Evening Star Newspaper, September 28, 1924, Page 68

< THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, s D. % [ HERE was nothing cold-blooded about young Coatesworth. He | liked people—and that's much | rarer than it soun: He had | an almost blind eve for the imperfections. He knew how to keep | his mouth shut and his blood was| warm. So in college he had been enormously popular—vice president of el and manager of some athletic team Afterward in the Army his company was wildly sentimental about him, and when the war was over had a way of writing him from Kokomo, | Ind., or Muscatine, lowa, about their successes and their failures. Coat worth always answered their lett even when e was very busy, because he himself was somewhat sentimental. Besides, he was nice Whkn he was 27 he fell in love with lacqueline James, who likewise lived 1 Indianapolis, and married her. She married him, of course, because he was such a mnice fellow. Why he married her is_a little harder to guess, because of all the vouns girls in the city she seemed the most com- pletely selfish and the most exquis- itely spoiled. Pcople w bund talking about the attract po- | sites for cach other, and Imea th- complimentary o Jacqueline After the Coatesworths had been| married a vear they came to them- | selves and besan to look each other | over with discerning eves. There | was a great deal of affection between them, and neither féund anything particularly alarming in the other, for a sclfish person and an unseldsh | on zet on together very 1 indeed. He liked her for being cool and clean and jasmty, for wear- ing her hardiness like a suit of armor against the world and being tender and warm for him only. She was like a silver cup. She was a plant from the high places sheathed with cool dew. She was like that when she came| one day into his office wherg he | ried on a wholesale grocery. broker- age with more than average success. | Miss Clancy, the stenographer, nodded | to her admiringly as she passed breezily through the cuter room. | AU the open door of the inner office | Jacqueline stopped and said, “Oh, ex-| cuse me!"—She had interrupted an apparently trivial yet somehow in- | scene. A youn named ronson, who she Knew ply, was | anding with her husband. who had | en from his de Bronson had | her husband’s hand and was | shaking it earnestly—something more | than earnestly. When they heard | Jaqueline’s step in the doorway they | turned and she saw that Bronson's| eves were red. | A moment later ha came out, P Ing her with 2 rrass o “How do vou her husbarn What was Bronson doing here?”| she demanded curiousiy and at once. | Jim Coatesworth led at her, | half shutting his gray eyes, and drew | her quietly to a sitting position on" his_desk { He just dropped in for a minute,” he answered easily. “How's every-| ing at home ‘ All right.” She looked at him with curiosity. “What did he want?” she sisted. *“Oh, he just wanted to see me about | something.” | “What? | “Oh, just something—b: | “Why were his cyes re “Were they?' He looked at her in- | nocently and then suddenly they both | nd plumped Legan to lau; Jaquel walked around the desi down into his swivel cha “You might as well t announced cheerfully, * going to stay right here “We “Te wanted favor.” “Oh “Tou've money ™ “Only “How “Only three hundred “Only three hundred Wwas now of the textur cooled. “How much do month, Jim? “Why—wl; b till you do frowning. a little | He hesitated, him me to do a little, e | some | | bee voice tight, lending L little muct Bessemer | spend a we about five or six hun- | dred, T guess” He shifted uneasily. | “Listen, Jack. Bronsonll pay that back. He's in a little trouble.” And he knows vou're famous for being an easy mark, so he comes to you.” interrupted Jagueline No.” He denied this formall “Don’t you suppose I could use that three hundred dollars?” she de- | manded. “How about that trip to| New York we couldn't afford last| November?” | HE lingering smile faded from Coatesworth’s face. Ile went over | and shut the door to the outer office. “Listen, Jack,” he began, “you don’t understand this. Bronson's one | of the men 1 eat lunch with almost every day. We used to play togeth- er when we were kids, we went to school together. Don't you see that I'm just the person he'd be right to come to in trouble? And that's just why I couldn’t refuse.” acqueline gave her shoulders twist as if to shake off this reasc ing. “Well," she answered decidedly 11 I know is that he's no i He's always tight and if he doesn't choose to work he has no business living off the work you do. They were sitting now on cither side of the desk, each having adopt- cd the attitude of one talking to a child. They began their sentence: with “Listen!” and their faces wo oxpressions of rather tried patience. “If you can't understand, I ca tell you,” Coatesworth concluded. a the end of 15 minutes, on what w: for him, an irritated Key. “Such ob. ligations do happen to exist some- times among men and they have to | ba met. It's more complicated than | just refusing to lend money, especial- 1y in a business like mine where so much depends on the good will of men downtown." Coatesworth was coat as he said this. He was going home with her on the street car to lunch. They were between automo- Dbiles—they had sold their old one and were going to get a new one in the Spring. It occurred pleasurably to Jacque- line that her husband sitting beside her was handsome and kind above | other men. It was silly to try to change him. Perhaps Bronson might | return the money after all and any- how three hundred dollars wasn't a fortune. Of course, he had no busi- ness doing it—but then— Her musings were interrupted as an eddy of passengers pushed up the aisle. Jaqueline wished they'd put their hands over their mouths when they coughed, and she hoped that Jim would get a new machine pretty soon. She turned to Jim to broach the subject—but emitted a gasp instead. Jim had stood up and was offering his seat to a woman who had been standing beside him in the aisle. The woman, without so much as a grunt, t t * putting on his sat down. Jaqueline frowned. The woman was about 50, and enormous. When the car rocked in Jaqueline's direction the woman slid with it but when it rocked back she managed by some exercise of inge- nuity to dig in and hold the ground won. Jaqueline caught her | mom | money BY F. SCOTT FITZGERALD \ A Little Study of the Question Whether It Pays to Be Generous. swaying on a strap— ngry glance conveyed to eye—he was and in an him her entire disapproval of his ac- tion. e apologized mutely and be- came urgently engrossed in a row of car cards. The fat woman moved once more against Jacqueline—she was now practically over-lapping her. Then she turned puffy, disagreeable eyes full on Mrs. James Coatesworth and cough- ed rousingly in her face. With a smothered exclamation Jaqueline got to her feet, squeezed with brisk violence past the fleshy knees and made her way, pink with ze, toward the rear of the car. There she seized a strap and there she was presently joined by her husband in a state of considerable alarm. They exchanged no word but stood silently side by side for ten minutes while 4 row of men sitting in front of them crackled their newspapers and kept their eyes fixed virtuously upon the day’s cartoons. When, they left the car at last Jaqueline exploded. “You big fool” she cried widly. “Did you see that horrible hog you gave your seat to? Why don’t you consider me o sionally instead of every fat, sclfish washwoman you »w should 1 know—- “You didi't see any of those men getting up for me, did yol No wonder you were too tired to go out last Monday night. You'd probably Ziven your seat some—to some hor- rible washwoman that's strong as an {ox and likes to stand up!” They were walking along the slushy street stepping wildly into | Breat’ pools of water. Confused and distrae: atesworth could utter neither apology nor defense. Jaqueline broke off and then turned to him_with ‘a_steely light in her eyes. The words in which she couched her summary of the sit- uation were probably the most dis agreeable that had ever been ad- dressed to him in his life. “The trouble with you, Jim, the reason you're such an easy mark, is that you've got the .ideas of a college freshman—you're a profes- sional nice fellow.” HE incident and the unpleasant- ness had been forgotten. Coate: worth's vast good nature had smoothed over the roughness within an hour. References to it fell with a dying cadence throughout the day then ceased and tumbled into the limbo of oblivion. The subject was rather drowned out by the fact that Jaqueline with her customary spirit and coolness began the long. arduou uphill sbusiness of bearing a child. Her natural traits and prejudices became intensified, and she was'less inclined to let things pass. It was April now and as vet they had not bought a car. Coatesworth had discovered that he was saving practically nothing and that in an- other half year he was going to have a family on his hands. It worried hir > worked far into the spring twilisht now and frequently brought home with him the overflow from his office day. The new car, he de- cided, would have to be postponed for ¢ avhile. April afternoon and all the city shopping on Washington street. Juqueline walking slowly past the shops, stopped. Not &ix feet from her a brizht. new sport roadster was parked at the curb. Beside it stood two men in conversation and at the nt when she identified one of them as voung Bronson she heard him say to the other in a casual tone “lsn't it a beauty? I just bought it toda Jaqueline turned abruptly and walked with quick tapping steps to her husband's office. With her usual curt nod to the stenographer she strode by her to the inner room. Coatsworth looked up from his desk in surprise “Jim.” she began breathlessly, “did pnson ever pay you that three hun- dred”” Why—no” he answered hesitat- Iy, *not vet. He was in last week and he explained that he was a little it hard up Her eves gleamed with angry tri- umph. Oh, he did?” she snapped out brisk- Iy. “Well, he's just bought a new £port roadster that must have cost, anyhow, §2,500." He shook his head, unbelieving. I saw it,” she insisted. “I heard 1 say he'd just bought it He told me he was hard up,” re- ted Coatesworth helplessly. He was using you! He knew you were casy and he was using you. Can’t you see? He wanted you to buy him the car and you did.” She lauched bitterly. “On, no,” protested Coatesworth with a shocked expression. “You must have mistaken somebody for hinm “We walk and he rides on our he interrupted excitedly. “Oh, iU's rich—it's rich! If it wasn't s0o maddening, it'd be just absurd. Look here!” Her voice grew sharper and there was a touch of contempt in it now. “You spend half your time doing things for people who don't give a hang about you or what be- comes of You. You give up your seat on the street car to hogs and come home too dead tired to even move. You're on all sorts of committees and vou don’'t get a cent out of them. You're eternally being used. I won't nd it! I thought 1 married a not a professional Samariton going to fetch and carry for the world As she finished her invective Jaque- line recled suddenly and sank into a chair, nervously exhausted. 1 Just at this time,” she went on, brokenly now, “I need you. I need your strength and vour health and your arms around me. And if you— if you just give it to every one, it's spread so when it reaches me- He knelt by her side, moving her tired young head until it lay against his shoulder. “I'm sorry, Jaqueline,” he humbly. “I'll be more careful. didn’t realize what 1 was doing.” “You're the dearest person in the world,” murmured Jaqueline huskily, “but I want all of you and the best of you for me.” B * ¥ % % HE _smoothed her thair over and over. For a few mhnutes they rested there silently. having attained a sort of Nirvana of peace and under- tanding. Then Jaqueline reluctantly raised her head as they were inter- rupted Ly the voice of Miss Clancy in the doorway. “Oh, I beg your pardon “What is 17" A boy’s here with some boxes, 0. D¥ Coatesworth rose and followed Miss into the outer office. fifty dollars.” | searched his wallet—remem- | bered that he had forgotten to go to the bank that morning. . “Just a minute,” he said abstract- edly. He walked into the corrdor, and opening the door of “Clayton & Drake, Brokers” across the way, swung wide a low gate and went up to a man seated at a desk. “Morning, Fred,” said Coatesworth. Drake. a little man of perhaps 30, with pince-nez and a bald head, rose and shook hands. <Morning, Jim. What can I do for you?" ust this: A boy's in my office with some stuff C. 0. D., and I haven't a cent. Can you let me have fifty till this afternoon?” Drake looked closely at Coates- worth. Then, slowly and startlingly, he shook his head, not up and down, said 1 It's e but from side to side. orry, Jim,” he answered stiffly. made a rule never to make a personal loan to anybody on any con- ditions. I've seen it break up- too mary (riendships.” “What?" Coatesworth had come out of his abstraction now, and the monosyllable held an undisguised quality of shock Then his natural tact acted auto- matically, springing to his aid and dictating his words, though his brain was suddenly numb. His immediate instinct was to put Drake at ease in his refusal. “Oh, I see.” He noded his head as it he himself had often considered adopting just such a rule. “Oh, I sec how you feel. Well, 1 just—TI wouldn't have you break a rule like that for anytping. It's—it's probably a good thing.” They talked for a minute longer. | Drake justified his position easily. He treated Coatesworth to an exquis- itely frank smile. Coatesworth went politely back to his office, leaving Drake under the impression that he himself was the most tactful man in the city. Coates- worth had a way of leaving people with that impression. But when he entered his own office and saw his wife staring dismally out the window into the sunshine he clenched his hands and his mouth set in a hard, straight lne. “All right, Jack,” he said slowly. “I guess you're right about most things and I'm wrong.” * % % % URING the next three months Coatesworth thought back through many 3 He had had an unusu- ally happy life. Those frictions be- tween man and man, between man and society, which harden most of us into a rough and cynical fighting trim had been conspicuous by their infrequency in his life. It had never occurred to him before that he had paid a price for this immunity. but now he perceived how, here and there and constantly, he had taken the roush side of the road to avoid en- mity or argument, or even question. There was, for instance, much money that he had loaned privately— about $1,300 in all—which he real- ized in his new enlightenment he would never see again. It had taken Jaqueline’s harder intelligence to know this. It was only now, when he owed it to Jaqueline to have money in the bank, that he missed these loans at all. He realized, too, the truth of her assertions that he was continually doing favors—a little something here, a little something there. The sum total in time and energy expended was somewhat appalling. It had pleased him to do the favors. He reacted warmly to being thought well of, but he wondered now if he had not been merely indulging a selfish vanity of his own. In suspecting this he was, as usual, not quite fair to himself. The truth was that Coates- worth was essentially and enormously romantic. He decided that these expenditures of himself made him tired at night, less eflicient in his work and less of a prop to Jaqueline, who, as the months passed, sat through the long Summer afternoons on the screen ver- anda waiting for his step at the end of the walk. Lest that step falter Coatsworth gave up many things—among them presidency of his college alumni as- sociation. He let slip other labors less prized. He avoided those who were prone to ask favors—fleeing a certain eager look that would be turned on him from some group at his club. J© was mid-August now and the last of a baking week. Coatesworth was worried—Jaqueline had overtired herself and was paying for it by vio- lent sick headaches, and business scemed to have come to an apathetic standstill. That morning he had been 8o irritated with Miss Clancy that she had looked at him in surprise. He had immediately apologized, wishing im- mediately afterward that he hadn’t. He was working at high speed through this heat—why shouldn’t she? She came his door now he looked up faintly frowning. “Mr. Edward Lacy.’ “All right,” he answered listlessly. Old man lLacy—he knew him slightly. A melancholy figure—a brilliant start Ik in the cighties, and now one of Ithe city's failures. He couldn't im- agine what Lacy wanted. “Good afternoon, Mr. Coatesworth.” “A little, solemn, gray-haired man stood on the threshold. Coatesworth rose and greeted him politely. “Are you busy? “Well, not so ve He stressed the qualifying word slight Mr. Lacy sat down, obviously il at ease. He kept his hat in his hand and clung to it tightly as he began to speak “Mr. Coatesworth, if you've got five to and minutes to spare I'm going to tell you something that—that [ find at present it's necessary for me to tell you.” Coatesworth nodded. “You see,” went on Mr. Lacy— Coatesworth noticed that the hands which fingered at the hat were trem- bling—“back _in eighty-four _your father and I were good friends. You've heard him speak of me, no doubt.” Coatesworth nodded. "L was asked to be one of the pall- bearers. Once we were—very close. It's becauso of that that 1 come to you now. Never before in my life have I ever had to come to any one as I've come to you now, Mr. Coates- worth—come to a stranger. But as you grow older your friends die or move away or some misunderstand- ing separates you. And your chil- dren die unless you're fortunate cnough to go first—and pretty soon you get to be alone, so that you don't have any friends at all. You're isolated.” He smiled faintly. His hands were trembling violently now. “Once upon a time almost forty years ago your father came to me and asked me for $1,000. I was a few years older than he was and though T knew him only slightly I had a high opinion of him. That was a lot of money in those days and he had no security—he had nothing but a plan in his headf-but I liked the way he had of looking out of his eyes—you'll pardon me if I =say vou look not unlike him—so I gave it to him without security. Mr. Lacy paused. “Without securit he repeated. “I could afford it the I didn't lose by it. He paid it back with interest at 6 per cent beforc the year was up.” Coatesworgh was looking down at his blotter, tapping out a series of triangles with his pencil. He knew what was coming now and his mus- cles physically tightened as he mus- tered his forces for the refusal he knew he would have to make. “I'm now an old man, Mr. Coates- vorth.” the cracked voice went on. “I've made a failure—I am a failure— only we needn't go into that now. 1 have a daughter, an unmarried daughter who lives with me. She does stenographic work and has been very kind to me. We live together, vou know, on Selby avenue—we have apartment, quite a nice apartmen The old man sighed quaveringly. He was trying—and at the same time was afraid—to get to his request. It was an insurance, it seemed. He had a $10,000 policy and he had bor- rowed on it up to the limit and to make a long story short he stood to lose the whole amount unless he could raise $450. He and his daugh- ter had about $75 between them— that was all. They had no friends— he had explained that—and they had found it impossible to raise the money. Coatesworth could stand the mis- erable story no longer. lle could not Epare the money but he could at least relieve the old man of the blis- tered agony of asking for it “I'm sorry, Mr. Lacy.” he interrupt- ed as gently as possible, “but I can't lend you that mony 07" The old man leoked at him with faded, blinking eves that were bevond all shock: almost, it seemed, beyond any human emotion except ceaseless care. Coatesworth fixed his eyes deter- minately upon his blotter. “We're going to have a baby in a few months and it wouldn't be fair to my wife to take anything from her—or the child—right now."” His voice sank to a sort of mumble. He found himself saying something about business being bad—saying it with revolting facility. Mr. Lacy made no argument. He rose without visible signs of disap- pointment. Only his hands were still trembling and they worried Coates- worth. The old man was apologetic —he was sorry to have bothered Mr. Coatesworth at a time like this. As he left the office he had trouble opening the outer door. ,Miss Clancy helped him. Jim Coatesworth stood by his desk and put his hand over-his—Tace and shivered suddenly, as if he were cold. But the 5 o'clock air outside was hot as a tropic nooi. ¥ ok ok &k HE twilight was hotter still, an hour later, as he stood at the corner waiting for his car. The trol- ley ride to his house was 25 minutes |and he bought a pink-jacketed news- | paper to appetize his tired mind. Life |had seemed less happy, less glam- oorous of late. Perhaps he had larned more of the world's ways—perhaps | its glamour was evaporationg little by little with the hurried years. Nothing like this afternoon, for instance, had ever happened to him before. He could not dismiss the old plodding home in the weary heat; on foot, probably, to save carfare: { opening the door of a hot little flat, and confessing to his daughter that the son of his friend had not been able to help him out. All evening they would plan helplessly until they said good-night to each other—father and daughter, isolated by chance in this world—and went to lie awake with a pathetic-loneliness in their two beds. Coatesworth's street car came along and he found a seat near the front. At the mext block a crowd of girls from the department store dis- trict flowed up the aisle, and Coates- worth_unfolded his paper. Of late he had not indulged his habit of giv- ing up his seat He supposed Jaque- line was right—the average younsg girl was able to stand as well as he was. Giving up his seat was silly, a mere gesture, a sort of showing off. Nowadays not one woman in a dozen even bothered to thank him. It was stifling hot in the car and he wiped the heavy damp from his forehead. The aisle was thickly packed now and 2 woman standing beside his seat was thrown momen- tarily against his shoulder as the car turned a corner. Coatesworth took a long breath of the hot, foul husband's ' COATESWORTH COULD STAND THE MISERABLE STORY NO LONGER.'air, which persistently refused to eir- man from his mind. He pictured him : | HE MUST KEEP HIS STRENGTH FOR JACQUELINE—HE WOULD NOT GIVE UP HIS SEAT. culate, and tried to center his mind on a cartoon at the top of the sport- ing page. The car turned another corner and again the woman next to Coates- worth swayed against his shoulder. It made him feel unpleasantly cold- blooded. And the car was horrible —horrible. 3 For the fifth time he looked at the pictures in the comic strip. There was a beggar in the second picture and the wavering image of Mr. Lacy persistently inserted itself in the beg- gar's place “Once,” thought helped my father. Perhaps if hadn't my own life would have been different from what it has been. But Lacy could afford it then—and I can't” To Coatesworth, force out the picture of Mr. Lacy, Coatesworth tried to think of Jaqueline. He said to himself over and over that he would have b n sacrificing Jaqueline to a played-out man who had his chance and failed Jaqueline needed her chance now as never before. It occurred to him that perhaps he ought, after all, to give the woman his seat—her lust sway toward him had been a particularly tired sway. If he were sure she was an older woman—but the texture of her dress as it brushed his hand gave somehow the impression that she was @ young girl. He did not dare look up to sec He was afraid of the pitcous appeal that might look out of her eyes if they were old eves or the sharp con- tempt if they were youns : For the next five minutes his mind worked in a vague suffocated way HE other Sunday T was think- ing deep on the big annual female problem of will I buy my Winter clothes now or shall I wait and see what they are really going to wear: maybe I had better wait until the mold of fashion has had time te jell Well, nyways, I was thinking about this when all of a sudden George—that’'s my husband—threw the Sunday paper and a few remarks at me, such as, hey, you never read the papers, here I am through with them, why don’t you take them and find out what's happening in the world, improve your mind. get wise to international affairs and the polit- ical situation, he says. And 1 says, all right, but where are you going—out again playing golf with that Joe Bush of the Haw- thorne Club, 1 bet. And he says. no, T am going up in the attic; I got coupla perfectly £0od Suits hung in the attic. 1 seem to remember putting them away in the Spring and some moth bags and I'm going to get them down und make them do for this Winter. It is only you women who care what the styles will be—I am -going to be economical this year and use what 1 sot. Well, George might of known that when he give me the newspaper he run the risk of me seeing a sale ad- vertised that would read so good I would be headed for it early Mon- day morning while still, as the poet says, the dew was on the rent and the lark on next month’s account. But, all innocent, he went on up to the attic and pretty soon I could hear him up there playing happily around with some old goif things Gen. Bluster had left with us to store. Then I knew he'd be quiet for a spell. so 1 picked up the paper like he had suggested and commenced spending at least $7,000 in my rock- ing chair and imagination without even the bother of going downtown. Well, the question of whether to sink yvour dress allowance in an underslung sports model or a low- necked evening limousine with double ignition is a great worry. Usually before I can give in and buy one of the new styles, why I first got to find out what my friend Mabel Busn is going to wear so's I can be sure and get a later edition. For a sample, if suits is being wore and she has a home edition, why I want a Financial Final Extra. And if hats of squirrel fur is being wore and she gets one, why I want mine to be not alone of squirrel, but trimmed with nuts, as well. The year monkey fur was so stylish she got a coat trimmed with it, and I must say it did look natural on her. But when 1 got mine, why I had silver peanuts for buttons and a pocketbook shaped like a little hurdy-gurdy. I do like a costume to be complete. * ¥ ¥ ¥ WWELL anyways, believe you me, when the Advance and Fall fash- {lons commence advancing in the news sections, there ain't a living scandal or a murder can hold my attention if di- rectly below is a ad to some such ef- fest as “On Sale Tomorrow Only ‘Women's Coats in the Raveniously Ravishing new ma- terial, Ducks Tecth Crepe, lined, Threw on what now seemed to him the enormous problem of whether or not to give her the seat. He felt dimly that doing so would partially atone for his refusal to Mr. Lacy that afternoon. It would be rather ter- rible to have done those two cold- blooded things in successicn—and on such a He must concentrate on Jaqueline. He was dead tired now and if he stood up he would be more tired. Jaqueline would be waiting for him, needing him. She would be depre: ed and she would want him to hold her quietly in his arms for an hour after dinner. When he was tired this was rather a strain. And after- ward when they went to bed she would ask him from time to time to get her medicine or a glass of ice water. He hated to show any wear- iness in doing these She might notice and, needing something, refrain from asking for it. The girl in the aisle swayed against him once more—this time it was more like sag. She was tired, t. Well, it was weary to work verybod in the world was tired—this woman, for insgance, whose body was sag- ging so wearily, so strangely against his. But his home came first and his girl that he loved s waiting for him there. He must: keep his strength for her and he said to hi self over and over t he would not give up his seat. Then he heard a sort of lang sigh followed by a sudden exclamation and he realized that the girl was ne longer leaning against him. The ex- clamation multiplied into a clatter of voices—then came a pause—then a renewed clatter that traveled down Out and etc. Some have Monkey Fur collars and a few have full length beards. Colors, Black, White, Flesh, Without Regard to Race, Creed or Po- litical Faith Pour Madam et Madamoiselle $98.50 For Monday only. Our Regular $100.00 stock.” 1 may not understand all the fancy language that some of the big stores use in their ads these days, but even when some of it is in French or Yiddish, why 1 get the sense of it just the same. For as Geo. Washington said in his farewell address, there is one holy sub- ject which & woman understands in any language and which brings her the same old sweet thrill the wide world over, and that subject is clothes. How T love to sit on a fine warm Sept. AM. between church and the roast in the oven and rcad poetic snatches about how velvet will be worn this coming Of course, 1_already know it will be worn after T have sat on a couple of these restaurant chairs with crocheted seats in them. Oy, there's the rub. as Hamlet & Co., the dry cleans ers. says when you take it to them. But will velvet actually be worn in the other sense? How can person be pasitive, before sinking $49.75 in a Sep- tember model of some kind, that its style will be okay when you get around to using it in Dec.? You never really know what is gonner be wore until you ;i‘ everybody on the street dressed Of course, a person knows it always safe to buy fur scarves to wear in July and Aug.. and that Jan. and Febr. is the time to pick out a straw hat. But out- side of that nobody knows in advance whether to decide on a squirrel single- skin neckpiece or a two-skin polar bear And it is really impossible to be sure in advance should @ person’s hats be contracted for by the acre or by the it pint. Not until They commence wear- ing ‘em. A lot of times T have wished T could take They aside in some quiet cormer and get a little advance dope. I'd like to find out what They intend wearing and what They are planning for the coming social season, generally You know the kind of things They say, and what They do. I even some- times claim, my own self, that They tell me—tell me it's going to rain, or something—but honest, I ain't ac- tually sure who or what They are. I only know that very few folks in our town dast do anything unless They claim its being done. But while Ldon't like They, I got to admit that They have a lot of in- fluence on me, and if They wear chif- fon in Winter and sealskin in Sum- mer, why that's me, too. And as pretty near all the Sunday papers have special writers who claim to be in the know, while Geo. was still in the attic taking a look for his 1924 model Winter suit, I took a look at their pieces to find out where They said our waist was to be this year— under the ears, around the knees, be- low the hip, or by some accidental mistake, around the waist, * X % ¥ OTHER thing interested me was how long would the skirts be, and how long would they be that long? Would I be chopping off my hems or letting them down? But Geo. wouldn't leave me con- centrate fer lon Just as I was the car in calls nd iittle u':;cr‘a("! cries to the conductor. The bell clanged violently and the hot car jolted to a sudden stop. “Girl fainted up herc! | '00 hot for her , “Get back there! Get back there!" | ust keeled right over!” ! t back there! Gangway, you!"| “Pale as a ghost The crowd eddicd apart The p sengers in front squeezed bLack and | those on the rear platform tempo- | rarily disembarked. Curiosity and pity bubbled out of suddenly con-| versing groups. People tried to help, {got in the way. Then the bell rang | and voices rose stridently again, | “Get her out all right | v, did you see that | trolley compauy ought| “Did vou see the man that carried her out” He was pale as a ghost, too. “Yes, but did you hear— i “What?" | “That fella. That pale fella that carried her out He was sittin’® be- side her an’' didn't know—he sars| she's his wife.” | THE house was quiet. A breeze | sed the « | of the veranda, thin ellow rods of moonlig! ; the Wicker chairs, The doctor was| gone mnow and Jaqueli rested | placidly on the long settee with her| head in his arms. After a while she | stirred lazily; her hand reaching up ed his check *“1 think I'll Zo bed now Tmj tired. I'm so tired. Will you help me up.” | deeply absorbed in trying to unravel| the question of knitted goods for |sports wear, a terrible thump come from upstairs. 1 at once, like the good. helpful | wife that I am, velled what on earth are you doing up there are hurt | ldear? But I didn't move o vells you Geo. 1 just found a :.ll»mni photo of Joe Bush in peg-top pants| taken out at the Hawthorne Club.| must of heen in 1398 1 guess. And I says ves | know, dear, I put it up| there | Well, T read a little further and| found out that shoes was going to| have soles this vear, und that M. Pier- | riot, the great French designer, ad-| mitted that feathers would be used by chickens both Broadway and Barn- | vard. This dope was on the page| called “How Mi Lady Will Season Herself This Season: Our Paris Lit- ter. Then T read a piece about how Mrs. J. Thompson Goofnah had appearcd at the leading restaurants leading a drassr\'nh a train two feet long, pre- | humably to mop up the floor, but that wasn't stated. Also. that a Newport, Miss Dottic Dumbkopf had turned out with skirts all wool and a yard long, both of these dames being the final word on the correct thing. or so “Tattler,” the great society reporter, pointed out This was all under the head of “Dope About Society Dopes”; vou know the page, it has lots of inter- esting little notes like “Last evening Mrs. Piz Nez is alleged to of enter- tained at dinner.” And etc Well anyways, 1 had just got a- round to reading something real In- ternational :0. interrupted me again. I v «p_in a piece, about a bunch of Manniquins wear- ing startling costumes indicat the styles for the coming season at a Foreign race track called Long- chance, or something, over at Paris, France, Well, I was just reading where Decolte & Co. had sent out a flock of girls wearing six bracelets on each bare ankle, and costumes made out of knitted ermine and sequin-dotted toques, a charmingly simple effect, the co-respondent claimed. wWhen| George vells down to know did I know the lawn hose ain't up here, and I yells yes 1 know, it's in the cellar. Well, T was mad at him interrupt- ing me like that, on account I am aw- ful interested in Mannikins. Anyways, the only time I have ever seen one of these dressy girls is in a rotogravure, because ths manni- quins that display the dresses in the stores where I deal generally display about 60 at a time, assorted sizes, and turn easily at the touch. Put T love to read about the other kind that go out to race tracks with so little on. Maybe it is a good idea, on account I have often heard where them racing people will win the very shirt oft |Your back if you have one on. | HEN when 1 had done reading the | t international news from Kurope | on what they would wear, why I |turned to the real fashion news about |what we will wear. I mean the news with a detailed picture of this beaded dress in all colors $37.98, or of cami- soles at 98¢ for Monday, and out size |canned goods in our Bargain Bas He lifted her and laid her down among the pillow “I'll be with you in a minute, he said gently “an you wait for just a minute?* “l can wait forever—for you.™ He passed into the lighted living room and she heard him thumbin; the pages of a telephone directory She listened idly as he called a num- ber. “Hello, is Mr. Lacy there? Why—ves it is pretty important—if he hasn't gon to sleep.” A pause J ueline could heur restless sparrows in the magnolix over the way Then her husband's voice again at the telephone: 1 t Mr Lacy? Oh, Coatesworth, Mr. Lacy Why— in regard to that matter we about this afternooer T think—I guess T1l be able to fix that up €0 how or other after all.” e raised his voice a little as though some one at the other end found it difficult to hear. “James Coates- worth’'s son, 1 sajd—Coatesworth.” When he came back to the veranda { she =aid hesitantl. ou're tired, too. Perhaps you'd better not try to Carry me.” But he picked her up and, still hold her in his a he locked the door hehin them and turned out the lights on the first floor and started up the stairs “Put me down she whispered re tired 1t he only laughed and told her | that he wasn't tired at all. And she believed him because what he said was try (Copyright, 1924.) ITING A LINE ON THE LATEST STYLES Nina Wilcox Putnam Dopes Out the Way to Find Out What They Will Wear While George Looks Over His Old Clothes. ment. and other vital items This part of the paper is where us ladies begin to get a real genuine idea of what We will actually buy and put on. Believe you me, it is th ads which carries the honest-to-good ness fashion new And while T was in them deep who would interrupt me again bu George He commenced to holler fc Heaven's sake come on up here and help me find them last winter clothes of, min. 1 can’t find a thing excep Uncle Will's full dress evening sui that Aunt Ella sent e when the |decided not to bury him in it. And so this time, of course, I had to go up and help him find them suits, and no wonder he couldn’t find them, he was standing on them. two suits down to and daylight, and We took them the back porch looked 'em over. Well. says Geo., as he done 8o, well, did you read the paper, eh Did you get the news, find out what's happening in the world, the interna- tional news and so forth like I told ou? . And T says ves, I read the foreigd reports that skirts would be narrows er unless they wadfwider or remain ed the same. And I see they will ¥ short, too, unless the American tasis demands them long, and— Hey! says Geo. disgustedly, women make me sick. All you read the papers for is the styles, I'll bet you been putting in the whole morn- ing reading the clothes ads, he says. Then he give the two suits he had brought out of the attic a final twist and shake and threw them to me Here, he says, I guess you better send these to the Salvation Army, old Well, George Jules, of all things | says, why 1 thought' you was going to make them do? Make them do a little charity, says George. Say what did you do with that newspaper, I want to see the ads about the new styles in men's suits, (Copyright, 1924.) —_— Use for Bobbed Hair. TUNG BO, wife of a Chinefe mer- chant in Canada, returned from China with bobbed hair, but she car- ried her shorn tresses with her in the shape of an exquisite picture of Macao Harbor, which she had em- broidered in silk with her own hair while crossing the Pacific. The nec- essary relief in the picture was eb- tained by the use of white hair, for \\-r;mr;‘ one of the stewards sacrificed a lock. Flies Without Fathers. CERTAIN tribe of flies investi- gated by Dr. A. D. Peacack of Armstrong College has managed to do away almost entirely with the male of the species. Goed news for rabid feminists! Children are born to the flv-women without the co-opers- tion or stance of the men. The males are almost without any value in this fly community. Inasmuch as the fatherless fly children are nearly all females, it may be that this tribe will eventually climinate its useless males entirely,