Evening Star Newspaper, December 15, 1929, Page 119

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, DEC EMBER 15, 1929. Uggesting This Article Is One of a Series 1o Be Written for the Magazine of The Sunday Star by the Leading Humor- ists of the Day. Richard Connell Will Contribute His Humorist Bit for the Magazine of Sunday, Dec.22. F I am not mistaken, the time is ripe for a great revival of the beard in / America. Any one who has studied the histories of the great civilizations —Egyptian, Babylonian, Grecian— will know that the coming of the beard has always marked a perfectly definite slage in the development of the nation. America has now reached that period. Unless I miss my guess, we may expect to see, perhaps within a few months, beards springing up over night in all our highways, byways, cities and towns, mak- ing this whole vast continent from ocean to ocean one veritable fairyland of brilliant mul- ti-colored whiskers. In the early days of our civilization, when the great work of pioneering was still to be done, men were too busy fighting nature to pay much attention to their facial appear- ance. It was a case of the survival of the fittest; the arts were neglected. Then came the railroads—the development of commerce, trade, and industry—and all men’s attention was directed toward making a fortune. In this vast absorption of the racial energy in the business of ‘“getting on” there was little time to be spared for the so-called refinements. The decoration of one’s face was considered a task for women; those few men who flaunted their well trimmed whiskers in the face of almost universal disapproval—those courageous souls who dared to suggest that there was some- thing to life besides the mere making of money —were laughed at in the streets and greeted with loud cries of derision and scorn. BUT the giant has only been slumbering and there are many signs that America, hav- ing passed through the pioneering and com- mercial periods, is at last “coming of age.” In our generation there has grown up a consider- able class of people who are no longer satisfied to devote their whole lives to the pursuit of the . “almighty dollar.” In our cities there are more and more well-to-do young men and women who are eagerly searching for some career which will satisfy their hungry desire for beauty and creative expression. And in these is grad- ually growing the feeling that the glorification of one’s personal appearance is in itself a career—a realization which has been closely followed in all times and in all ages by the period known to historians as the “beard age.” But, although the “old order changeth,” it often does so only after a hard fight and in the face of great opposition. The pioneers of progress inevitably encounter the jealous forces of reaction; they meet in death struggle with those who flercely fight their every move to- ward something better, something “different.” The young man who wishes to grow a beard had better be careful how he breaks the news to his wife. There seems to be, among a great many American women an instinctive disliking of beards. The case is not altogether hopeless; the patient husband can, by tact and persever- ance, overcome the most violent of his wife’s prejudices. But marriage is a complicated question of give and take; it requires self- sacrifices on the part of both; and the selfish husband who brutally grows the first beard that may come onto his face without any re- gard for his wife’s feelings in the matter will find himself, sooner or later, in great trouble. The young ausband who wishes to indulge in a beard and still live with his wife must, first of all, prepare her mind for the new ar- rangement. He should take her more and more to those places where she will be thrown in contact with beards; he should fill his home on every possible occasion with men who never shave. In case none of his friends answer to this description he should take pains to make new friends. Whenever and wherever he sees a man wearing a particularly com- mendable beard, he should take pains to make that man’s acquaintance, which can generally be done by stepping up to the gentleman in question and remarking, “My dear sir, where did you get those lovely whiskers? You must eards for the Limited Incomes By Donald Ogden Stewart. “He should fill his home on every possible occasion with men who never shave.” come home and meet my wife.” In this man- ner there will gradually be built up in the lady’s mind the feeling that beards are more or less the normal thing; when that point has been reached, it will be time to consult her (indirectly, of course) as to what sort of beard she wishes you to grow. : THE method best adapled for this purpose consists in procuring several sets of false beards in all the commonly accepted designs and periods—Tudor, Quaker, Restoration, etc. —numbering them carefully from one to ten. The next day, at luncheon, you should say to your wife, “Dear, I shall not be home today until 6:30 or 7,” and, having thus thoroughly impressed it on Mer min, you should kiss her good-by and depart for the office. Arriving there you should quickly take beard No. 1 from its box, put it on and return home. When the maid answers your ringing of the door-bell, you should disguise your voice and say, “Is the lady of the house in?” When your wife appears, you should greet her politely, put one foot inside the door, so that she cannot close it on you, and say, “Madam, your name has been suggested to me as one who would be interested in——" Your wife will then say, “Not today,” and attempt to close the door. Smiling affably, you should continue, “With every subscription to these two magazines we give a complete set——" “Not today,” will be your wife’s reply to this. “Well then, madam,” you should say, speaking slowly and convincingly, “let me just ask you one question.” “What?” she will ask. “Tell me— The Buried Talent. Contiuued from Eighteenth Page single, joyous note of a flute. And Jane, who had often witnessed such scenes, could imagine her tweaking Alcott’s ear or perching herself on his knee to make a kewpie curl of his toplock. “Oh, stuff, Dad! You're as old-fashioned as a hoop skirt. Rotten shame Jerry had to barge off like that. He's a duck. I'm goofy about him, really.” And then she was gone—vivid as a flame in her modish red coat, blithe and swift as a bird. As she went with a wave and a gay, “Well, tinkey-tonk!” to Alcott, who trailed her to the outer door, Jane followed with her eyes. What a dancing, effervescent, bubbling thing she was. Jerry's girl! Or, at least, the type of girl whom Jerry would some day love. “Petitioner prays for all orders necessary gen- eral and equitable relief.” As she forced her expert fingers through their usual routine they seemed to Jane to be tapping out not the labored phrases of the court, but a doggerel—a silly, recurrent refrain: “For you'll never see Jerry. No, you'll never see Jerry, Any more.” Yet she did see him. Soon. And in the most unexpected, though familiar, of places. N Saturday afternoon, a week later, as she opened the door of her flat and walked into the living room, she found him lounging, as of old, in the worn leather chair. At first she couldn’t believe it. Her eyes were playing tricks on her. She stood, for a moment, blinking them, opening them, shutting them, but no, the illusion remained. More, the illusion had feet to which it rose on sight of her and a bantering voice that greeted her by name. “That janitor of yours is an old rascal. 1 bribed him and he let me in,” it said. Dazedly, as in a dream, she looked at him, her weakened arms letting the bundles of her Saturday marketing slip to the floor. “Jerry . . .” she whispered, “Jerry!” At the blank consternation he read in her face, he laughed. Tenderly. “I've been to New York and guess who I saw there, Miss Colford? I saw you there. I saw you writing there and dancing there and paint- ing magazine covers. I saw the old, venture- some you that used to prod me out of my lazi- ness and dreams. Oh, Jane,” his voice shook. “you sweet idiot, I might have known that the reason you've kept yourself and your talent buried in this sleepy little town was that Ned and Chloe and Sue might have their chance in New York.” BENEATH the brim of her workaday hat her cheeks flamed crimson. “But, Jerry, I didn't—that is—" “Oh, yes; you did. And you're still at it. 1 saw the three of them and they told me how you'd staked them and how, even now, you're always sending funds to tide them over in their precarious professions. Their success—that was the thing you wanted more than you wanted your own. And I'm glad,” almost fiercely, “I'm glad you wanted it,” he said. Jane's heart stood still. Above the beets and the carrots, the spinach and celery that had popped their brown bags and lay strewn on the floor, she looked at him. Blindly. In a muted voice: “Glad, Jerry?” she questioned. His face paled with sudden fear. “Well,” jerkily, “don’t you see if you weren’t. what you are—if those three, unthinking young things hadn’t told me what you've done I might never have realized what I know now ...” He broke off, “Oh, Jane,” his brown hands reach- ing to her, his brown face bending to her were all entreaty, “I love you—I love you—I love you—-=" SHE did not speak. She did not have to speak. There was no need of mere words. In her eyes, as she looked at him, was the passion of her love—a woman’s love, deep, awakened. For a second, no longer than a heart beat, their eyes met. Then she was caught to him, swept up to him and held— Ah, ecstasy to be so closely held—in Jerry's arms. “Jane, Jane.” Over and over through thelr shaken kiss he kept repeating, almost lke a chant, “Jane, Jane—-" (Copyright, 1929.) what do you think of my beard?” you should reply. Great care should be taken to make this last remark as simply and inconspicuously as pos- sible, so that it will seem to your wife the most natural thing in the world for you to say, for otherwise her suspicions will be aroused and she will’ not answer your question in a frank, open manner. When she has finished telling you just what she thinks about your beard you" should hastily thank her, taking your departure, and, after transcribing to paper the informa- tion she has given, you should carefully file it at ycur office under “Beards—Personal— No. 1.” % The next day the same procedure should be followed with No. 2, and so on for several suc- cessive days. Each time, however, you should assume a different role—gas inspector, tele- phione repairman, etc. Great ingenuity must always be exercised in tactfully putting to her’ the question about the day’s beard. For exam- ple, when wearing beard No. 7 in the guise of a fire insurance agent, you should smoothly lead up to the essential subject by calling your wife's attention to the great number of fires caused in the preceding year by the careless- ness of those people who go to slecp with whiskers in the same room where children are playing with matches. Thus, in the course of two or three weeks, you should have been able to get a very good idea of the type of facial adornment % which your wife is most partial and, with this intormation to guide you, you can, without more delay, set to work at the task of growing the selected beard. 'HEN, on the third evening after you have made a beginning, your wife will remark, “Dear, if we are going to be in time for the opera tonight, hadn't you better start to shave now?” This is a crucial moment; the time for action has come; the whole game may be won or lost right here. Your first move should be to draw from your pocket a pearl necklace, or diamond bar pin, with the words, “Here’s a little something for you, dear.” When her exclamations of surprise, pleasure and delight have somewhat subsided she will once more remark, “And now, you dearest old thing, do hurry and finish your shaving.” _ At this you should suddenly stop smoking, walk up to the fireplace and stand locking into the flames for several minutes, clenching - and unclenching your palms convulsively be- hind your back. Then, straightening up with a low sigh, you should walk over to the phono- graph and put on “Hearts and Flowers.” Your next move should be to pull down the.shades, after which you return to the fireplace, where you stand silently for three long minutes while the house becomes deathly still, save for the booming of some distant chimes and the cough- ing of the lady in the thirteenth row. “Mary,” you should say, “Mary—there 8 something—I want to tell you.” “What is it, dear,” she will cry, running up to you. “Is it the roadster?” 2 “No, little girl,” you should answer. “It isn't the roadster. It’s something bigger than the roadster.” “Frank!” she will groan. “You haven't been driving the limousine with the emergency on again?” “No,” you should reply—and then, turning to her with a moan of despair, you should cry, “Oh, can't you understand?” The flames in the fireplace will flicker and die into cold gray ashes. And then, taking your wife by the hand, you should look into her eyes and say, “Dear, I am going to grow & beard.” There will be a hush—a long, deep silence, while she looks at you and you look at her. “Must it come—now?” she will whisper sofuly. “Now,” you will reply. The fire will blaze up quickly into one brief bright flare, < “Oh, no—no—not that!” she will suddenly cry, and will sink sobbing into the depths ¢f the chaise longue. AND then, as she is lying there, you should gently talk to her and tell her what it means to you. Pour into her ears all the ar- guments, all the rhetoric at your command. Appeal to her reason, her emotion, the best that is in her—in every woman. “Gen. Grant,” you should say, “had a beard.” “Look at Whittier,” you should add, “Longe fellow—Moses—Secretary Hughes. “Look at the people who haven’t had beards,” you should plead—“Benedict Arnold—Hamlet— Lady Macbeth. “Why does God give us hair,” you should ask, “if he wants us to have it all off? “Do you realize,” you should urge, “that enough money is spent on shaving scap in America to build two first-class battleships or five armored cruisers? “And has it never occurred to you, you chould exclaim, “that by suppressing my natural desire for a beard I am developing a sudden psychological complex which may come out in our children? “How would you like your child—our child,” you should cry, “to be born with a beard?” This last argument ought to be fairly decisive, Mother love is one of woman’s emotions, and few there are who can resist an appeal based on their affections for the little tots of the come= ing generation. And so, after a few more des- ultory sobs, your wife will probably yield to yougg wishes and it will then be your duty to show her, in the months that follow, that her re- nunciation of a lifelong prejudice has not been entirely unappreciated. (Copyright, 1929.) Ancient Use of Abacus. ’l‘HE abacus or bead frame, used for counting by the Chinese and Persians and de-~ veloped as a gift of an instructive nature for children of the pre-kindergarten age, dates at least as far back as the time of the ancient Greeks and Romans. -« pd