Evening Star Newspaper, September 11, 1927, Page 80

THE SUNDAY STAR. WASHINGTO MOTHER KNOWS BEST By Edna Ferber Kiper that, when he does that, he loses | idea in her head? Give her a chance, HEY say there never was such age, some one to control, some one on; a funcral in the history of |whom to turn the currents of her di-|a friend every time. But I'm going to|why dont you? New York’s theatrical life. [ yeeting energy. By the time Louisa | tell you, just the same. You've been | “If my Sally ever marries, it'll be a The list of homorary pa 13 her mother was demanding $i | a wonderful mother. to that Kid, but. if | prince.” bearers sounded like the casta performance for services and | you're smart, you'll let her alone now. | “Prince! Not if she picks him,” of an allstar bemefit. And us for |getting it, which was as much of a|Let her paddle her own canoe a little. | yelled old Kiper, just before she slam flowers! A drop-curt Wt \chite | triumph in that day and place as was | Give her a chance. What if she does |med the door behind her. Orehide: a Dlanket of lliesof-the-valley, | the $5.000-a-week contract she consum- | run on the rocks a little, and bump | ~You would have thought that blunt a pillow of creamy camellias; sheaves | mated in At 13 the mirl [ her nose and stub her toe—" He |alk like this might have opened her of roses; banks of violets. Why, the | Was a long- , gangling creature, | was getting mixed in his metaphor. | eyes, but such scenes only served to flowers alone, translated into money, ail and arms and elbows and | but his sincerity was undeniable. increase Ma Quail's watchfulness, her wouid” have supported the Actors | (uckily) soft brown curls. She had no| -Youre crazy,” said Ma Quail|ireless planning. Siois 2or woars was on | singing voice really, but the vo 1 n't get along without me.| Mother and daughter went to the I ale Sthers | organ possessed a certain husky tonal | She's said so a million times, and it's | heater together. Ma Quail stood in have silk: silver, where others have that had in it something of | true. She can't get dressed without)the wings while Sally was on stage brass; 12, where ordinarily there are nething of tragedy, much of | me, or make up. She can’t go on|dressed her; undressed her; made her #ix. And her mother, Mrs. Quail (“Ma | flexibility. And n <he smiled there | unless I'm standing in the first en-|yp; criticized her; took her home. Pug I e iheterm as not one of | Was something mest engaging about | trance. ~She'd be lost without me. |her to bed. She brought her her affection) swathed In expensive mourn. | her. i i LD el A ~‘“}‘1 ““d”‘ a_gesture | prenkfast. They ate their early din- ing through whosestransparencies you o s of defeat. “All right, Ma. You win. ner together; their hite of Inte sup. £omehow got the impression that she | [T is difficult to say how her mother | 0 FUGE (VG ok GO0 Come [per. Sally was an amiable girl, and was automatically counting the hous recognized the gold mine in her.| S ONN Staod up, D devoted to her mother. But there In the midst of it all lay ¢ Quail, | She induced the managzer of the local| “Anaslet me. tell you this, Mr, | Vere times when she was unaccount. in white chiffon that was a of | vaudeville theater to let Louisa go on ser. When the day comes that |3PIV irritable, impatient. Ma Quail the dress that she wore at | one Monday night in an act made Up| you'll offer my Sally twenty-five hun. | Put this down to temperament and the close of her act ras smiling | of two songs and threeyimitations and | gred a week, and she'll turn it|Vas rather pleased. - a little; and those lines that she had | one dance that was prefty terrible. It! gown d | Rt fought during the past 10 years—the | was before tha day of the motion pic-| " wy e 2t i $ T et berween 30 and 40,|turs. The Bijou presented vaudeville | tormupied Fimer down, you mean,” in: | §ALLY'S big chance in musical com- eteh themselves about a woman's eyes | of the comic tramp and the Family | " “AY right, Tl turn it down. But| edy (“Miss Mg” ran two solid Snd mouth and forehead—were wiped | Four variety. Sandwiched in between | juut remember the time when you re- | ¥éars in New York) did not come until out magically, completely. What 10| these there appeared this tall, 2awky | fused to star her for five hundred a |She was 24. Before she was starred vears of expert massage had mever | mirl, with terrifically long lexs and @ | weok, You can tell the story on your-|in that success, she had won solid Deen able to do. the Mysterious Hand | husky voice and large brown eves.|gije it vou want fo. You're probably | fécognition in * vaudeville and in hus accomplished in a single gesture, | The iraveling men in the audience. | just fool enough. | musical comedy roles that were not You almost expected her to say, in|hardened by the cruelties of amateur " Which is no way for a stage mama | Ste And_aly just ahead of that thrilling voice of hers I2 2 “m‘h"‘};-h"f ""‘ §;;] lau to talk to a powerful and kind-hearted | :wr. her mother, in:«uxiilnx 1\\».15‘. “I will now try to give you n ita . A S Ll B theatrical manager. . as it turned | here. getting a toe in there, widening tinn‘ of Miss. oy ufnnl'.n 20, Mies| 200 s into her imitations. She il | gut, he was wrong and she was right. | the onening to stardom Sally . . . Quail . *|tatea Mansneid, Mabel Hite and Rose | jn the matter of predictions |1t was when Sally w ng the B out ‘to | COENIan. all of 'whom hor mother had | KA o old Olympie Theater that | n uncann: Sin oD IEE AN fee B MR U SCfenaalty s e [ Ma Quail fell il and was forced to a The- one-night stand was flourishing | JREN KIPER, seeing that he had hit [ jake to her bed. It was influenza, of but | pen, Weil home, decided he might even the traveling me well let | which there was a violent epidemic at something of the it as | saw hére was an unusual gift. | Ma Quail have hoth barrels and make | the time. 1t was elegantly termed well. Though imi- | So in the sight of this awk- |an enemy for life. He was interested | “la grippe;” or, as Mrs. Quail e: tation, acc w te-faced child transforming | in Sally’s career. And he was a wise | plained, "a touch of .the la grippe.” soul and spir fled ¢ Crushed though she was by her sor befo their eves into k of the buxom Coghlan, or of the clown e the | old fellow. Ma Quail was fastening|she had never been ill and thought her furs, an angry eye on the door. |(hat by treating this fliness with con Now. listen. Ma. Why don't youl|iempt she could vanquish it. For Wa% om those apron-strings r hm sense, muscle control, exact and an assumption of perfect . D.. ¢, SEPTEMBER 11, 1927—PART row, it had been Ma Quail who had | Hite, or the impressive peison of |let Sally loose r o ey 'y meen to it that this, her daughter's | Mansfield moved the beholder to a sort | You've got her all tied up with? Lel gne afternoon and one evening ber |indolent ease in motion that carried a | at the dim alley. It looked strangely last public appearance, should be as | of tearful laughter. Still, it earaot be | her fall in love and break her heart, | jpe™ Stk M Stuek 1t G FRREST touch of humor. bright to her, that alley; a sort of flawless as all her public appearances | said that there was anything spectacu- | and pick up the pieces, and marr I e e e | . Hally' Bad busi o dosens ot biilx | guldens Bkt soffumed. ©. 25 Bows. had been. A born impresario Ma|lar about her first appearance on a|have a terrible time, maybe; and Aght. |y 1 hurning, until they ©FINE | with him; knew him as a quiet young | She had an hour. = As she steod Quail. During the three days preced- | professional stage. The opinion was|and make up, and get Forn ",‘l"*- ‘;“}_’ h‘ 1 _("“ ed her | pan who crushed himself up against | there, blinking a little, she was like ing the funeral she had insisted that | that, while the kid was clever. she | Ma Quail was at the door. S L e Sy ik bed |the wall to let her pass; a deeent oner who, released after long they come to her for sanction in eve 7t to be home in bed. 1y her face was darkly stampe ore ped pneumonia. | voung man, descended from a long of servitude, fights the im- x They got a e, though Ma ai valls ngement. from motor-cars to min-|{ The trial served to c the | twisted with jealousy and fear. £ g nurse, though Ma Quail [jine of hoofers; a o creep back to the gray walls | | haif-formed plan in M el's ought this. man, with a lithe wais long have sheltered him. | “Sally'd ha she|mind. She took the child to Chi ‘ ol 2 he MR n sven s B wie TeetBolu Be y “tnought, “Well, 1 gueas I explained. “‘She alw: said: ‘Mother | lied about her age, haunted c} delirious the first hours, she ruled | v. but the world was his ad- | go_right home. ! e ekt L boei i imoes ) as. that. city 3 Sally from her bed. Sally was play- | dre His costume was an exagera-| But she didn’t. Instezd she began _ re 2 - SR aRE P ANE . VRLIBNGIIS - maRREeTE i ing down on'the bill, which meant ¢ |tion of the then fashionable male to stroll in a desultory manner down Of cour a lot of people know that | g o | e+ 3 n vi v Bally Quail's real name was Louisa | good spot toward the end of the pro- fmode; peg-top trousers, wide silk | Cl Street, looking in the windows. e e e f gram in the second half. Ma Quail |lapels, saw-edged sailor, pointed shoes. | She was consclous of a sensation of RCHAES Iax sioibicr WA GRtisbiters han] fumed until Sally was off to the the- | In contrast with this grotesquerie he |exhilaration, —of = buoyancy. Clark Soine Trots Aenamn eI led vapia: | % ater; tossed during her absence; began | seemed, off-stage, all the more shy | Street, took on a fascination, a ome from Wisconsin, propelled rapid-| MA QUAIL WAS AT to_ lis 4 rBfLE . kle, a brill ! L “ - o listen for her return a full hour |and. somehow, engaging and boyish. |sparkle, a brillance. 1y by Mrs. Schlagel. Between Wiscon-| THE DOOR. SUDDEN- 7 | So Sally v g e ST e . SUDDEN- before the girl could possibly have fin-| As he bounded off now, went on| So Sally Quail in her new freedom, Mrs, Quall and Sally Quail, respectiv \L\ HER FACE WAS ished her act. She thrashed about on | again for his bows, off. and turned | Strolled ‘exulting, staring into the - e gl Hal | 35 TWISTED WITH ! her pillows, sat up, threatened to get | toward the passage that led to his| Windows. stopping before some of y. Mrs, S ¢ J e and diffi- | dressing-room, Sally, ready to go on, | them. Caine's “The Christian.” Both book | JEALOUSY AND FEAR. out of bed. was as impatient and difi- | dre < 1 g y t % . N 2 - i and play of that name were sm.,-mnus,l“SA LLY DOESN’T | cult as a sick man, forgot her own nervousness in her in-| She \\}?sdth:s enflgol‘;‘l“i\ei fixan 3 2 4 Now she’s putting,on her make terest at what she had just seen. approached her, breathing Iy in vogue at the time. She had| WANT TO MARRY | [ She never gets It on Might unless Tom | “Where did you get that one?’. She | rapidly, as though he had been run- thought the heroine’s name a lovel [ . - SHE'S TOLD ME ||, i there. Chunks her greascpaint . . | tried to do it. "It was time for her to{ning She showed. queerly enough, Sounding thing and had, perhaps’ al-{SO, t Now she's dressing. Now It's almost | 50,00 e T L e e : (NN e SOt B i Gix 1 into step beside her. time to go on. That Nixon is just No,” grinned Nixon, very earnest [into step, 3 va HEAA Gt Dk n M Justland polite. “Go on. You take 'em.| "I didn't see you go out. I was v told them not to run those two acts next to each 'other. | Vil sHow you.” 5 getting dressed. You must've jumped Not that that cheap hoofer's act 1| He was waiting for her when she |inte sour clothes. . = anything like my Sallys But she | came offt—a thing that had never hap-| Sally laughed. and together they ought to follow a sketch. If 1 was up, | Pened to her before. Trust Ma Quail | stigfled to her. hotel. Fhere iy Said: I'd’ make them shift the bill. . . .|for that. s ol Ao T e Now she's on. . - Bhe would | | “BUtLL dontowant,tosateal your | S8 iitg e nrual Guestions the hum a little tune, her eyes bright and | Stuff,” Sally protested. el v . : ind? Hiin 8 Ditln Jng har ey Km“‘x;’z 40| “Say, I'd be proud to have you | Usual answers. ,‘Hou’vmnn} curtains? sallow cheeks, her hair twisted into a | eVl 1ok at it, let alone want to O e | carcless knot on top of her aching | catch it. Leave me show you how it|fousel Was the headdiner o head. “That's right. That's | 5°¢" e evening ahow There's her how miusic. She's taking | leaving her dressing-room door wide | &SRSR SENSC R IO UIANE sing, ne her curtains, One two | open. “Now look Naw! L ohet Yuud b . ) R o Look! One - and twe | told her. Not what yowd call sing. iree . our—she could have had | Naw! . . . ! and But you know. One of those coon another, if they'd taken the curtain |4nd three and slide and turn and | (50 Yo% GO0 f o up the act. He She'll be home now | one and two and three and slide and | Ha e up again. in half an hour . . . twenty minutes &3 fifteen . . ten. What time is it, Miss Burke? The long-suffering Mis: tell her the truth, having tried a pre fessionally soothing lie on her first day with Ma Quail, and having been ught in it, with effects not calcu- lated to allay fever in a case of la grippe. On the first day of her mother's and by her mother's bedside, against the nurse's warnings and the half-hearted protests of After the second matinee, she r a shade less feverish. the third night, after | preceded hers. | mitted Sally to watch the other acts. Sally loved to do it. particularly when the act was a dancing act. She loved dancing, especially clog and soft shoe. . A \\ \ 78 W\ TN 2 . fought the Gerry Society, got a hear- ing, wrote her husband that she was | not coming back—and the career of doesn’t want to mar Sally doesn't want to marry. She's told me so.” “Yeh?" The old eyes regarded her. most unconsciously, appropriated its cadences for use in her daughter's stage career. “Glory Quayle Glory Quayle. Sally . . . Sally | Sally Quail was started. Freud and fixations were not can't| At hoth of these Nixon seemed to be | Quayle . . . Sally Quail . . . that's it!| To the day she died there always|words at that time; and certainly old |an expert. Bally Quail. That's short and easy was something virginal and untouched | Ben Kiper foresaw nothing of the | He did a black-face single. His act remember. And you don't run into ['looking about Sally Quail. It was part |latter-day psychology. But he knew |was that of a dancing monologist, so | of her charm. At 20 she looked 17. | At 25 she looked 20. At 30 she looked 125 At 35 she looked 30, under that | | new ‘overhead amber lighting. And many of the tortuous paths that twist the human mind; and here he recognized something familiar and iugl,\'. Yeh?” Who put that funny | that Ma Quail was justified in think- ing that he should n& have preceded sally. The monologue was dullish stuff; his daneing was wonderful. His anybody else with a name like that.” * X % % THERE'S no doubt that if it hadn't s Burke would | Set it. . | bet I was three months at it, morn- | ings, before I put it in. her mother. | she had \ N finished dressing, she came out to the R \\\\\\ AN first entrance and stood there to iy LR watch Nixon doing his act. Nixon 2 L\ AN was thé hoofer of whom her mother e 3 5 had spoken with contempt. His act| Ma Quail never per- | |dia not even think turn and looka what I do with | my knee there . See? Naw! Stiff. . . . That's i You'll Only you got to practice. 1 * K K K ISALLY meant to tell her mother the | She didn't After all, cause of her dela dream of not telling her. lliness, Sally flew back to the hotel | Bt when the tomehed Moy mothors But, when she reached her mother’s | | room, she found there a woman in such a state of hysteria that she heard herself making up some tale | about having had her spot changed— turned to the hotel directly after her | moved down on the bill—a change for performance, but her haste was, per- | the better. She felt stricken at what she had done. Then she realized that she would have to do it again tomorrow—and next day—and the next—and the next. Suddenly a vista—not a wide one, but still a vista—opened out before her mind" eve. An hour to herself every day. Every day—an hour—to herseif. She did not say this, even to herself. She she thought it. Something seemed to say it dor her. She did not even think of a way to explain her explanation, should her mother recover before the end of the week. But she wouldn't be able, surely, to come to the theater before the end of this week's bill. Sally hoped she would, of course—but she wouldn't. Sally came out of the theater after - | her afternoon performance that next | day and stood blinking almost dazedly asked her advice about it. on her answer. Her decision. Sally Quail, for whom everything was de- clded. Sally Quail, who never was allowed to do anything for any one. Everything done for her. No one allowed her to do for them. Not her capable martinet mother, surely. It was sweet to have someone depend- ent on you for his decision; some one who thought your advice valu- able—not valuable only, but invalu- able. She was riding straight for | catastrophe, was Sally Quail, with- | out ever being warned of the road. * %k K ¥ [T HEY watched each other's act, matinee and evening. She was | there just the moment before he went | on—that moment when the vaudeville | actor “sets himself” for his entrance. She had seen them do all sorts of | things for luck to last them through the concentrated 15 minutes of an act. | Nixon, sprung from a long line of | acrobats, black-face minstrels, hoofers, | always went through a little series of | meaningless motions before the final second that marked his entrance | music. There was a little preliminary | cough, a shuffle, a backward glance {over his shoulder at nothing, a | straightening of the absurd hat, tie, | coat; a hunch of the shoulders, a set- til of his features—all affording re- | liet for strained nerves. Click! He | was on, walking with that little exag- \ geration of the negrd shuffie, his arms been for this tireless general and | then, then, at 39, suddenly she looked tyrant, her mother, Sally Quail would | 39. "Though she was massaged and have remained Louisa Schlagel to the | manicured and brushed and creamed end of her days. Though her natural |and exercised and packed in cotton gifts had evidenced themselves even | wool, she took on, in some mysterious in her very early childhood, it had|way, the appearance of the woman of been her mother—that driving and re-| whom we say that she is well pre- Jentless force—who had lifted her to|served. fame. That force of Ma Quail's, in| For 25 years—from 15 to 40—noth- terms of power units—<amperes, kilo- | ing could prevent Sally’s progress, for watts, pounds—would have been suffl-| the way was cleared for her by her clent to light a town, run a factory,| mother. That remarkable woman move an engine. The girl had had | pushed on as relentlessly as a glacier. wlenty of spirit, too, at first. But it | Here was this girl who could sing a had been as nothing compared to the | little. though she had no voice; dance woman’s fron quality. If ever a girl | a little, though she had too long legs* owed everything to her mother, that|act a little, though her dramatic gift girl was Sally Quail. She said so fre-| was slight; mimic wonderfully. No \ one ever made more out of little than BY STEPHEN LEACOCK. HE other night, seated on the anda of a Summer cottage, it was my good fortune to listen to the melody of a cor- net borne across the water in the stillness of the evening. I am quite sure that it was bad music. But I love bad musie. I know that it is bad music from the simple quently. So did Ma Quail. When Sally was 40 she died of ty-]did Ma Quail. She fought for con-|fact that I like it. When I do, it al- phoid after an llness of but a few | tracts. She fought for plays. She | ways fs. I am assured of this by my days. You were a little startled tolfought for a better spot always in|musical friends. learn this Somehow, vou had never | vaudeville and, even from the firSt,| hen listen to really good music Sally never closed the show. It was years before Sally became a real head- iner in vaudeville, with the star's dressing room and her name in lights —I mean the kind that is worth sev- eral dollars for half a seat, and where you can’t smoke, and where you know it won't end for three hours unless thought of her as a mature woman perhaps because she had never mar- ried, perhaps because of her mother’ unccasing_chaperonage. All her life| Hhe was duennaed like a Spanieh in.| over the entrance. But her mother|there's an earthquake—then I am fonta. Through her mother's tireless surrounded her with all the care, the | peaten entirely. But let me hear efforts Saily Quail had had everything | lamour, the ceremony of stardom. |some really bad music, such as is | She was tireless, indomitable, inescab- | played by a harp and two violins in a able. Press agents featured Sally—|restaurant while I am smoking a rigar she had been wife just to escape her mother. Managers|after the eighth course of a three-dol- zel, than whom there was noth-| and producers received her with a kind |lar table d'hote dinner, and I am car- s important. Even Mrs. Schia- | 0f bitter admiration, recognizing thisiried away. iron woman as one against Whom| mpe pest.place to hear bac music in the world, except two thing: When Ma Quail w Mrs. gel couldn't make a ss of her | iron J \ga husband, though she had early furned | their weapons were powerless. nowadays is in such a restaurant or the full battery of he forces upon | ow, look here, Mrs. Quail they [ the paimroom of a hotel. But ex- cellent bad music may be heard in the had tried to bully, bribe, cajole, | would say in desperation, “you don’t proper season on the Coney Island n, nag, scold and weep him Into | expect me to star a girl that hasn't She was a fiercely ambitious|got the stuff for it Then, in antici-| steamers and on the beach at Atlantic n, but there was no moldin® pation pof what was coming, “Now,|City; indeed, some of the greatest col- He was spineles {wait a minute! Wait a min-uate!ored’ performers on the mouth organ was born six years after|l don't say she won't, after a_while.|may be hcard on an open street cor- By th e 2 kid. She'll grow. Prob'ly fner on a mer night. > mothers of the neic at artist some day. She's a!. In the old s R GG just where to find their | great littie kid, that kid of yours.|pad music wa it was | offspring any Summer evening after | Only—" harper and supper. They were certain to be gath. i Though it was, perhaps, old Kiper ered under the corner arc light with| himself speaking, here he floundered. with the violins used to come in and begin by the two men PLAYING THE CONCERTINA SHOULD BE A DIRECT, HAND.TO- HAND STRUGGLE, NEITHER GIVING NOR TAKING QUARTER. tuning up the harp with two or three the Junebugs blundering and bumping { Ma Quail'’s steely giance ran him blindly all about and crackling under | through. “Only what?" deep throbs; then they struck right foot while Louisa Schlagel recited| A heartening champ at his unlighted |into the swing of “After the Ball" ([ always thought that Beethoven “Tittle Orphant Annie” and sang| cigar. *Well—uh—how old is Sally |and all the men standing along the | . o (po “S'wanee River”; but it ®Jolly Old St. Nicholas” (with ges-| now? Between us, you Kknow. I |rail put down their glasses a moment ) tures) and gave imitations of the | mean—how old is the kid?" and listened. seems not. He refused to. wd's respective papas and mamas Nineteen.” Sometimes they played gay, swing-| Yet the true lover of bad music will ‘with uncanny fidelity. Stern parental Hm. Twenty-one, huh. Ever been |ing tunes like “The Hot Time in the | find it with no trouble wherever he voices, summoning children to bed,|in love?" L oen or that wonderful crei.|goes. As with everything else, the died away unheard on the soft, Sum-| Ma br “Sally has always had | jon, “Come on and Hear! Come on |love of it seems to bring It near. Very mer air. | a great deal of attention, and the boys |and’ Hear! Alexander's Rag Time |often gifted amateurs can delight one Sometimes an irate parent would|all— Band.” I always supposed that that | With the finest bad music, quite up to c~.n» marching down to the corner, | - 1 know. Has she ever|must have heen composed by one of | the level of a saloon orchestra. In- ohly to be held in thrall, | been in love?” the great old masters of music, But | desd, excellent amateur bad playing Is It was absurd, because she was a| “Sally's never even been kissed. |t appears it is not so. musica) | heard at poker parties or at college re- plain child. thin, big-eved, sallow. By | She—?" friends assure me that they didn’t. | unions or at any place where men e time she was 12 she was speaking | Ben Kiper brought one fist down| Or at other times in the saloons|gather in the evening and where there pleces at the Elks' Club ladies’ ev on his desk. “Yeh, and why! !the music changed to the appealing [ happens to be a piano. ning and singing and giving imita-| lah's going to kiss a girl wh melody of *'Way Down Upon the| Often these amateurs are entirely T ot church sociables and K. P.|mother's holding her hand. Now, wait | S'wanee River,” and the ~listeners | self-taught. I may mention here the suppers. Her father objected to this, [a minute. Don't get huffy! I'm tell-|would stand with their Manhattan |case of my brother Jim, who has never D wife was tasting the fruits of | ing you something for your own good, | cocktails lifted half way to their lips | had a lesson in his life and vet whose Wwiumph. o had moma one to man. aml nobody knows befter than Ben and a tear glistening in their eyes.’ playing on the plano—so I am told by . I find by experience that this is the those who know—is not music at all. highest praise that my musical friends can give. On the other hand, 1 am free to con- fess that I have no ear for good music —not when it is really good. By this| I mean the kind of thing that you: hear at an expensive evening concert where a powerful-looking man sits down in front of a small piano and tears the heart out of it for an hour, | or when an Italiano super-basso sings | “0! qual’ Amor,” and people from Mauch Chunk, Pa, shout “Bravi!” or when an orchestra of a hurdred pieces raises competitive hades in grand opera, I don’t say that good music should be prohibited by law, but hon- Carried Away by Some Bad Music |est men ought to begin to own up about it. pecially is this so, because the truly musical people themselves don't seem to ehjoy music. On the con- ary, they suffer. 1 hear them dis- cussing it afterward and find that the aria was upside down, and the tempo of the third fugue was utrocious. But in the plain bad music that I am ac- customed to—as, for instance, when the three darkies sing in parts “My Old Kentucky Home,” there is no tempo that I ever heard of and hence there is no trouble. As to the aria— well, 1 don't think it's used on the mouth organ, anyway. All I mean is, if I fail to make myself clear, that I like bad music. For the Summer enjoyment of real- | Iy good bad music give me the open | One of the best cornet players I | know needs not_only air, but halt a | ir. mile of water. In fact, distance, and plenty of it, is perhaps the chief re- quircment for the enjoyment of bad music. Thus it has always seemed to me a great mistake to have the performer and the audience in the same hall. Music at a distance of only a_hundred feet has mo real chance. fields every note. On the other hand, it the audience—or the performer— could be sent half a block down the street, the effect would be heightened, | lowered ©nd, as it softened, in fac , wers, raised. The street piano is an instance in point. All the best performers are at their best when stationed two bloc! away and around two cornera. 0 with the music of the Summer time heard out of doors. In the case of my friend of whom I spoke in commenc- ing we all feel that the melody of his cornet playing increases with the dis- tance. KEach time we hear him we beg him to add to the effect. There are perhaps a few exceptions to the rule. The piaying of the con- certina, for instance, should be a di- rect, hand-to-hand struggle. neither giving nor taking quarter. The jew's- ! harp and the ukulele also should be fought out on the spot. | But_mostly—where have I wander- ed to? All that 1 was trying to say or to prove was at this time of year especially a little music even of a humble character heard out of doors, across the water, at a distance, Is wonderfully soothing, especially if there is a strong wind the other way. (Copyright, 1027.) i dious resonance that Lwouldn't have done that for the world | Glad you stopped the show.” ‘The ear eyes rolling tragicall: He had re- hearsed his new song and now he tried it out at the close of his act. It was one of those new coon songs and was My Baby. It was the type of plain- tive comic that preceded the jazz blues of today. He singing voice than Sally. But he had a plaintive tonal quality and a melo- caught and held he came off he apologized. your act, Miss Sally. Why, say I Why, say— He was incoherent, agonized Sally, set to go on, looked up at him. No girl of experience would have shown unconscigu: the lodk that Sally turned upon him. Certainly her mother had never seen that look in her eyes. Her face was sparkling, ani- mated, glowing. Dimples flashed where dimples had not been. In that of some one else—some one for whom she cared. She evén said it. “Don't be silly! I'm proud of you. And went_on. If Ma Quail had been there, it would have taken the house manager, stage hands, firemen, ushers and door- man to hold her. Ma Quail in her bedroom had impa- the theater. 8 o'clock. This evening as Ma Quail lay there fuming she was racked by a feeling of unrest, of danger to Sally. She had had that feeling before and nothing had come of it. It was due, of course, to her unwholesome absorp- tion in the girl, though she would not have admitted this even if she had recognized it as being true. The feeling grew, took complete pos- session of her. She could endure it no longer. Trembling and dizzy, she dressed shakily, catching at chairs and tables for support. She took a car- riage to the theater. Sick as she wa she sniffed the theater emell. 8 trils. go on, now that her act had been shifted to a spot down on the bill. She turned the knob of Sally's dressing room door. She opened the door softly, softly, €o as to surprise her Sally. Sally Quail, with her head thrown back, was looking into the eyes immy Nixon of the Dancing Nixons. Nixon's arms were close about her. Sally's mouth was tremulous—the li of a woman who knows that she is ahout to be kissed. It was a kiss she never received. 3 ou, Sally ixon. And “Oh, I love you, too,” sald Sally Quail. Her voice was a breath, a whisper. There was something terrible, some- thing indecent about Ma Quail's ruth- less tearing apart of these two young things. “Get out of here!” She slammed the door, advanced menacingly. She actu- ally seemed about to strike him. “Get out of here, you—you cheap hoofer, you! Get out, or I'll have you thrown out!” She turned to the girl. “You tool! You little fool!” that, and, every one will admit, a good ing for Sally. i Sally probably forgot all about it in later years. Curiously enough, she never would talk about it, even to her mother. And, though the prince her mother was expecting never came, practically everything else did. Fame! and fortune, and popularity, and friendship. A house in London, a house in New York, an apartment in Paris. Private trains. Under her in.| domitable mother's shrewd manage- | ment, she became polished, finished, | exquisite in her art, though she man- aged. somehow, miraculously, to re- tain something of her girlishness and simplicity and lovableness to the end. Still, sometimes if you glimpsed the | two driving on Fifth Avenue, or in| the Bois you wondered about Sally. hanging limp and loose and long, his| called “I Guess I'll Have to Telegraph | d no more of a | you. He got two extra curtains on it, thus cutting in on Sally’s time. She| did not resent this. though. When 1l look you saw pride in the achievement | ygmnt: the she seemed to take on new strength as | For years it had been incense in her nos- Iy would be almost ready to of \= . SALLY QUAIL. WITH HER HEAD THROWN BACK, WAS LOOKING INTO THE EYES OF JWIMY NIXON, OF THE DANCING NIXONS. of those cars that proclaims the fact that its owner has at least two others You know. It had a hood over the back, but no hood in the front, that the chauffeur and a good half of / the delicate upholstery were unpro- tected. It was a proud and insolent car that said, “I am a luxury. I am practically no good, except when the sun is shining—but not shining too hotly. When it is fair, but not too cool. T am only to be used at special times by special people. I am the specialist kind of car for people who don’t have to care. T am money. Look about you. You won't see many like “Why, say, I didn't go for to crab | me.” Sally looked none to glowingly happy in the hooded depths of this gorgeous vehicle, a luxurious rug about her gifted knees. Sally Quail's tragic and untimely ¢ death broke her mother completely— or almost completely. Small wonder. Still, she derived a crumb of comfort from the' touching last moment that preceded Sally’s going. In the midst of the fever that consumed her, she had what seemed to be a lucid last just before the end. Ma Quail told of it, often and often, over and over, to sympathetic friends. For, at the end, as she lay there, | looking, in her terrible illness, much, mueh more than her 40 years, her face had assumed the strangest look— the look of a girl of 20. There was about it a delicacy, a glow. She sat up in bed, as though she were strong and well again. All the little lines in tiently endured five days away from | her fa 7 y B e uti Bt i st ce were wiped out queerly, com- pletely, as though by a magic hand. Her fever-dried lips took on the trem. ulousness of the lips of a woman who knows that she is about to be kissed. Her arms were outstretched, her eyes § fixed on something that she found wonderful and beautiful, ally™” Ma Quail had screamed. Sallyl What fs it! What ls it!Look at me. It's Mother! M 2 e er! Mother loves And, “Oh, I love you, too!” sai Sally Quail.” Her volcs was a brestn. a whisper. i (Copyright, 19 Training Bad Germs. (Continued from First Page.) fraudulent materials and brings about the punishment of the offenders. In many cases the producers are sincere in their belief that the products which they sell are true “cures.” Their faith in their profitable panaceas usu- ally is fuur;ded‘on ignorance of the amental principle: m:dlcal o S Some 28,000 white rats and mice, rabbits and guinea plgs. as wen Lo | dogs and monkeys, are used annually in research and experimentation at the United States Hygienic Labo tory. These animals, which in many erve as martyrs to scientific tion, play an important pa:t olving the secrets of mysterious s and in demonstrating that ccines and serums circulated commerc2 in this country are sul n):ll.v ]ylur human use. >ellagra, which occurs in : | of the country, but which clanlllm';“itl: largest death rate in the South, can | now be either controlled or prevented \ /| |as a result of Government rese: * kX X | extending over a period of 13 years. IXON unclasped the girl, but he| Dr. Joseph Goldberger of the iy Dr he Hyg atill held her hand in his. As al-| *hic Laboratory has proved conciu ways, under emotlon, he spoke the|*IVely that pellagra is a disease of slow and drawling tongue of the born ::'.‘l'],'.}"“}m;mi It l!h;"nused by an un Kansan. | balanced dietary which is deficient in “You can't talk thataway to us, '\‘I‘l:;::‘:"l '“‘?]“‘ he calls “PP"—pre- i of pellagra. Sally sald nothing. Her face was | The addition of dried and powdered white and drawn and old. The sight of | ¥¢ "'a:x[.“« ,’,"r”l;‘i(‘;;"“‘“i']’] ""‘*"*1‘& meal and it “Lk;n:med ;\}:: ,,Q,,',:','“o,','("?"“,,”;hf:;ae?‘"',“"" Vitamin and prevent. x::nn‘gl:r.. that had all the vehemence of a N ounce ;'f‘;]‘:l:l Joast, ‘:qken daily Joream. [l can't you!, Get out of| Lo Y0, SRR % conts & o ot o ths Catkcutt. T s it | control of pellagra. Even the poorest 20 you'll never show in any decent (RSOPIe can afford to use this food ¥ i ; e yeast is rich in protein, o house again. Tll— Unconsciously | of it containing as much prssern ag Where in _cheap melodrama = ~T'll | °S;auarter of a pound of beefsteak. Peedlk o | gFhe outstanding importance of this i vou! > eral-discovered control of ’ T he IAghtened | 1926 more than 1,500 people died from girl with him, “Coma on. Sally” he!the disease in Arkansas, Mississippi said quietly. “‘Come on out of here." | anq Tennessee, while 30,000 were ren- g Ilr|n a{!\'x}:r‘. whispered Sally. “I'm | dered too sick for work or seif < | afraid. Where?” | port. These records are the -y " s W ve ! s b ty] ol £ “You know,” he said. “What we|losscs wrought by pellernic® Triie were ' talking about. ~ Nixon and|Sam scored another great triumon Quail. .| when he solved the secrets of thi But at that, of course, Ma Quail | disease and instituted a campaign of fainted for the first time in her life. | education to spread the Kiewiedse And, when she had been revived, she | ahout the new and practical eyre 1o insisted that she was dying. Nixon |all localities where pellagra. oocurs. had been sent out of the room, and - 18 they took off her stays, and rubbed S bl her hands, and gave her whisky, and earchli. she rolled her eyes, and groaned, and chlight and Fog. made Sally promise, over and over,| JT will be noted tha > that she would never see Nixon again. | Lnizht the beam of ta n:fi: :x ht It was her dying wish. She was dy-|scems abruptly to come to un end if ing. Sally had killed her. And, of | the light be pointed upward. O the course, Sally promised, racked by self- | other hand, if the beam be directed reproach. And that was the end of | horizontally, it veill ! y gradually fade away into nothing. Why should the vertical beam behave in this curious way? The reason is not far to seck. Where the end of the beam seems to be at just that point does the fog end, for the beam cannot be visible to us unless there are small particles in path. This circumatance is of at assistance to saflors in judging the state of the weather, since they can determine the thickness or depth of the fog. They can also tell, by throwlng the heam horizontally. whether the fog is of great extent or whether it exists only in patches. If the fog extends a great distance, then * the beam will become gradually more and more dim. If the fog exists only n patches. then the beam is lighter in patches: and if it proceeds through a place where there is no fog at all You saw them in one of those foreign cars that are almost all engine. One @ that part of the beam will be black or invisible.