The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, February 7, 1904, Page 11

+ — HERE are two mnew dances coming. It is perfectly true that they have not been danced to any.great extent, but ¥ are being religiously practiced in parior and in the giit-edge dancing school, a eve even the staid, ding through its mystic mazes so that they may be strictly up to snuff when the time finally comes Their names are ¢ ite as good sov ing as the steps th Ives look. The Niagara twostep and the Knicker- bocker waltz, and both are scheduled to be the great dances of Easter week cy steps that York intend n bow in only as bit e s ted t e old-time & 3 waltz that one un- s associates with Strauss new Knickerbocker has a splen- sgins with a hall, and , two part- rictly a society steps pping on ut the least and nearly al- e of the t is splendidly flirted through in lifted to the r danced in | THE KNICKERBOCKER ankle be well turned and the feet pret- tily shod it is the daintiest.and most pleasing of all ways to go through its steps. . Though danced to waltz time, it is done ‘in very leisurely style, the feet barely walking the steps. Delicately, daintily, each” step distinct,~they -go through the first three positions. Then comes the regulation waltz position, and through the gentle mazes round and round they go. When they have glided several times round—for there is no strict rule to this —they clasp hands high, face down the room and, side by side, they slide through the pretty semi-walking steps of the grand promenade again. In one resnect this new dance is one that is much needed: The cotillon, while charming, requires a skilled lead- er and long preparation to be success- ful. More than this, there must be fa- vors, and the getting up of an original nce is really the work of one person for several evenings. . Another thing that is a necessity is a leader that knows his business and that never loses his head, even under the most trying circumstances. Elisha Dyer is probably the best and most competent leader in New York, and his cotillon at Mrs. Astor’s, danced with lice Roosevelt as a partner, was sald to be the triumph of all his years of leadership. Miss Alice, by vivacious dancer, s also very clever at leading. One story is told of her rare presence of mind and her great ability to cover up mistakes and make is a very _THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL v THE. SRAN! PEOMENADE DOWN THE oM them appear as though they were real- ly intended to be so On this particu occasion she was leading a party of merrymakers down one side of the ballroom. On the op- posite her partner was leading the gentlemen. The two were to pass each other and wind in and out in the old milling figure, until ali were to emerge and the line would straighten itself out When this happened a small wagon, filled with canary birds in gilt cages, was to be driven into the room and the dancers were to entirely sur- round the wagon and conceal the tiny warblers. Glancing suddenly at her partner, Miss Roosevelt saw that he was leading his dancers in the wrong direction. Another. turn_and the line would be helplessly twisted. He had forgotten his head and likewise the figure. Instantly seizing a gay banner that hung over her head, she tossed it to him and led him. gently but firmly down the hall, and the dancers were EBe And if the o Sl L (Copyright, 1904, by R. B. Shelton.) T was a roomy, old- /( 77] fashioned garden. V Its walks were bor- ’ \/ ¢ with low - h s of box; hol- hocks and four- , ks bloomed in ¥ sion; a bed of sweet w ed the air, and tufts ped ss rustled pleasantly in eeze. Morning glories climbed siender ‘lines stretched against the high brick wall and swung agile blos- soms from their perilous perch; quan ties of mignonette hobnobbed with its nearest meighbor, the stately, unbend- ing phlox of the garden was a huge yuse of red brick. The house, the garden and the high brick wall gave one the impression of a bit of an- other century, quietly but stolidly hold- ing its own against the inroads of a latter-day cc the gate the tr over the high wa ng chimneys ercialism. Just beyond ey cars clanged, and were vistas of smok- wering heavenward. The vom and spindie seemed strangely an stic when one stood near the sweet william bed and lis- tened to the clatter Some such ught had taken possession of es Thornton as he stepped thropgh the h, white gate that led from the street and strolled down a box-lined path. At the very moment Thornton unlatched the gate Miss Janet Calvert came from beneath ® wistaria-trellis near the house and entered the other end of the same box- lined path. They met near the bed of mignonette. Miss Calvert bowed with something of condescending gracious- ness: Thornton removed his hat, and his rather stern features lighted with @ smile of genuine pleasure. 3o E IN A bARDEN By T. B. Eaton L. .;. At this juncture the little god en- tered the garden. (How he managed his entrance is quite immaterial) He perched himself on a ruined sundial and looked over the pair thoughttully. Young Miss Janet was good to be- hold. Generations of high-bred Cal- ~erts had given her the proud poise of her head, the beautiful modeling of her features, the bewitching arch of her instep and the delicate lines of her little hands. Thornton was young, sturdy and broad-shouldered. The clear-cut lines of his clean-shaven face pronounced him an aggressive man of action. The little god looled up and winked covertly. “I am glad the house went to you at the auction, Mr. Thornton,” said Miss Calvert, with a little catch of the breath “When I used to shake down horse- chestnuts in this very garden for a little pink and white tyrant, I was Jimmy,” he said chidingly. “Jimmy, if you wish it still, she said, with the faintest flush. “I do,” he asserted eagerly. The lit- tie god snickered and pricked up his ears. “You'll build a big, unsightly block I suppose,” she said. " he said quietly. She raised her brows inquiringly. “The land is very valuadle,” she sug- gested. “Too valuable for business purposes,” he explained. “Is anything more valuable than business?” she asked with the barest touch of irony in her voice. “Yes,” said he, “sentiment.” “Isn’t sentiment rather an expensive luxury?” she asked. “Not in dollars and cents, “In other ways, quite so.” “I didn’t know you were a sentiment- alist,” she said. “I'm not,” he returned shortly. then,” " he replied. -5 The little god scratched his head in puzzied fasbion. “You came here to-day for a last look ‘at the place, I presume,” he went on. She nodded. “Are you angry with me for buying it?” he asked, “Oh, no. It had to be somebody—but well, of course, I'm very fond of it.” “You thought I'd shut you out of it, perhaps?” he continued. “1 thought ycu might change it,” said. “Well, cally. The little god was uncertain whether he should smile or frown. “Everything shall be kept just as it is,” Thornton said. The girl was silent. “I want the house just as it was™ he said. “Yes, even to the occupants. 1 want you to live here again.” She shook her head. “It's your house now, yo§ know.” she I shan’t,” he said, emphati- “With me,” he pleaded in a low, shaken voice. “Oh, no, no, no,” she said in almost a sob. “Don’t!” as he came a step nearer. “You are good and kind and—" He drew himself up. “Forgive me for being a fool,” he said coldly. “I was idiotic enough to think that, begause you have met with misfortune and I with a little paltry success, the gulf between us was lessened. You are still the little pink and white tyrant, and I am still the ragged little urchin. I worshiped you from a respectful distance, then; per- haps it is better to do so now.” He turned on his heel and walked down the path. “The little god on the sundial covered his eyes with his chubby fist. Miss Calvert's condescending gra- ciousness had fallen from her; the proud poise of her head had gone, too. “Mr. Thornton!"” she called weakly. The little god suddenly uncovered his eyes and sat up. Thornton walked steadily toward the gate. “Mr. Thornton—Jimmy! Oh, Jim- 2. Thornton turned. He saw her coming toward him. He stared stupidly. like a man suddenly awakened. “l—oh, 1 thought it was because you pitied me—only. I didn’t understand,” she said, falteringly. “Janet,” he said hoarsely, as he took her in his arms. The little god on the sundial held his sides and wept tears of iaerriment. s essfully brought through the pret- tiest figure of the evening. The duties of a leader are, by the way, numerous. He is expected to in- vent figures and to rehearse them with his partner. He must get his second couple into perfect training to follow his- leadership, and, unless he also trains the third couple, he is apt to come out badly. With these three couples going through the intricate parts quietly and easily, the -others will learn the figures sufficiently well to go through them without making a series of blunders. The Knickerbocker does not tax the ingenuity of any one, for it is simgle. It begins with the salute. Then comes the grand promenade, which may be from three to ten steps down the room. The couple stand side by side with their hands well lifted. That of the lady is supported by the hand of the gentle- man. 11 ¥ THE NIAGARA ¢ S . d The second figure of the dance comes when the couple face each other in what is termed the first position of the waltz'step. They waltz haif way round beginning with the right foot. then they stop and waltz half way round beginning with the left foot and mak- ing two side steps. The fourth pesition is in waltz time and in waltz.clasp, with arm out- stretched. They float off in full glide waltz, whirling, but not hopping. The old-fashioned glide Is here revived in what the leaders think will be one of the most popular dances of the season. The figure i€ now repeated. There is the promenade down the room side by side; the first position waltz step half way round with the right” foot: then half way round with the left foot, mak- ing two side stéps. Thén the glide waltz. Nothing could be easier than this pretty dance, and nothing could be more effective as a parlor dance. Its slowness and its delicacy should make it wonderfully popular, for it has slip- ped into a niche that has been an ach- ing void for many years. Mr. Hinman solemnly declares that the Niagara two-step promises to be every bit as much a favorite, and that it is danced more or less even now. It is a staid dance, and reminds one somewhat of the old la mode that used to be danced on every and all occasions. The couple -stand facing each other. with the gentleman’s right hand join- ing the lady’s left. The gentleman steps to the left, bringing the right foot be- hind, making a bend of the knee. Then he steps back with the right foot and brings the left foot in front. Fifth position, with heel raised. Then walk three steps forward and turn to the left on the fourth count, pointing the right foot, which brings the couple standing back to back. Now the gen- tleman steps to the right, bringing the left foot behing and bending the knee. Then steps to the left and brings the ng‘n foot in front. Fifth pesition, heel raised. Then walks three steps for- ward in line of direction and points the left foot. And lastly take the regular waitz position and two-step eight bars. There is something particularly fetching about it and it is probably due to the fact that there is sufficient varia- tion of movement about it to make It exceptionally fas ting. Those who are very fond of slow dancing can dance the two-step in what is com- monly known as “half-tim or taking four slow steps where eight are gen- taken. The pointing of the toe gives a splen- ¢ r a P graceful body may be turned ay round, so that the standing back to back, be notning strained ength and breadth of the and not find any one position that cculd be anywhere near as awkward. When a room or hall is well filled with merry folks t on danc- ing the same thing, nothing could be prettier, for all promenade at one and the same time in the same direction and the room is filled with whirling, fiying feet of one accord. A decidedly new novation and one seen but little on this coast as yet is the wearing of the instep skirt for the evening dance. Still others prefer the skirt that just escapes the sor, full two Inches longer than this delight- ful skirt. But as yet the great ma- VYVALTZ STER jority still cling to the long, graceful, clinging train. Those who wear it for round dancing are compelled for twe reasons to hold it up constantly. It is infinitely smarter, and trailing around a ballroom endangers the life of the frock and the comfort of all the other dancers. In other words it is little short of a pest and a decided- 1 tiresome one at‘that, for at best, and no matter how elegant a gown may be, it is always a tax to carry It about when one is dancing miles. 2 ¢ AT THE END “not Copynzht. 1904, by Richard B. Shelton. - HE chase had led them over & new- turned fleld, down a 1 long slope where goldenrod and asters nodded in the Sep- tember breeze, across an alder lined brook, and up the slope on the other side. As they neared the crest of the rise Tren- holme put his big black hunter beside Miss Carruthers’ roan. “I imagine we'll turn back here,” he called, nodding at a six-rail fence just ahead. “Nonsense,” laughed the girl, for that! “Look,” he said, “Mrs. Calvert and the rest are riding north to find a gate. ‘We'd better follow, I think.” The girl merely tossed her head and, touching the roan with her hunting crop, rode straight for the fence. “Great Scot! cried Trenholme, “if you try it. You'll—" Miss Carruthers had reached the fence. He heard her clear voice cali, “Up, Dan,” to the roan, and saw the horse respond with a beautiful spring. Up they went, clearing the top rider by the barest margin, but there was soft ground on the other side. As the horse landed Trenholme saw him sud- denly sink to his knees, while Miss Carruthers was thrown over his head into the rowan beyond. Trenholme put the black over the fence and before they had fairly landed he was out of the saddle assisting Miss Carruthers to her feet. His own horse, meantime, recovering beautifully from the jump, was thundering across the field after the hunt. “Are you hurt?” he asked anxiously. “Not a bit,” she said, with a nervous laugh. “Thank you,” as he handed her her hat and crop. “This comes of be- ing willful, doesn’t it?” And to cover her embarrassment she fell to brushing her skirt. L P T By R. B. Shelton * e —-‘——‘1“ “You cleared it, anyway,” he sald. “If Dan hadn’t bent his ankle it wouid have been a magnificent jump. You should be proud of it.” She flashed him a look of gratitude. “You're very generous,” she said. “See! Dan's ankle is hurt. He limps badly.” Trenholme hitched the roan’s bridle to the fence. “Let's sit under the tree over there and rest before we go back,” he sug- gested. “Oh,” said Miss Carruthers, con- tritely, “I've ruined your afternoon.” Trenholme smiled. “On the con- trary,” he said, “you've made it” They moved toward the tree. “You should be in at the death, you always are,” said the girl. “I feel I've filched a brush from you.” “Brushes aré of relative value,” said he. “Sometimes I'd risk my neck to be in at the finish. Just now I'd risk my neck not té be.” Miss Carruthers. flushed. “You're awfully kind to conceal your disap- pointment that way,” she said. “The disappointment is a very hap- py one for me,” he said. “I'm afraid if ’'d known how it would turn out I shouldn’t have had the moral cour- age to tell you net to try the fence.” They reached the oak and seated themselves in the mottled shadow, the girl with her back against the gnarled trunk and Trenholme stretched com- fortably on the ground before her. “Listen!"” he said suddenly. From the distance the cries of the pack came faintly; not the long, re- verberating bay of the chase, but the short, staccato barks and yelps in confused chorus—the hubbub that told of the death. “Got him,” said Trenholme lacon- ically. “I wonder who's the lucky man,” said Miss Carruthers. Trenholme laughed easily. “Well,” he said, “taken all in all, vinced that I am.” He looked intently at Miss Carruth- ers, but at that moment her ‘attention was centered on a bunch of neighbor- ing goldenrod, which she was idly fil- liping with her ungloved hand. It was some time before she raised her eyes. “If 1 thought you'd give me absolu- tion, I should be tempted to make & fession,” she said. I give you absolution now,” he herefore let the confession pro- I'm con= “Well,” she said, turning to the gold« enrod again, “it was simply contrari- ness that made me try the fence. When I saw it first I was rather faint-hearted. 1 fully intended to follow the search for the gate. Then, when you advised me not to try it, I was determined to take it.” Trenholme's eyes sparkled with amusement, but his voice became sud- denly grave. “And Dan and I are on the hospital list in consequence,” he said. “You?" said the girt in surprise. “Were you hurt? How seifish of me not to see it! And I've let you stay here all this time. Was it when you took the fence?” “Just after that,” he said slowly, “when I lifted you from the rowan. It's a compound fracture of the heart.” He saw her face crimson and her fingers tighten nervously on the hunt- ing crop. ““There’s only one remedy for such a case,” he said. The voice that answered him was & wee, small voice. “Jf—if it were—mended, would it com- pensate the loss of the brush?” o g Ea gy el When they reached the ¢t ouse the hunt was back. “Hello, Tren,” alters called from the stairway. “How’d you happen to fall off? I got *he brush.” “Did you?" said Trenholme quietly. *1 did better than that.”