The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 2, 1901, Page 2

2 HE SUNDAY CALL. [M\iss Studdiford Gells How She Defies All Rulgs Laid Down ) for Singers GOES WITROUT WRAP AND STILL DOES NOT TAKE COLD. ISS VAN STUDDIFORD'S just coming i said the man, who pointed out her whitewashed door, and 1 reached it as she was entering. She greeted me in a smart, light jacket and a smarter, lighter hat. “Where did you leave yocur wraps asked her. “My wraps? “This is all T wear,” she answered, pointing to the spring coat “You don’t feel cold, do you?” she added, with a suggestion of scorn. “But your volce? How do you take care of it?” “By not taking carc of it.” And for the love of Mike, if here isn't a singer who never comes to her dressing- room done up to the ears in boas and furs and down to the ears in crocheted things. She doesn't escape from the pro- tection of & carriage to fly in Romeo-clad feet to the protection of the theater, dodg- ing draughts on the way. “Other people can be slaves to their wolces if they want to—I won't,” she says. she sassy? There are sister artists wWo! h up their hands in horror at the way she that voice of Bome of them are silently rejoicing in the Isn't of hers who “abuses™ hers.” thought that she will one day see her sal- ary falling off and her place in the vaude- ville world beckoning somebody else for want of care-taking. Maybe it will all go as they gloomily predict. It is up to Miss Van Studdiford 1o prove that her method of no methgd is the right one. At any rate. she has a good time now while her veice is fresh and hér salary is'ripe. and it isn’t in her to listen to croaking. “I'll tell you what T believe,” she said, as she threw off her jacket and sat down, leaving the door open to let in fresh air. I don’t bother about having many theo- ries, but 1 helieve this—that what keeps a voice in good condition is nothing in the world but having good health. I have.” She most certainly has. She is aggres- ely well in o way that bespeaks three square meals a day and twelve hours a night. I am strapping myself, but she turns me yellow with envy. Then she went on to relate how she had the grip once—her orly lllness: It was dreadful. She had to go to bed for sev- eral days and she actually had the doctor. Great heavens! Most of us indulge in sev- eral grips a season. and we keep the doc- tors furnished with spanking teams. It square by the medical profession to well as Miss Van Studdiford isn be Wy Gxperiences as a Professional .f/.?e_yyar. Continued from Page One. him personally, extreme $1 50 (x). Is well worked. 4. C. B. Holbrook. See him in person. 50c €. Advice to you, keep your job for iife. He never asked a man for a c all his life Father Scanlan, Joseph’s. Burly and if he can bluff. Call bluff and ) (prox). Look out for big stairs. Watch 4. Ex-Police Judge Treadwell, wears K. P. badge. Worked to death yet good 47. Father gold br Fati in P gruft 30c Cummings of St “k 1f he can be seen. Patrick’s. rea s0c (prex) one. “ovle, Star of the Sea. 2c Gives needed x) (prox), Nevada Colos ome 100 names, Talk Guate- 2 (x) to follow up the profes- d to me at the one way a fellow San Francisco, work for strangers, espe- na Southern men *‘for a Native Sons of the contempt and pre- persuaded me that ck my bed on my time only live as hey I we back, sle 10ng the animals in the barns and eat a poke-out on the ranch kitchen doorstep and work sixteen hours put next to the national and societies, given the necessary story to tell Benevolent Association—C. G. ph operator, doles out somewhere British have work in some out-of-way water; strike for cash fare to Sacramento, Seattle, Los An- Cash, 50c (10); alias cash, 50c (10), $1 50 (4), 81 (3) and prox (x). The prox means 1 stood outside, told others. Wooad- ward was from St. Johns, N. B. and after getting my fare each time, steered They in turn brought oth- arly put the treasury on benevolent Petaluma, geles, etc. otch-Irish Assoclation—Get note ¥n to Bookkeeper Whyte n & Co., 53 Market. Get one name Irish, the other Scotch. Get Eagleson, the Prest, to speak for you $3 four times and once $5. By way of change get some woman to go in and you. They are especially good sex. You can repeat. Vincent de Paul Society of St. P. Shirley, Prest.—Get some Patrick’s to speak for you. 3 8t Patrick’s, priest at St Sirike for fare always and belong to that parish. Give Irish name, like Murphy, Hooligan, etc. Take a different name each week and another story, $1 (x—] 4 Eureka Benevolent Association. Levy, cretary. Have employment let- ter; leaving city, but barred for wash- ing or blankets. Any kind of papers. Take first name Hebrew as Reuben, Ja- cob, Moses, ete. $1 (2 prox). Francisco Benevolent Associa- tion. Mr. Beeching, secretary. Hostile to Huskics. Told burly to swim across bay. Wi'l give 2 meal e bed ticket and to some employment orders. To women 5. 8z he gives liberally. Groceries and ash. A wise guy is Beeching. 6. St. Andrew’s Soclety. James Duncan does honors. Go there if you can talk with an old country accent, weekly, under & different Scotch name and story, and you can fool him for the next ten years. Stud, e map of Scotland and Scotch names and cities. He is from Glasgow. Meal and bed tickets or Helping Hand and cash for fares to the out of the way points. 50c (x), $1 and $150 (x) and prox. Pollock, the Palace Hotel buyer, is president and good for $1 any time, but hard to get to see. Robert Watt ard a thousand Scotchmen are ecasy marks, “clannish” and true to their countrymen. e e The foregoing are hastily compiled from the almost countless pages of the *“‘good things? on the lists furnished third degree ers of the Sun Francisco Original Big Cash Beggars' Association of 173, covering 2 period of time from then till the present. There are many uew names added daily, as the fraternity meet night- 1y and compare notes of adventures and new strikes. These beggars do rot con secutive nights in the regate con- | and at the same place, but ry their| baunts and divide up into smail gangs of | three and four and alternatc with oue| ther on their rounds Mor: t at rear of *“No. < ! cet, near Mission: Tuesday, at len’s, “640” on Commercial street (the | home of the ex-convicts); Wednesday, at | Joe’'s 530 Vallejo street;: Thursday. at Pine and Kearny, the hole in the ground | 438 Pine—basement; Friday, ge 646 Sacramento; 1al street; Sunday. | Vallejo, in the subterranean entrauce (o | | | at the side of Vallejo Hi.l TLey also visit the n Cho (*wo 3 cents) and the Enchees of Chinatow but the tunnel cheap wine dumps suited for their mysterious avocatic Beggars are base ingrates, ak of their benefactors marks, jays, soft snape, gold bricks, ete., R-.u- and they speak of the cops as | rew Carnegle is jusg now giving mil- 1 lions in inducing others to give. His ob- ! ject is to help others to help lhcmsel\‘PsA\ That is true philanthropy. H rous San Franciscans® are giving | ds to help others to injure thcm- not knowing that thelr well-meaiit find their way to the cheap wine where able-bodied men while away ‘pation, to get joints their golden hours in beastly ¢ planning sin and crime and nfow without working for it time alms are given or a lean (as you like) to an able-bodied, hezlthy man, fo that extent he oses his | seif-respect, his self-dependence, and the more firmly he resolves to find the next coin the same wa The modern tendency of socialism is re- actionary and has something to do with the growing contempt for labor at pres- ent nrices. I must submit that since my conversion T have again become a toller and the other day met one of my former Zcllow- associates, still on the town, dolng busi- ness at the old stand. I offered to h(.Ip, him to get work, but he declined. Said™ he: *“One hot day in July, 1594, I had arrived from Selby’s smelter after working all night for $185. I had a little over ¢ dol- lar in my pocket, had taken a few drinks and at East and Market fell asleep re- clining against a telephone pole. My head. I expect, drooped upon my chest, my brow perspiring, and my hat had dropped on the sidewalk. Some generous passer-by must have taken me for a beggar, dropped a coin in my hat: others, I expect, im- pulsively followed suit, for imagine my surprise on awakening to find the Lat con- tained $2 5 In nickels, dimes, quarters and halves—more than I had earned through that Jong, hot, sultry, laborious night rolling redhot slag. “Since then I've seen through the folly of working aud giving it to the saloon man, for he gets it all, anyway, in the end. Why, George, you did not use to work yourself—you know how ft is— what's the use in talking to me?” And just then he accosted the next vie- tim: *“Say, Mister, etc.” and he got it. ¥or every fool who dies three are born. “What is the use of my working?” said another. “Your duty is to work—be a producer, be somebody, Go your part ih the world,” was my answer. “Yes. produce what—millionaires, eh? Not much. I Jon’t object to those work- ing who want to work. They don’t know any better. That's where they belong. “I can get along without slaving. I can 80 out frisking and touch up a couple of cases in two or three hours any day.” Ang said a Weary Willie rounder: “See here, George, these dumps are the only home I nave. I can't go into a decent saloon. They'd throw me out. “I love sociaiity. There we have toast, song and sentiment, wine galore, kan- garoo court, free morning soup, all day lunch, 10-cefit bed tickets on Helping Hand, good for free bath, fumigation, clean bed, free doctor and free daily papers, and the free barber school near by. “Who would L:e foolish enough to work? “Frisco 2in’t a bad place for a beggar. “Five-cent cteam and Dago red, Free lunch and free bed.” An educated dope-fiend beggar forth in a panegyric: “Citizens know there is not half enough work for all the people flocking here, fol- lowing the four winds of heaven as west- ward the trend of emplre takes its way, broke - “I don’t walk on purpose into a draught any more than I would walk Into poison oak, but I don’'t bother much about keep~ ing out of one. I avoid taking cold no more than anybody off the stage would— anybody who never thought of singing. And as for bundling myself, I won't do it.” She was getting out of her sleeves while she talked, and she let the gusts of all the Orpheum’s lower regions blow in upon her bare arms s Admit that she's irritating. v L suppose you're a cold bath flend,” I sald. -She looks like one. But here’s an- other place where she surprises you. " “No, I'm not. I never took but one cold bath, and it feit so much wetter than hot baths do that I decided to go back to the old thing. I take a hot bath every morn- ing. No, I don’t have even a cold dash after it. I never take cold.” A woman Wwho never had but one grip in her life: who can ga out and snowshoe after a hot bath; whose chest expands like a balloon without her ever taking a calisthenie ex- ercise—she’s nothing less than irritating. For it's a fact that she doesn’'t know the first thing about gymnastics in any systematic form. Her only exercise is walking. She takes her walks in allo- pathic doses of five miles and she calls them her “little strolls,”” and she never regards them for a minute as a duty owed to her health. She merely enjoys them. “One thing that all singers ought to Miss Grace Van Studdiford. Friscans show by their acts that thev expect you to beg, and if you don't strike them for a coin they will actually be dis- appointed. “Just you go into a store or shop in- tending to ask for work, and before you begin your story the proprietor is reach- ing you a coin willingly enough, and he seems to ask you to take it, expects you to take it and grufly affects to ba dis- pleased if you decline it. I tell you, George, the beys have got them pretty well broke mn.” Daddy Brown, an octogenarian broom, peddler, as lithe as a Berkeley athlete, kas a novel way of flying the Kkite. Awaliting his oppertunity, with eaglelike swiftness he swoops down upon a cigar stump just as a plug hat procession is elbowing past him, artfully attracting their attentton. In most cases the trick works admirably and the benevolent gen- tleman with the silk tile says (thrusting a dollar in Daddy’s hand), “Here, old man, go get you a decent smoke,” and Daddy goes—to the wine joint to sing “Pour out the red wine and let it flow while the dollar lasts.” Ad infinitum! The racehorse touts and tin-horn gam- blers and #hose who play the Chinatown and cther lotteries are, like the bunko stecrers, a different class of beggars, who smcke bit cigars, wear swell clothes, stay round the swell hotel corridors and read- ing rooms. Their little game is known and understood. and they are looked upon with complacency by citizens. This is the gang of beggars who threng the race poclrooms after touching up the unso- phisticated country transients. The following doggerel will, I submit, be castigation enough for this class of lecch grafters, “‘whose ways are dark, whose tricks are vain: ““Tout” rubber here, “tout” rubber there, Rubber the stranger everywhere. i Cigar stand beggars and street corner dudes, They glare and they stare like owls in the woods, With their “‘biled” linen and pompadour heads, They are mooching and begging the price of their beds, But of all the rubbers and beggars, forsake The Royal Cafe and the Ellis-street fake!!! “Down all the stretch of hell to-its last gulf there is no shape more terrible’” than thne thousands of young men, able-bodied, burly, husky fellows, mooching and beg- ging- money—other people's money—to play the races, to gamble for a livelihood, ana deriding the ‘“Man with the Hoe.” Lastly come the badge beggars, who are a distinct class and fancy they are ace- high with the police, many of whom they' address as “brothers.” They include Masons, Odd Fellows and Knights of Pythias, the three great se- cret orders, and at one tire these beggars were actually in good standing in their respective orders. They kanow the secret work right enough, and by long and con- tinuous practice become adepts. They ¢an tell a stranger two blocks away, and they go after only such brothers (strangers) as wear the emblem of the order. They give Games of Chingse © Qhildren. “‘the hawk catching young chickens.” The children stand one behind thé other, hav- ing the largest boy to protect them from the hawk. The hawk, the child who, as HINESE boys and girls have their games that they play with just as ' We say in most games, is “it,” comes to catch the chickens, but the line swings back and forth and the protector kecps between the brood and the hawk. An- other game is “pointing at the moon or stars.” The children form themselves into a ring, with one of their numbor blindfolded in the center. The 1Ing moves around, the players singing. The ring stops and the boy in the center points, The person toward whom he points must take his place blindfolded in the center, Another game is “kicking the marbl The players have two marbles an Inch or more in diameter, one of which s put upon the ground and shoved with the foot. The other is put down and one boy tells the other to put it in a certain direc- tion from the other. If he shoves it so as to hit the other and still goes in the de- sired direction he wins double and is en- titled to two kicks. If it simply goes in the. position indicated he wins and is en- titled to one kick. Sawdust is used in Scotland to some ex- tent in making floor cloth and linoleum, certain kinds of heavy stamped or em- bossed material to be used instead of wall paper, coarse wrapping paper and mill- board and certain coal gubstitutes for do- mestic use. It is also employed (mived with me!te.d rosin) in making fire lighters. a fictitious name and lodge, tell a hard luck story, are rarely asked about their standing and never get less than $1, and freduently make a touch for a V. . They beg their brethren by day and revel by night. They keep tab on the daily arrivals at the New Western, Golden ‘West, Grand, Russ and Lick, and, like the genteel letter writers who hang about the Palace Hotel, they are the most suc- cessful and affluent beggars in the city. The other morning I had business in ‘Judge Mogan's court, and I recognized whim in the prisoner’s dock, charge .beg- sing. It was Billy, and he could only say something {naudible, doubtless the dis- ‘tress words of the Knights of Pythias. His hands were manacled, so he could not make the sign. His life is a history. He had been in the clerical service of the Nevada State Controller's office at one time. Drink was his besetting sin, and in an evil hour he fell. He has never risen since, more than twenty years ago, despite the fact that the Nevada colony here has made herculean efforts to Mft him again. He boasts that he has-not done a day's work in twenty years, save when on some of the rock piles in the adjacent countles, and then only when by way of diversion he would take a spin out to San Mateo, San Jose, Oakland or San Rafael and, in hls own words, ‘“break in” for a few days. This is sociallstic, pessimistic, op- timistic, philosophic Billy, who has taken & vow against work and who knows and works only “the good things he finds on the sldewalks of San Francisco.” Of him, it 1s sald that on Van Ness avenue, from end to end, he can call the dogs by name; they all know him, and he can ascend the mansion steps, ring the doorbell unmo- lested and pass in his card for a few cages, Beggary by day and revelry by night, In every sip a song, in every song a fight, A thousand tales a thousand tongues do wed For every free sheep stew gnd quart of Dago red. Would that the San Francisco beggars | could go to far away Iceland, where there 118 no begging, no town poor, no homeless people and but one hospital. There the people are all poor, yet self-supporting. No crime is there, no home for the aged, no orphan asylum, no almshouse; but the people work there at sheep-raising, spin- ning, knitting, hay-raising and fishing— that is the reason there are no beggars. —p QAN EAT WITHOUT ; BOTRERING ABOUT HER VCOICE. look out for and that I am careless about is eating before singing. I always have the best intentions in the world—I make it a rule to eat very lightly before singing. But as for following the rule—dear, dear, T've just come from dinner now, and I ate a very square meal. The trouble is I'm always hungry. I am so well and [ walk so mueh that I can’t keep my appe- tite down. T nearly starve in the East, where there are two performances every day. That means two light meals, you see. Jiminy, don’t I have to eat at sup- per, to make up for lost time! “What do I eat? Anything that I want. I never want indigestible food, so that's easy. If food is good for you it's good for your voice. I can eat anything except a missionary, and I find it is a valuable accomplishment to one traveling all the time and getting up against various kinds of hotels. I learned the art when I was a little girl and visiting away from home. Before -that 1 had been whimsical. I thought that I didn’t like this and I didn’t llke that. When T found that I should go hungry if T didn't put up with what I could get I found out that mut- ton and string beans were not impossible, after all. And I know now that they are quite as good for my voice, tog, as lamb and green peas, which I like better. “You can't imagine those flutings stim- ulated by mutton and string beans, can you? That highest twirl of notes has no business to depend on anything more earthly than strawberry ice. I hate to have to report the truth. “To sum up the whole thing, just being well and having a good time do more for voice than any amount of care. If I e aiways thinking of draughts amd diet I'd be so miserable that I couldn't sing. I shouldn’t feel singy. I like to be in a jolly good temper when I go on the stage—then the songs sing themselves. I zuess I feel pretty good to-night, by the wa I was at the races this afternoon and T've been dining ever since.” “Have you any nerves?’ I asked her. she replied dublously, as if she did not quite know what nerves were. “I don't think I have. I never feel nervous.” “Don’t you ever feel keyed up—on a “No—o, night, or when you attack those high notes?" “Why, they never bother me. I just attack them. 1 always know they’ll come cut all right. They never fail me.” And you don't take any precautions on their account?” “[ try not to talk too much, so as to rest my v But the truth is, I like to m a brute,” sald I.'and fled. SARAH COMSTOCK. —p ice. &3 GCre PBlase 1 HE rain dashed against .he win- ' dows. The blase girl piled the divan cushions higher and sa among them with a sigh of cor On the floor by her side kr surrcunded b sea | | tent. | the debutante, | dress samples. ‘“Aren’'t they just toe sweet for a | thing?”. she gushed, as she looked up for approval. The blase girl half opened her eyes. | “Pink, baby blue, white. Organdie, chal- ille, dotted muslin,” she murmured. “No, |1 don't think your first season in socie | has spoiled you. Still of course, it all depends on how you have them made” — ; The debutante's eves flew wide open “Why. what on earth do you meax she gasped. “I do not sce,” the blase girl went on, | gertly, “any mystical greens or rellows, or any half mourning lavenders, conse- quently 1 infer that you are still free from any affair of the heart. Nor have vou yet gone to the other extreme. You don't wear white gowns which button down the back, neither do you tuck a rose in your ' hair. No, I should place you in the ruflle stage.” The debutante could only stare. “T'll wager my best Paris hat” her friend continued, “that the blue dotted muslin iz to be made with six graduated ruffles on the skirt and three on the waist, and that the white Swiss is to have une of those new chiffon sashes and flounce ofi—— “See here!"” interrupted the debutante, “‘Are you a mird reader?" “No, my child,” returned the blase girl, with a superior air. “But I am an ob- server of nature, human nature, whicl is much more interesting than sticks and stones, and in the course of my vaiuable experience I have always found that the character fits the gown. “Then my character is dotted muslin and ruffles?” “Yes, my dear, you are in what may be called the first stagc. Oh, it's very in- teresting; it's almost like the seven ages of man. The debutante clasped her hands. do tell me!” she begged. The blase girl cleared her throat like a professor about to begin a lecture. *“In the first place,” she observed, “there is the preliminary stage, but I won’t dweil on that, because no woman of the world looks back on it otherwise than with pain. I refer to the age when she didn't care what she had on, so long as it was com- fortable; the time when she wanted pock- ets in her best dresses and her clothes so 1sose that she could turn around seven times in them. This peculiar condition belongs to the awkward age. I simply want to make this rcmark about it, that the girls who are the most difficult to dress at that trying age usually develop into the most finished specimens of female vanity later on. You can easily account for this on the theory that women in- varfably rush from one extreme to the other. - “So then we come to the ruffle perfod, the first real stage. Having discovered the power of dress the girl fairly revels in it. She has no definite conception of color. Ornamentation is everything with her, and she glories in ruchings, ruflings and frills without number. If she doesn’t succeed in looking iike her mother at this time it is usually thanks to a prudent dressmaker, who insists on modifying her elaborate notions. Then, too, besides her face, there is one other thing which pro- claims her youth, the ordinary simple shades which she chooses, for her ideas of color at this time are as little complex as her ideas of life. “In the next stage we see a marked change in this respect. Her gowns are less elaborate, perhaps, but strange and weird colorings make their appearance. Yellows and greens are usually attempted, and there is a straining toward romantic effect. Of courre, it is useless to tell you the girl is having her first love affair. If this turns out satisfactorily and she mar- ries her dress career is practically ended and she merges into the conventional ma- tron type. “But if she does not the next perfod is usually one of half-mourning. Her heart is broken, she tells you. Life is but an empty dream. Bright scenes and colors are distasteful to her, so she wears se- vere black tailor-mades and affects soft, clinging grays, heliotropes and ashes of roses. Her friends patlently endure this fad, for they know it can’t last, and, sure enough, the next perfod is one of appalling gayety and coquetry. a ““Oh, Girl and the Dobutante Galk Dress. “It is easy ugh to distinguish a girl wiho is in this period. She has had expe- ce, and she uses it for all it is worth. gown: ually modeis of chic and plomb, and they are distinctly made to suit the masculine taste. The colorings are most complex, too. For instance, she ys a white coiffon dotted with pale yel- low. In the ruffle period she would have had it made over the same color or white, but in the experienced stage it goes over the palest of pale blue taffeta, and it is profusely trimmed with wicked looking black insertion and bits of pale blue, black and yellow chiffen. If she marries at this period she usually weds & wich man and astonishes her friends by the artistic beauty of her gowns. If she still remains single she poses as a weman with a history and wears accent gowns and black spangled princess effects.’”” per ric Her “My goodness!” exclaimed the debu- tante. ~ “But the e added, after a pausge, “vou can't fit everybody's life Into just such period: “Perhaps not,” drawled the blase girl. “but yow'd be surprised to see how many people do fit. Of course there are excep- tions: © Artists, for instance. The first thing a successful artist or authoress does is to drop her corset, and the second is to get an esthetic teagown, a medle- val one if possible, and made of colors o one else wears. It must have lots of"flop- py-effects, too, and tags of lace and rib- bon that don't mean anything. Then there is usually an intense look in the eyes which goes with that costume and a Botticelll arrangement of the hair.” “You spoke of girls who wore roses in their hair and white gowns which but- toned down the back. What do you mean?” asked the debutante anxiously. The blase girl fixed a pair of solemn eves upon her. “Beware of the girl who wears that combination!” she exclaimed tragically. “‘She is the false ingenue and her age may be anywhere from 20 to 30. But she has had experience and is a very serpent of wisdom. No real young girl ingenue could possibly wear such a cos- tume with any effect. She would look like a dowdy. Besides, the young girl does not cultivate any such effects. - Her tastes run too much to frills. The demurs girl who tucks a rose behind her ear and who affects white is merely setting a trap for syme unwary man. As arule, itis a trap which does not fail ““And what about colors? Do they mean anything?” “Do they?" repeated the blase girl sar- castically. “Oh, no! Of course not! Just try and see. For instance, play the In- genue some evening when you are wear- ing a red net gown and watch how you don’t succeed. On the other hand, put on a pale blue muslin and see How easy it will be to make people belleve in you. Be seen once In a pink gown with a lot of ruffles and your reputation as a coquette is established. On the other hand, affect grays and mouse colorings and you may do about what you please. Why, even, dress materials talk"— *“Nonsense!” «“Nonsense, if you will, but isn’t white muslin connected in your mind with girl- Doesn’t challie stand for sim- plicity? Cashmere for respectabil ity? Broadcloth for wealth and a fat income? Satin spells elegance, taffeta vanity, chif- fon gentleness and mousseline de soie frivolity, while crepe de Chine suggests deceitfulness, and spangles downright werldliness.” wThen you actually mean to say that can tell any girl's character by the e ishness? you clothes she wears? “If I can't tell the whole of it, I can make a pretty shrewd guess at the rest. The artful girl wears big rosettes and fichus saucily tied, black velvet bows and distractingly spotted vells. The unsophis- ticated girl's clothes hardly ever fit, and if thev do she hardly ever looks at home in tHem. The prim woman has every bow pinned at the four corners. The flufly girl is usually disoraerly, and she never wears Her hat straight, while the orderly wom- an can’t tie a stylish bow to save her life. “Lazy women’s skirts stick up in front: Tailor made women are brisk and uncom- promising. Girls who affect polka dots are apt to be frivolous, and those who wear plaids are as a rule open hearted. The mannish girl is known by the shoulder seams of her coat, and the narrow-minded woman invariably has her waists narrow across the chest. The—" “Hold on!” gasped the debutante, as she hastily clutchéd her samples. “Is thers any way a girl can clothe herself so that her thoughts won't be known?" The blase girl sank back among the cushions and closed her eyes wearlly, Yes,” she murmured. “Adopt dress re-