes as dull or already “old.” Opinion is extremely exigeant, of course, in everything that concerns fashions. Having railed at them as capricious for centuries, it damns them as uninventive now that, at last, they have begun to develop logically, and in accordance with the dictates of present-day life. Such opinion will tell you that there is nothing new; I will maintain the contrary when and where my adversary pleases, and I call the drawings on these pages as the most important witnesses for the defense. N THE first place, I am personally very pleased with the new clothes, because they continue practical, unexaggerated, easy to wear, and therefore becoming in the new sense which demands appropriateness to surroundings as its first require- ment. In the second, they have done exactly what I said they would do. Naturally, every prophet likes to have his predic- tions come true; otherwise he would soon have to go out of the business. You remember, in the February number, I said _ that materials were going to be the headliners this spring. Here they are, in the most favored place on the program, and no less an authority than Jean Patou begins his customary essay on the spring collection by saying that the only novelty in the season of 1926 is the use of new and revived fabrics, in his case “fleur de soie,”’ or heavy crépe Georgette, crépe, and taffeta. In the résumé of his collection he mentions that the new richness of the mode is obtained almost invariably by the use of beautiful materials. The designers have experimented with taffeta, the season’s revival, in every known form of costume: the strict tailleur (Patou), the sports blouse (Premet), the softer more feminine tailored suit (Jenny, Martial et Armand), the afternoon en- semble (Lelong, Premet, Renée, Patou), the evening coat (Deeuillet), the evening frock and the robe de style (Lanvin, Vionnet, Beer). You may get a very good idea of how they have done it on these pages, and you will see that it is the use of this resurrected material, rather than the lines of the models themselves, that makes them worthy of notice. This is the first and most important development in fabrics. HE second is a series of examples of the sort of juggling with stuffs I mentioned in February as being one of the main preoccupations of the creators, and which has resulted in such amusing things as a tailleur of black net (Chantal); a sports coat of green plaid chiffon over fawn calfskin, or an evening gown with a cuirass bodice of woven strips of gilt leather (Worth); sports frocks of plaid taffeta with chiffon skirts (Premet); or with tops of solid spangles (Redfern); and last but not least, the very amusing use of rich lamés for tailored evening gowns, consisting of a manly dinner jacket with waistcoat and plaited skirt of chiffon or satin. Anna Howarpb PREMET Capes are especially important in the Premet collec- lion. This one of very dark blue satin is amusingly tied in the back with a flat bow holding its folds. claims to have launched them as long ago as last spring. There is, in fact, a neat little sex war going on in the mode “Womanly clothes for women” is the cry of one side; ‘ Tailored evening dress” is the principal plank in the platform of the other. The first party wins, because even the advocates of ‘“smokings,””’ as the French call dinner jackets, agree in making their daytime tailored clothes more sweetly feminine. The true tailleur has undoubtedly been greatly softened; not only is it often done in crépe Georgette, crépe, chiffon, and silken fabrics, such as taffeta and tussore, instead of mannish tweeds and nN

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9? mixtures, but its form is subtly feminized as well. This tendency is well illustrated in the new tail- leurs. Solid materials, trim manly lines, and straightforward tailoring have not been ban- ished from our wardrobes; but their sphere has been carefully pointed out to them, and they have been invited to stay inside it. I have been reporting this tendency to you for some time. Nothing has been done, however, to neutral- ize the sports influence in dress. Its sphere is so completely undefined as hardly to be a sphere at all like air, and especially in the wardrobe of the Everywhere it makes its presence felt, smart Parisienne, for whom, in the last analysis, the collections are really designed. The im- portance of smart so-called sports clothes simply cannot be exaggerated. My strongest impres- sion of New York dressing on my recent visit was that sports clothes have not yet taken as important a place in the town lives of well- dressed Americans as in those of their Parisian prototypes. I saw clothes collections in New York, designed for what is called a fashionable clientele, in which the sports type as made famous by Chanel, for example, was conspicuous by its absence. Here, on the contrary, specialized sports costumes—I mean costumes the creation of for special games such as golf and tennis in summer and skiing and skating in winter—is more and more a feature of the collections of those couturiers who march with their times. HARPER’S Chanel has thrown a bomb in the form of her new “‘ fish- tail” silhouette for evening. This model is of black chif- fon with the bolero top which identifies the majority of her evening gowns this season. Lelong, this year, showed a most complete series, each adapted as well as real experience could do it to the special sport or game for which it was planned. Yachting costumes had double-breasted pilot jackets of rough blue cheviot with regulation brass buttons. Boating frocks were made of washable silks; dresses were short-sleeved or sleeveless and could not pull up at the waist; golf jackets made allowance in the shoulders for the full swing of a driver. Not only are the established dressmakers paying more and more attention to playing clothes, but sports specialists are becoming more and more numerous. There is Jane Régny, for example, who devotes all her clever- ness to the creation of sports clothes; Mary Nowitzky, who divides her attention between sports things and pajamas; and, this spring, Marthe Régnier, already known as an actress tennis and a smart milliner, has opened a new sports department, with a specialty of riding-habits. T NIGHT we have the dance influence to rival that of sports. But it is in evening frocks that one of the most significant of the season’s changes takes place. I mean the gradual lengthening of skirts. On page ror you will see a group of the new hem-lines, which have usurped the waist-line as the point of particular interest in a gown. These little sketches and their accompanying paragraph describe the situation so completely that there is no need of my going over it again here. As you watch the mannequins file past, your general impression of skirts, even evening ones, is still of such abbreviation that you may have neglected to observe the longer straws doing their well-known weather-vane act here and there. But you can hardly have missed the chiffon fish-tails (mare’s tails, I call them) at Chanel’s. Some of her best vesdeuses insist that their Parisienne clients will have them chopped off even with the short lines of the rest of the hem. The Paris season will tell us that. The deep transparent edges that Worth uses on some of his black evening obvious; and the uneven hem-line, with one or more long points somewhere, appears in several houses. Vionnet and Poiret, of have never shown very short skirts in their salons; and all the creators of robes de style have con sistently tried to keep the “little mouse” ideal of the feet beneath the petticoat before us, with only semi-occasional success. frocks are less course, ADAME has decided that a short skirt makes her look younger—that idea is more powerful than all the little mice in the

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for APRIL 1926 Lelong’s loveliest wrip is of biscuit- colored taffeta, em- broidered all over in fine silk in faint color, following an intricat: odd Chinese pattern. world. But perhaps she will consent to a trailing end of chiffon somewhere, if not in the middle of her back; or to a line that drops a bit in the rear, though it lifts in front to show her sixtv-dollar slippers and “‘ 50 fine” stockings to advantage. Here is another example of almost dangerous good sense in modern fashions. Skirts for sport or street remain extremely scant in length, while evening gowns to wear when the strenuosity of the day is over add un- expectedly to their inches. One chiffon trail is certainly the thinnest wedge that ever was known, but it may accomplish its eventual pur- pose none the less; at any rate, some of the designers have decided that knees are no longer a treat. The lifted-in-front hem line looks very pretty with one of the favorite waist- lines of these collections, curving up to match it, in that repetition of the “line of beauty” that they teach It would be impossible to SL LELONG you in art school. claim novelty for this line, which is almost as old as costume itself. It made its presence particularly felt in the collections of February, 1923, when we called it Indo-Chinese, and it was contrasted with the “bustle” silhouette, pulled up in the back. We have had pulled-up-in- front frocks ever since, and especially since the placing of the waist-line nearer normal became what the politicians call an issue. “(HIS year the curved-up-in-front line is often attained by means of an adaptation of the “bolero,’’ which has been making itself felt for some time. The word covers a multi- tude of jackets, some with rounded corners and some with square. We find it, this spring, in cotton velvet as an adjunct to sports frocks of crépe de Chine, as the jacket of a three- piece costume; and as the integral part of any frock, for morning, afternoon or evening. Chanel, last August, put a bolero that curved up in front on one of her most successful evening gowns, and liked it so well that she has used it on the majority of her models for summer, for all times of day and in all materials, crépella, chiffon, lace, and crépe de Chine. Regarding waist-lines, a Jaisser aller has come LELONG 93 A charming white Georgetle crépe frock with ruffled skirt and embroidered sleeves. (Right) A gown of black satin employing both sides of the fabric. over the mode, and designers are putting them just about where they please. Madame Vionnet discussed the sub- ject interestingly on the morning when we saw the collection with her. You see in the model drawn by Luza on page ninety that whatever waist-line there is, is placed well above the normal. She thinks that this line would be an interesting one for slender youthful women to experiment with in some of their clothes, just for the sake of a change. Other women, especially those who | are not built like a_ reed, should keep the waist-line at the top of the hip, with a loose, easy play of the material above it and tight- | ness only where they are really slim. For young girls, requirements have received attention from Vionnet this year, she puts the waist frankly at its natural place, because their narrow little bodies are as round and supple as young silver birches and can stand it. This seems to me an eminently sensible treatment of the question. whc yse special EW, this year, or rather, revived, is the bloused line of the bodice over a snug band buttoned round the top of the hip. You will see in the little sketch how Lelong handles it. Quantities of soft frocks blouse in the back over swathed hip-girdles in a fashion that con- trasts with the closer bodices of other models. Many houses keep the silhouette neat and close about the trunk, though the bodices are bloused above and the skirts are full below. This is very flattering to a supple slight figure and an encouragement to self-denial in order to main- tain compactly slender lines; but it is anath- ema to the heavy, and dangerous to the meager. Emaciation, by the way (to the satisfaction of the doctors), is definitely out of style. In another part of the magazine, I have grouped the novel details of the mode, in a sort of primer, or “fashion at a glance.”” The most striking varieties of hem-line, waist-line, neck-line, and sleeve are plainly shown and speak for themselves. Collars are more and more important, the really high type as well as

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04 and the hem-line of fringed frock of creamy whit Both the waist-line this lovely répe marocain show an irregularity that the Paris mod flared is significant in Neu However, there is none of that compulsion No one is going to chloroform your the type that stops at the collar-bone which used to be such a feature of the mode. sense of what is becoming, and confine your neck in a tight band of material against your will It is the same thing with sleeves. In the late lamented ‘nineties, Paris said big sleeves and immediately all the feminine world contracted a sort of dropsy of the shoulders. Contracted is the wrong word, but it looks so medical that I shall leave it. Sleeves this year are showing a tendency to spread about the wrist. But if you prefer it, you may allow them to follow the natural line of your arm, or leave them off altogether. Note- worthy is the little cap sleeve which many houses are putting just below the shoulder. In neck trimmings, the big cravattes that I mentioned in the February number are most important. I spoke just now of Vionnet’s models for the jeune fille. Worth, the house of inter- national trousseaux, court gowns, and ceremony from time immemorial, is this year planning to gown not only the mother and older sisters but the sub-deb daughter as The heaviest pale this evening cape with the shoulders em- broidered Collared and banded with sable. in strass HARPER’S apricot satin is used for and its hem-line This is the way Patou has revived taffeta for afternoon wear in a charming frock trimmed with very knife-plaited taffeta ruffles. fine BAZAR

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for APRIL 1926 ~~ | VOLYNEUX Molyneux uses turquoise blue Georgette crép for this gown—turquoise is important in the mode. The bodice is slightly fitted and ts beaded to match the silver-beaded skirt. Lanvin has always provided for all the feminine members of the family from babyhood on. Lelong began last year to add a special young girl’s collection to his regular one. Drecoll, besides making a whole collection of special sports clothes shown on one of the smartest mannequins in town, takes thought for the young girl in floaty chiffons and dance frocks of ethereal well. lightness. I do not know whether this indicates the emancipation of the French jeune fille, or whether it is aimed at visiting families of foreigners with a young daughter, who, in her free and easy foreign way, sees no reason why her tender years should pro- hibit her having Paris frocks as well as her elders. As all the French designers who have thought of her at all have provided clothes of real suitability to her age, it is probably an excellent thing for the younger generation that the grande couture has frocks making an ensemble. at k PY itt Saray appearing on thin Molyneux Sleeveless coals are uses vermicelli-patterned string-colored lace, with an unlined sleeveless lace coat over it. begun seriously to interest itself in her. They say it takes forty years to make a real éégante, so surely one cannot begin too soon. Capes, as you will remember I said as long ago as January, have started a barrage attack on coats. There are quantities of capes in almost every collection, and in some, especially Premet’s, there is an accompanying cape for almost every gown. They are of all lengths, from the little thing, hardly more than a collar, added to an evening frock, to the full-length model which entirely covers the gown. We find them with travel and sports clothes, with tailleurs and coat-frocks, and replacing coats as the better half of the still ubiquitous ensemble. Oddly enough, when it comes to evening clothes, the coat rather outnumbers the cape in wraps. There are endless types 05

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96 HARPER’S Jenny uses, with a typical crispness and compactness, black lace, with the skirt entirely in ruffles, over black satin. Long-sleeved lace frocks are a new and definite note. Over a black lace, long-sleeved frock, Jenny ties, with her favorite diagonal line, a shiny and dull satin frock bordered with deep fringe through which a lace underskirt shows. of capes. Vionnet shows two significant ones, the cape which is almost circular like that of an Italian officer, and that which is cut in sections above to give room for the folded arms, and is tight and narrow below the hips. Some of the houses cut their capes narrow in the shoulders, others let them spread from this point in almost circular folds. Some of the short ones shown with tailored things are neatly fitted to the top of the arm, and look like cape-sleeves; others are quite ample and give a lot of movement to the silhouette. Will the cape supersede the coat as the favorite wrap of the smart woman as it did in 1921 and ’22? That is the question decidedly; but I do not mind repeating that I think the coat will win this season. We shall see plenty of capes, of course. Already on the Riviera little fluttery capelets of chiffon are accompanying many of the evening gowns. But women love the slenderizing effect of the dark coat, even over the popular full printed chiffon gown. Coats are easy to wear, and capes need a lot of manipulation. Especially since daytime coats have gone back to their straighte1 lines, they are more becoming and satisfactory than ever. It depends a little on the sort of weather we get in May and June. If it should be very hot and dry, we may take to fluttery capes for the sake of coolness. BAZAR

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for APRIL 1926 DRECOLL Black chiffon, with a small Dresden flower in pinks and blues. It is made over a slip of rose satin, bordered with an odd blue-green. There are typical Drecoll sleeves. This is a striking combination of the new plaid chiffon in bars of white on black and plain black. Theline of the sash in back, and the sleeves, are both characteristic of Drecoll. Many of the designers seem to think that we shall have a cool summer, for one of the conspicuous features of the new collections is the little extra wrap, usually of chiffon, which so many of them have planned with evening dress. Patou calls his sleeveless coat, with its little band collar of gold or silver a “‘dalmatique’’ after the vestment of that name, and puts it over many of his chiffon dresses. Lanvin adds chiffon capelets to her spangled or beaded gowns, and spangled ones to chiffon. Molyneux, as you see in the sketch, puts an un- lined lace coat over a beige lace frock. Jenny shows a remov- able chiffon bolero tied with blue ribbon over a beaded chiffon frock. Chanel adds huge handkerchiefs of colored chiffon, with flowers weighting one end of them, to tiered gowns of beige or black lace. Martial et Armand have a series of “ transforma- tion’’ dresses adapted by means of coats and boleros to both afternoon and evening; Chantal turns a printed chiffon dance frock into a gown for afternoon by the addition of a little double jacket of white chiffon over red. I showed you how Yteb does this in the February number, and we had two pages of these compromises in March. Many houses, including Lelong, Worth, Lanvin, Chantal and Lenief, use transparent coats and capes over evening gowns. On the 97

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98 Over a foundation of beige tulle,

HARPER’S BAZAR

Lenief spreads glistening cob- webs of silver threads, huge cobwebs that spread themselves in great circular motifs of embroidery on One of the transparent wraps with which the mode is pre- It is of black chiffon, trimmed with glycerined lf occupied. ostrich glued into shiny bands. Worn over stage, Jane Renouardt, dressed by Lanvin, wears a frock and unlined coat of turquoise Georgette crépe (turquoise is quite important as a color), of which the frock is sleeveless and the coat sleeved. Another actress, Mlle. Suzy Prim, is dressed by Lenief in an apricot evening frock, over which she slips a paler chiffon coat with long sleeves when she returns to her I have promised myself to show you some of these charming transformations in the next own salon, the scene of the act. number. THE COLLECTION OF LOUVISEBOULANGER ADAME BOULANGER is a real creator, and in seeing her collection one is on the qui vive for significant indica- tions of what is going to happen to the coming mode. She links the present with the past in some models and with the future in others in a most intriguing fashion. This time, for example, there are still gowns with her own interpretation of the “bustle’’ bow, such as she has been showing for many months; and there are also gowns with an indication of drapery, which may show the trend of her thoughts for the months to skirt and bodic e. <a hi white Jroe k. : ff come. Line, color, materials—all are personal and all significant in this inspiring collection. Sports clothes with a difference begin it. Many of them have huge cravattes negligently tied; one in crushed strawberry is raised from banality by its enormous bow and long ends of black chiffon knotted under the chin. Sometimes these cra- vattes are nothing but big chiffon handkerchiefs. Frocks are of all sorts of materials—flowered crépes and chiffons, finely striped silks, tussore. They frequently have swathed gipsy girdles, and uneven ‘‘batwing’’ hem-lines. Many of them have one very long end depending at the side. Coats to go over them are rather ample, often hung from shallow shoulder yokes, and sometimes have wide short sleeves, stopping at the elbow, and banded with fox furs. Madame Boulanger uses moire for some of them, though no other designer that I know of agrees with her on this point. A feature of the collection is the great shawl of colored chiffon, with wide plain-colored borders, and with the center square embroidered in colored raffia in all kinds of patterns. These are held becomingly about the figure, the raffia giving a certain body to the chiffon which (Continued on page 192)

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for APRIL 1926 - rm DEUILLET Deuillet uses taffeta for evening wraps, and quilts it all over ; EU 7 NJ delicately with glittering silver thread. This is in the new DOEU ILLET, AMONG charming shade of faded lilac, collared with soft beige fur. oe OTHERS, REVIVES Bands of tulle have been applied to soften the edges of this a tis li taffeta frock, with a tiny fine line of embroidered strass in TAFFETA FOR EVENING a little running garland holding the two fabrics together.

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HARPER’S BAZAR

THE NEW DETAILS Rudy s&s Nig ji4 4 ' FROM PARIS FROM PARI After the Silhouette the Details Determine the Exact ’ > .) , Character of the Frock . ‘ Vic t’ fi d hiff T — , . L in,t to her tradition, fveche often hase ceorte NECK-LINES auine a. bua Mdee e knotted under one shoulder. sleeves of crépe de Chine.

down collar, at the base of the neck or slightly higher or lower, is found on most sports things and informal frocks. It is even used on the continued sports evening dresses. Worth completes it with a sailor tie; many others use a Latin Quarter student bow. Sometimes collars are really high, and then they often wrinkle, par- ticularly when made of crépe. Lanvin puts them on sports blouses and buttons them up the back. Chantal likes little low band-collars, made for women with long necks. Jenny fastens her turn-down collars with gold or enamel brooches. Deeuillet uses checked taffeta sailor collars. Attached scarfs, usually narrow, are frequent additions to lace or chiffon frocks at Chanel’s; and nearly all Vionnet’s flowered chiffons have scarfs knotted in the back, over one shoulder Jenny and Deeuillet use the doubl: sleeve of two materials. CC om « continue their offensive. The little turn-

Worth’s neck-lines have high . . : collars or collars with smar and under the other. Many cape-collars are seen on soft and youthful sailor ties. dresses. Lanvin adds one entirely of paillettes to a chiffon frock, and a chiffon one to a frock of solid shiny embroidery. There are many deep V décolletés for the daytime, and eve- ning ones are usually unexaggerated in front, though they may be deeply oval in the back. Lanvin’s big jabot revers are important.

SLEEVES N SOME collections sleeves are extremely varied and interesting; in others they are plain, or nonexistent. There are, however, more full sleeves than there were last year, with the type that swells toward the wrist in the majority. Some big bishop sleeves are found, and others in which the line is close to the elbow flaring, from there in a : Little cap sleeves on sports frocks, and sleeves enlarged at the wrist. |

Some of Lanvin’s frocks have : as / i, snug effect round the waist and hips. Many tricks, such as Ps \ y lines of trimming or color, double belts, etc., are resorted to | \ in order to lead the eye to the normal waist. Occasionally a LA designer puts it there frankly, but usually only for young e ZA girls. Vionnet and Worth both use the normal waist-line rr td J 7-4

: ° P ~ «4 < Cite <a S fh in this way. Belts are coming back. Many sports models eu have them in plain leather, while afternoon gowns have important embroidered girdles. Amusing are the cravatte ae All Chantal’ llars are de- : . . . Molyneux shows this interest- cepa, empty belts, tied round the waist and hips, often matched by a ing quadruple sleeve. signed for very long necks. ' . y handkerchief round the neck or shoulders. We still find

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for APRIL 1926 = A tweed waist-line is raised by buttoning a point of the skirt in front to the belt. Lelong and others blouse the back and raise the waist-line in front in a curved line. | RS Bernard and others raise the waist-line in front and accent the high point with a bow. \ Patou and others tie a silk handkerchief at the natural waist-line at one side. A \\7 / / . a Lelong’s waist-line is bloused over a tight band at the hips in his angora jersey blouses. plenty of models with the waist-line suppressed altogether, and a general feeling of ‘‘as you like it’? about the whole question, with the consensus of opinion voting for a line that is slightly higher than last year. HEM-LINES JHIEM LINES have superseded waist-lines as the chief point of interest. The most sensational is Chanel’s “‘fish-tail’”’ on chiffon frocks. But uneven hems are found in many other collections, particularly those of Worth, who puts chiffon trails at both sides of evening skirts, and of Louiseboulanger, who, in addition to the panel hanging from a bustle bow that she used last year, is using long cascading ends down one side. Several houses, including Patou, Premet, and Drecoll, lift the edge of the skirt up to one side, and border it with a plaited frill. Vionnet’s hem-line is ex- traordinarily characteristic—the material hung in pouches from various heights in the skirt, in all materials, from taffeta and moire to chiffon. Fringed hem-lines are very good, and are usually straight all the way round. Louise- boulanger has an interesting “‘batwing’’ hem-line, cut in points, and Yvonne Davidson has one like the sections of an umbrella. Here and there we find a frock with the skirt longer in the back than in the front. Lanvin does this in lace. Worth and others add transparent hems to their chiffon, lace and tulle dresses, to lengthen them slightly. Skirts in sports clothes, tailleurs, and most daytime models have straight all-the-way-round hem-lines, as short as last vear. MATERIALS OOLENS: The principal woolen materials are kasha in several varieties, frisca, fine rep, charmelaine, which is a sort of gabardine, and crépella or wool marocain. There are also some ribbed woolens. Wool jersey, especially a new kind called ‘‘angora,” is used for sports things by Le- long, Jenny, Chantal, and Drecoll. There are quantities of light-weight mixtures, both French and English weaves, but less tweed, on the whole. Some cheviots are used for coats and suits. Many finely checked woolens are used, often in combination with plain. Fine stripes, like men’s trousering, are used for the tailored skirts with plain colored jackets. In plaids there are not many woolens, except some big softly toned ones used for sports things by Lelong, Worth, and Chantal. Plaids are more popular in silk or chiffon. Etamine has been revived for coats, especially by Jenny. For rough sports things we find homespuns and the Rodier granics, and some of the Meyer woolens which are mixed with goats-hair. SILKS: The most interesting silk material of the spring is taffeta. It has been used for everything, from plain tailleurs to robes de style. All the crépe weaves are immensely popular; Georgette is used in quantities, often for whole ensembles. Patou has a new heavy variety which he calls ‘fleur de soie.”’ Chiffon is used by the bale, both plain and printed. Of the latter the most popular pattern is that of field flowers, on either a black or colored background. The large flowers are also seen in chiffon, though rarely in crépe de Chine. In this material the small all-over designs are favored, and some collections prefer dots of all sizes to any other design. Flowers outnumber the geometric designs heavily. There is a great deal of toile de soie, often with striped borders, and of wash silks, often finely striped. Both white and colored tussore makes a good showing. Small checks are good. Some satin is used, often for coats and capes. LACES: Lace is very important, both for afternoon and evening. Almost every collection has black lace frocks, either used alone or combined with chiffon. Entire frocks of lace in string color and beige are very elegant. Pastel laces are good for both afternoon and evening. Chanel shows many lace frocks, some with long sleeves, and others décolleté and completed with big shoulder handkerchiefs of colored chiffon. Silver and gold lace is sometimes used. Transparent lace coats are seen over afternoon frocks of chiffon or lace to match. Lace collars and cuffs are present in quantities. Louiseboulanger has a whole skirt of point de Venise with a gray chiffon top. Other Notes ox Colors and Trimmings will be found on page 212. Chanel shows the most sensa- tional hem-line with a long “*mare’s tail’’ of chiffon. Premet and others use a diagonal line running up to a slight drape at the side. — SS Vionnet hem-line in flowered chiffon, hung like pouches from below the waist. Louiseboulanger often has one long end of the side of an uneven hem-line. Molyneux and others use fringed hem-lines. This is of spangled strips of Georgette.

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102 Little cape on typical straight coat, also seen on new tailleurs After Molyneux Typical long cape fitted to the shoulders. Part of an ensemble. For THE COAT PORTS and street coats are on straight lines; but their cut is carefully studied, and they are more complicated than they look. Afternoon coats to complete ensembles may be straight, or they may flare slightly at the sides. The cape is making a strong bid for popularity to replace the coat for all times of day, though curiously enough it is the coat which triumphs in the evening. FoR THE TAILLEUR "THE typical tailleur is neat and trim, has a short jacket, and a skirt which gives a narrow effect though it is easy to walk in. The masculine lines of last year are modified, except in the case of the new development for evening—the dinner jacket of lamé with a plaited skirt which is one of the A frock with a short jacket looking Capes of all novelties of the season. like a tailleur is found in many collections. lengths, from the shoulder cape which is little more than a deep collar to the full length covering the skirt, are an addition After Lanvin Box coat, flaring, over plaited skirt and the still-smart va- reuse blouse for sports wear. After Worth (Right, above) Kasha skirt with Sleeveless jumper in kasha, taf- striped sweater blouse over silk feta or leather over a crépe frock. shirt, and man’s coat-sweater. HARPER’S BAZAR IN THE SILHOUETTE ITS ! SIGNIFICANCE THE PARIS OPENINGS ifter Premet Some ensemble coats still flare slightly, especially when made of taffeta for afternoon wear. (Right) Sports and travel type of coat cut on straight but com- plicated lines with fur collar. Lfter Bernard The three-quarter cape is good for sports, over combination of checked and plain materials. The silk tailleur is important, The short loose box- to both tailleurs and coat-frocks. and this year it is sometimes made of taffeta. coat is good. FoR THE ENSEMBLI [KNSEMBLES are just as important as ever. The idea runs through our entire wardrobe. They continue their tendency, begun last August, to use two materials, two colors, or two shades of the same color, instead of matching exactly. There are as many ; ensembles of print and plain as ever. On the whole the coats are 4 straighter and plainer, but the frocks are softly full. Gathers, plaits, ‘

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APRIL 1926 f 0 | ONLY THE ESSENTIAL LINES OF THE NEW MODE ARE SHOWN HERE After Lelong The lifted-up-in-front line in a sleeveless frow k all soft lines. After Deuillet (Left) The silhouette bloused on lop and softly full in the skirt. After Premet chiffons look their best. Occasionally there is a tendency toward the draped frock which will bear watching. A tendency to lift the hem in a For THE EVENING Fost slight drapery up to one side. In taffeta with knife plaitings. VENING gowns are still of two types—those which are fluttery and made of chiffon, and those which are simple (Left) The bolero developed in in form and give an opportunity for rich embroidery, fringing, flowered chiffon with full skirt jeweling, pailletting and beading. The newest thing in chiffon frocks—Chanel’s long “‘fish-tails” in the back—is illustrated among the hem-lines. Many chiffon frocks continue to be “weighted’’ with embroidered jewelry of strass or colored stones. The tendency of the embroidered and beaded frocks is to get further and further away from the “by the yard”’ look, and to use designs that are obviously planned especially for them. All-over paillettes are still seen, but newer are the designs in paillettes of as many as six colors used together. Lelong’s square jewels are used in rich patterns. that is snug around the waist. } Chanel Fringes are very good again, and this black frock uses fringe in a typical Chanel bolero line. After Premet aprons, shirring, panels, and soft tiered frills replace the circular After cut and godets to a great degree. Chanel FoR THE AFTERNOON FROCK Se ? a = Chanel’s ** fish-tail” chiffon frocks ROCKS without coats are shown in quantities. They are -ndicati ake tentat! After a heures? 6s e ndication o ntative extremely feminine, and are often an example of fine workman- OO en ee oe Vionnet ship in the handling of details, and are usually softly full. Often movement toward longer skirts. they are slightly bloused in the back in the new way; frequently > > - * Cc ‘s hane of} fear hb : they suggest some version of the bolero. Girdles and sashes are, (Above, left) A frock in all- 4 important. Details of lace or plaiting are seen at neck and sleeves. over pink paillettes with tabs Vionnet’s new version of her It is in these softly feminine frocks that the season’s lovely flowered edged with black down the side. pagoda silhouette, with fringe. ql i i f q i it ? Ne Nn i fi { 5 i . {

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HARPER’S BAZAR Pastel green with dyed green mole collar. Kasha costume in sky blue with a little cape. The kasha sweater is cut and fitted ACTIVE SPORTS AND SPECTATOR COSTUMES FROM CANNES

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‘or APRIL 1926 - ae ~ = ees. y . a gun A mauve Georgette dress from Vionnet. Chanel’s new coat of giraffe skin. Vionnet’s unusual plaited pattern. A golf outfit from Chanel. LA DUCHESSE DE GRAMONT VISITS WHITEHALL IN PALM BEACH

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HARPER’S BAZAR NEW CHAPTERS OF TAMPICO A Novel with Mexico for Its Scene and the Burning Passions of a Strong Man Touched by Tropical Madness as Its Theme DESCRIBED IN PART ONE: OVETT BRADIER: Past forty, seasoned by an exceptionally vigorous and unscrupulous career in the oil-fields of Mexico, depleted by malaria contracted in that career, who has returned to Tampico, after a year of recuperation in New York, to take away the wife of the superintendent of the sea terminal of the Alianza Company at Chorreras. Viwa Corew: Hard, alluring, thoroughly sure of what she wants, and sure that it is an entirely unscrupulous man, some one quite the opposite of her high-principled husband, who has bored her in the difficult life of the Mexican oil country. Presspy Corew: Struggling valiantly against baffling odds that hinder the operation of his sea terminal which Bradier had built and given him charge of. Bradier’s interest and feeling of respon- sibility are increasingly engaged in Corew’s problem, in spite of his determination to confine himself to his one object—to take away Vida. GeorGce K. Lentz: The official head of the operations in Mexico of the Alianza Company, with offices at Tampico, an executive cut to the Wall Street pattern and apparently untouched by Mexico. Teresita: A young Mexican cabaret girl who had entertained Bradier as he was passing through Tampico. The last of a long line of such girls who, up to this time—and Vida—had been the only women who had played an important part in his life. self-possessed, Part Two IDA was in the hall of her house. She had on a dinner dress of white lace clinging with an unbroken simplicity to the slender, the seduc- tive, roundness of her body; and she wore no pearls, no jewels at all; not even, Bradier realized, the band of diamonds that served her for a wed- ding ring. She was so cool, her bear- ing was so casual, that she gave an impression of slight boredom. “Did you like your day and see all the marvels of Mexican oil?” she asked. ‘“Presby is in the pantry with the cocktails.” The day had been well enough, he told her; but where he personally was concerned his taste in marvels had changed. Vida made no sign of having heard or understood this. Instead, she lighted a cigaret and went over toa chair, leaving him standing alone. Govett Bradier looked at her almost appealingly; and, as she met his gaze, a smile touched her lips. Poor Presby. He came in—a glass shaker with a silver and cork top in his hand dressed in white flannels and a dinner coat with an informal soft shirt. “T’ve only got some _ nigger them; “‘the good has gone since rum,” he told we were in Tampico.” Corew seemed very young; his scarlet face and light hair, his intense blue eyes, might have be- longed to a boy of no more than twenty. No coat, Bradier recognized, would ever fit Corew’s hung about his thin shoulders . . the . or was him way By ‘She is blonde, it is true, but for the rest—bad. people are bad at moments, but she is entirely wicked.” JOSEPH it the air Presby Corew lent to what he wore? Well, hell, it didn’t matter! ‘Tf it is only Carta Blanca,” Bradier said after a cocktail, ‘“‘you have done something very lofty with it.” The glass shaker had been full, and Vida, Corew, and Govett Bradier drank it to the bottom. They drank and said nothing: Presby stared into his glass, Vida might have been totally unrelated to the room and men in it, and Bradier was privately en- gaged in the sense of renewed power rising in him. HEY were at the table, and Corew abruptly broke the silence he had kept through a pre- liminary light exchange of remarks. “‘ What did you see in the field?”’ he asked Bradier. “Sabana Grande 4 and 6 and the Meson No. 2 well?” Yes, Bradier returned, he had seen those, and Andrew Willig at the Cerro Azul camp; coming back they had stopped by the Tampechana lease. He thought Deleker was worth some special atten- tion, but there was a man in the pipe-laying gang, his name was Shepper, who ought to be made superin- tendent. And without any reference to who already had that position. Another place could be easily found for whoever had it now. Presby Corew laid down his fork and stared into Bradier’s eyes. “Without any reference to who already has it, Mr. Bradier?”’ he demanded. “Exactly,” Bradier answered; ‘that is what I said and the way I should do it.” Corew continued staring at him. When, finally, he spoke again, his words followed each other very slowly, with, apparently, the greatest care. HERGESHEIMER Some “That is the way . . . youshould doit. Tell me this, then—are you going to take Vida back with you to America, or is she following later?” The suddenness of that demand, the sharp drag- ging into relative public of what Vida and he had cherished and kept hidden so long, almost upset Bradier’s confident bearing. But his eyes didn’t waver from Corew’s face. Vida was absolutely, glacially, still. In a matter-of-fact voice he replied, “We had decided that it would be better for Vida to follow me, since I can’t stay here, and you would need time for what practical arrangements you’d want to make. You must realize I was going to speak to you about this to-night—that was what I came to Mexico for —but I was waiting until Vida had left the table.” Corew said harshly that Vida had already heard so much, from Bradier, that the rest was insig- nificant. His tone hardened Bradier’s opposition. “There isn’t a great deal left,’ he admitted; ‘I mean not much that would be any good. But certainly you must say what you like... more or less about me.” “T’m willing to confine it to you,” Corew re- ‘“‘T haven’t an intention of discussing Vida It’s quite differ- turned. with you, if you’re afraid of that. ent. as you ought to know.” He paused. His eves, Bradier saw, were sunk in shadow, the skin about his mouth was tight and drawn, there was a nervous twitching in the muscles of a thin cheek. ‘*Bradier,” he said finally, “‘when I met you first you were only a name to me, I admired you immensely, and when I had met you I admired you more. I realized that you had power; I still realize it; but then I didn’t know what a rotten affair you were.” RADIER leaned forward, his el- bows on the table and his arms folded before him: this was what he must be prepared for, listen to quiet- ly. It was part of the payment for taking Vida. “Yes, rotten,” the other re- peated. “And, in spite of your repu- tation, you are a dirty coward. I don’t like Mexicans, but the worst I ever saw was better than you, he was cleaner and had more honor. More honor—hell, you haven’t any. You haven’t one decent instinct in you. You’re like those little mangy dogs the peons dye pink and yellow. Principally yellow, Bradier.”’ Vida exclaimed, “Oh, Presby!” But apparently he hadn’t heard her. “T can’t really find anything to compare you with.” Bradier repeated steadily: “You must say what you like.” “‘T saw Vida was in love with you, almost at once, and I knew what that would mean, with her. She'd be specially attracted by what you partly were, or perhaps by what you had done—a sort of pirate left over from a more picturesque time. And when I was made superintendent, I understood that, too. OrI thought I did. I took it that your influence had sent us to Chorreras so soon, and I went, like a fool. I thought I could show Vida, here, that I wasn’t exactly made of

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for APRIL paper. She is fair enough. But what I didn’t see was that you had made up your mind to end me.” ‘What do you mean?”’ Govett Bradier demanded. “T’m in love with Vida and intend to marry her. But what’s this other?” “This other is why you didn’t want her in the room when you talked to me. Couldn’t you get her any other way? Wouldn’t she come to you for yourself? Did you have to drive me into the Gulf of Mexico first? But I suppose it’s how you do things; learned from your friends, the bandits.” Bradier turned to Vida: “I haven’t an idea what he means. It sounds as though he’d gone out of his head.” Corew cried at him,“‘I’m talking to you, Bradier; not to her.”” He made a visible effort to collect himself. “Very well, Vida, Bradier had me sent down here and then privately he began to attack me. He did it in a hundred ways—first by paying Rayén. Rayén was hired to keep me from operating the sea terminal. He killed my men whenever it was easy enough, he raided my camps and destroyed them. he pulled down derricks and tore up pipe. For the last four months he hasn’t touched the property of the other companies. “In addition to that, Bradier influenced Lentz, and Lentz wrote to New York. He was polite enough when he came here, except for the fact that he treated me like a thief; he seemed to think I’d steal a can of paint. I don’t know what Bradier told him, but it was enough. Lentz was always saying that I looked very badly, and wasn’t the strain of Chorreras too much for me. “Then this—this swine here went after the men under me, in my own organization. Signal rope and tools stolen, what food Rayén left in the stores was spoiled. Last week some one hitched a cable to some casing and dragged it out of the yard with a tractor. I followed the track for a mile and a half, to where it was loaded. He wouldn’t kill me, do you see, Vida, and take you; not Mr. Bradier; that wasn’t cunning enough. He let me think I was succeeding handsomely, and then turned his Mexicans on me.” In spite of his desperate effort at control Corew’s hands were trembling so violently that he was forced toclasp them. ‘The men under me,” he said again; “tangling the signal halyards when there was a tanker off the surf.” “You can come back to me,” Govett Bradier interrupted him; “everything you have said is a damned lie.” Corew rose; his lips were pinched and _ his vision narrowed to a metallic glimmer. “It’s * His sight was blurred, but he managed to see Vida. ‘Vida, darling,’ he said, ‘drinking will ruin your good looks, and you ought to consider Gille. you who are made of lies, stinking putrid lies. If Vida still wants you, that’s her frightful misfortune; at least she knows you a little now. It was all so useless; you didn’t have to ruin me; Vida was gone. Yet you put me down here, in a’ strange hell, and dug the sand away from me. You never gave meachance. Bradier, if it hadn’t been for Vida, what people would have said about her, I would have shot you last night on my porch; the way you shoot men—in the back of the head.” “@QIT down,” Govett Bradier commanded him abruptly. “You're crazy. I did help to put you here, but it was only because I wanted Vida to see what I had made. I never thought about you. I’ve hardly, until yesterday, given you a thought since. You were never important to me. Mr. Lentz was opposed to your appointment from the first; you don’t seem to have been important to him either; and the rest has come from excited imagina- tion and the fact that, probably, the men don’t like your manner with them. This isn’t Massachusetts, it’s the tropics, you are in the jungle. Most of what you’ve said is such nonsense I won’t take the trouble to answer it. If I had made up my mind to ruin you, as you called it, you wouldn’t be here now... nothing so clumsy. But it was never necessary. Vida, remember you’re a mother.’ Her reception of this reminder absolutely disconcerted Bradier.” Tilustrations by Henry Raleigh “T didn’t object, a minute ago, to your saying I was full of lies, for the simple reason that you were justified. Every time I looked at Vida I was per- fectly willing to lie to you; but I was as willing, at the right moment, to wipe them all out with the truth. I don’t care what you or any other man alive thinks of me, and that part about the pink and yellow dogs, I'll make you a present of. You can remember that you saidit tome. But I believe it was enough. You have expressed yourself with a great deal of success.” Vida asked, “‘What did he mean, Govett, by the rest?” Govett Bradier didn’t know. It was so purely fantastic. Presby Corew reached for a decanter of brandy and refilled his glass. His cheek had contracted and drawn up a corner of his mouth. “Vida,” Corew proceeded, “‘if I haven't taken care of you, it’s been because this other was almost too much. I had a lot of pride about the sea terminal, and thought that it came first, even before love. I told myself that what I had begun to see wasn’t true, that it was only the tropics, every one’s experience who had my responsibility. Then at last I under- stood Govett Bradier. He isn’t powerful, Vida, it’s cruelty; a treacherous (Continued on page 166) | | |

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108 1AS Fi HARPER’S BAZAR By THE COUNTESS OF OXFORD AND ASOUITH = _A “To be With People Who See Without Perceiving, Hear Without Listening, Talk Without Thinking, Listen Without Clapping, Often Copy, Seldom Praise, and Never Admire, Has an Effect Upon Me that is Almost Physical” ACON says: “The nobler a soul the more objects of compassion it hath.” In like manner one might say—the greater the artist the more he will find to admire. The capacity to admire is rare—even rarer than the capacity to enjoy. Joie de vivre—one of the many good expressions the French use to make up for a thin language—is a form of animal exuberance to which the whole world, rich and poor, bond and free, is susceptible. Men and women of leathery hearts, stodgy minds, and frail bodies feel an unac- countable stimulus when they have been in the company of high vitality, and you will not infre- quently hear old-fashioned and even prudish persons say: “I know he is a blackguard, and would cheat his best friend, but I do Jove his joie de vivre, it’s so infectious!” Admiration is of a much subtler and finer texture; it testifies to what is both spiritual and intellectual in human beings, and is only to be found among the richest natures. It is not infectious: on the con- trary, it acts as a challenge to people whose con- versational supremacy depends upon witty dis- paragement, and as an irritant on the dull of soul. When Wordsworth said: “We live by admiration,” he enunciated a profound truth. ) BE with people who see without perceiving, hear without listening, talk without thinking, listen without clapping, often copy, seldom praise, and never admire, has an effect upon me that is almost physical. I can remember crying as a little girl, and wincing at a later period, when I had listened to a clatter of criticism which was wholly condemnatory. ‘“Crabbed Youth and Age” cannot live together, as my friend Lord Kilbracken once wrote to me; but though young people are pro- verbially intolerant, there are tongues that retain their poison long after youth has passed. The time I am not devoting to work, rest, or plea- sure, I like spending, not only with enthusiasts, but with sound critics to whom everything—from a shed in a sunset to a wheel on a rail—is of interest, and with men of taste. These are rare because, while you can increase knowledge and improve your powers of observation, unless you are born with taste it is difficult, though possible, to acquire. ‘Minds that have nothing to confer find little to perceive.” As a means to acquiring taste [ recommend cultivating first its positive side—the power of appreciation— and later its negative and purely discriminative side. you cannot begin too early to exercise an inde- pendent judgment, and admiration will enable you to possess treasures of which no one can rob you, although you may never be rich enough to own them. I have known many great collectors—rich men and men of leisure—who have bought pictures, houses, furniture, tapestries, bronzes, and works of art of every kind, but hardly any of them have had taste. Selection, arrangement, spacing, lighting, line, design, and right relation of color are unknown to them. I found a Burne-Jones—an artist to whom Nature was brutal, love had no sex, and birds were prophets—with his delicate sense of beauty, sym- bol, and design, hung next to the indomitable irony, mystery, and drama of a Daumier; a melting but sugary Greuze child near a Van Gogh, and in close proximity to Augustus John, a flawless portrait by Ingres. Pictures thus hung jarred and challenged, added to which they were placed where the curtains fought against the furniture and the carpets warred against the walls, in rooms where draughts, dados, and lack of intimacy made you feel you were in a pantechnicon. It is not only among the zealous buyers of the new rich, but the proud possessors of old places that you will find this lack; and, in an age when taste is as much the fashion as intellect was at the time my friends and I were called ‘‘Souls,”’ it is a matter of surprise that so many of the in- heritors of beautiful houses have got so little. Were it not that few of these possessed fortunes and many had little enterprise we should not be in a position to admire the beauties of half the fine country houses that are in these Islands to-day. Most people are too careless to notice what they have been surrounded by since their youth, or too absorbed in the routine of their habits and occupa- tions to cultivate esthetic observation; and the majority—having few ideas of their own—can only earn a reputation for taste by copying what they admire in the houses of their friends. The instinct to copy is natural, but it is one I shrink from, for if carried to excess it deprives you of a keen pleasure, and not only prevents you from finding out what you like, but checks the development of your natu- ral taste. And though imitation is a sincere form of flattery it is a tiresome tribute to all but the very vain. Up to a certain point copying is legitimate, but it is better to be a pioneer than a passenger, and best of all to try to create. OST of us admire what we possess ourselves more than the possessions of other people, and are inclined, when asked what we think, to extend cautious condemnation or tepid praise, neither of which is of much value to others. What is needed in sincere criticism is intellectual courtesy, an alter- native suggestion, and an elastic mind, always re- membering it is possible to be a sharp critic and a bad judge. If you hold strong opinions and are very much in earnest you will probably be called a prig, but a sense of humor and proportion should preserve you from this. Unfortunately it is just this sense of proportion which is rare in critics because they are apt to be more interested in their own opinions than the object they are criticizing, and if you try to bring them back to the object by interrupting the flow of their discourse you are inviting a personal rebuff. It is always a difficult matter to know how seri- ously one should take oneself in life. You look among your acquaintances and wonder which bore you most, those who do or those who do not take themselves seriously, and feel a certain misgiving. Forced to make a choice most of us would say: “Oh! give me a sense of humor above everything else—there is nothing so tiresome as people who take themselves too seriously.” But speaking from my own experience I think in the long run the people who take neither themselves nor anything else seriously are the most exhausting to be with; nor can you be sure that even the sense of humor which has pleased you will be applied with the same precision to themselves. The late Lord Curzon—and others I could mention—had an excel- lent sense of humor, but one of the difficulties of retaining one’s friendship with him was that he seldom applied it to himself. Expressionists—by which I mean people whose words are weightier than their thoughts—will narrate in a brilliant and dis- arming fashion some personal experience in which they have not merely failed to distinguish them- selves, but have succeeded in being ridiculous. If you join in the joke for a moment longer than they have anticipated—and with possibly as much wit— you have affronted them, and you realize a little late that, although they have put themselves up for auction, they will always buy themselves in again. Even the humorous may let you down. N SPITE of this it is evident that to achieve any- thing in life you must take—if not yourself— your convictions seriously; and it is just this differ- ence which makes it important that when you are arguing to defend your opinions you must make your opponents feel that you are trying to find and express the Truth and not to score off them. It is not so much cleverness as the capacity to understand the other person’s point of view and the sincerity with which you hold your own, that will give you au- thority. There is nothing so difficult as to get rid of one’s self when asked to criticize a new kind of work of art, something with which you are not familiar and see for the first time—whether it be pictures, plays, music, or sculpture. You may say you do not want in any way to modify yourself. You are not there to suit the artist or the author, he is there for you to pronounce judgment upon, and the stronger you feel—or as the moderns put it, the greater your reaction—the more valuable your opinion. But a fixed mind is not a good foundation for an impartial opinion. The first time you go to a Tchehov play, see Epstein’s sculpture, look at Van Gogh’s pic- tures, or hear the Sacré du Printemps, you will cer- tainly miss something, and consequently have to reconsider a hasty judgment. Not that these artists are gods to dethrone or to enshrine, as much of their work is violent, childish, and ugly, but greater artists than they have been uneven, and to apportion praise only to what you are familiar with is not going to increase the value of your criticisms. Everything new in art or literature requires a long exposure to the mind. It is snobbishness and fashion that make critics so violent and so enclosed. ANE AUSTIN writes: “Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who, for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage.” There are snobs in every department of life, sport- snobs, court-snobs, lion-snobs, literary-snobs, art- snobs and critic-snobs. To retain your power of admiration in advancing years, without having your hand forced by fashion or your temper deflected by argument, it is wiser to suspend judgment till you have enlarged your experience. What I per- sonally find provoking in modern art is that it is too clever, and lays an insistent emphasis on what is distorted and ugly, which neither Greeks, Chinese, nor Egyptians would have tolerated for a moment. To show truth and sincerity is more important than to evoke surprise, and though Truth may be hidden, it is to divers in deep waters we owe the most. There is as much fashion in taste as in clothes, and the pioneers of art have always met with ridicule if not with indignation. The Greenery Yallery, Grosvenor Gallery School of the ’eighties, carica- tured by Gilbert and Sullivan and expounded and developed by Morris, Rossetti, and Burne-Jones, made a profound and much needed inroad on the taste of the day. The poetical artificiality of Mor- ris’s decoration soon acquired prestige of its own, and his disciples had the satisfaction of knowing that every one recognized (Continued on page 160)

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for APRIL 1926 109 THE COUNTESS OF OXFORD AND ASQUITH “The time I am not devoting to work, rest, or pleasure, I like spending not only with en- thusiasts but with sound critics, to whom every- thing—from a shed in a sunset to a wheel on a rail—is of interest, and with men of taste.”

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110 HARPER’S BAZAR “Culliney dealt the cards, his opponent showed an eight, and Ward Culliney smilingly rose and left the table.” LEGITIMATE A Story of a Very Astute Young Man Who Tries to See How Far He Can ULLINEY was playing it safe. He had been holding his place at the chemin de fer table by hazarding an occasional hundred franc chip, but the play was high, and some one called “‘banco” nearly every time, so that his bet was canceled. And now the dealer at his left had lost, and the privilege of banking automatically passed to Culliney. The bank had lost six bets out of the last nine, so there were two ways to figure the situation: one was that the bank’s ill-luck would continue a while longer; the other was that the luck was ready to turn. Culliney, usually cool and cautious, was not the kind to bet against the table, as gamblers phrase it. If black came at roulette he was never stubborn enough to bet against the sable run. But coolness and caution desert most men, even professional gamblers like Ward Culliney, when the bankroll is emaciated from lack of nourishment. He had come into the Casino with his last five thousand francs, and, despite all his caution, the roll had dwindled to a pitiful two thousand, approxi- mately one hundred dollars in American money. There was no loving father back in New York City who would cable replenishment to the dwindled Culliney fortunes; there were no bankers who would honor an overdraft, no firms of respectable attorneys who, despite grim smiles, would advance any re- quired sum to a valued client. AYBE, at Saratoga or French Lick or even, during this month of August, in New York City itself, were men who would be glad to send Ward Culliney getaway money. But one couldn’t be sure; his pals might be as flat broke as himself; By Go at Deauville ARTHUR SOMERS Wallace Morgan Illustrated by even trimming suckers fails of profit if the ponds go dry; and about every sucker worth a real man’s while was in Europe just now. Yes, he was absolutely on his own. And busted! He, Ward Culliney, who had boarded a liner to avoid offending his ears with the squawking of a fleeced lamb, and who had thought to himself that the hunting at Deauville would be superb, who had believed that he, the most agile-fingered card-sharp in America, would find it easy to beat the French boobs, was removed from the hard ground only by the thickness of a pair of leather soles. OT so excellent, friends! Playing chemin de fer at a public table was not quite the same thing as using a These French dealers had eyes like hawks. Moreover, the French detectives were competent. One of them had tapped Culliney on the shoulder the day he landed in Deauville. It was of a pleasure to greet M’sieu; it would be of a desolation most terrible to say au revoir to M’sieu, but—what would you? M. Culliney was of a prominence; but naturally the Casino authorities knew all about so eminent a gentleman; and, while the Casino welcomed him, the Casino desired, least of anything in the world, that M. Culliney’s brave compatriots, the so-gallant Americans, should spread the tidings that the Casino did not protect the purses of the Casino’s guests from any attack save that of the Casino itself. “You want all the boobs kept private, eh?” said Culliney bitterly. ‘‘ No outside pickings at all, eh?” Of a so-quick comprehension was M. Culliney; it was to be prayed that he was not offended; after all, les affaires sont ies affaires. fixed box to deal the cards. ROCHE Sure, business is business,” assented Mr. “Sur busin I . ted Mr Culliney. ‘Well, I'll just walk along the bank and never toss a hook overboard.” Now, had Culliney, on his arrival at Deauville, been illy supplied with American Express checks, he would have returned at once to America, and braved the still echoing squawks that had driven him across the ocean. But he had, as he phrased it, plenty dough, and Deauville was a cheery dump. Races and golf and bathing and pretty girls and— gambling. For Ward Culliney, trickster par excellence, who could operate a crooked wheel or sand a faro deck, had confidence in his mental skill, and when de- prived of opportunity to exercise his digital facility, would back his brains and luck against the brains and luck of any one alive. And he had lost in the neighborhood of thirty thousand hard-gained dollars. These South Americans would certainly bet ’em, and when an Englishman felt like plunging, his shoes were the last things to get wet; an Englishman would dive right in without asking how deep the water was. The mille notes, each worth about fifty dollars, had been peeled off Ward Culliney so fast that, as he mused in his thoughts, he was chilled before he realized the blankets were gone. ET, while one had a bet on the table, one was a potential millionaire. The question was: should he remove the bet or let it lay? He shrugged the wide shoulders that had won the endorsement of second glances from many a chic Parisienne during his stay at Deauville. Iato his hard blue eyes— slightly filmed as are the eyes of most of his sort— came a gleam of desperation. When a man started

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for APRIL 1926 see to figure Juck, to estimate it, that man was a blith- ering jackass. Pass the bank or put up his dough; one or the other and be quick about it. So Culliney tossed two plaques on the table; the man at his right said banco; Culliney dealt the cards; his opponent showed an eight, and Ward Culliney smilingly rose and left the table. ANY a feminine eye followed him as he wove in and out of the heterogeneous, cosmopoli- tan crowd that thronged the rooms. For not only had Culliney wide shoulders and the body of an athlete in condition, he had the _bird-of-prey countenance that attracts women. His not too aquiline nose, the chin that was slightly cleft, the thin lips that could smile and sneer in almost the same movement, the smooth black hair, and the reckless air of him: these found instant favor in the eyes of the ladies. That he was, quite obviously, not exactly of the polite world, made little difference. Women who would have refused to permit him to be presented nevertheless favored him with a passing thought. Culliney looked the lover; not the kindly chival- rous lover, but the cynical lover who, appraising gifts, would toss them back in contempt. And yet Won't you stay to luncheon?’ asked Mrs. Volmer. refuse when a young girl entered the room and Culliney changed his mind.” Culliney was about to he was a bit of an ascetic. He could out-think men, he assured himself, but a woman was something else again. When a woman ought to laugh, she squawked; when she ought to squawk, she came through with a grin. Benny Leonard to knock out Dempsey; Bernard Shaw to become president of a bank; Secretary Hughes to enter the movies: these were swell bets compared to doping out what a woman would do on any occasion, under any cir- cumstance, before any compulsion. Here and there men nodded to him, put them- selves in his way, forced him to stop and exchange words with them. For men accorded him liking as readily as women accorded him something more. Before he had managed to push his way to the check- room where reposed his hat and stick, he had declined five invitations for the morrow. Chance acquaintances, these, who did not realize that the police at home bent wary eyes on Ward Culliney. To them, these sojourners abroad, Ward Culliney was an extremely attractive young man whose very reticence about himself seemed to indicate that he was somebody. And the female com- panions of the gentlemen were depressed because of his refusals. But not half so depressed as Culliney. Back in his rooms at the Normandie, he stared out at the ocean, shimmering coldly under the moon. He shuddered slightly; the world seemed like the sea to-night; bright but inhospitable, beautiful but indifferent. They said the French jails were simply terrible, and that the French detectives were the best in the world. Not so good. And damn that shining ocean, which seemed alive, inviting a chap to wade out and in. This was sap stuff; he’d been sunk before and had emerged weighted with jewels. As he lay in bed he recounted to him- self the times he had been broke, forlorn, hopeless, and reassured himself by remembrance of how somebody had always come along in the nick of time and offered himself for the shearing. But it wouldn’t work, this philosophical reliance upon past per- formance. It simply wouldn’t bring sleep to his restless pillow. For those other occasions had been back home in the good old U. S.A. This was in France, with foreign speech and customs and every- thing conspiring to hamper an artist in his work. LEEP did, of course, finally come, but it was a troubled slumber, and when awakened in the morning he was unrefreshed, blue, miserable, afraid. This last was the ominous thing; he was afraid. And a confidence (Continued on page 1098)

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for APRIL 1926 Baron de Meyer takes his hat and stick and goes forth to capture the elusive new idea. B.DE MONVEL BARON DE MEYER ATTENDS THE OPENINGS “New Silhouettes,’ “Inimitable Cuts,” “ Youthful Spirit” The New Spring Collections are Freely Dtscussed Illustrated with Photographs by the Author and with Drawings by Bernard Boutet de Monvel 18 rue Vaneau, Paris. N IDEA prevails in the United States that American women (is it because of a distinctive mentality, or are there other reasons?) need a style of clothes particularly their own. To advise the wearing of a different type of gown from what smart Frenchwomen wear seems to me most un- desirable, especially as American women wear clothes as well as any Parisienne. It strikes me, therefore, that it would be almost offensive to write down to the level of what certain would-be experts con- sider as ‘suitable for the American public,” and I shall conse- quently not attempt to give a glimpse of the new Paris fashions as seen through the eyes of these would-be wise ones, but instead give you my distinctly Parisian views on the four or five thousand new models it has been my privilege to see. My readers will easily distinguish for themselves between what is good or bad, from among much that I personally consider beautiful. Most enjoyable was an afternoon spent at Poiret’s, for his collection is probably the finest he has produced since before the war. This great designer’s name stands as a symbol for precious textures. His style spells magnificence. He is often daring, and never dull. His fashions generally differ from those shown in other houses, for his inventive genius is a law unto itself. His creations are unique, always in a class by themselves, always his own. “Tl y a un fourmillement d’idées incroyables dans cette collec- tion,” said, Mr. Paul Rodier, who happened to be seated beside me. ‘A hotbed of ideas,” is the equivalent in English. It expresses my thought exactly. “Do you notice the clever way in which Poiret uses our textiles?”’ continued Mr. Rodier, pointing to a model made of the new plaited kasha, simply held together by a narrow belt and having flower embroideries on the shoulders. ‘And the delightful use he has made of our new kasha dégradé, remark- able if only because of the artistry of combining a difficult geometrical pattern into a very pleasing suit.” One kasha model Poiret showed was practically a modified robe de style, the figured beige material forming the bodice, while the full skirt and the simple coat were of dark brown kasha. Most day gowns in this new collection are wearable, imagina- tive in detail but simple in line. Models are neat and trim, even though the skirts seem slightly longer than in most other houses. They seem designed for the kind of women who object to the universal crépe frock, consisting of a plaited skirt and jumper, and who, though conservative in line, mean to express originality of thought. Models vary between absolute straightness and the distinctly Poiret flare, combined with long-waisted bodices and long peasant sleeves, full all the way down and gathered at the wrist. While long gray silk fringes were being shown on a brown rep garment, some one near me called out—‘“‘Oh, le beau singe de soie!”’ (silk monkey fringe). It looked exactly like it. “Invitation au voyage,’’ composed of a green checked taffeta écossaise, is loosely wrapped about the figure and forms a bodice to be worn with a plain green skirt. “Ballade” and “ Matelot” are two very striking black and white creations, which are typically Poiret. They are accen- tuated by daring touches of brightest blue. “Harikiri” is a model original both because of material and shape. It is made of brown crépe, with an all-over confetti pattern in yellow, and has emerald-green tassels, which strike the Japanese note. From among the evening gowns I like “Paradis” best. It consists of a plain slip cut from a beautifully woven Bianchini scarf of black and silver, with designs of birds of paradise among palm trees. There are swishing black silk fringes as a decora- tion. “Smoking”’ is an original looking silver tissue frock over flesh, 115

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HARPER’S BAZAR combined with a wonderful, even if modified, man’s dinner jacket made in a solidly spangled black texture. There are quite a series of taffeta models. Most of these have a pronounced old-world feeling, of course brought up to date by Poiret. ‘Brigitte,’ “‘Pamela,” “Veronique” are some of the names he has given them. “Mystique” is a trailing gown of great distinction. It is made of silver velvet, hand-painted with golden flowers and trimmed with ermine, worn over a dull silver underskirt. O write about the Vionnet collection is a pleasure, for noth- ing is more pleasant than to praise what one admires. This collection, produced by an artist’s creative brain which ex- presses itself in clothes, should be judged as a unity of thought, a magnificent effort, not by the success of an individual model. All day long and far into the night an endless parade of the trial, the near success, and the grand success. The impressive entrance of Madame Vionnet’s establishment in — the Avenue Montaigne. 4 Madeleine Vionnet’s couture is in a class by itself. It partakes of an inventive quality. The distinctive atmosphere her models produce on the public is primarily achieved by artistry of cut, which might be termed geometrical; secondly, by certain decorative touches, both in trimming and embroideries in- variably of her own creation, and, thirdly, by her constant and insistent repetition of one and the same theme (with variations) having, however, primarily made this very theme her own. Certain models, often identical in line with those of previous seasons, are the quintessence of an ideal Madeleine Vionnet pursues. It is because of these perpetual repetitions her models attain such a rare degree of perfection. Madeleine Vionnet never relinquishes an idea once she has decided it is good, for it is only by repeating it one gets to know its value. She told me she considered a successful model often to be the result of several seasons’ study. I was privileged to see the Vionnet collection in Madame’s ~ yr -_

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Crowds, crowds at every collection. Thousands of models and thousands of people to buy them. own salon and in her company—a private view. The keenness she displayed in pointing out each new detail with precise and valuable comment made my visit vitally instructive. The collection, undoubtedly inspiring as an entity, is replete with new inventive touches. Not all of these can possibly succeed, but, then, why should they? They should stand to Madame Vionnet’s credit. She gives one food for thought from an overflow of inventive material. The most interesting novelty is undoubtedly her skirt cut geometrically, forming solid shapes. Soft pocket-like pouches, cut in squares, producing ample looking skirts, without the aid of flounces, frills or floating panels, or even much material. These produce a graceful turned-under effect at the bottom of the skirts, each one, according to texture and style, being cut in a different geo- metrically pouchy way. The Pagoda style bodice, tentatively tried last season, comes in triumphantly this spring, but is improved by being attached both front and back. Waist-lines, especially in models for very young women, occupy an almost normal position, while in a plain black satin gown and coat, typically Vionnet, the pinched effect, slightly below the armpit, produces an absolutely premier Empire effect. Could this be the forerunner of a new mode? This model looks so up to date, in spite of its being a very new departure, that it may easily become a best seller.

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| | Ap wk A dark cloth coat-cape trimmed with blonde fur has regular sleeves hanging from their proper place, while two slits for the hands transform this coat into a cape. On a multitude of printed chiffon and crépe gowns, scarfs are admirably placed, mostly hanging down the back, tied into very large bows, the ends reaching to the hem of the skirt. Tailored suits are distinctive and plain; some of them, almost normal-waisted, are worn in combination with waistcoats. Evening gowns are either sheath-like, richly embroidered with beads in modern designs inspired by the ocean’s deep-sea vegetation, or are flowing garments of crépe and chiffon. Silk fringe is as popular as ever, and a series of robes de style in metal textures shows this artist’s predilection for long skirts.

ORTH’S establishment is a familiar playground. When I was a child, old Worth, wearing a black velvet cap and flowing white silk tie, would present me with remnants of brocade, which, in those days, had the quality of leather. The old establishment remains, but what about the brocade? The old man’s sons and grandsons don’t seem to care for it much more than I do, now. Brocade to them spells stateliness and pomp, and who, nowadays cares to look impressive?

At Worth’s when Baron de Meyer was a little boy. In those days of brocade and satin a gown was a serious affair.

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Jean Charles, the present ruler of the Worth fashions, is ultra modern and very up to date. What could be more typical of his modern attitude than his silver tissue evening gown, consisting of a regular plaited sports skirt and of a jumper having a V opening and sailor’s-knot tie? The costume carried out in silver and gold is the key-note of the entire collection. Worn with a long cream-colored cape, printed with roses and edged by a wide band of sable, it produces a stunning effect, one of the smartest ensembles I have seen this season. His evening capes and wraps are particularly beautiful this season. There is one of a tweed-like gold metal texture with light brown velvet wing-like panels and fur, and another in black satin lined in red, with a wreath of red roses on a fur collar, which are highly successful. A very distinct note are ties, worn sailor’s-knot fashion. They appear on almost every model, be it in organdie, in crépe, in printed textures, in jersey, or in shiny metal tissues. Flowers nestle in almost every daytime collar, always made of the same material as the gown, even in checked tweed. For day wear jersey and tweed, dégradé woolen textures, checked materials and marocains, are in great favor. So are printed dots and checks on crépe and chiffon. All these materials are made into very wearable and youthful little frocks, short, but slightly longer than last season. The foundation in most cases, however, is very short. Small capes at the back of tailored suits, or big capes to complete a suit, are used in very varied ways. Silver leather used in different ways is a feature of the house. A Roman chariot race, for instance, cut out and applied on black chiffon, is as lovely as the silver elephants which encircled the waist of last season’s model. These models, by the way, have been baptized “the Worth circus.” Most interesting is an evening gown made of interlaced narrow strips of gold leather forming the bodice, while the untied strips below the waist form a fringe-like skirt. There are any number of beautiful evening gowns in crépe Georgette and chiffon, sparkling and plain, embroidered with fantastic birds or trimmed with a profusion of lace, soft, graceful, young, but there are few brocades. Worth’s brocade gowns are no more featured, though I dare say they are still made to order for the dowager who happens to be a faithful client of many decades’ standing. HANEL’S opening was brilliant. There was a struggle for admittance and an atmosphere of expectancy which must have warmed the heart of the little lady in sweater and pearls, watching the proceedings from the landing of the floor above. “How do you like my new silhouette?” was the first thing Mademoiselle Chanel said to me, after the collection had passed. “All this last week I’ve had to work until three a. M. and I am dead. I could no longer bear the sight of women’s calves. They pursued me everywhere I went. But how was I to disguise them without actually lengthening the skirts, which would have been aging? To drop the skirt in the back, while keeping the front quite short, was the only solution. I’ve emphasized this novelty, particularly for the evening, though even in day gowns the tendency is indicated. It is accentuated by a slight lift of the gown in front and the drooping pulled-in look at the back. Of course, sports clothes and practical walking suits, as well as simple little frocks of crépella, crépe, or tweed, remain standardized as they have been for the past few seasons.” “Quite so,” I said. ‘ You are of course referring to the kind of gown which is renewed not because styles have changed but because one tires of it.’”” This made her laugh. “ Possibly,” she replied. A novelty for sports clothes are horizontal stripes, known in France as des rayures bayadéres, colorings in these stripes being reminiscent of horse blankets, the novelty coming in a variety of woolen textures on the order of kasha. Sports skirts are skimpy, some of them with bands of plaits placed very low, and coats are as abbreviated as boleros. Dégradé woolen textures, beautifully used, are made into interesting coats. The collection might easily be called “‘ Beige and Bordeaux Triumphant,” these tones being used in all their gradations with, as a new note thrown in, a lovely shade of Madonna blue, called at Chanel’s bleu de Sévres. There are wraps in moleskin dyed Bordeaux color, and there is a black velvet and satin coat, lined with what looks like ermine, but proves to be a new kind of flat ostrich feather lining, cut from a woven texture. “A distinct novelty,’’ said Mademoiselle Chanel, “which has a future and is full of possibilities.” The pin-plaited shirred effects, until recently used for evening wraps alone, have acquired a new lease of life by being treated in Georgette crépe for afternoon ensembles. The shirring is so fine as to resemble the new Rodier milply kasha. Both in Bordeaux and beige these plaitings produce a most stunning effect. HEN, a year ago, I said of the Patou spring collection, “It is unsurpassable,’’ I meant it. Patou, at the time, had achieved the maximum of gorgeousness and nothing seemed likely to surpass it. I hadn’t reckoned, however, with such fickle goddesses as Madame la Mode, nor with the versatility of the couturier and the intelligence of the man. Patou achieves the apparently impossible problem—he renews himself. Since he found the non plus ultra of modern elegance no more resided in magnificent textures, in glittering embroideries, and in rainbow colored hues, Patou decided to give us instead a collection of sophisticated simplicity in the most perfect taste. He has succeeded in doing so, and his models are bound to appeal to the refined and delicately minded women, such as exist in every country, more so, perhaps, than to the majority of foreign importers, whose judgment as to what is good or bad is generally influenced by what they consider will yield an immediate profit. Their commercial point of view rarely considers the gradual education of the public, in view of improv- ing fashion standards. Therefore, Mr. Patou should be congratulated on avoiding the meretricious glitter and should be told that his collection deserves the highest praise. It surely will enhance his standing, as a man of taste, a hundredfold the wide world over. The Patou silhouette has developed along the lines this house has laid down these last six months. There are no vital changes, the diminution of the excessive flare is probably the most important one. The next one is the altered neck-line and the numerous collars, which make last year’s models look sadly out of date. * Another of the season’s novelties is taffeta, which Patou uses principally for coats and day gowns. Much noticed in this new collection is the absence of masculine fashions, while distinctly feminine styles are in ascendance. Evening dresses with an atmosphere of sports clothes about them, much in favor last season, are no more favored by Patou. Instead, chiffon dresses with lace insertions, as well as taffeta gowns, are made a feature of. One model in particular is developed in a shade called “ashes of roses,” and an equally successful model shown is made in tones of silver-gray. These are worn with two harmonizing wraps. The undergarment called “dalmatique” is concealed beneath the warmer and much more elaborate wrap which comes with a fur collar. European summers have a way of being chilly and some sort of covering had to be invented for dining out of doors. The “‘dalmatique,” therefore, fills a much felt void. The warmer garment is only required for departing in one’s car. Printed dresses are very numerous, both in chiffon and crépe. I counted at least six different models which had confetti dots as patterns. There are any number of sparkling white dresses, these latter being every one of them very reticent and distinguished looking. A white taffeta gown, for instance, spangled in rhinestones, is called ‘‘ Je vais danser.” It has a full skirt with a wide border of black taffeta points. Two dead-white crépe ensembles, profusely trimmed with white silk fringe, both gown and cape, are supremely elegant. So is ** Parme,” a vaporous gown of mousseline de soie worn in combination with a velvet coat of a deeper shade of Parma velvet. HE Lelong collection is among the most interesting and im- pressive manifestations of this season’s fashions. The spirit of this couturier is ultra modern, has even been called American. Whatever it may be, it is full of pulsating life. His views on dressmaking and on the styles of to-day, as expressed in the press, especially around the word “‘kinetic,”’ are worth record- ing. Having only recently grasped the meaning of this term, I am quite anxious to be allowed to impart my knowledge. Lelong says: “The spirit of the time reveals itself in the rate at which people move.’’ This sounds most interesting, but, he admits, requires explanation. “Assuming,” he con- tinues, ‘that the pace of life changes constantly, fashion ought to follow suit, and express the spirit of such changes. To consciously capture this fleeting style is what I am striving for in my creations. The result should be what might be called ‘absolute style,’ at least momentarily absolute.” He further tells us that “kinetic (Continued on page 121) HARPER’S BAZAR

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Sor APRIE 1926

ania oe onal eed DRECOLL

ee eee i er ¢ j 4 “ee ; <jreen aaha! perls(cslume- designing” is a method and not a fashion. The wearer’s movement is taken into consideration, as would be a texture, as part of a whole. Photographically speaking, kinetic crea- tions are not designed for “‘stills,’ but are meant for the motion-picture camera. Lelong claims that in merely trying to give expression to his theories and following kinetic prin- ciples, he has virtually given a name to present fashions and has coined the term “kinetic styles.” Judging from the unprecedented success of his spring col- lection, Lelong’s ideas are sound. A new note is particularly noticeable in his sports attire. The note for the country club is more of the course and court than of the porch. A number of specialized costumes are shown, the yachting suit, the tennis outfit, clothes for boating on the river, and so on. They have a workman-like air about them, though they require the wearer’s individual chic to give them snap. This sports note, typical of our period, points to the trend of fashion for the next few seasons. Sweaters, men’s silk shirts, or blouses made of Angora jersey, waistcoats, linen collars, ties and big bows at the neck are a few of the items used for chic costumes de sport. New is the “four piece” suit, coat, skirt, shirt, and motor rug, combined in bright checks with harmonizing plain textures. Typically modern and chic are Lelong’s riding clothes. They stand for the modern point of view in opposition to the classical British style, which, somehow, is getting much too formal for the younger generation, and nowadays seems relegated to the traditional English hunting-field and is in general more suited to older women. Lelong uses all known materials in his new collection, includ- ing Angora jersey and taffeta, and two new colors, vert d’eau and rose matignon. In fact he even combined both shades in one model, a very daring harmony. There is a magnificent display of evening gowns, each one accompanied by an opulent looking evening coat. A blaze of color and light. Crépe Georgette, smothered in glittering sequins, and metal textures covered by splendors generally connected with Aladdin’s cave. <A riot of color and mag- nificence. A new note is struck by square-cut stones, set closely together like mosaic, forming a pattern in sparkling designs. Madame Lanvin showed a very comprehensive spring and

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summer collection on the eve of departing for a vacation trip to the United States. Such trips are becoming increasingly popu- lar among the representative members of the French couture. The success of any collection is nowadays assured, when on the opening day a crowd of foreign buyers stands on the stairs of an establishment and is admitted only two by two. At the Lanvin opening, the crowd clamoring for admittance seemed particularly unruly, very stringent measures having to be resorted to. HE new features at Jeanne Lanvin’s are, to start with, the waist in its normal position, and, secondly, longer skirts. Some of these have a way of drooping in the back, which ap- parently shortens the front. This, however, does not prevent her including many models with the lowest waist-line shown in any house in Paris, as well as very abbreviated skirts. An individual characteristic of Madame Lanvin’s designing is her predilection for superimposed materials. Bodices reveal an underbodice and a foundation, while skirts, in many in- stances, open down the front, 2t the side or in the back, over net or lace skirts covering the fundamental slip. Circles, pastilles, and dots, generally in black on white or white on black, is a pattern frequently reverted to, in many instances with additional touches of Madonna blue. Sports clothes are little altered. They are straight, have plaited skirts, and are particularly trim and wearable. The Lanvin tailor-mades are distinct in style, recognizable a mile away. Some of them have a picturesque quality about them. I am referring to one in particular which is made of beige kasha and unbleached seal. Kasha is used extensively. Now that this woolen texture is embroidered in gold, many of the crépe de Chine models are worked with wool. Really delightful are the new taffeta afternoon robes de style; they are voted “charming and exquisite’’ at the first showing. Among the most pleasing is “ Cosette,” ‘‘ Musette,” and “‘ Don Juan.” They have huge puffed gigot sleeves which, by contrast, make the waist look tiny. LL day models are shown with hats, either helmet-shaped and close-fitting, or with modified sort of picture hats inspired by great-grandmother’s coal-scuttle bonnet. Evening gowns are beautiful and show fine work; the use of a pink spangled texture is a novelty in this house. In a specially effective model, Madame Lanvin uses it as a panel-like little cape on a spangled gown, reaching below the waist-line in the back. Color harmonies in pale chartreuse, leaf-green, and flesh are unusual, and there are several models with a distinctly marked Egyptian feeling about them. “Sphinx” and “Scarabée,” in particular, show rare embroidered designs, which I was given to understand had been copied from some of Tut-ankh-amen’s HARPER’S BAZAR treasures, which were recently exposed in the Cairo museum. A black robe de style is composed of oblong leaves of taffeta, incrusted on black net. There are two diamond stars in front, above the center of the bodice. A very beautiful model, which is called ‘‘ Saturne.”’ On entering the Drecoll establishment an air of sumptuous- ness envelops one. The premises are magnificent. The environment produces an atmosphere which is reflected in the huge and comprehensive collection, a monument to Madame Madeleine’s creative and untiring efforts. Every model is elaborately composed, its cut studied, and the execution worthy of the highest standards. A great many day gowns, in fact the majority, have belts. These, as well as sashes tying on the hips, are placed verv low. Neck-lines, at Drecoll’s as elsewhere, are distinctly new. They are quite high, though few models have actual neckbands, and upstanding and outstanding muslin or lace collars are made quite a feature of; these, since the décolleté effects are tending to disappear, are likely to come into their own again. Boyish looking Eton collars, white stocks, or, possibly, only a silk muffler folded across the opening of the neck, are some of the devices for finishing off day clothes. RECOLL strikes a distinctly new note in sports clothes, admirably presented by a breezy looking young woman who not only presents the models but exemplifies how such clothes should be worn out of doors, and how one should move and carry oneself. There are woolen knitted coats, one of them in squares of two shades of blue, worn with a plain skirt; leather coats with the suitable muffler, a sailor suit of white and navy, and especially a green, rough looking jacket with a white Eton collar which, worn with a green, brown, and gray horizontally striped skirt, is extraordinarily chic. At Drecoll’s, as in almost all houses, capes, capes, and again capes are the constantly repeated feature. Evidently capes are the feature of the season in every single establishment. Another note which runs through all the collections is the apparently incongruous mixing of unsuited textures, as, for instance, chiffon and kasha or the new Angora jersey with Georgette. The “ Madeleine” touch in chiffon day gowns and in the elaborately embroidered Drecoll creations is very marked. “Sakharoff,”’ for instance, is wonderful, so is a champagne- colored model called ‘“‘ Gauloise.”’ Most of the more dressy gowns are designed with floating capes. When capes are not resorted to, for producing a grace- ful line, wide, hanging sleeves give similar results. Some of the new sleeves are composed of little circular panels, others, long and narrow, become trumpet-shaped as they reach the wrist. There is a noticeably new tendency in evening gowns, no doubt influenced by the prevailing (Continued on page 202)

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Some Light and Some Serious Afterthoughts on the Great Spring Cere- mony When Locked Doors Fly Open and Out Comes The Mode ¢ e “gs is Av A x iN F YOU were condemned to look at clothes for two weeks every six months from ten o’clock in the morning till after midnight, you would probably protest that this was a cruel, unusual, and iihuman punishment. But your faithful fashion editors do fourteen days twice a year as regularly as the time of old-fashioned spring and fall cleaning used to come round; and so vitiated is our taste by the making of clothes of which there is no end, that we even learn to like it in time, as boys learn to like the strong cigars that knock them out in the beginning. You can get used to anything, except prohibition, and I must say that I get a lot of joy out of the openings. They call them “openings,’’ you know, because that is the day that the house is closed to regular clients and the world in general. This perverse joy of mine is not only the negative one of the idiot who banged his head because it felt so good when he stopped. It is partly the deep professional satisfaction of knowing beforehand every trick that the well-named spring mode can spring on me; and partly sheer delight in the incon- gruity of the extraordinary assemblies of people that the collec- tions bring together. That’s what I call the human side of the openings. The great Sherlock himself would have had an awful time identifying the profession of some of the people who flock to Paris to buy clothes twice, and even four times, a year. Take us by and large, there is perhaps no class in the world whose appearance so belies its occupa- tion as does ours—we who earn butter and jam for our bread by making, buying, selling, _ drawing, and describing clothes. ' ‘Men who look like proféssional athletes turn out to be dress- makers; middle-aged ladies of imposing proportions, with glasses on their noses and ground-grippers on their feet, are enthralled by “chicken models’’; lank serious men, all superfluous flesh long since burned away by frantic activity | in the cloak and sue-it business, are bloodhounds after “‘stylish ri stouts.”” Some of the most famous and highly paid “ fash- ion experts,’ as we reporters like to get people to call us, are among the world’s worst- Shy dressed women. Things are not in the least what they seem, and skim milk masquerades in the garment trade as in every “The 449th model begins other. to look blurred and hazy.” Of course, if you are one kind HARPER’S BAZAR THE HUMAN SIDE OF THE OPENINGS HowaRD Y /) / / By MaRrRJorRIE of person, you will gurgle, with a knowing look, that it is no hardship to go to Gay Paree, as you are certain to call it, twice a year, you'll tell the world. All right, go ahead and tell it, and I, for one, will agree with you. It is never a hardship to go to Paris; from the minute I behold the top of Lorelei’s “Eyeful Tower,” my heart lifts up as Wordsworth’s did at an ordinary rainbow. But it is perhaps just faintly discouraging always to have to go there when every one else who can possibly get away “Your sartorial apples may look like onions to me.” has left—in February when the rair. falls with the inevitability of old age; and in August, when dust devours the boulevards, and even the concierge is in the country for her health. Then we who choose the wherewithal in which you shall be clothed are flying madly in scuttling taxis through the wet and through the heat; flying, that is, as fast as the incomprehensible traffic police will let us. They stand on corners in caped authority, shouting eternally, brushing the traffic along with portentous white truncheons, or stopping it by sheer power of the French language. In the old days before the War, we journalists were the worms of the profession, and we had to do our worming in all sorts of undignified ways in order to get our worm’s-eye view of the collections on the first day. But what a change is there, my fellow workwomen! Now we are honored guests in the great majority of houses, and more and more of them flatter us with

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for AFRIL I926 special champagne showings before anybody else gets a look-in. Some of these showings turn into sumptuous parties; and when, the actual collection over, the mannequins and vendeuses start in to dance wholeheartedly till morning as the reward of their labor, past and to come, the exhausted guests of honor stagger home; or, luckless wights, to cable offices where wires are hungry for all the words and music of the mode that simply cannot wait till next day. The morning after the party comes the turn of the buyers, and from that moment, no creature in a successful house has time to eat or sleep. I assure you that buying goes on till the small hours, and begins again long before you have had your breakfast; and how they stand it, I don’t know. All orders have to be in as soon as possible, you see; otherwise your competitor on the next street of your home-town might be able to show his Paris models before you do, and you’d find yourself a day after the fair. They tell me that the mannequins, who have no such direct financial — in- terest in large sales as the vendeuses, actually show clothes asleep > sss ~Ssoon their feet. \a ABA ANB Every one likes to be ( Hh \i| eM \} iy a guest of honor, and these splendid evening receptions also enable us to get through our allotment of collec- tions in fewer days; but | I am always glad to see some of them in com- pany with the ‘‘regu- lar crowd.’’ To begin with, I admire intensely the way in which most of them acquit them- selves of the difficult task of choosing the very cream for their special clientele. I know how hard this is, ‘All these things have to go on somewhere!”’ for I try to do it for Harper’s Bazar. In the second place, the pro- fession has a speech of its own, and I adore the language, even though I don’t speak it myself. “*Six thousand five hundred?” asks a buyer with a cigar at an acute angle in the corner of his mouth. ‘Say, that’s my tele- phone number. Give mea price.”’ “‘Aw, don’t crab the game,”’ says his friend, who doesn’t want the model. ‘‘She’s got to get a little wolf-powder out of it for herself, haven’t you, Modder-mo-zell?”’ Vague sweet smiles on the part of the Moddermozell, who doesn’t know wolf-powder from pintucking and thinks all Americans mad anyway. Then there are the buyers from across the Channel. They come on a bit later, when the fury of the first rush is spent, and they buy, I believe, in vast quantities. On their days the salons are full of hats rather on the back of the ladies’ heads, and gold bicycle-glasses on the noses of the gentlemen; but also of soft English voices and beautifully darkened ‘‘a’s.’’ Sometimes there is a tinge of cockney which is unadulterated joy. ““Ow, it’s beads,”’ I heard a low intense contralto behind me. ‘“‘I thought it was lice.” Living far from the land of slang, as I do, I often pick up a priceless gem at openings. It was here I first heard the overworked retort, ‘‘So’s your old man,”’ and compared it, in what I thought quite a philological manner, with the French equivalent * Et ta seur!”’? which has been current since long before the War. You see, the collections are educational, too. I overheard at one of them part of a discussion between two Frenchmen, a new version of the origin of the hen and the egg. They were arguing which came first, coquetry or modesty; and their conclusion was that the beginning of modesty was the protest of the first woman too ugly and too stupid to be a coquette; a thoroughly Gallic solution. Of course, the collections are not con- versazione; every person in the place is there on business, and that business is uniquely clothes. Such flowers of speech as these are mere occasional blooms along the wayside. They relieve the weary monotony; for it must be confessed that looking with intelligence and concentration at four hundred and fifty dresses, passed in a steady stream, is rather a strain, unless you get relief somehow. It depends a good deal, of course, upon the collection itself. Some are like certain picture plays, remarkable only for well-sustained expense. 127 “Catching wistful glimpses of the gor- geous butterflies.” “The larger the woman .) the ‘cuter’ the . she fancies.” ys yt Some intrigue and hold us by their novelty; some delight us by their very trueness to their own type. Different men have different opinions, and your favorite sartorial apples may look But, if I am as polite as I should be, I won't (Concluded on page 208) like onions to me, let my face show it. “ By their feet ye shall know them” model

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128 NID TREVISAN, who was sure of Arden’s taste, invited him to go to Gil Alberti’s studio and, as an added inducement, to meet Gil Alberti himself. Now, this painter, this new marvel, this prodigy out of what used to be Austria and is now, perhaps, Czecho-Slovakia, was not willing to meet critics, or any one else, for that matter. He kept to himself, and painted. Arden went to the meeting with a new sensation of excitement, a prickly feeling along his scalp, quite unlike anything that had happened to him since, we'll say, his first meeting with Rodin, years before, or the time he was taken back-stage to see Sarah Bernhardt, and, marvel of marvels, to kiss her hand. In the cab, on the way up Fifth Avenue, his heart acted strangely. “T feel,” he said to Enid, “like a small boy going toa party. Will there be ice-cream?” , “Wait and see!” “What’s the fellow like?” ‘Young. Queer. Or, if you prefer, perfectly normal. A terrific worker himself. ”’ “Sure! In this day and generation!” The painter lived in a modern building on the West Side. An elevator flew up fifteen stories to a studio on the roof **Are there others?” voices behind the door. “My friends,’’ Mrs. Trevisan answered. “But I have tried not to take advantage of Gil Alberti’s generosity. He said to bring you, and Bel Tavis and Venable.” , Arden followed her into a great square room, a room just right, not too well furnished, yet livable, and having, as a background for canvases, easels, books, the frosty glitter of the city, out through the windows, in the blue and smoky winter dusk. And quite sure of Arden demanded, hearing EFORE a fireplace, facing the room, was a young man. He was tall, very thin, pale, with cropped hair and a monocle. The monocle was not, Arden saw at once, an affectation. The lens was thick, concave. When the glass fell, as it did now, the artist’s left eve seemed to droop, to go blank, to be very nearly blind Mrs. Trevisan, an impeccable woman, said just the right thing in presenting them to each other She implied that Gil Alberti had been born and had “*Vowre greedy, Arden said. ‘You want everything! ” Possession and immunity!’ achieved, only that Arden might say: “‘ Here, at last, is perfec tion But, the moment Arden took the long, nervous hand, he experienced a shock almost of aversion. It was not that he expected a robust type: a hairy peasant or a jovial poet. He had learned to dis associate artists from their art, and had almost come to believe that artists are only mediums through whom an incalculable and erratic force plays like lightning. He had met too many artists in his day to be disappointed because Gil Alberti wasn’t a Titan with a rich, brown beard. As he should have been! Subconsciously, perhaps, Arden had visualized a sort of Henry the Eighth in modern clothes: a rollicking, broad-cheeked fellow with long gray eyes and red lips and fat hands. For Gil Alberti painted like a profligate, a lovable, incredible sinner. N AN age when nothing is real but science, Gil \lberti seemed to believe in all the things men have invented for their own delusion. He painted beautiful, sad-eyed, eager women in finery. He painted theater lobbies. He painted dancers, sports, race touts, riders, statesmen, gamblers, boxers, and soldiers. His canvases were ardent, merciless com mentaries, but they were also frivolous, magnetic. Looking at them, you forgot what you had so recently learned: that humanity is facing the final test; that all the dear delusions must be cast out for the truth; and then on, if possible! No, here was illusion, the glamourous, half-doubting cynicism of youth. Life as it used to be, as it ceased, not so long ago, to be. Arden let Gil Alberti’s hand fall without saying what he had intended to say. He moved over to the couch before the fireplace, where Bel Tavis was already established, one leg crossed over the other, to display an expanse of silk, a contour, and a mag- nificent shoe buckle, her sables on the floor and her eyes predatory. Venable, who was quite bald and had perfect teeth, was rocking on his heels, appar ently too dazed to speak If there was something extraordinary about Gil Alberti, Venable was aware of it, too, and was in the same breath very upset \rden glanced around, without seeming to He had heralded this man’s work long before any canvas of his had reached America. Now, appar ently, the fight was won. Half a dozen unfinished THE CLOSED By Miu.LpDRED HARPER’S BAZAR DOOR A Story That Will Make Women Wonder Whether They Want To Be Artists CRAM Illustrated by Everett Shinn portraits stood on easels or leaned against the walls. Popularity had caught up with genius. So far, so good. And then, before he could define his sense of dis- comfort, Gil Alberti crossed the room and, screwing the monocle into his eye, met Arden’s glance with a look that was both challenging and shy. His eyes were large, gray, and disconcertingly direct, yet there was in them just the flicker of a defense. “Tt was good of you to come,” he said. “I am not unaware of all you have done for me, here in America. I am glad to be able to thank you in person.” He spoke with a trace of accent, the Germanic juggling of the letters ¢ and d. Without giving \rden time to answer, he sat down beside Bel Tavis on the couch. Now, Bel Tavis was supposed to be the most beautiful woman in New York. The man on the street would not have granted her a second glance, but to those of a complicated and exclusive con- sciousness she was as satisfying as a perfect drink, and as unhappily rare. Her head was small, her face pointed, her body proportioned according to the demands of to-day, flat-hipped, indented, broad and compact in the shoulders, graceful, uncorseted, and strong. Her brows were like black wings. She had a genius for making herself more beautiful than she was, but otherwise she was a good deal of a fool. ‘_ LIKE to paint you,” Gil Alberti said. Bel Tavis bit her underlip. The blood ran up through her cheeks and down her throat into her breast. Arden could see, as Venable, unhappy wretch, could see, that Bel Tavis would fall in love with this new painter and, perhaps, add him to her list of husbands. And that would be the end of Gil Alberti. “T’d love to,” she said. ‘“‘When?” “To-morrow. I'll only need you one day. You'll lunch with me?” “No—” Venable began. And then added, lamely: ‘She is lunching with me.” “T’ll come, of course. Venable, don’t be greedy! This is the chance of a lifetime.” ‘Will you pose in the nude?”’ “Certainly not.” Bel Tavis lifted her head in a way she had, like a horse on parade. “I’m very sorry. A shawl, then Or a street costume. Suit yourself. I shall paint you against neat DE

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for APRIL 1926 ZY ERE sSwWrnr | | [L “ Arden could sce that Bel Tavis would fail in love with this new painter and, perhaps, add him to her list of husbands.’ the window, with the city as a background The artist rose again. His movements were quick and graceful. He touched an onyx bell-plate on the table behind the couch, and at once a woman carrying a tray entered from the dining-room. It was not tea, after all, that Gil Alberti offered them, but coffee, whipped with cream in the Austrian fashion, served in tall glasses with a straw and a spoon. There was, besides, a chocolate pastry which was, Alberti explained, pschinger-térte. “It was sent to me because I wrote that I was home sick.”’ “For Budapest?” Arden asked. “No, no. My home is on the seacoast, not far from Trieste. I’m half Austrian, half Italian. Very unpleasant during the war.” “Did you fight?” Arden had no idea why he asked this question. It was none of his business, and he had never suffered from that war-hysteria which made harpies of otherwise charitable souls. Gil Alberti let the monocle drop. “Why, no,” he said. ‘I didn’t fight. I was too young.” Whereupon, all of them, particularly Venable, counted on mental fingers and thumbs. A prodigy indeed. . . . HE woman who had brought the coffee was a foreigner: a middle-aged woman in spreading black silk skirts, a velvet bodice laced over cambric, and fine, heavy ornaments of silver attached to her shoulders and to her belt. She had a skin that was all an explosion of little red veins, tiny blue eyes the hue of ice, and yellow hair in plaits. “Rosa,”’ Gil Alberti said, “these are my friends: Mrs. Trevisan, Miss Tavis, Mr. Arden, and Mr. Venable.” The woman courtesied and went out again. “‘\ nurse?” Arden thought, with a bitter gust of internal laughter. He was finding it hard to swallow this particular disappointment. He had kicked open the American gate for Gil Alberti and had ushered him in with a blare of trumpets. A great painter, but somehow .. . Suddenly Venable began to talk. It was very easy for Venable to talk, since his mind was full of original things to say. He only had to open his mouth and every one else paused to listen. He had been everywhere, had seen everything, and was on the way to being a very famous physician indeed. An analyst, he usually talked nonsense. But now he was all for solving the mystery of Gil Alberti: how it was, in fact, that a painter of fearless obser- vation, powerful technique, and a strong, vital sense of humor, should be, in person, a nervous young man with a monocle and a nurse-maid. Oh, it was meat for Venable! (Continued on page 161)

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130 HARPER’S BAZAR | Rese a beens 7 ohana The woman whose wardrobe is distinguished will have one or two black chiffon frocks for evening wear, even in a season of colors. (Left) Black chiffon finely spangled with jet paillettes. (Right) Black chiffon with diamond embroidery. THE FRAGILE BLACK EVENING FROCK IS ALWAYS DISTINGUISHED O ONE could deny that we are living in an epoch of color. Emanci- N pated at last from the dominion of black, imposed on the smart world by Paris after the war, a woman may indulge her penchant for almost any becoming shade, taken from the amply supplied palette of spring fashions. The wave of lovely color spread over a black and beige mode as long ago as last spring, with the first fashions for the South; yet during the June season in Paris, when for once warm weather allowed thin frocks, there was nothing smarter than thin black chiffon gowns, worn as a back- ground for the lovely diamond jewelry which began to be worn in preference to the eternal pearls about that time. Thin black—chiffon and fragile laces —kept its place in the evening mode at all the fashionable resorts where it was the frequent choice of the most distinguished women. And though gre nah). SPEER re

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for APRITI. 1926 the designers have reveled in color this spring, there is every indication that ethereal black gowns will continue to please the taste of well-dressed women. Many designers say that black is easy to wear but hard to create in. With the natural attraction of lovely color removed, a gown has little to depend upon but line. The three thin black gowns sketched on these pages are examples from Stein and Blaine of a most successful handling of the problem of the thin black gown. Fragile lace is used trans- parently over a light foundation for one of them, in which line has been the chief pre- occupation of the designer. Both the others are in chiffon, loveliest of all thin black materials, frosted here and there with glitter. One is finely spangled with tiny jet pail- lettes. The other uses the “embroidered jewelry” idea, invented especially for women who love the effect of diamonds on thin black, but who do not possess many real stones, yet dislike too many imitations—M. H. Fragile black lace is used transparently over a light foundation in a gown made with a loveliness of line that gives it great distinction. Such a gown pleases the taste of the well-dressed woman in any season, even when much color is worn. Models on both pages designed by E, M. A. Steinmetz for STEIN & BLAINE 131

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2 me ) Ne SIDE WOKOrer NEV AS QAO PSO, As, (oM46 5x For the astride habit the coat should be cut straight and should never have a waist-line. When the coat is of brown tweed, as it is shown here, the breeches, which are cut exactly like the breeches on page 139,may be of beige Bedford cord. This, with a soft hat or derby, is permissible in the park; with a soft hat this is correct for Western and country riding. AND ASTRIDE PARK AND COUNTRY Y xs 40 L - “ ote anaes eae ib) oaegs vv This waistcoat of Tattersall plaid, cream with red lines, may be worn with the habits shown at the left and right. The regulation shirt for coun- iry riding, either astride or side, is this shirt with a soft collar, cut exactly like a man’s. Models on this page from ERNEST K. FOWNES HARPER’S BAZAR HABITS FOR Coats for side habits are fitted in at the waist a bit more than the coat worn with the astride habit. When the side habit coat and skirt are of different fabrics, the formula for the correct astride habit is reversed, that is, the coat is lighter and the skirt is darker. Such as light beige tweed coat and dark tan whipcord skirt, or a light gray coat and dark gray skirl ee ee

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EE as much like a man’s coat as is possible, with- out breaking across the back when worn in the saddle. this habit. When a waistcoat is worn, it is cut like the one shown in the middle of the page opposite. It may be of plaid cloth, like the one shown, or may be cloth in one’s stable color. worn with this habit is the soft felt hat shown. chooses. Recently park riding has become less and derby, was the only permissible and smart for APRIL 1926 A straw sailor is correct for warm weather in the country; also worn in the park, with astride or side habit; from Herts. ( U 133 For Western wear this type of soft felt hat, a trifle wide in the | brim, is smart with the astride habit. This model is from Nardi. THE SMART WOMAN IN THE SADDLE The Riding Costume is Absolutely Prescribed; for Certain Occasions Are Certain Habits, and These and No Others May be Worn By LuciLe URING the past four years, interest in riding has been on the increase. Last spring Harper’s Bazar published several pages on which were shown correct riding habits and accessories. The response to those pages was so great that we have gone another step ahead this year. repeating some information, adding some and even suggesting certain phases heretofore untouched, for your convenience. Riding involves classic traditions that cannot be changed. Cer- tain habits and their accessories may be worn on certain occasions, and those and those only are smart. There is no particular solemnity about it, however; the riding-habit is extremely simple and the result of a few logical rules that have had their origin in certain definite practical reasons. On the page opposite are shown the correct habits for country and park riding. At the left of the page is shown the smartest possible astride habit for country wear. The breeches are of beige Bedford cord, cut exactly right with the seam following the correct line that runs from the outside over the knee and buttoning at the top just inside the shin bone. The coat is of brown tweed in a diamond weave, cut straight, With this astride habit is invariably worn the riding shirt with a soft collar, and a man’s tie. A waistcoat may or may not be worn with For country and Western riding, the hat In the park a derby may be worn, if one formal; at one time the side habit, with stock habit for park wear. Nowadays, there is much leniency in the attitude toward formality in riding. Miss Marie Louise Thompson, of the slender woman wears them in the 1 large English handkerchief country. From William Wright. of printed crépe is allowed in one’s side pocket for infor- mal riding. Wiliam Wright. (Right) The short tan calf- skin boot worn with jodphores has a spiral strap around the ankle. From Nardi. Jodphores of Bedford cord are most correct for children, but the BUCHANAN Riding Club of New York, says that the well-turned-out country habit is perfectly correct for park wear, although, of course, it is not as smart as the impeccable park habit with stock and derby. Women who ride astride pour le sport—as we say so often this season—wear the carefully chosen country habit for park riding. A derby hat may be worn with this astride habit for park wear if one wishes. It is an almost invariable rule—if one wishes to be smart—that the side habit, when of two fabrics, must reverse the order of the astride habit in its combination of light and dark. That is, when the breeches and coat of the astride habit are of different fabrics, the coat is the darker and the breeches lighter as shown on the page opposite, but in the case of the side habit the skirt is always the darker in tone. Of course, the habit may be all of one fabric, and be extremely smart, too. The smartest derby this season is neither too wide nor too narrow in the brim, and of moderate crown. The derby with the flattened crown is to be avoided very, very carefully. For informal and country riding the regula- tion shirt with soft collar attached, such as is shown on the opposite page, is really the only shirt permissible. This is smart in tub silk or English broadcloth, in white, and in colored shirtings for country wear. Colored shirts do appear in the park now, with informal havits, and are really correct enough. With the soft shirt is worn a man’s tie, preferabiy of some English stripe or print, and often, two gold safety-pins, one above, and the other, the lower one, beneath the knot of the tie. No other jewelry is per- mitted except, perhaps, a ‘‘crystal’’ pin in the tie. This may have engraved and painted in it a miniature of one’s favorite horse or dog. The waistcoat is a matter of choice—and warmth—and it may be of one of several materials. The Tattersall plaid shown on the page opposite is exceptionally smart. For country and informal park riding the soft collar, with two pins, is worn with a man’s tie. Fron EHertsz.

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‘| tf \ ‘ > } 4 \ q \ / } / / / if - / he % The meticulously tied white linen stock for show wear may have a gold pin in the shape of a crop, but no other jewelry may be worn. THE CORRECT HABIT FOR SHOW A double-breasted waistcoat worn with the show habit may be of buff cloth, cut high enough to have it show in the tapering V of the coat. WEAR The Show Habit and the Habit for Indoor Evening Wear are Practically the Same; One Is a Trifle Less Formal than the Other HE show habit affords an opportunity for all the impeccable niceties of good form in riding to proclaim themselves. This habit, above all others, is carefully built upon unalterable traditions. It must not be too “dressy” or too careful or too careless, or too anything. It must be just one way, and that is exactly right. For very formal evening show wear is the side habit of very dark gray or black melton. This is the “shad-belly’’ made with the closely fitted waist-line, and cut away in front. This habit, to be absolutely correct, must have but two buttons, slightly above the waist-line, and must have its lapels follow a long V over which the waistcoat shows. The waistcoat shown with the shad- belly on the opposite page is double-breasted, and made of buff cloth, rounding at the bottom. However, the waistcoat with two points at the bottom is equally smart. The shirt for this habit is, of course, white, and the stock is of white linen or of one of the cheviot family. The stock may be held in place by a single gold pin, in the form of a riding-crop, but no other jewelry is worn. The top-hat is always worn with a shad-belly. And it is in the selection of a top-hat that a woman may either make or caricature a formal habit. It must be of the proportions of the top-hat shown i of page 139, but area trifle scanter because they are worn under a skirt. Boots for show wear are black. Calfskin is worn in the after- noon and patent-leather in the evening. Boots for the astride habit may, or may not, have a cuff, as one likes. In the afternoon, for show wear, one wears the formal park habit, with a derby hat—a stiff hat is, of course, always worn in the show ring. In the evening the woman who rides astride must wear her derby, since the top-hat has its place only with the side habit. Gloves for afternoon show wear are of chamois, for evening heavy white doeskin is worn. The cuff of one’s glove is always turned back as shown at the top of the opposite page. A bouton- niére is always worn. For show wear, with a top-hat, the short-haired woman is at a bit of a disadvantage. Of course, the hair must be brushed back from the face, with the ears showing, and not curled or fluffed out in any way. Long hair is worn in a sleek tight coil or coiled braid at the nape of the neck and covered with a net. The formal show habit and short hair are somehow incompatible. The woman who always rides astride wears, for show purposes, the astride habit shown at the left on the opposite page, with the accessories shown with it, \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ 7 : \ —— . \ | ) For show use this type of flat English saddle is the classic one, except when a hunter is shown, then the regulation hunting saddle is used. with the formal habit on the page opposite, (Left) The fulness in correctly the stiff derby, stock, and chamois or and must not be either flattened in the crown or too broad of brim. If you can wear it at a slight angle, like the Prince of Wales, and still feel the dignified smart horse-woman appearing before the multi tude, you are quite safe; otherwise, put it on straight and discreetly, a bit over the brows, and look as much like a gentleman as possible. The skirt worn with the formal riding-habit is cut exactly like any other riding-skirt. A diagram of this skirt is shown on page 130. The breeches worn under the show skirt, or any other side habit skirt, are cut on the classic lines of the breeches shown in the middle cut breeches springs out four inches above the knee. buttons show above the riding-boot. doeskin gloves. Recently another type of costume has been evolved for formal astride wear, one that includes a top-hat and long tight- fitting braided breeches, resembling jod- phores, but this is at best a hybrid and rather theatrical, not considered correct by smart horse-women. Jodphores are essentially part of a sports or country habit and any attempt to introduce them in the show ring is a breach of good form. There are innumerable other small points concerning the show, and other smart correctly turned-out habits, but with a subject as detailed and technical as riding-habits one can only give the out- standing fundamental rules that are important. (Right) Three HARPER’S BAZAR

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Pp gwre on stax APRIt 1926 Models on this page from NARDI This is the proper show habit for the woman who rides astride. The fabric is dark gray, almost black, oxford cloth or melton with dull black boots for afternoon and patent for evening. With this is always worn a derby hat, chamois gloves for afternoon, heavy white doeskin for evening. Whips for showing, except when a hunter is shown, then the crop at top of opposite page is used. TWO TYPES OF CORRECT HABITS FOR THE HORSE SHOW ef) Show boots are back, with or without a cv ff; calf for afternoon, patent-leather for evening. For evening show wear is the most formal of all habits, the shad-belly, of black melton, worn with a top hat and double- breasted buff cloth waistcoat. The shirt is white, and the stock is of white cheviot. White doeskin gloves are worn and a bouton- miére. Boots are patent-leather.

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136 Long hair is worn sleeked back over the head and the coil in the back of the neck is covered with a heavy hunting-net, firmly pinned. THE THE BEST HUNTING-SKIRT IS CLASSIC RIDING-SKIRT (Above) For hunting, the skirt is exactly like every other riding-skirt, cut like the diagram above, which shows clearly the lines of a well-cut skirt to which there is no variation. The hunting-coat is rather fitted at the waist, and has the collar in the color of the hunt club—if the Master of the Hunt has asked one to— otherwise it is of the same fabric as the habit. HARPER’S BAZAR Hunting-veil is of coarse mesh, made in a long oval with an elastic all around it that holds it securely around the brim. (Above, middle) The hunting crop with its leather thong and long braided lash has a bone handle, notched on the butt. (Below) The single - breasted hunting waistcoat may be in one’s hunt club colors, or of one of the fine checks or plaids. — / _ -_ r A ~ 4 Models on this page from HERTZ om

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for THE APRIL 1926 Inside the crown of the hunting derby is a cork lining. The hat guard is also necessary. Herts. CORRECT HABIT The derby with a rather narrower brim is more becoming to some faces than the broader one. FOR The Hunting-habit, Above all Others, Is Bound by Conventions That THE Have Their Background in Tradition Y FAR the most distinguished of all riding-habits is the habit worn during the hunt. It has a graciousness and dignity that even the most formal show habit does not achieve. The woman who rides to hounds astride may look boyish and athletic, but the smartly turned-out side hunting- habit has a distinction that belongs to the days when gentle ladies rode, hooded-falcon on wrist, and skirts trailing to the ground—which must have been confusing to the horse. But the astride habit is quite correct, if one rides astride habitually. For hunting, the smartest breeches, whether one rides astride or side-saddle, are of reddish dark brown, tan-bark colored antelope suéde. Aside from this particular point, the hunting- habit follows the other prescribed riding-habit rules, and re- sembles the formal park habit. A very smart fabric for hunting is heavy-weight oxford gray or black melton, or, for warmer weather, medium-weight whipcord in oxford color. The collar of the hunting-habit may be of one’s hunt club color, but that is worn only upon the permission of the Master of the Hunt. Hunting waistcoats—and they are extremely necessary, as a rule, for warmth—may be of the Tattersall plaid, in its original color, or often they are of the Tattersall plaid in one’s club colors. These are cut according to the regulation single- breasted waistcoat pattern with two points at the bottom, like that shown on the opposite page. It will be noticed, in the drawing shown on the opposite page, that the skirt of the correct hunting-habit is of exactly the same pattern used for every other correct riding-skirt- the apron model. The drawing shown on the opposite page gives a very clear diagram of the way this skirt is made. It is shown unfastened, of course, but the line that follows the knee as one sits in the saddle is shown in correct drawing, also the slant of the seams at the top of the skirt. Any exaggeration of this is incorrect and impractical. The invention of the stiff cork-lined derby for hunting mini- mizes the danger of head wounds in the case of a nasty fall. A hat guard should always be worn, because a sailing derby can cause consternation among the horses, and for the same reason Gloves knitted of cotton string for hunting. They do not get slip- peryintherain. Michael Knoud. (Right) The correct hunting-boot, to be worn for astride riding, has a well-fitted cuff around the top. one’s stock should be held down under the coat with a good safety-pin. In fact, everything should be as-well-groomed and absolutely permanent about the hunting-habit as possible. The long hair is held in place at the nape of the neck with a coarse hunting-net, and skewered with hair-pins made to have and to hold. The derby and coiffure should form a unit, one and indivisible, as dependable as the Woolworth building. Slipping hair-pins, little feminine curls blowing out over the cheeks, anything but a head as sleek and undisturbed as a man’s, has no place on the hunting-field. Here, more than any other place, any sneaking “‘fluffy’’ tendencies one may have developed or inherited must be suppressed. For hunting, the stock of white cheviot or linen and stock-pin must be worn. Nothing less formal is tolerated. The ritual of the hunting-habit for men is far more exacting than for women, but the general rule of meticulous grooming and good form obtains for both. Gloves for the hunt are knitted of heavy white cotton string; these do not get slippery when rain-soaked, and interfere with one’s hands. In very cold weather, heavy leather gloves are often worn, and knitted woolen gloves, similar to the string gloves, are worn over them. The hunting-habit coat has small straps at the cuffs, on the under side of the sleeves, that button around the wrist in wet weather and keep the driving rain out. The lapel of the coat has a tab sewn under it, so that the collar may be turned up, and the tab buttoned over in bad weather. The hunting-crop is equipped with a thong and a long, braided lash that is carried coiled about the hand, as shown at the top of the opposite page; it is also carried when one is showing a hunter at a horse-show. Concerning the color of habits in general it may be said that there are only certain conventional colors that one may cor- rectly wear, and these are: browns, dull greens and grays, and very dark blue. And these colors in practically any fabric that is suitable for sports suits. One can’t go wrong and follow this rule. As to top-coats to wear over a habit, any mannish top-coat of tweed, cut like a man’s top-coat for sports, is correct. A stech “‘ hunting companion” has an assortment of instruments useful on the field. From Nardi. HUNT

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A FEW DEFINITE DON’TS FOR POLO CLOTHES The Polo Costume Should Be Simple, Comfortable, ONCERNING the polo clothes, there are many more “don’ts” to be considered than there are prescribed habits and their accessories. The polo costume is most simple, since polo is a strenuous game, and takes a good deal of playing, and the fewer and less constricting clothes the better. We might begin by remarking that in any cir- cumstance there seems to be no reason for wearing one of those atrocious little musical comedy sleeveless polo coats of linen or pongee. A white tub silk or English broadcloth shirt, with short sleeves, and worn open at the throat, is worn with polo breeches of linen crash or white Bedford cord. Light beige Bedford cord breeches are smart, too, but not quite as smart as white. The very young, playing polo in the country, often wear jodphores, but this is not as practical nor as safe as breeches, with boots, field boots, or canvas leggings. When a coat is needed, the type of sleeveless sweater shown in the middle of the page is best and smartest. You will notice that the neck is cut rather hizh, and that the sleeves are little more than overgrown shoulder-caps. This may be in beige, or in club colors, striped about the middle. But when you wear this sweater, do wear it under your breeches belted in with a narrow belt, or with the polo belt. The shirt is made, as the drawing on the page opposite shows, like the regulation soft-collared riding-shirt, except that it is made with short sleeves. The collar buttons up, but is always unbuttoned. Any polo shirt made without the regulation collar and buttons and button-holes is one of the tricky innovations designed for the unwary by shirt-makers who feel that they must produce novelties. The proper polo belt, especially for a woman, is of heavy white wool webbing, reinforced in back with two leather straps, and strapped and buckled with leather in front. Polo is not a dressy game and little innovations the riding shops may sell invariably are a little ridiculous and unnecessary, in spite of their fascinating | novelty. And Practical—Not “Tricky” ; (Ee p™ ~ | This is the correct sweater for polo. It may be striped with club colors, but it should be belted under the breeches. buff-colored polo cloth this coat is classic and really smartest. There are many small accessories the horse- woman finds necessary and practical. The wooden boot-jack, like the one shown below on this page, makes the ordeal of getting off boots “but the work of a moment,” and boot pulls, like the large hook shown on this page in pairs, one in each boot-strap, are used with the boot-lifter, which is placed at the top of the boot while it is being drawn on, to keep the breeches from wrinkling up. Gloves for polo are of capeskin or of heavy chamois. As a rule but one glove is worn, on the rein hand, and the mallet hand is kept bare, to avoid slipping. The polo whip is shown at the top of the oppo- site page. It is a slim tapering whip, with a small braided lash at the end, that may be renewed when it wears out. For Western riding the typical cowgirl costume with “three quart’ hat and hair chaps has been shown in Harpers Bazar. This is, of course, amusing and decorative, but for long rides rather impractical and uncomfortable. The absolutely correct and satisfactory habit for Western riding is the identical habit one wears in the country, with a soft hat, and soft shirt. There seems to be an impression that the Western habit may be a bit “tricky,”’ perhaps have a belt on the coat, or have its breeches cut with a special flare. This is a mistake, because good form in the saddle is exactly the same the country over. Flared breeches are impractical and bad form anywhere, and the little belted model is always in questionable taste, even in the open spaces. Miss Thompson insists that the fundamentals of correct riding-habits remain unalterably the same, although from season to season acces- sories may vary slightly, coats may be cut with longer, narrower lapels, or skirts may be scanter or wider, but they never vary, cor- rectly, much from the original English prescription for riding-habits. Concerning the jodphores, shown in the middle of page 133, Miss Thompson says very definitely the smart HARPER’S BAZAR — Boot-jack, boot hooks, of which there should be two, and boot- lifter, which is put at the top of the boot when it is being drawn on. A great many women pre- fer the polo helmet that has a visor in front only. It is not quite so heavy and is, for ordinary playing, quite as satisfactory as the double- visored heavier helmet. The single-visored helmet is shown at the top of the page; in black varnished duck this is quite smart, although a polo helmet is never decorative, merely serviceable. Polo top-coats seldom vary in cut. The typical polo coat has raglan, not set-in sleeves, large patch pockets, and fastens with six bone buttons. Sometimes this coat is belted; it is really smarter without a belt. In woman may wear them in the country, providing her personal architecture is such that it warrants her wearing them. Only the slender, boy- ish woman should attempt it. One thing in favor of jodphores is that they are much easier to take with one when traveling. For the country one may wear field boots like those shown at the lower right on this page, or canvas leggings and high shoes are perfectly correct and rather smart looking on some occasions. Of course, the regulation boot, of tan calfskin with a perfectly flat heel and mod- erate toe, like a man’s boot, is always correct. Field boots, like the one shown above, lace over the instep, and may be worn fer polo or country riding. From Turtill and Lloyd. ———— —— STEERER EEE eee TRA eae ee

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for APRIL 1926 The proper polo belt is of ve) white wool webbing, rein- forced with leather straps in tan and with buckles. Sleeveless polo shirts of white tub silk or English broadcloth are made to button but are worn open. Polo gloves may be of heavy cape skin, one clasp. Only one, on the rein hand, is ordinarily worn. \ 2 Lam ° oO 1° Models on | this page from Cc ALFRED NELSON oO Correct, classic riding-breeches are cut like these, which are worn for polo and the astride habit. The only variation from this is that they are scanter under the skirt of the side habit. THE CORRECT POLO HABIT IS VERY SIMPLE This is one type of polo helmet; another sort, just as correct, is shown at the lop of the opposite page. \ Raglan sleeves, large patch pockets, wide cuffs, and six good- sized bone buttons characterize the polo coat that is really correct. 139

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“ But it was, of course, not seeing Maude that drove _him almost to madness. Yes, to madness, for he would walk his floor for hours at night struggling to forget, and only more hopelessly remembering, and he would pierce the hurrying clouds with his gaze, fixing her there in their woolly folds, seeing her eves, her hair, hearing her voice laughing beyond the sun.” HARPER’S BAZAR gt ei: * HAR ME IR JOHN Who Startled an English Cathedral Town by His Persistent Quest for Beauty By Hucu WaALpPo.te Illustrated by T. D. Skidmore ESUME OF THE PRECEDING PARTS: Into our town, an old cathedral IR town in southern England, on a December night in the year 1906, came Hjalmar Johanson to find a lodging place in the home of Mrs. Penethen. The household consisted of the widow and her two daughters, and a few lodgers, among whom was Miss Midgeley, an elderly writer. Johanson wished that the people of Polchester might be more beautiful, stronger and happier—and to this end he started a gymnasium. He dreamed of a time when beauty and light would spread through all of England. A young man with a vision he was. With childlike sincerity Harmer John, as the whole town called him, responded to the beauty of the vain and selfish elder daughter of Mrs. Penethen; and before long they were engaged. Johanson’s work progressed rapidly, and his ideals seemed at last to be bearing fruit. The town had come to accept him wholeheartedly. Nevertheless, many dark clouds threatened his plans. One of his first friends in town had been the Rev. Thomas Longstaffe, the jolly, kind-hearted rector of St. Paul’s. And now Tom was having trouble with his narrow-minded parishioners, because his daughter Mary had returned home bringing her fatherless young son with her. Johanson’s loyal companionship with Tom began to make ugly talk in the town, and Maude Penethen’s shallow, jealous nature made her one of the first to link his name with that of Mary Longstaffe. This loyalty continued in spite of warnings from Mrs. Penethen. Canon Ronder, and Ambrose Wistons, all of whom felt it would be wiser to see less of the Long- staffes if he wished to hold Maude’s love. Johanson, however, could not see the matter in the same light, and quarrel after quarrel with Maude occurred. The anxiety of losing Maude was coupled with business worries, for the same malicious rumors that were distracting Maude caused his patronage to fall away to nothing at all. The climax was reached after a bitter quarrel when Maude snatched the ring Johanson had given her from her finger and announced to her family that her engagement was broken. PART SEVEN \BRIELLE MIDGELEY’S DIARY: When Johanson left this house, for two of us—for Judy and myself—everything went with him. I shall change my lodging, I fancy—or leave the town altogether. Sentiment? Not entirely. He had a life, spiritual as well as physical, that gave zest to my old withered turnip of asoul. And the love of the two of them held such promise. I could have beaten them both after that wretched scene. Why could he not have stayed? Before he moved his things to his new lodgings, he came here to say good-by. He meant to win her still. To be away for a week and then to return. I told Maude that she was giving up, for a miserable petty jealousy, one of the finest, most generous, and noble human beings that ever descended from a monkey. She listened to me. She even cried a little. Yes, and she even said that she would

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APRIL 1926 for never love any one again. Of course he was a good man and kind too—but she was frightened of him all the same. His ideas. Now, there was a thing. What was he doing here making himself so un- popular? It might be silly of her, but really she couldn’t be the wife of an unpopular man. And he didn’t care whom he offended—he didn’t really. Mrs. Bond or Canon Ronder, it was all the same. I broke in upon her there. How dared she talk of loving him? Love? Did she call that love? Why, she didn’t know what love was. She inter- rupted me then. Oh, yes, she knew what love was very well. And she loved him. And she would never love anybody else. She was sure of that. But she thought that perhaps she wasn’t meant to feel that kind of love. There was something un- material about it. She wasn’t a very grand person. She never would be. She knew her faults well enough. She’d only make him unhappy, always disapproving of the things that he wanted to do. She would never understand him. She ought to marry some one much more commonplace and ordinary, but no one would ever again make her feel as Johanson had made her feel. And she was glad. She didn’t want to feel that way. She wouldn’t see him any more because if she The mur- mur around him was still low and ** Johanson stood staring. ceaseless. Yes, he stood and stared, not thinking of anything save that he had hit Seatown at last.” saw him, even for a minute, it would all begin again. She did hope she wouldn’t see him in the town. Queer girl. But then there was something in what she said. She looked so pretty as she stood there. And so tiresome. And a little vulgar. She’s quite right—she isn’t good enough for him— but without her—what will he do without her? What will he do in that lonely lodging? I have to wax myself to my chair or I’d be running off to see after him. Mrs. Penethen’s been often. But she has a right. I'll take him some books one day, pay my proper polite little call. Judy’s the third of us. (Continued on page 146)

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HARPER’S BAZAR ~

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for APRIL 1926 A Ws tf} AN fy { D> £\ wy \\ 143

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144 PREMET Premet has revived taffeta in the way it was used in thi ‘eighties, with a suggestion of Peter Ibbetson. Black taf feta is used for this ensemble, with very fine knife plaitings. This is Madame Vallet’s ‘page boy” silhouette in black taffeta, with a_ big cravatte cut in one with the jacket. The tied waist-line is almost at the normal line. TAFFETA IS REVIVED BY MANY HOUSES MARTIAL « iRMAND REDFERN REDFERN Solidly placed spangles in pale old rose form the“ vareuse” blouse worn with a skirt of pale rose chiffon. Pockets and the outline of the neck are checked with black paillettes. HARPER’S BAZAR BECHOFI The coat of this ensemble is of black kasha cloth, cut on the favorite diagonal lines. Bands of pale rose taffeta are applied to accentuate this flattering line. The dress is shown below. Taffeta again; used in thick black ribbon ruches at the hem ofa black chiffon coat which forms part of an ensemble. The frock underneath has a lunic of chartreuse green.

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APRIL 1926 MIULLIGATAWNY The famous East India Chutney is made with: Fresh tamarind Raisins Currants Apples Orange peel crystallized Citron crystallized Fresh green ginger Crushed ginger Dry English mustard Bermuda onions Italian garlic Salt Sugar Cider vinegar Fresh red peppers Aged at least two years before using. 12 cents a can the chicken soup of the Orient ! MULLI aa SOUF, ly dh * CAMPBELL SOUP eee . iy CAMDEN, N.J.,U.S ee eee East India Chutney! What traveller back from Oriental climes will not sing the praises of this delectable condiment! How precious it is to the palate of the cosmopolitan epicure! Yet enjoyment of it was never more genuine than in Campbell’s Mulligatawny Soup, a dish with all the aromatic deliciousness of the finest Oriental cooking. Here you may partake of the true India chutney and curry and bring the East to your own dinner-table. Chicken and rice are the basis of Campbell's Mulligatawny Soup, and with them are blended, as only our chefs know how, carrots, onions, East India chutney, citron, cocoanut, apples and other fresh fruits. Many of these ingredients are imported especially by us from India. Of course this is a soup that no home kitchen could duplicate! LOOK FOR THE RED-—-AND—"-WHITE LABEL

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The charm of taffeta lies in its exquisite sugges. tion of youth or it may attain to the extreme of sophistication. This original Bergdorf- Goodman gown is made of mauve taffeta with a hip corsage. Posed by Linn Vorhees. ERGDORF OODMAN 616 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK HARMER HARPER’S BAZAR JOHN Hugh Walpole’s New Novel (Continued from page 141) Yesterday she coolly asked me what we intend- ed to do about it. What we intended to do about what? Why, Mr. Johanson. Did we know that he was in that wretched lodging all alone with no one to see to him? Did no one care what happened to him? It wasn’t her business, but she hated to see people so false. Pretending to be a friend of some one and then deserting him when his luck was out. Oh, she named no names. But all the town was the same. Taking him up one minute and dropping him the next. She as good as said that was as bad as the rest. She positively looked as if she hated the sight of me, and then stalked out of the room with her head in the air. ND so I’ve paid my visit. With my books under my arm I climbed the stairs and found the room. He’s at the top of that house that hangs over the descent to Seatown and swings there in the wind like a weather- cock. He has two rooms, and the sitting- room is all cuckoo-clock, plush divan, wool mats, flowers and fruit under glass. Amidst these relics of a happier age I found him sitting, his coat off, elbows planted on the table, looking out between the geraniums at a sky that was as green as a primrose leaf. He might have been in Daddy Wordsworth’s little boat: \way we go—and what care we For treasons, tumults and for wars? We are as calm in our delight As is the crescent moon so bright Among the scattered stars. Up goes my boat among the stars Through many a breathless field of light Through many a long blue field of ether Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her; Up goes my little boat so bright. Yes, he was as remote and as tranquil, I would have said; but at the sound of my coming in he turned and I saw, by the flush on his cheek, that he was hoping for some news from me, that he thought that I wouldn't have come if I . And then he had that particular courtesy and tenderness that is so peculiarly his. Old fashioned, I fancy. I am a plain, bitter- tongued old woman, attractive to no one, but he always treats me as though I were Queen of the Andes. He brought me one of those chairs with warm adhesive seats and took away my shabby ulster and seemed so happy to see me—almost as happy as I was to see him. He looked different. ees asked him why he hadn't come back to us Ane when he was coming. He sighed and then said that he ‘had meant to return at the end of the first week and that then Mrs. Penethen had been to see him and told him that Maude was so strange that she thought that he had better wait a little. He had been to the house and had tried to see Maude and had failed Could I tell him anything or advise him perhaps? His unhappiness came through then, and I saw, in a flash, that he had been having a desperate time I don’t know why, but I got in the break of his voice as he asked his question a sense of his love for her far stronger than anything that I had had before. “I am very bad without her, Miss Midgeley,’’ he said. “I have temptations to go to her and do everything she asks, give up my friends, all . . . but we — In’t be happy that way. I know it. But I am very bad without her. The nights are so long. I miss her terrible I told him of my talk with her, and I advised him not to wait any longer but to insist on seeing her. She wasn’t in a state to be left alone There were others influencing her. She loved him, I was sure; or at least she was as near to it as her nature, timorous, selfish, and vain, permitted I TRIED to say something then about her being unworthy of him, that he would find some one else. . . . He broke in upon me there and poured out to me his picture of her. How touching and, at the end, how true! He saw her just as she was, but he saw her also as she would be if he cared for her enough! That is true of Maude. She's beguiling in her possibilities. He gave me proof after proof of her subconscious longing to be taken by him and held against the enemy like some fortress. But how was he to take her without surrendering his own fortress first? He has the divine gift of tenderness and compassion. Nothing is mean to him nor ignoble. If he hates, it is some poison in the nature, not the poisoned soul. He seemed to me as I talked to him to be a little dazed. He told me quite frankly that his experience of unpopularity was new to him and bewildered him. It was so short a time for the change. It bewildered him but did not frighten him. His mind seemed to be set on some new purpose, and this new purpose would make him happy later on Not his work. I asked him about his classes and the rest and he scarcely seemed to care He meant to be busy, he said, about some thing that had nothing to do with himself: he meant to get himself right out of it. I left him urging him not to leave Maude alone for long. There were Boultewoods and Hogges and all sorts waiting for their chance. . I sniveled a little going down the stairs He scemed to me so very lonely. E HAS seen Maude. No success. She insisted on her mother being there She wouldn’t say anything except that she thought they would never do for one another, Quite polite. Trying to be the lady. Her mother longing to whip her. Harmer John very patient, eating her up with his eyes. Then quietly he went away. OHANSON’S position wi -- now extremely precarious. When he had arrived in our town he had saved a few hundred pounds, but he had put them into his business. His expenses had, after the initial outlay, been slight and the business good, but then came the time when he developed his advertising in the country, purchased new instruments for his exercises, and paid Fletch the advance for the new rooms. He had never been very wise about money, but spent what came to him as it came. He had always been generous to the point of folly, but after his engagement to Maude he tried to realize that he had new responsibilities and must save. But this business of saving seemed to him to have something mean about it. There were so many in the town who were hard hit. He himself had been so fortunate. He owed them something for his luck. But he had not thought of the difference that the summer would make. He lost one client after another; finally he decided to close his place until the beginning of Sep- tember. Billy and son went on a discon- tented holiday. It was strange to find himself idle, and this coincided with his quarrel with Maude and departure from Mrs. Penethen’s. He sat up in his high room, looked out at the clouds, and waited. He had not long to wait. What came to him was Seatown. A very hot August that year. And before Seatown plus the hot August came to him, he was compelled to face something very new and strange, a surprising and menacing loneliness. Menacing because it seemed to promise in the future something even worse than its present performance. He had never been lonely before. Even in the worst days of his childhood there had been people about. Now it was as though, by some mysterious device, a wall of cotton-wool had been let down between himself and Polchester. There was silence on every side of him and only blank faces turned his way. He increased, too, his loneliness by that sensitiveness that all men who are suffering under unpopularity feel. He did not go to the Longstaffes as he had formerly done because he thought that Tom might not wish his name to be connected any longer with Mary’s. He had, innocently, made scandal enough in that direction. But he missed Tom Longstaffe terribly. In spite of his unfaltering and unchanging love for Maude he had always this sense that friend- ship with another man was something so especial and precious that life without it lost half its savor. And Longstaffe was his only real friend, the only man whom he loved, and he did love him so that his heart was stirred when he thought of him and he longed for him to be there that he might put his hand on his shoulder and feel his com- panionship. But it was, of course, not seeing Maude that, during those first weeks, drove him almost to madness. Yes, to madness, for he would walk his bedroom floor for hours at night struggling to forget and only more hopelessly remembering, and he would pierce the hurrying clouds with his gaze, fixing her there in their woolly folds, seeing her eyes, her hair, hearing her voice laughing beyond the sun. Was she also thus missing him? Strangely, although again and again he had spoken of their love for one another, he had never been sure of hers—he was not sure now. She would miss the happy times but would lazily congratulate herself on her escape from the difficult ones. But there were things that she must remember. Evening half hours be- neath their sheltering tree, embraces, Ww his pered desires, loving confidences, things that she must . From his windows he could see the wh > of the town—below him Seatown, the ris the fields rising to the wooded hills; on the other side (screwing your neck round the window) the narrow street winding up to the (Continued on page 148)

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for APRIL 1926 — _ &... r eet TTY, x NEW 90 DEGREE DILLAC DIVISION OF GENERAL MOTORS CORPORATION Millions of boys and girls of today are eager parti- sans of the Cadillac—anxious to grow up and have a Cadillac of their own, like Father and Mother. With thousands, the ownership of a Cadillac is a family tradition dating back to the days when Grandfather bought his first Cadillac, a quarter of a century ago. Allthrough these2 5 years Cadillac has consistently stood in the forefront of all the world’s motor cars. Eleven years ago Cadillac produced the first eight- cylinder engine — the basic foundation of Cadillac success in marketing more than 200,000 eight- cylinder Cadillac cars. Today the new 90-degree, eight-cylinder Cadillac is the ultra modern version of the motor car. Its lux- ury, comfort, performance and value reach heights of perfection beyond anything ever attained. Thus once again Cadillac strikes out far inadvance, renewing its traditional right to the title, The Standard of the World. Fs

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The Harmony of Hosiery. cee Sheer silk stockings attuned to your skin Like the concert grand or a violin of Stradivarius, fine silk stockings this Spring are distinguished by exquisite an tones— Tones aria, ever in dulcet harmony d perfect as delicate as the grace notes in an with the wearer s complexion—varying tones for the blonde, the brunette and the darker tones for morning, Titian— less vibrant tones for afternoon, and the lightest tones of all for evening. And, of course, ingly attuned to your skin. you will find at Peck Peck’s the finest sheer silk hosier i charm- Subtle and bewitching tones all, expressed only in stockings without flaw and beyond compare—in the new all-silk /“anive at $2, the Princess at $3, the Queen J $4.85, and the Queen Victoria Fine the pair. "1 — at $5.65 Stockings full-fashioned and faultless in fit, stockings long-wearing and made to the exacting specifications of Peck & Peck, hosiery specialists now for more than a half-century. Tue Portfolio of the Spring 4 Vox le, a brief symposium of ur sport suils and Ores ses for the will be mailed on request. Jew Yorx + Afichigan Avenue, present Seas on, PECK G PEC A Fifth Avenue, N Florida shops at Patm Beacu, Miami and Miami Beacu Cuicaco Hugh HARMER Walpole’s HARPER’S BAZA JOHN New Novel (Continued from page 146) Market-place, a glimpse of the High Street, and then the Cathedral towers striding above the roofs across the sky. Directly below him was the street hesitat- ing an instant before its downward plunge. Just in front of the house it widened, having no buildings opposite but only a thick wall, leaning on which visitors, idlers, and philoso- phers might gaze down over the rock to the waters of the Pol, the Seatown huddled en- campment and the farther country. To the right of this wall Johanson noticed on his second or third day a deserted patch of grass, some gray stone, and a forlorn tree that huddled into the wall’s corner. It was the desolation of this tree that first caught Johanson’s notice, the way that with a sort of desperate despair it clutched the wall with its arms and protested in waves of exasperation against every wind. Then, going out into the hot August light, the patch of shade beneath the tree was inviting. He walked across the street to investigate. He found an old broken seat worn with rain and washed free of paint, cracked and bird soiled. The grass was thick and tangled, to the right of the tree and almost hidden by the overhanging wall was something else, some old deserted monument of gray stone. H® DID not stay then to investigate it further, but strangely enough that night when he was lying in bed he thought of it. He had been lying there restlessly, turning over and over, his heart aching for Maude. His heart beat wildly; he seemed to be on the edge of some foolish action as though he might dress and go out and beat on the door of Mrs. Penethen’s house. He did not know what he might not do. The night was so hot, he had had now a fortnight of this loneliness and longing; his nerves were stretched to their limit. It seemed impossible that only a month ago they had been so close and so intimate and that now they were separated by this wall of misunderstanding. When he had talked to her the other day he had seen on her set and determined face the presence of some obstinate resolve. \lthough her mother had been there he had got up suddenly, gone across to her, put his arms around her and said: ‘“* Maude, Maude, come back to me.” He had felt her body tremble and for a moment her hand had fluttered on to his; nevertheless she had said in a small remote voice: “Will you promise never to see the Longstaffe’s again then?” After that it was hopeless. There was a blind resolved obstinacy there that had behind it some subconscious reasoning. Mrs. Penethen tried to do what she could. There was nothing to be done. Maude would only return on her own conditions and they were conditions to which Johanson would never agree. But to-night the heat seemed to strangle his brain. His body was damp with sweat. He jumped up, flung off his pajamas and walked naked about the room. It was then, in the depth of his loneliness and unhappiness, that he thought of the tree, the gray stone, the wall. He went to the open window and looked out to the splendid night fiery with stars. The Cathedral struck half-past three. he town slept like a dead man; the blue haze that enwrapped it quivered with the coming dawn, and there, pale like the skeleton of a tree, was that for which he was looking. It seemed friendly to him, to be as lonely as he. He put on some clothes, went quietly down the creaking stairs, lifted the chain of the house door and stepped out into the beautiful night, soft with Southern softness, quiet and still with the silence of mysterious preparation. He crossed the road, bent over the seat, felt its poor neglected roughness with his hand and then, stepping into the rough tangled grass, looked at the gray stone. In the dim veiled light he could see but little; with his hand he pulled away some weeds and then some clinging ivy. Kneeling down, he found something round and smooth; could discern carved figures. Pulling away more of the ivy he saw at last that this was a deserted fountain filled with earth and on the earth a broken figure, the upper half of a satyr holding a wine cup. He took out the satyr’s head and arm and held them against the sky, then carefully he replaced them upon the soil that filled the circle of the fountain. His hand rested for a moment on the gray stone, then, mysteriously comforted, he returned softly to his room. that here was very dimly he ) THOSE who know Polchester now in these chilly post-war days it will seem incredible that so recently as 1906 we should have possessed anything as medieval as the old Seatown The modern riverside street with its neat line of workmen’s cottages and gardens, its border of young trees, and its low wall of pearl-gray stone is altogether ad- mirable. To quote the Polchester Courier for March 10, 1925: “‘We have here some- thing of which we may be proud—modern and yet beautiful; practical and yet dignified: modest and yet artistic. The pretty gardens rich with lovely flowers, the fine as sphalted road, the raised walk that gives the visitor an opportunity of surveying the beauties of na- ture in a practical and commodious manner, the cottages themselves with their pale stone, their dignified outlines, their perfect sanita- tion—these are things, we repeat, of which the Polchester citizen may well be proud The Polchester that Johanson found was divided into three very distinct camps—there were the Citizens, the Rebels, and the Ruffians, and all these three parties were huddled together within an area of a mile or so. The Ruffians were the dashing ones, the romantics, the buccaneers. They were less in number than the Rebels, but infinitely more energetic and dominating. They were gipsies in origin, and dirty vagabonds though they were, their rich brown coloring, large black eyes, jet-black hair told a story. It would need a George Borrow to investigate suffi- ciently their beginning, but in some old day some caravan had stumbled into Polchester streets, had rested for the night and perma- nently remained. The Ruffians were the enemies of all civilized society. They had no saving grace of any kind, being cruel, mean, treacherous, superstitious, disloyal, avaricious, morally debased, and of a physical filthiness. But they had romantic names—Romilly, Carne, Santin, Escarpia, Froment. Johanson had already encountered one of them, Bloody Bill Romilly, a creature six foot four in height and black-bearded. This story of Johanson is romantic because Johanson himself was romantic. had beyond question some kindliness and comfort that was more than the truth. His divine capacity for pity made him something more than the ordinary mortal It was in his relation to others, his imper- sonal relations, that he showed some divine quality. Every one felt it, every one afterwards re- corded their witness of it. And in this Sea- town affair it was most evident. On his first visit to Seatown, as I have re- corded, he stumbled by accident into the room of a woman who had a sick child. He sat beside this child, stroked its forehead, talked a little to the mother and went away. But the child at once improved and soon was out of danger. There may have been some virtue in the touch of Johanson’s hand—there are all around us people who have a gift of this kind—but I should imagine that there was a much stronger virtue in Johanson’s heart. He always loved children so passionately that it would be strange indeed if they did not feel something pass from him to them. The mother—who was the beaten and downtrodden wife of one of the Ruffians, a sandy-haired blackguard known as the Sandpiper—lost no time in proclaiming the miracle. It was not odd that it should have seemed like a miracle to her. A stranger comes into her place from nowhere, speaks with an odd accent, is taller and bigger than any one she has ever seen, sits down beside her sick child and cures it, and vanishes. Was it not natural that she should speak of it? power of OR did he become less of a miracle when he appeared again. He came on several occasions, bringing little gifts for the child with him. He would sit there and talk for an hour perhaps, mostly with the child Emily Maude who, of course, adored him. The mother did not talk, but sat there with her eternal sewing machine—like the woman in Hood's poem she made shirts—and watched them. The Sandpiper arrived once, stared for a long time without saying anything, and went out again. Women sometimes came to the door and stood there looking. One day a woman asked him whether he would come and look at her little boy. The doctor could do nothing with him. Johanson went and found an attic so filthy that the child was almost invisible. When discovered he seemed to be suffering from little but vermin and bad food; he was a boy like a blackberry with a merry eye. He, with a mz angy dog, attached himself to Johi in- son, would watch for him at the corner of the street, and even on one occasion ventured as far as Johanson’s lodging. His name was Husky, an allusion to a queer throaty voice that he had, and his dog was called Charlie. When the news of this second marvelous cure spread about the excitement was im- mense. His town nickname, Harmer John, caught the Seatown fancy and it was to be heard everywhere. Ladies in various stages of undress waited for him on stairs, at doors, down the street, and begged him in hoarse voices to cure colds, coughs, toothaches, asthma, rheumatism, internal pains of every kind, and many quite unmentionable Sea- town complaints. He tried to explain to (Continued on page 150)

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saree f APRIL 1926

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CRANE’S KID FINISH EATON, CRANE ¢ PIKE COMPANY, 225 Fifth Avenue, New York | HARMER Hugh Walpole’s HARPER’S BAZAR JOHN Novel New (Continued from page 148) them that he could cure nothing and that the first thing for them to do was to sluice their floors with water, open the windows, and drink less. Of course they would not listen. He made at once enemies to the death of the two local witches, Mother Harper and old Mrs. Clay. He also made an enemy of the local doctor, Rufus, a fat drunken man, white-haired and purple-nosed. When he found that his visits were causing a disturbance, that the children and dogs clung to his heels, the women collected about him, and the men leaned against the wall and scowled at him (he was not popular with the Seatown men; they hated him from the first) he came no more. For several weeks Seatown did not see him and his only connection with it was the mysterious appearance of young Husky with Charlie at his heels in various parts of the town hitherto unblessed by his presence. Then came the trouble with Maude and he took up his lodging at the Seatown gates. ROM that moment Seatown haunted him. He no longer cared for the conse- quences; do something for that abandoned place he must. It was unfortunate that by the time he began his regular visits to Seatown his glory in the Upper Town had begun to fade. Although the Seatown inhabitants cared defiantly less than nothing for the opinion of the outside world, they were snobs like the rest of us. Every one in Seatown very soon knew that Harmer John had treated his girl wrong, that the clergy thought badly of him, and that he had said that he wished to pull Seatown to pieces. Half the place hated him then and the other half looked on him as a magician who was to be justified only by successful miracles \ few, the mother of Emily Maude and one or two others, worshiped him; certain children and dogs followed him devotedly wherever he went. The others, instructed by their elders, shouted at him and called after him abusively. There was a nice young clergyman, Grahame, whose especial spiritual province Seatown was, and Johanson might have found him a fine ally had he not unfortunately gone just now to Bugquay on his August holiday. It need scarcely be suggested that he was badly in want of it. Johanson was discovering in himself new elements. He had always been obstinate, but something was in him now that was more than obstinacy—something hard and almost remorseless. So far as Seatown went he could no longer say that he did not wish to change people’s opinions. He did not care whose feelings he hurt, how many enemies he made if he could alter the Seatown conditions. The filth, the smells, the broken windows, the overcrowding, the incredible immorality consequent on that overcrowding, the de- gradation and despair—the complacency of the Upper Town about these things stirred a deep and unchanging anger. Hogge and others, whose business it was to see that Seatown remained medieval (there were many things and persons in the present Seatown very useful to Hogge) and knew that once scandal burst consequences might be disastrous for them, were very active in helping the Upper Town to forget the Lower, and the Upper Town was not unreluctant. Then comes this abominable foreigner. . HE Sandpiper was one of the first to express publicly his dislike of “this bloody foreigner.”’ Having one day knocked his wife’s face in because she upset his beer and being confronted by Johanson while he was resting from his gentle exercise, Johanson kicked him out of the room and tumbled him down the smelly stairs. From this moment he, so far as Johanson was concerned, physically disappeared. It was as though when he landed on the bottom stairs he vanished through the ancient boards into the bosom of Mother Earth. Physically disappeared, but not spiritually. That was, as Johanson now discovered, the very oddest thirg about Seatown—that it was impossible to put your finger directly upon any one, but that you walked as though in some place of ghosts. It was as though the mists that gathered about the Pol morning and evening enveloped so much more than their own slow waters and low-hanging fields. Hogge, for instance, was never to be seen there and yet his presence was ever to be felt. He did not once during these weeks encounter Johanson and yet Johanson was never free of his presence Johanson had thought at first that he would bring together one or two of the principal Seatown residents and form with them a little band of reformers, but the clergyman was away, the doctor hated him and—there was no one else. There was literally no one else! Try and put your finger on any one and he at once disappeared! Only idle women, children, lounging loafers, foul-mouthed buccaneers and dogs remained. Young Husky remained and Charlie and Emily Maude—and Bloody Bill Romilly. This last, as Johanson soon perceived, was deputed his principal harasser. Romilly’s large black-bearded lumping body was soon at every quarter. The Sandpiper and others were doubtless not far away, but they did not appear. . Johanson believed always in grasping his nettle, and he at once followed Romilly to his lair. That was not so grim a place as you might have imagined, but rather a tumbled-down cottage on the edge of the country above the mill. Romilly was rest- ing, lying on a pile of straw and sacking, when Johanson invaded him. His great body stretched its full length, his tangled beard, his small and puzzled eyes and, oddly enough, rather fine and delicate hands made a queer picture in the tumbled and thick- smelling cottage. He did not raise himself when he saw Johanson but asked him what he wanted. “T want less of your company,” Johanson said. Romilly laughed and then explained that he could bloody well go where he bloody well pleased and what the hell was a_ bloody foreigner doing down in Seatown anyway? Johanson explained that Seatown was free to all the world, to himself and to others. He would come there when he pleased and, he repeated, he would like less of Romilly’s company. . Romilly slowly rose from his straw and, stretching his arms and yawning, asked Johanson what he intended to do about it. The two men stood facing one another They were much of a size; Romilly’s open shirt showed a chest with black hair like a bear's. Romilly surveyed him curiously and still with that puzzled look in his eye, animal and a little pathetic. “Will you fight?” he asked at last. ““Now?”’ asked Johanson. “No. To-morrow night at the ‘Sucking Pig. “Yes. If you fight fair,’ Johanson an- swered after a moment's thought. Romilly would fight fair. There was something in the man’s slow gaze that promised it. “Now get out,” said Romilly Johanson woke at five the next day. He went to his window and looked out at the lovely summer ‘morning and the town as quiet as a sleeping child. Layers of sun were stretched above it, awnings of faintly washed color, and the Cathedral towers were of bright gold. He bathed himself, dressed, and very softly went down the stairs. He had a jack- knife and a little hammer and chisel. The street shone in the sun with the freshness that nature gives to things before human beings have meddled with them. A little breeze rollicked down the hill. There was no human being to be seen. He walked over to the seat and the tree. He knelt down on the grass before the stone foundation and worked there with his ham- mer and chisel for an hour or so. Then, as the first comers began to pass down the street and the Cathedral bells chimed six he returned to his room. HE “Sucking Pig” was an inn a mile out of the town on the border of the desolate strip of moor known as Humpa- thumb (and of that same place there is a story to be told one day). In 1906 it was kept by an old blackguard called Coffen. It was burnt to the ground in rgro. On that fine summer night its central room was crowded. Johanson, surveying it, felt a strange throb of satisfaction. At last ‘here was a hope that he would come to close grips with his enemy. For weeks past every- thing had eluded him, he had been fighting shadows. Now at last there was Bill Romil- ly’s dark face and hairy chest to batter at. He felt as though here at last was his first opportunity to knock down a bit of Seatown. Everything in his other life, even Maude, was distant and misty to him to-night. He knew what the results of this thing must be in the Upper Town. “A drunken brawl Fighting in a low pub. Oh, quite gone to pieces, my dear. ” He cared not at all. To-night was his first step on his real road As he looked about him he wondered what kind of a fighter he would turn out to be He hadn’t been in a real fight since he was a lad, but he was in splendid condition, w hich Romilly most certainly was not. It happened as it had been arranged. They were lounging about drinking. Romilly pushed Johanson’s arm, muttered something: Johanson replied, Romilly knocked his glass ol beer out of his hand. Instantly from all over the room there were cries of “A fight A fight!” The crowd scattered and then ranged itself (Continued on page 152)

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Importers and Originators of Gowns, Wraps and Ensembles for all occasions. HARMER Hugh Walpole’s HARPER’S BAZAR JOHN New Novel (Continued from page 150) back against the bar and the three walls. A short, squat broken-nosed fellow touched Johanson on the arm: “I'll be behind yer,” he said. The center of the floor was clear and about it, in the strange mingled light of the summer evening that was fading into ivory beyond the windows and the harsh light of the jerking hissing gas, the faces pressed. Everything was irregular: here eyes swollen and protruding, there a beaked nose, here strange caps and shawls, there a whole face thrown up into sharp relief like a dead upturned face in its sharp motionless in- tensity and behind these a restless ceaseless murmur and shuffling of bodies like the lap- ping of sea on the rocks. Two chairs were set in the empty space. The two men stripped to the waist, buckling their trousers about them according to time- honored tradition. A long thin man with a face like a skull stepped forward and an- nounced that these two gentlemen having had a difference of opinion they intended to settle it here and now with their fists as gentlemen should. That Mr. Ben Hawser would referee. This last was received with murmurs of approval. Johanson noticed, as he sat there, that there was no louder sound. It was more like dream than reality. Seatown still main- tained its odd quality of being yet beyond touch. Those odd sinister faces, the queer half light beyond the inner circle, the dark background like the outskirts of an un- discovered wood, the tall thin fanatical body thrown into bold relief near the window of old Mrs. Clay, the witch, the pursuing mur- mur as though persons unseen were always on the move behind him, this was all in its outer aspect unre sal, unlike any life that he knew, but in his i inner soul it was part of an intense reality; as a sinner may feel perhaps when at length he comes to grips with that sin for which all his life he had been searching. HEY made a strange contrast as they stood up facing one another; Johanson’s body so white without a hair on his chest, Romilly covered with a thick black felt on his shoulders, arms, breast. They were men much of a size and Romilly had not so much fat on him as you might have expected from a man who must be out of condition. As they stood there Seatown obviously considered that it had not for a long time had the op- portunity of beholding two mightier men. The faces dipped and bobbed, the hissing murmur of the water dragging back over the sand rose and fell, and a flood of orange spread fan-wise over the reed-tapping, water-logged moor beyond the open window. There were to be no pauses, no breathers, no rounds. Simply one man was to knock the other out of sight. Seatown sighed once again its satisfaction. This was the way to deal with the stranger within its gates. Mr. Hawser murmured something and the fight began. It was at once very plain that neither man was a trained fighter. Romilly had fought most of his battles (and they had been many) in liquor, but to-night he was serious sober. Both men were cautious, circling round one another, their eyes intent as though wire stretched from face to face holding them. Johanson hit out and lightly grazed Romilly’s cheek. Romilly breathed hard, gazed at Johanson with that same dumb look of inquiry that was so especially his, then got one in on Johanson’s right breast which flushed a dull red. Johanson returned and caught Romilly hard on the left shoulder breaking the skin. Johanson was aware then that this man wanted to kill him, and that every man and woman in that place wanted to kill him. He had intruded; he had stirred up their nest and they would get rid of him. But sure as he was of this, he was /also {sure that} to- night the fight would be fair. Seatown had some traditions, this of fair fight on such an occasion was one. But on a later occasion. . . . He felt arising in himself an eager burning longing to smash Romilly’s nose flat. He bore Romilly no kind of grudge, but his big black lumbering body was a kind of insult. The thing was so large and clumsy and yet so illusive. Anger was rising in him, not at all against Romilly but against anything as ugly as Romilly’s body. There should not be in the world anything as ugly as that, and it was Johanson’s duty to break it up. But it was strangely difficult to touch.! Johanson knew that he must conserve his strength, and that every unnecessary step that he took he must pay for, but when he seemed to have that black heaving mass at his mercy suddenly it wasn’t there. HE circle of his horizon narrowed. He had at first seen the whole room with the bar, the shining tumblers, the wall with the old dirty colored print, the pressed circle of faces, the open window with the evening like a glass picture. Now it narrowed and narrowed first to the shining floor below him, to the queer ugly face of his supporter, to the chairs opposite him; then that closed in and he saw only Romilly, Romilly with his sweating fore- head, his black beard with beads of perspira- tion on it, his heavy breasts, and a roll of his fat hanging over his tightened trousers. Then it narrowed again and he saw only a square of flesh, first here, now there, something that he must get into contact with. He had not a great idea of self-defense. He knew that Romilly had caught him first here, then there. He dimly expected that at some moment there would arrive a swinging blow that would pitch him down into darkness and this expectation gave him a sense of urgency as though he had not much time and must get his blow in first. He did get his blow in. Romilly’s face seemed to leap at him and his own fist crashed out and met it. He felt the contact of bone with bone. Romilly’s face was red through the black, a flush of blood that covered the whole sky so that for an instant Johanson could not see anything but that. Romilly lurched and tottered but then was as strong as ever again: in a moment he was back and crashed as it were with his whole body into Johanson’s forehead. The floor rose in a great curve as though worked by an engine and stood over Joh inson. Some voice somewhere said, “If you don’t hold onto this thread you’ll fall into the very bowels of the earth and never appear again. Your life depends on holding this.” A tiny white thread, its end tipped with silver, was held out to him and he held on to it with every force, moral, spiritual, physical, that he possessed. The floor was still hanging above him and he, standing on the edge of it, almost slipped into that eternity of blackness quiver- ing with stars that waited for him. But he did not slip and when Romilly returned with a hand extended that need give but the slightest push to tumble him over he managed to evade that hand and, sick, blinded, tottering, kept his feet. Slowly the world returned. He felt about him an air of surprise that he should still be there. The pain in his head was awful, but the rest of his body was strong enough. Vigor was flowing back into him and, turning, he saw Romilly quite clearly, blood trickling through his hair and the big body shaking uncertainly. That vision was his salvation. He saw Romilly only for an instant before blood trickling from his forehead bruise blinded him, but that instant was enough. With every atom of the vigor of all his past and present life behind it, his arm shot out, his fist crashed into Romilly just under the chin, and Romilly fell and where he fell he lay and where he lay there he stayed, stretched his length like a dead man. Johanson stood staring. The murmur around him was still low and ceaseless—like bees now buzzing in the bracken. Yes, he stood and stared, not thinking of anything save that he had hit Seatown at last. And Seatown also knew it. The faces did not change, the bodies scarcely moved. The gas hissed and fretted, there was no light now beyond the window, and so still was it that a stream in a field could be heard jumping down the hill hurrying to the Pol. Johanson was sitting on his chair, a towel over his shoulders. No one congratulated him, but his second bathed his forehead witha sponge. Romilly had been dragged to a chair and men were bending over him. But Johan- son did not care about Romilly. He was watching with a curious almost somnolent gaze the faces in the room. They stared at him abstractedly, unmalevolently but with a definite purpose in their gaze. They would let him alone to-night, but they would finish him off later. Time enough Time enough. He was almost asleep there in his chair. How his forehead ached! What a headache he would have to-morrow! Then, slowly rising, he moved off. silently they all made way for him. Quite ND here I must, I am afraid, bring myself into it. I have reached the moment when I had my one and only glimpse of Johanson. I was, myself, present at that famous last lecture. I was at the end of my first year at Cam- bridge and had come to stay for a week or two with some relations in Polchester. I had been brought up in Polchester and every stone in it was familiar to me: on my very first evening I heard of Johanson. The way that his story came to me was, I think, instructive: he was described to me, quite simply, as a Foreign Ruffian. I was asked to imagine to myself a man who had come from some dangerous place abroad with definitely sinister designs upon our simple- he: urted town. He had in the first place ‘wheedled” himself into people’s sympathies by a tale of ill-luck and hardship, he hé * been boarded and cared for by one of the “kindest women in the town” (my ee was at (Continued on page 154)

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154 Dates don’t count. not how old you are. have. Other Side of the Moon.” CI Ce’ “ but you are nota woman of your age,” says Marie Barfe__ THIS spring realize that you aren’t years—you’re you. Faces do. you look like 1926? People think first of what you are; What's 1880 or 1910, if Marie Earle’s way isn’t magic, it’s common sense. Be kind to your looks. Give your face the best care it can (Don’t drift into buying merely useful clothes instead of smart ones, because you’re over thirty, or forty or fifty!) . . . Cleanse your skin, nourish it, tone it, give it faithful care. You can give yourself a simple Marie Earle Basic Treatment in a few minutes’ time night and morning! Use the Essential Cream; the Cucumber Emulsion to make the Essential Cream twice as penetrating; and the right lotion for your type of skin. Generally the Soothing Fresh- ener Lotion is advised. Number One treatment is for aver- age, Number Two for dry, Number Three for oily skin. For clients who cannot come to the Salon, there is a Consultation Department. Send for the free booklet, “The It explains this service and describes all the Marie Earle preparations. Fill out the Diagnosis Blank in it, so you can learn what your skin needs. Marie Earle’s Essential Cream is absolutely essential in every Marie Earle treatment. It is the preparation Miss Earle introduced in Paris where she established the salon frequented by American society women who persuaded her to come to New York. It is used and beloved by many thousands of women in this country and on the Continent. In generous jars, $1.90 up. If you do not find Marie Earle preparations in your favorite shop, order direct from the Salon, 600 Madison Avenue, New York City. fo Car yee NEW YORK HARMER Hugh Walpole’s HARPER’S BAZAR JOHN Novel New (Continued from page 152) least correct there), had started a gymnasium and interested some of the “foremost clergy” in his efforts, had managed to engage himself to the daughter, ‘‘a most beautiful girl,” of his landlady and then—then—what had he not done that was shameful and base? He had betrayed apparently every one, leaving his fiancée for the company of a most immoral woman, had come out in his true colors advocating the pulling down of most of the town, had insulted those of the clergy who had been so good to him, had played some charla- tan tricks with the women of the place, pre- tending to cure their children of all sorts of diseases, and had finally been fighting in some low pub in the slums among a drunken crowd of the town’s worst citizens. And, after all this, he had actually the impertinence to announce another lecture; notices were posted all over the town. For himself I know that at this moment he was considering not at all what the town was thinking about him. He was occupied, as Tom Longstaffe discovered, with two things and two things only, and these two things warred the one against the other. One was his idea, which grew in him with ever-increasing force, that somehow he must get rid of himself. If he could do that and do it completely then the most wonderful dis- coveries awaited him. He would see and feel and be surrounded by such beauty as he had never even begun to imagine. I fancy that now his old dream of his empty house with its shining purity, its view, and its murmuring trees was always with him. It was in some way here that his discovery would come to him. But on the other hand there was his other preoccupation and that was Maude. He thought of her morning, noon, and night. How was he to rid himself of himself when he loved her so much? It was he who loved her, he, Harmer John, he Hjalmar Johanson, he, not an abstraction, not a spirit, but he himself with his bones and blood and beating heart! Had he been a cleverer, more sophisticated man many things would have been different. But he was not, as every one must have seen by this time, a clever man at all. The ideas that he was discovering for him- self were not new. They were as old as the oldest hills. Nor was he subtle minded, nor was he very quick at perceiving what others were thinking. He could only see one or two things at a time, and those things that he saw he clung to. So he went on his inevitable way, but before he reached the climax of his last lecture a queer thing occurred. A’ THE beginning of September he re- opened his office. Nobody came. He sat there day after day, sent out his circulars, did a little correspondence with people in the country, and waited. All his regular classes— school, the tradesmen, the Young Men's Christian Association—these had all lapsed. He put an advertisement in the local Pol- chester paper and one or two people came to see him, but his enemies and detractors warned them, I suppose, and they did not come again. The lecture was to be in a week’s time. There was every kind of rumor about it, and there was no doubt but that the place would be full. Johanson had taken this time a big room at the back of the Public Library often used for local ** Penny Readings,”’ missionary meetings, and so on. This time there would be no chairman. Then the surprising thing occurred. Johan- son had a visitor and the visitor was Canon Ronder I have received two accounts of this inter- view, one from Ronder himself and one that Johanson gave to Longstaffe. It seems that Ronder, on this occasion, obeyed one of the sincerest and truest instincts of his life. For once he did not stop to consider whether this were a wise step or one calculated to help his schemes. He came simply because in his heart he was fond of the man and thought that he was rushing to his destruction. He may have had, too, some guilty sense that he was re- sponsible for him, he may have felt a deep discomfort about Seatown, and, most prob- able of all, he may have had some startling vision of the rapidity with which he himself was changing. On that morning at least it was not only Johanson’s descent of which he was aware. OHANSON was greatly surprised to see him. He had for the moment quite for- gotten Ronder’s existence. He was pleased to see him, though. He never at that time or any other bore the slightest grudge against any human being. Hogge he hated, but imper- sonally, as he hated disease, meanness, and evil-speaking. His forehead was still bruised, his eye yet discolored, but he showed no embarrassment when Ronder came in, greeted him as warmly as he had ever done. Their relations were, however, now altered. They were equals, and that sense of power and command that Ronder had felt at the last meeting was now increased. “T have come,” Ronder said, “to ask whether you would care for me to be chairman again at your approaching lecture.” It was a fine thing for Ronder to do and Johanson knew at once that it was so. Johan- son saw by that time clearly enough into Ronder’s character; he knew how much his social prestige meant to him, how he had worked unceasingly for many years to obtain his present command in the town, how deeply precious to him was his power over his fellow human beings. “That’s good of you,” he said, smiling into Ronder’s face. “It sha’n't be like the last lecture, you know.” “That’s all right,” Ronder said hurriedly. “T don’t ask you anything about it. It’s better perhaps that I shouldn’t know what you mean to say. But I’m delighted to take the chair if you wish me.” “There’s likely to be a row, you know,” Johanson went on. “Yes,” said Ronder. ‘There may be.” “T’m not a popular man any longer.” “Not so popular as you were,” said Ronder. “IT don’t hope,”’ said Johanson, still smiling, “that I should be as mean as to drag you into one of my rows.” “That’s all right,’’ Ronder repeated firmly. “Tf you want me I’m at your service.” “‘That’s fine,” Johanson said, his eyes smil- ing. “I shall never forget that you offered. I thank you. But this time I shall be alone.” Ronder said: ‘You'd better have some one with you, you know. After all it may help matters.” He got up from his chair, hesitated, then went on: “I don’t understand you. You're like no man I’ve ever met before. You seem to want to make trouble and yet, knowing you, I would have said you were one who wanted to live at peace with his fellow men.” “T do want to live at peace with them,” said Johanson. “Well then—” “But not if, to do so, I must be dishonest.” “We've had all this out before,’’ Ronder said rather quickly. “I know you've got some idea in your head that won't let you rest, but couldn’t you have given that idea a better chance if you’d gone on as you were going at first, if you’d established yourself and won all men’s regard—wouldn’t they then have listened to you more readily?” “T don’t know,” said Johanson simply. “I had to think as I thought and then say what I thought. Men are finer than I and cleverer and know the world, but I don’t understand. No, I don’t understand two things. Men don’t seem to care about Life nor they don’t seem to care about Beauty.” “ About Life?’’ Ronder asked. “What Life’s for. What Life means. They are always asking to be happy, but they don’t care about Beauty. How can any man be happy when he doesn’t care for Beauty?” Then he put his hand on Ronder’s sleek rounded shoulder. ‘Don’t you worry’your- self about me, see? I find my own way. I must, but I’m pretty glad you came to me as you did. I think that was fine.” ONDER’S heart, in spite of the fatty degeneration of the last years, was filled with alarm and distress about the perils into which this poor foreign devil was so blindly rushing. He had heard, I suppose, a good deal during these last weeks; he knew something of the Seatown gentry, of Hogge and his friends. His concern was the most genuine human feeling that he had known for many a day. Johanson offered more than one man a chance at that time— “Don’t you see,” he began pacing the little room in his agitation, “‘that it serves no purpose at all to raise such hostility? Upon my word, I don’t know how you've done it. The things I hear are absurd, of course. But Seatown—” He stopped at the name, having his own none too comfortable thoughts in that connection. “Was it wise,” he went on more quietly, “to interfere there about matters in which you could not possibly have any real con- cern?” “Concern!” Johanson broke in. “Concern! Do you know, Canon Ronder, what that place is? But you can’t know. Come down with me any afternoon and I shall show you— like beasts . . . like beasts. . . .”’ His voice broke. ‘In my own country,” he went on more quietly, “there are horrible places—in Copenhagen and Christiania too. But these are big industrial towns; there is problems that belongs to our time, difficult gigantic problems I know nothing of. But here in this little town, so small, so beautiful, that there should be such a place! One day’s work would take it all away. Can’t you see that? Can you have your breakfast and your dinner in quiet when at your door there are the four families in one room, men, women, and children sleeping in one bed, humans (Continued on page 156) ee

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for APRIL 1926 155

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PLAID HAT and POLKA-DOTS! tailleur « then HARMER Walpole’s New Novel Hugh HARPER’S BAZ. JOHN (Continued from page 154) like pigs, sorrow and hunger and cruelty . . . and no one cares. Oh! you English, what is it with you? You are so moral and you look unblushing on such immorality, you are so kind and you watch patiently such cruelty, you are so religious and you listen without caring to such blas phemy, you are so wise with all you have learnt from your old civilization and you permit such stupidity. He came to Ronder, took him by the shoulde rs, shook him. “I don’t unde srstand. Why do not men care more to make the world beautiful for others? How can they be so indiffe erent?” “It’s true what I prophesied,” Ronder said. “TI said the time would come when you would want to change men. It has come. You’ re just like all the others.’ ‘Yes, it has come,” ~~ cried. “I can’t be quiet. TI can’t. And if there are so many othe rs, where are they? Because I would join them and work with them. Two or three of us—what we could do! I’m so alone in this. No one cares. Every one goes on as if everything was all right. And I’m not clever. I don’t know anything. I’ve never learnt anything. Then he laughed, looking a boy again as he used to look. “Of all men the worst is the one who would teach others when he don’t know anything himself. I’m just such a one.” That was true. Ronder felt it. Of all the types of man presented to him the one that he hated most was the ‘noble Propagandist, the He-Man, the Splendid Savior of Men who dealt in vague words and, thumping his tub, gathered in the shekels of the senti- mentalist. Johanson, by all the in was becoming such a one. But his ignorance saved him—his ignorance and his honesty. Ronder was sentimental when his brain allowed him to be. He was sentimental now. He felt as though Johanson were a small son of his who was going to a boarding-school for the first time. He always liked children if they were not impertinent to him. He renewed his offer of taking the chair. Johanson refused it. Then Ronder, ashamed of himself both because he had done so much and had not done more, hurried away. Johanson sat on alone in his little room, forgetting Ronder forgetting the lecture, forgetting Seatown, longing, longing, longing for Maude. These empty hours without work were not good for his strength of control. the police but that, suited the HERE was some talk that intended to prohibit the lecture, I imagine, would not at all have plans of Hogge and the rest. Excitement about it was intense. Every kind of catastrophe was expected. My aunt implored me not to go. I would not have missed it for all the aunts in Christendom When the evening arrived I found a com- panion in young Jeremy Cole, older than myself by two years and just finished with Oxford. He was a good stout fellow with no about him. He had spent only a nonsense little of this vacation in Polchester but had picked up quite another version of the story. He knew Longstaffe. Longstaffe had told him that this was a man in a million. But I was skeptical. “One of these Hyde Park orators,” I said, “I know them.” Cole was not a man of many words. ‘There’s no nonsense about Longsti iffe,”’ he aid ‘If he likes a fellow there’s something about me that “crowd” savagery that springs often from nowhere at all, some- thing for which no individual is respoi but to whose power every individual yields Cole felt the same. “There's not going to be much lecture, I fancy,’ I heard ing mutter as we were pushed forward However, when we passed the doors into the hall we found everything quiet and decorous enough. The hall was nearly filled. Our seats were toward the back under a narrow overhanging balcony and not far from the door as | noticed to my relief. If there was a bad row we might want to get away quickly. As we seated ourselves, I wondered whether there would be room for everybody. The place was already three-quarters filled and still they were pouring in. We were all pushed very closely together, and Jeremy Cole had to put his arm around the back of my chair to hold on securely. As the hands of the smug-faced clock turned toward eight o'clock the room seemed to be absolutely packed and there was a thick gathering of men and_ boys around the door. Two mild and elderly men who were showing people into their places went constantly to the door and called out that there was no more room inside, but still people pressed forward and there was a great deal of protesting and noise and laughter. SAW, as I looked about me, that the im- pression that [I had had coming up the stairs was a true one; not only were the “Upper Ten”’ not present, the better towns- people were not there either. It was in truth a pretty ruffianly gathering. The majority of those in the room had certainly not paid for their tickets; whether some one else had paid for them was another que stion. I remember that as I looked about me two faces detached themselves from the crowd, one familiar and one not. The familiar one was that of Samuel Hogge, and indeed he was standing quite close to me, leaning against one of the gray mottled pillars of the balcony. I fancy that I got the impression as I looked at his fat body and flushed red face that he surveyed the scene as though it were all his handiwork—an air of pride, that is, and self-congratulation. He was smiling pleasantly and looked most amiable. But he was very quiet, apparently rather far away in his thoughts and not wishing to disturb anybody. He was dressed in a very decent suit of dark blue. The other face—unfamiliar—was that of agirl. She was sitting some way up the room on the outside of her row and leaning out- wards as though she wished every one to see her. She did not, however, give the im- pression of showing off but rather of defiance. She was dark and slight, plainly Peto not pretty but noticeable because of the challeng- ing fierce hostile way she looked about her, as though she were saying: ‘‘ You thought I wouldn’t come, but here I am and I don’t care who knows it.”’ NE other thing. Just after ei; had struck I heard some one—a man— behind me say: “His girl—you know, Maude Penethen—just gone and fixed herself with young Boultewood. That'll make him pretty mad. Wonder if he knows it. His companion said answered: ‘‘Can’t something, and he imagine. He’s a rotter : . in it that young hc aacates Always was 1 beret boldly painted In We set off for the Library together. Our always will } s tickets were reserved seats, but we congratu- Soon tg ‘the strokes of the clock h plaids or polka-dots * * last, a lated ourselves on being twenty minutes died away a door at the back of the stage h b f h before time when we saw the mob that opened and Johanson came in. There was ha pressed about the Library door. It was a demonstration as soon as he appeared, but uge OW-SCar to matc a allie ling evident at a glance that we were going to not a very violent one, some clapping, some ‘ : Do . enjoy a disturbed evening. There were booing and hissing. He seemed to pay no and voila! a Spring COS- men and boys hanging about there who had attention to that, but came forward quietly certainly come for no other purpose than to make a row. to the front of the platform and stood there waiting until it had ceased. tume suggested by HATTIE CARNEGIE, Inc. There were actually three whole live Pol- He was a fine man to look at, finer than I chester policemen at the door. Three, and had expected. With his breadth and height in the same place at the same time. I had he had also a magnificent carriage that not seen so many Polchester police since the would have made him noticeable anywhere. 7 Jubilee. The crowd was at present good-natured. We had not very great trouble in passing through the doors (Cole is a thick-set stocky fellow, as an Oxford Rugby Half needs to be) and then we streamed up the stone staircase with all the Polcastrians. I noticed at once that the crowd was not very respectable, many more men than women and men of But the thing that struck me most strongly was his perfect control, Men give away a great deal of their real personality in that first moment of their appearance on the platform and you cot - 1 not doubt, when you looked at this man, but that there was some- thing very honest fer noble about hin least so it seemed to me Then his face was greeable simple, Hats, Gowns, the kind who shout to one another as they go and whistle loudly through sheer vacancy of humorous. A boy’s sense of fun perhaps 42 and 44 Fast Fort v-ninth Street spirits. It was the kind of crowd you may although to-night there was something in . see any day at a League football match. his gaze as he looked out over the room New York City direct, and, what I had aaa expected, rather I had heard that his first lecture had been indignant and surprised. He stood very honored by the presence of the Cathedral well, his hands quietly at his side. He was “quality.” Perhaps to-night they would dressed in a dark suit and wore a black tic come in later because their seats would be The demonstration had quickly died down reserved but it was, I think, as I felt these and, as a newspaper man would have written, men jostling past me up the sa uirs that I was you could hear a pin drop. conscious of my first twinge of sympathy I liked his voice, too, when he began to toward this man Johanson. I felt in the air (Continued on page 158)

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Every Sheridan Gown is a worthy contribution to Fashion — enhancing the charms of different personalities — interpreting the most fascinating features of the Mode in a truly inimitable manner. This bouffant Evening Gown of mellow, is decidedly the tast word in smart style. The bolero of white satin fine net is embroidered in tiny pearls, gold beads and rhinestones. The bright corsage of roses is tied with golden streamers. Sheridas- 548 FIFTH AVENUE at 45 thkST NVew York OUR ONLY STORE HARMER Hugh Walpole’s HARPER’S BAZAR JOHN New Novel (Continued from page 156) speak. There was a marked foreign accent and he used certain words, noticeably prepo- sitions and adverbs, wrongly, but he spoke remarkable English for a foreigner who had been in our country for so short a time and his voice was strong and carried admirably. I liked the simple way he spoke, without any ostentation and as though he had forgotten himself entirely. I was prejudiced then at once in the man’s favor, but when it came to the things that he said that was quite another matter. You must remember that I was at that stage in my young life when I was entirely disillusioned and thought I knew everything. FTER three minutes my condescending pity for Johanson knew no bonds. It was exactly as though a child of six were expounding life to me; at the end of a quarter of an hour I was surprised to find myself still listening and I decided that it must be the man’s obvious sincerity that held me. At the end of half an hour (when the crash came) I was on the man’s side, let him talk what nonsense he pleased. He had begun, diffidently and with rather a charming shyness, by saying that this lecture was a sequel to one that he had given some while before. In that other he had spoken entirely about care of the body and had shown them some simple means by which the body could be kept strong and healthy But that, as he had told them then, was only the beginning of living rightly. He must apologize when he was himself ignorant and inexperienced, for making statements that, probably, to many in the room had been obvious long ago. But he thought that it was always interesting if one man should tell, honestly, to others the things that he had found to be true. He was not trying to force his ideas upon any one, but there might be some who thought as he did and, if there were, he would be glad to meet them. He explained then how all his life he had been concerned with physical culture but that it was only after he came to this town that he discovered that this physical culture was unimportant compared to the other things that it led to. He had, like other men, often wondered about life, what it meant, what it led to, why human beings were alive at all. The religions that he had encountered had not satisfied him and he was perpetually dis- satisfied with himself because he was so selfish and only cared for the things that brought himself happiness. Then he made his first discovery—that this pursuit of selfish happiness was no good, no practical as well as no moral Why. one day he asked himself, was he always so preoccupied about making himself happy and so intent upon himself that he was missing all the time the beauty that was on every side of him? If he thought more of the beauty that was outside himself, then he would think less of the dissatisfaction in himself. He then gradually saw that this beauty went further than the beauty of material physical things. It was fine to have a_ beautiful body, to have it in splendid trim, to feel healthy and strong. That was the first duty of beauty, to keep your body fit. Beyond that was the beauty of all outside things —the beauty of nature, the beauty of pictures and of music, the beauty of furniture and of houses and of streets. That was the second duty of beauty. But beyond and extending these was the third beauty—the beauty of conduct, of unselfishness, loving kindness, fidelity, and courtesy. And this third world of beauty led to God He found then that world came from two things and fear, and that as interested in something, oneself, one became own safety, less There might come good all the trouble in the , from selfishness as one became however small, out- less anxious for eager to challenge a time, he thought, when we would be, all of us, so busy with the creation of beauty, whether of beautiful things or of beautiful deeds, that our concern for our own safety would be forgotten. Our health, our daily bread, these things would be found to be much more simply obtained when we were not always concerned about them. The conduct of life rested. it might be, on certain very simple things like fidelity to our word and thoughtfulness for others. If we made only one beautiful thing, not for ourselves but because we would pay our debt to beauty, we had done something with our lives. soon side one s others. O FAR what I mentality, millions of he had gone and you may imagine felt. The tritene SS, the senti- the cheapness of it! How many times had the world not been greeted with little books, little orations, little sermons proclaiming just such a creed! I looked around me expecting to find in others the exz asperation that I was feeling in myself. I did not find it. They were listening. The row that Cole and I had confidently expected (To be concluded in the was not yet upon us. There they all were, staring in front of them, with wide open eyes, cow-like, complacent. I had the sense that they were not listening very much but were rather, in some way, mesmerized. \Mes- merized by the voice perhaps, or by the quiet attitude of the man. He went on to say that he knew that one answer that would be made to him was that he knew nothing about the social conditions of modern life, that it was very easy to talk about beauty but that, when you had no money and a family to provide for, there was not a great deal of time left in which to think about extras. That when you were hungry or saw those you loved hun; gry you thought about your stomach, not about beauty. To that he answered that there were very many, even in this little town of Polchester, whose conditions were easy enough to allow them to create beauty in the lives of those who were less fortunate. The creation of beauty could go on anywhere and in any place. Something was for ever being created every moment of the day. Creation was always at work, and if it was not beauty that was being created then it was ugliness. Every word of slander or unkindness about another was creating more ugliness, every hypocritical condemnation of some one for a fault, when we were in our own private lives, as we all well knew, as guilty, was an act of ugliness. Every unsanitary room, every house in- secure to the wind and rain that we allowed to stand, was a work of ugliness. He had come to Polchester, loving it at his first sight of it, feeling that here was his home. What had he found here? He paused. A stir, like a little wind, ran through the room. What had he found? He had found hypocrisy, evil-speaking, slander, malice, and the worst slum in Europe I caught my breath at that. I knew that the moment had arrived. I looked again hurriedly about me and I saw still, in most faces, that same staring gaze as of a crowd mesmerized. But a voice, detached, like a stone flung through the ceiling, cracked the silence. “Yah! You and yer Beauty. What about yer mistress up to St. Paul’s?’ The silence, although cracked, held. Johanson’s voice came back clearly and with- out a falter: “My love for this town—”’ They were the last words we heard. Chaos was upon us. Look back as earnestly as I may, it is chaos that I see. I can remember that shouting and s« - aming of voices, frag mentary sentences, 10 back to your own bloody country! We ‘ant want you. ‘Oo are you preachin’ at? ‘Oo crawled in at the rec’try winder? ‘Oo kissed two girls at once? What about yer own dirty be’avior?” And this rhyme: “Harmer John! Harmer John! Went to bed with his trousies on Kissed the girls and made ’em cry Maudie, Mary, Pudding and Pie!” But it was not possible to hear anything distinctly. The more respectable part of the audience, seeing that riot was truly upon them at last, fled for the doors. The less respect- able, in a shouting, bellowing mob, pushed for the platform. Things—vegetables, rotten eggs, bad fish—were hurtling through the air; men and boys were scrambling down from the balcony, sliding the pillars. Cole caught my arm. “Come on,” he said. ‘They'll do him in if some one doesn’t stop thet I looked across the room and saw that he was standing quietly and without any alarm on the middle of the platform. Men, shout ing and waving their arms, were scrambling up toward him. As, tumbling over chairs, we reached the front of the hall some heavy fellow made a lurch at him. He moved back still without any sign of alarm, toward the wall, and as Cole and I clambered onto the stage, we saw him struggling there, several men and boys striking at him and dragging at his knees. I forget then exactly what occurred. We rushed forward and soon there was a glorious melee. Cole was no mild antagonist and I think that the mob very soon retreated. But I know that my dominant impression was of Johanson, his collar and shirt torn open, being extremely quiet and doing little more than keep his assailants back. I had the notion that with one thrust of his arm he could have scattered them all to the Hebrides. In any case in another moment we foun ourselves, the three of us, tumbling toward the door at the back of the stz uge and then, surprisingly, alone, breathless, in the cool current of air that a dark passage provided. We could not see very clearly but I fancy that he smiled and said: “Thank you. I don’t hope you’re damaged at all.” He shook our hands I think. Then, quietly, was gone. May issue) very

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HARPER’S BAZAR TASTE Countess of Oxford and Asquith’s Article (Continued from page 108) them as the elect. He not only made designs, but he sold stuffs, and I remember with what delight I gazed at the crewel-worked sunflowers on what was called Art-serge,that dripped over my bedroom mantelpiece at Glen, and with what exasperation my father inveighed against the first Morris carpet and burst pomegranate wall-paper that my sister Laura and I intro duced. Nor can I forget the horror with which our suggestion was met that the brilliant yellow varnish on the handsomely carved oak of the front hall and billiard room should be removed by some chemical process. The careful painting and spiritual imagina- tion of the Preraphaelites met with scorn in their day, and Charles Dickens made a savage attack in “Household Words” on Millais’ “Carpenter Shop,” painted when he was twenty, for which the Tate Gallery gave £10,000 not very long ago. In every generation the old have made the deep-rooted conviction that their prescience has gained for themselves an unchallengeable position from which they cannot be ousted They consider themselves privileged to impose their opinions on the awed admirers among their less confident companions. You find these critics equally distributed among the old and the new—the men who think Beethoven a back number and Cézanne a dauber—and it js hard to say which of the two pronounces the silliest judgments. I mentioned just now that the bait of Pos- session was apt to bias the judgment and there is nothing more common than to meet critics who think they enhance their own reputation and the prestige of their purchases by casting doubt on the authenticity of every other work of art that they are shown. N EMINENT critic came to look at the pictures at Gosford where I was staying with the late Lord Wemyss many years ago, same complaint about the new. I am told fies that the earliest writing upon stone decipher He was a man of profound knowledge and be able by scholars is the lament of an Egyptian European reputation who was constantly im- r king over the demoralizing changes that had plored by private collectors and public galler- & taken place between his own day and his ies to pronounce judgment on either what they iy children’s. Elderly men can be heard any day had bought or what they proposed to acquire. in the week echoing the reflections of the Both my host and his guests looked forward to his visit with a pleasure amounting to Egyptian king: art has degenerated, society as , excitement. they knew it has ceased to exist, young men - Cig “t = 2 a have no manners, young women no morals, politicians are rogues, lawyers are liars, there is no public opinion, the city is crumbling, and the country is going to the dogs. But I have lived long enough to turn a deaf ear to these rumblings, and to scrutinize closely the people who utter them. They are usually men who have done nothing for other people, or have failed to achieve anything for them- selves in life. READ in a novel by Charbuliez, “Seulement Dieu et les sots ne changent jamais,” and I expect he was not the first person to say it. At the moment of writing there is a childish controversy started by elderly critics and de- veloped in the House of Commons, on the merits and demerits of the Hudson memorial in Hyde Park by Epstein. I was approached by enthusiastic and indignant gentlemen to sign letters to the Press, both to remove and retain this piece of sculpture, but as our main thoroughfares bristle with formidable memo- rials of the most provocative, photographic, and foolish nature against which no one has raised a whimper, I did not feel moved to join in any “pilgrimage of passion” (to quote Disraeli) We cannot return to “The Lost Chord,” “Last Bark,” “Twice Bit,” sort of picture which found favor with the Royal Academi- cians of the eighties. The only criticism I have to make on the “Rima” is that the top of her forehead being sloped off gives a foolish expression which diminishes the energy of the whole, and lends too much importance to her pear-shaped stomach; nor does there seem sufficient reason for making her hands so very powerful; otherwise the birds and branches make a sort of appeal which is interesting. But be this as it may it cannot offend, as it is so situated as to be hidden from the public eye, which is more than one can say of Sir William Lawson's baggy bronze trousers on the Embankment, the dummy howitzer on the Artillery Memorial, or the Tussaud reproduc- tion of poor Nurse Cavell. In these contro- versies I am reminded of the weather chart: “Winds will freshen in all districts and reach gale force loc ally “as T IS dangerous to express strong opinions on new developments with which we are un- familiar and all of us can recall classical in- stances of mistaken contemporary criticism Jeffry in the Edinburgh Review on Words- worth; “This will never do.” “Lohengrin” and “Carmen” which were hissed off the stage: musicians dying of starvation; and painters, whose pictures bring fabulous prices to-day, who lived all their lives without public recog- nition. The statue of David at Florence begun by Méro da Fiesoli and finished by Michel- angelo was stoned by the populace on the morning it was unveiled, and had to be pro- tected by the Civic Guards night and day. There are countless examples of changes of taste and opinion which should serve as a warning to keep a fresh eye and give posterity a chance. Collectors and critics are as vain of their opinions as they are of their possessions, and would rather have their honor suspected than their judgment, nor will they admit the possi- bility that they may be underestimating, because they do not understand. They have made a study of art and have infinite knowl- edge; they have bought—on their own judg- ment—houses, pictures, furniture, and other things of value for small sums and have a As he was driving over from a country house in the neighborhood, the hour of his arrival was uncertain, and the present Lord Wemyss, his brother Evan Charteris, and his father were out when their distinguished guest was announced. I was the only person in the room, and not wishing him to see anything till the return of his hosts, I suggested I should take him for a walk before lunch. It was one of those radiant days peculiar to the lovely coast between Edinburgh and Dunbar, and I felt an illegitimate pride in being the first to show this famous lover of art such inexpressible beauty. We walked through the wind-swept trees across the open road to the Kilspindie golf-course, and sat down upon the rocks and watched the slow motion of the gulls and listened to the cry of the peewits overhead. He talked freely of Florence and America, clasping his knees with both his hands, his whole attention riveted on what he was say- ing. “Tt is a common error to attribute to Ucello the earliest examples of perspective in paint ing. The Berlin art critic—of whom no doubt, Miss Tennant, you have heard—the great Dr. Bode and I are not in complete agreement. .. .” At this moment we were interrupted by loud cries of ‘‘Fore”’ . “Fore! . . .” and touching my companion I said we were in the way of the golfers and would have to move farther down the rocks toward the sea. A heron rose lazily at our feet, but the art critic never looked away from the pattern on his trousers, and my attention wandered from his fluency on the Florentines, across the sands to the long silver sea-line broken by a blue Edin- burgh. We retraced our steps and were greeted by our beautiful host who—with a courtesy and enthusiasm peculiarly his own—con- ducted us into the dining-room. When Lord Wemyss—who was in high spirits—informed the table that £4,000 had covered the whole of his purchases, including the Donatello bas-relief of St. Cecilia, I saw a slow look of shrewd and patronizing pleasure come into the face of the critic and I regretted his lordship’s loquacity. After lunch we all walked round the galleries and sitting-rooms to look at the pictures. Giving his reasons at great length, the con- fident critic disputed the authenticity of nearly every picture he was shown, provoking his host to a pitch of excitement that went to my heart. How little it mattered whether Shakes peare wrote “Hamlet” or another man of the same name; the Gosford collection was so fine that I deplored the lack of taste in a critic who disparaged pictures—beautiful in them selves—because the attributions were not to his liking. It was borne in upon me that atter- noon that neither education, reason, nor re search can make a critic, and that learning s a poor substitute for taste. HAVE arrived at an age when I never ask if anything I want to purchase is genuine or faked, modern or antique. I do not buy with a view to selling again. In the matter of pl tures, having been brought up surrounded by the most beautiful of the English 5« hool, | prefer—apart from favorite masterpieces~@ certain character and quaintness, and the col- oring that seems most to harmonize with my rooms, to the most expensive pictures. Best- sellers do not appeal to me and the price o my work of art is the most irrelevant fact about it.

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R APRIL 1926 fo ry THE CLOSED DOOR Mildred Cram’s Story Continued from page 129) You could see him sharpening his Freudian tentacles, ready to take in the victim. But Gil Alberti took his ease, lighted a cigar, and, adjusting the monocle, stared at Venable. Venable got exactly nowhere. “So,” Mrs. Trevisan said, “‘in spite of all this—so amusing—I’ve got to go. All of you —I'll drive you anywhere. ... Six o’clock! Good-night, Mr. Alberti. The coffee, the paintings, Rosa, all delicious. . . .” She went to the door in a flurry of soft draperies and gestures, Bel Tavis drifting behind and Venable fussing, cheated, still hungry for the reasons. At the threshold, Arden felt a hand on his arm, a pressure that held him. “Youstay. Please. I want to talk to you.” Arden stiffened. He did not want to stay, and yet he did. There was always a chance that he might find the painter behind the worldly mask, and, if he did not at least try, he would be irrevocably sorry. “Why, thank you,” he said, bowing more formally than was usual with him, “T’ll stay.” IL ALBERTI closed the door while Ar- den threw his coat and hat down again with a certain decision which betrayed his annoyance. “Miss Tavis is beautiful,” the young painter said. ‘“‘Is she, do you think, Ameri- can?” “You mean, as a type? Why, no; and yes. There are many such women—they are as American as Dakota farmers’ wives. You will discover that it is not easy to label any one ‘American.’” “You are American!” Arden smiled. “I try to be.’ “Why try?” “You will discover, also, that while we make an outlandish noise about Americanism, none of us knows what it is. We boast of native wit and chortle over anything in the vernacular. We like to believe ourselves square-heads with shaven necks possessed of a crude and biting philosophy. The truth of it is: no one knows, yet, what we are. It’s for men like you to find out.” “Men like me?” “You're not afraid of the truth, are you?” “No.” “Well, don’t flatter us! Here you are: a European, already an acknowledged master, a sort of privileged commentator! You will do us a favor if you will see us as we are.” They went again to that haven of light and warmth before the fire. Arden stood, but Gil Alberti, throwing himself on the couch, stretched himself and put his arms behind his head. He looked so frail, so utterly out of character, that Arden began to suspect a hoax. What if the real Alberti preserved his incognito behind this fellow? Bel Tavis would find out, to-morrow! It would be like such a humorist to send a hired esthete to meet his admirers, while he himself roared behind the curtains, in safety. Arden moved abruptly to mounting irritability. “May I look at your work?” “Of course.” The young man leaped up, and going swiftly about the room, lighted several overhead blue globes. The shadowy studio came into sharp outline: the city receded behind the tall, un- curtained windows. In that flat glare of light, the paintings—four or five of them—were there to be seen, in all their curious artificial- ity, their clarity, their brilliance, without the benefit of frames or the softening drapery resorted to by painters not too sure of their canvases. Gil Alberti’s face was animated; his eyes grew darker. He became, in the space of a moment, authentic. “You like them?” “I envy you,” Arden said, “more than I have ever envied a human being.” > conceal his ALBERTI stood rigid, his arms folded, his eyes fixed. The shadow of a convulsive tremor passed across his face. Arden had spoken in all sincerity, but he began to fear that he had said too much. A sensitive fellow, this! Suddenly, Alberti turned and faced him. think,” he said swiftly, “you ought to know. I’m a woman.” “Not Alberti, then? I thought so!” “Yes. Yes! Alberti! I painted these things. They are mine. But they are the work of awoman. Do you understand?” Yes,” Arden said, “I understand. But why did you feel it necessary to tell me? I should have gone away without knowing— or caring.” ‘ ‘That is not true: you did care! It hurt It made me damned mad!” e door cpened, it being the wrong Moment, and Rosa came in again, this time carrying a small table. She glanced from one tothe other, with a pucker of anxious curiosity etween her eyes. me. “Dinner?” she asked, in German. “For two?” “You'll stay?” Arden nodded. Alberti said. “Please?” He could find no easy words of acceptance. Stay? Naturally! But what in thunder— A woman! Perhaps, minus the masculine trappings, a pretty woman. There was something even more ugly and precarious in this fact than in the supposition. ... Arden caught himself in time and managed to say: “Thank you. It is very kind of you.” And with this banality, was silent. Rosa set the table before the fire: a cloth of coarse lace, a pair of old silver candlesticks, flowers in a porcelain bowl and dishes of heavy peasant ware, curiously crackled. For the life of him, Arden could not utter another word. He saw, now, glancing covertly that this was indeed a woman, and a lovely one. The wonder was that he had not before noticed the revealing delicacy of her features, the quality of her skin, the impalpable light- ness of a voice that was yet husky and blurred. And now, watching her, he became aware a second time of the defense in her eyes, that barrier which she had raised, at what cost, between herself and reality. Even now, with the confession made, she held him off: “Don’t be too sure,” she seemed to say, “‘of what Iam orwhyIam. Wait for me to tell you. If you ask too much, you'll learn nothing.” “What may I call you?” Arden said lightly. “Shall we wait and see? Rosa must not know that I have told you.” “Does she understand English?” ad Jo. ” “Then I may call you Miss Alberti?” A dark flash of anger passed across the gray eyes. “Please don’t. I don’t like it.” “Aren’t you childish?” “Being a man, you think so.” “Must we begin, then, with that antago- nism?” “Tt is inevitable, isn’t it?” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve had very little to do with women but I have always believed myself capable of meeting them on neutral ground. I like you better as a woman than I did asa man. Save for those abomin- able clothes, I see you, now, as what you are. And I neither fear nor hate you, although I may still envy you—for what you have accomplished.” “Not for what I am?” “T am, after all,” he reminded her with a smile, ‘a man.” In the look she gave him there was swift, incisive, feminine hatred. “A man! A man! Ah, I’ve beaten you at your own game!” “Other men, perhaps.” Arden accepted a drink that Rosa offered. He glanced through the glass, holding it to the light—it was hot wine, with sugar—and lifting it quickly, proposed: “A truce! Come. Come! Let us be friends.” Gil Alberti drank fiercely, every drop. The blood ran up into her face, staining her thin cheeks, her temples, her forehead. She became suddenly rosy and unsteady. The monocle dropped, and her eyes-were veiled, shadowy again. ““A truce, then,” she said. HEY sat down to Rosa’s dinner. It was an excellent dinner, but Arden did not relish its excellence. Sitting across the table, so near that by leaning forward he could have touched her hand, was a woman so far superior to any woman he had ever known, or heard of, that she confounded him. Had Gil Alberti remained himself, Arden would have talked his head off during dinner, and would have had an appetite, too. He suffered a form of despair, inevitable under the circumstances. Never a feminist, he yet admired and respected women without considering the part they might play in the future of art and life. There had never been a woman Michelangelo: in Arden’s opinion, there never would be. Yet here, self-confessed, in the flesh, was the greatest painter of the century, a woman, and young. A woman, and strangely lovely. A woman, and disturbing.... No, de- cidedly, he could find nothing to say to her! The dinner ended with a German dessert and more coffee, this time black, sweetened with syrup of some sort and served in small cups of beaten silver. Rosa took the things away. There was a brief clatter of dishes in the pantry, then silence. Gil Alberti remained immobile, relaxed, staring into the fire. She was sad, sitting there, in her motley, sad and brave, and beaten, and invincible, and, above all, mysterious. For now, in the firelight, you saw how pretty a child she must have been, before the need, whatever it was, to make a man of herself had taken the prettiness away. Her hair, close-cropped, may have curled. It was thick, lusterless, and blonde. “Your collar—” Arden said suddenly. “My collar?” “Take it off! I can’t talk to you.” She surprised him by laughing. And with (Continued on page 162) 161 COLORS BORN OF SUNSHINE The makers of these Califor- nia sports hats were unaware that their name had been chosen to describe America’s most delectable type. But so naturally did it apply that now it has become a worc of the trade in good stores everywhere. To see the latest in Meadowbrooks, one has onl y to ask at that shop which one de- pends on for the best of everythin g to wear. Look for the special Meadowbrook diax play in its windows. At Coral Gables and Miami see “The Meadowbrook Girl’. +. Or at Waikiki coe even at Kobe, regally seeing the world on a summer cruise. 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MODEL BY Kondagian NEW YORK Exclusive Misses frocks and sportswear may be obtained at high class specialty shops in your city HARPER’S BAZAR THE CLOSED DOOR Mildred Cram’s Story (Continued from page 161) great good nature she removed the offending linen and a polka-dotted tie. Her throat emerged, slender, fine and white. “First blood,” she said, “to you. already at a disadvantage.” “Why?” “7 pl t value the sort of deference which implies that I am a fool. But here we are— both of us at the mercy of inscrutable mascu- line traditions. I am collarless, and therefore defenseless!”’ She stretched out her hands. “This is the first time in six years that I have talked to a man as a woman. I was beginning to believe I am in Gil Alberti. I fooled every one, even myself. Most of all, myself! I had almost forgotten Gilda.” “Gilda? “That is my name.” She smiled at Arden. “Oh, I’ve been lonely! Not daring to have intimates. Going everywhere. Seeing everything. Prize fights. Surgical arenas. Dance halls, and worse places. Pubs and drawing-rooms. But always alone.’ She took a cigaret, into the fire, untasted. “Strange. I can’t understand myself. This afternoon, when I saw Bel Tavis, I wanted to be Gilda Alberti. That was funny, wasn’t it? Something stronger than my will and my contempt besieged me—here, in my heart. My intelligence is no use, now. I’ve betrayed myself!” She covered her face with her hands. “IT wish you’d go and le me. Arden said quietly: “I don’t think you want me to go. Not now, od any rate. When you do want me to go, you will say so, and I will believe you. I promise you that.” lighted it, threw it ND then she told him about herself, as Arden had known from the beginning she would. He said nothing, did not even question her, for he saw that she was speaking, not to him, but to her idea of him: her critic, her champion, and her friend. She sat slumped in her chair, crumpled, with her eyes fixed on the fire. She said abruptly that she was born a very feminine being: a little girl, all blonde curls and fat knees and dimples, with dreams that bewildered her, even then. She was fond of solitude, and at first they let her have it, since she was the youngest of ten, all brilliant, irascible, lovable, wild boys except herself. And she, poor soul, was a woman, or destined to be! Right from the beginning, she saw what they wanted of her. It might have seemed very natural to her had she been the ordinary submissive female child. She wasn’t. She loved her brothers: their undertakings en- thralled her. The oldest was twenty years her senior; the youngest not far from her own age. Yet, one and all, they shut her out, these harum-scarum, talented fellows. At ten, she was already fumbling with the idea of sex antagonism, suffering jealousy and the familiar anger of women who find themselves before a closed door. Incomprehensible and baffling, this closed door, even to a little girl! For the nine brothers were all perfectly certain that God had created the world for them: both opportunity and _ realization. ‘heir consciousness was not inclusive, like hers. There were things they did not have to consider: well, the details of living, maternity, respectability, niceness, celibacy, appear- ances. They were men. Two of them intended to be sculptors: they had a studio on the hill behind the house, where Gilda was forbidden to go. Because, they taunted her, there were things little girls mustn’t see! Nevertheless, she saw, by hanging from the eaves with both hands and peering for one amazed, glorious instant, before she had to let go and fall twelve feet to the ground. Franz, the third, was a singer. He went to Trieste twice a week to study with a maestro who had been a director at La Scala. Franz was fat, rosy, dark-haired, more of a Latin than the others. He filled the house with roaring baritone arias. His intimates were queer-looking people from the local theaters. Whenever they came, there was music and piano-playing and exciting, staccato chatter in Italian. It was said that Franz, or Franco, would some day have a “career.”” Gilda was told not to bother him. He must have just so many hours of sleep, so many hours of work. He didn’t like little girls “hanging around.” This quite shocked Gilda, because she loved him. For the first time, she realized that love can be a disadvantage. HE others were all musical or literary: they thought of nothing but themselves. Their mother, an Austrian, instinctively laid the foundations for their achievement. She cooked, mended, and scrubbed for them. She did all sorts of beastly, menial things and neither received nor expected a word of thanks. Gilda knew that her mother might have been a great artist herself: once, in an empty, strangely silent house, Gilda came upon her at the piano, playing with work. stiffened fingers that yet could draw bea ity out of the keys. Her face, that blan dly maternal face, was transfigured by a sudden passion, until, breaking, she leaned forward against the music-rack, crying the distraught, futile tears of disillusionment. When Gilda was fifteen, they took her out of school and set her to work. Her mother was growing tired: with a house full of men, there was enough to do. Gilda cleaned their rooms, spied on their papers, their love-letters, envying them, adoring and hating them aj] in the same breath. In return, not seeing her, save as another woman, they asked her to do this and that, fetch this and that, run here, run there. All the time, she realized that they were cheating her. She had only one friend, Rosa. “The Rosa who is here, now, with me. A peasant woman of the old school.’ To Rosa she took her trouble, not because she thought that Rosa would understand but simply because she had to test herself against some sympathetic mental surface. She had no protection against these fascinating brothers of hers save her contempt, which never touched them, of course! They were as unaware of her as if she had been a little, blonde ghost. They shouted over her: their theories, their discoveries, their masculine adventures. One or two of them drifted away: to Vienna, to Rome. And then Franz made his début in “Don Giovanni” and was acclaimed: “This great artist whose future holds limitless possibilities. Then, when she wz as seventeen, her mother died. ‘‘Tired out. But died—and this was the worst of it—reconciled, as one who had done her duty. The work-roughened fingers, that had known beauty, were crossed on the quiet breast, forever. Now, instinc- tively, the brothers turned to Gilda, needing her. She very nearly succumbed to this age-old flattery: this crying out of men for material things such as food, clean linen, com- fort, and warmth. They looked to her. There was the economic factor: the pull of blood: their need: her own love. She had already begun to paint. Unknown to them, she had made access to the studio through the floor, and at night, when they slept, she pilfered canvas and precious, dis- carded tubes of color and, here and there, a brush. She could draw without knowing how. She ached, as poets ache, for expression. HERE was born in her, without her wanting it, God knows, the very instabil- ity, the restlessness, the creative urge, the personal ambition, and the defective social consciousness which made her brothers so charming and so ruthless. It was hard to say just when she began to break away, not only from them, but from her sex, with its prerogatives and its limita- tions, as well as its great gift of seeing too much too easily. Albert, the fourth son, received a commis- sion to do a statue of Mazzini for some ruré town in Italy. “He crowed,” she said to Arden, “like a cock.” She stared harder than ever into the fire. ‘‘There wasn’t a ge nius among them,” she said calmly. ‘“‘They were just sentimental schoolboys with talent. And I had to listen to them, day after day, care- fully explaining their superiority. “We are not all,”’ Arden interrupted, “like “IT know. I have since discovered that you are not all like that. I have, remember, been one of you. “No!” Arden cried, angry at last. “I'll be hanged if you have! You have never been burdened, as most men are burdened, with the animal stupidity of women! P \h!"’ Her eyes brightened. spise us!” “At times, I do.” “When, for instance—” “‘When you dodge the issue.” Gilda laughed. ‘Then you think I should have stayed there, to make meat pies and férte for them all the rest of my life? ‘You might have been happier.” “Happiness!” Their eyes met. 2 “What you don’t understand,” she said, “is that I had ambition. So I ran away. | sold my mother’s rings and ornaments, an) went to Paris. And there, after a certain time, it was the same: I was a woman! I was permitted to see only what men he id decided I might see, and remain fine! I had risked everything for nothing. Nineteen, and poor, and thwarted from the beginning! “But, oh, my dreams did persist! were strong currents in me.” *Yes,”’ Arden agreed, * been.” P “T cut off my hair and became Gil Albert. (Concluded on page 164) “You de- There ‘there must have er TTY IPE CRU wrcsn: CE artnet rseeina rit har

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1926 for APRIL | ° * « oilet Pr Cpat ations are not magical — THEY WON’T TRANSFORM YOUR SKIN OVERNIGHT But if they dissolve and dislodge the dust in the pores, so that the pores can function properly—if they are absorbed by the skin and fill and lubricate the q cells—if they stimulate circulation so that the skin is purified and nourished by i. the blood stream—then your skin will be clear, fine and smooth—because | every healthy skin is lovely gb yew is the basis of the Elizabeth Arden method. It aims simply to cooperate \ ° . ° with nature in restoring the creamy smooth- J . | ness, the elastic firmness, of a naturally ; | healthy skin. h ° ° ° ; Proper cleansing is the very foundation t of correct care of the skin. Every Treatment e i - . . . . | in the Elizabeth Arden Salon begins with : Venetian Cleansing Cream. This light fluffy t cream melts with just the warmth of the is , . . ; skin, seeps down into the depths of the . | pores, and removes all those impurities : which cause blackheads and coarseness. or , ° ° , ‘ n- Then brisk patting—with Ardena Skin Tonic Pr. ‘ . - ° t | or Special Astringent—arouses the tissues of e > % the face and neck, lifts and firms them, so ey f . is | that they cannot fall into a square flabby re, | : ng | contour. Awakened by this stimulus, the on. ¥ skin cells absorb eagerly the nourishment - of Venetian Orange Skin Food. The delicate ‘ial : 0 | oils fill the cells and round them out, so i that wrinkles and lines disappear. - 7 | DEMEYER: | Follow this same method in the care of a ae ben en - ————————— Selene your skin at home. A few minutes’ care ural : 2 . . like pescoe Self Treatment each morning and night, following the scientific ] each morning and night will accomplish into method of Elizabeth Arden, will keep your skin clear, firm and smooth wonderful results for you. ong on An . are: ELIZABETH ARDEN recommends for your care of the skin at home ‘like F . : , . ' , ‘ : Venetian Cleansing Cream. Removes Venetian Special Astringent. Liftsand low richness is due to the fresh eggs of _ water, which dries and roughens the hair. that all dust and impurities from the pores, _ firms the tissues, restores the elasticity of | which it is made. Fills out fine lines and Excellent for travelling. Six bottles in a ber, leaves the skin soft and receptive. $1, the muscles, smooths the contour. $2.25, wrinkles, leaves the skin smooth and _ box. $3. Tl $, $3, $6. $4. firm. Excellent for an afternoon treat- Wenetian Velva Bath. A creamy prep- Sere Venetian Ardena Skin Tonic. Tones, Venetian Pore Cream. Closes open Ment at home. $2, $3.50. aration of oatmeal and cosmetic oils, to aa firms and clarifiestheskin. Agentlebleach _ pores, corrects their laxness, refines the fay de Nile Soap. A new and delight- be used instead of soap for the bath and and astringent. 85c, $2, $3.75. coarsest skin. $1, $2.50. ful soap for the bath and the hands. Made hands. Softens and soothes the skin, heals | de- Venetian Orange Skin Food. Rounds Venetian Amoretta Cream. An ex- of purest oils, it lathers freely and fra- redness and roughness. Tube, $1.50. out wrinkles and lines. Excellent for a quisite finishing and protective cream. grantly, and leaves the skin fine and soft. Venetian Velva Liquid. An exquisite thin, linedor aging face, andasapreventive Gives the skin a lovely bloom, a lasting A big chubby cake, green as the soft wa- lotion for the hands and body. Use it al- of fading and lines. $1, $1.75, $2.75, $4.25. powder foundation. $1, $2. ters of the Nile. Three cakes in a box. ways after bathing, and to keep the hands s Venetian Velva Cream. A delicateskin Poudre d’Illusion. Powder of superb $2.50. soft and fine. $1, $2.50. —_ od for sensitive skins. Recommended quality, fine, pure, adherent. I/lusion(a Venetian Velva Shampoo. A wonder- yf the = fora full face, asitnourishes without —_ peach blend), Rachel, Ocre, Minerva, White {uy new shampoo to be used with almost Write for a copy of ‘Tan Quast or THE snening. $1, $2, $3, $6. —and Banana, a new shade. $3. no water, requires no rinsing, dries in a BeautiFut,”’ Elizabeth Arden’s book on the Venetian Muscle Oil. Restoressunken Venetian Anti-Wrinkle Cream. A few moments, and leaves the hair soft and correct care of the skin according to her scientific id tissues or flabby muscles. $1, $2.50, $4. nourishing andastringent cream. Itsmel- full of velvety lights. Use instead ofhard method. Sy y- ; : ‘ P 3... ELIZABETH ARDEN’S Venetian Toilet Preparations and Babani Perfumes are on sale at smart shops everywhere erté I was »( ided i ELIZABETH ARDEN poor, There wae NEW YORE: 673 FIFTH AVENUE © Elizabeth Arden, 1926 Iberti +o * 25 Old Bond Street CANNES: 3 Galeries Fleuries PHILADELPHIA: 133 South 18th Street SAN FRANCISCO: 233 Grant Avenue cere de la Paix PALM BEACH: 2 Via Parigi ATLANTIC CITY: Ritz-Carlton Block LOS ANGELES: 600 West 7th Street MSRITZ:: 2 rue Gambetta BOSTON: 24 Newbury Street DETROIT: 318 Book Building WASHINGTON: 1147 Connecticut Avenue

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ri ) o Complete: Your pring (ostume and “Add a Ginal cn Note of hic. ... HE wew Terri Vanities will grace many a charming Tailleur on Fifth Avenue this Spring—the neat compact interior is no less intriguing than the smartly designed cover—The better shops are featuring Terri Vanities—if your favorite store is not yet supplied remit direct to Department No. H 4. Terri Face Powder softclinging powder of fascinating trag- rance.. Blanche, Naturelle, Rachel and Spanish Rachel $1.50. Trial size 25¢ we INCORPORATED New York TERRI, 4 West 40th Street - ‘TerriSeville . . Beau- tifully designed in Poppy Red, Almond Green or Black on 7 Gold or Silver Plate. Completely fitted with full length mir- ror, face rouge, face powder, lipstick and compartment for cigarettes, keys or coins. $5.00 o © O2eSeoeoa HARPER’S BAZAR THE CLOSED DOOR Mildred Cram’s Story (Concluded from page 162) Then there was war, and Rosa sent for me, You see, back there, they still needed me! Arden’s heart felt curiously constricted. He tried to keep his question out of his eyes. ‘So I went. A thin, ragged girl with cropped hair and a taste for cigars! And when I got there, all but two of them had gone! The studio was empty. Franco’s piano was covered with dust. The books and papers were scattered. The youngest were in train- ing. And the rest—at the front.” She lifted her head and gave Arden a strange, wild look that was like a cry. “I stayed there until it was over, but not one of them came back! She shook her head, as if she would shake the memory off, as if it clung too tightly to her mind. ‘Not one of them came back, my friend.” She got up, stretching herself. “So I had it all to do over again! It fell to me. Rosa came with me, and I entered Paris—the Gil Alberti you saw this afternoon. Lucky for me I was thin! It paid to have bec en so hungry, for so long!” Vell,” Arden demanded, out of it what you expected?” “did you get ‘I was free,” she said. “But were you?” “Ves! Yes! Why do you doubt it? Everywhere, they took me for a man. Do you think I shrank? Do you think I was afraid? No! The truth is nothing to be afraid of, is it?” Arden smiled. He could be very irritating when he chose. He looked Gil Alberti up and down, from the crown of her head to the tips of her flat-heeled shoes. ‘‘You know what you know,” he said, “‘and what of it?” “What of it? I paint as I paint! I am Gil Alberti.” ‘The secrets? The masculine Bluebeard’s closet, into which you have peeked? What did you see that you might not have seen without resorting to this absurd disguise, this spiritual treachery? Any marvels? Any mysteries? Any glories? Are we, then, so different? Are we so wise? So superior? So free? What did you learn from us?” He rose, too, and faced her. “T must know—since you have told me this much—whether you proved anything.” She shrugged her shoulders. “T escaped from man’s verdict. That much! But haven’t I told you?—I was alone. I can’t goon. I can't!’ She looked at him with panic and bewilder- ment in her eyes. “Now, will you go?” Again, Arden shook his head. “Not yet. Because you don’t want me to go. And when you do, you will say so, and I will believe you. I promise you that! S° YOU see,” she said, “‘what a fool I am! \ll because of Bel Tavis—and Venable, trying to find me out!” Arden would have been particularly blind not to see that she liked him. And this was by far the queerest thing that had happened, since she had no idea of it herself. She was as innocent, as guileless as a child, in spite of her very complicated knowledge. She did not even know that there was in her a great warmth of desire that had been cruelly twisted ind put out of shape! She was going to be one of those diffic ult women who will not say “I love you” unless there is absolutely no manner of escape. She was proud. She was inaccessible. And she was, he saw now, a woman who could not be dominated but who could surrender, given the rig cht man, divinely and absolutely. *“ Suppose, he said, then, “that I speak to you of love?” “Ts that inevitable?” “It might be well to clear the air.” He found a shawl flung across the back of achair. Snatching it up, he went to her and draped it quickly over her head and shoul- ders. He held her there and scanned her with a sort of anger, almost as if he would never forgive her if she turned out to be pretty, after all. She looked at him: she held herself very quietly for his inspection. She put up her hands, and with a curious, stroking motion, caressed the soft stuff, the bright silk shawl. So completely had she changed, framed jn color, that Gil Alberti might have vanished in thin air. She began to tremble. Tou see? I want to be a woman, after all. I can’t help myself.” “You're greedy,”’ Arden said, letting her go, “You want everything! Possession and immunity!” She flung the shawl aside. “Give me a cigaret, please.” Smoking, hands in pockets, monocle ad- justed, feet just a trifle straddled, she met his challenge with mockery: ‘Are you afraid of me, Arden?” “Of you? No! I think you are ridic. ulous.” This time, he had caught her out, and, he saw at once, unfairly, for her sensitive face quivered. “You are like all women,” he went on, “most dangerous when you ask for something you have no intention of giving. I think [ know what is expected of me: you would like to have me fall in love with you, and make a fool of myself. To prove nothing save that you are a beautiful woman, and that your despised femininity is intact. Only to tell me, when you have had enough, that I am guilty of the expected male beastliness. It’s rather rum, isn’t it? I have known you less than four hours, and already I am telling you that I find you absolutely fascinating.” H® WENT to her quickly and kissed her. When he had kissed her several times, he decided not to apologize. She lay against his arm, relaxed, unsmiling, with the absent- minded air of a woman who is trying to define a pleasure, so that she may never again be in doubt about it, or pass it by. My cigaret,” she whispered, after a moment, “‘is burning a hole in the back of your coat.” Arden moved, reluctantly, realizing that after all she had the best of him. Once a woman always a woman! He bowed, and stepped back. “Have I done what was expected of me?” he asked, rather too politely. She shook her head. It was strange, but in that moment of humiliation, she did not seem in the least humiliated. There was the spark of beginning laughter at the back of her eyes. Neither was she angry, as she should have been. Nor did she deny any- thing. “Don’t you see,” she said, and the same impalpable laughter was in her voice, “that you are ridiculous, too? You, a man? And J,a woman? Why can’t we be honest?” “Well, what if you married me? What then?”’ Arden demanded. ‘‘ Gil Alberti would disappear, and with him all his works! Iam beginning to love you, but I should not marry you unless you were willing | to be yourself, and to take the consequences.’ ‘I see,”’ she said. ‘‘Oh, I see very clearly! A woman has to take the consequences. You would want me to dust and plan dinners and brush out your clothes and entertain your friends and be agreeable, whether I wanted to or not. And when I was through, if I had time, I might paint? Is that it?” She closed her eyes, as if she could not bear what she saw. “ ARDEN went over and gathered up his coat and hat. He was afraid that he night kiss her again, for in that brief, exciting moment, she had proved herself to be a wo- man any man would want to kiss a third time, and then on, indefinitely. “Are you going?” she asked. ““T am,” he said, “and at once. there is something I want to say Something you may have overlooked. Love is a form of despair. So is loneliness. So is ambition. You must learn to love excellence for its own sake, whether in art or in life, and let the credit fall to whom it may. In no other way, my dear, can you achieve your desire.’ He opened the door. He heard her say: sense.” He shut the door, sharply, with fin: ulity, and then stood there, waiting for her to open it again. But first to you. “But that was non- vedi TET Sabernewetsg coms CRS EPS W

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166 Cheney Silks interpret the styles for the coming season in terms of the grace and joyous youth which belong to Spring. DRY POINT BY ALEX RZEWUSKI, FASHIONABLE PORTRAIT-ETCHER OF WOMEN IN FRENCH SOCIETY The new Cheney prints will be deli- cate pastels, light, summery, all exquisitely feminine. Already fashion embraces the Cheney pastel prints for Spring, and confirms the taste which governed their design. | HARPER’S TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 107) man is dangerous. Inhumanity always seems so incredible. You don’t believe that it is so. I mean, there are not many of them. You can’t be prepared. Their clothes look all right and they have faces and come to dinner.” Vida rose and went around the table to him. “Please, please, Presby.’”’ Her hand was on his shoulder. “I’m afraid to have him go on, Govett. I can’t think what it will do to him if he keeps up. You must help me.” Bradier said again, “Corew, there isn’t a grain of foundation for your suspicions. OVETT BRADIER’S thoughts were confused, but what anger he had felt at Corew had almost entirely faded—what Presby Corew believed, told Bradier, had been accumulating an intolerable bitterness in his mind for weeks. It was curious that, from Corew’s position, there appeared to be a reason for all he did suspect. Vida was begging him to go to his room or out on the veranda. “You are sick now,” she told him; “I don’t remember when you have had a good night.” He added, “Or day.” Now that Corew had spoken to Bradier he seemed relieved; the discharge of his un- restrained opinion, the accomplished calling of Bradier the vilest of names, had palpably cooled his mental fever. In place of leaving the room he resumed his chair. Bradier’s instinct was to address what he still might have to say to Vida. He felt that he had had a very unbecoming part in the events of the past hour; and he wondered what Vida thought of it and of him. How- ever, she knew this—that he had put no conspiracy in motion to wreck Presby Corew. Where Vida was concerned he had disposed of Corew a year and a half ago, before he had left Mexico. He was sorry now that his vanity—the desire to have Vida know the sea terminal—had led to his virtual moving of Corew south. Life was a damned mess, the attempted passage of a blind jungle. Vida said, “Govett, can you explain any of the things Presby thinks? Is it true, do you suppose, that this Mexican, Rayén, is only attacking us? Bradier replied that he couldn’t conceive that to be true. Then he remembered what Willig had told him—that General Melchor Rayén had seemed to be specially vindictive with the men and properties of the Alianza Cc orporé ation. ‘Naturally he Corew put in “Keep quiet, Presby,’ a trace of impatience in her voice want to ask Govett about this. I have been here, and I’ve seen Rayén raid our stores; and, from what I have heard at other camps, I know it is different. He'll take food from the Agwi and Transcontinental kitchens, and he did kill the Cortez men at San Nicolas; but he will break our ranges and pour the salt and sugar on the floor.’ wouldn’t answer that,” ’ Vida directed him, RADIER, in effect, repeated what he had already said by asking if there was a possi- bility that the bandit had a personal dislike for Corew. “‘T can answer that, if Vida will allow me,” Corew told them; “when I reached Chorreras there was a note from him waiting for me and demanding, in the names of liberty and equality, or some such things, three thousand pesos. I sent it to him—until I could find out what the situation was—and the next day, before it was light, he shot four of my herders and stole al! the mules. But that’s only Rayén; the other, here in the sea termi- nal, was worse. Bradier reiterated shortly that it was ridiculous to say he had anything to do with it. “I nearly killed myself to build the dam’ place and make it fairly safe.” Vida asked, “Then what is it, Govett? I know it’s not only in Presby’s imagination. You’ve no idea how hard it has been made for him. Why, it takes us two weeks, instead of two days, to get absolutely necessary supplies from Tampico. If I want a launch to go to the city there’s hardly ever one that’s running or convenient. But perhaps it is just the difference between Presby and 7. si Corew said, “since, there, the difference is rather in my favor. I couldn’t really hope to be successful in a country and an enterprise where you had to carry a knife in your sleeve. I didn’t go to the right schools.” Bradier paid small attention to him. Again Corew seemed to have become relatively unimportant, without the power of individual initiative. Suddenly, for Bradier, he was totally helpless. Immersed in thought he slowly grew aware of the continuous rattling of the windows, the beat of the waves on the shore. The wind was still rising: no tankers w ld fill at the sea pipes, the open I don’t mind,” roads, to-morrow. The heat had been blown inland. ““Presby,”’ he said presently, “take my advice for the moment—leave the brandy and go to bed. : haven’t planned a fatality for to-night. Vida will still be here i in the morn- ing, and I'll see you before I go. Vida, back at Corew’s side, insisted on this “Your hands are cold and your head steam- ing, and you’re in no condition to talk seri- ously. If you are not careful you'll be worse to-morrow and we will have to carry you to Tampico on a cot.” Corew’s querulous response was that it had been made plain enough they didn’t want him around. He would have supposed that Bradier was the one to go. “This is my house,” he said standing, “and Vida is still in it.” She begged him for God’s sake not to descend to making speeches. “And go to bed, Presby, for your own sake.” He gazed at her for a long breath, his hands on the back of his chair. Then, “Vida, I never saw it before, you are harder and more determined than Govett Bradier. I believe that ...I can safely trust him to you. And Vida, I didn’t know—I couldn’t very well guess, could 17—how much you disliked me. But I promised we wouldn’t go into that.” He walked rigidly, without another word or glance at his wife, from the room. “IT don’t dislike Presby,” she informed Bradier, “I was simply tired of him. He’s very admirable, better than you or I, Govett.” She leaned across the corner of the dining- room table and laid a smooth hand on his cheek. ‘We're not good at all, are we, and we don’t care. We couldn’t have been good like that and found each other.” HE withdrew her hand to light a cigaret and ordered a fresh pot of coffee. “I don’t understand what they mean, good and bad. Perhaps, Govett, it’s sort of an “excuse for the people who are disappointed in life —they are good and the ones who get what they want are bad. Wouldn’t it be a scream to think that dancing was wicked or to live in Kansas where you can’t smoke cigarets? It’s really too wonderful! Why, I don’t believe I’ve ever had an instinct that most of the United States = In’t we ant to hang me for; or copy. W hich, Govett?’ “Of course, copy,” he answered vaguely. “You must listen to me,” she asserted; “we're not even married yet; and what I’ve just said is very entertaining to think about.” Bradier was absorbed beyond the quality of entertainment in generalities—he was wondering what the devil had happened to Corew at Chorreras. Nothing, he reiterated: but the question remained unsatisfied. If Presby didn’t, he, Bradier, did know the tropics. The animosity Corew had described was far too great for any cause he could assign to it. Even in Mexico, where all events were circuitous and indirect, motives, however deeply hidden, were implied. But he could discover none in this apparently senseless persecution of Presby Corew. Pro- vided, a thing he wasn’t certain of, that it did exist in actuality, outside Corew’s over- strained mind. In this, Bradier added for his own satis- faction, he was interested but not involved. However, he would send word to George K. Lentz about putting a fast launch at Vida’s disposal. That was Presby’s privilege. Men who couldn’t take care of their own affairs were a curse anywhere, but particularly in the State of Vera Cruz. They were a menace there. It annoyed him to think of the image of himself, the misconception, he was leaving in Presby Corew’s mind. With Bradier this began to resemble a point of pride. He objected to Corew’s supposition that he had to destroy him before he could win Vida. And there was another, a — faint, side to it, too—the feeling that he had been responsible for Corew’s present state. He’d got him into the mess at Chorreras; for, no matter what had brought it about, it was a mess. Together with this he was still a part of the Alianza organization: at best he would have to answer questions—specially in view of Lentz’s declarations—with regard to conditions at the sea terminal and in the south field. He couldn’t say that they were favor- able. But now, Mr. Bradier (he could hear the demand that would be made upon cays . New York), what is the trouble? Why is it being taken care of? Y GOD, he owed it to Vida—to make what remained of her short stay at Chorreras as safe as possible. The way things were being run now none of them was secure. fa “T must talk to Presby before I leave, he told her. “He'll have to listen to me and take some advice. Aside from what is happen- ing I can see he isn’t meeting it right. The place has to be policed better, with men from Tampico—the young gentlemen usu lly (Continued on page 108) LAZAR Laie Den one wraeate Sediendaiaees ana

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MODEL BY BEST STORI MANGONF MODELS MAY Bt IN ANY OBTAINED ARGI cIiTy AT NEW YORK THI HARPER’S BAZAR TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 166) associated | with deplorable but fortunate accidents.’ She as him, “Do you mean gun- men? Because if you do Presby won’t agree. He’s very decided about that.” Bradier made an impatient gesture. “It’s a mistake to call them anything. Mere newspaper phrase. And I'll take a chance he hasn’t a detective in the sea terminal.” Vida admitted that he hadn’t. “Insanity. At any rate I am going to send you a man back from the city; I don’t want you to even think what he is. He'll come on some obvious purpose but bring you word from me. Do you expect the robins to cover you up and take care of you? ” “Only you,” his. He wouldn’t be at the sea terminal, he reminded her, with the situation what it was. Bradier added silently, for his own support, that if he were there for a week he would find out what was the matter. “Hadn’t you better stay?” she asked, as though he had continued speaking aloud. Bradier didn’t answer her at once. At last the wind had brought up rain: it beat solidly on the windows and echoed over the tin roof of the house. The dreariest place on earth. “T mean because of Presby, curious as that might sound. If he is as helpless as you say— we don’t need help, Govett—you owe it to the Company.’ That, too, had just been in his mind. “T can’t wait to chase fancies,’ he answered her at last. “It won’t kill Corew, he isn’t going to stay here. No!” he was, all at surprisingly vehement. “I’m done with it. If he'll listen to me to-morrow, splendid; if not, he will have to find a cure himself . . . or for himself. In New York I’ll admit he was a mistake here and another man will be sent down, some one not afraid of words or his own shi adow.’ “That isn’t just,” Vida said calmly; “and I can’t think why you are in such a fury. A little longer wouldn’t hurt you, either. You are really a fool, Govett. Can’t you under- stand that I want you? I don’t like your going back before I’ve hardly seen you. Last night and to-night were both spoiled. Govett, you're really too stupid!” she replied, with her hand on E HADN’T, he realized, thought of that, of Vida. He’d been largely occupied with the affairs of the sea terminal. Concerned in himself. His imagination was stirred by what her speech, her tone, implied; but his annoy- ance, primarily directed at Corew, continued. It was doubtful if he wanted to advise him as much as he wished to free himself from Corew’s charges. But, “I want to be with you always, Vida,” was what he said. “Only I have a feeling that it isn’t lucky for me here any more. My luck did hold for so long that I’m afraid to try it too far. Vida, I’ve come to hate the damned place and the wells and the tanks and the monte. Soon, if I’m not careful, I'll hate the smell of oil; something in me, where it’s concerned, has gone. Let’s say it was the fever, a mosquito, that did it. The malaria. I kept insisting to myself it wasn’t; but what else could it be? I am changed, if I deny it from here to hell. I’m not certain | about things that never bothered me for a second before. Why, I’m almost indignant at Presby Corew’s opinion of me, and that ought to make a burro, or one of his dyed dogs, laugh.” He rose sharply and walked across the dining-room and back. “‘T haven’t the same ambition I had. God, I used to do things, anything, and think of it afterward, if I thought at all. And now I only think; I think all day and most of the night. My mind has turned into a rotary drill . . . but it never reaches oil. And it makes me tired, physically tired, to face a derrick. I was so irritated at Lentz that I almost slapped him. I might as well be a woman. And a little while ago I wanted to go and cry on this filthy Rayén’s shoulder.” He laughed. “In a minute you'll be getting ice for my head.” IDA rose and came up to him; she kissed him slowly, heedless of their surroundings. “I believe Presby was right and I’m harder than you. If you don’t want to stay another day,don’t. I’ll be in New York before the end of the month. What happened to—to any one else would have to happen. And you mustn’t get discouraged, Govett; remember you’ve had a terrifically hard trip; it was difficult at dinner. Have I told you that you did beautifully? Now go back and get into bed at once, and I will manz age to see you for a minute before you leave.’ But that, too, Bradier protested, was an admission of weakness. He wanted to be with her, talk to her, to-night. Life was so short. “No,” she insisted, “‘you must go; you are exhausted too. Don’t be stupid.’ It was true—the familiar detestable weak- ness at the knees smote him. There was an evil humming, the echo of quinine, in his ears, Bradier’s protestations sank and he went out into the hall, to his hat “Wait, Vida stopped him; rubber coat of Presby’s here. You can’t go through the rain like that.” But neither Vida nor the house boys could find the rubber coat; Corew’s door was shut; and, in the end, they were forced to be satisfied with a shawl wrapped around Bradier’s shoulders. In an instant, outside, the rain, driving in solid tropical sheets, had penetrated his clothes; he hurried, wrapped in a cold dripping film of linen, to where a blurred light shone on the porch of his destination. Deleker met him in the hall. “Mr. Bradier,”’ he cried, nicely concerned, “why couldn’t you have waited? I was coming for you in another minute.” He showed him the ponchos ready on a chair. “T tell you, let me give you a damned hard rubbing. You will like it . . . when it’s over.” But Bradier thanked him and declined, hurrying on into the grateful release of his room. “there’s a OMING sharply from the darkness into the glare of electric light Bradier was dizzy. He was forced to sit on the first chair he could reach, and there, as rapidly as possible, he began to strip off his rain-soaked clothes. On the whole, he reflected, the evening could have been far worse. The truth was that Presby Corew had, everything considered, behaved very well; since his anger had been directed not so much at Bradier as at a mis- conception of his own. That ought to be thoroughly disposed of. Towels lay on the shelf under a table, and, as well as he could, Bradier rubbed himself into what should have been a glow. It wasn’t, and he stood in a half abstracted thoughtfulness. However, he couldn’t ex- pect the instant reactions, the obedient full rushing blood, of youth. The glass of brandy he took burned his throat, but, apparently, elsewhere its heat was vain. Bradier turned, facing the small nickeled clock on a high chest of drawers: it was one minute before twelve. He hadn’t realized that he had been so late at the Corews. He stood gazing, with an instinctive rising ap prehension, at the hands of the clock; and when they were precisely on the mark of midnight, a wave of nausea, of violent sick- ness, swept up through him. In a trembling hurry Govett Bradier searched in the pocket of a bag for the box that held his quinine; he took two capsules, repeating half-audibly, “Five and ten, five and ten; fifteen.”” The sickness increased, there was a louder ringing in his ears, like a roll of drums, than he ever remembered before. And then he said to the empty room, “God, it’s come back!” He must have blankets, blankets and hot water; and he began to gather the gray coverings from the four beds around him. It wasn’t possible, and he stumbled to the door; his hands were shaking so that he thought he must drag the knob off before he could turn it. “Deleker!”’ he called. The boy appeared at once, blurred with sleep, in vivid green, badly mussed pajamas. “T’m sorry ... trouble you, but get— get all the blankets in the house, all . quickly as possible, and you’d better call Galbraith.” Then a chill possessed him. Bradier got cold, as cold as death, colder than ice; he was sinking into a great glimmering cone of ice, a frozen twilight deeper than eternity. It struck through him, turning his bones to stone, his blood to cords of ice. There was a weight on him—clothes icy with rain. A voice said, ‘‘ Fourteen blankets. - “Bradier, Bradier!”” That, he recognized, was Galbraith; “How much of this quinine did you take?”” He managed, with chattering teeth, to tell him the amount. The doctor was now speaking to Deleker, ‘Fifteen more at four o’clock and fifteen at eight. Then he’ll get it again at noon. I'll wait for the fever; the damned chill will last a half hour.” Impossible as it had seemed he was colder, infinitely colder: all the universe was a cask of ice closed about him. Through it were incredibly remote memories, stubborn sub- conscious acts of will: he would see Vida alone for a minute to-morrow. Corew must be made to understand. But what? It—it didn’t, did, did, did— A paroxysm caught that single syllable and multiplied it beyond count. HE frigid worlds about him were melting, the tropical sun had been shaken from its place and was no further than above the signal poles of the sea terminal. Bradier was hotter than he had been cold, he was plunged into a furnace of superheated dust, there was a clangor of pounding on the iroD walls. It couldn’t go on, it couldn’t go 0; (Continued on page 170)

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An illimitable peaceful- ness, repose, flooded him. He was an organ- ism without the power or need to move, to hardly more than softly, reposefully, breathe. \ languor more tender than May, more sooth- ing than October, enveloped him. Bradier had been swept clean of all ambition, he was empty of desire, cleansed from the flesh. The passage into sleep, into oblivion, was imperceptible. HEN he woke he had a faint headache, a reminiscence of nausea, but nothing more. It was daylight, the rain had stopped, there was a rectangle of sunlight across the bare floor. Galbraith was seated beside him, and Vida was standing in the doorway, wearing her dinner dress of the night before. “It’s eight o'clock,” the doctor informed him, “and here’s your quinine. As a favor to all of us try and stay with it.’ Govett Bradier answered that he had be- fore and could manage it again. Galbraith advised him not to be vain about his talent for quinine. “You may have to get it intravenous yet. Vida said, “Govett, it was my fault—I should have made Presby find his rubber coat.” In the doctor’s opinion it was almost every one’s fault there. ‘‘My dear Bradier, what asinine conduct for a man with a subtertian, a tropical, malaria. I can’t think who was idiotic enough to let you come back to Chorreras.”” It had been necessary, he had consulted no one, Bradier told him. “And I ought to get away from the sea terminal to-day.” Galbraith challenged him to try; “Get up,” he continued aggressively. Bradier rose on his hands, and a returning wave of sickness sent him giddy; his arms were useless to hold him; straws, bands of water; he collapsed into the bed. Galbraith seemed almost pleased. ‘“‘Not to-day,” he asserted. “It was an estivo- autumnal elephant that bit you. Mrs. Corew, I think we ‘ll leave him. And you don’t have to stay, he added to Deleker, who had just entered; “I can guarantee that he will behave; until ten o'clock to-night, anyhow; and that won’t be much if it is anything.” Bradier slipped back into sleep, into a silver and uniform, a formless, mist that held noth- ing created, no sound or movement. When he woke he was fretful, and, with a surrepti- tious finger, he felt the pulse in his wrist. It couls 1 not be described as strong. “What is it?” he asked Galbraith, when the latter was shaking down the mercury in his thermometer. That’s not your affair,” the doctor an- swered; “but aside from that you have a hundred and two degrees. Quite normal and right.”” He looked at his watch. ‘“‘Now the fifteen.” But Govett Bradier wasn’t successful with the quinine—all his muscular being re- belled against the continual drugging. H&« SAW that Galbraith was delicately holding a delicate sealed vial—what did they call it? Oh, yes, an ampule—and there was a minute breaking of glass. He reversed the holder and plunged the long needle of a Luer syringe through a protecting web of rubber. Instinctively Bradier bared his arm. “Hydrochloro-sulphate, ten grains,” he re- peate -d from memory. ‘There is just one thing worse than a man who knows what is the matter with him,” the doctor complained; ‘‘and that’s one who understands the treatment.” After the injected quinine instantaneously relieved; a sense of perfect protection, absolute immunity, from the evil of malaria spread through him. Soon, he told himself, he would be well again, practi- cally normal. Perhaps to-morrow. *Such attacks left no appreciably bad effect. It would have been surprising if, after his drenching in cold rain, he hadn’t had a chill. There was a small soreness at the lobe of the ear from which Galbraith had drawn the blood for his test. Sexual and asexual . two rings in a diminished cell. Stitt. Allen. Terms and names connected with what had overcome him. Temporarily. To-morrow, or, at most, the day after, he would be re- covered. There was Presby Corew to talk to; but not just now. To-morrow, again, or the next day; and Vida, for all the days, the years, that were left. How brown and vigorous and seductive she had been with her bare shoulders in the morning light. The sound of the waves had again sunk, there was only a low murmur, as though the water of the Gulf had withdrawn down an illimitable beach. A great lonely expanse of sand with a shimmer where it was touched by the evening light. Snipe running at the edge of the tide. There would be no quinine until to-morrow, nothing until ten o’clock to- Bradier felt night, when it was probable the fever would return. Before that he wanted to see Corew; no reason existed why he shouldn’t talk; his head was clear. That was, it was clear enough; except for moments—the edge of the silver mist. He called, and not Deleker but Lissert, the signalman, answered: it appeared that the men in the house by turn were sitting, waiting for what he might need, in the hall outside his room. Lissert, it was plain, had at least enjoyed the company of a brandy bottle, for he stumbled across the room and half fell on Bradier’s bed. He was extremely sorry, but Mr. Bradier would know how it was. Mr. Bradier was looking good. By God, but he was! Never would guess malaria had near killed him. It was Lissert’s idea that one brandy— “T want to see Mr. Corew,” Bradier interrupted him; “don’t sit on the bed. If you can, find him at once. Try his house first.” Except in one particular, he was uncertain of what, exactly, he’d say to Presby: and when, soon after, Corew came into the room, he began with the detail in which he was secure. “I’m going to advise you to send this signaler, the man who went for you, back to Tampico. He’s not fit to have at the terminal. We can begin with him.” Presby Corew stayed by the door. do you mean—begin with him?” Bradier sat up and reached for a cigaret. “You have been complaining of the discipline here, shoving a great deal on me, and keeping a drunken nuisance on the lookout. I don’t wonder your halyards got tangled.” “What. OREW told him, tensely, that until he was relieved he would run the Chorreras sea terminal. However, Bradier pointed out that he was in a position not only to advise but direct him. “I’m not Lentz, you know,” he pro- ceeded. ‘There is no need for me to send a report of what I do to New York. It comes to this, that I am sending Lissert off myself, through you. “And now we'll go back to that nonsense last night about Rayén and me. I told you twice then, and I'll repeat it a third time—I have had nothing to do with what troubles you've had here. That is, outside Vida. I’m going to get that into you if I have to use Galbraith’s syringe. I don’t understand why, your opinion of me is worthless, but it seems important. I don’t buy Mexicans to raid the Alianza properties. Vida seems to agree with you that some special attentions are being paid us; and, if that’s true, the largest part of your responsibility is to find out why, what and why. Don’t confine your- self to cursing me at the dinner table. That is too easy and too ridiculous. And, at bottom, it involves Vida. You forget we have millions of dollars invested here, mostly in your care, and you are going to be asked about it. “Well, then, when you are, do you propose to tell an inhuman board of directors that I ruined you because I couldn’t get your wife any other way? Do you?” Presby Corew replied, “If I failed in my actual duty no board of directors would see me afterward.’ He spoke quietly, with his intent blue gaze fastened on Bradier. That, Govett Bradier realized, the possi- bility of Corew killing himself, he hadn't con- sidered. Yet it wasn’t extravagant, it was as possible as, to Bradier, it was unpleasant. He had forgotten how sensitive, how finely organized, Presby Corew was. With his pride outraged by the loss of Vida, a disaster at the sea terminal on his shoulders, he would have singularly little left. Such a fatality must be avoided. Bradier said: ‘I see what you mean, and it’s a very successful way to hand in a resigna- tion. No, a confession. It helps you, too, that you can load it back on me. If you really want to shoot yourself I can’t stop you, but I don’t propose to let you have the satisfaction of thinking I supplied you with the pistol. Good God, Presby, come out of your trance! Corew asked who else could possibly be interested in attacking him personally? Bradier didn’t know. He was obliged to rest again. Perhaps it wasn’t the waves but only the quinine ringing in his ears. He wished it were to-morrow, the night behind him. And why did he keep Corew standing by the door? It would be much better if he went quietly to sleep, let the figure already indefinite in the dusk dissolve utterly from his life. If he, Bradier, persisted, he w yuld have the whole weary business in his hands, if that occurred it would be impossible to say when he’d get away. Perhaps never. He had only to turn from Presby Cores Ww, close his eyes, and it would be over. Noth different could be expected from a n in between paroxysms of malarial fever. Corew wouldn’t be the only one, or the best, the tropics had killed. (Continued on page 172)

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| for APRIL 1926 171

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Ask to see the new Roger & Gallet Compacts. ROGER & GALLET Parfumeurs = Paris 709 Sixth Avenue, New York Canadian Agency: Emile Mériot 103 rue St. Francois-Xavier, Montreal Write for “‘ Fashions in Fragrance,"’ our colorful little book of Parisian toilette specialties. Complimentary on request. TAMPICO HARPER’S BAZAR Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 170) He did move so that he was facing the wall. But he drew himself up sharply, pitched forward against his arms: ‘Get this Rayén by the throat,”’ he cried, “‘and twist the truth out of him! Pay him yourself. Why do you wait around for me to do it? You are superin- tendent here.’ Presby Corew answered that he had been sent for. ‘I came,” he added, “only because you were sick.” Bradier muttered irritably that he was a damned sight sicker. “Then I'll go.” Govett Bradier’s reply almost reached the volume of a yell. “‘ You will do nothing of the kind. Where will you go to? And stop this worthless talk about death. What use are you with a bullet through the roof of your mouth? If I’m what you say, shoot me and prove it. Or prove it and I'll shoot myself. That’s fair enough.” Corew crossed the “5 ” the bed. “ Per- haps I have the fever,’’ he declared. “I’ve nothing more to say aon Vida; but this other, Bradier, what is it then? You thought it was because the men didn’t like me. It began when I had hardly reached Chorreras they couldn’t have known me. And if that were all, why is so much destroyed?” Bradier was fretful: “I can’t answer everything from a bed.” He resolutely turned away, to the blank wall... the great beach with the reflection of a star on the wet sand. The Gulf of Mexico burning with a pale fire of phosphorescence. He heard a door softly close. Presby Corew had gone. There were other steps, the electric light was on, night had come; it was Vida. “Dr. Galbraith thinks you are recovering splendidly.” She sat beside him, cool and fine. “You must leave here as soon as possible, Govett,’ she went on. “I’m terribly pained to think you came on my account. You see, I didn’t realize how dangerous it was for you. Govett, I know now that I’ve never loved any one but you, in all my life. That’s been the matter with me. But you have changed me there. I’m trying to say that I am like a girl with you, I mean a girl in her first experience of—of feeling.” He moved his hand so that their palms met. “Vida, I thought we were walking, by the water . . . with the snipe running along the ripples. Running and running and never getting their feet wet. You never saw such a big beach, Vida.” Her other hand fell over his mouth, stopping his speech; she was close against him, pressing a wet cheek to his. HE stairs to the lookout on the marine building rose in short sharply ascending right angles to a position that commanded all the sea terminal and a wide reach of the Gulf of Mexico. It was the middle of afternoon and clear, but a breeze setting in from the water pleasantly cooled the shade under an awning. Govett Bradier was seated, and Captain Pine, the mooring master, was lean- ing comfortably against the white painted railing. Bradier’s violent malaria had hap- pened only three days before, but already, he felt, he had practically recovered. The ascent to the lookout had wearied him—on account of the awkward height and abrupt- ness of the steps; aside from that he was quite well. For example, he could have gone to Tampico with complete ease that morning; but he would have been hurried, both with his packing and in his mental processes. The latter required a certain amount of delibera- tion; that was, Bradier wanted to thoroughly understand the situation at Chorreras, where it touched him at all, before he finally left it. He wanted to arrange his thoughts, dispose of his questioning, where Presby Corew was concerned. None of this included Vida, she presented no troubles; his mind, for the time, was engaged with Presby. His position on the lookout was symbolical of the need within him: a general view of what had constituted his world. Bradier was at- tempting to see the facts of his late experi- ences, to grasp them as fully and logically as his vision held the sea terminal spread grayly below him. When he left—it could hardly be later than to-morrow—he determined to carry away no doubts with him. The doubts bothered him because they were, mostly, new; he hadn’t recognized them as a part of what he was. Take Corew, it didn’t matter to Bradier if he did, as he had intimated he might, kill himself; for Corew alone he had no concern; but where Corew touched him, a sharp and vivid actuality like the sparks from striking metals had resulted. His only engagement with Presby Corew was where he, himself, was implicated. That was entirely different from the sentimental im- pertinence of supposing he was, in some idealistic way, responsible for him. Not at all! Bradier made that disavowal angrily. And besides, it was probable that the greater part of his interest still lay in the sea terminal. His temporary questioning merely existed until he turned definitely to other things. “Well,” Pine broke into his speculations, “‘Lissert went this morning. If I'd had him on a ship of mine, before sailors got so tender, I'd have paid him off on a piece of rope over the stern, like a patent log. Just till he was sober.” Pine was old, he had come from a different quarter of the globe, another life of the sea. ‘“‘We had a good man before, but he was laid off and Lissert sent down by the Tampico office. As though he were the brother of a director of the Company.” Bradier asked if other men of the same caliber had been deliberately put in the sea terminal. Not that Pine knew of. The men in the main were right enough, but they seemed to have no conviction in what they did. There was a sort of feeling around that it didn’t matter if things were not done. Not much. Nothing taut. Except, of course, for Mr. Corew. However, at the present rate he wouldn’t last, not in this climate. Pine had seen men not so harassed by a half who had been blown into tatters, like a sail . in Mexico. He said, Mejico Viejo. Old Mexico. “A hell of a place,’”’ he went on, “and beauti- ful. And dangerous. If that would make a hell. It’s more like a woman, cold and distant or too dam’ hot. Mr. Bradier, it works on you like a woman with a red flower in her hair: it plays you out like one would. And Mr. rig doesn’t seem to know a lot about them RADIER didn’t reply, his thoughts were busy with Lissert and the better man whose position he had taken. Then, ‘“‘Cap- tain Pine,” he said, sharply breaking his silence, “I have a large power over all the Alianza operations in Mexico. What I do— or, rather, what I’ve done—here is auto- matically supported.” He stopped, waiting for Pine to acknowledge this. ‘‘I am above Mr. Corew and, for practical purposes, Mr. Lentz, at Tampico. Now—what is wrong at Chorreras? I mean if it’s Mr. Corew I shall expect you to tell me.” It was, Pine replied slowly, and it wasn’t. Certainly nothing that had happened was Mr. Corew’s fault, directly. Captain Pine could only describe it by saying that appar- ently the sea terminal had come into a slant of bad luck. ““Mr. Corew thinks a deliberate attack is being made either on him or on the Com pany.” Pine was impressed by this: “Tt would never have occurred to me, but that’s how it looks,” he assented. ‘Particularly with Rayén. I saw him when he was here ten days ago, and he was very bad tempered about us. You don’t think one of the other com- panies—” “Absolutely not,” Bradier answered shortly; ‘there isn’t a corporation operating in Mexico that would set him on us. Almost any one might tear up some pipe, or encourage a little fancy shooting, but hardly more. It seemed to me that most of the trouble was in Mr. Corew’s head.” But Pine didn’t agree with him. “I re- member plenty of things, and they all pointed the other way. They wouldn’t be important by themselves, but altogether, yes—it looks bad.” “Why?” Govett Rate demanded, in an exasperated voice. In what way, exactly, does it look bad?” His annoyance, he thoroughly knew, was futile: he was in a land, a situation, where there were no direct as- surances; nothing was bathed in the light of candor. Whispers and shadowy movements and cunning. He changed his manner. “If you happen on anything significant I’d be obliged if you would tell me. This afternoon, I mean; or in the morning, before I go. S HE said this the conviction seized him that he wouldn’t leave in the morning. Not to-morrow. This he hurriedly charged to his curiosity to see General Melc hor Rayon, a purely personal motive, the legacy of his old familiarity with such officers. They were not, actually, a piece with the sea terminal, the production of oil. And after he had inter- rogated Rayé6n it was almost certain that he’d have the key—if it existed objectively—to Corew’s unfortunate position. But not be- cause of Vida: all this belonged to the past: to the life, really, she had brought to an end He said, with no intention of spe iking aloud, “T must talk with this Rayén.’ ; “Then do it at the sea terminal,” Pine advised him, “where the chances are he would listen. Ray6n’s impatient, and he’d have no love for your memory. It would be some- thing for him to have killed you, the Sefor Govett Bradier. If he did it would be very doubtful about the others here—a_ genera patriotic fiesta could easily follow. The kind of patriotism shouting American luxuries fot the Mexicans. I don’t mean we couldnt control it, but it would be nasty.” (Continued on page 174)

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Take these suggestions with you to your dealer or write for booklet of TREO FASHIONS. MANUFACTURED BY TREO COMPANY, INC., New York City 267 Fifth Avenue af a HARPER’S BAZAR TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 172) Bradier replied stubbornly that it was in- different to him where he saw Rayén. In many ways it was better not to bring him to Chorreras. No, if he did decide to find Rayén he’d go out to the Alianza lease at Solis; Bradier understood there was a drilling camp out there, somewhere near 5 and the Aguila operations, under the charge of Payo Galve. “The place to catch a Mexican commander is Zacamixtle, at night.” The mooring master whistled. ‘“‘ At night,” he repeated. “I don’t remember Wt it was in your time, but now it isn’t safe to walk down the street after dark; by God, or before! I wouldn’t bet a dollar to a hundred on the result if you met Melchor there. The girls would hold you for him while he cut your throat.” Zacamixtle, Bradier returned impatiently, was no novelty to him. The older days had not been without girls who would have held Rayon. “I understood that,” Pine said dryly. Govett Bradier gazed at him somberly. He never encouraged personal remarks or references to his associations and_ habits. He rose and moved away from his companion, facing the row of concrete houses in which Vida lived. Before him were the iron poles of the range lights for the positions of the mooring buoys; from where he stood they were useless; but aligned they had a meaning, marking a positive security and knowledge; and he wished that such a convenience ex- isted generally for the finding of courses and anchorages in life. Probably it did, if he could but discover the range; perhaps two truths like arc lights establishing an exact safety. Privately, he admitted to himself that he didn’t, for the present, know just where he was. The malaria had confused him to that extent; it had returned at ten o'¢ ‘lock on the night following his late attack. “You’re not sure of anything, then,” he said bluntly, bringing himself back to Captain Pine. “Only suspicions. Well, they have always been thick enough here.” Bradier prepared to descend. “If I don’t get away in the morning we'll talk this over in detail. I'll depend on you for a little investigation— the names of men who are indifferent, what- ever you come on. It’s natural for you to be around when you're not on wiz atch. Listen to all the talk you can; encourage it.’ ELEKER Bradier’s room; hall that led to before he went in was in the and, for the rest Galbraith had commanded, Bradier sat down for a bottle of beer. Deleker, he observed, carefully refrained from any reference to the malaria. He was, it came out, claimed by affairs of his own. ‘“*T questioned the man who had the lighter in tow, but he only repeated that the casing had rolled into the Lagoon, somewhere off the Punta de la Restuiga. Yes, he’s a Mex- ican. Before he came here he was with the Penn-Mexican on the Tixpam River. That was just one of a hundred accidents lately, coming down from Tampico and going up, Mr. Bradier.”’ He inquired, you do with him? Deleker admitted that he had done nothing with the man on the launch. “What could I do? I couldn't prove he had let the casing drop into the water. The others, of course, would tell me nothing.” Bradier repeated his demand, he?” Deleker thought he knew the cantina he preferred ‘It’s not far,” he volunteered; ‘I might find him and bring him back here in ten minutes.’ Govett Bradier nodded. “We'll have a glance at him, and it had better be in my room, where we won’t be interrupted.” The boy hurried away, and Bradier sat absorbed in a far different concern—was it possible, under the circumstances, for him to go to Presby Corew’s house to-night now that Presby was aware of Vida’s and his a. here is he now; what did ‘“‘Where is love? Wouldn’t Corew feel awkward with them and uncomfortable away? If he al- lowed Bradier to enter. He was afraid the answer was clear, and in the negative. It was even more impossible, now that he had recovered, for Vida to come to the house where he was living; and he couldn’t, at the sea terminal, meet her by the sand dunes or down the beach. It was ridiculous for him to be at Chorreras and not with her, but, ap- parently, that was unavoidable. They had both counted on his leaving immediately. rhe only thing practicable was a planned meeting in the open with all the aspects of an accident. Aside from that for Vida he had already gone. However, as he had discovered before, at the moment he wasn’t directly addressed to her; the events which had sent Deleker look- ing for the Mexican engineer were totally removed from her There was a knock on the door—he had gone into his room—and Deleker entered with a short Mexican Indian, better dressed than customary for his occupation and _posi- tion. “This is Angel,” Deleker announced; “he had charge of the shipment of casing that was lost.’ Bradier was seated with his arm on a table, one knee across the other. He stared coldly at the figure before him; the Indian stoli: ily returned his gaze. ‘‘ Do you know who I am” he demanded sharply. Angel did. Every one had heard of Mr. Bradier. ‘And when I was field superintende nt here no pipe fell into the water. Wasn't it held with blocks?’ The blocks had been there, they had worked out. “Did you help to work them out?” Bradier inquired. “Have you been drawing money outside the Company? Have you?” The voice hardened, it was utterly, brutally, harsh. : Angel, though, down as I said,”’ he repeated. at’s a damned lie,” Bradier contra- dicted him; ‘even without blocks it couldn’t all have rolled off the lighter on a calm day in in the oil country but, evidently, was unmoved. “It went the Lagoon. Tell me who paid you, and hurry, for I’m not Mr. Corew. It’s more than possible that if you didn’t you would find yourself down with your relatives, the angels of hell.’ HE man’s gaze shifted to the floor, he seemed to be studying the toe of an elabo- rately hideous yellow shoe. The Indian stood without movement, his head sunk forward on his breast. There were silver rings in his ears, and his hands were blackened with the grease of marine engines. Bradier closed his eyes, he leaned back with his hands clasped behind his head and his legs extended before him. There was no sound except the per- sistent ringing in his ears of the quinine. At last Angel spoke: “‘1 got no money, the pipes rolled from the barge It was a shame, he was ‘told, not been tied to one. ‘Since realize I was back.” There was another protracted silence, and then the other spoke. “It’s true, Mr. Bra- dier, that I had a drink of aguardiente. I can’t remember the passage of Tamiahua.” Bradier reiterated, ‘Who paid you?” He stood up. “If you can’t remember, Mr. Deleker and I will take you down to the pumping station and try a little hot oil. It’s supposed to be good for stiffness. One dip to the knees, ought to cure you. And don’t you think for one second I won't.” The Mexican’s face was stony. “I know you will,” he answered; “but it was the drink. [ couldn’t run the launch.” Bradier repeated, ‘“‘That will be far enough.” He turned to Deleker. “This Angel is going down to the pumping station with us for a treatment ... of hot oil. If Dr. Galbraith is at the dispensary perhaps he had better come along.’ Deleker hesitated; a whiteness spread over his face, perceptible through the deep tan. “Hot oil,”” he repeated; ‘‘Galbraith?” His hands opened and shut ne rvously. “I am afraid I don’t understand, sir.” Bradier was explicit. “I am going to have Angel dipped in a tank to see if it will improve that he had you didn’t his memory. Wasn't it a custom once to anoint the elect with oil?” The boy swallowed convulsively. ‘Very well,’ he replied, ‘I guess I can help you if any one will.” _ He turned furiously on the engineer God damn you,” he cried, “if you make me do this I’ li let you slip on in, I'll finish it, so help me!’ Deleker grasped Angel by the shoulder and, in a frenzy of desperate resentment, shook him until his head flapped. ‘You little maggot,”’ he continued, “‘ who paid you? Who was it?) You let me know before I boil your heart out.”” He shoved Angel up against a wall. ““Some man, a Mexican, gasped. Deleker drew his dripping brow. “Mr. Bradier, ’ in Tampico,” he ha and across a he admitted, ‘I was certainly scared.’’ Unceremoniously he crossed the room to where a brandy bottle was visible. HAT fact, however, that he had been paid—fifty pesos—for an accident to the casing between Tampico and Chorreras was all that Govett Bradier could drag from Angel. “Was this Mexican inside the Alianza terminal fence?” he demanded. “Ves, I was lying at the muelle No , and the boat-master called me; I was wanted. No, he couldn’t describe him. He wasnt young, nor old. It was he who had given Angel the aguardiente. ; “e you stayed on the launch,” Bradier asked, ‘‘and were approached again, b the same man or another for the same purpose, what would you do?” He’d come at once to Mr. Deleker, he (Continued on page 170)

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HARPER’S BAZAR TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 174) assured them. In addition to that he would talk, but very carefully, to every one who might have had such an experience. They could depend on it. But he was already gone from Bradier’s thoughts; Deleker led him out of the house The bribery had been on the Alianza prop- erty, and the Panuco terminal was closely fenced, the gates under guard, a pass or recognition was required for entrance; but he couldn’t take that as proof that Angel had been bribed by a man within the organization the crowds on the company wharfs at the beginning and end of day made it practically impossible to protect the water front; it was more probable that he had come by public launch from Tampico. One thing, however, Bradier: the trouble surrounding the sea terminal existed independently of Corew’s mind. It was anactuality. He must send to Tampico and have Lissert watched, so that, if he were needed, he could be quickly picked up: he wouldn’t try to leave Tampico, the city above all others that offered special facilities to men of the signaler’s type. He spoke of this to Deleker. “If there is any one here who can take charge of the transportation for a week or so I’d be glad if you would go to Tampico for me. I’d get you to stay at the Imperial and say that you’d come up on a party. Nothing more. Your expenses would be provided by me. Don’t go to the administration for anything. I'd rather you kept out of the building altogether, but that would be un- natural You'll find Lissert, generally speaking; and there’s no reason why you shouldn't drift over to the river terminal and see John Paradice. But let Angel alone, publicly. I suppose you'll get to the Louisian and the Bolivar; you may ask Soledad, there, for what information she might have. She'll help you if you speak of me. And dance with Teresita; ask her if she’s still thinking of a black dress with a gold girdle. ““Deleker, this may be more serious than you realize; specially if it’s found out you’re not in Tampico for pleasure. Don’t get ab- sent-minded in the Union; and sober or drunk go back to the hotel at night in a car, with a driver, you know. But I wouldn’t keep one— that would be a cut above your private capac- ity. I’m not hiding anything from you, of course; you know all I know; and that’s hardly better than nothing. It is simply that a consistent attack has been made on the sea terminal. I don’t know why, I haven't an idea who it is, but I expect to find out very You needn’t bother Mr. Corew with was at last clear to soon this; and go to Tampico whenever you can make your arrangements; I'll give you a check against my personal account at the American Banking C ompany, and get casual g at the hotel.’ money Deleker assured Govett Bradier that he fully understood his commands and would entirely carry them out. “They know me at the cafés,’’ he proceeded; “‘and it would be natural for me to stay a week drinking in them. I won’t forget about Teresita and her dress.” wondered if, after all, \ pleasant creature. to-morrow, Teresita! Bradier he would see her again. He couldn’t, now, predict what, he'd do; for the things he had determined on, his wishes, had come to nothing. He had been swept again into the world of Mexican oil Old mental processes and habits were flowing back into him. But they were dis- tinctly unwelcome: what, lately, he had become rebelled against what he was. HE memory of the interview with Angel, for example, was extremely distasteful. He told himself that—without seeing how, ending differently, it could have been avoided he would not have dipped the Indian in hot oil; and yet Bradier didn’t trust himself; he wasn’t secure about the mood which had filled him during the examination in question. \ cold recognizable inhumanity had been uppermost in him; the Indian was not a sentient being Ng against his, Govett Bradier’s, necessity. Hell, if it was his inten- tion to find out the trouble at the sea terminal he'd have to go about it without a thought of incidental injuries and cost! A dead or even a maimed Mexican in the balance— However, it was an enormous relief to have had Angel, thrown against the wall, confess. Deleker had been riven with dread. There were, now, Bradier realized, two different and contending impulses in him; one followed the familiar simple course of duty, but the second was not to be so easily defined; it had, at once, to do with an old loyalty and strange conceptions. He could, perhaps, only ag og oe it by discovering why, precisely, he had stayed at Chorreras. He had atte oe explanations of this before but none was successful. Govett Bradier was still careful to avoid the most obvious—that, having placed Corew in a position of apparent danger, he was engaged in rescuing him. He had, in the interest of his plans, deserted men at greater necessity; his essential loneli- ness, his isolation, had facilitated that; and he wasn’t addressed to saving Presby Corew because he was—or, rather, had been~— Vida’s husband; there was no connection be- tween his love for Vida and Corew. None. God, how tired he was of this questioning! But it continued. He was bound here. irrespective of all desire and conveniencé, until the present difficulty at the sea terminal was disposed of, This hadn’t been the result of a sudden un- selfish or magnanimous decision, a promise delivered to himself either for Corew or the Alianza Company; no, the necessity had slowly crept through him, exactly as the tropical malaria had permeated his being A series of small happenings had overcome the contrary determination. Suddenly he felt as though an appreciable amount of his power, his safety, had been taken from him and put in precarious hands, Was it in the hands of a woman? He had never, actually, been in love before, and he was uncertain of the process of that mysterious emotion. Until now Bradier had never cared for any one, strictly speaking, except himself: and it might be that all this was unavoidable. Desirable. It was damned uncomfortable, however; particularly when he was so close to Vida without being with her. Yet, the consideration of his love had not clarified his remaining in Chorreras. If it hadn't been for Vida, to put it that way, he would not have come back but it did not concern her. How often he had repeated that in the past three days! It was more likea debt which must be satisfied before he gained the perfect solvency of her presence. Perhaps he had been right at first, and it was nothing but pride. He very vigorously wished that this were true. Pride, vanity, he understood. The fever, as well, had had a large part in keeping him—a chill at the worst possible time—practically with Vida. It was remark- able that it hadn’t spoiled her affection for him, her trust. A sick man, freezing and then burning, was a ridiculous object. And this brought back the other problem (he was positively dizzy with them) of how much ine fever had affected him. He was, almost witn- out notice or help, open to a blasting uncon- querable weakness. That was what it amounted to. A mere wetting in the rain could reduce him to an impotent agony. Secretly he began to doubt some of his in- sistence of only the day before—he wasn’t as strong as he had been, the last resilience lin- gering from youth had definitely gone. The fiber of his middle years had been contami- nated; he had begun to decline. His mental wavering proved that. His power, that had been once fixed, came and went. time for supper, but he wasn't T Tr WAS hungry; if he avoided the complications of the dining-room they would suppose that he was at Presby Corew’s. What, he wondered, were Vida and Presby saying to each other across the dining-room table? But, no matter how tragic Corew’s personal situation was, he, too, was absorbed in the sea terminal. It had dominated his thoughts even when he was facing the loss of his wife; he had practically admitted that he could not discuss Vida until the other was discharged. Yet this wasn't true of Bradier: Vida was the most important thing in his life; and he recalled how charming, how provocative, she was, with her ins steps tied in white ribbons and her brown polished shoulders bare. He remembered how her lips left their kiss, in perfumed red paint, on his mouth. That was what he wanted, again and again; he would never get tired of it. To-morrow, he decided, he would go out to the field to the drilling camp near section 5, and find Payo Galve. Payo would know a great deal, and he would tell him . . . an exceptional Mexican. He'd find out where Ray6én could be seen. But, before that, he would have to talk to Corew, explain why Deleker was going to Tampico. The opportunity for this came after break- fast. Bradier encountered Presby Corew in the chart room of the marine building. As you can see,” he began at once, “I haven’t gone yet. This afternoon I’m leaving, but for the field and not the United States. And I am taking the liberty of sending Deleker to Tampico for a week. I should tell you, I suppose, that your pee were correct— there is a consistent — either against you or the sea terminal. I don’t know which and don’t care. For me they are the same. Corew replied without spirit: ‘T ought to thank you for acknowledging it, but, some show, I can’t feel I am under any obligation to you. Since you have taken the responsibility from me you had better direct me what to do. Is there any one I should have cooked?’ The story of Angel had bee *n spread about. Bradier answered, “ You will find that just the report of the be nefits of hot oil has been an assistance. Unless Angel’s grandfather or little nephew shoots me out of the monte (Continued on page 177

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for APRIE i976 TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 176) Presby Corew met this with a level gaze. “Vida wants to see you, ’ he said; ‘she is with Gille at the storage shed.’ Govett Bradier was by a window, and he looked thoughtfully out across the Gulf. He had an absurd impulse to apologize to Corew; without, however, saying that he was sorry A reference to unfortunate circum- stances, a hideous bad luck, beyond their control. But he couldn’t think of an appro- priate phrase, the right words. At last he spoke, slowly: “Presby, you are young; soon, when you’re in New York again, you will forget about all this. I mean Mexico. I am certain you will be very successful.” Corew asked, “Is this part of my instruc- tions?” Bradier admitted that it wasn’t. “I haven't given you any, I don’t want to; but, if it’s needful, I will. And I must say to you what I told Deleker—be careful. When it gets about that I’m at the sea terminal and back in the country probably there will be frech activities. If I’m killed, send Vida to Tampico immediately. Keep the Celia here for that. You both insist on acting as though you were walking in Boston Common.” " That was better, Corew told him, than repeating the lines of a cheap melodrama. Bradier nearly replied that he hadn’t been innocent of a lurid reference to suicide; but, instead, he moved to the door of the chart room. VIDA, he found, was sitting on the long concrete steps of the store house; Gille was above, talking to the Mexican soldier on guard there. She came down at once and courtesied, a nicely mannered unprepossessing girl of five. Vida had done very well with her, in a purely efficient and curt way. Gille was broucht up in a rigid English fashion and rarely seen, except with a servant, out of the nursery. ‘You can go back to Juan Leiva,” her mother told her. “She has a passion for the guards and knows all their names,” Vida went on, to Bradier. “‘If she stays in Mexico I’m certain she'll marry a common soldier and live ina hut. But there’s really no chance of that, for Presby wouldn’t consider staying here. He’s going as soon as the sea terminal is in order.” Bradier informed her that he was not leaving for Tampico at once “Why not?” she demanded. “It’s bad for you here. I don’t think I’ll allow it.” The reason, he continued, was the cause she had just described as holding Corew. ‘Then, in spite of all you said, Chorreras still fascinates you.” That, — excitedly, he denied. “No, not at all; I told you I was done with it and Iam. This is different—’’ He paused, confronted with the prob lem of explaining what the difference was. “‘I thought it was better to have Presby clear before I left “That is very fine, Govett,” she replied, ‘but I can’t see you in it. Exactly what do you mean? Do you think, at last, that you ave responsib le for others? He didn’t. ‘“‘To be completely honest with you I don’t quite understand it myself. I guess it’s a combination of twenty things you and Presby and me and the Company among them, all rolled together. You see, Vida, I can find out a lot that he would never come on She interrupted him. 01.” He told her impuls ively he was sorry that she had heard that ‘It’s ug rly. I was sur prised at myself, afterward.’ Vida was uns tirred, her hands lay com- posedly in her lap. ‘There is no reason for apologizing to me,”’ she returned; “‘I wasn’t specially horrified. I mean here, at Chorreras Did you think I had no idea of what you were like? Govett, you mi iy hate this, but I like you |, better killing Mexicans than saving Presby. That does sound frightful, doesn’t it? It can't be helped. I’m made like that. I Ae perry so much faith in this other mood; s I said, I don’t recognize you. “T don’t recognize myself,” Bradier con- fessed. He glanced swiftly about. “I thought it might be because I was in love with you. Isn't it supposed to make you blind?” «blind, she agreed, but not damned dumb. What good eal it do us if you =o in a Swamp? Presby will get out of this. Go home, Govett, and before you realize it I will be with you I'll be able to leave in two weeks.’ he frankly rested her hand on his. “I want to kiss you, ‘ she said; “go home. Do you Want to kiss me? M hen he answered that he did, striving to tell her how great his longing was, she replied, "Why don’t you? No one of any importance is looking And then you must leave for Tampico.” He lost her challenge in the need to find a Ver wincing reason for st ving a little longer in be . Cruz. “TI can get in and see R: iy6n and ick over night. There’s no one else to “Tn a tank of boiling do it, Vida. What would be fatal for others would be safe for me. Besides, I promised Presby; more than that, I have taken the sea terminal from him; informally, of course, but that’s what it amounts to. A situation he couldn’t take care of. Not through a fault of his, though: he didn’t know enough. To- gether we can get rid of it in two or three days, at most a week. Then he can resign from Chorreras. ”’ “That is very sweet,” she repeated ab- sently. She was silent for a long while. Then, “Men are so strange! Govett, do you remember the rhyme about girls made of sugar and spice and boys that were scissors and snails? That’s backwards, of course. Even the spice is mild, when you come to taste it. He asked if she were already disappointed in him; but she shook her head, smiling enig matically. N AN automobile, driving to the drilling camp located between the Tierra Amarillo and Cerro Azul, disconnected phrases and tones of Vida’s conversation ran through Bradier’s preoccupation. He was amused by their positive quality and by her intima- tion that, at bottom, men weren't really hard Since he couldn’t explain it to himself he would have had difficulty in making clear to her why he had stayed in Vera Cruz; but, even if he had been able to present his reasons, he felt that she would have disregarded them They had left the main private roads and were following a trail hardly perceptible through rough half-open fields, over hills thick with brush, and Bradier had to brace himself in the car. He thought that the pistol would be shaken from the holster of the man driving. A wind was blowing on the tops of the small hills, but in the valleys, the dense courses of the beds of streams, the burning heat was savage. All Bradier’s sense of discomfort, of re bellion, had returned: his body ached from constant balancing in the swaying car, his head hurt, and he suspected that he had fever The field boots he had on were loose in the heel, and his cigarets tasted like powdered dung. Vida was right this far—that he had been a fool to listen in the beginning to any thing connected with the sea terminal. He had expressly asserted that he would not. Bradier resolutely shut his mind to such questioning and turned to the scene about him. San Marco, Meson, and then Solis Everywhere he could see grouped or scattered oil rigs, and back of them the blue conical mountains. He passed through a fragmentary village which, with the exception of the dogs, regarded him silently. Bradier sat erect, gazing at the men gathered before a cantina, aware that any one in it, at the slightest excuse, would have shot him Horses were standing in the sun, with elabo rately stamped saddles, plaited bridles ; prob ably they all belonged +. Rayén’s free troop There was no way to distinguish them from ordinary natives except when they were in bands. Or, rather, they were ordinary natives, organized at convenient times for robbe ry and murder. The Mexicans were small men with preposterous wide-brimmed straw hats and indolent movements. Their feet were bare and their meager waists laden with pistol belts and pistols HE driver spoke: “James Taf stopped at that cantina for gas, a week or worse ago, and when he was bending over the dial to see how much he wanted a Raydnista clumped him on top of the head. James said when he came back they had him soaked nice in gasoline and everything was about ready. He said it was a shame to spoil the illumina tion, but he had to ¢ get on into camp. What made it bad, he said, was that he couldn't smoke on his way in. Bradier made no reply, and the man added, “T wouldn’t tell that to every one, but you're experienced with these devils. I saw a Mexi can the other day with a band of human fingers on his sombrero. Some had rings on still and I asked him did he mind if I looked to see if I could find any I knew.”” He turne l and gazed solemnly at Govett Bradier. ‘But they were all from around Santiago de la Pena.’ He had never seen that, Bradier acknowl edged. ‘“‘When I was in this country there was nothing but fighting. I watched a littl lieutenant ride through the Carranza troops in an action and lasso a machine gun. He tied the riata on his pommel and dragged it off The other, waiting, exclaimed “‘ Pshaw!”’ Bradier continued, ‘“‘He was pursued, of course, and when they were about up to him the bumping over the ground started the machinery of the gun. You see, its muzzle was sweeping from side to side. It killed them all; perhaps thirty.” The driver inquired, ‘* Where were you? That was curious, peep admitted. ‘The (Continued on page 178) ‘Americas Best mei Companion’ _ Look Vou P Very DSi -~ ¢ Wa Vi ~ Hx the pleasure of travel is to have the self-satisfying knowledge that you can look your smartest at every social function. A Mendel “Dust- proof’ wardrobe trunk gives you this assurance, so zealously does it guard your gowns from soot and unsightly wrinkles. Interlocking tongue and groove steel frame around the two halves makes the trunk absolutely “‘Dust-proof,” a pro- tective feature to be had only in a Mendel. 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HARPER’S BAZAR TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 177) Balcazar well, right beside the firing, blew in at that moment, and I used the bodies tor the sump oil.’ From the front seat a completely satisfied voice responded, “The hell you say!” TH tone of amusement faded from Govett Bradier’s thoughts, they were dark again— he couldn’t permit himself to be so exhausted by a mere ride through the monte; it was probable that there were long arduous days and nights before him, trying for his mind as well as for his body. He hadn’t a conception of the facts he had set out to find. Yesterday he had assured the mooring master, Pine, that no oil com- pany on the Mexican coast would have hired Rayén to attack the Alianza interests; and while, on the whole, he was convinced of this, only two forces could have prompted such an opposition—the government, which he could almost dismiss at once, or a foreign petroleum corporation, Dutch or English or American, operating locally. If the latter were true at least the Aguila had nothing to do with it. Their British method of proce- dure made any secret flexibility of action impossible; the Aguila operations were in- variably referred to boards sitting in London; it was asserted by Tampico that permission to continue drilling a well twenty feet below the original geological calculation had to be cabled for to England. The Corona C ompany had no properties or competitive plans in that vicinity, and only the Americans were left for his consideration. The Huasteco Corporation he promptly dismissed—the cooperation between it and the Alianza Company, Bradier knew, was very close; the International was moving toward the north field; the Cortez was withdrawing from Mexico; the Pan-Kansas had only an indefinite interest in the outcome of the Tampechana lease controversy. He began to doubt the validity of his own conviction—perhaps both Corew and he were victims of fevered imaginations. Or it might be that the trouble did center; about Presby, the result of a concealed animosity. But Bradier didn’t believe that. The activity which, he felt, was in progress was too large, it was costing too much, to be aimed at a personality. He depended a great deal on General Rayén . . . on Mexican gold. Govett Bradier saw the drilling camp directly ahead; it was, as usual, composed of portable wooden dwellings with a dining- room and kitchen ranged to form a hollow protected square. Within, the brush was cleared away, and there was a high narrow trough, a standpipe with a spigot and soap for washing. The dwellings had canvas sides swung out, like tents; and all the openings were carefully screened. The drilling crew was working; the camp, except for a China boy by the kitchen door, was empty. RADIER sat in the automobile, waiting for some one to appear and show him where he could stay; and, greatly to his relief, before long Payo Galve himself arrived. He hurried at once to Bradier, grasping a hand with both his. “When I heard you had malaria and were gone,” he exclaimed, “I was afraid Mexico would never see you again.” He was tall, for a Mexican, a striking figure with a carefully tended sweeping 2. he, the face of a handsome human falcon. Like Bradier, he had no de ssignated position in the \lianza Company; his various duties lay around the camps; he controlled the peon labor and conducted informal arrangements and treaties with surrounding Mexicans. Galve had lived in the United States and his English was excellent. “There is a house you can have by your- self,’ he told Bradier. Taking the bag from the car, he led the way to one of the open dwellings. It had five beds, under pavions, a table, some wooden cabinets, and chairs. “T’ll send vour hot water from the kitchen.” Govett Bradier realized that he encountered Galve once more with pleasure. He had for- gotten how much they had faced together, how much of the private history of the Alianza development was stored safely away in their heads. ‘There’s some decent brandy,” Bradier announced; ‘‘and what is left of the Havana cigars Lentz gave me. There wasn’t a chance, till within a day or two, that I would get so far into the country; and, Payo, it’s like it always was with me—” ‘Trouble,’ Payo Galve finished the sen- tence for him. “I know of it, myself. But what—” he opened his hands in a graphic gesture of hopelessness. “T counted on you to tell me,” admitted; “‘that is why I am here.” There was nothing to hold under the thumb, he was told. Only accidents and no supplies things needed at once were a month late, when they came at all. They had been forced to pines the wells far below carrying Bradier capacity. “But what it is?” he shrugged his shoulders. “We'll find out,” Bradier declared. do you like Mr. Corew?” He did. The quick emphatic reply left no place for doubt. “If the situation Was as usual,” Galve further announced, “Mr, Corew would be successful at the sea terminal. It is easy to see what he wants and it’s or- dinarily reasonable. Men take advantage of him—he’s new—but only in small ways.” * Payo, GALE knew nothing of an attack on Mr. Corew; he didn’t, it was clear, have any belief in it. ‘‘It doesn’t exist here,” he said positively. ‘I am speaking mostly for the Mexicans, the Americans at the terminal I hardly know.” Bradier was surprised; bee n_ most unexpected. “Naturally,” Payo went on, “he isn’t a Govett Bradier. But then he isn’t political, the peons realize he is honest, and his blood is pure.” Bradier replied, “I was political, it was the peon’s dream to come up behind me with a knife, and my blood, I used to be told, was, in reality, oil.” All this, Galve, embarrassed, “You are the greatest American who has come to eastern Mexico,” he asserted. Bradier resumed, “Then you can’t help me. There is no conspiracy against Mr. Corew, but there are too many mishaps and delays . . . with something behind them.” Galve nodded. Galve had Payo denied. “Mr. Lentz, though, wouldn’t agree with you about Mr. Corew; he thinks he’s all but useless.” The Mexican’s face was studiously blank. “What about Lentz?” Bradier’s demand was sharp, sudden, but Payo Galve’s expres- sion didn’t change. “He is better in Tampico than at Zaca- mixtle.” The reply was made only after a long pause. ‘‘Whenever he came out here a number of good men went to the other companies. His manner was not encourag- ing. I took him around the first time, but I was always busy when he returned. I was afraid my pistol would explode.” Bradier asked, “Are the leases here all coming into salt water? Ought we to begin to think of moving?” Galve smiled, a flz ash of magnificent teeth on his dark face. ‘“‘No, Mr. Bradier,” he replied; ‘“‘we haven’t taken out a half of our oil yet. With the transportation no better than it is we might keep on another hundred years.” Bradier considered this. “‘How is Zaca- mixtle?’’ he inquired. ‘The town or the v valley?” But his ques- tion was frivolous. “It would be a good thing if it were blown into the air with dyna- mite. No one knows how many men are killed there on a night, for they sink into the mud in that street. There is a band now at the Lluvia de Ora brought specially from P aris, and French girls along with it. Bradier said, “I’m told Gene ral Rayén makes his headquarters there.” He was turned away from Galve, apparently em- ployed with the brandy bottle. “T have seen him there,” Payo confessed, “but not yesterday. I used to meet him with Enriquez, when he hadn’t shoes or a coat, and now he’s a general and doesn’t recognize me. But I don’t put myself in his way. He says he is suspicious of Mexicans who are in foreign companies; he might ask me to do something that was embarrassing. No, I am not anxious to embrace Rayén.” RADIER asked if he were specially vin- dictive about the Alianza Corporation. Payo Galve gave the impression of consider- ing this. “Perhaps,” he said at last; “yes, it might be said that he was. It pone a to me, Mr. Corew had not been liberal enough with him. I intended to suggest that at the sea terminal.” y “T came out here for two purposes, Govett Bradier proceeded, “‘to see you and General Rayén. I expect you to arrange the second for me. Galve advised him against this. * Rayon is capricious,” he explained. ‘Too much depends on his good or bad humors, and if he has been drinking. He’s worse when he is sober. Melchor might think it was his duty anyhow to remove you from Mexico. Aside from how he felt. He is very national, as I hinted. And it’s just as I said—I have no influence with him.” In response Bradier asked where he meet General Rayén. could It would have to be at Zacamixtle; but how that could be brought about Payo couldn’t think. ‘Who would go with you? he demanded. “Ni iturally, I'd be alone,” Bradier told him. “Did you suppose I would take Fed- eral troops, or a company of Marines? A foolish project, Payo Galve asserte and (Continued on page 182)

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180) HARPER’S BAZAR WY a _- aw ; \ | X | | |

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The newest stocking colors endorsed b y Paris are WOOD FALLOW, WOOD FAUN and WO HERE is something new in hosiery this spring the wood shades. In Paris they are the height of fashion. And here they appear more and more often on chic ankles. colors These distinctive new shades are the wood browns, Wood Fal- low, Wood Faun, Biscuit and Wood Bark, beautifully soft, warm and rich, not too dark. It is nat- ural that Corticelli, always in the forefront of style, should intro- duce these new shades. The new soft tans, such as Pompadour, nudes, the pure grays, Here are four charming styles forspr quard lace—Mauve—style 161. Filmy chiffon openwork clock, 308. And style style 107. Chiffon, ID BARK such as Dove Gray, are shown in the lighter versions of the mode. Mauve and silver are good for evening. T is pure joy to buy Corticelli stock- ings. The silk is so lustrous and soft and fine—the very silk which for nearly a century has set the standard of excellence. And one buys them in that specially smart shop on which one can count for the utmost in style and quality. « | A FASCINATING BOOKLET on the season’s loveliest hosiery styles is ready for you. Send for it and the two other interesting booklets offered below. NEW ing. From —_ bottom —Exquisite Fac- Pompadour—with French sheer and smooth—Wood Bark— style 322, correct for all daytime engagements. In Wood Faun. Please send me the booklets Lovely Shades in Hosiery. Tue Corticecu Sirk Company,307 Nonotuck St., Florence, Mass. listed below. Irene Castle Corticelli Fashions. New Corticelli Silks Name City Street State CORTICELLI SILK HOSIERY HARPER’S BAZAR TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 178) he’d have nothing to do with it. “If you saw him you would learn nothing; and if you did manage him you couldn’t keep your face toward his whole staff at once.’ Bradier merely repeated that he expected Galve, as a member of the Alianza organiza- tion, to help him. No one in America, the Mexican quickly cried, was more loyal to his company. “T will have to see a girl,”’ he acknowledged. “She has a cantina in Zacamixtle. Her name is Sosa, and she is the friend of another girl there, who Rayén has been known to visit. Sosa has been honest with me, but I can’t give her a recommendation. I only see her long times apart, or it would be different. From what I've learned Sosa can be as un- accountable as General Rayén. She’s from Guadalajara, but that doesn’t mean much, since all the pretty women of Mexico say the same. There is some Spanish in her, but it’s mostly Indian. I could only tell her, too, that you were a companion of mine with a pocket full of centenarios; but that I thought you had a message for Rayén from the oil interests. It might even be a mistake for Sosa to know who you were.” “*T can decide that when I see her,”’ Bradier concluded. “When will you arrange it? How soon do you think Melchor will be in Zacamixtle?”’ Galve couldn't answer him then. try to find out to-night,” he promised. might be drunk or engaged in an affair of love. Her affections are erratic and by no means always mercenary. And there’s the other girl . and Rayén. It might take a week, a month.” That, Bradier returned, was nonsense. He didn’t propose to wait more than three or four days. Before that he'd interview the girl Rayén fancied. Galve laughed delightedly. ‘‘That would be immense!”’ he exclaimed; “‘let me tell you -she is probably the ugliest girl that was ever born in New York. She is blonde, it is true, but for the rest— he seemed incapable of describing her. ‘‘Don’t show your opinion of her, though; she is feminine in spite of every- thing, and bad. Really. That, you will agree, is rare. Some people are bad at moments, they have evil passions, but she is entirely wicked. There is nothing human in her ex- cept diseases and an arm spotted with the needle. Ray6n admits that it’s a question if he will kill her or she will end him. He says he is only waiting on account of the souls in hell. Keeping her alive is an act of mercy to the damned. But I'll see Sosa, to-night.” “T will “Sosa SMALL truck drove into the enclosure of the camp, bringing back the drilling crew; its members scattered slowly to their homes or lingered, talking, by the dining-room. They were, Bradier recognized, mostly like Deleker, young and physically vital; the potential rapidity of their movements was in direct contrast to the slowness of their Western speech. Various, they were yet alike, oil men, the followers of a calling which bound its adherents into a clearly distinguishable whole. They be ede to the border, in the most romantically comprehensive sense of that term, but a border connected by wire with New York and Amsterdam and London. It was a scientific frontier, a mingling of pistols and intricate calculations and ma- chinery, a mixture of raw courage and the accomplishments of technical schools. It had its own vocabulary, its special hopes, and rewards only less magnificent than frequently bestowed. Particularly, Bradier thought, the vocabulary. He wondered if any other pur- suit had sent up such a volume of talk, of sheer excited lies and promises and entreaties, of shrill whispering and veiled allusions. Every one who came in contact with petroleum in the smallest capacity was a potential producer; and that expectancy gave the drilling crew an air of alert interest. When it spread among them that Govett Bradier was in the camp they came up singly or in pairs to greet him. They were at once diffident and calm, they cut quids of tobacco and spat with an utmost judicial deliberation. It was a shame, Bradier heard, that his coming hadn't been announced, for then something particular could have been arranged, a roasted ox and a baile. The spokesman for this was immediately challenged: “Oh, Thomas, who would you choose for your first partner?” He replied without turning, ‘That Chino who always gives you a w hole can of peaches for supper.’ The appreciation of that answer rolled away across the empty monte in the slapping of iron-hard thighs and prolonged laughter. It formed the wit of the dining-room, where the men sat on benches facing each other in two double rows. The food, again, was excellent, the service, from openings into the kitchen, skilfully rapid. The talk passed through the day’s operations to the probabilities of to-morrow; it touched on Zacamixtle, and_ included General Melchor Rayén. The General, jt appeared, hadn’t been in that neighborhood since he had driven by in a car with Adeline and a couple of aides. It was Adeline, Bradier gathered, that Payo Galve had described to him. Adeline in the daylight, it was pointed out, was wholly different from Adeline at night. No one. seeing her, would believe his eyes. “She looked like something in slacked lime wrapped in an orange shawl.’ The originator of this phrase continued, “I was just outside the camp and, as the General went by, I saluted: well, old Melchor, he was in a good humor, saluted and the officers saluted and Adeline just grinned at me. I guess it was a grin she moved her lips back from her teeth.” Evidently she had thrown him a kiss. At this suggestion he went through a pantomime of acute nausea. An older man re -membe ered Adeline.when she first came to Mexico. “It was in Tampico, at the American Bar, and longer ago than you'd think. The captain of a small Gulf steamer had brought her and another girl—she must have bee na Venus—up from Central America It’s dam’ queer, but she’s always been able to find a man— A voice inte rrupted him, “She must charm them with fright.”” This was amplified, mn tradicted; ideas far more pertinent were ad vanced. It was even intimated that Payo Galve had a secret longing for her. He smiled eloquently, merely answering that she was blonde, una rubia. Adeline, it was agreed, was a ruby. OVETT BRADIER returned across the rough ground to his place of dwelling The kerosene lamp on a table cast a limited circle of illumination; beyond there was an increasing darkness which blurred the walls of the room. He undressed at once, changing into pajamas, and sat on a long canvas chair with a cigar and a copita of brandy. Payo had gone to Zacamixtle. From the region of the kitchen came the thin metallic notes of Chinese music; at intervals, in the surrounding quiet. he could hear the quavering Chinese voice probably celebrating a girl as slim and desirable as a green bamboo shoot. That wasn’t, quite, a description of Vida; Bradier had no impulse to describe her, or his longing, in song; and yet the faint sound, the broken rhythm, brought her vividly to his memory. He saw her seated on the concrete steps of the supply shed, in the glare of the Mexican sun, in the midday of their lives; and sud- denly, sharply, he wished that they were both younger. He wanted to be as young as any boy at the camp’s supper table. and love Vida with folly and desperation and an inexhaust- ible passion, to satiate her with ardor. That was the time, the spirit, for marriage. What happened afterwards was comparatively unimportant; Bradier made the surprising discovery that it had little to do with love. Love was the feeling that overcame the young and swept them together; the young, in spring, with the flushed whiteness of the moon like apple blossoms in the sky. Then it wasn’t conscious, it wasn’t aware of desire asa thing to be deliberately provoked and art- fully satisfied. For the moment he saw himself, as a lover slightly absurd—a man over forty who was the victim of malaria. He didn’t require the mirror to show him his face now; Bradier knew every dark hollow, the close silver cap of his hair. Exertion made him sick with weariness. This didn’t, however, apply to Vida; her youth appeared to be intact. That, she had told him, was because it hadn’t been spent. The reverse, usually, was true that women aged and men kept their vitality indefinitely. God damn it, he felt old: at night; when he was alone; when he was honest with himself. Thought had begun to take the place of action, to spoil action. That habit of retrospect he had noted and con- demned! Yet there was, he reminded himself, more than one kind of love. prok example, the immeasurable happiness reaching for years before Vida and himself; it wasn’t, naturally, a poetic madness; but then they didn’t need the May moon, or even the balcony over a tropical city; their ages, their experience, brought them a complete certainty. Their emotions, sufficiently keen, — be slowly dissolved into an utter peace The voice of the China boy rose in an unsubstantial melodious wail and sank before a particularized Anglo-Saxon demand for silence. The voice said that it didn’t propose to be kept awake by the amorous life of 4 monkey, and it further promised that to morrow all musical instruments except pipe organs and accordions would be destroyed This was amended from another quarter “You mean mouth—” Pipe, the first speaker insisted; pipe was what he had said. Bradier moved out of the house: the camp lay dark under a glittering universe o! stars (Continued on page 184) |

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Box of Three Large Tablets $1.00, or 35c the Tablet Lape SERIES ALSO INCLUDES — Lavender w ater, $1.00; $1.75; Face Powder, 85c; Compact, $1.00 50c; 75c; Sachet, 25« ; cartridge; Bath Salts, $1.50; Bath Dusting Powder, $1.50 ; $1.50; Tale, Shampoo, 15c the Obtainable at all good stores. NEW YORK: 15-19 Madison Square, N. TORONTO : 145 Adelaide St. W ff YARDLEY HARPER’S B.: TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 182) There was a glow over against Amatlan that might have been a burning well, and it seemed to him that he could hear the mid- night clamor, the French band, in the village of Zacamixtle. If that was so he had only to wait a very little while for the acute report of a pistol. Instead, he went in and slept without waking, dreamlessly, until morning. He was late for breakfast, the tables were full, but he found a place near Payo. The Mexican had apparently just returned from Zacamixtle, for he still wore the compara- tively formal clothes, the collar and coat, of the night before. From where Bradier sat he could see, through the long, screened window that occupied the entire length of the dining-room, the entrance to the camp; and, with his gaze idly fixed without, he was aware of an abrupt commotion, a crowding of brown men on horses into the narrow way. He said at once, rising, “I believe that’s Rayén.” There was a rush from the tables to the door and window. “It’s part of his troop,” he was told, “dam’ if it isn’t; but Melchor isn’t there. Pacheco’s in command. That’s him on the skew-bald pony.” The man indicated had ridden to the steps of the dining-room; leaning forward he beat dramatically with the butt of his whip on the door frame. Payo Galve, followed by Bradier, went forward. Pacheco preserved the form of Spanish gravity. The General’s compli- ments to the Alianza Company and he had sent for some food and what boots and saddles could be spared. Pacheco was a short and thick man with a minute restless gaze like the glittering heads of black pins under scarcely disc ernible eyebrows. Galve proceeded to remonstrate: “If you want food and boots and saddles, the place for you to go is the sea terminal; you know we only have enough at these camps to go on with; we just pack in what we need. This is not reasonable. It isn’t justice.” Phat vis sib ly annoyed Rayén’s captain. ‘Justice!’ he exclaimed. He ane his hand toward the quadrangle of buildings. ‘Where is there any justice in this? Can and land by giving money and promises to the Obregén government? Do you think there are no true patriots left in Mexico? And we cannot always collect our rights in Chorreras.” Galve replied that that was where he'd have to go. “See Mr. Corew. He'll give you what you want. I'll send him a note. But this Pacheco declined. He turned to you take our oil his troop assembled without order behind him. ‘The kitchen and storehouse,”” he com- manded. Then he advised Payo Galve further. “Keep your men in the dining- room.” AS HE spoke Bradier saw a China boy walking into the enclosure, with a break- fast for one of the houses. He was in the middle of the clearing before he was aware of what had happened, and then he saw the Mexicans. He stopped and the tray wavered until Bradier could dishes sliding together; the China- man cast a desperate glance back at the comparative safety of the kitchen. It was evident that the thought of an escape, a retreat there, held him; but he gave it up. With his tray high and level on one hand he walked on again across the compound. Bradier thought, he'll reach the house he’s going for, and then there was the crisp de- tonation of a rifle. The arm, the figure in white, seemed to fall out from under the breakfast dishes. A drift of smoke rose on the farther side of the massed riders. Pacheco wheeled, but, with an expression of troop of breakfast hear the unconcern, returned to Payo Galve. “A Chinaman,” he said easily. “Chinaman, hell,” a man called, behind Bradier, “that was the best cook in all the camps.” The door of the house by which the figure lay opened and a large man with disordered hair, in broadly striped vermilion and white paj: umas, appeared with a he: ivy revolver. ‘Was that my breakfast?” he demanded, pointing to the dishes broken on the ground. ‘Because if it was, I wanted it. He strode forward on bare feet, regardless of the sharp cut brush, until he could have touched the nearest horse. “I’m sick,” he said, “sicker than any twenty Mexicans have ever been, and that food was the first I was allowed. breakfast all over the camp?” There was, naturally, no immediate reply, and he continued on to Pacheco. ‘What kind of behavior is this?” he asked; and, with a hand in the captain’s belt, he pulled him unceremoniously from the saddle. Pacheco fell forward, his arms w: _ wildly in the regaining a his balance, and a hand dropped on the butt of a pistol. Before he could drag it from the holster there was the gleam of a rifle leveled from a horse. The man in the vivid pajamas shot rapidly, and Who shot my the trooper slid from his stirrups. revolver was swung instantly ace. ““What kind of behavior do you call this?” the man who had described himself as sick repeated. “Coming in here and_ knocking breakfasts to pieces and killing Chinamen, I don’t know what they are in China, but in Mexico, with you around, they’re human beings.” He actually pressed the ring of the revolver’s muzzle into Pacheco’s cheek, “Send _ those dogs behind you out of the camp.” He even rocked the other’s head back with the pressure of steel. Pacheco shut his eyes and raised an “Get out,” he cried, entirely “get outside.” There was a pause among the troop, a reining in of bridles, and the horses were turned; they streamed from sight between the houses. The to Pacheco’s arm. unmilitary; “Don’t get nervous, Ansbey,” some one called from the dining-room. “T won't,” he promised. “And you, Pacheco, walk out of here le ae that calico pony ... or I will get nervous. When Pacheco, on foot, vanished, Ansbey returned to his house; at the steps he paused. “Let my breakfast come over damned quick,”’ he called; and then he, too, dis- appeared. ‘That will ruin what I had planned,” Galve told Govett Bradier; ‘“‘no one will care to see Rayén for a while—Pacheco is next to hix in command. Yes,” he raised his ney “*hobble that horse and bury the Chinaman and Mexican separately. With lots of stone, and set up one small wooden cross. Sosa told me the General was in Zacamixtle last night, and that he’d be back two days from this; but keep away from him, Mr. Bradier. And if you see Pacheco—”’ he shook his head. “His dignity is hurt.” Bradier was silent. The he thought, hadn’t seen him; convince himself that he would Ansbey had so signally succeeded. Mexican officer, Bradier couldn't fail where WO days from this. He was speculating whether it would be better to stay until then at the drilling camp—Galve was of small additional use to him—or return to the sea terminal and from there go to Zacamixtle, when a company automobile arrived from e hi orreras with a note for him. ““Presby has had to go to Tampico,” Vida wrote, “he doesn’t expect to get back until the day after to-morrow, and Gille and I are Govett, if you could secure, and ag alone. Seriously, be : re it would make me very glad The driver told him that it was Mrs. Corew’s orders for him to wait and see if Mr. Bradier was able to leave with him. ‘“*Ves,”’ Bradier decided; ‘‘as soon as I have packed.” Gi ilve went with him. ““T want to know how, if the chance came. I'd find Sosa? It would be better to avoid asking all over Zacamixtle.’ Payo re — that she couldn’t very well be missed. “She has the fourth cantina on the right, after the street bends, and there is a sign, La Pareja. I told her you were dis tinguished and liberal but not rich, and for God’s sake don’t show her a bag of Alianza gold. Don’t go there under two weeks,” Payo Galve called this as the automobile was starting with Bradier. He nodded, smiling, and Galve held up his arms in a gesture of hopelessness. Hurried over the road, Bradier wondered what had taken Corew to Tampico—he wished that he had had another talk with him before he went—and then all his thoughts centered once more on Vida. They would be together for two days and nighcs at Chorreras: he resolutely put Presby Corew, all the world of oil, from his mind. GAIN in the house he had been inhabiting at the sea terminal Bradier was struck by the complete reversal of all that he had planned, the constant returning to what he had, he thought, left definitely and forever. Here he was back at Chorreras beach, and soon he would be returning to the field, to Zacamixtle. There was a perversity in it that at once annoyed him and impressed him with the futility of his individual will. That, to Govett Bradier, was specially disconcerting; but he met it partly by the conviction that he had agreed to the changes in his course, he had really dictated them nbecaus¢ of necessities he could not have foreseen. Vida, for instance, had urged him to keep to his original determination. It would have been far easier to have left the sea terminal directly after his talk with Presby— He had sent word to Vida by a hous that he was back, and he had been gone 4 comparatively long time; probably she was not in her house. However, Bradier was certain that, when the answer came, it would arrange for their dinner together . . . ‘din- (Continued on page 18A% }

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Photograph by Alfred Cheney Johnston In the lighter colors, fashionable for Spring, one surely selects several pairs of gloves made from The colors are fast—they do not spot from rain or _ perspiration. Easily washed. Hyde WASHABLE Leathers are used for America’s finest gloves—made in correct styles to furnish your glove wardrobe —for semi-formal, tailored, sports, town, and country wear. Easily identified by the Hyde Mark inside the glove. Light weight Cape leather, for French cuffed gloves. Light weight Tibetan leather, for slip- ons. Wewill gladly send swatch of ‘“‘Blondine,”’ the new spring shade in Hyde Glove Leather. WOOD & HYDE COMPANY, GLOVERSVILLE, ow IMMACULATE GLOVES DE WASHABLE Glove Leathers N. Y. TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s Novel (Continued from page 184) ner and an evening of unbroken intimacy. It would be a good thing to discuss, more fully than they yet had, their plans for the future; but not so much the months immedi- ately before them as the sweep of their whole shared lives; such things as where Vida wanted to live, if she would stay with him the entire time he was in South America—if it was to be South America—and then, with that settled, they could drop happily into the interesting generalities that would make the rest of exis- tence so pleasant. There was a great deal he had to find out about Vida; looking back over their conversa- tions he was surprised to discover that he was almost totally ignorant of the details of her mind. What they had said to each other had always been strictly limited, and personal. At once, Bradier remembered, when he had first looked squarely at her, his head had given way to what was commonly described as the heart, a quality deeper than reason had taken reason’s place; he had surrendered to a force like a lunar tide of Southern water, soft and luminous and perfumed from im- minent unseen shores. There, at least, youth had had no advantage of him. But now, more accustomed to his romantic immersion, he was breathing with an increasing ease, he was gazing about over the undulating flood. RADIER had never, the fact was, heard Vida express an impersonal conviction, show an interest in what didn’t, on all its sides, immediately touch her or her world. That, undoubtedly, was the peculiar charac- teristic of the sphere he had recognized as fashionable; there was its strength. It was insensible to pressures outside its limited sphe re. This, he recognized, was almost critical, and he halted the crystallization of an unfavorable opinion by remembering that Vida loved him, that she was willing to marry him—a man as far removed as possible from the circumference of what she had known. Beyond question it was the monotony of that which had begun to wear upon her. And then, Vida was superior to what he was tracing; it had never satisfied her; he, Govett Bradier, was her avenue of escape. It was a damned good thing they had come together, he thought; for without him Vida might have slowly starved in narrow circumstances and he’d have fallen into a loneliness lasting until death. It had been providential; if that meant anything. He liked the direct way, after the brief beginning, in which she had gone after what she wanted, her entire openness with her emotions and with him. At times he had been, well—shaken by her indifference to what he had regarded as useless but customary feminine reservations. The publicity of her lipstick was a mocking challenge to the tradi- tions of mystery and simplicity. But not consciously: Bradier made no mistake about Vida’s attitude to the public; it could, for her, very thoroughly, be damned. His own bearing, exactly That freedom, however, he used for fixed and ascertainable ends, it was like a brecha down which he laid pipe to a given end; and he wondered where, in her own conception, Vida’s vitality was directed. Bradier couldn’t believe that she was able, willing, to lose herself in love. He meant in the maternal and subservient capacity of that indefinite term. The blinding truth struck him that it was a sensation she was after; not only a sensation but sensation, always. This was what she lived for, it was the explanation of her po- tency, perhaps of her charm; it gave her body its seductiveness, her knees their graceful rounded magnetism Bradier began, then, idly, to speculate on the importance to Vida of the sources of her—her emotions: did it, fundamentally, matter to her which man, among all those possible, brought her pleasure? Logically, it couldn’t. How- ever, women were not—perhaps fortunately here—logical. And all that he needed for his safety with Vida was the assurance that he could satisfy her senses as well as her spirit. A more startling idea still possessed him; and, in it, he heard the voice of Soledad, when he had latest seen her at the Bolivar—Vida and Soledad, or Teresita, inhabiting appar- ently the opposite planes of existence, were very much alike. Their lives were full of a music for dancing and ornamental passions. What, exactly, was it Soledad had said? You will think they are different . . . until the knife is in you. But there, anyhow, she was wrong; for there was a marked differ- ence—in civilization and self-control. Vida, with her background and her accompanying coolness, could never have descended to - Bolivar; and Teresita’s inheritance made i impossible merely to consider her in Vida’s position. ET they were more alike than not. With that realization he felt at once that he knew Vida better, he was more at ease in his thought of her. At times her pundly social aspect had bothered him; he had liked it, and HARPER’S BAZAR her, from a slight distance; more than once, when he had been clumsy, that had made him acutely uncomfortable. Simply her superior- ity. But now that was largely dissipated cae in his understanding of Teresita: they were both after the gold and lace dresses, the oe of this world. The Chinese» house-boy returned, with a note from Vida: dinner at eight o'clock. That late hour was another characteristic of hers. Govett Bradier didn’t really believe that she could have eaten a piece of melon before half-past seven. It had been his in- tention to proceed to the marine building, and, under the awning of the lookout, discover from Captain Pine the news, the gossip, of the sea terminal; but he had been so long engaged with his thoughts that the swift curtailed dusk had come. Instead, he decided to completely rest; and, on his bed, his fingers caught behind his head, he amused himself, rather satirically, with the vision of his humili- ating preparation for evening. His thoughts left Vida for the drilling camp, to Payo Galve and his reports of General Rayén and Adeline—something in slacked lime and an orange shawl—and to the man in the inharmonious pajamas who had lost his breakfast. He saw the Chinaman, the best cook of all the camps, shot out from under the tray of dishes; Pacheco with his head pressed back by the muzzle of a revol- ver. That was altogether a masculine world where women were impractical incidentals. And there were things, for men, to be said in its favor. Its good qualities couldn’t be separated from the bad: it was like that because Mexico, Mexicans, oil, were like that; and it, they, had witnessed all his triumphs. He was, Bradier reminded himself, done with that; but there was no need to confuse the past with the present, to reach any wide condemnation on account of what malaria and accumulating years, yes, and love, had done to him. Now that he had decided, pracucally, everything, it occurred to him to take a drink, and he brought out an unopened bottle of brandy. There was still an hour before he could leave for dinner, and he was tired of thought. He was getting to be so wise that he was a nuisance to himself. The brandy was good but it wasn’t strong; it couldn’t compare with the liquor of before the war. Bradier said to himself automati- cally, ‘“‘A weaker drink for a weaker head.” He doubted if he could, now, dispose of three bottles in a night and then run a rail car to San Gerénimo. In the past, at Tampico, it hadn’t been unusual for him to drink con- tinuously for seventy-two hours. But that was all over, the fever had brought it to an end. He had reached sober years; too sober; that was the matter with him now—he was too damned careful. He was hardly fit to see Ray6én and drink with him: that capacity, the ability to consume brandy as long as any one remained at the table with him, had very notably helped his success in Mexico; he had learned endless valuable things from the indiscretions of drunkenness. And then he had liked all the surroundings of such drinking, the cafés and changing people, the orchestras at once far off and loud, the stories confidentially told him by men and the whispering of women. In that charged atmosphere fights came up like electric storms, followed by the inevitable groups and discussions on dark sidewalks, the mysterious rides in hired automobiles, knocking the lanterns from the middle of the streets, and chancing the hails and shots of policemen. HE brandy was very much lighter than the old—he’d have no trouble with it! With a smile he remembered efforts to steal girls from other parties, other tables; he could see the expressionless faces of the waiters carrying illegitimate and dangerous messages, the eternal waiters who all managed to walk and look alike and wear identical shoes. He had met Soledad that way—she had been brought to the Louisian by the officials of an impressive oil corporation and, most improp erly, he had gone off with her This brandy was no better than water Soledad had worn a yellow dress and yellow stockings, yellow silk stockings and black satin slippers on the smallest feet, the highest 10 steps, in the world. She had been young and fragrant, with a taste for everything, but specially for enchiladas and tepache. Drinks of pineapple juice wouldn’t satisfy her now She hadn’t been unlike the Teresita of the present, but not so grave. Yet Teresita hi id covered his nose with powder, one of those heavily perfumed powders the Mexican girls preferred. There was, certainly, nothing faint or pale about them; they were like the Mexican flowers; and very different from the girls ol America. But, he reminded himself, he had just discovered that they weren’t sifferent at all—Soledad and Vida, at heart, were the (Continued on page 188)

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for APRIL 1926 ODAY one does not tread a path of roses—that would be passé indeed. Days—and nights—are fragrant now with subtle, intricate perfumes, cunningly devised to express the spirit of the smart world in a dynamic age. The shop of Houbigant in Paris—the very center of fashion —is thus inspired to create exquisite odeurs for day use, refreshing aids for the boudoir; delectable perfumes and beau- tiful accessories so important to a successful evening appear- ance . . . Houbigant is more than the name of a perfumer; it is the name of the interpreter of the period—in fragrance. May we send you dainty sachet packets of the five Houbigant odeurs, to- gether with the booklet, ‘Things Perfumes W hisper’’? Please write for them Houbigant, Inc., 539 West 45th Street, New York OUBICANT PARIS NEW YORK - CHICAGO - CLEVELAND - MONTREAL 18

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Mme Srine Corse The “DUO-SETTE” The new modes are merciless in reveal- ing figure deficiencies! They demand supporting garment — but its presence must not be suspected! Hence the “DUO- SETTE”—a lovely union of brassiere and ceinture! No break at the waistline! Just the most clever use of brocade and hand- knit elastic! See it at vour favorite store. The Mme. lrene “ Duo-Sette” skilfully persuades the body into lines of beauty HARPER’ BAZAR TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s N Ov el (Continued from page 186) same, women of pleasure. He had been glad to find that out about Vida since it made everything so much easier, it brought him closer to her. He had been acting as though she were fragile, easily harmed. Harmed, hell! Nothing could hurt Vida, a hard and fashionable person. She was made of scissors and . scissors and—he had never really noticed before that the Spanish word for snail was, in Mexico, the name of a woman’s nightgown Bradier held the brandy bottle up against the light; there was a little left. He might as well have been drinking ftepache. At the same time he was pleased with his head. It was the first whole bottle of brandy, of any kind, he had drunk in practically two years It wasn’t supposed to be good for him, but there were occasions when mere caution must be ignored—he had had to drink in order to stop his damned thinking. And he had suc- ceeded; he had become once more unreflective, simple direct. Bradier was sorry that, instead of Vida, he was not going to see General Melchor Rayén; he was in an admirable mood for self-desig- nated Mexican generals. He’d—what was the word for it?—demote Melchor, take the mote out of his eye. Mote or beam, they were both silly words. The bottle was empty, and he debated with himself if it would be better to continue drinking or get dressed for dinner? If he dressed he could still drink, but maybe if he drank . . . it was nearly eight o’clock anyhow; and, since he couldn’t meet Rayén, he might as well see Vida. She liked brandy: brandy and cham- pagne and Virginia cigarets and enchiladas— No, that was Soledad, little Soledad young and fragrant; and here she was running a café with some Spanish picaro and getting fat. H= DRESSED slowly, painfully, with a most especial care; and, that accom- plished, he conceived the excellent idea of having a copita of brandy before venturing out into the night air of Chorreras. That was not at all good for him. Bradier — the glass, from a half bottle he discovered, and holding it, opened his fingers. Naturally it fell, and broke, and there was a hideous splash ot brandy on one of his white shoes. He'd have to wait until that dried, Vida would never forgive him if he came to dinner with a shoe... but, luckily, Spirits evaporated quickly, and it was only a"quarter past eight. He sat down, with a violence that surprised him, and half turned, hiding his face on an arm laid over the back of his chair—the shoe wouldn’t dry if he looked at it! There was a repeated knock at the door. Mrs. Corew Dinner. “Ves, yes,” he called. Bradier rose, with a palm against a wall. The objects in the room sw: ryed and swam together; swam and swayed. “This will not do,” he said aloud, distinctly. With a tremendous effort he gathered his blurred sensibilities, and then he proceeded very carefully from the house. \ light air was blowing across the land from the Gulf; it cooled and revived him; and he stood, getting all the benefit from it possible. Perhaps he had better go on, as his watch showed him that it was nine instead of eight, but Vida would understand what had delayed him. A bottle of brar udy in an hour. He walked very stiffly, down the path and up the two steps to her veranda. She was in the hall, seated, with a book. “Vida,” he said with an unexpected and complete lucidity, ‘I would have been here an hour ago but for a bottle of brandy.” She told him that she was glad he had had that, for the cocktails she had shaken were no more than melted ice. She was close to him, and he put his arms about her, kissing her. She slipped away from him instantly. ‘I’m sorry, Govett, but I am hungry; and of course the damned cook chose to-night to make a soufflé.’ “Now, I suppose, it’s like London Bridge,’ he replied; ‘“‘and fallen down. Vida,” he continued at the table, “‘did you rez ilize that, in Mexico, the same word has to do for snails and women’s nightgowns? Caracol.” \t his back he heard the faint explosion of a cork skilfully removed from a bottle of champagne. It had, Govett Bradier thought, the sound of a distant but ominous shot. HE thing to do with the champagne, Govett Bradier decided, was to let the servant fill his glass and then not drink it until he had had dinner, for if the glass weren't empty it would be impossible to give him more. There was a great deal he needed to discuss with Vida, but just now he couldn’t remember any of it except to ask why Corew had gone so hurriedly to Tampico. Vida only knew that it had been necessary for him to see Mr. Lentz. ‘‘He doesn’t talk to me, any more. Presby tells me almost nothing. But that’s natural enough, Govett. Now you must do it for him. Yet, when I expect you to be especially entertaining, you take a bottle of brandy. As she said this she was holding the cham- pagne glass up before her, watching the candle light sparkling in its cold depth a wonder what you will say to me,” she pro- ceeded; “and if you'll have enough to last for the rest of our lives. Enough words and interest. I never knew any one who had and yet I keep thinking we will be differe: You probably don’t know it, but in a way am very simple. I could do without things I’m glad we won’t have to; but I could i mean if I had exactly what I wanted. Then the rest wouldn’t matter. It’s because [ never had it that I’ve been so taken up by trifles; they make lives like mine was; they have to. He replied: “I thought a lot about that, and I’m glad they do, [ wouldn’t have it or you different.” His head was clearer now, and, inatten- tively, he drank his champagne. “You are all powdered and perfumed and painted for—for pleasure; and that’s what we're after. I'd rather see you in a fine dress, Vida, like you are to-night, than give what it cost to any charity. Any dam’ orphanage,” he asserted. ‘‘From this on we are going to enjoy ourselves and the rest can go to hell. I am glad you left off those little pearls of Presby’s, for the first thing I do in New York, the very first, will be to get a string almost good enough for you. Almost! And one of those square emeralds with just enough platinum to hold it on your finger I can do that and we needn't notice it. You'll have sable furs for winter, and one of those little closed automobiles like a candy box; black with white painted tires and a green orchid inside. The chauffeur will have a coat twice as good as I ever used to dream of for myself. I'll bet, by God, you didn’t know all that how much I had and how much you'll have! She said, in an amused voice, that she had hz ud no idea of it. “T’ve been quiet about it,” he announced; “and I didn’t spend much on myself; I didn’t need to, then. But now that’s dif- ferent.”” His champagne glass was full again, and, excited by all he was picturing, he drained it in a gulp. “*More than that,” he asserted, “more than that, you'll never guess there was such a thing as prohibition; not the w: ly we will live or where we'll go. Champagne She told him that it sounded like a chorus girl’s vision. “‘What I was trying to explain,” Vida added, “was not like that at all. I wanted you to see something in me that wasn’t clear; I wanted you to understand it This was it—that perhaps I was not, not yet, spoiled. Do make an effort, Govett. You see, the life I've had does spoil so much Oh, entirely! You spend it for nothing you care for, really; you give it without getting a thing back; and then, soon, you begin to be satisfied; you don’t want anything it’s just a nuisance if it comes. But I think that hasn’t quite happened to me “Certainly not,’ he replied, bringing his open hand sharply down on the _ table; “didn’t you tell me you were just like a girl, with all of it before you? Well, I was answer- ing that, and expl: uining a lot you didi y suspect. I’m rich! That’s the plain tru I let it accumulate, for you. UDDENLY she leaned across the tab’ the light a gold film on the exposed beauty of her breast. “Don’t tell me about it,”’ she cried; “not another word. You couldn't have hear what I said to you. Don’t be stupid. It isn’t important how rich you are. Do yo suppose there haven't been men in my life richer than you could ever be, men who would think you were poor? Oh, how can you be such a fool! I can’t imagine whats happening to you, Govett. I can't. I've been trying to make you see that I don't want to be all wasted; I want to keep a little of me, of what I used to hope, alive Of course I'll have an automobile with a flower in it, but what else? No one talks about rings and strings of pearls; they're there or they aren’t. Don’t be common In a shocked voice he answered, “Vida, you must be drunk. I was only trying to let you see how nicely everything was turning out. What is there common in that?” ee His tone and bearing were charged with an injured dignity; he was glad to see that his champagne glass had been filled. Bracier had always heard that women were w reasonable, but until now he hadn’t reali ed the exactness of that familiar and larg ely masculine complaint. to,” Vida replied, “I am not drunk Perhaps [ will be. You haven’t helped staying sober.” He said, “If you think I am, then you just simply and totally don’t know what getting drunk is. Have I shot any of your Chinos’ (Continued on page 190)

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for APRIL 1926 189 Re ae LES POUDRES OS sb 2 ee softly clearly luminous CL A: 7 on of. | pearl 25 the complexion that ts smoothed : wit COTY Face Powder. : With their subtle blending of : | delicate true tones and. wnferate softness of texture they empart that clear freshness, that glory; Z- cation of natural colouring which t. gives an trresistible glamour Zo beauty, c%n their fragrance lees an added ravishment. ALL DISTINCTIVE COTY SHADES AND FRAGRANCES ARE DUPLICATED IN THE SLENDER. COTY COMPACTE Address "Dept. H. B.- 4” “THE finesse or PERFUME” cH new booklet of @Goty creations wrtleresting lo all women — on request te © Me: at INC 714 fifth Henue, SY ew York. CANADA — 55 MSGi!I! Co lege Ave, Montreal ng BLANC - NATUREL - ROSENO.1 - ROSENO.2 - RACHELNO.1 - RACHELNO.2 --OCRE - OCRE-ROSE

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190 EZ OUTDOORS / ae ere hether it be this Townfield coat or a Townfield tailored suit, the smart woman is assured of correct and appropriate attire for all out-doors. cAt Smart Shops Everywhere ev FINGER-CAHN COMPANY INCORPORATED 270 WEST 38tn STREET, NEW YORK SSS ee_ BD HARPER’S BAZAR TAMPICO Joseph Hergesheimer’s No vel (Continued from page 188) No. Have I as much as breathed on you? Listen to this—when I did get drunk the whole city of Tampico knew it; there were plenty of men who hid in their rooms until it was over; a number of them wouldn't take the chance of being on the street. When I was really drunk the pianos in the Union all used to stop and the girls would close the shutters and put out the lights.” “Govett,”’ Vida asked, “could it be that all I have heard about you was only lies? Did you really build this sea terminal and drill wells and lay pipe through hell? It doesn’t seem possible now, listening to you. I don’t want to hear any more about the Unfon and pianos and girls, either. I can take those for granted. It all makes me quite sick.” Bradier was bewildered: he couldn’t begin to grasp how what he had said could make her sick. It had been as gay as it was re- assuring. He could only reiterate, but this time to himself, that she was drunk. How- ever. he didn’t mind that; it was, on the contrary, rather funny. There was another explosion, in the remotest distance, of a champagne cork. “‘We might as well,”’ he heard Vida say. Personally, he was tired of champagne: he wasn’t a balloon to be floated by gas to his meeting in Zacamixtle with General Rayén; and he was relieved to find that the moment for coffee and brandy had arrived. His sight was blurred, but he managed to see Vida with the liquor glass in her hand P erhé aps she drank, secretly. ‘ida,”’ he said, very seriously, “darling, I’d rather you didn’t have that brandy. A few cocktails are all right, and champagne, but not that. Men can drink it, but it’s heavy for women. And, I have to tell you this, drinking will ruin your good looks. It will make you fat. I’ve seen too much of that. For example, it spoiled Soledad. I warned her over and over, but she wouldn’t listen to me. When women do things like smoking and drinking they always do them too hard. They haven’t any moderation. And you ought . you ought to consider Gille; she might be awake when you went up- stairs and want to see you. Vida, remem- ber you’re a mother.” Her reception of this reminder absolutely disconcerted him: Vida burst into a long rising hysterical laughter. “Oh,” she gasped, can't it! Remember, I’m a mother! She grew incoherent again. “What is it now?”’ he demanded, exasper- ated. “It seems that you are never willing to be serious or let me give you advice. I understand what you meant, too, and I hate sarcasm. It’s beneath you, Vida; cand so is this hard drinking. I’m surprised.” She was, he made out, limp from laughing. At any rate, her head was lying in her arms on the table; in the stillness of the room he heard what he thought must be a sob. Her bare shoulders moved slightly. Bradier got up with the intention of going to her—he had been inexcusably harsh with her, with Vida—but he couldn't manage to reach her; he was continually running into the walls, confused by chairs. Vida was miles away from him. Bradier wanted desperately to be close to her, to beg her to forgive his clumsi- and he called to her, Vida, Vida; but she didn’t answer him; he couldn’t cross the endless space that separated them. I can’t bear Govett, you!” ness; NSTEAD, he found himself in the hall, and, remembering the cool Gulf breeze that had revived him earlier in the evening, he went out on the veranda. The wind had stopped, there wasn’t a murmur from the Gulf of Mexico, the sky was full of wavering stars. In a few minutes he would go back to Vida and stop her crying; she had nothing to cry about; she ought to be happy, with the whole world before them. The tide was low—he was, he found, on the beach—and he walked unsteadily over the beaten sand; at times he was at the edge of the water, like the snipe, and then his feet were deep in soft, hot sand. Bradier went on and on through the darkness, repeating that almost at once he would go back to Vida Vida with her head on her arms Evidently she had tried to tell him some- thing, but what the devil it was he couldn't make out; and certainly she hadn’t been = complimentary. The fact was that she had begged him not to be common. But all he had said was that he’d give her pearls; he had wanted Vida to know that he could care for her properly, provide her with the things that were—were in her blood; show her that he, too, knew what was essential. However, it was no good trying to understand a woman, the thing was to accept them as they were, and make the best of it. That wouldn't be difficult with Vida, though, who was marvel- ous. Exactly what he liked. Lovely body. Champagne. And here he had been neglecting her; no wonder she was upset; he turned so quickly that he fell forward on his knees and got up with difficulty. Bradier hurried un- evenly to the Corews’ house. He wanted to kiss Vida, to hold her close to him and kiss her. That was what women needed—kisses, More than emeralds. HIS concentration slowly increased its domination of his blurred mind, the stars ceased to rock and his pace grew more secure. He went directly across the veranda and hall and into the dining-room. Vida was still at the table, and he crushed her into his arms, against his face, half lifting her from the chair. She was utterly unresponsive; her mouth was cold; her face was as white, as still, as a dead wom: in’s. “Vida,” he cried, “Vida don’t you love me?” Her gaze, at once fixed and blank, drove him away from her. “Why, ves, Govett,” she answered; “of course I love you. I have never loved any one else. And you are going to give me so much.” The monotony, the lifeless tone. of her voice increased his sobriety. The desire to possess her vanished before a feeling of deep wretchedness. Bradier took a cigaret from a box on the table, and, lighting it, he sat quietly beside her. He had made a hideous mistake; in some important way that he couldn’t yet fathom he had failed her. Govett Bradier realized that he had no grasp at all on the values of his new existence. It proceeded without recognizable cause; where once he had been sure of himself, of his words and acts, now nothing could be predicted; he got drunk on almost nothing and behaved inexcusably. Vida was holding her cordial glass and, quietly, he took it from her fingers. Her manner, her look, her nerveless hand, fright- ened him. “You have promised me so much,” she said; ‘isn’t the re anything you want that [ could give you? The pain at his heart was unendurable. “Nothing, Vida, he answered humbly. “You have already given me more than any one could ask. Just by loving me. And then there is the future. She laughed. ‘The future, what’s that, Govett? Where will we be? I wouldn’t count on the future. That would be a shade silly. We'll take our rings and our—our love when we can get them. And here we are together, alone, in Chorreras, at the sea terminal; you know Mexico isn’t anywhere. What happens there? Who cares? What is it you want? “Nothing,” he repeated, more firmly, with the extravagant feeling that she had been desperately hurt but from her tone and not because of what she said. If she had had dinner at seven, at a reasonable hour, how incalculably much would have been saved. But late dinner was part of her life, it was one of the many minute differences between them “Vida,” he proceeded, ‘I wish you would go to bed. The sooner this night is over for us the better it will be. I can’t tell you how I regret ...the brandy. It will never happen again like that, Vida. And you mustn’t think I was trying to impress you with those damned details; I was happy to have them for vou, that was all. Being near to you was what went to my head.” She reached for a cigaret, and he held her hand, steadying the match flame. “TIT don’t mind,”’ she said laboriously. “Presby had the things you haven't, and they didn’t make enough difference to me. It’s simply a habit of mine to be critical; I mean unpleasant. I'll never get over it and so you'll have to. What I tried to say wasn’t important. It was something I thought I wanted, but it doesn’t exist; and you know I have a great deal of sense.” Suddenly he didn’t want her to have any sense at all. “If you have,” he up and end this so-so told her, miserable ‘you will go BE ed To- morrow you will explain everything to me. We'll forget this. She rose. “Of course,” she agreed. “We will forget it for the rest of our lives ’ She caught his arm and kept herself erect, together they moved into the hall. There, instinctively, she made up her lips, lightly touched her face with powder, and gave him a brilliant smile “Really, you have been very correct,” she said enigmatically, leaving him. What in God’s name did she mean by that, he wondered? There had been even a trace of mockery in her voice. At any rate, at the last, she had been the Vida he was familiar with, beautifully contained and difficult and desirable. She had, too, an excellent head for drinking H& WALKED away from the house burdened by a heavy feeling of dissatis- faction, of failure, and filled with resentment at himself. He had been a cursed fool. Continued on page 192)

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y wee SS SO oe oo. “” — eer oe ee for APRIL 1926 ohn Davey’ great contribution to America John Davey was born in England, June 6, 1846, at a time when there were no public schools. This hardy and humble genius was twenty-one before he knew hisA BC’s. So he started in as a full grown young man to learn to read by the slow and painful process of self-education. He began with a little copy of the New Testament and a small dictionary, picking out one word at a time. Later he acquired a grammar so that he might put the words together properly, meanwhile studying horticulture and land- scape gardening during a full apprentice- ship at Torquay, England. Then he heard the call of America, this great land of freedom and opportunity; and, like millions of other sturdy sons of Europe, he came here to work out his des- tiny. He pursued his education still fur- ther, working by day and studying by night, until he acquired an education that would do credit to the majority of college graduates. Perhaps one of the most striking th‘ngs about him was the fact that he became one of the finest Americans. He learned every word of ourconstitution. He learned every word of every verse of America and the Star Spangled Banner; and, until old age laid its heavy hand upon him, he could sing those songs with a zeal and a fervor that was good to see. He became a full citizen at the first op- portunity under our law, and to him it was a sacred day when he raised his right hand THE DAVEY TREE EXPERT Joun Davey, Father of Tree Surgery, ‘‘Do it right or not at all”* and forswore allegiance to the British crown and swore allegiance to the con- stitution and the flag of America. And al- ways, during his fifty years in his adopted country whenever he passed by Old Glory, he would tip his hat in veneration. John Davey saw with eyes of under- standing and sympathy the appalling neg- lect and butchery of America’s trees, and he set out to find a way—a systematic, scientific way—to save them, little dream- ing thata great business would be developed on the science that his love and genius created. And thus came into being the wonderful profession of Tree Surgery. His first book, The Tree Doctor, was published in 1g01, and then began the gradual development of The Davey Tree Expert Company, incorporated in 1gog, Cc @.4 in Cc., $92 Giznzy BANK doing a business of nearly $2,000,000 in 1925, and now having in the field nearly zoo master Tree Surgeons, all carefully selected, thoroughly trained, properly dis- ciplined, and regularly supervised, and giv- ing superior service to the tree owners of America. For twenty years the business of this institution has been managed by his son, Martin L. Davey, whose highest aim has been to perpetuate the ideals and phi- losophy of his pioneer father. John Davey, though not now living, still lives in the spirit and purpose of the magnificent service that he rendered his adopted country—he taught the American people to think in terms of the living tree. Greater even than his creation of the in- valuable science of Tree Surgery is his con- tribution as the apostle of the tree as a living thing. KENT, BLDG., OHIO Branch offices with telephones: New York, 501 Fifth Ave., phone: Murray Hill 1629; Albany, City Savings Bank Bldg.; Boston, Massachusetts Trust Bldg.; Philadelphia, Land Title Bldg.; Baltimore, American Bidg.; Washington, Investment Bldg.; Pittsburgh, 331 Fourth Ave.; Buffalo, 110 Franklin St.; Cleveland, Hippodrome Bldg.; Detroit, General Motors Bldg.; Cincinnati, Mercantile Library Bidg. ; Indianapolis, Fletcher Savings and Trust Bldg. ; Chicago, Westminster Bldg.; St. Louis, Arcade Bldg.; Kansas City, Scarritt Bldg.; Minneapolis, Andrus Bldg.; Montreal, Insurance Exchange Bldg. DAVEY TREE SURGEONS Live and work in your vicinity— quickly available, within easy motoring distance—no carfare charged 191

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DEL MONTE-HICKEY L FABRICS MAKE THE MODE C lothes Distinction in Sport for Spring lies in the harmony of hues a2 @ and fabrics. cA new suggestion to be found at your favorite Shop DEL MONTE-HICKEY 246 WEST 38TH STREET, NEW YORK N E W HARPER’S BAZA IDEAS FROM THE PARIS OPENINGS Marjorte Howard’s Article (Continued from page 08) makes it take important lines. The collection ends with a very exciting frock in black chiffon the wide skirt of which is covered with petals of velvet, while a sash, tied low in the back, trails on the floor. THE COLLECTION OF JENNY ENNY’S well-planned homogeneous col- lection is, as usual, a very large one. It provides an entire outfit for the smart woman from sports clothes to wedding gown. One might characterize it in general terms as a collection of coats. Every sort of costume has its accompanying coat; but the most striking feature of all is the three-quarter coat of en- tirely different material which she puts over frocks, both for sports and street wear. We have had the colored frock and the black coat, but Jenny reverses the process and puts, over a frock of black crépe de Chine, a coat of light fawn broadcloth or etamine which reminds one of the covert cloth jackets every one was wearing in the ‘nineties. There is an example in the Last Minute sketches on page 142, showing a frock of leaf-green angora jersey with a coat of beige eta- mine, which, in itself, has nothing to do with the case. Other sports frocks have little sleeveless box coats of gay fabrics; plaid frocks have coats of plain; many have three- quarter sleeves, open at the cuff, and showing the puffed or tight cuff of the frock or blouse underneath them. The cape is quite second- ary to the coat in this house, at least. There are quantities of dresses in this col- lection, and many of them have attractively feminine touches of lace. Black crépes de Chine or Georgette crépes have little chemi settes and sleeves of thin black Chantilly; or the black frocks have jabot collars and odd cuffs of imitation point de Venise in faint cream. In many models, a long diagonal line from one shoulder to the opposite hip, is accented either by drapery, or by a band of another color. Luza has drawn some of these models on page ninety-six. Jenny always did like to edge things in interesting ways. This year one of her favorite ideas is the little circuiar ruffle, set at the edge of all kinds of models, from a taffeta tailleur to a lamé evening wrap. Trim straight lines characterize this collec- tion, and even the evening gowns have a smart neatness that is a contrast to the full, not to say sloppy, frocks sometimes worn. Jenny is not tired of beads, but she uses the very finest obtainable. Sometimes she beads and embroiders a jumper; sometimes she entirely covers the surface of a straight satin gown with beaded designs, carefully studied to flatter the lines of the body, and most cleverly adapted by her clever fitters to the figure of each individual client. THE COLLECTION OF D@UILLET (EUILLET has very definitely adopted the slogan ‘“‘Womanly clothes for women”’ this season. Even his sports things have banished all trace of masculine lines. His special province is the soft, essentially femi nine frock which he renews in inspiration every year, and in which women have a chance to look prettier than they are. He agrees with every one else in retaining the ensemble in high favor, and uses for it plain colored coats of crépe de Chine, silk alpaca, or fine wool rep, with frocks of bordered silk alpaca, toile de soie, or the pretty small-flowered prints of the season. Little sports frocks of crépe have sleeveless jumpers of Rodier’s kashanatté or kashatoile in matching colors. Others have box coats of matching cotton vel- vet. Sailor collars complete some of these frocks. Deeuillet is particularly fond of the pastel colors, especially faded blue, and above all the faint gray-pinks and faded pinky lilacs. These are made into frocks that are often slightly bloused over tight hips, have deep V décolletés in the front, and skirts softly full, with a waist-line that rises from back to front. An effect of smallness and flatness round the waist and top of the hip is achieved in various ways, by tucks, shirring, et cetera. When he uses taffeta, his lines flare more crisply; but his most original use of this debated fabric is in evening coats, flared very slightly, and stitched all over in interest- ing quilting patterns with thin silver thread. The evening gowns, a speciality of the house, are particularly good, and run all the way from simple affairs of faint colored chiffon, to most elaborate embroideries in tube beads, paillettes and metal threads. THE COLLECTION OF MOLYNEUY N OLYNEUX’S collection is always ex- 4 tremely well stage-managed. His mannequins are well-groomed, well-trained, and all their accessories are carefully chosen. They have a style of their own, as distinctive as that which characterizes the clothes they wear. In this collection I always expect simple attractive morning frocks, sports clothes such as one sees worn by smart women at smart resorts, lace and chiffon afternoon gowns that one pictures on the emerald lawns of English race-tracks, and evening things really designed for dancing. In recent collections Captain Molyneux has been much preoccupied with skirts, and they are still extremely elaborate; but this year he has paid a bit more attention to their accompanying bodices. A Georgette crépe dance frock, such as Luza has drawn on page ninety-five may have a most elaborate skirt of beaded pale blue leaves, but its straight simple bodice is also touched with cleverly placed lines of brilliance, where last year it would have been left severely alone. A slightly more fitted line is given to this same bodice, but its skirt continues to start its soft fulness from a point below the hip. Molyneux, with others, is evidently ex- pecting another cool summer, for he has prepared for it, as so many of the designers have done, by adding transparent coats to his décolleté frocks. There is a lace one on page ninety-five. For his more formal eve- ning gowns he loves to use paillettes both in designs and in the solid masses which make a fabric. He fringes his abbreviated skirts with strips of Georgette sewn with rows of spangles, and he likes to pick out the pattern of a flowered chiffon with shiny spangles of the same colors. His skirts are softly full, but they are rarely cut circular, and fluttery effects are added by trails and panels from the shoulders. He likes ensembles of both coat and frock and cape and frock, and one of his best day- time models has a clever combination 01 both. It is done in Meyer’s light brown frisca, a fabric which Molyneux was one of the first to use. He believes in the use of summer furs, and dyes them to match his materials, even when the colors are pastel blues and greens. But his fur collars are restrained in size. His coats are all lengths from the little bolero and box coat models to full length affairs which cover their accom panying dresses. He keeps to his plan of making evening ensembles of coats and frocks of the same material. One is in leaf green satin, the frock quite plain, and 1 the full-sleeved coat spangled all over with the new shiny silver spangles which look like little Maltese crosses. THE COLLECTION OF LENIEF HE reception given by Lenief to the press on the evening before his formal opening is always a delightful affair, and the clothes Continued on page 103) TAMPICO Joseph Herge Novel €tmeéer §$ Continued from page 10 d f Anything, however outrageous, would have been better than his vacillating moods, his ridiculous speeches. He remembered word for word what he had said to Vida, and he felt his face grow hot, crimson, with chagrin. He had begged her to remember thz ¥ she was a mother. No wonder she had grown hysterical. In his embarrassment he was obliged to smile. He hadn’t realized that the absurd and the serious could lie so closely together, like the fingers of his hand; since the serious, Bradier had thought, at least deserved a dignity of circumstance. But it (To be continued in the May issue) seemed not. He had been merely ludicrous; a trained bear would have done as well. r In his room his discomfort deepened rathet than diminished; he rr 1 himself again that he re- had been a fool. ‘“‘A fool!” he exclaimed peating the term with a loud and bitter \V That was a thing no woman could easily forg or forgive. But then, he reflected,Vida had not been in a condition to observe him with an entire clarity, not finally. A curious inherited prejudice floated up into his conscious i he did object to her veiled in cigaret sn and saturated in champagne.

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rous, ither it he 1, re- igor. yrget {not h an rited ind: sake 1OKE APRIL 1926 WORTH Worth believes a mother and daughter should be dressed by the same establishment. Here Madame’s richly embroidered dress has a silver lamé bodice and a skirt of royal blue chiffon. Mademoiselle’s first party frock is of white chiffon and white tulle. The little bolero of white tulle is entirely embroidered in strass. NEW IDEAS FROM THE PARIS OPENINGS Marjorie How ard’s Article (Continued from page 192 are so well shown to the accompaniment of lulling Hawaiian music, that it is a pleasure to look at them. An amusing note, this season, was a striking rearrangement of masculine and feminine style. Last year our suits, coat-frocks, and sports things were definitely manly, while the afternoon dresses and evening clothes were invariably womanly. This year, Lenief has feminized daytime attire, even the sports things, and borrowed from men’s dress for his evening clothe: s. He makes dinner jackets—‘‘smokings” the French call them—of lamé combined with satin or with fragile chiffon. One has a jacket of gold and white brocade, with a white satin waistcoat and a finely plaited crépe skirt of faint banana color. Another uses green and gold lamé for its coat, and has a waistcoat and skirt of plain white satin. A third has a transparent cape of white chiffon fringed with silver, a silver lamé waistcoat, and a skirt of softly hung chiffon, very short. Another white chiffon frock, all the edges of which show the natural selvage, is completed by a mannish little coat of gold lace. Leniet’s color schemes are always individual. This year his palette is quite unusual. Be- sides a good deal of pale “fruit” yellow, from banana to grapefruit color, he employes a special blue-black which we named “swallow” as it went by; many peach and apricot tones, and some very special reds. He has some novel trimmings as well—a silk fur, for example, which imitates white monkey, and some equally original thread fringes. His materials include a great many of the Rodier kashas for morning wear, plain crépes but few patterned ones, quantities of Geor- gette and chiffon, including chiffon printed with the favorite field-flowers, some colored linens, an entire skirt of silver mesh, and a gown, sketched by Luza, entirely composed of silver thread cobwebs. Taffeta he uses only as trimming bands on other materials. - . , THe Correction OF RENEE age XNEE is an individualist who refuses to hange her style. Long ago she adopted the long waist, swathed hip, and skirt hung in panels, and she has done little to change this general plan. Hers was, and is, a singu- larly feminine interpretation of the mode with quantities of the finest needlework for which the ouvriéres of Paris are famous the world over. Even when she makes a strict tailleur, she softens it with a blouse covered with finest tucking or hemstitching, usually in quite another color. She makes plenty of ensembles, like every one else, but the tailor suit is more heavily represented here than elsewhere this season, possibly because she wears it very well her- self. In her ensembles, she has an original way of combining print and plain material, using the print to line bands, plaits, or scarfs of the plain, in a manner that allows its pat- tern to be glimpsed rather than seen. She divides her interest between capes and coats, and both are apt to be decorated with rows of buttons. Some of the coats, instead of but- toning, tie across to one side in a diagonal line. Ever so many of the frocks tie at the neck in front with ribbons of two colors, in a short bow with very long hanging ends. She also sets bands of grosgrain ribbon in trimming -~ s into plain materials. s long ago as last year, Renée began to be iain rested in the new soft taffetas, using them for ensembles in combination with other materials, such as kasha, rep and charme- laine. She continues to do so this season, sometimes using the silk for the frock and sometimes for the coat. Her principal day- time colors are dark navy blue, black, dark green, and niggerhead brown, but she also shows light browns and beiges, and some special “‘tomato soup’ > reds. Very fine hem- stitching, quantities of flat tailor braids, bias folds, et cetera, are inconspicuously used on these models in accordance with her invariable rule. For afternoon she likes nothing better than laces, but she uses a somewhat heavier kind, with a small pattern, and sometimes ciré, in such colors as navy and blue-mauves. These make typical frocks with low waist- lines, often girdled, and with many panels, from the shoulders or all round the skirt. A very new note in her collection is the shawl- (Continued on page 104) Le Basque Marin the latest sailor of Reboux. wv rection __> The wanton buying of unnecessary and ill advised clothes may fill many ward- robes but it does not produce satisfied customers. The sure road to permanent success for the retailer of fine clothes is in presenting merchandise of authen- tic style. For fifteen years we have given our cUus- tomers unerring rare direction in women’s hats. MAKERS OF TAILORED HAT | erEvans Co FIFTH AVENUE at 361m STREET NEW YORK Importers and Promoters of Style Certainties!

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“LANVIN A mother and daughter dressed by Lanvin. The mother’s dress is white crépe Turco, a sort of Georgette, hich shows at the side of the skirt and in front. lreuse green & The little girl x linen, broidery. The little sun NEW IDEAS with bands of white bonnet of same over char- ears a frock and bolero jacket of old blue and red cotton Breton em- materials. FROM THE PARIS OPENINGS Marjorie HIloward’s Article Continued from page 103) wrap with evening dress, which is a sort of cape, made of a fringed crépe shawl, draped in a most unusual way. A bright dark red one is worn over a glittery white gown, and a brilliant green one over a frock of silver lace. THe COLLECTION OF BEER EER seems to believe in the cape, for he makes it to accompany all types of clothes, from the smart sports frock in tweeds to the charming evening gown in faintly colored chiffon. So many of the collections have insisted upon the cape, that the question of its general adoption becomes one of the most important points of the spring mode. There are pros and there are cons, and their arguments are impressive and closely rea- soned; but only the taste of the Parisienne (influenced by the sort of weather we get) can decide. Beer’s capes are either just to the waist, or full length. His silhouette is straight in impression, but a close look shows quantities of plaits, from Rodier’s ‘‘milply” to the large box plaits which almost every one uses for sports things. He likes the tailleur, and makes it in black and in navy blue, with a short neat jacket and trimmings of fine braid or cording, in rep or charmelaine. Both crépella and frisca are favorite woolen materials, the latter sometimes in the hem- stitched variety. For the afternoon we have a quantity of soft, feminine frocks in printed chiffon and in crépe de Chine of charming colors. For the evening, the white gown reigns, but when lace is used it may be black, beige, or even green or dark red. Taffeta is confined in the main to robes de style in faded tones like old- fashioned flower paintings. Both the daugh- ter and her mother may be sure of finding clothes that they will love to wear in the col- lection of Beer. Tuer COLLECTION OF MARTIAL ET ARMAND N \DAME VALLET, the creator of modes 4 at Martial et Armand’s, has worked out that rare thing, a new silhouette. She calls it ‘the page boy”’ and you may see what it looks like on page 144 where Soulié has drawn it. She does it usually in taffeta, one of the favorite materials of her collection, and it gives a line which is strikingly novel in a season of prev ailingly soft silhouettes. The model drawn is a special interpretation of the silk tailleur, and the entire collection is rich in models of the tailored sort. The little “‘box coat,” worn with a crépe frock is found in many of the collections. Madame Vallet’s version is in cotton velvet, and is made even more feminine by matching silk thread embroidery. The whole thing is so soft, so delicately colored, that it seems a misnomer to call it a “‘tailleur”’ at all. The feminization of such clothes is one of the strong notes of the new season. Afternoon models i in this collection are very much “worked,” as the French say. 1 he y are often of Georgette, either plain or mixe: 1 with fine lace, and there is much fine needlework about them, especially a sort of lace which looks like the heaviest sort of crochet, but which is in reality made of loops and loops ot tiny bias folds. Plaid effects are given by lines of colored silk stitching, or by beading. With afternoon frocks, there are quantities of Cc apes. For the evening, there are lovely transpar- ent Georgette and chiffon coats, trimmed with fox, and worn over fascinating chiffon frocks. Chiffons are often incrusted with écru lace Favorite colors are pale and pretty—water green, faint yellow green, green-blue, peach, pale rose, et cetera. For the daytime, we find black and navy blue. Favorite materials are taffeta, cotton velvet, Georgette, lace, and thin chiffon called ‘souffle de soie.” THe CoOLLtecTION OF YTEB TEB marches with her times. This year, she has completely abolished trimming ot all sorts, and uses incrustations of material, pin tucks, plaits, or cords to accent the r« ully important lines of her models. She adapts, in every case, her silhouette to the mats rial, so that the collection, instead of being easy (Concluded on page 196)

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Outstanding among the many smart Beaucraft offerings for Spring is the Mowbra Suit, delightfully fashioned of Maxton imported cloth, bound with Brayton braid. Yhe cleverly painted “Russian scarf tops the blouse of Mellis silk, and becomes the finishing touch to a most distinctive costume. William Bloom & Co. Incorporated 136 Madison Avenue, New York Beaucraft N E W Marjorie to summarize, should really be described as a series of separate models. She loves the jumper frock, and uses two colors for it this year, the top being lighter in shade, while the skirt matches the coat, and the lining of the blouse. The skirt is almost always plaited, and the vareuse comes just to the hips. Short capes are sometimes added. All the dragée colors are used for these attrac- tive costumes—blue, rose, pale gray, clear green, and yellow, not forgetting beige. Her slightly more formal frocks are fre quently of this season’s charming prints, either crépe or chiffon, and they are often sleeveless. Their coats are of plain crépe, kasha, or tussore. A great novelty is her big brooch of crystal and brilliants, the latter set in black onyx. She makes these in pairs, one as a buckle or hip brooch and the other as a shoulder pin, and they may be worn on frocks for any time of day or evening. Her evening frocks have a décolleté which is square in front and deeply oval in back, for she thinks that a deep décolleté is really necessary for a formal eve- ning gown. There are a few evening frocks which drape to one hip in a way that bears watching for the future. THe COLLECTION OF YVONNE DAVIDSON N RS. DAVIDSON’S collection is always . full of interest because there is so much intelligence behind it, and because much of it is especially planned for the distinguished American clients who dress at her house. This year, for example, she is showing part of her collection on a tall, rather heavy manne quin, a great contrast to the little slips of girls with narrow shoulders and no hips whatever who are the accepted mannequin style. She does this because among her clients are women of the former type; and she very cleverly wishes, not only to show them clothes especially designed for their figure, but to accustom her workwomen and fitters before- hand to making clothes of this kind, so differ- ent in proportion from the second type. She specializes this year in tailleurs of feminized form and unusual material; and in soft, charming dresses, in which the most novel idea is the incrustation of one shade on another in odd forms, reminiscent of the Decorative Arts Exhibition. These forms are studied for each figure and are most artistic and individual. Her specialty, the combination model, is worked out this season in new ways, so that one costume becomes a complete week-end wardrobe with a bit of adjustment. Double coats and jackets of two colors, such as yellow and gray (her favorite combination) with a double blouse and little skirt with Chinese plaits in front of it, are manipulated so as to give a sports frock, and afternoon ensemble or even a simple evening gown. Such a costume as this perfectly solves the problem of carrying sufficient changes in an auto mobile suit-case. THe COLLECTION OF REDFERN HOUGH at Redfern’s they have almost given up the circular cut, the models still have ple nty of soft movement, so suitable to the rushing lives of women of to-day. Skirts have plaits or panels to widen them, without aaiee a flaring silhouette; but waist-lines are rather snug, and somewhat higher than they were Perhaps the greatest novelty of the col- lection is a two-piece idea for evening, of which the “‘jumper”’ top is in solid paillettes in delicate colors, and the skirts in chiffon or marquisette, which is still thinner, arranged in big soft unpressed plaits. There are many ensembles of coat and frock Howard’s (Concluded from page 104) HARPER’S BAZAR IDEAS FROM THE PARIS OPENINGS Article and also many capes often full length for daytime. Taffeta is used for good coats worn over chiffon frocks. Neat trim frocks have lingerie touches at neck and cuffs; and the sleeves, tight in the upper part of the arm, are of quite imposing proportions at the wrist. But this is only done when the material js light enough to stand the fulness without looking clumsy. Favorite materials for the daytime are Rodier’s crépella, Meyer's frisca, charme- laine, and rep, with masses of printed flowery chiffons made into charming frocks. For the evening, there are taffeta, lace, and gowns of beading and spangles. The special color of the collection is a yellow-green. But string color, mauve, blue, navy, and black are all important. THE COLLECTION OF BERNARD Er Ciz ERNARD AND COMPANY adopted, this year, the everspreading custom of explaining their collection in the newspapers beforehand. They warned us to watch for the “chevron line’ ’ and the “three-piece evening ensemble.” The chevron line turns out to be the pretty waist-line which is curved quite low in the back and raised to a point at normal or above normal in the front. We called this the Indo-Chinese line when it ap- peared so prominently in the February col- lections of 1923, and it is becoming to almost every type of figure. They say they redis- covered its charm in studying the Venus of Milo in the Louvre, and there is more than one classic torso which might well be clothed in a robe with this idea. The collection falls very readily into three groups—tailleurs and coat-frocks of neat, trim line; afternoon dresses in soft materials, with a great deal of delicate work about them, and evening gowns, often beaded, often com- posed of a mixture of Georgette and taffeta which is prettier than taffeta used alone. The “three piece” idea, applied to evening dress, is the showing of evening gowns with wraps designed for each, and very elegant it is. Sometimes the frock is in simple chiffon and the accompanying cape heavily spangled; sometimes it is the frock which is elaborate and the wrap plain. A whole series of reds is found here, poppy, brick, sang du beuf, and darker shades. Green-blues and the faint yellow-greens called tilleul are favorites, and string color and bois de rose are not missing. For the daytime, we find black and navy blue. THE COLLECTION OF DOUCET OTH dots and checks—the 5 favor- ite patterns—are much used by Doucet for charming frocks and ensembles with plain coats. These coats are frequently black or navy blue. The ensemble idea runs right through the collection, though the coat is sometimes replaced by a cape. Kasha, black satin, and various crépes are lavishly used, and often combined with prints. Some plaids are used, especially the attractive chiffon plaids with black edges. Taffeta is made into most attractive coats, often quilted all over, while matching crépe de Chine is used for the simple but perfect frocks. Quilting is also seen on short coats of velveteen in pastel colors worn with crépe frocks. For evening, there are many lace gowns, often black, and a novelty in a net of artificial silk, which is extraordinarily brilliant. This is often in quite strong colors, but the white evening gown is not neglected. One white Georgette crépe gown is amusingly embroi- dered with an immense leaf, from neck te hem, and called appropriately “Eve It is sketched on the Last Minute sketches on page 143.

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for APRIL 1926 1 for Oats and arm, vist. ial is hout >» are irme- wery r the ns of or of tring e all turns irved nt at We t ap- > col- most redis- us of than othed ton nica alice get RE x ea ‘y bg & * + Y ie J 2 % a * * im : Sgt 2: A My ‘ 3 - — ae J oucet 4 z plain ss - ck or = P right * +, vat is & Jy black 23 5. used, + - plaids hiffon e into over, d for ng is ficial This — . .- . . re Quaker Bon Volant Curtains Give the Correct Feminine Touch! ck to It is pene and decoratorshaveconspired these dual needs? Have you seen the new es on = . to give the modern Home a dual nature Quaker Bon Volant Curtains? @ : a aed : z : , her sear 2a: rightly giv oe ee t0 The soft flounced border gives the desired the facade; decoratorswith equal justiceinsist- — tguch of the feminine to the interior decora- ing on a feminine dominance in the interior. tions; the simple severe Quaker Net main- ; 2 a Can a window curtain be madeto harmonize _ tains the rugged architectural ensemble. “‘Decorators’ Methods of Window Curtaining”’ an interesting ooklet on decoration sent on request. QUAKER LACE COMPANY Wholesale Salesrooms: Lace Works and Accounting Rooms: 330 Fifth Avenue Lehigh Avenue and Fourth Street New York Philadelphia, Penn.

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ROUGE handmade by BOLRIOIS The Parisian origin of these eight rouges is evident ata glance. They blend verfectly. Their tones are definitel lovel — and definitely in good taste. T 1ey do 10nor to every type of complexion. They are: ASHES-OF-ROSES* Rouge, dark, med- ium, and light; Rouge MANDARINE*, frankly orange, a most sophisticated rouge for evening wear; Rouge VELVET-OF- PEACHES", ofa warm and tender pink with a ruddy tinge ; Rouge CORAL-ROSE*, a dashing, out-of-door rose and tan; Rouge FEMINA* and Rouge CURRANT- ROSE*, both charmingly modern in feeling, replete with the brilliance of sunlight. These are at their best when used with Bourjois’ MANON LESCAUT* Face Powder. Ng te Pig Bourjois shal bie] .,.»* Bourjois, Inc., 37 W. 34th St., NEW YORK CITY x —— HARPER’S BAZAR LEGITIMATE Arthur Somers man must have confidence; if he lack that, he is as a shoemaker without leather, a sculptor without marble, a poker player without cards. But—one must eat. So he pressed the button which summoned the waiter, and ordered breakfast. Then he climbed into the tub and buried his face repeatedly in the cold water. This, and the shave that followed, freshened him slightly, and when, attired in a dressing-gown that had won the respect of the valet de chambre, he seated himself before his morning meal, he was able even to find a certain relish in the French coffee. And a man who can enjoy French coffee may be down, but he is certainly not out. Like all gamblers, he was a lavish tipper, but this alone did not account for the eager- ness to please of the waiter who attended him. Not quite a gentleman, the waiter would have told you, but one destined to make a mark, whether black or white, what matter! As for the femme de chambre, who brought him his laundry, she thought him magnificent, and she was maternally cross because of his carelessness in money matters. “But look, M’sieu,” she exclaimed. She held up two five hundred franc notes. She shook her black head reproachfully. ‘‘To let so much money become entangled in a handkerchief! But for the goodness of the laundress and my own honesty, where would M’sieu be?” Culliney chucked her under the chin. He was one of the few men, outside of historical romances, who could do that sort of thing. “Marie, you’re a grand girl,” he told her. Inwardly he sighed, but outwardly he was the debonair gentleman whom Marie knew. Noblesse oblige! It mattered not that the Culliney fortunes had split upon a rock; Marie—and the so-honest laundress—were entitled to their bit, as Culliney phrased it. But for their rectitude, he would be out a thousand francs, fifty good dollars. So, without a quiver of countenance, he handed Marie one of the notes, and laughed away her gratitude. T WAS not an easy thing to do, for with a thousand francs one might again essay the tables. But five hundred was too pitifully small a sum. Oh, well, this was not his season, and Deauville was not his place. Better that Marie should be made happy by his gift than that the tables should take it away from him. With some small change he tipped the waiter, and then sat down by the open window and took stock. The five hundred franc note left to him after his generosity to Marie was the sum, practically, of his fortunes. Not enough to pay his hotel bill, not enough to stake him to another start at the tables, not enough for anything, except a bet on the races, and he shook his head at this idea. No gambling at all. Pressing your luck was all right when the luck was good, but not when it was bad He stared at the crowds that thronged the beach. He wondered how many of that gay gathering were unable to pay hotel bills, how many were thousands of miles from home, without a pal to kick in... . He took off his dressing-gown of heavy silk, and idly wondered what a French pawn-shop would lend on it. Would his wardrobe fetch enough to pay his bill at the hotel and buy him passage home? He regretted that he had not been like other gamblers and in the hey- day of prosperity purchased jewelry which might now be sold. But regrets were vain. He must march down-stairs and inform the management that he was insolvent, and then—he shuddered, and colored with advance shame. He decided to postpone the inevitable. No hurry about being kicked out and jailed. Luck might ee At least, he had the equivalent of twenty- five American dollars. He could buy a meal, enjoy a ride, get a chance to think. And a man couldn’t think in Deauville, not even in the seclusion of his room; the place was too hectic; its atmosphere crowded through closed windows. Some one had told him of the Inn of William the Conqueror; it was only a few miles to the south, and was the most delightful luncheon place on earth, it was maintained. Quiet, and restful, and away from Deauv !le. He’d Zo there. He dressed leisurely and made the usual stir among the feminine loungers in the lobby as he passed through an hour later. It didn’t matter that their male companions shrugged, grudgingly admitted that he was a personable chap, and added that he was probably a politician or bootlegger. He was attractive and that satisfied the ladies. Outside the hotel, he engaged a motor, bargained carefully, and started for the Inn of Guillaume le Conquerant. Forty minutes later he had surmounted the hills and had entered the ancient hostelry. In a patio, amid shrubs and flowers, he lunched magnifi- (Continued from page 111) Roche’s Story cently; the eighty-year-old brandy was al] that had been promised; the chicken was superb; the Norman cheese delicious. A good finish; now for the hotel and—disgrace, But, before that inglorious end, a cigar, another glass of the marvelous brandy. . . , To think that old Bill the Conqueror had hit the hay in this very inn, had wrapped himself around a bunch of eats, and then, accompanied by his barons, set sail across the Channel and knocked Harold the Saxon for a row of ash- cans. Just a Norman baron to-day and a king to-morrow. He finished the brandy, lighted a fresh cigar, accepted his change from the waitress, and strolled across the patio. The ancient man who owned the inn, and whose white beard and feeble frame made him seem a coeval of the Conqueror, had opened a door and was delivering a lecture to some guests, dilating upon the beauties of the treasures of the old salon. ULLINEY, lounging outside, heard a sharp Yankee voice. “‘T tell you, she’s lived abroad since before the war; she never reads an American paper; she never mixes with Americans; she plays with the English colony at Cannes in the winter, and with the English at le Touquet in the summer. Except as a place where she sends a check for taxes, she doesn’t know that Florida exists; it’s on the map ,that’s all.” “But, man alive,” said another voice, also masculine, “she must have heard of the Florida boom.” “*T tell you she hasn’t; she’s a real expatriate, who thinks America vulgar and all that stuff Now, her thousand acres are worth two million easy; half a mile of ocean frontage just north of Palm Beach—and listen, Bill: she'll prob- ably sell it for fifty thousand. And I have, right in my pocket, a bonafide offer from Belmore—you know him; the biggest stock plunger in the country—of eight hundred thousand for the property. Now—you buy it, and sell to me, as Belmore’s agent. Bel- more, if he ever finds out, can’t kick; he'll make a million for himself, anyway. What do you say?” Bill laughed cynically. ‘‘Give me her name again.” Culliney was pressed against the wall now; his heart had ceased to beat. As though his mind was plastic clay, it received the name that the other man, Belmore’s dishonest agent, uttered. “Mrs. Bannard Volmer, Villa Rosa, le Touquet. What do you say?” But Culliney didn’t wait to hear the rest; the men might come out of the room; they talked freely in front of an ancient French- man who knew no English, but if they found a compatriot near-by, suspicion would be aroused. He sped silently across the patio and hailed his chauffeur and stepped into his motor. Of all . ‘xe luck! Why had he gone broke last night? With just a few hundred dollars he could go to le Touquet, tie up this prop- erty owned by Mrs. Volmer. . . . He didn't doubt the words he’d overheard; he knew all about the Florida boom; the only dubious thing was Mrs. Volmer’s ignorance of the miraculous increase in values. Had she no attorney to inform her? But never mind that—the thing now was to raise dough— enough to get away, to bind the property, and then, await the arrival of Belmore’s agent. He had recognized the voice; it was that of a man named Sinclair, whom he had met casually at the tables. The other man he didn’t know, but that mattered nothing; he’d meet him in good time. Oh, lord, if he'd only held out some dough. He could be as much of a conqueror as old William was in ten hundred and sixty-six. Ten-oh-six-six! Six, six. Srx! The lord knew hunches were terrible, but this was one, if he’d ever come up with one in all his life. Feverishly he searched his pockets. After paying for the car, he’d have sixty francs left, to a centim:. Another six. HE ALIGHTED, half an hour later, at the Casino of Deauville. He entered and proceeded directly to the boule table, that imitation of roul tte, which appeals only t0 the poorer classes, and in which the odds are terribly in favor of the bank. . The limit permitted on a number was sixty francs, and the odds were seven to one. He bought three twenty franc chips and placed them on six: the big rubber ball settled on his chosen number; he let his original stake mde, twice again six came, and then, for an hour, his number came—as is so frequently the case in boule—every third or fourth roll of the ball. Culliney quit the table three thousand francs ahead an hour after he had arnived. He glanced at his watch and hurried from t Casino; in a taxi he raced to the track; the sixth horse on the program of the entries a the sixth race galloped home ahead, and the (Continued on page 200)

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The Insured ~“ "INDESTRUCT () Lee OS \ Address City. Arthur LEGITIMATE Somers HARPER’S BAZAR Roche’s Story (Continued from page 198) pari-mutuels paid Culliney five to He had fifteen thousand francs. His hotel bill amounted to twenty-five hundred francs, and he was able to engage a car to take him to le Touquet for another twenty-five hundred. At two in the morning he registered at the Hermitage Hotel, the possessor of nearly five hundred dollars if his currency were translated into American money. And at ten-thirty the following morning he was ushered, by a demure maid, into the presence of Mrs. Bannard Volmer. She was an angular, coldly formal person, who resented his presence. “Mr. Ward Culliney?” she inquired, look- ing up from the card which he had sent in to her. He bowed. “And what do you wish of me, Mr. Culli- ney?” she asked. “I’m in the real-estate business—in Florida,” he lied. “I am associated with a group of men who are interested in acquiring your ocean frontage north of Palm Beach. Happening to be abroad, I thought it might be profitable for both of us if I came to see you. Do you wish to sell?” Mrs. Volmer’s acid face relaxed slightly. “T should rather say so. The beastly land has only cost me taxes for years. My late husband acquired it in a moment of madness, and five years ago I absolutely forbade my attorney to mention the matter to me again. He wrote me recently that the land had increased in value—at least, I believe that that was the purport of his note—I tore it up after reading a paragraph or so, and wrote him never to annoy me again with the matter unless some one wished to buy it.” It was incredible; this conceited woman, so swollen with vanity that she did not wish to be compelled to think. ... “Well, I wish to buy it,” said Culliney. “T'll give—” he hesitated. He mustn't make his offer too small, nor too large. “I’ give one hundred thousand dollars for the land,” he said. “T will accept your offer,” without hesitation. “Of course,” he said, “it will take a long time to arrange for transfer, looking up title and all that. But if you'll sign a little agree- ment to sell, and accept a trifle—say five thousand francs, to bind the bargain?” He paused expectantly. “Certainly,” she replied. ‘“‘ Will you draw up the agreement, Mr. Culliney?” “How shall I identify the land?” he asked, trembling lest the question arouse her latent shrewdness and expose his ignorance. She pursed her lips. ‘“‘You might simply say my Florida property lying north of Palm Beach,” she suggested. one. she replied ULLINEY, drawing on his memory and imagination both, managed to write, on paper she provided him, an agreement. She signed it and accepted five thousand francs. He heaved a sigh; why, business was a lot softer than gambling. He should have gone into it long ago. “You will hear from me soon; I'll cable to-day, Mrs. Volmer,”’ he said. “Thank you.”” She had melted, become a little more gracious now. “T am very grateful to you, Mr. Culliney. I’d never hoped to sell the property at all.” “Oh, things are booming in Florida,” he said. “Indeed. I hope you make a profit for yourself,” she said. “Oh, by the way, shouldn’t I have a copy of our agreement?” “Of course,” said Culliney. Laboriously he copied the document whereby Mrs. Volmer agreed to sell her Florida property situated north of Palm Beach to Ward Culliney for one hundred thousand dollars, and whereby Ward Culliney agreed to pay Mrs. Volmer the sum of one hundred thousand dollars, as soon as the title could be looked up and the deeds properly made out. “Thank you,” she said again, folding the paper away in an old-fashioned handbag. ‘“*Won’t you stay to luncheon?” He was about to refuse when a young girl entered the room; she backed away in sweet confusion, and Culliney changed his mind. It was years since Ward Culliney had been entertained by gentlewomen. Once, it would have been nothing unusual for well-bred people to entertain him at table, but that was long ago, before disinclination for work led him into actions that had debarred him from social intercourse, save that casual relation- ship that springs un at resorts. But Anna Volmer was the sort of girl a chap used to know, in the days when inno- cence was nothing to be ashamed of; the kind of girl you might have taken canoeing on the Charles, or maybe to a matinée when the Rogers Brothers played Boston. She was the sort of girl that maybe, when you were young, you met at a summer resort, and who traded a lock of hair for your high-school frat pin. She was nineteen, perhaps, but the sophis- ticated life she had lived, the contact with the world of fashion, had not spoiled her. Not hard like her mother, but gentle, sweet, de- mure.... When Culliney dragged himself away after luncheon, he had an engagement to play golf with her the next morning, to swim later... . NE hundred per cent. rat, kid, that’s you,” he told himself in his room at the Hermitage. “‘Kidding a girl like that into believing that you’re on the level. Kidding yourself into believing that, for a girl like that, you would be on the level. Well, Culliney my lad, you’ve had your dream. Now snap out of it and fade away.” But, before fading away, there were things to be done, and when Culliney felt that things were to be done, he economized neither with money nor time. telephone message to the Normandie assured him that Sinclair was still at Deau- ville, and Culliney hired another motor-car to take him back to the resort whence he had come. This time, knowing that he would be unable to pay his bill, Culliney did not register at the Normandie; instead, he took a room in a modest hostelry, changed into evening clothes, and arrived at the Casino at about midnight. He found Sinclair stand- ing by a baccarat table, and drew the man away. ‘I’m Ward Culliney,” he said. Sinclair’s eyebrows lifted. ‘I know that; we've met, Mr. Culliney.” “Sure. I just wanted to make it stick in your brain who and what I am. Listen; I overheard you talking in the William the Conqueror Inn yesterday, and know all about your deal with Belmore. Well, I’ve been to le Touquet and beaten you to it. I’ve bought Mrs. Volmer’s Florida property. I paid her a hundred thousand—at least, that’s what she agreed to sell for. But she gets Belmore’s eight hundred thousand for it. Every nickel goes to her; understand? No dirty swindling, no trickery, nothing. Mind, you can’t swindle her, because you must deal through me. I’ve paid her a small deposit—” “My dear sir, do you mind telling me what you're talking about?” interrupted Sinclair. “You know,” said Culliney. “T assure you that I don’t,” said the other. “You mean to say that you weren’t talking, yesterday, with another man, about Mrs. Volmer’s property?” “That’s exactly what I mean to say. Who is Mrs. Volmer? Why did you pay hera hundred thousand dollars?” There was a twinkle in the man’s eye, and Culliney knew. Oh, how well he knew! How many times had he framed victims so that they walked into traps of his making. Without further word he turned his back and walked off. In an ante-room he examined the agreement which Mrs. Volmer had signed, a copy of which, with his signature, reposed in her possession. He saw it all. He had agreed to pay one hundred thousand dollars for a piece of property which had not been designated clearly, which might be one acre of jungle, no more. He had paid two hundred and fifty dollars down to this woman who was a confederate of Sinclair, and signed a paper which, if he were really a rich man, would cost him a small fortune. Trimmed! He had been eavesdropper to a conversation which had been meant for his ears alone. Sinclair thought him to be rich, and had skilfully planned a scene and con- versation which would excite his cupidity, and he, Ward Culliney, a wise one, had fallen for the scheme. But he didn’t mind that; didn’t mind Sinclair, his companion, or Mrs. Volmer. But the girl, Anna Volmer, so young, so sweet, so dear—was she a crook, too? For her, this lovely girl who had brought back to him memories of days when he was young and decent, he had foregone the chance to make a fortune, he had thought. And now he learned that he was but the victim of crooks as unscrupulous as himself. Of course, not having any money, they could gain no more from him than the cash he had already given the woman who was so amazingly ignorant of Florida values. But that wasn’t the point. The point was, did Anna Volmer know of the scheme, was she a party to it? He turned abruptly and walked back to the gaming rooms. He found Sinclair again and once more drew him aside. ” he said, “there’s no hard feelings. I’m the Reuben who tried to be crooked. I’ve been examining the paper Mrs. Volmer gave me. Oh, don’t pretend you’re not on. I tell you 1’m not sore. I tried to trim you and I’m trimmed. Fair enough. I won’t squeal. But, what I bought probably is only an acre of scruD palmetto, eh?” (Concluded on page 202) “7 ISTEN,”

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For handy use around the house, Startex fills a long-felt want a STA CRASH esss—S.2¢ SS beautiful china and not keep their lustrous, deco- rative beauty. Use STARTEX—and your glass and chinaware will fibres spun together into the fabric both ways by a It takes up It cleans scientific process. water like a blotter. and dries quickly and thoroughly. It has the strength and softness of linen and its heavy texture prevents it from wetting through it is both flax and cotton, STARTEX is more quickly. STARK MILLS. Tucapau Div., The Crystal Rays of Fine Glassware —Restored by STARTEX OU might as well dine from tin or wooden plates as to buy gleam. For STARTEX is of flax and cotton and woven And since enduring and thus costs less Look for the name on the sel- vage—STARTEX makes dish drying easier and pleasanter. ARIES Has linen spun and woven both ways LOCKWOOD, GREENE & CO., Inc., Managers Marketed by LAWRENCE & CO., Selling Agents, Boston, New York and Chicago and costly glass Arthur LEGITIMATE Somers HARPER’S BAZAR Roche’s Story (Concluded from page 200) Sinclair grinned. “‘As you take it this way, Mr. Culliney, I'll not kid you. We heard that one of the Cullineys of Toledo, the big department store people, was in Deauville, and—well, we made a play for you. But I’d never admit it in front of witnesses. But if you try to welsh, and the whole story comes out, it won’t help your business standing in Ohio to have it known that you tried to profit by a talk you over- heard.’ Culliney shrugged impatiently. “TIT know that. The point is, one hundred thousand is a lot of dough, and I'll fight before I'll pay it. So they thought he was one of the Toledo Cullineys, eh? Light began to filter through darkness; ways of exit became dimly visible. At three o'clock in the morning Sinclair and Culliney started for le Touquet by motor- car. At noon, in le Touquet, Sinclair and Mrs. Volmer had agreed to return Culliney’s agreement, with his signature thereunto attached, for the sum of ten thousand dollars. At one o'clock Culliney had presented a certified check, on the Traders and Planters Bank of Toledo, Ohio, payable to himself, for twelve thousand five hundred dollars, and Sinclair had given him twenty-five hundred dollars in change. T HALF-PAST two Culliney found Anna Volmer about to drive from the fourth tee of the le Touquet course. ‘Look here, girlie,”’ he said abruptly, “T’ve found out I’ve been stung by your mama and Sinclair. Were ae in on the play? I mean, if I’d been awkward, were you there to hop out and shoo me in? The girl dropped her demureness as one might shed a mask. “She isn’t my mama. I’m on a percentage. If the sucker balks I come in and blush a few times and he usu: illy is hooked.’ ‘So I gathered,” said C ulliney drily, “but I wanted to hear you say it. ‘And now I suppose that out of the nobility of your heart you're going to offer to take me away from all this tawdry life in which I am enmeshed, eh?’’ demanded the girl. “T’m a crook, too,” said Culliney. “| spent half an hour fixing up a certified check and twenty minutes more persuading Sinclair and your make-believe mama that they ought to give me back twenty-five hundred, and they fell for it. No, I wasn’t intending to take you out of this tawdry, wicked life. I wasn’t going to reform you, or anything like that. I was simply going to suggest that instead of playing somebody’s daughter, you play somebody’s wife. Between us, now that I’ve got a little stake, we ought to rip France wide open. I’m feeling lucky. You shoo them in and I do the trimming.” “T wouldn’t play at being any one’s wife; I’m decent—that way,”’ she said slowly. “And I couldn’t let my wife join me ina crooked play,” said Culliney, with equal slowness. ‘There was a man here—lots of people who winter in Florida summer here in le Touquet—who wanted me to be hostess at a restaurant he’s going to open in Palm Beach,” said the girl. “T know an old-time gambler who’s in the real estate racket down in Miami now,” said Culliney. “T could land a job from him.” “T wonder how long we'd either of us stick at honest work,” said the girl. “Oh, married people have to be honest.” said Culliney. “If only, you know, for the sake of—well, babies.” “Well, just as you say,” said the girl. “T wonder,” said Culliney, as he bent and kissed her swiftly, unmindful of the open- eyed French caddy, “if I ought to give Sin- clair back his twenty-five hundred?” The girl looked at him. ‘I’m supposed to have twenty-five per cent. of every play they make,” she smiled. “You gave them a check for twelve-five; give the money to me, Ward; it’s my legitimate bit.’ ‘Legitimate?” he murmured. I wonde *r what’s legitimate? ‘Anything,” she answered, the right man to the right girl.” Girlie, “that brings BARON DE MEYER ATTENDS THE OPENINGS (Continued from page 122) sports apne. We find bloused bodices with tightly bound-in hips, from which hang low-reaching uneven flounces in guise of skirts, and tailored dinner jackets of lamé textures, eminently suited to the lady lecturer, as some one remarked. To name a few models, I recall “Ser- pentine,” a pale green gown with silver spangles, “L’envolée,” of silver tissue with a skirt produced entirely by mauve, pink, and green scarfs, and “‘Caprice,” a black chiffon gown over a rose and blue foundation, with particularly new-looking sleeves. REMET is a house one might call “typi- cally Parisian,” the home of French smart- ness and its traditional frivolity. Frivolité de chiffon, d’élégance et de chic. The new collection is brimful of it, the characteristic feature of the Premet style being neatness and a certain trim note. This, somehow, is not surprising given Madame Charlotte, a Parisienne "to her finger-tips, as presiding genius of the house. The collection opens by a display of in- numerable little French trotteurs, demure and snappy. Next come sports suits, with long capes, and one-piece, belted gowns with short capes of jacket length, close-fitting and hardly flaring. After this, knee-length capes are shown, which have their fulness at the back gathered in by a tied bow, with long hanging ends. There are more capes, of every known kind, in fact capes of all sorts are the Premet feature. Skirts are abbreviated, érés trolteur, trés jeune, trés net, in fact trés Premet. Models in taffeta are numerous. One black taffeta frock, in particular, is edged with many plaitings, wrapped around the figure, and tied on the rig cht hip, in typically Parisian style. Premet’s neck-lines are mostly high, though devoid of actual collars. For afternoon occasions, a new pore of a crépey substance called peau de suéde muc h fe avored For evening wear chiffon and net gowns are shown in surprising numbers, some are quite plain, devoid of any trimmings, but a great many others are weighted down by metal embroideries, and principally by multicolored spangles. These are a great feature of the Premet collection, some of them being almost rainbow hued, because of the diversity of their coloring. \ pink texture of solid spangles, luminous to a degree, with black shimmering edgings, is used for one of the most elaborate gowns in the collection. It is named “‘La Vie Ardente.’ A black model with diamond swallows embroidered on the bodice is effective. So is Number 166—‘‘ Minuit,” a combination of black and deep pink chiffon in horizontal lines. It is edged with a sparkling silver border. I rather think Number 166 will easily become what is called in America a “‘ best seller.” HE Chantal opening became quite an event because of the inauguration of her new showrooms, which were overcrowded. Peo- ple stood on chairs to get a better view, while hundreds were turned away. Mademoiselle Chantal’s taste is exquisite. There is no better word for it, and starting from the basis that all good fashions nowadays derive from the dual source—simplicity and neatness—it is remarkable to think of her remaining so individual and showing us models so distinctly Chantal. She achieves slimness in spite of using much material, which, however, being generally of sheer substance and always much tucked and plaited, never detracts from the youthful line she has made her own. All models in this modern house show rare quality of workman- ship and a multitude of exquisitely handled details. Madame Elizabeth, probably the most distinguished mannequin at present showing gowns in Paris, personifies the Chantal silhouette to perfection. There are any number of sports suits, both of English tweeds and of woolen textures in pastel shades. Most of these are decorate by applications of the same material, and little kasha ensembles are combined with the popular Chantal Shetl: — shawl jumpers to be worn under the coat. These are edged with corresponding kasha and are all of them extremely trim and neat. Capes are shown with some of these suits, the former being, a5 elsewhere, a feature of the collection. Even though to the untrained eye the Chantal plaited crépe gowns look very candi like those shown in other houses, their peculiarly individual cut makes such useful little frocks quite — from those to be found at Chanel’s, Patou’s, or Molyneux’s. The belting in of a certain fulness at a given spot produces a peculiarly bloused look, whi ch stamps them unmistakably Chantal. Afternoon gowns, mostly in transpar‘ nt (Concluded on page 204)

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ee re ee NT Pp APRIL » Ae 7S ee Om) om Ga On ol OF BUR om 4 1926 Cardinal Pattern Jelly Spoon in Gift Box HAT price can purchase some household treasure that has grown into the lives of those who love it? ~~ There is the essential value of Heirloom. Day by day, from generation Adelphi Pattern Medium Fork Set of Six $7.50 to generation, it grows dearer to those who own it.This is only true because Heirloom Plate retains its beauty and usefulness through the years. The guarantee behind it is for 100 years. Ze will gladly send you full information about patterns and prices. Hoirloom Plate Grom Generation to G eneration WM. A. ROGERS, LTD., sicuiiins FALLS, New York Chicago N. Y. San Francisco Toronto (PSC RCE COOOCOSCECOCOTECABSAOO COCR A OCECECECEE? 4 8

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Vee aoe nS dee wee | The shining armor carries her thoughts of romance to the time when chivalry flourished. silverplate is made enduring. Through a lifetime of constant use Holmes & Edwards Super Plate-Inlaid retains its charm of beauty and ser- vice. This quality has a distinct feature that no ordinary silver plate . having blocks of Solid Siiver inlaid to prevent wear. Every piece most often used is “Solid Silver Where It Wears” | Silver plate is peeled back to show silver in- laid under the plating. This Silver Inlaid is many times heavier than Shows average size of Solid Silver blocks which are fused ine beck of andle and of bowl oll jnloid: ~~ MEN age ne § so aes hese ee —* ne —_ ee) HARPER’S BAZAR BARON DE MEYER ATTENDS THE OPENINGS (Concluded from page 202) textures, show admirable finish. For instance, a pale blue ensemble of mousseline de soie, gown and cape, is profusely decorated by tucked frills of kasha of the same color. Evening gowns, in net and chiffon, have in almost every instance a cape formed by several layers of net or a transparent chiffon coat to accompany the gown beneath it. A flowered mousseline de soie dress boasts of three separate and superimposed little chiffon jackets in tones harmonizing with the flowers printed on the fabric. The shades most favored for evening wear seem to be all gradations of pink and yellow. A black net cape with designs produced by glycerined and applied black ostrich feathers is most original. It is worn over a glittering white chiffon gown Hats shown with the Chantal day gowns are particularly well chosen, and are very becom- ing. I was told they had been designed by Gina-Mary. T Suzanne Talbot’s reigns a dramatic atmosphere, Madame Juliette being blessed wth a marvelous imagination. Her collection is more mature, more wearable, and also more beautiful than before. It probably contains more novel features and inventions than are found in half a dozen other houses put together. She dresses the kind of smart Parisienne who, happening to be an artist, refuses to wear the standardized fashions considered smart at the moment. To sit on a sofa among golden cushions and have her creations pass before one is quite a treat. Noted, as they pass and strike me A short black satin bolero over a white plaited crépe Georgette shirt. \ tailored coat in brown moire, shot with gold. Wide grosgrain horizontal bands on a freckled beige jersey sports gown. A tailored kasha suit, with cape and hood forming aviator’s cap. Another cape, but in cloth of gold, with hood, becoming aviator’s cap. Eton collars, in starched linen. \ Pierrot collarette, also in starched linen. \ kasha traveling coat cut like a Russian Teherkesse. Redingote, with tan leather edges. chic. Gold, silver, white, black, green evening dresses. Egyptian and medieval in atmosphere, but translated into modern French, by the inventive brain of the very diminutive lady called Juliette Suzanne Talbot. Very HE 10926 Callot collection is pervaded by more youthful, very feminine, and distinctly more modern tendencies than hitherto. Madame Gerber’s mentality, in approaching the twice yearly renewed fashion problems, is quite her own. Her models are created from within, and she never is influenced by the prevailing mode, nor by outside styles and colorings. Callot’s fashions are therefore always distinctly Callot, quite different from what is shown elsewhere. For instance, skirts in this establishment seem to me shorter than in any other house, and sleeves more voluminous. The salient and characteristic feature of the Callot line is the extremely short and narrow skirt, which accentuates the extreme fulness of the upper part of almost all day gowns. Sleeves are especially large, Japanese in shape, or of Chinese inspiration The newest features are little overskirts, lifted on each hip, and slightly draped, producing what might be termed as perfectly ilat bustle effects at the back. This move ment, contrary to most models shown in other houses, tends toward a shorter skirt length at the back than in front. Instead of drooping, the Callot models show a decided feelin toward the “uplift.” 6 Strictly tailored suits are another of Caliot’s new departures, especially in pastel-colored coarse linens. Those in pale mauve, pale green, and yellow are particularly lovely Capes, as elsewhere, are shown in quantities. A leaf-green cape of kasha, lined with pale blue, has ties sewn inside the garment below the hips which, tied together, give a narrow very new aspect to this cape. ; STEEL-GRAY satin wrap is profusely decorated by ostrich feathers glycerined in silver, the best use I have seen made of feathers this season. Fringes in artificial silk glisten effectively. They are used as linings and for decorating coats. They look like shiny monkey skins in brilliant colorings. A great feature of the collection are jn. numerable printed chiffon and crépe frocks, which mostly show small patterned designs. except in the case of “Coeur Sauvage,” a deep blue model printed with soft yellow magnolias and trimmed with brown Georgette. The famous Callot brocades are much to the fore, mostly used for sheath-like gowns. So are plain satin evening dresses, much draped, and net ball-gowns, distended and flounced. Ostrich feathers are getting a new lease of life. They are principally used for collars on evening coats, but are also used in a novel- looking way on the richest-looking brocade gowns. I hear of a great revival of this article, both at dressmakers’ and modistes’. Time wil! show if this beautiful adornment is destined to once again find favor. To end my letter, a few color harmonies seen at Callot’s: magenta, flame color, yellow, and heliotrope; yellow, orange, pale green, and a deep tone of mauve; apricot, bois de rose, yellow and gold; three graduated shades of lavender, pale green, and_ pale blue. AVING promised my old and valued friend, Miss Ina Claire, to send her the numbers of those new clothes in the spring collection which might suit her, I might as well do so by means of Harper’s Bazar, as my list may be equally useful to my readers. These are all from the Chanel collection. Number 12. Bordeaux crépella gown, with short jacket of mouse-colored leather. Number 51. “Bayadére” striped sports suit, sweater and skirt, in beige, rose, and brown. Number 62. Sapphire blue crépella gown for walking purposes. Number 122. Shirred coat of beige Geor- gette over plain marocain gown. Number 85. Madonna blue evening gown, very plain. Number 46. Red Georgette evening gown, with the new back effect. Number 65. Printed chiffon afternoon gown, dark foundation, with field flowers. Number tog. Créme lace afternoon gown, with new lifted movement in the front. Number 39. Printed chiffon afternoon gown, lovely soft coloring. Excellent. Number 138. Entirely shirred Georgette ensemble, gown and coat in deep Bordeaux shade (one of the best). Number 113. Coat of black velvet, lined bleu de Sévres velvet, very new, almost like a cape with sleeves. Number 95. White, silver embroidered Georgette gown, very neat, elaborate and br'lliant. Number 092. Elaborate evening gown, in jet and chiffon, new and not heavy. Number 780. Black chiffon evening gown, excellent and typically Chanel. Number 2000. Black evening gown in new beaded texture less elaborate than 92, but very smart. Georgette

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ea) with ports and zown xe0I- gette ‘own, noon wes. ‘own, noon ‘gette leaux lined t like ; lered and n, in rown, 1 new but for APRIL 1926 205 — From drawing by Ralph Barton mariage a la mode You are cordially invited to twenty-four marriages of The Mode Zo Society in other words Harpers bagar LWO YEARS for $6.00 (Just half the single-copy price) Regular subscription price $4.00 a year. HAT an amusingly small amount! Every one of those twenty-four occasions will be no-end the most important moment of their lives. smart. Cava sans dire. Yet with that indefinable something beyond smartness—call it exclusiveness, call it charm—which is the unique gift of Harper’s Bazar to the choice few who appreciate. The next issue of Harper’s Bazar is THE BRIDE NUMBER. What more practical way of seeing the mode as a complete ensemble And it is sure to be a happy one when, by the mere filling and Every moment may be important to a woman. one in which she decides to let the Bazar come to her regularly. That may easily be the most fortunate instant of her career. brides of the season levy on the rue de la Paix for what they think for yourself? Here, assisted by the greatest experts in the world, the mailing of the slip below, she can do it so inexpensively. For instance, the Harper's Bazar 119 West goth Street, New York City Name. . Please send me Harper's Bazar for two years at your special price of $6.00. (If you prefer Harper’s Bazar at the regular Siveet....... tele 5 calc line Seaadeenie yearly subscription price of $4.00, check here 0.) You may remit on receipt of bill. Or if you care to enclose your remittance with this coupon we will add an extra month City ed lea Se ne Pe Gk canwa cae ae Aad meee to your subscription. Canadian postage $1 extra for one year: foreign postage $2 extra for one year State H B-4-26

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SSE o|° & os = ‘7 OF A soap of utmost purity; a soap remarkable for its cleans- ing properties: White Rose h 71] peat tee Its delicacy has an instinctive appeal to women; its generous lather wins the enthusiasm of men; its mild effects are sooth- ing to those of tender age. Made in U. S. A. by MULHENS & KROPFF, Inc. 25 West 45th Street New York Branches: Chicago and San Francisco fastidious women jand well-groomed men HARPER’S BAZAR A LEGEND OF LONDON Michael Arlen’s Play (Concluded from page 89) pleasure wait upon our fears—sha’n’t we, can’t we, daren’t we, for once, let our fears wait on our pleasure? [He takes her face between his hands, he kisses her, lost in love. ... There is a noise at the door.| Carr—Raiph! [But it is obviously one of those warning noises contrived by a discreet butler whose lot has been cast in an unhappy home and who quite understands.] Mrs. Loyatty (very low)—It can’t be Ralph. . . . [Smith enters; a dim, hesitating, agitated figure in the shadows by the door.| Yes, Smith? What is it? [Most uneasily Smith comes forward toward the sofa. Carr stares at his agitation. This is a most bewildered Smith.) SmitrHa—Madam, I—I have just been in the study— Mrs. Loyatty (sharply)—I understood, Smith, that Mr. Loyalty was not to be disturbed! SmirH—Yes, madam. But as I passed the door I heard Mr. Loyalty’s private telephone ringing—and ringing. As he did not appear to answer it, I—I surmised that he must have gone out and— CARR (puzzled to death)—What is this? A cross-word puzzle? SmitH—I went in, and—and— Carr—And? SmitrH—Mr. Loyalty’s dead. [There is no sound, no movement. Smith plunges on.] His ’ead was laid across the writing-table and a little dark bottle empty by his hand— Carr—My God! SmitH—I shook ’im, but—{Carr jumps up from the sofa. Smith continues to his mistress. She is very still.| 1 have telephoned to Dr. Gay, madam. As he was out to dinner, I asked his man to call him up to come here at once. CARR (somewhere in the room, a frantic shadow)—God! Oh, God! Mrs. Loyatty (her lips scarcely moving)— Thank you, Smith. SmiTH (nervously, nicely—but then he is r‘ce)—I am very sorry indeed, madam. [Smith walks out quickly. . . . Hugo Carr weeps his arms around as though to ward off in intolerable thing—to find the thing too intolerable. Mrs. Loyalty watches him. She is very still, very white. He has never once met her eyes since Smith’s entrance. Carr—I never dreamt that he. . . . [He cannot go on. He cannot bear the situation. Dishonor is devouring him. Suddenly she goes to him. Gentle, she is yet determined. She touches his shoulder, as though to rouse him from his too miserable trance.| Mrs. Loyvatty—Hugo! [He looks at her. His eyes cling to her calmness.| Hvco—lIt’s ghastly—Joan, don’t you see? —how ghastly! Poor old Ralph—down there, all alone—while we up here— Mrs. Loyvatty—Yes. Carr— ... while we up here were making love—his best friend and his wife! [A pause.] Mrs. Loyvatty—Poor, poor Ralph! [Hugo Carr suddenly tears himself away from her near ness. He is a priest, a priest in the Temple of Friendship.| Carr—There are some things—{The vio- lence of his emotions almost paralyzes him. But the eloquence of the damned urges him on.| There are some things that are unmentionable, unpardonable. There are some crimes that are nameless, because no word can express the evil that is in them Mrs. Loyarty please... . hel plessly)—Oh, please, Carr—And there’s no excuse for these crimes. God simply has not put enough ex- cuses in the world to meet the crimes of the world— Mrs. Loyatty (pleading)—Dear, we've committed no crime—we, so much in love, so fond! Carr—No crime! Poor old Ralph down in that room, alone—betrayed—betrayed by his best friend and his wife—suspecting the be trayal—betrayed to death! [A pause. He continues with intense calmness.| Joan, we have killed Ralph—we who have quibbled for two years whether we would hurt his feelings or not. May God forgive us! Mrs. Loyattry (sharply)—It’s not fair to say we've killed him. It’s not fair, and it’s childish. Life killed him. [//e stares at her, as though in awe of her reasonableness.| Listen, Hugo. If this mood of yours isn’t met now, in this terrible moment, it may ruin our lives Carr—May ruin! And isn’t this ruin, now? Mrs. Loyatty—Oh, why won’t you face the truth, why won’t you see that this is the culminating point of three ruined lives, and that now, on the ruins of three lives, we must build a city for two? [He is in no state to build cities. She pleads.) Oh, it won’t be a very fair city, Hugo, but it will be ours, our very own city by right, by the only real right in this wrong world—the right of suffering! [He stares at her; in awe of her.| Carr—But Ralph? Mrs. Loyatty—Sorry! [She laughs.] You dare to ask me if I am sorry! Oh, Hugo, is it absolutely necessary for the love of a man for a woman to be expressed in idiotic questions? Carr (sulkily)—I don’t know what you mean. Mrs. Loyatty—Dear God, what kind of a thing is this love, that it can trick a mind into loving a man! [She turns to him again to talk reasonably.| You ask me if I am sorry—I who have lived through a hell of boredom for eight years so as not to hurt Ralph’s feelings, not to break his heart! And now at last it’s broken—he’s dead. Yes, Iam sorry. Fright- fully sorry. [He stares at her, as one trans- fixed.| And I am also glad. I feel as though I myself had died and that my soul had been freed from a long imprisonment. That is ex actly what I felt, as though it was a miserable part of me that was dead, when I saw him down there— CARR (gaping)—When you saw him! Mrs. Loyatty—For heaven’s sake, Hugo, don’t gape at me like that! I’ve already had more than I can bear to-night. Carr (helplessly)—But I don’t understand! When you saw him... . Mrs. Loyatty—That’s why I looked frightened when you came in so suddenly. | thought it was a ghost—his ghost. I’d gone down to the study to fetch a book—and I saw him—like that—[{Her eyes plead with him, her hands feverishly interlocked.| Didn't I tell you I had something to tell you later—something terrible? I was going to tell you later, I was preparing forit.... . aren’t you sorry—for Carr (queerly)—You were reading when I came in. [He accuses her, his whole being accuses her. She is made helpless by her love for him.] What kind of a woman are you, Joan Loyalty? What kind of a soul is in that body, what kind of a heart? You can sit here letting me make love to you while you know that poor Ralph is dead down-stairs—dead by his own hand, because he loved a woman who had only desire for a soul and only a hole instead of a heart. Mrs. Loyatty [A despairing cry.] Hugo! [But she has become horrible to him. He isa man of honor. As she makes to touch him he sweeps her away with a blind gesture of his arm and strides out of the room. At first she cannot realize that he has gone. She stares blindly, un- seeing, at the door.| Mrs. Loyvatty—Hugo! Hugo! [But even as her despair calls upon his name, the front door down-stairs is heard to slam. She is dis- traught, powerless to control the moment. Through the windows the noise of footsteps is heard re- ceding. She paces about the room, frantically She is somewhere near the sofa, perhaps behind the sofa, when a figure occurs in the door, a dark gure in the shadow of the doorway. She catches a scream to her mouth with the back of her hand. Mr. Loyalty comes forward.| Loyatty (calmly, almost casually)—So he's gone, has he? I thought so! [Earlier in the evening, if you remember, this gentleman had been reading an evening paper. That evening paper is still in existence, sprawling on an armchav, in a state of crumpled helplessness at being un- able to report the astounding events it has wit- nessed. Mr. Loyalty picks it up, opens it, and stands glancing at it, in exactly the same post- tion as when the curtain rose. Mrs. Loyalty, bewildered, astonished, almost fainting, stares a him across the room.| Mrs. Loyatry—Ralph! Ralph! Loyaty (Looking up)—Well? Mrs. Loyatry—But you were dead! Loyatty—Never more alive in my life [Lowers the paper.| Look here, Joan, dont let’s get dramatic about this. It was Just 4 plot to prevent you making a silly ass of your self. I mean, I’m quite fond of you, even though you are my wife. And I always knew Hugo Carr was yellow. I just wanted you to see him as he really is, that’s all. [Witha sigh of relief.| Well, that’s over! [Looking a the paper again.| There’s a woman here trying t swim the Channel again. You know, I've always said that the only way to keep these women at home is to have bigger and-better Channels. [Very suddenly Mrs. Loyalty sweeps across the room.| Mrs. Lovatty—Excuse me, dear. [He stares at her. She kisses him tenderly om the forehead.| Wve just realized that there ate ‘worse things than being married to a ool [Loyalty throws the paper away, his ja@ beaming.| LovaLty—You darling! [They stand sactng each other, the two hands of each clas ped, laugh: ing at each other.| And so: CURTAIN i ; f

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~~ eee PORTRAIT BY JOEL FEDER, N. Y urpassingly Smart . ° ° ° this OU see her at all the smart rendez- vous. You marvel at her radiant beauty. It is perfection! Cool... of majestic poise . . . the center of admir- ation... At first perhaps you do not fathom her secret. You steal another glance. Her hair — perfectly coifed, of course. Her gown, rich simplicity. Her skin— ah—that is it! Her soft luxuriant skin —clear, smooth, exquisitely lovely. You ponder. Surely no ordinary pow- der could possibly impart such radiant, vivacious beauty. And yet ... * * - Most clever women already know of Peter Pan, that strange new powder impregnated with myriads of elusive OPAL HUES. These rare, precious, cleverly blended OPAL HUES im- part to the features instantly a smart, woman of regal beauty ! new beauty that reveals utmost love- liness in any light—even the harsh, unflattering light of the sun at high noon. Of course Peter Pan must be more than a face powder. It is really a beauty treatment—every time you powder. Of finest ingredients—stays on for hours. In four new shades— sealed in silk—at $3.00. NATURAL OPAL HUE RACHEL OPAL HUE ROSE OPAL HUE WHITE OPAL HUE No other powder like it. Imparts brilliant beauty—instantly. Read the amazing story that comes with each box. At finest Beauty Shops and Toilet Counters everywhere. If your dealer cannotsupply you use the cou- pon for generous trial box—TODAY! Created by Fallis, Inc., Perfumer CINCINNATI Copyrighted 1926. Fallis, Inc. Dp seaury UQUder eter Dan OPAL HUE Sealed in Silk $3 the Box In a box of glistening black and gold Generous Trial If your dealers cannot supply you send $1.00 for a generous size box of this exquisite powder and the ' amazing story of its crcation. (Trial ' size not sold in stores.) Mail cou- pon at once. H FALLIS, Inc., Forfemer Enclosed is $1.00 for generous Trial Box of Peter Pan OPAL HUE Powder and the amaz- ing story of its creation. Give shade wanted “(H. B.4-26) | 1512 Riverside Drive, Cincinnati, O. ; THE HUMAN HARPER’S BAZAR SIDE OF THE OPENINGS Marjorie Howard’s Article (Concluded from page 127) Sometimes, glancing round a salon, I am astonished at the controlled expression of all - professional features. But by their feet » shall know them. Some of those pedal an mities are shrieking the boredom of Mheir owners with all the strength of their soles. Look at the row at the bottom of page 127 you see the nervousness of the tyro, doing his first buying, and the watchfulness of the old hand told off to accompany him. Then an eminent head of the profession, slightly fed up with the game but showing it only in his spats. The neat absorbed sandals of the journalist, taking copious notes for her paper. rhe fatigue of the suéde slippers that ere dancing all the night before at ‘‘Florida.”” The pep and go of the live-wire from an up-to-date concern, who has so much energy that she positively has to hook herself into her chair to stay onthe ground. The agony of the “stout,” whose determined style gets her into a harness of a corset, but whose pumps betray her into just a moment’s surcease from pain. She daren’t take them off altogether, or she’d have to go away from there in her stocking feet. Kipling would write a new version of “ Boots, boots, boots,”’ if he could see them. \ ANKIND being our proper study, no one ‘ can afford to neglect such a special kind as the professional mannequin. You remember the Frenchman (Goethe says hewas an English- man, but never mind) who committed suicide because he simply pb not contemplate the prospect of dressing every day? Can you imagine dressing dozens, hundreds of times, day in and day out, winter and summer? Yet, the profession of mannequin is considered a sinecure, and the professors, favored beings. You see them on a high spot, so to speak, when the collection is ready, and they have nothing to do but put on and take off twenty- five or thirty models, once in the morning and all over again in the afternoon. This is called “‘ passing the collection,” and is their regular duty; but it takes no account of the number of times that they have to put on models for individual clients, who may come in at any odd time—just as they are ready to go to lunch, or when their feet are aching so much that it seems as if they could not take another step for love or money. The most trying part of all is the standing for hours while models are made on them, before the collections are ready to be shown. Some premiéres are perfectly ruthless, and expect a mannequin on whom they are creating a gown to turn literally into stone. Of course there are slack seasons, when there is little or no out-of-hours buying, and the principal business of the mannequin’s day is manicuring and gossip. They have their own quarters, called the “cabine,” and most houses furnish a special type of negligée for them to wear. Sometimes it is a warm sort of dressing-gown; sometimes a mere blouse of linen, like a French workman’s. HE importance of a really good mannequin to her house is incalculable; and this is recognized incertain houses bya small bonus to the girl who wears the gown each time it is sold In many houses they are not allowed to say a word to the client, beyond repeating the gown’s name or number. In others, they are trained to give any special information about the cut or material with a pleasant air and smile, which is very agreeable. In all houses, they are supposed to refrain from any con- versation among themselves, any of that ‘and he said—and then I said,” which is so fascinating; but they are young feminine things, rarely out of their twenties, and it is absurd to expect the impossible. \ll of them live rather like jockeys, in order to keep down their weight, for a fat mannequin is a contradiction in terms. Yet you would think that some of the world’s big women would like to see clothes on girls somewhat Not so; nothing at all like it. cases, the It is a heart near their size. The larger the woman, in most “‘cuter”’ the model she fancies breaking task for a conscientious saleswoman who knows what her client ought to have, which is exactly the opposite of what she wants. No wonder most of them get wrinkles between the eyebrows. One of the couturiers once tried the experiment of an out-size model. He engaged a blonde who could not be described by any euphemistic term, such as large or important or imposing, because she was just frankly and honestly fat. But her models did not sell, and she lost her job and had to take to demonstrating a vacuum cleaner; where, I believe, she did very well, because people thought if any one as comfort- able-looking as that could run it, it must be really easy. OST mannequins are very conscientious 1VI about their work, and some of them won’t even take a decent meal before an important opening, for fear it would show! If you think their oscillating, cobra-like, spine-curving walk is easy, try it. Practise also looking at every one in the room without seeing anybody; that is quite a trick too. One thing you will never be able to approach, is the speed with which they can say “‘huitcentquatrevingtdixhuit,” when you ask their number. I am supposed to speak French like a native (of somewhere), but the appalling agility of their tongues seems to paralyze my ears, or else I am not very good at figures, some people think not even at my own. Mannequins are chosen for their type, and the house that has a full complement is happy. One should be tall, willowy, and blonde, another black-haired and slender but snappy, a third little, rounded, and slightly kittenish, a fourth languorously Oriental, a fifth broad-shouldered, narrow hipped and sporting. If their faces are easy to look at, so much the better, but their figures are their fortune. Mannequins and vendeuses are the aristocrats of the establishment; the backbone of the couture is in the ateliers, or workrooms. Here is the domain of the all-powerful premiére, often a creator herself; and her vassals, first and second “‘ hands, ’”’ down to the trottin or arpette, a mere child, catching wistful glimpses of the gorgeous butterflies that she may aspire to clothe but never to rival. “Trottin” means, of course, a little trotter; “arpette,”’ 1am not so sure of; but apparently it has something to do with holding pins. NE house favors numbers for each gown; another bestows names upon them. Both are traps for the unwary foreigner. To identify them and their spelling with certainty, you ought to know French history, classic French literature, the geography not only of France, but of her jaw-breaking colonies; to say nothing of an intimate acquaintance with the current Parisian theater, and a working knowledge of the latest Paris slang. Of course, if you are a buyer from an important house you don’t really need to understand anything at all. Your index finger and the acute attention of your allotted vendeuse is quite sufficient. Here is the place above all others where money talks, in fluent French as well as in any other of the world’s languages. If you are a mere journalist, however, you will probably come out of your two weeks of intensive openings with your ears several centimeters longer. Toward the end of the four hundred or so models every one is a bit restless, the models begin to look blurred and hazy, and the rooms are gray with the smoke of calming cigarets and cigars. Those who have heavily sampled the famous French cuisine and its accompany- ing bottled moisture at luncheon are often frankly sleepy, and they must smoke in order not to yawn. “I’m dying on my feet,’ to another. ‘“‘Gimme a cigar. the other complies: ‘‘Well, I suppose you want to give me rope enough to hang myself.’ Nobody can deny that the openings have their human side. ’ says one old timer > And when

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were SoU" OV oe ee ee orrmwew & KF Bers AM eer A fo? APRIL FF26 HIS is ANITA LOOS thinking of sore funny things for Every- body who is Anybody to read (in the May issue of Harper’s Bazar) and quote at the next dinner party. ANITA LOOS, as you all know, is the author of GENTLEMEN PREFER BLONDES, “the most amusing book of the year,’”’ whose classics a/ways appear first in Harper’s Bazar. This soulful portrait of ANITA LOOS was drawn on the back of a menu card at the Ritz; it represents The Most Talked of Authoress in one of her thoughtful moods. She is here trying to think up another one as good as “4 Kiss on the Wrist Makes You Feel Good but a Diamond Bracelet Lasts Forever.” REMEMBER! THE MAY NUMBER of Harper’s bagar 209

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BOHN REFRIGERATOR COMPANY Thirty Years Building The Best SAINT PAUL, MINNESOTA Our Own Retail Stores: 5 East 46th St., New York 246 Boylston St., Boston 227 No. Michigan Blvd., Chicago —— — HARPER’S BAZAR Mary Lewis of the Metropolitan Opera OPERATIC AMERICANA By KATHLEEN UPPOSE Venus, Mars, and Jupiter, famous foreign stars with the recognized right to twinkle or withdraw as life smiled at or fretted them, suppose they were chatting together in aloof grandeur. Then suppose there came whizzing among them a little American comet, uncharted and unlisted, switching its tail and cavorting obliviously about them. That is rather the way it was when Marion Talley broke into the Metropolitan Opera House ranks. The big stars stopped their singing for a bit and rubbed their celestial eyes. “*A kid!” they said, perhaps. “A child of nineteen!’’ they ejaculated. ‘“‘We must hear her and judge for ourselves.” But, alas, a wise management for reasons veiled in obscurity, though doubtless sound, put us all out when the child with the calm gray eyes rehearsed. That is the time that most of us choose for hearing the new members of the family. We sit in groups about the vast dark auditorium and listen to rehearsal in- stead of getting all dolled up after a hard day’s work and joining the formal audience of the evening’s performance. Personality is revealed so much more interestingly at rehearsals than at perform- ances. To suggest a Sicilian peasant or a Roman emperor is a much more subtly difficult task when one is clad in a well- tailored business suit than when one is hiding behind a thick coat of grease paint, wearing the appropriate costume, and sur rounded by elaborate scenery and disguised companions. UT the Talley rehearsals were held behind locked doors, so we had to content our- selves with glimpses of her as she came and went for rehearsals, or over standees’ perspir- ing shoulders, just inside the packed audi- torium at performances. There was not an American man or woman in the company but wished her a real success at her début. I saw her, composed and alert, curls tucked back, standing in the door of her dressing- room just before the “‘Rigoletto”’ orchestra rehearsal, and I was struck by the unusual development of her forehead, the bird-like flash of her still child-like eye. Her nerves seem to give her no trouble so far, for she has an uncanny stillness which many a mature artist might envy. | happened to hear her at her first audition several years ago, and was impressed then by the maturity of her voice. It sounded in those days more like a lyric than a coloratura soprano, and, indeed, Mr. and Mrs. Cranston of Kansas City, who discovered and trained her years ago, still consider the voice to be a lyric one. “But she adored Galli Curci,’”’ said Mrs. Cranston, “and that has un- doubtedly influenced her career.” The unprecedented public interest in this début, attended by page after front page of New York’s best newspaper publicity, by enthusiastic pilgrimages from Kansas City by careful, dignified support of operatic management, has led to financial success for the girl of the Golden West. One is told that a recording company has bound her for $50,000 worth of records, that concerts are pouring in. Certainly the house “sells out” when she sings. Whether the little comet will decide to let its flashing publicity tail drop and keep its head, thus becoming a real star, that no one can tell. Not every one realizes that the stuff of a singer’s life is made up mostly of warp and woof! woof! and who can prophesy what the loom will produce with the years? For criticisms see the columns of our daily press. Our dignified critics have devoted much careful study to the qualities of this young singer and I leave to them the analysis MOWARD of her vocal abilities. Undoubtedly there is an unwonted thrill to be had from listening to a limpid soprano and watching a young girl in all her freshness go through the well- worn business of a Lucia or a Gilda. WASH and razzle, swizzle and slamp, blaze and blare! One must make up new words to describe the new sounds of jazz. Skyscrapers are rearing at the Metropolitan! Clang and bleat and whizzing scream, up they go, conceived by stove-polish-colored groups of toiling workers, who bend and sway, swinging mighty imaginary hammers, just behind the footlights. Cleverly manipulated green and blinding white lights outline the heaving contour of muscular shoulders, and twisting, lithe waists. At the back of the stage up shoots a tower- ing virile American gesture: the symbolized steel construction of a skyscraper, blood red against a dazzling background of light. This stage picture lingers long in your memory after the golden curtains have swung you out of the picture and back into reality with the last crashing chord. John Alden Carpenter has caught something seethingly American and given it permanent form in his new ballet. You saw him, cool, collected at rehearsals, hat on head, looking like a business man, looking like the American of the Pullman club car, and it was some way difficult to realize that behind this poker face had whanged the beat of jazz, the wail of the madness of it. Yet it must have been s0, else he could not have produced this whirling half hour. It makes one wonder if the pale faces of the West do not often conceal dazzling conceptions, elements of undreamed-of, unen- couraged artistic achievement. Then you saw tall Robert Jones, also hatted, confabbing with little Samuel Lee, 4 study in black and white, in the sacred aisles of the dim Metropolitan, and you heard their refreshingly American comments, * ‘Jazz her up there, boys!”’ borne across the or- chestra pit to the eager boys and girls on the stage. I brashly introduced myself to Mr. Car- penter to wish him well, and he said that it was entirely up to them to ac hieve success of failure, that they had been “won lerfully treated.” And indeed no work has been more seriously rehearsed than this American flaunt. Mr. Hasselmans, the French con- ductor in charge of the production, who has grown much enamored of saxophones, has been rechristened by our witty assistant General Manager for all time. He is now known as Mr. Jazzelmans. In the pit an enthusiastic Frenchman and Italian ply their ‘‘Giaconda”’ and “ Pelléas accustomed fingers with flying skill to new and ticklesome jazz harmonies, seated at twin grand pianos, which lend their elephantine dignity to the orchestra. The orchestration is a marvel of modern scoring. A wealth of tonal color rises an falls, revealing sureness of touch, with no pallid ignorance of instrumentation to Dé glossed over. premiére I had sung ‘Gianni Schicchi” an yve HE evening of the the old woman in ‘ rushed to my dressing-room after it to rem¢ the nose and granulated eyelids of the hideous old hag I had left on the stage behir 1d me, 50 as to go out and scrunch into a forbidden corner in the wings and see this Americal interlude. Just behind Samuel Lee I stood, and heard his low-voiced “‘ Dance down stage!” “‘Snappy now!” thrown to the dozens of rhythm-hypnotized boys and girls of our ballet. They were dancing, that night, a portrait * their own souls, photo- graphed from life by John Alden Carpenter (Concluded on page 212

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IRDLON Patented Feb. 10, 1925 For dancing and sportswear, many young women—who do not like the restrictions of a corset or girdle and who prefer to have their stockings cover the knee now that skirts are so short— have joyously welcomed the Girdlon Garter, a new accessory of feminine dress. The Girdlon Garter is made of dainty webbing or shirred Worn around the hips instead of at the waist, it is scarcely felt,— ribbon, in shades to harmonize with one’s lingerie. holds the stockings firmly and cannot possibly slip down. The Girdlon Garter is equipped with the new Velvet Grip clasp, having the Oblong Rubber Button with no metal stud in sight. If the Girdlon is not yet available in your local stores, your favorite shop will order it for you. Or we will be glad to serve you direct— webbed garters $1.25, shirred ribbon $1.75, postage prepaid. In ordering, give your hip measure and indicate what shades you prefer. GEORGE FROST CO., BOSTON Makers of Velvet Grip Hose Supporters for women, misses, children and infants. HARPER’S BAZAR OPERATIC AMERICANA Kathleen Howard’s Article (Concluded from page 210) on the sensitive plate of the endless resources of the greatest opera house in the world. One could not but be struck by the accuracy of the picture, the sheer, youthful American verve of it all, the rattle of the superficial, hiding the germs of tragedy and the brittle business construction of our covntry in a laughing mask. So do we love to hide all our racial characteristics of serious purpose and strivings, under trappings of gaiety, of jeweled dazzle of lights, of cheap though brave “don’t give a damn-ishness.”’ Coney Island romps before you as you watch this ballet. An athletic boy, tall- hatted, bare brown shoulders tapering to slim, white-trousered hips, struts and prances in a solo; then a girl, all curls, all ice-cream soda and chewing-gum and sweetness, just as you see them by the thousand, giggling through inadequate luncheons in their intervals between typing, pirouettes and whirls. throws a challenge to old age and New York’s grilling cruelty. What a huge gap there is between these laughing youngsters and the formidable fabric of teeth-gritted American business life! Carpenter and Jones have bridged it, some- how. Come and rock with their rhythm! All well-informed New York taxis will tell you with their little signs that this is the skidding season, so why not skid a bit? Thank good- ness the binding of chains to our personal wheels is still optional. You may have a mental jolt, also, from a switchback ride back into the world of sobbing tenors and beauteous heroines in the opera which will be combined with this native upstart for your evening’s delectation. Mary Lewis sang Nedda in “Pagliacci” that same evening. ‘“‘ More America!’’ I said to myself, and settled back in my corner to see what this former Follies girl would do. Scotti was her partner and Lawrence Tibbett her lover, the latter singing a wooing no Nedda could resist. And who says Americans are cold? Real kisses were the MORE DETAI PARIS O LS FROM PENINGS rule that evening; but Mary was very pretty in her short, torn dress, a scarlet ribbon binding her fluffy hair, a red velvet bodice outlining the slimness of her waist, and Lawrence is young and ardent. That same hair had been carefully dragged from its rigidity of Marcel wave by a reality- loving stage manager in the girl’s dressing- room, five minutes before “First Act!” was called. A trifle dismayed, the new recruit realized, perhaps for the first time, that strolling Italian players do not indulge in Parisian hair fashions. Nineteen and sixty-five! What a house, what a week of contrasts! Schumann- Heink, unequaled genius of musical life, comes back to us after many years to sing Erda in “Rheingold.”’ Stage hands greet her joyfully, they have known her years before, Comrades of old Bayreuth days fling em- bracing arms about her. To all she says, “I love you.”’ Undying force is in this woman’s body and soul; vigor, energy making a mock of age. She sits in the auditorium at rehearsal, thrilled, keen as a veteran battle horse, waiting impatiently for her summons to go into the trap beneath the stage. As the lights and music dim, up she comes from Erda’s depths, her white hair gleaming in the bluish light. A pause. Out rings the imperious command to Wotan. Poise, un- equaled authority, intensity, clear staccato of diction radiate from her. The voice, thrilling, resonant, noble, warns the vacillating Wotan, and we all listen, enthralled. ‘Selig!’ she said she was; happy as a girl to be back in the fold, reveling in the work-a- day atmosphere of rehearsal, bringing her whole personality to bear on the task in hand. There is only one Schumann-Heink and tongues of many lands give utterance to praise, unstintedly, in the corridors and halls of the big house, after rehearsal. ‘“‘ Hors concours” is the verdict, and all America echoes it. THE ( Other details on pages 100-101) TEWEST in colors are the faded pastel shades, which they are calling ‘“‘dragée” colors this year. Particularly good are the ashes of roses, faint old rose, faded lilac, and dove-neck grays. Greens run all the way from palest apple and faint yellow- green or chartreuse to dark bottle-green. The blues are well represented, particularly navy for the street, turquoise, and a linen blue, like men’s shirts. Faint pink-mauve, pervenche blue, faded lilac, and Parma violet are all represented. Pale peach and apricot are also good. The key, in fact, is very “high.” In contrast to these, we find much beige and a fair representation of gray among the neutrals, and a great deal of navy and black among the dark tones. The dark reds have pretty well left the summer mode, with a few exceptions. Certain houses favor special colors. Lanvin likes greens for evening and coral in the daytime; Lenief has a range of special reds, banana, and a special “swallow” blue. Black is still well represented; particularly for fragile evening gowns. It is often combined with white in the daytime, or touched with gold or silver for night. Faintest pink and black are a favorite combination. There is nothing better than white for evening. TRIMMINGS AND DECORATION RIMMINGS, in the usual sense, are play- ing a smaller and smaller role. Fine working of the material of the model, how- ever, is more important than ever. There are quantities of pin tucks, tiny lingerie tucks, sometimes covering the whole surface of the gown, massed cordings of the material at edges, bias bands often interlaced in intricate patterns, quilting with metal thread, etc. Shirring is very important. Chanel makes whole ensembles of coat and frock in which the crépe is shirred all over like a material. Plaiting of all kinds is rampant, from Rodier’s milply materials to the wide box plaits used for sports skirts. Fine knife plaitings, from one to five inches wide, are used on edges as they used to be in the ’eighties. Fringes are still very good; Vionnet, Chanel, Patou, and Molyneux feature them in novel ways. Paillettes have superseded beads in some houses, notably at Patou’s and Molyneux’s, but tube beads and fine round ones are used in many others. Vionnet has a new iridescent tube bead in four colors. Flowers have not left us, but they are usually made of chiffon to match the frock and the favorite place for them is the shoulder. Worth makes a very odd flower of checked woolen material, and pins it on the fur collar of a checked and plain coat or ensemble. Ribbons are little used, but Renée likes to tie them in a bow with short loops and long ends in the fronts of her crépe frocks. Tailor braids are good; Philippe et Gaston make a whole costume covered with them. Embroideries are most carefully studied; they are no longer used in “hit or miss” fashion, but are planned as an integral part of the design of the gown. Silver mesh appears again in an entire skirt at Lenief’s, and in a detail or two at Patou’s. Yvonne Davidson makes an embroidery in tiny gold and silver rings. New shiny spangles are in the form of Maltese crosses. Smocking is seen at a few houses, notably across the shoulders of a heavy white marocain cape at Patous. Incrustations of one material on another, often in odd modern designs, are interestingly done at some houses. The play of shiny and dull surfaces is continued. Gold and _ coloret pipings are used. Lingerie collars and cuffs are very usual. Big cravattes are often the only trimming on a simple costume.

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for APRIL 1926 213 (Portrait by David from April International Studio) “MERCURY” in Spring’s smartest combinations Black patent with gtay lizard Saturn kid with fawn snake Parchment kid with pig skin br Sy Sth i Obtainable at PENN DELPHIA BOOT SHOPS 515 Madison Avenue. New York 31 West 50th Street, New York Dewees, 1124 Chestnut Street, Phila Aquilla Court, 1619 Howard St maha Ross Bros., 798 Market Street more, San Francisco BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMERT or by mail to your measurement —e es Sea Ss ee OO et - =o —_ eS eee INTERNATIONAL STUDIO by arrangement with the pub- lishers of TOWN and COUNTRY makes this interesting com- bination subscription offer. It 1s INTERNATIONAL STUDIO and TOWN & COUNTRY together 6 months for $5.00 Six issues of International Studio and twelve issues of Town and Country. (The regular subscription price of International Studio is $6.00 a year: the regular subscription price of Town and Country is $7.50 a year.) And only by buying single copies can you secure these maga- zines for less than a year. Unless you take advantage of this special summer combination offer Then YOU WILL SAVE $3.70 on the single copy price The price is surprisingly low. For these are the most expensive of magazines. The most beautifully made and illustrated. INTERNATIONAL STUDIO, as all art patrons, collectors and connoisseurs know, is the authoritative magazine of the fine arts. And for all persons of culture it is a pure delight. As for TOWN and COUNTRY — its subscriptions are almost an inheritance along with boxes at the opera, so intimately has this magazine become involved (for three generations) in the life of Society. FILL AND MAIL THE SLIP BELOW TODAY INTERNATIONAL STUDIO, 119 West 40th Street, New York Please send me International Studio and Town and Country for six months for $5.00. I enclose (If more convenient we will send bill later.) Regular subscription price of International Studio $6.00 a year Regular subscription price of Town and Country $7.50 a year Canadian or foreign postage $1.00 extra. Name Street City. aia State. . "HL B. 426 ‘Maids’ Formal Uniforms are important! It is important to attire your maid appropriately for her morning duties as well as for formal entertaining. The cor- rect uniform foreach andevery occasion which confronts the hostess is fully described and attractively illustrated in the authoritative booklet just prepared by Dix —“The Eti- quette of the Uniform.” This will be sent free of charge upon request to Dept. H 51. Dix Uniforms are available at leading department stores. Bix-Mlake Uniforms for Women Model 372. Finest quality silk and cotton Faille. Black, Terrapin (Tan), Grey, Cha- teau Blue, Royal Purple, and h $17.50 Model 162. Apron, Collar and Cuffs of attractive per- manent finish organdie (set , \ HENRY A. DIX & SONS CORPORATION, 141 Madison Ave., New York SE

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214 JA 136 MADISON AVE 7 ~ 4 NZO 6 (USCH PORTS WEA in its highest form of development- revealing the authentic tenets of Continental fashion ~ ~~ yet justifying the American gentlewomans prejudice for the practical SPORTSWEAR SUCCESSORS TO § - GEEIM’S SONS N° RIi¢ H NEW VORK @ITY PARIS LONDON HARPER’S BAZAR Leona Hogarth, Anne Shoemaker, and William Harrigan in Eugene O’Neill’s latest production. A FORWARD-LOOKING THEATER By BERNARD O SAY that the theater ought to be con trolled by artists seems as axiomatic to thinking, high principled persons as to say that a ship ought to be controlled by able seamen. And yet, because our stage is largely under the dominion of unidealistic business- men whose only motive in presenting plays is to make as much money as possible, a wide distinction adheres to a theater whose directors are of the belief that a theater is primarily a place for artists rather than managers. Such an organization is the Greenwich Village Theater in New York, under the direction of Kenneth Macgowan, Robert Edmond Jones, and Eugene O'Neill. be three, a dramatic critic, a scenic artist, and a playwright, banded together in 1923, to establish a playhouse that would be a liberal forward-looking home of conscientious dramatic art. Certainly they were men of fine sensitive- ness by temperament and training. They were devoted to the task of creating beauty in the ™ ater, in unstandardized ways, it is true, but ithout a set of dogmatic preconceptions to limit their activities. They were sworn to only one formula: the presentation of plays of merit in meritorious ways for the satisfaction of them- selves and their audiences. These three were men who had each gained prestige in his own field and were sufficiently adult artists to establish a theater that should be both artistic and composedly sane. They scorned on the one hand the foolhar liness of the fanatic reformer, and on the other the facil ity of being merely very competent without being progressive and daring. it IS on this score that Mr. Macgowan bases his differentiation between his organization and institutionalized American theaters. The Greenwich Village Theater has avoided the easy success of producing “safe” plays. It takes a chance. It wishes to be experimental, subscribing to the belief that a glib, smooth polish to a commercial play does not make it any the less—in fact, makes it that much more merely a good business investment. Before producing a play, the question is not,‘‘Has this the potentiality of becoming a popular suc- cess?” but ‘ ‘Is this a significant, imaginative, truthful play? The Greenwich Village Theater began its present season with “Outside Looking In,” a realistic and mordant folk-play, essentially American, written by Maxwell Anderson and based upon Jim * Tully s book of tramp lore, “Beggars of Life.” This was followed by Edmond Rostand’s final play, “The Last Night of Don Juan,” universally acclaimed one of the most poetic and picturesque of modern come dies. In December, “The Fountain,” the first romantic play by Eugene O'Neill, was pro- Later in the season the theater pre- sented an expressionistic pl iy by O'Neill called Phe Great God Brown,” and plans to present ‘When in Rome,” by Laurence Stallings. Ihe Greenwich Village Theater grew out of the Provincetown Players—indeed has just this season become dissociated from them. The Provincetowners, from their small beginning ten years ago in the little Wharf Theater in the Cape Cod village from which they took their name, had come to be regarded as the most im- portant art theater in America. Under the leadership of George Cram Cook, their influence duced SIMON spread. They produced the early plays of Eugene O'Neill, of Cook and his wife, Susan Glaspell. In 10916, renting the old livery stable in Macdougal Street which still bears their name, the Provincetown Players began to operate as a New York institution. Their public was small, for the most part impecunious, yet of an enthusiasm to cause an uptown pro- ducer to groan with envy. The theater had almost no money, both actors and directors gave their services for next to nothing in the way of salary, and all worked both night and day under the inspiring leadership of George Cram ( ‘ook. In the spring of 1922, Cook, who had always been an ardent Hellenist, set off for Greece to live on the slopes of Mount Olympus. Other depletions in the ranks caused the Province town Playhouse to close ics doors. It had given America “Emperor Jones” and “ The Hairy Ape” of Eugene O'Neill, “Aria da Capo” of Edna St. Vincent Millay, and many other important dramatic achievements. Me: O'NEILL disliked to think that the 4 Provincetown Playhouse, in which so much dramatic history had been made, should pass into the hands of strangers or perhaps be remodeled for studio apartments. He sug- gested to Robert Edmond Jones and Kenneth Macgowan that they should form an organiza- tion to take over the little playhouse and oper- ate it after their own hearts. He had met Mr. Jones when the latter designed the settings for his play “Anna Christie.” Robert Edmond Jones had been for ten years infusing new life into scene design in this country, bringing an imagination, a freshness, and an originality to his work that placed him at the forefront of \merican scenic artists. Mr. Jones had known Kenneth Macgowan at Harvard, where they had discovered in each other kindred spirits and a common conception of the theater and its possibilities. Mr. Macgowan since tha time had been a dramatic critic obsessed with the idea of a repertory theater. “We must learn how to train and develop our actors,whatever their style,” he had writtet “or we may as well close up our theaters. ‘A repertory company lives together, artis tically speaking, like a family. They know one another’s possibilities; their directors know them. They read their new plays over, time after time, and rehearse for months if necessary They achieve ensemble readily because of their familiarity and practise together, and they achieve it as re idily as the limits of the direc tor’s intuition and ingenuity permit. However, Jones and Macgowan were just starting on the trip abroad which resulted in their book “Continental Stagecraft’”—a study of the theater’s progress in seven Europea countries—and O'’Neill’s suggestion was post poned fora year. N December, 1923, the Provincetown Play house reopened its doors under the dire« tion of the newly formed triumvirate of Mac gowan, Jones, and O'Neill. Strindberg’s play of neurotic villainy, ““The Spook Sonata, done in a symbolical manner with the aid of masks, was the first production. This wa followed by that quaint relic of early American drama, Anna Cora Mowatt’s “Fashion,” the Concluded on page 216)

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Robert Keith in HARPER’S BAZAR 3 a RIE SOE a i, RR REE Sy SFE Ie: “The Great God Brown A FORWARD-LOOKING THEATER Bernard Simon’s Article (Concluded from page 214) hilarious success of which induced the group to take over the Greenwich Village Theater in addition to the Provincetown Playhouse. Since “‘ Fashion,” fourteen plays have been prese nted, the most renowned of which were ig God’s Chillun Got Wings,” a revival ‘Emperor Jones” with Paul Robeson, ” “Desire Under the Elms,” Gilbert and Sulli- van’s “ Patience,”’ and Congreve’s ‘“‘ Love for Love.” Discriminating playgoers have be- come more and more aware of the fact that at this GreenwichVillage Theater, forty blocks south of the theatrical center of the city, are often to be found plays of rare taste, imagina- tion, beauty, and thorough significance to the (American stage, presented with a zest not always discoverable in that Times Square where the theater is a routine matter of pre- senting duplication of previous plays that have fortuitously succeeded. The three direc- tors had believed that there is an audience in New York that is not only superior to motion- picture tastes, but likes to find more than facile suavity in its drama, and their belief has been justified by the appearance of just such an audience. NCE having formed their theater,the three each thought of the project which they, and all who have the best interests of the stage at heart, hold so dear: a repertory company. Two years ago, just after‘ The Spook Sonata, they prepared to put on “Fashion,” and out of sheer necessity used the same players who had appeared in the Strindberg play. ‘‘We were so completely naive and unpro- fessional,” said Kenneth Macgowan, “as to make Sté —_ Howlett into a comic bogus count in ‘Fashion’ when he had just finished playing a grotesque fiend in ‘The Spook So- nata.’ He really should, according to the rules, have continued to pli 1y ominous fiends all the rest of his life. Clare Eames turned from a parroting mummy into Mrs. Tiffany, the nouveau riche, the social climber, the an- nihilator of the French language. To Walter Abel, who had played the neurotic hero of ‘The Spook Sonata,’ we proposed that he should put on a padded military uniform and be an ag er correct lover. Helen Free- man, who had languished and died in a Strindbergian miasma, took to Victorian vapors as a giggling ingénue. The chief triumph of ‘Fashions,’ however, fell to an unknown actress named Mary Morris. Miss Morris was in ‘The Spook’, though nobody remembered her name. She had two lines and a great deal of black veiling in which she wandered around through the background of the whole first act, a figure of sin called the Dark Lady. Of course, she ought to have played vamps, or at least dubious ladies in distress, for the rest of her stage career. In- stead, Jones decreed that she should be the peerless, perfect, Poe-esque heroine of ‘ Fash- ion. Her pure, sweet Gertrude was the choicest part of the play.” Thus a repertory company had been formed. The same players appeared together subse- quently in other pieces presented at the Provincetown and the Greenwich Village— the ““S.S. Glencairn” cycle of O'Neill one-act plays, ‘‘ Desire Under the Elms,” “‘ The Saint, “Patience,” and others. The dream was realized. But imperfectly so. There were too many obstacles. Mr. Macgowan admits that the Greenwich Village is not a repertory theater to-day, although it has a changing bill—that is, a new play is brought out at least five times a year. Even the most coura- geous and high-principled artists must oc- casionally make some compromises. This abandonment of the repertory system is only temporary. It is their ability to make such necessary compromises, which are always con- sistent with their main purpose, that gives this triumvirate the right to be called both artistic and composedly sane. ‘Most emphatically,” says Mr. Macgowan, “we still plan to work toward the repertory form of permanent organization. We only need the money. Only an endow ment or box- office successes can make it possible.” Financially, a repertory company is dif- ficult to maintain. A repertory theater with a permanent cast, dedicated to a changing schedule of plays, faces the expense of keeping at all times a balanced staff of actors. When it comes to storing sets for several different plays, a repertory theater is confronted with fire regulations if it wishes to keep them in the theater, or an overstrained budget if it sends them to storage houses. The public is another difficulty. Accustomed to the repertory idea in opera, it nevertheless refuses to adapt itself to a rotating playbill in the non-musical theater. Where it has been tried, the lobbies, just before a performance, are invariably thronged with distressed faces: “‘But we —— Such-and-Such was playing here this wee ME: JONES explz Lins the aims of the thea- ter in this way: ‘‘ We want a theater,’ ’ he says, “which will be an expression of the poet’s attitude toward life. I suppose we believe that poetry, far from being a pleasant pas- time for one’s leisure, is actually the force which drives humanity toward imaginative living of every kind. Our plays, our actors, our settings, the conception back of the direc- tion of the play, must all be dominated by this attitude. ‘Desire Under the Elms’ is essentially a poem; ‘Love for Love,’ despite the artificiality of its mode, has a rhythm as exquisitely subtle as a string quartette. And O'Neill in a letter expresses himself thus: “Tt’s just that—the poetical (in the broad- est and deepest sense) vision, illuminating even the most sordid and mean blind alleys of life, is, I am convinced, and is to be, my con- cern and justification as a dramatist.’ And that is the aim of the three men who are making the Greenwich Village Theater an institution with a well-defined personality: Kenneth Macgowan, former dramatic critic and now director-general; Robert Edmond Jones, scenic designer and stage director, am Eugene O'Neill, playwright. "etene PYTVIVTTTTirreresrrrreverrrrrrTrtyy |

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218 HARPER’S BAZAR a aE eE Katharine W. Lane YOUNG SCULPTOR A Boston Society Girl Who has Achieved an Enviable Reputation in the Field of Art ‘Tee discovery of young talent isa rare Albright Gallery, Buffalo; a fine bas-relief event, and to find it ina young woman of Mrs. Quincy A. Shaw, Jr., a_ well-known oes at _~™® surrounded with luxury and with the society matron; a Rodinesque head of her insistent lure of the social world is most grandfather, the late Basil L. Gildersleeve; unusual. To Katharine Lane there was and a racing whippet owned by Mr. and Mrs. . never any question of preference, as she Archer Huntington. nN was born with a gift for modeling. When Miss Lane has her studios at “The Chim- o™ es e Tl g other children were playing in the sand pile neys,” her mother’s beautiful estate at Katharine was modeling in clay tiny im- Manchester-by-the-Sea, and in Boston. She mature figures of animals, and this childish has been called a genius by Anna Hyatt, and expression so crudely executed was the Charles Grafly is enthusiastic about her beginning of greater things. sculpture, and it will not be long before the WY HICH well dressed women know One day when she was grown up she took world recognizes her work as that of a real her replicas of animals to Anna Hyatt, who and sincere artist. ‘ u . m _ was her ideal sculptor, and so interested This sketch will not be complete without are shoes designed and manufactured was Miss Hyatt in her work that she helped mentioning her love of sports. She is an b | » und encouraged her and later they worked ardent horsewoman and is never happier A IW G 3 2 = together at the Zoo. “It requires the eye of than when riding across country or showing y NDRE ELLER ~ presentec if youth to discover youth,” and each of this a thoroughbred in the horse shows of the sculptor’s animals seems caught in a playful North Shore. A gift for music is another of New York to fashionable women a wer sees a ——¥ — we _ og go So es oP ery ee les slumbering in the eyes of all wee wik ail to be lappy unless the calls 0 her Soci through the ANDREW GELLER a Pe a ae Baltimore; a rhinoceros bought by the nouse and taking a studio in New York. stores and throughout the - — ailing ? country by dealers who cater to stylish women QUAINT POEMS by offering only the Reviewed by Eunice Tietjens newest. in the FUNEREALITIES by PrEGGy BACON shoe mode. The Aldergate Press URE art, I believe, is the one function DECEASE P=: the human brain which is supposed to CBRN AOP OD be above the dictates of fashion. But, The doctor took 2 having spent sundry years observing the an eager look ehs habits of the muse, I must admit to you they and said it was the end. 1 do not always differ much from the habits of A tear was shed Dame Fashion. Tell it not in Bohemia, but by one who said 4 we have our Lelongs and our Poirets, and we she was his lady friend. Style brochure sent On request. follow them quite as patiently. A guy was there fe This by way of prelude to Peggy Bacon’s with sober air delightful little book, ‘‘ Funerealities.” It is to hear his dying word, as smart as the sleek head and the bare back, to hire the hearse, and as much au fait as the perfect silhouette. dismiss the nurse Ten years ago it would have been unthinkable and have the man interred. NDREW GELLER —— Its Chinesey drawings are altogether amus- ing and ghoulish, and the gay little savageries OBITUARY of its verses are turned and mannered to the 1656 Broadway New York last degree. Beneath the lightness of its touch . : oe there is just the proper shade of ironic serious- The coffin-maker with a smirk Made in Brooklyn ness, so that profound persons with the Did hammer down the lid: ' rimmed spectacles of the cognoscenti may find He looked as if he liked the work. in it an esoteric philosophy, and the rest of Indeed he did. us a childlike wistfulness in the face of death, | tempered with humor, and an occasional He said: “He wasa righteous man, | flash of something beyond. (I never liked him much), These two will give the flavor of the book I'll nail him down the best I can | better than many words of mine. As such.

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Meyerhold’s setting for a prison

Scene, THE ENDLESS THEATER By HAT more can be done about the theater? Can actors and actresses act better? Must it improve, or is there a limit to the elaborate activity that invades it to-day? Is not a more sensitive perception of events, lez ding to catastrophe or consum mation, what is needed instead? The International Theater Exhibition,which the Theater Guild, the Provincetown Play- house, the Greenwich Village Theater and the Neighborhood Playhouse, with the able coop- eration of Jane Heap, induced Mr. Frederick Kiesler to bring to this country from Russia, Germany, Italy, and France, to which has been added selected works from America, furnishes a legitimate basis for these questions. Here are stage models and designs, costumes and masks of bewildering variety. Great and less great painters have generously in- vaded the theatrical scene. Picasso, Leger, Larionoff, Gontcharova and Duncan Grant are responsible for some interesting dramatic ventures: Rabinowitz, creator of “ Lysistrata” as presented in New York by Dantchenko this season; Tairoff, of the Keme srny Theater; Meyerhold, of Moscow (whose experiments in the non-representational theater during the last twenty-five years have made the realism of the Moscow Art Theater seem like peeking through a keyhole), Marinetti, the explosive parent of Futurism; Prampolini, who would banish the living actor from the dying stage, and, above all, Kiesler himself, are important exhibitors. ‘America contrib- utes Norman Bel-Geddes, Robert Edmond Jones, Robert Locher, and Gorelik. ONSTRUCTIVISM is rampant. This means, simply, that three dimensions are actually constructed for the lazy eye, instead of suggested. Wood is indisputably wood, stone is solidly stone, and steel is singing steel. Thus startling angles of approach and dramatic differences of level from which the actor may project his act are possible. Machinery marches monstrously through the wings onto the stages from which the affrighted human flees, to be replaced by marionettes patterned on some abstract geometric prin- ciple, which mankind dimly indicates. The more familiar flower and vegetable decorative theme is not neglected. The sophisticated plundering of the peasant in his pastoral scene of naive proportions, primitive colors and overgrown blossoms, still goes on, though with somewhat abated fervor. In fact, no development of the theater during the last quarter of a century, in any accessible quarter of the globe, is missing. The whole presents a retrospective review of what I have already referred to as the elaborate activity in the theater. Is it dramatic? Kiesler, the Austrian answer. It seems to be mo. As an invigorat- ing alternative to this negation, he has con- ceived and planned an Endless Theater, which he builds into life with space. One cannot but perceive that it is a demonstration, at least, of the fact that there is no progress to eternity, only an identification with it, re- curring necessarily when exhausted sources need replenishing. In a series of drawings, he depicts the practical possibilities of an enclosed center around which the life of men, women, animals, and machines can freely circulate, with whatever inherent dramatic possibilities such life may possess or desire in constant flux, subject to those exciting irregularities and fateful interruptions that living imposes. So blood flows in the veins and through the heart. He plans ar. elliptical building of reenforced architect, has an MURIEL DRAPER concrete base flowing into a glass roof, that rests as lightly on the ground as a football kicked into a field. <A huge steel pin through its center secures it to earth. This steel pin, or axis, is large enough in diameter to permit the installation of an elevator system Exits and entrances to the elevators’ can be affected at any of the many levels arranged as movable arenas in the air for the diversity of spectacles, pageants, games, races, and theatrical per- formances that can be held, and are for the pleasure of pedestrians, the convenience of performers, and the passing fancy of the populace at large. Into the building itself automobiles, chariots of six horses abreast (if there is any one left to drive them), even airplanes, can enter from the grounds through commodious gates. HE first large auditorium, seating thou- sands, is the only one built on the ground. It is elliptical in form, following the shape of the building, and for general vehicle traffic is bisected with a concrete road that becomes a bridge as it crosses the central arena. The middle section of this bridge can become a stage, this stage can become two more, all three unconnected with the auditorium if so desired. Or the bridge can become suspended in air and the stage or stages sunk into the ground beneath, or melted into the skeleton floor above. This leaves a free space for football matches, baseball games, or any re- ligious ceremony dear to the hearts of all people. Basins and river beds of concrete can be filled with water for boat races, swim- ming contests and aquatic acrobatics; or become frozen surfaces for skating tourn i- ments. This, remember, is the first audi- torium only. On the next level is a fourth stage that can be used as any ordinary theater is used, for musical comedies or Greek tragedies, with the spectators perched on seats built in the air. This is not a dream: it is an accomplis sh- able engineering fact. The supporting steel structure is as delicate and fragile as spun silk, but as adequate to its burden of holding humanity in the air as the earth is of keeping it on its surface. The concrete roads for the automobiles and horses spiral up from the ground, carving parabolas in space, flying in mathematically perfected circles. Any one wearying of the thrills to be procured from the emotional conflict of men and women as played on stages through the centuries can leave it behind and refresh himself with the more direct sensation of seeing the neck and head of a horse pass a certain point in that one second that makes him win a race. Or, climbing to another level, he can command a silently moving elevator to stop and take him up or down to other exciting scenes.

RULY, this is an endless thezter. Built in the center of a city, it could become an integral part of the every-day life of its ir habi- tants, who, passing through its doors, pausing a minute—an hour—a day—(yes, there are restaurants and shops on_ these high ways), can be in familiarly recurring touch with the sources of life that proceed, meet, and part to

ultimate catastrophe or consummation, and so become more sensitive to its dramatic values. Here, too, at last is the triumphant and friendly use of machinery and engineering. Born of the blood and nerve centers of man these forces were left alone to play by them- selves. We all know what evil idle children can find to do. One can conceive of them as welcoming a belated acceptance into the family life of those who bore them

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APRIL 1926 for Vraiment, madame! BELLIN’S WONDERSTOEN This round, pink disc the size of a powder puff and just as easy lo use— “ERASES” NEEDLESS HAIR You merely rotate this neat, magic disc over face, arms or legs and you erase the hair, leaving skin clear and satiny. DRY, ODORLESS, HARMLESS No troublesome paste to mix, heat or spill. No blade or lather. Noth- ing to soil clothing... . Al your Drug, Dept. Store or Beauty Shop, $1.25. By mail $1.35. Money back guarantee. Treatment at our Salon Free DEMONSTRATION at our office. Also, Wonderstoen treatment by lady expert. Send for Free Booklet on BELLIN’S Wonderstoen) Address BELLIN’S WONDERSTOEN CoO. 500 Fifth Ave., Dept. HB, New York When the finest cost but a quarter for twenty— ‘Why not Smoke the Finest: 25¢ FOR TWENTY TO BE HAD EVERYWHERE 4 Sesnth ing DIFFERENT for Bobbed Hair THERE is a tremendous difference in bobs. Some are wonderfully attractive and becoming, while others, well—which kind is yours? I wish you could picture the becoming kind I have in mind — the sort that makes men turn to admire. I can’t tell you what the color is, but it’s full of those tiny dancing lights that somehow sug- gest auburn, yet which is really no more actual color than sunlight. It’s only when the head is moved that you catch the auburn sugges- tion — the fleeting glint of gold. You have no idea how much your bob can be improved with the “tiny tint” Golden Glint Shampoo will give it. If yu want a bob like that I have in mind, y a package and see for yourself. Ac all \. drug stores, or send 25¢ direct to J.W. \. KosrCo., 632 Rainier Ave., Seattle, Wn. \ Golden Glint SHAMPOO A\ "2-2 Two charmingly Parisian Models! % Worthy to bear the mark of PENET In all the newest combinations of leather PENE Linc 510 Madison Avenue ae New York Ditpanis Po) at 53rd Street | AAS MINOT AE Ca Oe Or ae oe MONOGRAM GLASSWARE SMOKING SETS with your own initials Smoking accessories of unusual beauty, having the personal touch that increases distinctiveness CRYSTAL, colored AMBER plain or GREEN, $2.25 12.50 4.00 5.00* 9.50 *Has crystal stem $2.25 12.50 4.00 not made 9.50 ; Ash Tray per half-dozen Cigarette Jar 4.50 9 00 Monogram Glassware isalso made ina complete line of tableware. Write forgeneral catalog Send order and check to THE CAN-DLE-LUXE SHOP (CANDLES OF QUALITY) Cigarette Holder Cigarette Box 588-H Madison Avenue, New York 2 CDR SD CARD CAG _DICAKK DICARLS CARS CAWLDS 221 s 8 Jel aster Sift S THE final com- plement to the Easter costume nothing is more charming or correct than an Omar necklace of lustrous pearls. Omar Pearls have the texture and _ variable tones of the true Oriental. The mark of Omar is your guarantee of high quality and assured satis- faction. WRITE FOR A FREE COPY OF ‘*THE RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM” } 4 o* ‘ 88 ROSEMARY $6.00 a NA 7 ANNETTE } $4.50 9 A necklace of tiny larger CLARICE: pearls interrupted by pearls. Double drop effect with large pear-shaped pearl on long drop. Sterling silver pearl set IN oho leas aly Sitesaraslava a a $6 ROSEMARY: Rope of tiny pearls drawn through loop in even or one long side effect. Finished with three large gradu- ated pearls on each end..... $6 ANNETTE: Small pearls com- bined with oval pearls and finished with drop of oval pearls and large pear-shaped pearl sterling silver SOOM EE GED. cc ccccocscse 4.50 SOLD IN BETTER SHOPS EVERYWHERE If you cannot find them in your city communicate with us INDRA PEARL CO. New York

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WA Ze ei = : MN y | ’ ATHARINE KAELRED a ‘ : commutes to Paris, ‘> ~ regularly selecting for your individual require- ments the most ad- 7h vanced creations of Ay ‘ . N\ leading Couturiers. GOWNS-WRAPS SUITS-SPORTS WEAR and ACCESSORIES made for you in Paris from linings carefully fitted here. Prepared to shop for or with clients in Paris during May, June and July. Just arrived—Importations far in advance of the present mode VE tere be Pine Aichi, Ky. > wae New York Shop 30 West 51st Street NEW YORK, 2307 BROADWAY 19 WEST 50th. ST. wy SY ae on tn a el oe CP gl HARPER’S BAZAR —~w A remarkable bit of decoration is this lacy white peacock on a flower-sludded foreground against a gold back- ground patterned with delicate blue lines of foliage. This is one of many beautiful peacocks painted by Mrs. Botke Of fascinating color and design is the painting called “City on a Hill,” FROM THE NEW YORK EXHIBITION OF JESSIE ARMS BOTKE The canvas called “Uninvited Guests” shows Mrs. Botke’s happy and humorsome use of realism joined to decoration.

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