Evening Star Newspaper, January 24, 1929, Page 39

WOMA N'S PAGE MILADY BEAUTIFUL BY LOI Exercise for Round Shoulders. Dear Miss Leeds—(1) Lately I have noticed that my shoulders are becoming round. How can I remedy this? I am 14 years old, 5 feet 2 inches tall and Wweigh 111 pounds. (2) I have auburn hair, hazel eyes and a fair skin, What colors are bacoming? ANXTOUS ANN. Answer—(1) Besides taking exercises you must remember to practice correct posture at all times. Hold yourself as tall as you can, with spine well stretched, chin up, chest out, abdomen in. Do not slouch. While you are reading, hold the book up nstead of leaning over it. Take dee thing exercises every day. espec in the morning and again at badtime. ever vou think of it during the da; straighten up and take a few slow, dee; breaths. A good exercis> to take in conneec- tion with the breathing is done with hands on shoulders. elbows bent at sides. Raise elbows up as vou inhale; lower, | exhale. Keep elbows well back. For another exercise, stretch both arms above your head, keeping them pressed back, and clap vour hands. Now s the arms downward, outward and back, clapping them behind. Repeat 10 times, Your weight is good. (2) Bronze and dark browns are excellent for you. You may also wear almond and reseda When- | S LEEDS. pastel pinks, copper red, henna, very | delicate orchid, cream, greenish yellow, yellowish green, black. LOIS LEEDS. Bobbing and Other Queries. Dear Miss Leeds—(1) I have started to let my hair grow and it now comes to my shoulders. Should I bob it again, |or not? I am 14 years old and 5 feet tall; what should I weigh? (2) When I comb my hair it comes out terribly. ‘What shall I do about it? MISS FOURTEEN. Answer—(1) If you are uncertain which style is more becoming to yor the present and dress it in two small coils at the back of your head. Perhaps | by Summer you will want to bob it again. The ‘average weight for your ape and height is 99 pounds. (2) Ma: sage your scalp every day for 10 min- {utcs and brush your hair well. Wash vour combs and brushes once a wee Twice a month give your hair a go thorough shampoo with liquid Castile soap. It is natural to lose a little hair every time you brush and ®omb it Build up your health by right diet and plenty of ‘outdoor exercise. LOIS LEEDS. Removing Hairs From the Limbs. Dear Miss Leeds—Please give some information in the paper about remov- | ing hairs from arms and legs. Answer—Unless the growth is very heavy and conspicuous I would not ad- ise removal. Bleach the hairs with a lotion made of two parts peroxide and | one part ammonia. Dip a gauze bandage |in the bleach and bind it around the (limbs. Remove when dry. Repeat | daily, If the heirs are very numerous and dark and long I think the most | practical way to deal with them is to remove them from time to time with a depilatory. Of course, the hairs will continue to grow in thickly, but it is not much trouble to remove them about once a month. Electrolysis is not prac- ticable when large areas must be cleared. LOIS ‘LEEDS, (Copyright, 1929.) OUR CHILDREN By Angelo Pati The Health Crusaders. The health crusaders do a noble work. They bring to the attention of mothers all the conditions that are obviously wrong in their children’s physique. Eyes and teeth and noses and throats must be set in order. Diet and weight and baths must be regarded with care- ful eyes, and hands. Sleeping rooms and play space and study rooms and all the conditions that a healthy child demands for his growth are brought to the attention of the mothers. Gallantly the mothers respond. What- ever lies in their power to do they do. But, alas! much that ought to be done lies outside their sphere of influence. If a mother lives in an inside flat in a crowded tenement district of a huge city, what is she to do about separate beds and open windows and play spaces? If there is no play space but the street, jammed with traffic night and day, Wwhat then? If there is no sunshine in her house and cannot be, what then? I have entered every health ‘drive Wwith enthusiasm because I believe that health is the basis of human growth and conduct. I believe that a healthy child is a good child. And I believe Just as heartily that an unhealthy child is handicapped as ‘to goodness from the start, and the chances for his successful living are against him to the end. How can health come out of foulness? Why do we dip the sea with & spoon? This year ¥ watched the foundations of a great block of apartments laid out. One morning a very excited engi- neer stood over a cool-eyed mason and quarter inch! Move it out, move it out!” With a glance that fairly scorched, as ice might scorch, the mason | lifted and set his threadlike string out a quarter of an inch. So this apartment house was set on the last quarter inch of its plot. Light and air, in accordance with the law, was permitted entrance through “spa- cious courts."” “Where do the children of this house play?” I asked the builder. “We have kept a space for them,” said he proudly, and showed it to me. At the back of the house a long, narrow passageway between it and the next towering building, was a strip of concrete about 10 feet wide. “That’s a playground for them.” Well, no child r'~~s there. N6t a glimpse of sunlight ever falls in the canyon. Waste and all that comes with it clutteres the place and the children play on the sidewalk and in the streets. g'lhle_l apartment sets on its last quarter ch. greens, dark blue, stone gray. taupe, | snggest that you let vour hair grow for | THE EVENING NANCY PAGE One Seccet of Good Meat Loaf Lies in the Seasoning BY FLORENCE LA GANKE. Now that Nancy and Peter were plan- ning to take a trip South they were watching their budget with great care. Nancy used the cheaper meats, but sea- jsoned them so well or cooked them 50 cleverly that the family never missed roasts or steaks or chops. “It's the seasoning and watchful care in cooking that does it,” said Nancy when Lois asked her whether Peter was satisfied with stews and meat loaves. “He is with the meat loaf I make—in fact, he asks for it every so often. But then I make a meat loaf de luxe, so he ought (to like it. Sometimes I serve it with | mushroom sauce, which is nothing but |a brown grav made richer with but- i ton mushrooms sauted in hot but- ter and seasoned with a suspicion of | grated lemon rind. Sometimes I take | eggs which have been hard cooked, then shelled and insert them in the center of the meat loaf before I put it in to bake. Then when it is silced down cer- tain fortunate persons get slices of hard cooked eggs as well. Here is my recipe: One pound round steak, ground; one-half pound pork, ground; three slices day-old bread; ene- half cup water or milk, one egg, one and one-half teaspoonfuls salt, one- eighth teaspoonful poultry seasoning and one-eighth teaspoonful ginger, one- half teaspoonful table sauce, one-fourth small onion, "grated; one-fourth tea- spoonful pepper, two tablespoons sau- sage or bacon fat or melted butter. Put the bread in mixing bowl, add water or milk and squeeze with hands until mix- ture is smooth, add egg slightly beaten, seasonings and meat. Add melted fat. Mix well with hands. Taste and add more seasoning if desired. Have mod- erate oven (350) and bake for three- Not until the conscience of the build- ers is awakened to the enormity of the offense they are committing against childhood, against the race, can the health crusaders win their fight. That is why I so earnestly plead that you know Sunnyside and Radburne and the people who built them. What one man and his group can do others can do—others must do! The children of America must be housed and their mothers must have a chance to rear them in the health that means successful living. This is a task for the women of the country. Build homes that make places for the chil- reeched in his ear, “You're a whole quarter inch inside the line—a whole dren who are to occupy them. (Copyright, 1928, bwThe Bell Syndicate, Inc.) The Daily Cross .WOrd Puzzle (Copyright, 1929.) n. 22 . Masculine, . Ruined. . Genus of holly. . Fundamental. . Assert as a fact, . Representative. . Read studiously. . Concerning. . Bathe. . Literary miscellanies, . River in France. Eggs. . Tangle. . Walk pompously. . Official name of mustard. . Means of propulsion, . Hawaiian lava. . Viands; archaic. . Imitators. . German watering place. . The great bustard. . Knock. . Poems. . Footlike part. . Noted physicist and electrician. . Jewish philosopher of Alexandria. . Plural ending. . Unit of wire diameter. . Confused. . Oversatisfies. . Useful metal. ._The: Greek. ANSWER TO YESTERDAY'S PUZZLE o o dHEEE 28 . Recompensed. . Earth goddess. . Hog. 3. Sun god. . Be ill. . Garden flower. . A twenty-fourth part of a gold mark. . Headland. Musical instrument, . Aid. Old. Down, . Optical instrument. Eases. . Meadow. . Place of egress. . Of or from; Latin. . Note in Guido's scale, . First-magnitude star. . Endings of prayer. . Senior legislator. . Powerful explosive; coll. . Preposition, . Sileni. . Greek cupid, . Electrical unit. Idiopathic parotitis. 3. Mohammedan law of sale. 5. Possessive pronoun. . Those opposed. . Former Russian rulers. . Oriental title of respect. . Roman bronze. . Make less severe. . Connected. . Chum. Excess of solar over lunar year. . Feminine name. . Exultant exclamation. . Small bird. . Fastidious. . Sudden overpowering fright. . Insane. . Fruit of the dogrose. . Ensilage containers. 7. Parent, . Melodies. . Soon. . Festive. 65. Varicty of lettuce. . Bow. . Laprobe, 70. Note of musical scale. 41, Biblical pronoun. . Heroine of “The Flying Dutchman.” quarters hour. Canned fruit and cake make a fine desert for this meal. Write to Nancy Page, care of this paper, inclosing stamped, self-addressed envelope, asking for her standerd cake leaflet. . (Copyright, 1929.) My Neighbor Says: When boiling caulifiower place the end slice of a loaf of bread in the pot after boiling water has been added. The bread will ab- sorb the odor of caulifiower that is likely to permeate the house. ‘Watch plants like the Patience plant in extremely cold weather. The stocks contain so much water they are more likely to freeze than the hardier plants. If, after the rind is cut from bacon, each strip is rolled in flour, then fried quickly, it will go much farther. The flour pre- vents bacon running to fat. Shake a coal fire until you can see the fire through the grate. An ash-clogged fire will never burn well. STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, DOROTHY DIX’S LETTER BOX Folly of the Man Who Fears to Compliment His Wife—How Parents Lose Out With Their Children—Advice on Returning Insults. * EAR MISS DIX: I am a married man with two children. Have been married 10 years to a very good wife, who is thrifty and industrious and a fine cook, and makes me a very happy home. She is a very pretty little thing, trim and neat, but I never pay her a compliment because I am afraid if I do it will swell her head and she might get the idea of stepping out. When she asks me how she looks, I always hand ner a knock and tell her that something is wrong. I know she has had the blues about this many a time, and she always looks so hurt and discouraged when I tell her that I don't like her dress, or that she is getting old, or something. Lately, however, I have found out that she has been stepping out with a very nice-looking young man, and I have wondered if he has been telling her the things she longed to hear from me. Do all women get a wild streak after they have been married a while? Should I leave her or forgive her for the children’'s sake? WORRIED HUSBAND, Answer: You should find it easy enough to forgive her, but I don't see how you can ever forgive yourself for being such a stupid ass as to drive her into jumping the home bars in search of some food on which to feed her starving soul. Your wife is young, pretty and attractive. attention. She yearns to be flattered and jollied, criticism, and fault-finding, and neglect. Other men offer her the appreciation you deny her. Can you blame her for turning a willing ear to the soft talk that she hears abroad and that she never gets at home? As well blame a hungry cat for lapping up the saucer of cream that is handed it, She craves admiration and and all she gets from you is I often wonder what men think their wives are made of that they dare to treat them as they do. They nrust believe that they have married creatures of superhuman virtue who are beyond all mortal temptations and de- sires, and who are content to live an austere life doing their duty for duty’s sake. Else husbands would not expect their wives to be content to stay penned up in a stony and barren home corral when outside there were green fields and new pastures in which they could disport themselves. ‘There are plenty of men like you, Worried Husband. Men who are married to young women, and pretty women, and women who take a pride in ‘Yeir ap- pearance. Women who work hard and try to please their husbands. Before marriage these women had plenty of suitors. They were accustomed to being told how beautiful and wonderful they were and to having men notice their pretty frocks and compliment them upon them. They were used to having men make love to them and probably they chose for a husband the man who had xl.the most saccharine line of sweet talk. Naturally they expected him to keep up. But to their amazement marriage changed all of that. Husband dropped lovemaking at the altar with a suddenness that jarred their back teeth loose. He exchanged the salve-spreader for the hammer, and his only comment on any- thing they did was to find fault with it. ‘There are thousands upon thousands of wives in the world whose hushands never pay them a compliment, who never say one word of love to them, who never show them any tenderness, who never give them a kiss that isn't an insult, it is such a perfunctory Kiss of duty, and who can only surmise that their husbands still have some degree of affection for them because they haven't divorced them. No woman in the world is satisfied or happy with that kind of husband. ‘Every woman hungers and thirsts for tenderness and appreciation, and it is no wonder that a few women who are starved for love steal it when they cannot get it any other way. The amazing thing is that there are not more unfaithful wives than there are. Put this in your pipe, Mr. Man, and smoke it: When a man quits making love to a young and pretty wife, some other man is apt to begin. So, if you want to keep your wife, keep yourielt a lover, DOROTHY DIX. e DEAR DOROTHY DIX—Why are parents not mores confidential with their children? I am a girl, and I would like to talk so many things over with my mother. I would like to discuss my beaux with her, and ask her things that life must have taught her, and that I need to know, but I can't. I am afraid of her. There’s a wall between us, and I can talk more freely to any stranger than I can to my own mother. As for my father, he and I are both em- barrassed to death when we are left alone together. Fathers and mothers are always complaining that their children are not confidential with them, and I think the reason is that our parents try so hard to raise us right, they raise us wrong, if you get what I mean. I mean that they make us feel such awe of them we can never think of their having gone through the same experiences that we are going through. So we can't tell father and mother about it. What do you think? DAUGHTER. I think that most parents are just a big incarnate don't to their children. They begin by saying “don't” to a baby, and they keep it up until it gets to be a habit, and they say it without ever really thinking whether they object to what a young person is going to do or not. ' I think you are right, daughter. ‘The children are quick enough to catch on to the fact that it saves friction to do a thing first, and then tell about it, so they hide what they are thinking from their parents, and talk as little as possible about their plans and asso- clates. It is a sad fact that in the average home the parents and children never sit down and talk things out freely, man to man, and that neither chil- dren nor parents ever get each other’s point of view. Parents all yearn to pal with their children when they are grown, but they forget that you can't break down a barrier that is built of 20 years’ estrangement. You have got to get on familiar terms with Mary and Johnnie in their cradles if you want to be their intimate friends and confidants when they are grown. it DEAR MISS DIX—How can I learn how to make catty remarks? band's family can so cleverly disguise a dig that I am completely at their mercy. Frequently my husband comes to my aid with a veiled remark that holds them. Why can't I do that for myself? Am I plain dumb? A DAILY READER. Answer—The reason you cannot retaliate in kind is not because you are stupid, but because you are too kind of heart and too much of a lady to say things that wound. Don't regret not being able to make a snappy comeback to your in-laws when they offer you subtle insults. Nothing that you could say would make them feel as small and cheap as does your forbearance. It is not the brilliant retort, but the soft answer that turns away wrath. The one invincible thing is gentleness, and if you persist in that you wiil disarm them and make such friends of them that they will cease stabbing you with their tongues. DOROTHY DIX. (Copyright. 1629.) R R R R R R R E R R R R Washington Flour for all purposes. & %68 & USED. & & & —the Flour that’s made' for you—and to exactly meet kitchen conditions. For sale by Grocers and Delicatessens in all sizes from 5-pound sacks up. The 12-pound and 24-pound sizes are more economical — because WASH- INGTON FLOUR IS GOOD UNTIL Wilkins-Rogers Milling Co. Adopt the “Pantry Pals” and make sure of successful baking Self-rising Washington Flour Ready mixed with purest of leavening phos- phates for bis- cuits, waffles, etc. —made “in a jiffy.” RO OR O L g LK & A “Home Industry” | R R R R R R R R R ER R My hus- | THURSDAY, JANUARY' 24, 1929.. MOTHERS AND THEIR CHILDREN. One Mother Says: ©One day when the children were try- ing to find some misplaced treasure or other, I remembered the four little trunks told about in “Little Women.” I had a small trunk not much larger than a big suit case that I seldom used and I recalled two others in the attic of the children’s grandmother. I said nothing at the time, but reserved the trunks, each fitted with a key, for one of the holiday surprises. It was interesting to see each child choose the treasures that he would put in his trunk. Souvenir coins, stamp album, collections of mar- bles no longer used, dolls, scrap books, and many other precious things went into the trunks. (Copyright, 1929.) A Sermon for Today BY REV. JOHN R. GUNN, The Moral Value of Work. nd the men did the work II Chron., xxxlv. And when men work faithfully they never work fruitlessly, These men were working to build a temple, but while they were doing this they were building a greater temple in their souls. ‘Work has a character value greater than its cash value. We work to earn money, to make a living, to achieve certain ends. But work has a value beyond these objects. Beyond the ex- ‘ternal results of our labor there are internal results which are all the while accumulating in our souls. If we do good work and honest work, we are always enriched in manMood, whether we are enriched materially or not. Well did Charles Kingsley say: “Thank God every morning that you have something "to do that day, whether you like it or not. Being forced to work, and forced to do your best, will breed in you temperance and self- control, diligence and strength of will, cheerfulness and contentment, and a hundred other virtues which the idle never know.” The sometimes pessimistic writer of Ecclesiastes skeptically asks, “What profit hath e that worketh in that whereins _he laboreth?” But if we never profited in any temporal or mate- rial way from our labor, or if we could have all we wanted without labor, we could not afford to cease working. To do_so would result in moral degeneracy. We often tire of work and some- times wish that we might be relieved from the necessity of it. But if that could be, we would soon become more weary of idleness than ever we have of work. Not least among the moral values of work is the contribution it makes to the joy of living. Mineral. Constipationand Di C ) Thereby Promoting Diestion Clmrgn};ness and Rest.Contaif$ ither Opium, Morphine nof Min orflmwlc A helpfnlizmefly for d Feverishness and " LossoF e resultingtherefrom-in TFacsimile Signatureof FEATURES. WORLD FAMOUS STORIES HOW TO HU T THE FOX. BY BILL NYE. Bill Nye, 1850-96, whose real name was dgar Wilson Nye, was an early American umorist, author of “Baled Hay." The foxhound is a cross of the blood- hound, the grevhound, the bulldog and the chump. When you st€p on his tail he is said to be in full cry. The fox- | hound obtains from his ancestors on the bloodhound side of the house his keen scent, which enables him while in full cry ‘cross country to pause and hunt for chipmunks. He also obtains from the bloodhound branch of his family a wild yearning to star in an “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” company and watch Little Eva meander up the flume at $2 per week. From the greyhound the foxhound gets his most miraculous speed, which enables him to attain a rate of velocity so great that he is unable to halt during the excitement of the chase, frequently running so far during the day that it takes him a week to get back, when, of course, all interest had died out. From the bulldog the foxhound ob- tains his great tenacity of purpose, his deep-seated convictions, his quick per- ceptions, his love of home and his clinging nature. From the chump the foxhound gets his high intellectuality, and that mental power which enables him to distinguish almost at a glance the salient points of difference between a 2-year-old steer and a $2 bill. ‘The foxhound is about 2 beight, and 120 of them shou sidered an ample number .for a quite little foxhunt. Some hunters think this number inadequate, but unless the fox be unusually skittish and crawl under the barn 120 foxhounds ought to be encugh. Some hunters who are madly and passionately devoted to the sport leap their horses over fences, moats, donjon keeps, hedges and currant bushes with utter sangfroid and the wild, unfettered “toot ongsomble” of a brass band. It is one of the most spirited and touching of sights to see a young foxhunter going home through the gloaming with a full cry in one hand and his pancreas in the other. Some like to be in at the death, as it is called, and it is certainly a laudable ambition. To see 120 dogs hold out against a ferocious fox weighing 9 pounds; to watch the brawe little band of dogs and whippers-in and horses with sawed-off tails, making up in heroism what they lack in numbers, succeeding at last in ridding the country of the ferocious brute which has long been the acknowledged foe of the human race is indeed a fine sight. We are too apt to regard foxhunting merely as a relaxation, a source of pleasure, and the result of a desire to do the way people do in the novels which we steal from English authors, but this is not all. To successfully hunt a fox, to jump fences ’cross country like an unruly steer, is no child's play. To ride all day on a ver~ hot and rest- less saddle, -trying to lope while your horse is trotting, giving your friends a good view of the country between your- self and your horse, then leaping stone walls, breaking your collarbone in four places, pulling out one eye and leaving it hanging on a plum tree, or going home at night with your transverse colon wrapped around the pommel of your saddle and your liver wrapped in an old newspaper requires the greatest courage. ‘The only foxhunting I have ever done was on board an impetuous, tough- bitted, fore-and-aft horse that had emo- tional insanity. As I was away from home at the time and could not reach my own steed, I was obliged to mount a spirited steed with high, intellectual hips, one whit: and a big red ne feet in con- Mothers %ward ALCOHOL-3 PER cm-s AVegetable PreparationforAs- similatingtheFood by Regula: tril that you could set a Shanghal hen in. This horse, as soon as the pack broke into full cry, climbed over & fence that had wrought-iron briers on it, 1it in a cornfield, stabbed his hind lef through a sere and yellow pumpkin, which he wore the rest of the day with 7 yards of pumpkin vine streaming out behind, and away he dashed ’cross country. We did not see the fox, but we saw almost. everything else. I remember, among other things, of riding through & hothouse and how I enjoyed it. A morning scamper through a conserva- tory when the syringas and jonquils and jackroses lie cuddled up together in their little beds is a thing to remember and look back to and pay for. To stand knee-deep in glass and gladioli, to smell the mashed and mussed-uj mignonette and the last fragrant sigl of the scrunched heliotrope beneath the hoof of your horse, while far away the deep-mouthed baying of the hoarse hounds hotly hugging the reeking trail of the aniseed bag calls on the gor- geously caparisoned’ hills to give back their merry music or fork it over to other answering hills, is joy to the huntsman’s heart. On, on I rode, with my unconfined locks streaming behind me in the Au- tumn wind. On and still on Psped, the big, bright pumpkin slipping up and dwn the gambrel of my spirited horse at every jump. On and ever on Wwe went, shedding terror and pumpkin seed along our glittering track, till my proud steed ran his leg is a gopher hole and fell over one of those machines they put on a high-headed steer to keep him from jumping fences. As the horse fell the necklace of this hickory poke flew up and adjusted it self around my throat. In an ine stant my steed was on his feet again, and gaily we went forward, while the prong of this barbarous appliance ever and anon plowed into a brand-new culvert or rooted up a clover field. Every time it ran into an orchard or & cemetery it would jar my neck and knock me silly. But I could see with Joy that it reduced the speed of my horse. At last, as the sun went down—re- luctantly, it seemed to me, for he knew that he would never see such riding again—my ill-spent horse fell with a hollow moan, curled up, gave a spas- modic quiver with his little, nerveless sawed-off tail, and died. The other huntsmen succeeded in trecing the aniseed bag at sundown, in time to catch the 6 o'clock train home. Foxhunting is one of the most thrill- ing pastimes of which I know, and for young men whose parents have amassed huge sums of money in the intellectual pursuit of hides and tallow, the meet, the chase, the scamper, the full cry, the cover, the stellated fracture, the yelp of the pack, the yip, the yell of triumph, the confusion, the whoop, the holla, the halloos, the hurrah, the abra= sion, the snort of the hunter, the con- cussion, the sward, the open, the earth- stopper, the strangulated hernia, the glad cry of the hound as he brings home the quivering seat of the peasant’s pan- taloons, the velp of joy as he lays at his master’s feet the strawberry mark of the rustic—all, all, are exhilarating to the sons of our American nobility. Foxhunting combines the danger and the wild, tumultuous joy of the skating rink, the toboggan slide, the mush-and- milk sociable and the straw ride. For the young American nobleman Wwhose ducal father made his money by inventing a fluent pill, or who gained his great wealth through relieving hu- manity by means of a lung pad, a liver pad, a kidney pad, or a foot pad—fox- ntine is first rate, It’sthe greatest thing on earth! The sense of satisfaction that comes when you know you've always given your children the best! That's the way mothers have felt for over thirty years who've used Fletcher’s Castoria to keep their babies and children well and happy; free from those common ailments, such as colic, gas, diarrhea, constipation, etc. Millions of mothers know Fletcher’s Cas- toria is dependable. Leading physicians recommend it. It's pleasant-tasting; a pure vegetable preparation. It's safe for infants. the signature of its Fletcher, It will comfort a restless, crying youngster-in a jiffy. It keeps little bowels from clogging during a cold. Until your child is grown, use it to keep his bowels regular, assist the diges- tion, improve the appetite. To get genu Castoria, always see that the wrapper bears e originator—Chas. H. Children Cry for . A LAcFerd. ASTORIA t