The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 3, 1904, Page 10

THE SAN e to delve head- attic and store- in tri- our you stead, of now. Ir d pieces as tt ntended, - they wer glee to make room 4, uncomfortable scarcely one thing thal cost a pr y wallet not a r are back to the eno the; , and sc n seer T folly t« does it relega r that is ockers are perfect In ves the first d skirts, r plying her b graceful little table ts way to the chair. y seems complete When digni 1 ks ready In fact, just at early can- ealth of candlesticks and it is ed to go ke a small slender, fragile the rocker and twinkle to its occu- and served as a work table and all at the same time. e, it is light in weight d ‘about easily. And sly so, nine-tenths work one day and ee would say, but ever sits down and it is plenty -large le room for nap- hat are to be hemmed in odd mo- for.the bit of embroidery that is to grace the table; for the trim little s thaf proclaim her the ‘soul of atnese. And there's plenty of room book or two and her work basket pever séems to be crowded out. t these two pieces of furniture forever, tucked away in a of the living room. And that is § where they belong, for when the -family are sitting and chat- Mayflower rocks and and the candle flickers nd announces to all within sight that the corner i8 not inhabited hy drones. Of course it is ever so much nicer if all the furnishings of the room blend and to a nicety, for the color scheme makes or mars a room. But, unfortun- ately, the majority of us are not per- mitted to throw out what we don’t like ng sally forth and invest In mew if the -attic. ¥ to the ca elp. But thanks be, this is not the chiet 1mpc ce, as good color effects may be baratively small expense and we at least have one thing to be grateful for. Artistic results do not re- quire a lavish outlay of money and the articles that cost a few pennies may be good shapes and designs. Harmonious color effects depend al- most entirely on good taste and judg- ent, combined, to be sure, with some small knowledge of thé fundamental principles of color schemes and theor- And that is one thing thst a bar- rel of gold meyer could buy, for it is not a matter of income but of refine- ment and edueation. The gold is not to be despised by any manner of means, but charming and effective resujts may be had on what most people would call a mere bagatelle. The good old davenports of yore are worth a’ dozén carved and fancifully wpholstered ones of to-day. They are so spacious and roomy and inviting. Generally they are almost severely plain with gracefully curved arms to relieve their unbending look, but they are solid and substantial and will stand eny amount of thrilling runaways and not be the worse for wear if they get the match jos, mixed pillow up a dazen rough and ready 2 day charming and perhaps the t of drawers, and it de- fact that the one could dr conveniently reach That may -be or thing that the mod i upon, that he borr ws hi that lock it a look > hats and vers that £ gre bui ments for gloves. vells and ribbons. A number of full length ones are meant for dainty gowns, while shorter, deeper ones say as plain- 1y as possible, waists. Even the small- est detall has not been forgotten, for one well of drawers boasts of a lock and key and when it is opened reveals a royal lining of purple velvet that was meant exclusively for jewels. ¢ If its contents are valuable there is not that annoyanee of locking each and every drawer, but the doors may be swung gently into place and one lock- ing suffices for all. The high four-post bedstead is an- other treasure that has been unearthed from its weight of cobwebs and the bed with the rolling top ahd bottom, both as low as the posts are high, 1s quite as much in demand. Both sug- gest billows of feathers and the old- fashioned.chintz of critonne hanging that are so pretty. And nowadays wall- paper comes Wwith cotton hapgings to match. You may cover your walls with nosegays and colonial’ stripes and use the same pattern for curtains and bed- GRANDFATHIR cLocn &S ¥ / spreads, for they are prettily and eas- 1ly turnished with white cotton fringe in little tassels or balls. FRANCISCO 'SUNDAY CALL. Furniture From W. & J. Sloane & Co. Then if you would haye your room complete must have the low bench ‘with the shoe box beneath it. In order ould ries out the gay-flowered color scheme. This same idea has been carried out in ‘what is called the “brass slipper-seat’ that was made as a pretty adjunct to the brass bed, but it is not nearly as eftective and certainly does not add a colonial room. * ©Of chairs the antique crank has al- an endless variety, but the one t really looks as though it had come out of the ark is rightly termed the “grahdfather chair.” It is plenty large to easily hold two people, and g it give the chair a novel appearance, but it looks most too cozy for words, end if one were gullty of the dreadful crime ‘of falling asleep over a book there would not be the slightest danger of 'falling out, or even getting into an uncomfortable position, for that matter, for the extension of the arths serves as an admirable headrest. The dainty parlor chair is more on we would call rather simple,in sign, yet not much more could be added without taking away its real beauty. The backs, as a rule, are quaintly interwrought, but are slender looking, as, in fact, is the entire chair. The brocaded covering may be just what one fancies the most, but it should be something dainty, for above all things else this chair looks as though {ts one idea was to grace a drawing or a reception room. ‘What our grandfather used as his own chair st the head of the table has been brought down, rubbed: up and given a new seat and, lo and behold, it puts some of the parlor chairs to shame., Mahogany is always mahog- any, and in this day of its craze thers is scarcely a stick of furniture that is not fit to grace our best rooms. These dining chairs are simple, without even & hint of carving, and the back, which is rather broad, is a shining panel of exquisitely polished woed. Under the seat and giving the chair a good solid look are three curved pleces of ma- hogany that fit one into the other. Not rounds, mind you, that look as though their only excuse for being was to add strength, but flat bits that add not a little to the beauty of the chair. The dining-room in a colonial home ‘was one of its most attractive features, and the housewife of to-day that can boast of a sideboard and table fash- ioned years ago has something that is " truly worth while, » Everything was built on a generous scale, and the board that did not measure twenty-four inches in depth by seventy-two in length was not a very Bood one. The top was plain, ab- solutely so, and did not boast a mirror. Of drawers there were three of goodly sise, two small ones and a large one in the center, and the remainder of the space was taken up in compartments bullt to correspond with the size of the drawers. The dividing line between the compartments was fashioned in post style, which were slightly carved; but, with the exception of a fanciful scroll on the top- of the board and a sugges- tion on the claw feet, the plece stood severe and simple, its chief charm being its great simplicity. \ The tables of long ago were every bit as tetching. To be sure, there was none of that dainty, cozy apartment look about them, but they stood firmly on four great legs that looked as though they might be braced together to hold up the load of good things that the good old housewives used to take such pleasure in preparing. Oftentimes & great square post, say a foot square, formed the main brace, and the four legs that joined on to the solid slab of wood were fanciful .in shape, in order to break up a too solld appearance, for the underp: or footrest, was nearly always made/ of a heavy plece of the wood, which added to its weight. Probably the one relic of bygone days that is at all common is the great hall clock, that has solemnly proclaimed to its little world that the hours were swiftly passing away. And how proud- 1y they stand and tick on and on, as though they were everlasting. Heirlooms are, indeed, a blessing, al- though sometimes in disguise; but there are comparatively few people who can tell the difference between a chair that dates to the eighteenth century and is a genuine Hippelwhite from the modern imitation that is turned out from our factories. — e ¥ ‘,Atherley’s ; - Euck By A. M. D. Ogden = - — * HE morning .sun lay warm and clear af- ter the rain of -the night before, and young Atherley, as his horse loped eas- fly along the wide range, sang aloud for very joy of light-heartedress. Out here. away from cittes and crowds, how good life was. The train was in, and Atherley hur- ried around the corner, then halted sud- denly, dazzled by the vision which con- fronted him. On the lower steps of & car near the middle of the trainstood a gir], her fair hair blowing in the wind, her hands full of pink roses, her eyes gazing straight into his. For a gecond neither moved. Then, as a voice from within called “Msirion,” the girl, with a guick flush, turned up the steps, and Atherley, stricken with the comsclous- ness of his dusty “chaps,” huge spurs and sombrero, slipped back. He had quite forgotten his letter. The engine gave a preliminary snort, the conduc- tor yelled “All aboard!” but Atherley still stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the car wherein she had disappeared. As the slow length of train began te move the girl slipped back to the plat- form for & moment, and on the ground, almost at Atherley’s feet, fell & pink rose. To spring forward, seize the flower, then swing aboard the last car as it passed ‘was to Atherley but the work of another moment. Before he had fairly realized it he was on the train and speeding eastward as fast as steam could carry him. Practical thoughts forced a way, and his first act was to take account of stock. “Jim will take the horse back,” he reasoned. “It's all right. Luckily I have just about emough for my ticket to New York.” Somehow he had de- clded that she lived in New York. “And as for meals. Well, who knows what may turn up?* with cheerful optimism. At the next stop he sneaked forward to the smoking car and sat down to think things over. She was certainly a mighty pretty girl! Atherley, feel- ing for the rose hidden in his breast pocket, concluded that he would prob- ably not regret his action. “But I've got to get busy on the food question.” There were three or four other men in the car, the younger ones chatting together, and another, rather older, reading in a corner. All eyed him curiously, and Atherley had an Inspi- ration. If he worked them right, amused them, told them queer experi- ences, they might supply him with food alld drink, and as for cigars, well he must husband those he had care- fully. In pursuance of this idea he moved nearer, and soon teld the group. enthralled with his breezy frankness. “So you really just jumped on the train and came,” asked an older man at length, when Billy had grown aweary of his task and moved away, “and for no other reason than that you wanted to see the world?” Atherton laughed rather shamefacedly. “That's what I told those fellows. But I don't mind telling you the truth. It was—it was on account of & girl" he said haltingly. The older man's lips twitched. “A girl! How so? “I saw- her on the car step,” con- fessed Atherley. “And—and I liked her,” he ended lamely, not- even to himself did he care to mention the rose. “I wonder if you have seen her,” he added eagerly. “She had on some kind of a blue skirt with a white walst and carried some roses. -They called her ‘Marion."” ™ The older man started. “Marion,” he exclaimed, “why, that's my daughter,” unthinkingly. Then hs stopped, rather annoyed. A young ranchman, no matter how charming and gentlemanly, was hardly a person to be presented to the carefully guard- ed Marion. But Atherley was too ab- sorbad to notice the hesitation. “Your daughter,” he cried. “Really. your daughter, oh, I say, what luck! That will save me an awful lot of time and trouble. 1 expected the deuce of a job in locating her. Though I knew that I should do it In the end,” he added confidently. “Do you mind tells ing me your name?” “My name,” divided between Indig- nation and mirth. “T am James Are buthnot,” he declared rather pompous- ly. But Atherley was clearly. unime pressed. “Better and better,” he cried. “I always was a lucky devil,” joyously. The elder man leaned back and stared at him. “My dear young man,” began he In his most formal manner. “I think we must understand each other. I cer- tainly fall to see where the luck comes in.” Atherley, staring in his turn, be- came suddenly eulightened. “Of course. You mean that you don’t know me,” he cried. “Oh, that's all right,” easily. “I've heard dad speak of you hundreds of times. I'm Billy Atherley, and I've just been out look- ing up some properties in the West.” The older man's brow cleared some- how. “Not Willlam H. Atherley’s son?” Atherley nodded. “The same. So mow won't you in- troduce me to your daughter?™ wist- fully. “It would save such a lot of time.” Arbuthnot, his gray eyes twinkling, looked at the young fellow quizzically. “If vou are much like your father, and T think you are, you would be hardly aot to wait long for my ser- vices,” he remarked jocosely. “Come along, then. All I ask of you is please not to get married defore we reach New York.” The tone strove to be stern, but young Atherley laughed hap- pily. “I make no promises,” he declared, with gay deflance. “Oh, here, hold on a moment,” as a sudden recollection of his unmailed letter recurred to him. Pulling out the envelope, he'tore it into fragments, letting the pieces float out of the open window. “It was to say that I wasn't home,” he explained. “I will telegraph from Chicago. .!‘Wow, if you are ready.*