Evening Star Newspaper, June 13, 1926, Page 80

4 THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JUNE 13, 1926—PART 5. ANGEL UNAWARES By Inez Haynes Irwin What He T was getting late and the August nighz Yad fallen long on New York. e crowds on Broadway and Fifth avenus docreasing from torrents to trickles, had dwindled to an occasional pedestrian. The lights of Twenty-third street had died down, although the heat still kept up. Even a high climbing moon seemed to pour humidity into the at- mosphere. Many of Sam Baker's nocturnal nelghbors had come back to thelr ac- customed benches. On the whole they were a greasy gathering—nauseous! Sam had little in common with the human flotsam which surrounded him. A thick tan still lay deep on his smooth olive skin and an open-ai clearness turned his dark eves to crystals The tall Metropolitan Tower kept sepulchral watch on the scene. Sam censulted the town clock and found it w 30! Time to turn in, he con aluded. Turning in was simply a matter of curling up on his bench seat. Ho could not have told just what it was that drew him back from that far-flung_eternity into which he in- stantly fell. For. with no prelimi- naries, he found his drowsy eves open and turned vaguely on the next seat. Who sat there? An amgel? The moon shine directly on her, yvet she scemed to shimmer as though she wero swathed in a rose- hued, glistening gossamer. Barchead- ed, her hatr had a_glimmer b fell like rippled old from her brow to her milky neck. Pools of purple quiet | in_the whiteness of her face Sam'’s lids_dropped again, but with | 7 definite effort of will he opened his eves again. He examined the minutely. Not an angel at all. definitely a girl She was not swathed in a rosy haze. She wore a pink gown of some sum mery muslin substance. At one side a white hat lay on a broad, flat, shal- low box, neafly wrapped in brown paper. She sat upright, knees and feet together: prim hands folded in her lap. Human, decidedly: vet not of the world, eith Sam's first im- pression was right- Curlosity stirred lightly, then strong Iy in him. Who was she? What?| How had she got there? When? Then | apprehension arose. A girl like that! Monstrous! With a sudde ugh he pulled upright. His movement | brought the girl out of her quiet. She turned. It was as though a pair of broad-lamed lamps, the blue of mid night, had turned their light upon | him. “Can you tell me, “it it would be all sleep a little while? did not finish her sentence, knew what she meant “Perfectly safe,” he answered. In- wardly he was not o certain as out- wardly he seemed. Finally he ha ed, “There are probably plenty of places where a young girl could go for the night 3 The girl shook movement, <he asked. right for me to 1 mean-——" She but Sam quick, vigorous dismissal of this project from her goMen head as she said “I wouldn't like that—indeed, I wouldn't! T mean I wouldn't like to £0 to those places.” “They'd be nice and clean enough . . .* But Sam did not go on. He wanted to talk; but he could see plainly enough that the girl's thoughts had suddenly concerned themselves with other things. He wadted. It was she who first broke the silence. Ah, she had been meditating explanation. “The strangest thing has happened to me,” she began, with the directness of a child. “T came to New York this morning. 1 have never been here before. Indeed, I have never stirred out of Holiness Valley. I was alon and when I got off the train, a lad came up to me in the station and said she represented a society which looks after inexperienced girls. She asked me where I was going and I said I would like her to recommend a hotel. | were Was Looking for Was second polite little boy showed me the way up in the elevator to my room. “The room was fit for a queen. Flowers on the wail paper. pictures in gold frames! A mirror, in three parts, on the bureau. A threaded needle in the pin cushion, a Bible on a table, and oh, the most lovely sta- tionery ir the desk. When you opened the closet door a light came on. In the bathroom there were three taps —one for ice water. And towels—I never saw so many. I walked about my room for —oh, a long time—just looking at things and making the light come on in the closet.” * koK % AM listened intently. What in the world did it all mean? As though, with a sudden sensitive- ness, she felt his bewlilderment, the girl came out of her rhapsodies. “1 wanted to do some shopping and T asked the polite man downstairs at the counter for a good shop,” the girl explained. *He recommended Del- mire & Smith’'s. It was the big- gest place I had ever been in. For as much as an hour I walked round and round. And then I bought this hat and three dresses; a blue one, a pink one and a white one. I had never had a dress in my life that was not gray or brown or black. So I put the pink one on and had them place tie two others in this box. They offered to send them to the hotel for me, but I would not let them. There a great many people buying things, and I was so afraid that they’d get them all mixed up. T left my old gray gown and my gray hat in’ the store and told them to give them to some poor person; for I had made up my mind T would never wear anything gray again.” Her voice sank with a solemnity at this, as one who has taken a deliberate but epoch making resolu- tion, as she continued her narrative: “When I left the store it was not by the entrance I came in; I tried to find the hotel, but I couldn’t. After a while T realized I was lost. T went back to the store and started twice again. But by the time all the streets looked alike to me. And then T | found that T had forgotten the name of the hotel. It was a queer name— French, T think. T saw it in great printing over a basement door as I came out. But you see I was 6o excited it passed right out of my mind “What street was it on?” Sam in- | quired. “It never occurred to me to think of that,” Angel replied. “It never oc- curred to me that I could get lost. All 1 remember about the name is that it began with C. Then came A. CA. I've been walking about this whole afternon trylng to find it. I left most of my money in my room— £250—and I spent every cent of the $30 that I took with me. When dark came I did not know what to do. I thought at first I'd walk the streets all night. But 1 was beginning to feel a little tired when I saw this pretty park. If I can sit here until morning 2 * ok ok ok SAM pulled himself to his six feet of muscular height and breadth with a swift jerk. “You don't have to sit here all night,” he interrupted sharply. *“I can find the hotel for you in a Jiffy! Have you consulted the list of hotels in the telephone book?"” elephone book?" the girl repeated with a soft interrogation. “I never w a telephone book. In fact, I have never used a telephone in all my life.” Sam_stared at her and thought many things. “Well, you can't here all night,” he asserted. “Now, if you will come with me, I'll get a telephone hook and read the list of New York hotels to you.” “I shall be pleased to go,” the girl sald quaintly, but with eagerness. stay 8he asked me if I wanted a big hotel or a little one. I said I didn't care about the size but that I wanted to g0 to a good hotel. I'd never stayed in a hotel in my life, but it is always wise to get the best of everything— don’t you think so?” . “It’s the best play for a woman traveling alone,” Sam agreed without difficulty. “Mother always said that at any rate—that in the end, the best was the cheapest. This lady took me to a taxl and gave the driver the name of a hotel. It was the first time I had smes been in a taxi in my life.” She paused and her eyes seemed ¥o flood with a kind of dewy darkness and an awe. “What a marvelous drive that was! ANl the time I thought of Pilgrim’s Progress. And what a wonderful place this city is' And that hotel! Beautiful! Beautiful! Beautiful! A great entrance hall, all gold and vel- vet! Flowers everywhere. I even heard birds singing. A polite little boy came running down the steps and took my bag. A polite man at the door told me to go over to a long desk. Another polite man at the desk asked me to sign my name in a book. A “You are kind to eerve me.” He took her bundle and they turned NEAREST RESTAU. RANT AND ORDERED WITHOUT CONSULT- ING HER. towards the broad deserted waste of Twenty-third street. “My name is Day—Angel Day,” she explained timidly. Angel! Why, that was what—at his first sleep-enveloped glance—he had thought her. He had an impulse to tell her that, but instinct warned him not to pay compliments in a situa- tion so delicate. . Instead he said: “My name is Samuel 'Baker—I'm from San Francisco. I never knew a girl named Angel before,” he added. “Our names are all unusual ones, Friend Samuel,” she returned. *I be- long to the Eternal Brotherhood. “The FEternal Brotherhood!” Sam repeated. a Job; He Found That and—— “The Eternal Brotherhood is a re ligious sect living in Holiness Valley. Our belief is simple—the brotherhood of man. We always use abstract qualities for given names. My moth- er’'s name was Faith, and my father's Courage. We would probably rename you if you joined us. My cholce would be Seraph because you are so +all and strong, and have that beau- tiful look o? kindness. “Where is Holiness Valley?” demanded hasti “In Vermont “And how soon do you return?” “Never,” Angel answered, decisive- 1 “I've left the valley for good. T've come to New York to go to Sam do your people feel about “I have no people,” Angel answered. “My mother died two vears ago, and my father died last vear. But they have always said that when I grew up I must leave the valley.” you have relatives in New ~Oh, no!" “Friends?" “Oh, no—that is, none except you. Sam did not thank her for this dellcate tribute; he was too afraid of breaking the spell. “What work are you going to do?" he asked. “I shall try to get a position as a cook.” Sam ment. Angel went on: “I don't have to think of work at once—with my $250. That ought to last me a long, long time, oughtn't 1t?” Sam was evasiv “If you are careful. By the did you ask them at the hotel what their prices were for a room and bath? They charge by the day in cities, you know. “Oh, do th How interesting! 1 wanted to ask, and then somehow it seemed & little impolite—as though I didn’t trust them, especially when everybody was so considerate.” * ok % % AM felt their arrival at this junc ture at the drug store was provi dential. You said the mame of the began with a C,” he questioned. “Yes, (" and then A. It was a for elgn name—French, I think.” Sam turned at once to the list of hotels in the telephone book and read aloud to her all that began with C; next he read the entire list, from A to Z; finally he read them all a second time. She recognized no one of them, He placed the telephone book on the counter and they left the drug store. For an interval he fell into deep medi suppressed inevitable com- hotel “Now there is only one thing for you to do, Miss Day.” he began. “Friend Angel,” she corrected gently. “Friend Angel,” he said, accepting the correction, “and that is to let me lend you the money to go to another hotel. There is a little place T know, clean but cheap.” He put his hand in an inner pocket and drew out a twenty dollar bill. “T'll take you there now. ‘Tomorrow morning after breakfast I'll call for you and we’ll find your hotel.” Angel tossed her head. “I am sorry to say no, because vou are so very kind, Friend Samuel. But it 1s one of the rules of the Eternal Brotherhood never to borrow. No, I'll sit on the bench in the park until morning. I'm glad you're going to be there, too, though. It's pleasant to have a companion.” “My dear girl, you can't stay there,” Sam protested. “It's no place for a girl—among all those tramps and yeggs.” “What asked. Sam drew a graphic picture of the “nightbirds” who were already roost- ing in the park. Angel listened with a vivid interest; her face registering with each word a softer and deeper smypathy. “The Eternal Brotherhood believ she commented gravely, “that it can harm no one to be surrounded by evil if his own heart is pure. I have no sense of repugnance for these sad creatures, only pity. But if it troubles you to have me there, I can go else. where.” “That's one thing you can't do,” Sam declared peremptorily. “Go else- where!" In a state of considerable mental perturbation, he led her back to Madi- son Square. Their two benches were still unoccupled; but everywhere now the grass was thick with sleeping . The moonlit warmth of the night still maintained itself. She seated herself, took her bundle from Sam, placed it at her side, took off her hat and laid it on the bundle. She leaned her head against a tree trunk. “I do feel a little sleepy, Friend Samuel,” she admitted. “I think it's the constant noise and the many strange smells. Ah! how true,” s went on dreamily, “is the faith of the Eternal Brotherhood! To trust—trust —always trust. Here am I who has moved for the first time in my life out of our little world into the great world. I seemed to step instantly into what we call the first sphere of disaster. But immediately I find a friend like you and it turns out to be the first sphere of security.” She closed her is a yegg?” Angel Day Sam watched until the tide of sleep was deep on her. Then he took off his coat and placed it about her shoulders; took the bundle, which she had placed on the seat beside her, propped it be- tween himself and the back of his bench. He curled up, too; but for a long time he lay awake, revolving Angel's situation. Ultimately the tide of sleep ingulfed him also. * Kok ok HEN he awoke in the morning Angel was sitting up, staring about her. Presently the park care- taker opened the little cottage for women and explained to Angel that she could wash there came out Sam said: ow we must have fast.” “I cannot let you pay for my break fast, friend Samuel,” she replied de- clsively. “But, friend Angel,” he interrupted, *“we may not find your hotel until late in the afternoon. You can't go all day without eating.” She nodded her head; eyes gleamed. Yes, I can. the golden ripples sparkled. borrow,” she repeated. Then,” he threatened, won't eat, 1 won' His threat rebounded harmlessly “It will do you no harm to fast, friend Samuel. We have frequent periods of fasting in Holiness Valley. I am quite accustomed to going with- out food.” 0 was Sam Baker in the last 10 days. But he did not tell her that. Sam made at once for the main hotel district. At first Angel's “No, this is not my hotel!” was decisive and as- sured. But later that assurance seem- ed to evaporate from her manner. After a while a faint perplexity be. came manifest. the midday heat grew and the warmed perplex nereased. Thereafter did not trust to her memos He en tered every hotel they pas: quired if Miss Angel Day were regis. tered there. Always the . answer in the negative. At noon he of food again. “I must not horrow,” Angel per- sisted. ““But vou, friend Samuel, must eat now. 1 will sit with you.” By this time he was ravenous, but he refused to take advantage of her suggestion. By the middle of the aft- erncon, however, he skillfully exag gerated his sense of weakness, her resolution broke, entirely on his ac- count, he realized. They went to a cheap’ restaurant. Angel would have none of the ham and eggs, coffee and waffles which were Sam's choice. Like a child, she broke the bread into the big bowl of milk which was the only food she wanted. And, like a child, all her vitality came flowing back the instant she had eaten. LLATER they resumed their wander- < ings. Once, in the middle of the crowded crossing. Angel suddenly stopped. Sam instantly pulled her out of the way of a taxi and got her to the sidewalk. ““The thought has just come to me,” she explained, breathlessly, “of how selfishly T have monopolized your time without any thought as to your wel- fare. Oh, please me what you would be doing now if you had never met me!" “I would bhe doing are doing now,” Sam explalned: “I've been in New York about 10 days. It was like this. Last Summer 1 was camping in the Rock- les when T ran into a man named Ned Bryant. We liked each other fine, so much’ t well, 1 finally threw in with him. You soon get to know what kind a man is when you camp with him. and Ned Bryant is a regular fellow. Never asked ques- tions. Never shirked his share of the work. When he left he told me any time I wanted to claim it there would be in his plant here a $75-a-week job——"" ; Angel drew an astounded breath. “What a vast sum!" she commented. “Tdidn’t think I wanted to leave San Francisco then,” Sam continued. “But later I got an 'k of the New York fever. 1 aphed Bryant that T was coming and came. I missed Bryant, though. He's been on a yachting trip for weeks. I went to his office and told them that he'd hired me and I'd come for the job: but his assistant is a cold proposi- tion, and he sald, ‘Nothing doing until Bryant gets back!” 1've called up the offica cvery day, but he hasn't re- turned. Angel listened with the interest of a child. R “I see that you believe vou will our friend, Ned,” she comment- . “If you keep that faith you will find him Night drew on, and again the gr twilight-blooming orchid of Manhat- tan began to revolve its vast pet to flood the air with its intoxicatin perfume. The streets filled with pleas- ure-seekers. Late in the evening Sam and Angel dined frugally. Afterwards they wandered about, but the lost ho- tel fafled to appear. Towards mid- night Sam realized that the unyield- ing quality of the city pavement was beginning to tell on the fresh strensth of the country girl. “You might let me send you to a hotel tonight,” he said, suddenl This_time he made his tone com- manding. “No, Friend Samuel, I cannot. 1 ake the food to make you s O e Meonfess, if It should rai But as long as there is a place where I can with safety and comfort sleep I must sleep there. - “Fhere was no diminution in that note of complete finality, habitual to her tone. Without a word Sam turned in the direction of Madison Square. He searched the midnight sky minute- ly. hoping for rain clouds, sky was llke a star-specked glass globe, Having found their settees, however, they talked far into the night. And long after Angel had sunk into unconsclousness, as serene in her quiet sleep as any real angel, Sam sat with his eves half-closed, his gaze ondhor, turning the situa- ion over and over. U ow was he going to beat her game? He could not leave such in- nocence and beauty until he had found for her not only lodgings, but work. Leave Angel alone by herself! This sinister possibility brought out the perspiration on his hot skin. Leave Angel? Why, he could not, Just could not, leave Angel! A sud- den dazzling idea darted across his mind like a blazing arrow and tore through his half-waking, half-sleeping thoughts all night long. * ok KK HEN Angel emerged the next morning from the little wooden cottage she was wearing a pale-blue gown. In material it was as delicate as the other, and seemed, in_the dawnlight, to encompass her in a lue star mist. 5 P ot Took as fresh as if you'd come trom that wonderful bathroom you told me about.” Sam said, reaching for Angel's bundle. “1t's s miracle how fresh, how hap- py, how secure I feel,” she sald with her grave innocence. “If I had ever doubted I would be sure now that what the eternal brotherhood teaches is true—that everything will come out all right if you have the faith. Sam did_not at all share this con- viction. That unformulated terror, which had been in the back of his mind ever since he met her, doubled with o sinister swiftness every time she gave expression to her simple faith. What might have happened to her? What could yet happen? Dur- ing breakfast his thoughts, however, continued to mill about that project. But he was scrupulous. “An idea came to me in the night,” he sald after breakfast. “I wonder 1 did not think of it before. Let's go up to the grand central station and see if we can find the woman who suggested the hotel to you.” They found a representative of the When some break. the bright “I mus “if you broached the subject just what replied, we and She shook her head. | d and in- | but the | #ay society, who said the woman on duty the day Angel arrived had been dis- issed for incompetency. Her suc- list of hotels, carefully graded rying pocketbooks, was inter- minable. Angel and Sam drifted through another fruitless morning. Conversa. tion died because that furtive thought of the night held Sam's entire atten tion. Suddenly he came out of t inward contemplation to the percep. tion that Angel's sten lagged. For the first time, she seemed to feel in herself a lessening of her rich store of country vitality. Tood at once, Sam decided. And after that 3 His mind snapped upon its resolution He led her to the nearest restaurant and ordered without consulting her. Friend Angel, do you know what we're going to do this afternoo ame out of Sam’s long silence, as they tasted their first mouthful of soup. Without waiting for Angel's re city his final, finality, ““We going down to hall and get married. You see,” tone was still casual but still cannot give you up to that career of cooking.” um_ stopped, ran swiftly over the serried ranks of his arguments the storm. Surprise. he ant ument: maidenly shrinkings; prob- ably instant refusal: perhaps scorn in, rag But none of thes tions appeared. Angel merely lift ed her shining eyes to his, as she gave project the lucid, grave-eyed con- ation which was typical of her. But vou don't really know an thing about me,” she said, after long, long pause. “I think I know all that matters about you,” Sam answered. “But has it ever occurred to you that you know nothing about me?" “I know that you are honest and a ply he added, in a tone casual but with | “I'm so much in love With you that I | | the park D e yal - . kind,” Angel replied with a kind of astounded indignation. “I know you nd strong. 1 know that you have the supreme thing—faith. And I know, although you yourself do not lize it that you are really an eter- brother. “Then vou will marry me, Friend Angel?” he asked humbly. I cannot tell you how happy it will make me.” T you wish it Angel agreed di |rectly.” “And I am glad you do wish it; | for T wor O very much, to be vour wife ams stole softly into her eye: she looked through them at hin “I do so love you, Friend Samuel,” she continued. I sat down near you | that first night in the park because I | trusted you' finstinctively. I knew you came from the country—your cheeks were tanned. And I knew vou | were g use in your sleep your ;f:(('o looked noble, and T remembered my mother say once that en people sleep vou can tell | from their faces what they are really like. And all yesterday and this en- tire day I have been realizing— always with a gr | ness—that when you found my | for me I might never sce And now I shall be with y 1 shall hate to give up our And vet it will be sweeter t Friend nel.” | because soon you will be—r | Samuel. but Husband § | The getting married was a much | quicker business than Sam had | imagined. It would have been quick- er if Angel had not insisted upon chan in the cottage in the quare, from the blue dress to the white one. Her wedding gown was, | it possible, more delicately filmy than the two others. But Sam did not ob. ject to this; for above it her face w transcendent—the golden hair break- ing into a glory of ripples, her bright yes crowded with a drift of stars. Your mother had the correct idea straight | in naming you,” he commented “Angel is right!" They found themselves husband and wife in an incredibly brief time after they had received the license. “I'm going to take you the Xerxes Hotel,” Sam said the ceremony. “It's the hest hotel in Ne York. It's made of g monds and they but we owe it out ntee to after my angel br and I'll & 16 find your hotel vefore noon sie e HEY drove to the hotel the strangeness of th monial venture had just re —in_an awed silence, h As Sam started to help L taxi, Angel suddenly stop “Why, this is my hote claimed. Chis isn't ned the Xerxes.” She turned quickly and pointed to the sign over a pavement entrance. here's the name couldn’t remember.” It read “Cabaret.” Sam laughed long and loud this is tha your hotel later how it to hav | But now, my angel bride, | won't_stay here after | complicated to explain th | the clerk. You go upstairs { vour things vou left I to the Vanderland. Ths | of silver and pearls, but it's | expensive. “Will the new hotel have a carpet across the sidewalk?”’ Angel asked with a_wistful eagerness. | canopy as though ched them id in hand short she ex- two n I th almost r out of the 1| “And a| “YOU DON'T HAVE TO SIT HERE ALL NIGHT,” HE INTERRUPTED SHARPLY. [, Sam iaughed “If it doesnt, Ll order one at once. Now while vou're | packing upstairs, I'll pay the clerk.” | e haa, lated, just enough to pay He did not want to borrow And yet if Br: ant did T y tomorrow- But as it happened Sam did not have to raise that qu P he «ssed to the de ca bear fown on him a man f e {in so biz a mold that he made the erowd in the lobt look like dwar | simultaneously their two right hands | went B he « bill fre * the glant When did ome for that not letting sl-darned! 1. T'll he gol-darned | exclaimed. m Bak you got i You've . What do_you mean, know? Well, I'll be m Rake 1 kept on wringing his hand. “I lid let you know—telegraphed. Not have 1 come for the job, but T ant my first week's pay in advance. ot married in the last half And T must have some money." 2. bilifold and a trio of erfep hundred-dollar bills came t of it. “That's mv wedding present.” sail “But don’t insult me by mer hotels, when there's a per- cod house of mine—with a zen sery ing their heads up on Madison sain, in a_moment, You're going to spend your honeymoon fn my home, | vou show up at the office be f o end of two wecks you'll get |6 (Copsricht. 1926.) BY ABEN KANDEL. HE trend of thieving, like the march of ciyillzation, is ever upward. The burly, unkempt bruiser who tracked his quarry to 5 who, armed with a | Jea a week's stubble of , content with humble pocket pilferings, has been supplanted by the slender, sartorially perfect auto bandit, who steals and Kills in broad aylight and for whom even a millfon- dollar haul is not too high. Now comes the newest additions to the gallery of unframed rogues. Tapestry thieves! During the past year, according to the conservative estimate of a promi- nent Fifth avenue art dealer, tapes tries valued at $250,000 have been stolen from the walls of fashionable New Yorkers' homes and from the display rooms of antique dealers. The very nature of these thefts and the artistic as well commercial value of the tapestries stolen have hatched the belief that these are the operations of a very clever and highly cultured gang of international crooks with branches in European and South American capitals and smooth facili- ties for the disposal of such peculiarly valuable loot. Stealing tapestries is a specialized science. It requires a technique, a tradition, a knowledge all its own. Ex- | cept in degree of guilt, it differs from 1l other forms of stealing. Those who practice it really form the aris- tocracy of theft. {,, After all. the auto theft requires lit- itle more than an 8-year-old mentality to ply the craft successfully. To be sure the thief needs daring and cun- ning, but no particular parcel of brains or learning to select the higher- grade cars. The same childish requirements hold true in jewel, fur, silk and bank robberies, and, as has frequently been demonstrated in those cases where ar- rests have been made, the thieves were artificially buoyed up to a high point of reckfessness by narcotics, and in intelligence tests registered subnor- mal mentalities. It is also true that the disposal of commonplace loot is comparatively easy. There are ‘“‘fences” in every un- derworld who will buy diamond rings and watches, There are sly mer- chants in_the byways who will stock up on stolen furs, apparel and silks. But your tapestry thief must be unique. To begin with, he must know tapes- tries. This i3 a branch of art knowl- edge in which there are few experts and a small number of intelligent amateurs. The thief who specializes in valuable paintings has much to guide him. There is a wealth of au- thentic literature to point the way and of famous paintings there are thou- sands of reproductions, many of which hang in the homes of the humblest as well as the rich. But tapestries must be expertly known. It is virtually impossible to perpetrate a “fake,” as has often been done with paintings. Each tapestry Is an entity. It must be known with respect to its designers, weavers, his- torical period, country and subject matter. Let us accompany a clever pair from this tapestry gang. A gentleman and a lady in thelr thirties, both richly though not con- spicuously clad, enter a fashionable Fifth Avenue art shop. It seems that monsleur and madame are interested in tapestries, with which they wish to embellish their new Long Island home. The salesman exhibits the rich mer- chandise with an eager courtesy. He FAMILY $1.500,000. considers himself a good judge of human nature, and decides that his prospective customers will be inter- ested in the large, colorful modern pieces, which are comparatively inex- pensive. He elaborates on these. Madame is naturally curious. She moves about the large room grace- fully. On a table is a small, incon- spicuous strip of tapestry. To the unpracticed eye it would serve only as a doormat alongside of the large, beautiful square that is engaging the attention of monsieur. As the alert eyes of madame light on this modest strip they suddenly dance with interest. The salesman is con- centrating on monsieur, who appears to be an excellent prospect and is a rapt listener. Madame swings close to the table. There is no one in the large room to observe her. With swift, deft movements she folds the strip into half, again In half and a third time for good measure, and slips it under her coat. She exchanges a quick glance with monsieur and approaches. Monsieur warmly thanks the sales- man for his interest and his intelligent sales talk and promises to return soon for a purchase. He leaves with madame. Later in the day the theft of a valuable antique Flanders tapestry, 400 years old and worth thousands of dollars, is discovered. v There are other, more direct meth- ods, but this is the one against which dealers find it most difficult to guard their precious weaves. The next problem, and a very im- portant ome, is the disposal of such ONE OF THE MOST VALUABLE TAPESTRIES IN THE U2 STATES. FOR THIS AND FIVE OTHER PIECES IN A s JOHN D. ROCKEFELLER, JR., PAID THE ROCHEFOUCAULD T, rare loot. One can repaint, relicense and materially alter the identity of a stolen automobile. Diamonds can be cut, stolen rings reset, jewels, silver- ware, trinkets, expensive apparel can be altered and sold with little skill and small risk. But who will buy stolen tapestries? Practically all of the old tapestries have been photographed and can be readily identified. Most of the art and antique dealers know them or know ot them, and experts can recognize them without much difficulty. A firm on Fifth avenue, New York, dealing in interior decorations, ad- vanced the following theory with re- slpect to the disposal of the stolen fab- rlcs he stolen tapestries are too well known to be disposed of in America or Europe. No ordinary ‘fence’ would dare deal with them. “But I feel reasonably sure they're being sold to wealthy cattle, coffee and mining barons in Brazil, in the Argen- tine and in other rich ctnters of South America.” A more detailed explanation for the same trend of the loot was given by Miss Phyllis Ackerman, America’s leading tapestry expert and author of considerable interesting literature on that subject. She said: “South America is the logical place in which to sell the tapestries stolen. The country has reached that stage in its culture and civilization where it is ripe to appreciate and to purchase val- uable tapestries. ““You see, it takes many generations of wealth, culluvrc and tradition before Experts Steal Valuable Tapestries and Find Wealthy Buyers in Other Lands country reaches the ‘tapestry 1d then the nature of the tapes. tolen also points to their ulti- ale in South America. The sul | jects were intensely dramatfe, the col oring vivid and the entire ensemble ¢ the kind to appeal to the South Amer- ican taste. ome of the valuable not only art but for their A panel 10 by the “hroad ¢ | secand floor | shop. The | known the | m | Que It was Brun Lady the I | bey. titled tapestries stolen are for their fntrinsic t was stolen by method from the New York antique one of four Guilford tapestrie Vandrebanc of Gry London, by Charles set was executed by a Guilford for the apartment of ice of Wales at Guilford Al The panels are respectively en Ai and 2 piece, “Water," )0 and the entire mated at $60,000. But the lue of the remaining three is great decreased by the loss of one panel In all_cases reported the thiéves |were well schooled not only in the | finer aspects of suave stealing but |also knew tapestry values and, as fs believed. were all members of an in ternational gang with clever outlets for the precious fabric: Police. of New York are co-operating with Scotland d in an effort to halt these specialized thefts. }i hey are contronte is évidenced not only by the superior | equipment anization of the | thieves, but also by the difficulty of & loot somehow cleverly spirited ¢ to far-off countries and there disposed of to unsuspecting purchas- ers, But the police are concentrating This is one instance where the money value is not the sole concern. An { equally important consideration 1g the fact that our treasure chests of price. | less tapestries are being depleted; that valuable irreplaceable art fabrics have been spirited away and forever lost to collectors who devote their lives to this field and to lovers of tapestries who them. |set w |v anl or; derive untold pleasures from To P:ind Fav;rite ;‘oods. HAT s the favorite food for each section of the United States? Jhe Department of Agriculture is going to undertake a survey in July to determine the kinds of food eaten throughout the United States, the quality and the quantities consumed in various sections. There are sald to have been no adequate figures on food consumption available, and thers is a demand for such information for scientific research and various other groups. It is planned to determine also whether an adequately nutritive diet is within the incomes of large groups of people. Measuring Hat Heat. URING a_heat wave in Parls re- cently a group of scientists held an investigation to find out how hot hats were. The experiments wera made at a temperature of 97 degrees Fahrenheit. The sporting cap was found to be hottest of all, with a heat beneath it of 98.6 degrees. Th« derby was next at 92 degrees. Feit hats showed only 86 degrees and the stiff straw 79 degrees. The panama won over all with only 77 degrees— 20 dedu‘reen cooler under the hat than outside.