Newspaper Page Text
Garment Bags Made
From Odds and Ends
By RUTH WYETH SPEARS
«r)EAR MRS. SPEARS: I
thought you might be inter
ested in how I made garment bags
for each member of my family,
almost entirely from things I had
on hand. The foundation part of
each was made of %-inch board;
a screw-eye; a hook from a hang
er; and five small screw hooks
underneath. For the bag, I com
bined muslin flour sacks with odds
and ends of figured cottons and
a si, BASTE
3 STITCH
ZIPPER
IN
OPENING
BE
trimmed the joinings with bias
tape. I followed your directions in
SEWING Book 2, for initials of
bias tape to mark the bags.”
At the upper left is sketched
the foundation that this reader
used. If a zipper is used for the
opening, the 36-inch length is best.
If you put it in a curved line, you
will have a wider opening. Each
step in applying the zipper in this
way is shown here.
• • •
NOTE: The Sewing Basket in
every thrifty household should
contain a copy of Mrs. Spears*
Sewing Book 2, in which she il
lustrates the five standard meth
ods of repairing all kinds of fab
rics. Thirty-two pages to delight
every lover of fine handwork. To
get your copy send 10 cents in coin
to Mrs. Spears, Drawer 10, Bed
ford Hills, New York, to cover
cost
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price. That's fair.
Get NR Tablets today, fl k *
— ;
Best Beloved
It is a good thing to be ri"h,
and a good thing to be strong, but
it is a better thing to be beloved
by many friends.—Euripides.
Poor Little
SKINNY CHILDREN
look so puny, really can’t get all the fun
they should. For those children who need
the Vitamin B Complex and Iron of Vinol
to stimulate their appetites, Vinol ha*
been found helpful by mothers every
where. At your drug store, or write Vinol
Co., 94 S. Wabasha, St. Paul, Minn.
Desirable Heritage
An honorable reputation is a
second patrimony. — Publilius
Syrus.
QUICK--RUB ON SUPER-MEDICATED/
PENETRO. LET IT GET IN ITS GOOD 1
WORK.FASTER. BECAUSE IT CONTAINS (
2TO 3 TIMES MORE MEDICATION f
(THAN ANY OTHER SALVE SOLD _ 1
NATIONALLY FOR COLDS’
MUSCULAR ACHES AND A N
NASAL MISERIES. Io S
No, No, No
Never volunteer for nothing un
der no circumstances.—Wirkus.
WANTED A DISTRIBUTOR
In your community who
can sell a New Facial Cream
Attach one dollar to this ad, mail to
BIOLOGICAL LABORATORIES SALES
COMPANY, 280 Madison An, New York,
together with your Name, Address
and Two References. We will send
yon postpaid two regular size jar*
of this cream with details includ
ing selling price and discounts.
BEACONS of
—SAFETY—
• Like a beacon light on
the height—the advertise
ments in newspapers direct
you to newer, better and
‘Usier ways pf providing
the things needed or
desired. It shines, this
beacon of newspaper
advertising—and it will be
to your advantage to fol
low it whenever you
make a purchase.
O MARTHA OSTENSO—WNU SERVICE
CHAPTER X
—l3—
It was only a ruse on the part of
the Laird to despatch Autumn to
town on business that he could have
attended to as well himself on his
next visit. He wanted the house to
himself. He would have contrived
some means of getting old Hannah
out of the way as well, but there
were limits, after all, beyond which
a man of self-respect will refuse to
go. For that matter, he would have
permitted Autumn to remain at
home had it not been that he feared
the hurt to her feelings which the
presence of young Landor in the
house would occasion.
For the Laird had asked Bruce to
come over and talk to him on mat
ters that could not be discussed with
any degree of satisfaction over the
telephone. Jarvis, of course, might
have gone to the Landor place and
talked with Bruce, but some instinct,
some sentiment, perhaps, forbade
that. Besides, young Landor had
not shown the slightest antipathy to
the suggestion that he should visit
the Laird in his own house.
And now as he sat and waited for
the boy, he was strangely moved.
In a few minutes he would be talk
ing face to face with the son of Geof
frey Landor, talking as man to man,
though it was difficult to think that
young Bruce had really come to
man’s estate. In all these years he
had never talked to Bruce more than
to exchange a greeting when they
met, or to make some polite enquiry
regarding his mother's health. In
that, he had often told himself, he
had not been wholly to blame. The
boy had been raised under the in
fluence of Jane Landor, whose bit
terness had lasted until the day of
her death. Bruce had been quite as
aloof as he had been. At Jane Lan
dor’s funeral, Jarvis had been deep
ly moved by the boy’s bereavement,
and had wished with all his heart
that he might have been able to
summon the courage to take him
aside and speak to him. For in
spite of all that had kept them apart,
he had never been free of a desire to
play the part of a father to Bruce
Landor.
The sound of a car coming to a
stop before the house brought Jar
vis to his window. He saw Bruce
step from his car and approach the
door. He turned from his window
and seated himself in his big chair
before his desk. Presently he heard
old Hannah’s voice in the hall be
low and in a moment Bruce Landor
presented himself in the library
doorway.
Jarvis looked up as his visitor an
nounced himself. It might have been
Geoffrey Landor himself, he carried
himself with such ease of manner
and a bearing so erect and challeng
ing. He was dressed in riding
breeches and a soft gray shirt that
was open at the throat.
“Good morning, Landor,” Jarvis
greeted him, without getting up.
“Come in and sit down.”
Bruce entered the room and re
mained standing before the Laird.
“You wanted to talk to me,” he
prompted.
“Yes,” Jarvis replied. “Sit down,
sit down.”
He waved a hand to a vacant
chair and Bruce seated himself and
glanced quickly about the room.
There followed an awkward pause
which Bruce sought to break at
once.
“I hope you are well, Mr. Dean,”
he ventured with determined cordi
ality.
From beneath his shaggy brows,
the Laird's severe eyes, pierced
Bruce with a look that would have
brought discomfort to anyone with
a less easy conscience.
“Well enough—well enough,” Jar
vis replied. “A man of my years
doesn’t find fault if he’s taken with
an ache or pain now and then.”
“You’re good for a long while yet,
Mr. Dean,” Bruce said.
"Quite possible, quite possible,”
the Laird said, taking a cigar from
the box on his table and nipping the
end with his teeth. “Better smoke,
Landor,” he said then. "We’ll both
talk better. I’d offer you a cigar,
but you young fellows—”
“I have some cigarettes with me,
thanks,” Bruce told him as he took
a package from his shirt pocket and
selected one. He struck a match
and held it to the Laird’s cigar, odd
ly moved by this momentary inti
macy with a man who had been a
mysterious and forbidding figure to
him as long as he could remember.
“You have lost some sheep,” the
Laird began as soon as Bruce had
seated himself.
“Thirty-four,” Bruce replied.
“Your prize Merinos, they were."
“Yes, sir,” Bruce said.
“Too bad, too bad,” Jarvis ob
served. “Gilly tells me they were
poisoned—strychnine in the salt
trough. You’re sure of that?”
“The vet’s report was waiting for
me when I got home.”
“Aye—so I understand. He tells
me, too, that you suspect this man,
Belfort.’’
“We have no proof of it,” Bruce
said. “I have my own opinion, and
it amounts to a conviction."
“You might be wrong, of course.”
Bruce smiled. “Certainly, sir, but
I don’t think I am this time.”
The Laird leaned forward and
tapped the ash from his cigar. "I
admit the man would do it—he’s the
kind that would, if he had any rea-
son for it. But even a bad man
doesn’t act without a motive."
“I supplied him with a motive,
I’m afraid,” Bruce replied directly.
“Aye—l was coming to that. You
had some sort of a rumpus with
hipi in town last week, I’m told.”
“I had,” Bruce admitted.
“It was over something that Bel
fort had to say about—my daugh
ter— wasn’^t it?” the Laird asked.
“I should have done precisely
what I did, sir, whether it had been
your daughter or any other woman.”
Jarvis dismissed the suggestion
with a wave of his hand. “Cer
tainly, my boy, certainly. But that
has nothing whatever to do with the
business.” He paused and drew a
deep breath, then relaxed into his
chair. “You are still a very young
man, Landor,” he went on, “ —and
I am an old man. My opinion may
count very little to a man of your
years. But if a young woman
chooses to make a trollop of her
self, I don’t see how it improves
matters to make it the cause of a
public brawl.”
"Your daughter has not made a
trollop of herself, sir,” Bruce pro
tested. “Besides, I did what I did
because I had little choice in the
matter.”
“Would it not have been better
if you had left well-enough alone,
instead of making both my daugh
ter and yourself the laughing stock
of the countryside?”
“I’m afraid we can’t agree on
that, sir,” Bruce replied. “I am, of
course, sorry for any unpleasant
ness it may have caused either you
or Autumn.”
Jarvis Dean’s face darkened. “Be
that as it may, Landor,” he said,
"I’d prefer to look after such things
myself, in the future, when they
concern me or one of my own
house.”
“Very good, sir,” Bruce returned,
his lips tightening.
“In fact, my boy, I mean to do
whatever I can to wipe out the un
fortunate results of this affair. How
much do you figure those Merinos
of yours were worth to you?”
Bruce flushed. “I haven’t figured
that out, exactly, Mr. Dean,” he re
plied.
“Put your own price on them,
then, and let me know what it is. I
want to make it good to you.”
Bruce looked at Jarvis, aware of
a quick surge of feeling within him.
He was silent for a moment. There
were times when a man might par
donably give way to anger, but this
was not such a time, he told him
self in a resolute effort at self-con
trol. After all, the Laird was mak
ing what he undoubtedly felt to be a
generous gesture.
“I understand what you mean,
Mr. Dean,” he said at last, “but my
loss is my own. I brought it on my
self and I’ll foot the bill.”
The great hands of Jarvis Dean
came down heavily upon the arms
of his chair as he leaned toward
Bruce. “You don’t mean—you are
not refusing my offer?” he demand
ed harshly.
Bruce laughed outright. “You
surely didn’t expect me to accept
it?” he replied. “I haven’t come to
that yet, sir.”
A livid vein stood out upon Jarvis’
forehead. He got to his feet with
astonishing and fiery swiftness.
“That, Landor, is—is sheer impu
dence!” he gasped.
Bruce, who had risen promptly
when Jarvis stood up, looked steadi
ly into the older man’s eyes.
“Are you not being a bit unreason
able, Mr. Dean?" he asked.
The Laird snorted. “That’s
enough, sir — and more than
enough!” he replied. “I have made
you a gentleman’s offer—and you
have refused it. Do I understand
you aright, sir?”
“I couldn’t think of accepting it,
Mr. Dean.”
“Very well, Landor—very well!
You may have it your way, then.
But from this day forward there will
be no dealings between us, do you
understand? You are a stranger to
us—to me and my daughter—for the
rest of our days.” He stepped to
ward Bruce and thrust his great
head forward. "Do you understand
that?” he demanded.
"Perfectly, I think,” Bruce re
plied, and fumbled in his breast
pocket for another cigarette.
The hand that struck the match
was not altogether steady, but he
knew now that he had his feelings
under control. When he turned to
ward Jarvis Dean again, he was
startled quite off his guard at the
shocking change that had come over
the old man. The Laird was leaning
heavily with one hand on the back
of his chair, his head bowed for
ward, his other hand passing un
certainly across his eyes as though
to brush from them something that
obscured his vision. Bruce took an
apprehensive step toward him, but
immediately Jarvis drew himself
erect. Although his face was drawn
and white, he made a curt bow.
“Good day, Landor!” he said, and
stood awaiting Bruce’s withdrawal.
Bruce looked at him for one brief
moment in frowning perplexity and
with a feeling of some unfathomable
uneasiness. Then he bade the Laird
a quiet good-by and turned away.
As he left the room, Jarvis Dean
slumped heavily into his chair and
sat listening to the sound of Bruce’s
footsteps descending the stairs.
The Laird was still in his library
an hour or so later, when Autumn
BAKER COUNTY NEWS
By
MARTHA
OSTENSO
returned from town. When he heard
her mounting the stairway present
ly, he closed the large, leather
bound journal in which he was writ
ing and laid it carefully away in the
drawer of his table. He locked the
drawer and returned the small key
to its wonted place above the desk.
He turned as Autumn came into
the room.
“You’re back,” he said. “It didn’t
take you long.”j
“I’ve been gone three hours,” she
remarked. “There wasn’t much to
do.”
“Did you see Snyder?”
“I found him in his office. He’ll
be out to see you tomorrow after
noon.”
Jarvis got up from his table and
stood before the fireplace. “I had
young Landor out to see me," he
said abruptly.
“Hannah told me,” Autumn re
plied. “Was there some—some trou
ble between you? Hannah says—”
“Hannah talks too much,” the
Laird interrupted. “Whatever trou
ble there was was of Landor’s own
making. He’s turned out to be an
impudent young whelp, that.”
Autumn moved to the window and
looked out toward the west where
Bruce Landor’s ranch lay. “Are
you sure you are being quite fair,
Da?” she asked quietly.
“He doesn’t need you to defend
him, my girl,” Jarvis reproved her.
"I know that,” Autumn replied,
“and I don’t mean to defend him,
Ji
“Good day, Landor!”
either. After all, I know nothing of
what passed between you.”
“I offered to pay him for the Me
rinos he lost,” Jarvis informed her.
Autumn turned from the window.
“He didn’t accept it, did he?”
“What? Why shouldn’t he accept
it?” the Laird demanded. "Whose
fault was it that he lost them?”
Autumn regarded her father si
lently for a moment. “It was my
fault. Da,” she said at last. “I ad
mit it. But the score between us
could not be settled—like that.”
“Perhaps you can suggest the
proper form of settlement, then,”
Jarvis said scornfully.
“I’m not sure that it can ever be
settled,” she said.
“It’s settled now, then,” Jarvis
replied. “From this day forth there
will be nothing more between young
Landor and the Deans.”
Autumn looked quickly at her fa
ther. “Did he accept that?” she
asked.
"I didn’t ask him,” the Laird said.
“I told him it would be so—and I
have a right to demand compliance
with my wishes, my girl.”
Autumn smiled patiently. “You
have always had it, Da,” she ob
served, then turned away and went
to her room.
For the remainder of the day,
Bruce was unable to shake from his
mind the oppressive thought of the
virulent and altogether dispropor
tionate resentment which the old
Laird bore toward him. He gave it
as little thought as he could, how
ever, and went furiously to work on
the building improvements he had
planned earlier in the season. With
the help of his foreman, Andrew Gil
ly, he laid out the ground for his
new dipping plant. While he helped
to prepare the ground for excavat
ing, however, or while he hauled
cedar posts for the framework, his
mind remained heavy with the
knowledge of Jarvis Dean’s violent
bitterness toward him.
At the end of the day he found
himself on edge with his men and
his work and himself, and in an al
together unadmirable frame of
mind. He hurried through his sup
per with scarcely a word to Gilly,
who sat opposite him. The motion
less heat of the evening droned in
his senses; insects crawled up and
down the window screens with tiny,
unpleasant activity; against the vi
olet-tinted rectangle of twilight be
yond the screen door, he could al
ready see the bats swooping down
in black and noisome parabolas.
When he had finished his meal, he
got up abruptly and with a brief
word or two to Gilly, left the table
and went out of th* house.
Half an hour later, he tied his
horse to a birch tree near his herd
er’s cabin in the ravine, rubbed the
animal’s muzzle affectionately, and
gave him a lump of sugar in re
sponse to a peremptory whinny.
Within the cabin, Bruce undressed
quickly, threw about himself the old
bathrobe he had brought along, and
with a towel on his arm, emerged
and walked down into the ravine
and up the creek to where the moun
tain stream narrowed and deepened.
After a dip in the cool water and
a brisk toweling, he tied his robe
about nim and stood for a moment
listening to the mountain voices that
drew from the steeps above him,
plaintive, spaced in piquant inter
vals, sometimes all but unheard: a
hoot-owl’s reproachful enquiry, the
sleepy, last note of a bird dropped
like a soft jewel into the twilight,
the scurry of some small animal into
the underbrush, the sigh of a dying
wind in the tall pines. But the beau
ty and significance of the night con
spired against him, tore down the
defensive structure he had erected
about his being. It had all con
verged suddenly into an intense de
sire for Autumn Dean.
In a rage at himself, he turned
brusquely and made his way back
to the cabin, where he dressed hur
riedly in the half-darkness. He was
gathering up the things he had
brought with him when he heard
his horse whinny, and a moment
later a sound at the doorway caused
him to glance up quickly.
Softly outlined against the deep
ening dusk, Autumn Dean stood, as
she had stood one other night, in
her black riding clothes, her man
ner half diffident, half audacious.
Bruce tossed the dressing-gown
and towel down upon a chair and
came with slow deliberateness to
the door. He placed one hand
against the door-frame and the oth
er on his hip, and stood looking down
at her, a contemplative half-smile
about his mouth that drew his right
cheek up into a quizzical long hol
low—that hollow that she had pic
tured in all her tormenting thoughts
of him. He was waiting for her to
speak.
“Bruce—” she began, and knew
how desolately her voice faltered—
“ Mr. Gilly told me I should find you
here. I’ve been wanting to talk
to you.”
“You too?” Bruce remarked.
“The Dean family has suddenly ac
quired a vivid interest in me, it
seems.”
She fumbled with her gloves. She
raised her head and looked at him
with blank eyes. “I should like to
come in, if you please,” she ven
tured.
Bruce laughed caustically as he
opened the door for her and stood
well to one side. “You are quite
welcome,” he said. “It happens
I have no kerosene in the lamp. I
wasn’t expecting a guest.”
He lighted a cigarette and offered
the package to her. Autumn shook
her head. “As you will,” he said,
and replaced the package in his shirt
pocket.
Autumn seated herself in the dim
light close to the door, while Bruce
leaned against the .table’s edge with
his feet crossed idly before him.
She could see. him looking at her re
flectively through the dimness, and
the half-smile did not leave his face.
"You were over to see father this
morning,” she began.
“At his invitation,” Bruce replied.
“He wished to reimburse me for
some sheep I lost.”
“He told me so.”
“He should have told you, also,
that we were to have nothing to say
to each other in the future.”
“He told me that, too.”
“Is this visit, then, just another
little gesture on your part?”
"A gesture—of what kind?”
“Disobedience to the Laird—and
contempt for me,” Bruce supple
mented.
“Father has no suspicion that I
have come to see you,” Autumn ex
plained. “And if I wanted to show
contempt for you, I should have
stayed away.”
“As you have done all summer,”
he observed.
Autumn clenched her fists in her
lap as she felt her anger rise. She
had not come here to have him bait
her. "I should hardly expect you
to understand that,” she said.
Bruce’s smile was sardonic. “It
isn’t so difficult to understand,” he
replied. “You found people of your
own kind. I am not blaming any
one for that. It was just my mis
fortune that you should have called
on me here that night—before you
found the others.”
“That was a misfortune?” she
asked him.
“Not a serious one,” he admitted
with a smile. “It was rather good,
while it lasted.”
She was on her feet at once, con
fronting him with eyes that burned
in a face gone suddenly white.
“Bruce Landor,” she cried, “I
came over here tonight to ask you if
we couldn’t be friends, in spite of
what my father said to you this
morning!”
“Your pride must have suffered
before you came to that decision,”
he returned coldly.
“That is my own affair,*’ she re
torted. “Why don’t you tell me at
once that I’m wasting my time?”
“I 'could have done so,” Bruce
said quietly, “if you had told me
at once what had brought you over.
I decided, long ago, that you and I
cannot be friends, Autumn.”
She threw back her head in a
proud gesture. “I shall not ask you
the reason,” she said, and turned to
ward the door.
(TO BE CONTINUED/,
CLASSIFIED I
DEPARTMENT J
BABY CHICKS
ORDER YOUR CHICKS EARLY for
January and February delivery and we
will include 10 or more extra chicks per
100. Write at once for detailed Informa
tion. MILFORD HATCHERY, Rockdale,
Md., Pikesville P. O.
Tlsk Me Jlnother
£ A General Quiz
The Questions
1. What is the supercargo on a
ship?
2. Why do stars twinkle?
3. Can the speaker of the house
of representatives cast his vote
when there is no tie?
4. What is meant by on the qul
vive?
5. What is the difference between
command and commandeer?
6. Can a President legally take
the oath of office on a Sunday?
7. How many people live in what
Is known as the New York Region?
8. A doggery is a low grogshop.
What is a cattery?
9. What did Theodore Roosevelt
say about living at the White
House?
10. Name four kinds of horses
that neither eat hay nor race.
The Answers
1. An officer on a merchantship
who manages the commercial con
cerns of the voyage.
2. The twinkling is an illusion
due to the great distance their
lights travel.
3. Yes, he has the rights of any
other representative.
4. On the alert.
5. Command—to direct, have un
der control; commandeer—to seize
arbitrarily, to force into service.
6. Yes. President Wilson did so.
7. This region, which includes
all people living within a radius of
50 miles of New York city, has a
population of 11,500,000.
8. A place where cats are kept.
9. He is quoted as having said:
"You don’t live there. You’re only
Exhibit A to the country.”
10. Clothes horse, carpenter’s
horse, sea horse and rocking
horse.
Chinese Boy Thought One
Letup Deserved Another
In a Shanghai bungalow shared
by several young Englishmen, the
Chinese houseboy had a perfectly
round head which he kept shaved
and polished like a billiard ball.
The young men were always
taking pot shots at this tempting
target with paper pellets or giving
it a pat as they passed by. To aS
of which the Chinese said nothing.
One day they decided it was a
shame to keep worrying the boy,
so they called him in and told him
they had decided to stop doing ft.
He replied: “Thank you, mas
ters. I very pleased. Now I not
make your coffee with dishwater
any more.”
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We Go Together!
We all of us tend to rise or fall
together. If any set of us goes
down, the whole nation sags a lit
tle. If any of us raise ourselves
a little, then by just so much the
nation as a whole is raised.—The
odore Roosevelt.
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