Evening Star Newspaper, January 20, 1929, Page 88

___THE SUNDAY STAR .~ WASHINGTON, - D. C; JANUARY' 20, ONE WAY TO CHOOSE A DOG By Sophie Kerr The Young Severines Went In for Emancipation and Modern Ideas . UTWARDLY they were as likely looking a young pair as you'd want to see and not noticeably different from the others of their home crowd. John was dark eyed, tall, straight. Louise was blondish, smallish and boy- ish bobbed. She wore her remarkably good clothes with a remarkably smart alr. They had always done the same sort of thing, said the same sort of thing and apparently thought the same sort of thing as the men and girls they danced and played round with. Add to this that they were much in love With each other and were to be married. At seems a very usual sort of picture. But they had, out of earshot of their Tespective families, planned in detail a future that had in it nothing in com- mon with their environment and as- sociations. y After the big, formal wedding, which %was a concession to the old-fashioned tastes and conventional inhibitions of their parents, they were going to do as they pleased. They would rent an apart- ‘ment in the city—no suburban home for them —and then — “Whoops!—live their own lives, be themselves truly, Jet loose all the repres. ions of their nar- Tow upbringing and become eventual leaders in the most interesting group of creative workers in the world.” The quotation is theirs. John would have to go on with the Job he had found six months before, ‘when he got out of college. It was sti- fling to his talents, but landlords want the rent in cash and grocers and butch- ers are not benevolent philanthropists. Clothes, laundry, electric lights, gas, ice —all the materialism of life must be paid for in a material medium. How- ever, as soon as John had written his great novel he was going to devote him- self exclusively to his art. (Sometimes he called it his art, sometimes his craft.) Louise had an art bug, too. Hers was for painting.. She adored it, but she had never had a chaince to study prop- erly, for the teacher in the finishing school where she had been graduated was hopeless—why, she actually believed that good drawing is the best basis of ®ll good painting. Their personal lives were to be com- Plete freedom. “We will come and go as we like, absolutely,” said John. *“I will never dream of asking you where you have been or what you have been doing. You will have your friends and I will have mine. Of course, darling, I'll always want to go out with you and we may happen to like the same people, but if we don't, it's going to be per- fectly all right.” “I never could see,” answered Louise, “why people, when they marry, should lose their individual entities.” “Exactly. Of course, the great point in our being so free of ruponsibult;;g to our very best strength for our work. No jealousy, no petty solicitude, none of thousai le put on themselves and glory in. , with our minds unencumbered by all eour work with all our strength.” “Do you mean by petty solicitude that mn# or send your clothes to the laun- You are to do exactly as you please My goodness—when 1 think of how Dad carries on if the dessert isn’t what collars—oh, John, darling, you are 80 ! There never was any one in world_like ‘To which John made the only answer possible. It was not a verbal one. And * k ok % 'HEY let no word of their heretical preceding the wedding, nor would any sone in their native town have imagined things who trailed down the aisle after the ceremony, in all the bras of ent from the men and girls who attend- ed them. Louise cut her wedding cake John stood beside her, trying to look ticated and detached, but in re- .very young. She was so lovely, so sparkling, so about his freedom and remembered only that he was her lover and her husband. But, when they came to choosing an apartment, they found they had not kin and kind. They were not content with mere picturesqueness—tney want- tilation and cleanliness. It took them some time to find what ‘big room, a small bedroom, a kitchen- jette, two closets and a bathroom. Since each other, I mean, is that it leaves us nd little chains that married that trash, we shall be able to go at T'm not to look out for getting nice Ibg!lt both of those ti )}:flhl&u and the way he roars about : you.” there the matter rested. i ideas escape during the parties that these two good-looking young ‘wedding attire, were in any way differ- with a great silver-handled knife, and y, looking very, very proud and very, o) , that John Severine forgot all It was enough to be young and in love. shed all the old out-worn ideas of their ed steam heat and hot water, and ven- they wanted, but, at last, they got it, a had asked that most of their wedding presents should be money, they had no difficulty in furnishing their rooms very well indeed, and there was @ balance in the bank with which she purposed to pay for her first season's art lessons. It was charming, their diminutive home, and she kept it exquisitely. Nor did she neglect the food she served. She couldn’t attempt much in the kitchen- ette, where even elbow room was at a Eremlum, but it was all simple and de- cious. “I never had so much fun in my life,” she told John. “It's like playing house.” ‘But they were not exactly getting on with their work or their brave adven- turing plan of life. It was much pleas- anter to sit after supper before the fire and talk than for John to get out his typewriter and begin a new chapter of The Book. Louise didn't want to paint at night, because the artificial light made all the colors look different; be- sides she hadn’t seen John for eight ‘hours, and there were millions of things to tell him. Presently they began to know people in the neighborhood, and they were ex- actly the sort of people th2y had plan- ned to know. One of the girls who lived in the front apartment on their floor came in to ask to borrow some chairs for a party. She wore a smock and said her name was Kathi Loree, and she asked John and Louise if they wouldn't come to the party. “You ought to chaperon your chairs,” she said. “Besides, you won't be able to sleep—it’s going to be noisy.” “Oh, we'd love to come,” said Louise. She’d been dying to find out about that front apartmen’. “And, for Pete’s sake, don't doll up,” #aid Kathi. She looked about the apart- ment. “Well, this is very catsy. Ve-ry catsy indeed,” she said. “Thanks for the chairs. I'll come over for 'em just before the party starts. about 9.” “I'll bring them,” s=id John. “Thanks, that’s a good kid.” After Kathi had left John said: “She was rather pretty, don't you think?” “I think her smock was rather dirty,” said Louise. Then she became less se- vere. After a party is a part~. “Tll bet there’ll be interesting people!_I wish she hadn't sald not to dress up. I'd love to wear my chartreuse georgette.” “Go ahead, wear it, and if she says anything, tell her it's all you've got ex- cept a kimono.” Louise blew him an appreciative kiss. “Darling, sometimes you're as clever as 2 woman.” And then, as ha looked a trifle nk at this appreciation, she blew him another kiss and burst out laughing. * k kX THEY went to the party in a high state of anticipation. yeported as he came back from the chair-carrying expedition that it was a queer, bare place, but he had been vague as to details. “There's lotalof ndles; it's kind of dim all arot o) said. So Louise, enchantingly p.#ty i the chartreuse georgeite, Walted in. she John had high impatience for the party to begin. The Severines had decided that they would not be the first to arrive—they’d rllit until they heard other people going n. At last they heard other people and, at last, they went down the hall to the other door. It waseopen, and Louise's first thought was how very dejected and out of place her good maple chairs looked. Kathi Loree, still in her smock, greeted them casually: “H'lo, lambs! Folks, these are my neighbors—their last name is Severine and I don't know their first, so you can call them what you like. Make your- selves perfectly at home. This is my side partner, Linda Jalas. And this is Toby Tent, the sculptor, and Edith Kaine, the dancer, and Paul Gregory and Gypsy Fay, and—" Some more people were coming in, so she went to meet them. Throuh clouds of cigarette smoke John and Louise finally discerned an empty divan and sat down, side by side. Linda Jalas, a big fair girl, was open- ing cracker hoxes, and the others were engaged with one another, so they h: time to look about them. The room was smaller than their own, and had noth- ing on the floor, but a great deal on the walls—brilliant batiks, sketches that were strong on color, but incomprehen- sible as to subject; posters, even menu cards. The lighting was, even as John had said, candles. An arriving guest who was greeted with shouts of welcome carried a port- able phonograph, placed it on a table, and set it going. Every one commenced to dance, and, after a minute Louise and John danced, too. Then Toby Tent cut in on Louise and John seized the blonde Linda. Presently Louise found herself dancing with Paul Gregory, and afterward with an untidy youth whose name she discovered was Clift Parsell, a composer and poet. Later she had a perfectly splendid, helpful conversation with Toby Tent, who was one of the cheerful, chattery art teacher, and he told her he knew just the person she needed. “His stuff is superb! It's the latest shout, regular day-after-tomorrow stuff. He's starting a new school—trochili- cism. You must go to him if you want the real thing!'; urgeg ’l;(‘by. * MEAN’I'IME. John was having a heart-to-heart talk with Kitty, the writer. She felt great pity for John, whose talent, she knew, would suffer from contact with sordid business. She felt so sorry for him that she insisted on smoothing his hair and kissing him once in a while. At last she grew so af- fectonate that John escaped to Louise. “She’s terribly clever,” he 'said, “but odd. Almost eccentric.” In between dances they talked, madly, all at once, no one listéning to any one else. And Edith Kaine did some solo dances, the Whirlpool and Amoreuse. Clift Parsell recited some of his poems. During these performances the talk died down a bit, but in between and ad | afterward it rose to new heights. Writ- ing, painting, music, dancing, all were canvassed with the eye of criticism and the tongue of freedom. It was so inspiring and helpful to John and Louise. They could have lis- tened all night long. It was,” indeed, after 3 when they finally went back to their own apartment—with their chairs. “At last we're in” they told each other ecstatically. “What luck to have sort, and asked him about getting an ——— —r a nueu'ghbar who knows every one worth While!” Louise looked discontentedly about their rooms. “I imagine Kathi thought we were fearfully commonplace. Of course, I wouldn't want things as bare as their place is, but it had an air. It showed that they were artistic, now, didn’t it?” “Yes. By the way, did you find out what. they do” “Why, Kathi’s writing a play and Lin- da’s going to act in it, if it ever gets produced. But in the meantime, to have something to live on, they have a book shop.” “We’ll hunt it up, now we know them. Gee whillikens, darling, look at the hour. I've got to be in the office tomorrow by 5 of 9 sharp.” “Oh, John, won't it be wonderful when you're a famous author and don’t have to go to any horrible old office” “I'll say so,” said John. “Will you .sdnan off the light tonight, honey? I'm lead.” He was asleep when his head touched the pillow. But Louise was wakeful. She lay wide-eyed and happy, thinking over her life, her beautiful, satisfactory, magnificent life. Here she was, married to the finest, handsomest, most lovable man in the world, 2 man who was no sordid materialist, but whose artistic yearnings coincided perfectly with her own, and they were simply crazy about each other, and they had found, even thus early in their married life, precisely the sort of friends they needed, inter- esting people who were all alive to the very things they themselves most valued and yet were young enough to dance BUT, WHEN THEY CAME TO CHOOSING AN APARTMENT, THEY FOUND THEY HAD NOT SHED ALL THE OLD, OUTWORN IDEAS OF THEIR KIN AND KIND. THEY WERE NOT CON- TENT WITH MERE PICTUR ESQUENESS. and be amusing—oh, it was gorgeous beyond her wildest dreams. P ; KATHI‘S and Linda’s crowd accepted the young Severines as completely as they could have wished. There wasn't a day when some one didn't drop in to their apartment, partake of whatever meal might be nearest, borrow their cigarets, their clothes, their furniture, their money, and talk with them in the most delightful camaraderie. Louise and John loved it, all but the 1929—PART 7. “, .+ THESE ARE MY NEIGHBORS-THEIR LAST NAME IS SEVERINE AND I DON'T KNOW THEIR FIRST, SO YOU CAN CALL THEM lending part. They found it expedient sometimes to muffie theif bell and pre- DUCATION continues to expand along broader lines with each succeeding generation; its artis- tic, spiritual, cultural courses become broader, more inclusive paths, and instead of retaining its mere text-book tenets and dogmas, one finds today that it has grown to be a prac- tical philosophy, striking its problems with the vigor that the problems of life itself demand and working with equipment commensurate with the change - all educational factors have undergone. Equipment is as necessary to the newer phases of education as roofs to houses, and it is interesting, indeed, to note that with the erection of the new McKinley Technical High School at Second and T streets northeast, the ensemble features of the physical school are such as to permit—or allow for—the increased practical and artis- tic growth of education. Here is an instance of the ideas and ideals of education applied to such a precise de- gree that the cultufal and material aims merge, giving rise to a corre- sponding expression of practicability directed to definite happiness-achieving ends. McKinley High School reflects the modern tendencies in scientific educa- tion. Its gymnasium, its-stadium, its print shop, its woodworking depart- ment, its domestic science quarters— all of the greatest, practical usefulness —are certain assurances that the dom- inant spirit of newer education rises to higher cultural ends through the material development of those under- lying fundamentals which contribute ll‘l; balance, experience and truth in e. ‘The auditorium of this new school affords the greatest possible field for expression. It has fortunately been designed as a complete theater. Its stage is modern. There is in addition a rehearsall hall. Lighting facilities are suited to all types of production. Dressing rooms have been equipped with care. And though.this auditorium is primarily at the disposal of the students for student productions, it also will come directly to the public and the communities at large through | uses to which it will be put by the Community Drama Guild of Washing- ton, an organization sponsored and di- rected to a large degree by the Com- munity Center Department of the Dis- trict Public Schools. The Drama Guild is the outgrowth of a new order of things and is al- ready moving toward its designated goal as a thriving agency, indigenous to the National Capital. debut is set for January 23 and 24 with the presentation of A. A. Milne's “The Dover Road,” with all- Washington cast, staged by Clifford Brooke. Dennis Connell, Arthur White, Flood, Dorothy Crosby and Jack Phe- lan are among the Washington play- ers who will interpret tife comedy. The guild was directed in its_initial stages by Mrs. Marie Moore Forrest, ganization has been brought to a cre- ative basis of actual functioning. Back of Mrs. Forrest is a long line of years of practical experience and intense theatrical production and inasmuch as has directed her ambitions toward | Dorothea Lewis, Robert Miller, Gerald | through whose energetic labor the or- | just such a medium of theatrical col- Jaboration as the guild promises to be, it is not surprising to find that with the assembling of committees to further this work Mrs. Forrest was named executive secretary of the group—in di- rect charge of production. ASSOCIATED with her in furthering the guild's program are, first, three important trustees in charge of finance. They are Cuno H. Rudolph, former Com~ missioner of the District; Judge Mary O'Toole of the Municipal Court of the District, and William S. Corby. Prof. Dewitt C. Croissant of George Washington University's drama staff, becomes head of an advisory board, with Mrs, Carey H. Brown, wife of Maj. Brown of the Park and Planning Com- mission, as vice chairman. On this committee were named representatives of community groups that have been active in amateur-play production. Mrs, Albert N. Baggs of the Daughters of the Revolution, Robert Cotrell execu- tive secretary of the Washington Board of Trade, Mrs. Frederick E. Farrington of the Chevy Chase School for Girls, J. P. 8. Neligh of Neighborhood House, Miss Ethel T. Prince, dramatic directdr and scenic experts, Mrs. Maude Howell Smith of the Arts Club, Rev. Earle Wilfley of Vermont Avenue Christian Churcl and Mrs. Alexander Wolf of the Jewish Community Center are the other members of this group. Other subcommittees on play selec- tion and casting problems were chosen and the guild officially announced its | | CUNO H. RUDOLPH, T&STEE. voo.. ®hoto by Warris & Ewlng .. . - WHAT YOU LIKE. MAKE YOURSELVES PERFECTLY AT HOME . . . tend to be out when guests came, or to say, “I wish we could ask you to stay to lunch, but we've only enough for ourselves; we're eating up scraps today.” These little matters, however, they considered trivial. After all, their friends were superbly gifted persons with scintillating futures before them. They were hard up now, because (a) they wouldn't pander to commercial managers and art dealers, or (b) their unsympathetic parents refused to sup- port them unless they would go to their respective homes and live and bz guided , gre by parental advice, or (c) because they were so devoted to their chosen art that they would not offer it to the world until they themselves were satisfied with it. Kathi Loree was continually tearing up her finished plays. “Not good enough —not good enough,” she affirmed. Some of their new friends—Dudley Byrum, the actor, and Edith Kaine, the dancer—did not make so many protes- tations of being barred from engage- ments by the a, b, and ¢ reasons stated above and current among the greater part-of the group. They hunted indus- triously for work and, when they found it seemed to try to keep it. Too often, however, even after they had landed something with a salary at- tached, professional jealously caused them to lose it again. So with them it was usually work one week, hunt another job for slx.* » % N the meantime Louise was mnot neglecting her art. Toby Tent had kept his word about introducing her to his friend, the first Trochilicist. He was a tall, untidy youth named Rivt Ryndal, and when Louise told him that she had never heard such an odd name he explained that is had been found for him by an exponent of the art,of mystic numbers, a woman who took your real name and then worked out from it numerically what your soul-name was. And if you once got a soul-name you were assured of success. “Do tell me what your real name is,” begged Louise, deeply impressed. But he wouldn’t do it. Toby told her later, though, that it was Joshua Smith. Rivt Ryndal lived in an old house that was as cold as a barn, but not so bare, for everywhere were Rivt's paint- ings. And such paintings! Sometimes he used paint, sometimes whitewash and bluing, sometimes pieces of tin, and ravelings of wool, scraps of wood, bits of broken china, strings, cakes of soap, anything that came to hand. When it came to taking Louise for a pupil, Rivt was amiable. “You can work Talent—Play This Week Begins Season. MRS. MARIE MOORE FORREST, EXECUTIVE SECRETARY OF THE DRAMA LEAGUE. Photo_by Harrls & Ewing. organization in November of last year, when it presented John Mason Brown, assoclate editor of Theater Arts.Maga- zine, in a lecture on community drama at McKinley Auditorium. Later, Ken-. neth MacGowan, director and associate of Eugene O'Neil, talked to a guild meeting at George Washington Univer- sity on his own experience in the so- called independent theater. These two meetings served to project the aims of the guild to the public and were instrumental in reaching out to a great many drama-lovers; the re- sult was that over 200 applications for guild membership were received. Membership is achieved in a simple way; a mere declaration of intention is sufficient to-do it. There are no fees of membership and the guild is open to individuals and groups active or_interested in the drama. That interest or activity have cov- ered all phases of the theater, for the Drama Guild’s program has been’ laid out along practical lines so as to em- brace the theater in its entirety and provide for a community of interests in all branches. Of its first year's plans something may be said first as to its creative basis. The guild is neither fanciful nor visionary. Practicability is back of all its enterprises and production is not the only course it hopes to follow. With the Capital filled with num- berless groups of amateur players, i.e., the Town Players, The Muzl the Jew- jsh Community gioup, the Arts Club i JUDGE MARY O'TOOLE, TRUSTEE. Photo by Harris & Ewing. unit and others too many to men- tion, the guild has set itself to the job of bringing all of these into as- sociation, without in the least dis- turbing their own entities. It hopes to be able, through its central organi- zation, to aid these groups in their own individual productions. It wants to assist them in the choosing of plays, the direction of them, the scenic and costume properties needed to produce them properly, the lighting effects that make for picturesqueness; in brief, it is setting itself up as something of a clinic in the theater, to act as an adequate clearinghouse for- community dramatic groups. * oK koK ALt of these smfll local groups are striving - to offer plays in their own communities, but many of them, with scattered talents and abili- ties, are handicapped. Often they would welcome assistance along lines in which they find themselves totally deficient. Often they lack directors and scenic experts; often they need casting help. Here is where the guild fills the void. offering to co- operate with all groups, wherever lo- cated in the city, P'ucln{ at the disposal of such organizations the brains and intelligence the guild already is assem- b“x‘dllnd!mm‘izugl ing this abo rect s ring about is the One-At:v?P’hy ‘Tournament of the District which. will be held in February. ‘Through such a competition these com- munity socleties are ht into direct ‘contact, and aiy one of is invited here, and T'll direct you,” he said. “But, of course, I can actually teach you nothing. All that you do must come from your inner self. If you haven't got it in you, I'll soon find it out and tell you. I'll have to charge you $5 for an afternoon, and you can' come when you like.” “But what shall I bring—charcoal, oil paints, water color?” asked Louise. “Bring whatever you please—it’s all ¢he same. Art is not bound by any set mntetrhls. It couldn't be. eat.” “I wish you'd explain Trochilicism some little direction. “What does it mean? What does it stand for?” “It is based on the oldest, the most basic thought of motion,” answered the Rivt. “On rotation. The earth rotates on its axis and also around the sun, the moon around the earth, and so on. The circle is the symbol of every- thing. The nests of birds, the pupils of the eyes, the trunks of trees, the outline of flowers—everything is in a circle—d’you see. And so, in Trochili- cism you must both subjectify and ob- jectify your ideas into éircles.” ‘This ended the interview, except that Louise said she would come in the next afternoon. As they went away, she asked Toby if his friend wasn't too advanced. But Toby said no. And assuredly Rivt Ryndal's earnestness could not be doubted, nor his perfect newness. She commenced her work with him the next day hopefully, the more so, since he very kindly set her a problem in composition. “Of course, it's an old theme, but I want you, quite out of your own consciousness, to paint Trochilically,” he said. “And, since you've brought your ofl paints and a canves, go ahead and ‘start with them. If you find later that you need other materials, you can use them. Begin by thinking of the most essential things in terms of Tro- chilicism, and then paint them—you see how easy it is.” * % o® SO every other day, at five dollars per afternoon, Louise painted in terms of Trochilicism under the eyes of the first Trochilicist. He was very fussy about it and made her wipe out and paint over almost everything she did. She would have been discouraged, at times, had he not told her continually that she was doing far better than he had anticipated. Besides, he talked so inspiringly on art that it was worth the money to hear him, even though she felt at times It is too' to me a little,” persisted Leuise, desiring | that it was awfully hard to spend so much. Fortunately, her father sent her a check and told her to buy herself a silver fox, so she used that for lessons, and also to give a party. She and John were rather behind with parties, for all the others in the crowd gave them constantly. “We take parties too seriously, we're ruled by our middle-class ideas,” John said. “The others just have spaghetti, or crackers and cheese, but we think we’ve got to have sandwiches and salad and ice cream and cake. “It's our apartment,” said Louise. “It sort of requires more. I wish we could clear out a lot of our things and do it all over, so it didn't look so old- fashioned.” “Oh, but it's beautiful—and you took so much trouble with it, and we were so happy about it.” Even the radical John was startled by Louise’s suggestion. “I know—but all my ideals have changed and developed. I can see that this is very ordinary. It's.too comfort- able.” “I don’t care. I like to be clean and I like to be comfortable. And that may be commonplace, but it's true. And say, darling, I'm going to get a raise in pay pretty soon. The boss says I'm a bright young man and a comer. What about that, hey?” s Louise looked at him in dismay. *“I knew it,” she wailed. “That horrible place where you work is getting you. You haven't done a line on your book for-ages. You don't care nearly so much for our friends as you used to. You want comfort and cleanliness and put them before loyalty to art.. You don't even like my new pictures—" It was the beginning of their first quarrel. Other bones of contention. were dug up and flourished. John, it now appeared, was not at all pleased with Louise’s quoting of Rivt Ryndal as an authority on everything. Louise accused John of paying too much attention to Kitty Dillaby, who was “a little graft- er,” to quote Louise. “You pay for her dinner every time she invites herself to our table when we meet her in a restaurant,” taunted Louise. “Well, your money pays for Ryndal's dinner and supper and breakfast, doesn’t it? He hasn't got any other pupils, has he? No, and he never will have. He's no more an artist that I am a polar bear.” “You're incapable of appreciating his art,” said Louise. Why, you make me laugh. You think those silly little sto- Community Drama Guild Formed to Create Clearing House for City's Wealth of to list & one-act play for the tourna- ment. The conditions are without com- plexities. Plays are registered with the Drama Guild and after the contest is officlally opened preliminary try-outs are held during the period February 11-23. Of the best four surviving plays a final competition will be staged at New McKinley Auditorium on February 27, when a group of Washington critics will decide the winner. ‘Through such a “bringing together™” of Washington dramatic interests, the guild seeks to weld the love of fine drama into a more compact whole and acquaint these scattered units with those ways in which the guild facilities can bring them the elements they lack and so desire. ‘The guild's community aspirations are worked out under this project with distinct precision. The tournament will offer splendid opportunities for checking up on the very talents neces- sary for the productions the guild will make during the year under central community auspices. Washington has plenty of talent along all dramatic and vocal lines, even to the extent of being overloaded with dancers. Yearly it has its quota of stars on Broadway, aspir- ants who find no school for development at home and thus are compelled to seek training elsewhere. The late Victor Herbert, operetta com- poser, once said that he could find in ‘Washington a suitable prima donna for &ny one of his many musical plays. In fact, he did in the case of “Natoma.” ‘The prima donna was taken ill and a Washington girl who knew the score was rushed into the role at the last WILLIAM S. CORBY, TRUSTEE. Tiie" Photo by Hamrls & Ewing, . Clinic of the Stage Launched by Washingtonians minute and went on in the opera with- out a rehearsal. : The Drama Guild, realizing this, without being too elaborate in its first year's work, plans to gather into a cen- tral body the many who might be able to do for plays what this girl did for “Natoma.” And there are many in Washington who have quietly studied the theater with a degree of intensity that is little known. These are people who are going to be helped most by the guild, and, by coming under guild direction and sponsorship, are going to have, on the other hand, a chance for public recognition. * FOLLOWING up that phase of its labor, the guild plans (after some definite co-operation is established be- tween groups and all of them are be- ginning to receive guild assistance and encouragement) an April clinic for a week at New McKinley, with general drama discussions speakers, to study etails of the the Plans for a real veek of conferences are going ahead at this writing. Plays of zimportance will be discussed, playwrights will be talked about; the various types of drama production will be projected; scenery, costumes, lights, direction and all allied phases of the stage will come into prominence. The community groups and individual lead- ers will be brought together on a basis that will surely promote an exchange of interests and further the guild's general plan of co-operative production. Out of this week of conferences and discussions will come a complete cata- logue of those active in community or amateur drama in the city. Thus the guild achieves a nucleus of talent and energy for its own city-wide productions. The conferences of this week will terminate in plans accepted for an out- of-doors production to be staged, very likely, under a staff of directors headed by Clifford Brooke, at the Sylvan The- ater. With such facilities for production along broader lines, the Sylvan Theater play will see the guild combining the arts of dancing, singing and acting within the limits of a single unit, and | what aims and ambitions may be started toward fruition in “The Dover Road” will blosson in more mmplete-i ness by the end of the guild's first sea- No plans for the second year have even been thought of as yet, though surely the guild will carry forth its ex- pansion policy and the establishment of a play-reading department, and possibly consider the production of something by a Washington author. But that is as yef in the offing. At present, with “The Dover Road” nearing presentation, the guild feels particularly fortunate in having as a chief associate, Mr. Brooke, a director . of international reputation and famous in Washington as director of the Na- tional Theater Players for three seasons. Mr. Brooke's experience and training have been placed at the guild’s dis- posal, and through it, the community groups are fortunate in being able to benefit thereby. The guild is on its way, backed by excellent minds and sound ideals. What it does it hopes to do with finish } and skill, and all its activities holds its appeal to community for which itwascreated, - . __ . g D e s | haustedly. ries that Dillaby creature writes are literature. She never had an idea in her life, and if she had one she couldn't express it. I wouldn't have be- lieved it of you, John Severine! Louise burst into frenzied tears and John went out and banged the door. It was, as you see, a perfectly common- place first quarrel. * ok kK THE ensuing coolness lasted for sev- eral days, but was ended by the necessity of giving the party they had planned. It is next to impossible to be distant and cool when giving a party in a small apartment. The imperative necessities of waxing the floor, moving furniture, preparing edibles, lighting candles and greeting guests conduce to forgetfulnes of the most burning wrongs. Even when Louise, with a defiant ges- tare, hung several of her most Trochilic sketches and flung a batik over the sofa, when she replaced the lamp shades in soft, mellow tones for harsh and scream- ing fantasies, John made no protest, be- cause he was too ‘busy rushing out to the delicatessen for rolls, hot dogs, pickles and the like, which they had chosen as refreshments. By the time the party was in full swing they did not remember most of the harsh things they had said to each other, though Louise kept a watchful eye on Kitty Dillaby, and John was curt and cool to Rivt Ryndal. But it was Toby Tent who made that party into a memorable occasion. Toby had been in a high state of excitement all evening, and he lingered after the others had gone, though the hour was near to dawn. “I didn’t want to leave without a word —1I don’t know when I'll see you again, and you two babes in the wood have been ‘on my consclence—-" “What d’you mean, you don't know when you'll see us again?” asked John. “Well, it's like this. I've got a por- trait bust commission, an honest-to- goodness commission from a big art dealer, and if I make good—and be- lieve me, I'm going to make good—it means that I've got my start. And so I'm getting out of this bunch and going to work—right.” ‘They stared at him, aghast at his dis- loyalty, his hypocrisy. Toby went on: “You ought to get out, too. You've swallowed this outfit, hook, line and sinker, and I must confess I've been ashamed that I egged you into a lot of it. Don't you see you can't do work that's good when you're doing nothing but sit about and talk? Don't you see that all this crowd is lazy and— and—never gets down to brass tacks? Snap out of it! If you want to do any real work, you'll never do it here.” ‘The Severines clutched at their | reeling world. “But, Toby—but, | Toby—" stammered Louise, “don’t you believe in any of them? Don't you even believe in Rivt Ryndal?” ‘Toby looked a bit embarrassed. “Well, about Rivt—sometimes those queer things do catch on, you know, and get a place for themselves. By a fluke. But I think he's crazy, ana ne isn't any more of a real artist than—than the pelican in the z00. Why—he can't even draw!" nd you let me go over there and waste my time and waste my | money—" “I know, Louise, I know it was a | mean trick, and I could step on myself | for it. But he was down and out, and you were so gullible—I thought, when you saw his stuff, you'd surely wake up | and begin to laugh, but, when you ate it up,_ I just said to myself that you were 8o absolutely dumb it didn't make any difference what happened to you. But it's off my chest now, and you can do as you like.” Rage and humiliation held vowse silent, but John was able tp ask one | more question: “Do you think they're all fakes, Toby?" “They're fakes this way—they won't face the truth about themselves. They all go on, year after year, kidding them- selves that they're misunderstood and unfairly treated, and that they're lots bigger and better than the ones who do |get on. I'm not saying that they | mightn't all be useful, decent citizens, if they wouldn't try to do something that they can't do and.never will be ablé to do. But you two kids aren’t that sort, and I wish you'd get out before you reach the point where you can't.” * Kk x HE picked up his hat and went to the door. “I suppose you'll never for- give me,” he said. “but I had to tell fou. I like you two—a lot. Well—so long.” He was gone. Behind him the devas- tated pair sat among the ruins of their ideals. “Do you think he can be right, John?" “I'm sure he's right about Ryndal. I always felt sure that bird was phony.” “I'm dead sure it could all be true of Kitty Dillaby—I said as much to you."” “Qh,” said John, speaking from utter | weariness, “wait until tomorrow. Don't ;le’z'i begin our row all over again to- night.” They tumbled into bed and slept ex- In the morning John went Dt 1 the evening he found the apart: ut in the evening apart- mem:snhmmmmnotmk honeymoon. The Trochilic sketches were gone. The dinner fable, set for two, with broiled chicken; batter bread, stuffed tomatoes, lemon meringue real coffee. They ate in pensive silence, avoiding each other's eyes. But when that de- licious meal had vanished, they settled down on the sofa. John cleared his throat. “One of the fellows down at the office was telling me about a house for sale out where he lives, honey,” he said. “It's & bungalow. It's got quite a yard and some nice old * | trees, There's a river where they canoe, and a club with tennis and golf, and he says the people are mostly young like us and full of pep, and they have a lot of fun. We could have a car and a dog. At last Loulse spoke. “Oh, don't let's have an Airedale,” she sald. “Let’s have & Chow.” . S o (Copyright, 1920.) <w A5 | Maybe an_ Alredale.”