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THE REJUVENATING WAIST.
WOMEN LOVE IT BECArSE IT
MAKES WEARERS LOOK YOUNG.
The LatPßt Fnrlaiun BrfMf Has
Blown the Trouvtlle Shirt Walwt
OTer Herr—Some Vital Qneallons of
Taste In Rreard to the Correct
Sleeve to Wear To-ilny Each
Woman Ia Loir Into Herself o>
to the Way She Shall Clothe Her
Arm—lin|)Oi*tnnt Trifles That Af
trct the TolletP of Well Dresse.l
Women.
New York, Aug. 10.—It is the endearing
young charm of the shirtwaist that holda
variable woman ever true to it, for while
y:her fashions come nnd go, the shirt
waist wears on forever. A man who is
rapidly making his millions on the soie
manufacture of this garment has been
pondering the stability of the cotton bod
ice. He has come to the conclusion that
woman loves It, not only because it Is cool
and easy, but because she feels she looks
young when slipped in its becoming em
brace. There Is, make it how and of
what you will, an Indefinable, but none
the less surely unmistakable, air of juve
nility about it —an air that Is more or
less caught by Its wearer. A tvomon of
60, arrayed in a smart shirtwaist and
crisp necktie, feels the sap of fifteen
latent in her veins; therefore the manu
facturer of these youth-giving garments
has figured it out that his grandchildren,
even unto the 'steenth generation, will
continue to roll in riches won from th*‘
making of pretty muslin, percale, silk
and flannel bodice*.
At this moment the reigning shirtwaist
leans to spots or tucks or Insertions, and
the feminine populace is bent on wearing
white. Nine-tenths of the women, what
ever skirt* they wear, cling to a cool
While Muslin and rink Crepe Gown?.
crispness of speckless lawn or white dot
ted muslin above the belt, while there l
a remnant, and perhaps the most fash
ionable remnant, exploiting chambrny,
percale and French gingham shirts of
white, with big Sevres blue, or sealing
wax red, or sweet pea pink dots sparingly
sprinkled on the snowy background.
Shirt Aoveltle*.
The latest breeze from Paris has blown
us the Trouvllle shirt waist of two ac
ceptable types. The goods is the thinnest,
silkiest mohair In a Sastei tint. Jet us say
of rose, with big dots of rich red thereon,
elee a cream white shirt Is besprent with
dots In a half dozen pastel colors, one
blue, ona green, one rose, one lilac, and so
'A Fresh Summer Toilet for Country Wear.
on, and the girl who wears such a bit of
twentieth century color twi©rs about her
throat a ecarf of wide cream whit© liberty
silk. It goes around twice, knots in front
and then waves on every lightest zephyr
a long pair of sash ends finished with
frills.
A delicate question needing decision Is
whether ’tis smarter to wear a shirt with
a heavy linen cuff or a shirt finished with
a dress sleeve. The dress sleeves are pret
ty, but the stiff cuffs certainly are a
degree more modish.
This brings us right around to a ques
tion of sleeves in general, for on the nrms
a good half of all artistic effort and dress
trimming goes. In the short space of one
season we have developed at least nine
hundred and sixty-nine different and
wholly commendable way© of decking
sleeves, end every day sees new fashions
of this branch added to the list. The rea
son of this lies in the fact that every wo
man is a law unto heiself in the making
of her arm casings. She is privileged to
turn her cuffs up or down, or have none
at all. to run her sleeves clear down to
her second knuckles or crop them off at
the elbows, to set them in the armhole©
with a little puffing or fit them as flat as
those in a man's coat, and the consequence
is a novelty In sleeves for nearly every
gown that is made.
Skirt Decoration*.
Next, after the Interest in sleeve cul
ture, the trimming of skirts is attract
ing the greatest amount of feminine at
tention just now. There is a charming
sketch given to illustrate how far along
In this direction we have gone already,
and what the autumn tendency Is going
t> be. The winter goods do not Invite
flounce effects, therefore the broad box
pleat, ns the sketch clearly shows, will
form a species of drapery, and. as this
is a white cloth gown, from the hips to
the knees nearly a layer of coarse ecru
iace is laid on the cloth between the
pleats. Where the lace sheathing ends
a scarf of the softest worm yellow Per
sian satin clasps the skirt. This runs
over some pleats, and under others, and
a little to the left of the front, is finished
In a bow. Decorations of wee gold but-
tons are set on above and below the sash
on those pleats under which it passes,
and upon the tvalst all this ornamental
treatment is repeated. A crush belt of
yellow fotill encircles the waist, and
sloshed tabs, trimmed with buttons, fall
at the wrists over full frills of lace.
Two Renatlful Summer Gowns.
Figure I—This dathlng summer frock Is
shown In the popular and always effective
black snd white The drtes is made of
crisp, sheer white muslin, ornamented
with block lace and narrow black velvet
ribbon. The skirt, cut In graceful, flow
ing folds, Is finished t the foot with two
flounces, edged wllh three rows of nar
row bluck velvet ribbon and a niching
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY, AUGUST 12, 1900.
of narrow black lace. The full baby
waist is trimmed with broad appliqued
hands of black lace, edged with the vel-
I vet, the same garniture appearing on the
sleeves. The yoke is trimmed with cir
! eular bands of black velvet, and finished
with a wide ruffle, edged with a narrow'
ruching of black lace, surmounted with
the narrow velvet ribbon. The girdle in
of black velvet, and the hat Is of rough
white chip, trimmed with great chous of
white chiffon, relieved with touche© of
black velvet.
Figure 2.—Parisian art Is shown in every
line of this beautiful creation. It is made
of pale pink crape, with a garniture of
applique face and pink ribbon. The tucked
corsage Is folded over, surplice fashion,
and caught at the left side with a gold
buckle. The wide shaped collar is draped
in front and finished with .1 big ohou of
crepe. It is elaborately ornamented with
an applied band of cream lace in a bold
design, over which Is a waving design
of gathered pink satin ribbon with
small ribbon rosettes. A ruching of
pink chiffon edges the collar and the close
fitting sleeves of tucked crape. The tuck
ed yoke is of cream mousseline de sole,
with a high stock of the same. The train
ed skirt is garnitured with a waving de
sign In ribbon and rosettes as an access
ory to the elaborate lace applique.
The Necktie Contest.
There seems to be a sort of necktie con
test going on. No two women have the
same kind of collar decoration, and every
thing, save leather straps and shoestrings,
have been commandeered for use in a des
perate striving after unique shapes and
L. - r ■ -- -
Eight Now Ways of Making Fashionable Sleeves.
combinatlons. One of the latest phases of
the contest Is represented by a broad rib
bon, w T hale-boned to stand up, and fasten
ing at the back of the neck with a wide
Jeweled clasp. Another evidence of the
tax placed upon human ingenuity is a
stitched stock of white silk, at the hase
of which Is drawn a scarf of fine white
net. spotted in small black lace dots and
edged with black lace. This Is bowed
and fastened with a jeweled pin in front.
Details of the Toilet.
The beige brown silk muslin or chiffon
veil has been swamped ut erly by the
wave of bright, grassy green veils that
have rushed into popularity. Some wo
men claim that these verdant tissues soft
en a glaring summer landscape to the
eyes far more effectively than the brown
chiffon, and certainly the green makes a
brave show about the brim of the summer
hat, but truth compels the confession that
under her green veil even a healthy wo
man locks ghostly pale with sickly sha
dows cast upon her countenance that the
good old brown face covering never gave.
A mention must be made here and now
of the whimsicalities In handkerchiefs
that make ones money feel hot In ones
pocket. These oddities are meant only
for use a few times with organdie gowns,
and such a few of them have the stami
na for a visit to the washtub. There are
lfttle brown batiste muehoirs edged with
white lace, or a narrow line of embroid
ered forget-me-nots, or wee pink, blos
soms. There are deeply scalloped and lace
edged bits of sheer white lawn, with bou
quets of spring blossoms, stamped In their
corners, and for garden parties we see
handkerchiefs, to tuck in b-lts or luffs,
made of pastel blue and pink and yellow
silk muslin edged with lace and stamped
with wavy black or white pin-stripes
through their entire length and breadth.
Again we see swee, mourning trifles
of the most cobweb like black batiste,
solid black and edged wtih white foot
ing, while for more practical purposes
the choice mucholr Is white linen, fine
ly hemMltched In pink or blue, and In
one corner a piece of colored lawn, the
slse of a twenty-five cent piece, Is set.
On this the initials are embroidered.
Many women have their handkerchiefs
marked with etched work. For this the
handkerchief is as has been Just de
scribed, only that the initials on the disk
of colored lawn are worked in the finest
black thread, so that it looks almost as
if It had been done by a very superior
and artistic sort of India Ink.
Mary Dean.
StCCISSFI L At GI ST RECIPES.
A Dellrlon* Stimulating Ilncon Ome
let and a Fruit Sponge.
Bacon Omelet.—Chlsp, wafer thin, bacon
will tempt the appetite, these hot morn
ings, but cooks complain that It is im
possible to have this crispness In warm
weather.
If the bacon can be made firm In the
lee box or eleetvhere and care taken that
the pan is ’’•lzzllrg” hot before the slices
are put in, crispness is Insured. Warm,
flabby bacon, will never cook properly,
therefore the slicing must be done In a
cold place. Try bacon treated in this way
In omelet, which, if made as follows will
be tender and golden:
Remove rind and hard bile from a small
bit of bacon and cut Into six slices, liter-
ally e* thdn as a wafer. Cook quickly,
when crisp, remove to a hoi dish. Pour
the fat fnom the pan and mind no salt
remains. Now put a tablespoonful of the
clear fat in the hot pan. break four eggs,
the white of one rejected, into a bowl
and give them a few stroke© with a fork,
stir in half cup of water, (not milk.) and
pepper to<aste, the bacon will give suffi
cient salt. Turn into the i>an and begin
at once to pick the mixture, os it thick
ens, with a fork. Remove from the fire
while still thin, but do not turn out until
it i© set. While picking do not touch
the bottofi of the pan. but leave a thin
coating to brown. A knife thrust to the
center onfe or twice will prevent scorch
ing. Put the bits of bacon here and there
on the ofnelet after it is folded on the
dish and garnish with parsley. This ome
let should be so soft and delicate that
rolling should be impossible, hut one dex
terous fold i© easily accomplished. Bettor
no fold at all. remember, than any ap
proach to over cooking. A pancake may
be folded! an omelet must actually be
tossed from hot pan to hot dish and must
be in soft yellow flakes. Water makes a
more tender and delicate omelet than
milk.
Fruit Sponge—To use up odds and ends
of fruit, ripe and good, but not fresh look
ing enougn to serve whole, a sponge is
the very thing. Wash the fruit, add half
a cup of water, stew for a few moments,
then squeeze through cheese cloth until
a pint measure is filled. Soak half a box
of gelatin in a cup of cold water for five
minutes, add half a cup of sugar, now stir
into this the fruit juice, boiling hot, pour
in t o a shallow tin dish and when cooled
a little place this in another of cracked
ice and salt. When this begins to thicken,
stir occasionally and add the stiffened
white of four eggs. All will now be light
and "spongy” and must be turned into
a mould and be put on the ice to harden.
S rve with a custard made from the
yolks of the eggs.
Fruit Juices brought to boi ing point,
two small table spoonful of corn starch
mixed smooth with a little cold juice, half
a cup of sugar added and the whole cook
ed for five minutes is delicious when al
lowed to become cold and firm.
Care must be taken to thicken only Just
A White Cloth Gown Showing the New
Mffect In Decoration .
enough lo hold together. Serve with whip
ped or plain cream and never omit a
pinch of salt in both pifdding and sauce.
Mini Cordial.—Crush a bunch of mint by
rubbing each leaf with a wooden masher,
pull In bits, then soak for half an hour In
the strained Juice of two lemons and add
the carefully grated yellow rind of one.
Put a pint each of water and granulated
sugar to heat until the sugar spins a fine
thread, remove from the fire and stir Into
It the Juice of a large orange and the lem
on and mint. Strain, put on Ice until very
cold and serve In wine glasses.
Corn Pudding.—To a pint of corn pulp
add a pint of milk, stir In the well beaten
yolks of four eggs, 11 tensponful of salt,
pepper to taste. Mix thoroughly, lastly
add the stiffened whites and bake in a
moderate ovtu in a greased dish for one
hour. A delicious accompaniment to roast
meat.
Corn Oysters.—To a pint of com, prepar
ed as above, add the well beaten- yolks of
two eggs, two large tablespoonfuls of flour,
half a teaspoonful of sale, a hint of cay
enne and black pepper. Mix well and when
the fat for frying is ready, add the stiffen
ed whites. Drop, in oyster shape, from a
spoon, into the hot fat, brown on both
sides and serve hot in the vegetable course.
Very good.
JOHN HAD GERMAN MEASLES.
Mr*. J. Matrimonial IHlhs Ventilate*
Her View* Ipon tlie Proper Care of
a Sick and Consequently Cross
Hnl>n nil.
“Well, if she treats him like that, I
won’t answer for the consequence,” re
plied Mrs. J. Matrimonial Bliss, laying
down her lace work and shaking her
head solemnly ot the Atlantic ocean, roll
ing its blue summer waves before the
veranda on which she and Miss Emily
Lonely sat gossiping.
“For my pert, I think she is a very
tender, devoted wife, and he’s a surly
brute,” retorted Miss Emily. “The par
titions in these summer hotels are so
thin I couldn’t help hearing when ho
said something about a devilish bore, and
she replied In the gentle way, ‘Dear, you
aren’t .well,’ and then his language be
came perfectly awful. I simply put my
fingers in my eers. I can’t help thinking
flow in the past few days all her ideals
must have become shattered by his be
havior. and they have only been married
two months. Men are such treacherous
creatures. Sometimes one does appreci
ate one’s dignified independence,” and
Miss Emily gave her water color version
ol his majesty the Atlantic, a moon that
looked like a white celluloid poker chip
gone astray.
Mrs. Bliss laughed cheerily. “He isn't
a brute. Miss Emily. He’s just a little
.run down, poor young man, and his con
fiding. adoring, pretty little wife evident
ly hasn’t got far enough along in her
knowledge of the sex to realize that there
is a mighty big difference in the best
methods of taking care of a sick woman
and a sick man. Now, wc all know that
a woman wants to be coddled and cud
dled, petted and fussed over when she
is ill. She grows quite fond of her med
icines. loves to tuck up among pillows and
discuss her symptoms, and speak in a
still, small voice and make large, pathetic
eyes of a suffering gazelle at her relations
and the doctor.
Must be Handled With Glove*.
“If there is one insult that a man more
acutely resents than another.” Mrs. Bliss
continued, “it is Illness, and he deeply
objects to being reminded of it. He
knows that he is then unmanned and more
or less an object of amused pity to his
own sex. so a sick husband must he
handled with gloves. It is wifely tact
that tides him over, and that is what our
l’ltle friend should learn. She really is
painfully obtuse. Last night she tried to
put her white worsted shawl about his
big. broad shoulders, mode him change
his seat, because she suspected he was in
a draught, and reminded him of his pills
right before all the other men. Do you
wonder he used winged words, that Is to
say, direct colloquial language; though
being newly married he spoke in a tone
only she could hear and complied with
ell her requests, except the use of the
shawl. In consequence she was hurt and
huffy, and her eyes grew pink, and then
he got madder and went out, by way of
revenge, and stamped up and down the
wet beach, reveling, no doubt, in the
knowledge that she was wringing her
hands on the piazza and longing to rush
out, and on her knees offer him his
overshoes, but her pride and fear of his
manly wrath held her at bay.”
“And you think that’s kind and ten
der and noble and”—began Miss Emily
Lonely in wrathful ameie.
“No. (Miss Emily.” chuckled Mrs. Blise;
“but it's masculine and natural, and I’ve
been oil through it with my John. Did
I ever tell you about the time that John
Matrimonial Bliss, esq., banker, broker,
aftes-dinner speaker and retired warrior,
come down with the German: measles?’’
Miss Emily shook her head.
“He doesn’t dream to this day that he
ever was the victim of so pesky a little
ailment, but sometimes, w r hen he chooses
to reminiss about his wonderful escape
and daring adventures, he nods across the
table at me and refers to the summer of
his return from Cuba, when he had a
very close call, and I say with a sort of
break in my voice, ‘Ob, Jack, don't talk
of it,’ and he leaves the impression with
his appreciative male listeners that he
has faced worse things than San Juan
Hill.
AVlten tlie Crisis Come,
“That summer I knew Jack was droopy
when he began running down the cook,
but I didn't suggest there was any loss
of appetite. From being an entirely so
ciable creature he seemed to find pleas
ure in sitting alone and glowering a good
deal, and when I assumed a more cheer
ful air than usual he tried to explain
himself by saying. In the weird, vernacular
of down town, that the street had cold
feet.
“The last familiar phase that always
leads to some sort of an attack with mv
husband is when he. as mild a man as
ever paid bills, or dismissed tipsy cooks,
began to. excuse me. Miss Emily, but to
damn things. Then I knew John was
ill. and the crisis came when he got into
a perfectly towering rage with the end
of a palm leaf that tickled his nose while
he sat reading his Sunday paper. I apol
ogized for and removed the palm, and
when the racking headache developed I
lightly suggested the hot weather, a
touch of possible malaria and invited the
doctor in to tea.
"Well, the long and short of it was
John spent four days In bed, and I
bundled off the children and covered my
self with glory trying to keep my lord in
spirits, and at the same time in his room.
We never once let on it was measles, that
would have hurt his dignity, so the doc
tor and I talked on a basis of incipient
typhoid, brought on by Cuba and over
work, and alarmed him into obedience,
while I kept up his courage by wonder
ing at his superb constitution. Poor Jack,
he was scared into fits at the sight of his
temperature, for man-like, once persuad
ed ho Is ill, he glooms over the future,
and I could easily have given him o
serious seiback by watching him with
pained, anxious eyes, by tiptoeing around
the room, tickiing his poor pulse, plead
ing with him to eat, hushing all normol,
familiar sounds, and begging him every
ten minutes to teil me how he felt.
How to Msiinge n Sick Man.
"Treatment of that sort drives a man
either In a rage, out of his bed, or puts
Mother’s Friend I
docs away with the suffering of child- ■
birth. It is a penetrating liniment tobo zJ
used externally. It causes the muscles ■
to expand anti gives them elasticity ■
ami strength for the coming ordeal. H
Mothers who have used it consider it H
as necessary as the food they eat. It B
is utterly impossible for it todo harm, M
as in the case of medicines taken in
•SI? Mathvr'a Friend at
THE BHADIIUD MGCLATOHCO.
him into alternate nervous chill© and
fevers of sheer fright. The proper nurs
ing for one’s husband is to make his sick
room look cheerful and agreeable, walk
around as if there was nothing to be
afraid of, and speak in a pleasant, buoy
ant tone of voice. Gloat over his splendid
resistive powers when he gets down in
the mouth for no man likes his constitu
tion to be impugned any more than his
honesty or his fcourage, and by proving to
him that, though it suffers terrible strains,
it comes out always ahead, you can flat
ter and stimulate him to his great ben
efit. When the time comes for the nasty
dose allow him to dedicate it with all the
naughty words in his vocabulary. It helps
him, he thinks, and then, when it goes
down with a whoop and a gurgle and more
language and facial contortions, assure
him you don’t see how he does It, that
being a woman you would faint over the
ordeal, nnd then he lies back, feeling him
self strong, even in his weakness.
“As to feeding a sick husband. I don’t
think there is a bigger mistake than to
peater him with requests as to what he
would like, to wail at his lO6S of appe
tite and to get up untempting invalid
dishes. Men are sociable creatures, and if
John Is taking any solid food at all I dine
and lunch and tea, and breakfast with
him. If I eat with him he doesn’s feel
as if he were being dieted, and. to tell
you the truth, barring a few really in
jurious things that the doctor may put
on the menu expurgatorious, I always
feed my sick man on the beet and most
various the market can afford. We’ve had
some really Jolly meals on the counter
pane.
“The last and most precious sacrifice
a wife can make to her ill or convalesc
ing lord Is to yield her point in argument.
Now, I don’t mean high and noble for
titude when he grows absurdly angry
over some foolish trifle, or a pained
Christian silence when he contradicts or
stiffens himself to refuse his medicine.
That attitude irritates, but I mean when
he takes some strange but harmless no
tion In his head, contrive if possible, to
let him have his way, and when anything
must be talked over yield to him the rich
and rare delight of accepting his view.
Yield slowly, for he will want to thor
oughly enjoy the sweets of victory, but
yield nevertheless, and in after days you
can resume your old, original, obstinate
position, and he won’t contest it with
you.”
"It’s a pity,” remarked Miss Emily
Lonely, as the lunch gong roared through
the hall, “that you couldn’t give some of
that really sensible advice of yours to
our little friend out there, moping so
tearfully under the lawn tent.”
“Oh. she will find it out by and by,"
assured Mrs. J. M. Bliss, rising with
hungry alacrity. “There is no school for
sharpening woman’s wits like Joining the
big class in matrimony.”
EMILY HOLT.
THE YOUNG WOMAN
WHO WRITES.
HER FIRST STORY.
In the first place the Individual men
tioned above generally belongs to a good
family, has a fair education, and, last,
but not least, has been a prolific letter
writer all her life.
One day a well-meaning friend remarks,
Oh, Alice, you do write such lovely, in
teresting letters. I should think you
would write a story. Alice laughs and
blushes at the very Idea, but the mischief
is done.
A little later the seed takes root, and
6he Is scribbling oftener than usual. If
any member of the family approaches her
desk she hastily covers the precious papers
with a letter started weeks ago to Belle
or Sue, as the ease may be.
While the writing fits lasts she simply
loathes Interruption and finds it difficult
to bring her mind down to mundane
things long enough to give advice in re
gard to a circular ruffle on Ellen's dress
or a crush collar on mother's new silk
waist.
At last they leave the room and she
gives a big sigh of relief as she returns
to her story, but, to her dismay, she finds
that every idea has flown from her head
and she cannot write.
When she commenced her MSS. the
words fairly flew from her pen, she decid
ed that she really had some talent and did
not, think that authors had such a very
hard time after all.
But, now! she reads over what she has
already written; sounds very nice so far,
but beyond! her mind is an absolute blank.
She thinks she is nervous and tired and
will wait till the inspiration comes again.
The next morning she arise*, full of
activity, and “feels Just like writing,” so
she assures herself. She refuses the de
lights of a shopping tour, she must abso
lutely write some letters.
Seats herself and takes out the precious
sheets, and reads them over. As she does
so the story sounds more and more famil
iar; what Is the matter with It! She has
always been a great reader of all matter,
from scientific information to love stories.
The truth gradually dawns on her that
she has unconsciously absorbed the gen
eral style of the "Duchess” and has put on
paper something that might be considered
a “hash” of several of her stories, com
bined with a weak imitation of “Conan
Doyle.” The sory is at once consigned to
the waste basket, for if there is anything
she takes pride in It is her originality.
She decides that love stories are not her
forte and she will try a mild adventure.
This time she succeeds beyondherexpec
tatlons, the ideas flow smoothly, and after
many trials, ends the story in a satisfac
tory manner.
She copies it very clearly to induce the
unknown editor to give it more than a
casual glance. She feels sure that if he
once begins to read it his Interest will be
awakened and the charm of the adventure
will appeal to htm.
Takes the name of some long depar'ed
ancestor for a nom de plume, as she
thinks, in her beautiful Ignorance, that the
editor will be much Impressed with that
fact, and imagine that she is an “old hand”
a', the tuslress.
Reads it once more, surely there ere
some fine points In it; It ought to be
worth $lO, if It is worth anything at all.
So she writes, "Price $10,” and ties the
sheets with blue ribbon, so that they
will turn over easily. She has visions
of an editor, rushing to death with work,
easily Irritated (by trifles, and Just such
a little thing as MSS. being easy to read,
might decide her fate, she thinks.
Now the. question arises, shall she read
her story to the family or Just to her
brother, or shall she wait till It comes out
In print, and surprise them all.
Pleasant little shivers of delight thrill
her as she thinks of this possibility, and
how they will praise her and marvel at
her long concealed talent.
The longing for appreciation concealed
In every woman's heart proves too much
for her and when her young brother
stalks into the room alone she remarks
In a nonchalant tone: "Say, Ted! want
to read my story. I wrote one for fun
this afternoon. Just to see if I coukl."
Ted begins to grin, hut warned by her
heightened color that this Is dead earnest,
says: "Sure! What’s Its name?" and
seats himself to hear It, with a polite air
of resignation.
As she unfolds the precious thing she
announce* the title, and swallows hard
before beginning. There seems to be
something the matter with her voice, and
surely she has heart trouble. It never
beat In this irregular fashion before, She
feels ns if she could weep, but gathers
herself together and begins.
At the end of every sentence she casts
an anxious eye at Tid. Oh! Joy! at the end
of the second sheet, he gets up end stands
before the fireplace. That’s a good sign,
and when he rumple* up hie heir she Is
delighted.
As she finishes, he says: "Good enough,
Alice! You're a brick. 1 didn’t know you
had It in you." Do you really and truly
think It’s worth prlntisg, Ted?
1 should say It was, first rate. “My sis-
ter, the well known authoress! Won't
fellows 'rubber?' I tell you, sis. i m
there is one genius in the family Ba<l
Ted does a cakewalk across th? ro on . an< *
Don’t talk such n nsense, Ted. Ther
a long distance teiween writing on,-.
and being famous. But. privately ' "' r
doesn't think the distance will be so v'" 9
great after all.
She swears him to secrecy, but st,
Just dying to see what her s sterl?
sav. '
She opens the subject warily on* M
day in this way: "Oh. dear! What o'*
pid day this is! I believe 1 11 wrl e a
—sentence addiessed to no one in ,_ T
ular. “You write a story!" sniff- R ' c '
"I think I see the story you could Wr if'
Why. it takes years and years m
anything decent, ui less you are bo>n J!
a special gift that way." '*
Bess' temper Is ruffl-d by the rain Sk.
wanted to wear her new hat to th
nee, so Alice does not feel this
de-ply. But when her mother .
thoughtfully: "They say there are onlvr
(afferent plots for stories in the V r u
and every one is obliged to use some™,
of them, only dressed in a different st vi.
and I think amiteur stories are nth'
tedious, anyway.” Then Alice's
vanishes, and she decides it is not an
splcious moment for confidences and r
tires to her room with: "Weil, I am -J*
to try it some day.” 8 ln
Before sending the-beloved MSS
reads It once more. The rain beats aeai
the window and her spirits sink lower n-t
lower. How could she ever have seen
thing funny in that incident on the this
page! When she wrote it she Imagined th.
editor sitting in his chair and laughing ill
the tears ran down his cheeks.
Now she thought she would just as
laugh at a funeral. mct
Presenly she gets up courage enough „
seal the envelope, and mournfully affix*
five 2-cent stamps. It is better to
stamps, she things, than to have it return
ed from the dead letter office. By iml
time she is perfecly sure It will come back,
and life possesses the hue of Indigo
Her days for the next two weeks alter
nate between hope and despair Everv
time the postman appears she manages to
be within hearing distance.
At last she gives up all hope of ever
hearing from the magazine to which sc.
lias intrusted her tledget, and that very
night her brother springs up the stai-s
exclaiming: "Alice, here’s a letter froni
the magazine. Hooray!”
She hastily tears it open and reads'
"Madam, we are in receipt of MSS., mark
ed $lO. We can use it at $1.50. Plea-e
let us hear from you by return mail
Respt., Blank & Blank."
She sees nothing but the blissful word*
"We can use it!” That Is enough to ill
her heart with joy. She masks her de
light and imemdiately assumes little airs
of importance, and says to Ted: ‘Of
course, I did not expect to get my own
price at first, but I’ve always read that
they, meaning editors in general, never
give more than half what anything is
worth.”
She posts her glad acceptance, then won
ders whether she will get the check before
or after the story is published.
When the next copy of the magazine is
due she haunts the newstand. It happens
to be three days late. When it does come
she scans the contents hastily. No sign
of her story. She wonders what can ba
the matter.
Ted says: "Oh, probably they have got
a dozen ahead of yours,” and so she has
to be content for another long month.
At last it appears. It looks very much
nicer In print; but so short, and she had
written thousands of words.
She buys half a dozen copies to send to
her friends, and returns home to throw
the announcement of her success like a
bomb-shell Into the bosom of her fomtly.
She receives congratulations and praise,
tempered with criticism from Bess, "so
that she won't be too puffed up," Best
says.
Ted exults because he knew all about it
beforehand. When do I get the silk uiw
hrelia you promised me? he asks, and Be S i
demands anew belt buckle.
Alice had omitted to mention the sura
she was to receive for her story, but Tea
had privately distributed the information
that she had got a good price for it.
By thi stime they are all so impressed
with her cleverness that they think any
amount probable, and Alice does not un
deceive them.
She writes to her dearest friend next day
as follows: "Dear Sue—l send you by
this mail a story that I have written. Of
course, it does not amount to much; and
pray, do not think I nave an enlarged
cranium in consequence, but I knew you
would be greatly Interested, of course,
etc.”
"P S.—The magazine paid me quits
well.”
She sends something of the same sort
to four or five other friends, and then
waits for her first check to arrive.
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