Newspaper Page Text
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Dorothy
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Who Say the Right Thing at the Right Time Have Schooled Themselves to Talk Less Than Other People
GIGMMS’ MAGAZINE
By Virginia Terhune Van de
Water.
(Copyright, 1915. SUr Company.)
CHAPTER XXXVI.
T HE Hamilton*’ first dinner party
was to come off on Wednesday.
The previous Sunda.v, as John
had leisure In which to chat with hi*
wife, he and she sat together in the
parlor after their hearty 1 o’clock din
ner and discussed the plans for the
coming function.
All of the guests have accepted,
Isabel remarked, glancing at the slip
of paper she held in her hand. "You
know* them all. yet, though I met
them at Mrs Simmons’ reception. I
don’t remember them well.”
"Six people besides ourselves will
not be hard to remember.” John re
marked. "There are Adelaide, Mr.
and Mrs. Maitland, Ella Sanger—by
the way. she’s Mrs Simmons’ cousin,
you know Tom Marsh afld Henry
Dennis. 1 could have stored Den
nis myself, but you seemed to want
him Now. what about the menu''”
Well. Jennie and l have talked It
over." Isabel said, with a little laugh,
"and she is so used to serving rather
pretentious dinners that she suggest
ed raw clams or oysters, then a soup,
some fish, a mast with two vegeta
bles. a salad and a dessert.”
"Nothing mean about her!” John
echoed his wife’s laugh. “Yet, if we
want to do things up nicely, what
could we spare out of that tyll-of-
fare and not look mean? You remem
ber that someone says that ’What’s
worth doing at all is worth doing
swell.*”
"We could dispense with the fish.”
Isabel replied. "Or we could omit the
raw oysters and begin with soup.”
"I tell you what—let’s have appe
tizers of caviare or anchovies Instead
-f the oysters.” John proposed. “Serve
them In the parlor with the cocktails.”
“Cocktails?” Isabel repeated the
word disapprovingly. “You are not
going to serve cocktails at a little
home dinner, are you, John?”
“Surely 1 am,” he returned. “The
rowd will expect them. They always
have them at their dinners.”
Trouble Starts Over
The Cocktail Question.
"But this Is our dinner, not theirs,”
Isabel objected. "Really, dear, I
think wo might omit cocktails.”
"All people have them,” John in
sisted
"Indeed, they don’t.” Isabel told him
•The Ferrises didn’t.”
“Do you mean they had nothing to
dr’nk?”
“They had champagne with dinner
%nd a cordial afterward in the draw
ing room when the coffee had been
served,” the wife explained. "But
hey are rich and we are not. Cham
pagne is far beyond us.”
"Of course it is,” John agreed, ”ao
we ought to have a good cocktail to
make up for the fact that we will only
Have sherry with the dinner.”
Isabel did not mean to be obstinate,
but since the night on which John
had returned from the clnb with what
he termed "a headache,” she had
dreaded seeing him take liquor In any
form. She had determined never to
touch it herself in his presence. More
over sherry was not a cheap wine.
"My plan was,” sh© said slowly, "to
sene a light claret during dinner.
That’s all we cart afford, dear.”
"Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "I’m
not going to have my friends come
here and treat them as if they were
at a blooming Sunday school picnic.
Cut out that fish course and begin
with appetizers and cocktails; serve
sherry with the dinner and a cordial
it the end. Benedictine Is good.” Isa
bel's heart sank. Y*t what could she
do?
“For pity’s pake be a sport!” John
urged "Think how it would look if
we didn't give these people as good
things a.** they are used to at home."
"How much will the liquors cost?”
Well, let me see.” mused John.
I'll have the cocktails made up fresh
at a place 1 know dowmtown, where
he bartender is a crackerjack in that
ine. They’ll cost about one-twenty-
1 HELP TO
A
five—for we must get a quart. The
sherry, too, will be about one-flfty.
One bottle might be enough, but it’s
safer to have two. It would be morti
fying If 1t gave out.”
He paused, as if expecting some
comment from his wife, but she made
none “And." he continued, "the ben-
odlctine will cost a dollar and a half.
Then I must get some good cigars —
but they won’t be much over a dol
lar.''
Isabel a face was a shade paler, but
she spoke calmly "That means that
drinking and smoking will cost about
seven dollars,” she observed —“more
than all the food, salted nuts and
bonbon*.”
John frowned "Don't be silly,” he
begged. "All that liquor won't be
used, of course, and there will be
some left for our next dinner. The
second bottle of sherry may not even
be opened But we must have It here.
In case it's wanted. Besides,” tri
umphantly, "when you give your din
ner for (he Ferris bunch >ou'll be
glad if you have a bottle of sherry on
hand. ”
“ The Ferris bunch,’ aa you call my
friends.” she said with dignity, "are
not dependent upon much to drink.
But as this dinner is for your friends
I suppose you know best what they
want.”
Isabel Has Another
Thought About Things.
She was rather sorry she had
spoken so harshly, t*he told herself
later when John had gone out for a
walk and she had retired to her room
for her Sunday afternoon nap. Dur
ing the paat few days she had really
become Interested in the thought of
this dinner—had for a while been able
to forget much of her animosity to
ward Adelaide In her desire to have
John's affair a success.
And now John himself had made her
feel that Instead of its being a func
tion given by her and himself, it was
h fea.-.t at w hich things of which she
disapproved would be served. The
guests would drink, they would tall
ridiculous stories, they would All
laugh too much. And, worst of all,
she was sure that one of those pres
ent would criticise the appointments
of the little home and wonder how as
charming a man as John Hamilton
could ever have married such a dull
woman as his wife.
The thought stung her pride into
actiort. Springing from the couch oh
w’hlch she had been lying, she spoke
aloud her swift and sudden determi
nation :
"1*11 show her I’m no fool!" she ex
claimed^ "I’ll show her, no matter
what It costs! 1 thought I was hop
ing to make this dinner a success to
please John. Now 1 think 1 am going
to do it. if only to spite John’s
friends! ”
(To be continued Tuesday.)
Do Y
K
ou
now
The floors of a buildfng recently erect
ed in Pennsylvania, where heavy mate
rial is to be stored, form an experiment.
On a B-inch layer of sawdust has been
placed a half-Inch covering of red ce
ment. The process was discovered In
and the materials are Imported from
Greece. It deadens sound and Is easier
for those who do their work standing
• • •
A rope railway, 75 miles In length.
Is to be put in operation in India It
will connect the rich country in the'
Vale of Kashmir with the plains of the
Punjab over the Himalayas.
• • •
There is an electric rail wax, 10 miles
long, In the South Tyrol which is oper
ated entirely by adhesion, though the
maximum gradient is 6.2 per 100. ,
• * •
Natives of tropical Asia, Africa, Aus
tralia and America make from trees a
fabric closely resembling silk
• • •
The use of the surface coat of oxide
on aluminum wire to produce insula
tion is gaining ground.
• • •
Canada has a vast reserve of sugar in
the sap of the sugar maple.
This Lady Says, “I Can Not Find
Words to Express How Thank
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Jonesvltle, Va.—"I certainly appre
ciate w hat Cardui. the woman's tonic,
has done for me.” write* Mr*. Owen
F. Well*, of this town. 'Before 1 be
gan to take Cardui I could hardly go
about. 1 had several womanly trou
ble*, which caused me much suffering,
and were very troublesome. But now
1 feel like a different person.
"1 had often read of Cardui, but had
little faith in It. My husband urged
me to try it. and now 1 can not And
words to express how thankful 1 am
Cardui is a wonderful medicine and 1
feel that it was a greater help than
anything I could have taken.
"I had scarcely no pain or suffering
at childbirth and 1 feel I owe It all to
Cardui. 1 know that no woman would
make a mistake In using Cardui at
that most critical time. It will save
them so much suffering.
"It is my sincere desire that this
•v statement may be seen and read by
sufferers who suffer as I did, I am
tciu^ig al! my friends and acquaint
ances of the great cure 1 have re
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If you suffer from any of the ail
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Try Cardui.—Advertisement.
b
A Friend Indeed.
Mrs. Brown happened lo meet Mr.
Orsen in the street
Green was her husband's bosom
friend.
•'Oh. Mr. Green," exclaimed the
lady, "I'm so glad to meet you. I want
to ask you something. Last night I
wss clearing out Egbert's desk when
1 came across some of the queerest
tickets you ever saw. One was
marked ‘Mudlark, 5 to 1,' another
was ‘Bophonlsha, 7 to 4,' and so on.
Do tell me what they meant."
Green was really Brown's bosom
pal.
"That's easily answered.” he smiled.
"Your husband Is probably studying
archaeology."
"Archaeology?" said Mrs. Brown, in
surprise "Do you really think so?"
Green hid his smile.
"Yes," he assured her. "Those tick
ets found were undoubtedly relics of
a lost race!"
He Had It Out.
There was great excitement in the
family. Billy, aged seven, had been
advised by the doctor to have a tooth
out.
Of course, in most families this
would not have been exciting, but
Billy was known to be extremely
timid.
“Do have it out like a brave boy.
won't you?” pleaded his mother. “One
sharp prick and the pain will be all
over.”
But Billy remained obstinately op
posed to tne Idea.
“Sho* you’ve got some pluck,” sug
gested father
“You will have it out, then?” plead
ed mother again.
”Ye«. Bill,” chipped in his brother;
"have it out. It’ll be one less to
clean!”
“The Song of Songs’
Bv NELL BRINKLEY ^
Copyright, 1915, International New* Berries.
CALVfW
fefcsO THOMAS-
^>1
e-VRii
TH0hft$
WISE.'-
JOHN MASON
«rp
tHE Song of Songs” is as sad as the word "Nevermore." As sad
as the word “good-bye." It’s a story of broken dreams—
there Is mirth singing along with It, Just as mirth goes along
with any story in the life around you. Sometimes wry mirth, because
the mouth that sings it is moving above a heart like death. It’s a little
picture held up to you for you to see—and weep over if you will—to
shrug your shoulders over if you would do that, too—a picture of a
girl's life that is a melody broken off short and taken up in another
strain. A flower dipped In black. And it is inevitable that it should
grow as it grows, and end as it ends. And that is why it is very sad—
and why you go away with your heart like a cold stone in your breast—
for man and woman creatures fear and hate and look for and under
stand the inevitable and grieve over it the longest.
“The Song of Songs” is a melody written by a Greek, who dreamed
and who had one little girl. And the baby-girl grew into a woman—
and the woman bunted for her "Song of Songs”—the enchanting whis
per of real love, old-fashioned love, fine love that must sing in her ears
some day. And before she ever heard the divine song that her ears
were keen for—as youth’s ears are—the melody of her life was broken
off and begun anew with an earthiier theme. And while you watch all
this weaving into despairing fabric before your eyes, you are thinking
this very kindly: "How do 1 dare to judge and neatly pigeon-hole—
when any one may have carried hopefully and in all good faith the
'Song of Songs' in their hands and the hope of nearing it in their
hearts?"
"I ajn looking for the 'Song of Songs,’ ” said she to the first one
who listened. And the rover in her fared abroad looking for the god
who brewed the cu-p of Tristram i id Iseult to meet him face to face.
And soon she turned nslde with the lure of what she fancied was her
droamed-on music in her ears. And here was a sheltered place where
the stream ran smooth ana the sun shone—but no piping of the mad
god echoed through. “Is this the ‘Song of Songs?’” she asked And
here a woman thrust her out on a harder road—the thread of her life
darkened—and for a long while the "Song of Songs" was only a dim
echo and someth!Hg to be smiled at es a babyish dream. And the
flower darkened and grew very close to earth. Then one day, never to
oe mistaken, so sweet it, was, so clean and so flue, the sous of Songs"
came to- her ears like a trumpet call, with Love’s own lips a-blowing it
y-a little while too late. And the kind aud stern old man of the play,
who gives you all the mirth, and who shakes with laughter the very
tears in your eyes—who’s wise and cruel, too—lays his hands on the
strings before ever she s heard the first sweet measure, and bids her
out on the road again.
And she puts her hand in that of the man whom first she told “I’m
looking for the 'Song of Songs’ "—and this is the end. But It isn’t the
"Gong of Song-,” she hears, for she held that to the blaze and watched
It burn-out of her heart and her hand.
There is the "Song of Songs,” with Irene Fenwick the seeker, the
flower close to the earth; with John Mason, the powerful; Dorothy
I>• nnolly. deep-flowing; Cyril Kelghtl.v, the first man and the last;
Thomas Wise, who makes your tears to tremble with laughter; Calvin
Thomas, the man who comes with the “Song of Songs”—who is youth
with a heart like the world in Spring iso big!, who is brave to forgive
and forget—but who takes the boat that sails "Anywhere” with a mark
on bis soul.—HELL nhlKKLET.
A Thrilling Serial of Modem Life
Hunting a Husband b y ann lisle
“It makes me feel rather insecure
in mine, Judy. They’ll patronize us
and lord It over us and keep us in
our places, and all the while be very
conscious of the gulf that yawns be
tween 'lfh society and fo>k* who have
risen from the working world. But
they’ll eat out of my hand yet. I’m
so sorry I wasn’t home the day Jim
mie Compton-Blake came here. I’d
have made friends with him. I
wouldn’t have let him get awa v with
out arranging for a series of dancing
lessons. Little Bonnie would have
put enough come hither look In her
blue eyes so J. C. B. wouldn’t have
gone thither quite so fast.”
"Bonnie, 1 can’t lbagine Mr. Camp-
ton-Blake taking dancing lesson*. His
brains are lodged six feet away from
his feet,” replied Judy a bit tartly.
"But what did he want here that
day, then, if he didn't come to see
about dancing ’’
Judy hesitated for & moment. She
had puzzled for a long time about how-
much of her interview with young
Compton-Blake she should tell Bon
nie, and had concluded to tell nothing.
Bonnie’s relations with Reginald
Burke were the simple, unconscious
ones of people who like doing things
together. Judy doubted the wisdom
of making Bonnie wait for the fact
that the society world considered her
a young adventuress who had entan
gled Reginald Burke. Bonnie's atti
tude toward herself was that she was
an ambitious young woman who was
trying to get on in the world, and who
had been lucky enough or clever
enough to combine financial success
with pleasant associations.
What good it could accomplish to
make Bonnie self-conscious or bitter
Judy could not ^ee. So she had mere
ly said that Mr. Compton-Blake had
come in about some lessons, and then
had decided he would be rather fool
ish to take them. During the week
that had elapsed Bonn!** had been
content to twit Judy with being a very
poor business woman in letting so
w ealthy a pupil escape the school. But
now' she turned on her sister suspi
ciously.
“Judy, I don’t think you told me the
truth about Jimmie Compton-Blake.
Did he come to suggest this class
which his sister formed to-day? If
that wag It, you might have told me.
It made me look such a fool not to
know.”
“Oh, no. Bonnie; It wasn't that,”
protested Judy.
“Then what was it? Are you having
a little flirtation with him on the sly?
You've known all the while he was
my one ideal.”
"1 thought you liked Reggie, and,
beside* ” began Judy.
"Oh. Reggie’s good enough t‘y+ a
dancing partner, but I’ve alway: >lt
sort as if Jimmie Compton-Blake was
mv fate. Just hearing about his fam
ily Is what woke me out of my stupid
willingness lo stay an eight-dollar-a
week clerk and got me where I am
now. You knew that. Judy, and 1
don’t think you’re a very loyal sister
for starting an affair of your ow n with
him. Why. you’re blushing! I do be
lieve you like him. Judy, do you? Are
<
you in love with Jimihle Compton-
Blake””
“He’s engaged to Willa TorrenCe.”
replied Judy quietly, but her blushes
did not diminish.
“All right, he’s engaged then, but
he’s the first man I ever saw you
blush about* Are you in love with
him?" persisted BonnJe.
Judy* stood staring at her sister for
a long minute. Then she replied
quietly, “We’re friends. I think.”
•'I'm glad it> nothing more—be
cause. in spite of Willa Torrence 1
mean to marry him.” said Bonnie
quietly, “and I'd hate to feel that 1
was hurting you, you dear old Judy.”
“I think we’d better s>ee about get
ting soro/ new instructors for our new
pupils.” £aid Judith at *ast with an
effort she hoped Bonnie did not sec.
“Oh. I’ll go phone Refl-~'~ to tend to
that. What’s ho a partner for?”
And Bonnie flounced out of the
studio over to the little liVinr room
where their phone was stationed.
But Judy stood staring across the
j studio a* if it had no walls and would
let her gaze travel far out into the
! world.
J UDITH MORTIMER’S w-orking
day began at 10 in the morning
and ended at 10 at night, with a
blessed Intermission from 1 to 3:30.
Bonnie made her first appearance for
the day at 1 o’clock and took ahsolute
charge of the studio, while her sister
went out for fresh air and exercise
and found most of it must be spent in
tramping through the shops In search
of blouses and slippers wherewith to
replenish her w'ardrobe. At 3:30 Bon
nie started for her tea-dance at the
Valthorpe roof, and again, as in the
morning, Judy was in absolute charge
of the studio.
Judith had found a queer little in
timacy springing up between herself
and one of her pupils. Many of them
made her el’aborate gifts—which she
knew very well were nothing but sug
ar-coated tips given in the hope that
she w'ould take extra pains with pu
pils who found dancing rather diffi
cult.
But Margaret Compton-Blake had a
simple liking for Judith, which it was
easy to reciprocate. She had a way
of coming in ahead of the class which
Mrs. Lee Carter chaperoned, and of
staying to chat with Miss Mortimer
after the other girls had left. Judith’s
shyness with people who were dis
tinctly of another world wore off
gradually. In her own mind she was
a worker of a rather idealized sort.
Her self-consciousness met tilth Bon
nie’s scorn, for Bonnie was no re
specter of persons unless those per
sons danced better than she did.
One February noon, just as Judith
and Bonnie were finishing their lunch.
Judith was called to the phone, and
returned with her face fairly aglow.
“That was Miss Compton-Blake.”
she Informed Bonnie. “She's asked me
to go for a little whirl with her in her
new cutter. How I shall love sleigh
ing. Will be back quite promptly at
3:3-0. Bonnie; so you can start for the
Valthorpe in plenty of time.”
“Heavens. .Tu, I couldn’t look any
more pleased than that If brother
James had asked me sleighing.”
laughed Bonnie.
"I shouldn’t be as pleased. Bonnie.
Of course, I don’t ge: much masculine
attention, and if it cajne from a man
who wasn't condescending to me I
suppose I'd rather like it.”
(To Be Continued.)
English as Tea Drinkers
Why the Custom Has Grown in a Few Years.
O NE remarkable feature of Eng
lish domestic life has been the in
crease in tea-drinking. In 1876
the consumption of tea per head of
the population \in the United Kingdom
was 4 1 j poundV- In 1913 it was 6%
pounds. The increase has been all to
the good from the point of view of the
nation's sobriety. It represents a real
change in habit.
Formerly it was customary for busi
ness men to clinch a bargain over a
glass of wine or ale. Now this custom
is far more honored in the breach than
in the observance. In busy cities tea
is the beverage. The clerk, the fore
man. the operative, the workingw'oman,
all drink tea. greatly to the advantage
of health and pocket.
The great Increase in the consump
tion of tea is very largely due to the
efforts of British planters in India. For
merly all tea came from China. For
tunately, howere. it was discovered that
the tea shrub is a native of Assam,
one of the Indian provinces. Energet
ic Britons started planting in Assam.
The present-day Indian planter is a
very different individual from the luxu
rious gentleman of “Tom Cringle’s Log”
and the romances of Marryat His life
‘ is one of assiduous toil, sweetened by
; all too brief furloughs,
i Luxury and extravagance are very-
far from being inevitable concomitants
of his existence.
In Darjeeling or Kotagiri he enjoys
that sweet half-Erigiish air of which
the poet sings. In t7ie Terai, which
stretches at the foot of the Himalayas,
he has to contend against ail the in
iquities of a fearful climate. Always
and everywhere he Is the same cheery
and resolute fellow, facing with equan
imity alike the risks of disease, the
difficulties inseparable from the manage
ment of native labor, and the many
plant diseases which are the enemies of
all cultivation in the tropics.
The pioneer planters had before them
the task of reclaiming those Jungle
wastes; of replacing their futile ex
travagances of vegetation by well-or
dered gardens: of repopulating those
bare tracts, supplementing the scanty
and inert inhabitants by larger numbers
of orderly and induatrious workers from
other provinces.
The planters are men conversant with
modern science, and use ingenious ma
chinery well adapted to the purpose
it serves. Large gardens, carefully
planted, are cultivated Y»y experts. Aft* r
plucking the leaf undergoes many pr< • -
esses It Is withered to condense tl ■“
sap. It is rolled to squeeze the Jui* 1
on to the surface. It is oxidized •
develop the flavor and aroma. It N
fired to dry it. It is packed in clean
lead-lined air-tight cnests.
All these processes are performed b
clean automatic machinery. Thus tl’
teas from India are pure and free fr
ail contaminating admixture. Comint
from healthy, well-matured plants, th v
contain all the essential elements in
rich abundance
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