Evening Star Newspaper, July 5, 1936, Page 73

Magazine Section THIS WEEK Good Taste Today Today at a party in a garden, no matter how big, women are just as likely to wear tailored summer clothes and garden hats as they are those of organdy or chiffon and picture hats, and all men wear country clothes. A very pleasant fashion coming into vogue is that of being at home in the garden on several successive Satur- days or Sundays, or possibly on *several days in the same week. The object of this is obviously to show the garden when it is at its very best, since there is a period when most gardens are just a little more beautiful than they were or are likely to be at another time. The invitations are usually written briefly on visiting cards “‘at home in the garden’’ (or other similar wordmg) and then the dates and hours: Mon. Wed. and Sat. . July 20— 22 —25 between 5 and 6 o’clock But the usual invitations to really formal garden parties, by the way, are semi-engraved or else written in the third person on note paper. At this point I would say, in answer . to those many who have written about gardens too small in which to give parties, that it is impossible to imagine any garden too small to serve as a setting for hospitality of the most charming sort. In one of our great cities there is a very simple little house less than eighteen feet wide. Its back yard is naturally the same width but about twenty feet deep. Against the fence surrounding it the vines are tacked flat, and at the far end a painted vista gives an illusion of distance. There is a flagged space next to the open doors of the living room and an awning drops down, hiding the sur- had met Mr. Minch, Jefferson Davis Pope thought of the Whee! sales trainer from a new angle. Not as the veteran of the Whee! Roll of Honor but as a complacent individual sitting back in a soft leather chair, his legs free of shooting pains, his mind un- bruised by slamming doors and bark- ‘ing dogs, smugly preaching the doc- trine of keeping everlastingly at it. Five o’clock. A man can think of a lot of things in fifteen minutes and Jefferson Davis Pope thought of them all. Above all, he thought of striking out, of lashing back, of licking the wounds inflicted ) by slamming doors, smug men with- out shooting pains below the knees . . . And why not, he argued. He was through. He was a washout ! What had he to lose? A man was entitled to his own self-respect. He might be a ter- rible flop as a salesman but that was no reason to be a flop as a MAN. The phrase pleased Jefferson Davis Pope. He muttered it aloud. A MAN! AN HONEST MAN. And there was one ! — and only one — completely satisfy- ing way to achieve that manhood. Get Jt back the way it had been lost! Young Mr. Pope raised his eyes ) from his shoe-tops for the first time in fifteen minutes. His mild blue orbs which in turn had registered mag- ( netism, radiant interest, dejection, and despair now blazed with the reck- lessness of rebellion. “I’ll show them!” he told a privet hedge which stretched along beside him, with a smile he knew to be crooked His one regret, as he found *an opening in the hedge and turned up a soft red brick walk, was that the ' coming interview would not be wit- nessed by all past female prospects. Jefferson Davis Pope thrust his thumb deeply into the black button of the bell. He kept it there, with savage insistence, until he heard the rapid click-clack of approaching foot- steps. As the door began to open, he made no attempt to don the warming smile of magnetism or twist his lips into an expression of radiant per- sonality. : As the customary dim face appeared in the customary eight inches of aper- ture, Jefferson Davis Pope removed Continved from preceding page rounding buildings and showing only the hedge of vines at either side with the painted vista at the end. While the early spring flowers are blooming in the beds in front of the vines, the owners of this house are at home in their town-yard garden every after- noon late. Friends continually drop in informally for a cup of iced tea or fruit juice, and find the setting one of the most attractive in town. As for a dooryard garden in the country, this has no limitations. The most typical one is built against any convenient angle of the house. Prefer- ably it is paved with flagstones. Some- times it is covered with a pergola or other type of overhead trellice, sup- ported by vine-covered posts and furniture that is cool and reasonably comfortable and painted to stand the rain. An awning, which can be pulled across a foot or more above the trellice or which takes the place of any other roof, grants protection from either rain or a too hot sun. While on the subject of gardens, let us not forget the garden clubs which manifest America’s growing interest in gardens. Everywhere members of local garden clubs are making pil- grimages to the gardens in the com- munity. Usually such pilgrimages are by invitation te club members. At these perhaps the last hostess on the circuit serves iced tea or a cold fruit beverage and cookies or something equally simple. On the other hand, in many in- stances, these pilgrimages to the out- standing gardens are made for the benefit of a local charity. In this case tickets are sold and no refreshments are served unless there is a refresh- ment booth at which ice cream and His First Day Continved from page eleven his battered felt hat and bowed ironically. ‘“Go ahead!” he invited the dim features. The eight inches became a foot. Jefferson Davis Pope smiled grimly. The larger opening showed him a rather tall, dark-haired woman of forty. The invitation had obviously perplexed her. ““Go ahead what?" she asked. Jefferson Davis Pope waved his hand airily. ‘“Take your choice,”’” he invited her with what he felt was a sneer. ‘‘Any of the usual pleasant little courtesies. Slam the door. Call your dog! It makes no difference to me."” The eight inches became twelve. “I don’t understand.” “You will,” Jefferson Davis Pope assured her. “‘I’'m a washing machine salesman. I'm supposed to be standing here radiating personality and mag- netism. I’'m supposed to be telling you, with a four-inch smile, that you are one of a few representative women selected by the company I represent to try out our new and revolutionary type washer. Well, you're not! I tell the same story to every woman I meet. The idea is to make you believe it is some sort of a survey. But it isn’t! The big idea is to get a washing machine into your home for ten days with the hope that we can talk fast and smooth enough to make you keep it. Of course it happens to be the best machine on the market, but what of it?” The door wavered. Behind it the woman seemed to waver between amusement and perplexity. “I — " she began. “I know what you're going to say,” Jefferson Davis Pope assured her savagely. “You're going to say that you have a washing machine. Of course you have. Everybody has a washing machine. Nobody needs a washing machine. And that’s just swell with me. Sounds funny, doesn’t it? But you must realize that if I were really trying to sell you a washing machine, you wouldn’t be standing there looking at me as if I were a normal human being. Now be honest, would you, ma’am?”’ The woman took her hand off the cold fruit drinks are on sale — also for the benefit of the charity. Another very popular pay-party in a garden is possible only when the space is more than unusually big. The arrangements are almost those of any charity bazaar excepting that the fancy tables are absent and the prin- cipal attractions are fish ponds, grab- bags, ice-cream cones and other things appealing most of all to the children. Sometimes this type of party con- tinues into the evening when others dance on a prepared platform built outdoors. Which reminds me of the most delightful evening use of a gar- den that I know of, one moreover that would be practical for owners of all gardens except those which are really miniature. In the garden I have in mind, which is not one of unusual size nor especial beauty, but one that necessarily has a certain amount of lawn, the owners have built a permanent floor, painted and constantly waxed. Around the edge of it is a protecting rail hidden by high, clipped hedge unbroken except for an entrance on either side. (This particular hedge is of yew but one of California privet would be every bit as attractive.) The frequent dances in this garden are as much the center of the summer social life as are the outdoor swimming pools elsewhere. And since flood light- ing, which is necessary to bring out the particular beauties of the garden and to 1ight the dance floor, is part of the permanent fixtures, all the actual preparation necessary for impromptu parties is to turn on the light switch and to choose dance records for the phonograph. Copyright, 1936, by Emily Post door. “Well I never heard the like,” she confessed frankly. “Why wouldn’t ) bl Her caller shrugged his young shoul- ders. ‘‘Just suppose for instance that I was really trying to sell you a washing machine. What would I say? I would say that I didn’t have anything to sell. When I told you I had nothing to sell, you would grow suspicious that I was trying to sell you something and you would call your dog or slam the door in my face.” The woman laughed. ““You're really awful young,” she began, ‘‘to be — Jefferson Davis Pope flushed. “‘Don’t,” he begged.*I know what you mean: One summer doesn’t make a — I mean one swallow doesn’t make a summer. That every cloud has a silver lining. That a man’s worth while only when he can smile when everything " goes dead wrong.”’ The woman shook her head. There was a hint of admiration in her denial. She came out on the little porch. “That — that isn’t what I started to say Mr. — Mr. — " “Pope." 5 ‘““My name is Radder,” the woman said, ‘‘and I'm almost sorry that I really don’t need a washing machine. The way you made me feel about slamming the door and being short, I mean. It shows that there is a big dif- ference between salesmen, doesn’t it? I — I mean,” she smiled and nodded, ‘‘you must sell a lot of washing ma- chines, young as you are, with the way you have of getting around people.” Jefferson Davis Pope stared at her. “I must admit,” Mrs. Radder went on with another admiring shake of her head, ‘‘that you took me in for a min- ute or two. Longer maybe. You — you were so vehement. But I suppose that’s just the way you expert sales- men interest people.” Her caller opened his mouth. ““Lis- ten,”’ he began hoarsely. “Selling is an art; there isn’t any question about that,” Mrs. Radder continued. “I know if you had rung the bell and talked like most of the salesmen that come around, I wouldn’t have listened to you for two seconds. But that is just what you said, wasn’t it? You turn everything to your ad- vantage. But that’s what makes you an expert I suppose, even if you are only a boy, so to speak.” ‘‘Ma-a-am,” her caller tried again. Tried and failed. “I suppose,” Mrs. Radder con- tinued with a little smile. “‘I suppose all of this is what you star salesmen — when you are among yourselves — refer to as a method of approach, isn't it? I know I've often heard my brother arguing with Mr. Radder about it. He says the approach is over seventy percent of the job. To get people interested, as you have, so they won't shut the door in your face. I know he tried out a lot of them when he was starting in. I remember how discouraged he used to get until he worked out his own individual ap- proach instead of trying to follow" somebody else’s when he wasn't suited toit. But look at him today! He makes four times as much money as Mr. Radder! But I forgot! It is a coin- cidence, isn’t it? I mean that he is connected with the washing machine business just like you. So I wasn’t interested in your proposition because I naturally get my washers at whole- sale. But maybe you’'ve heard of him. Minch? Philander C. Minch, sales manager of the Whee! Washer?”’ Jefferson Davis Pope found a tele- phone, somewhere. He dropped a nickel and managed the dial, some- way. He spoke in triumphant gulps, his blue eyes dancing with sudden knowledge. *Josie? What? Listen! No I didn’t sell anything. What? It’s too long to explain now but — but I had to tele- phone you anyway. It’s okay, Josie. I'm going to be a success. I'm not a washout! No I can’t explain, exactly. It's—it’s just that — that I've got experience!”’ The End H" ') Catuca Continved from page 12 in her voice, a gentleness in her move- ments beyond anything he remem- bered? ‘‘Kathie,” he spoke softly. “Thank the Lord you're all right — thank heaven, I've found you. Let’s get out of here, Kathie!” Her lower lip trembled. ‘“You still want me, Trent?"” ““Want you!” he cried, unconscious that his eyes had turned again to Paca’s face. “‘I need you more than ever. Without you I'm lost. Lost to myself. Lost to everything I used to believe.” They stared at him wonderingly, not only Kathleen and Tony, but Paca as well — especially Paca. There was a moment heavy with silence before - Tony'’s voice rang out. “Then stay lost! You don't love Kate; you only love yourself.” He whirled on Kathleen. “I love you, Kate. I — " ““Hush, Tony!" she interrupted, face and eyes flaming. ‘‘We don't hap- pen to be alone.” “Liar!”” he shouted. “That’s what I'm trying to tell you. 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