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OCTOBER O E L I N E AT O R 1932 


* 



October 1932 10 cents 

DELINEATOR 


Beginning a New Novel of the Sea 
and the Prairies, 

"BLUE MEADOWS" 

by MAY STANLEY 


"WHATEVER LOVE IS" 

by ROBERT W. CHAMBERS 


The Best and Smartest Winter Fashions 




clam ^Lalatet. 


oTOrp" 

ALUMINUM COOKING UTENSILS 

THE STANDARD - MADE OR THICK. HARD SHEET ALUM/NUM 


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» OULD you like to know how I set up my mixture for a smooth- 
textured, perfectly seasoned.Lobster Newburg? I extract all the 
edible meat, about two cupfuls, from a freshly boiled lobster— 
or use the same quantity of canned lobster meat. On this basis, my recipe will 
serve from four to six people. I melt four tablespoonfuls of butter in the top of 
my new “Wear-Ever” bell-shaped double boiler, add a tablespoonful of flour, 
and stir until this is smooth. Then I add my lobster meat which has been diced, 
put in a scant teaspoonful of salt, a speck of pepper, and a half cupful of thin 
cream. Stirring this until it thickens smoothly, I gradually add the yolks of two 
eggs, slightly beaten together with a half cup of milk. 


With all these ingredients in the top section of the boiler, and still stirring con¬ 
stantly, I add, last of all, three-quarters of a teaspoonful of lemon juice and two 
tablespoonfuls of cooking sherry. The quantity of sherry may be increased 
slightly, should the mixture have to stand and become less moist than is desirable. 
But it is the promptness with which all these steps are taken, the constant 
stirring and the slow, thorough cooking provided by the new “Wear-Ever” 
bell-shaped double boiler, which bring my lobster concoction to a rich, creamy 
consistency. I use only the smallest flame because the “Wear-Ever” bell¬ 
shaped double boiler heats quickly, holds more water than old-style boilers and 
boils longer without refilling. 


These other foods do not fight with lobster 

With Lobster Newburg, the other dishes on the menu should be fairly simple, 
in order that there shall be no unfriendly competition. You might have cold 
bouillon—which is just another way of saying clear consomme; jellied broccoli 
salad, set in “Wear-Ever” Salad Molds; crisp, hot rolls; a towering chocolate 
cake, and coffee which has been made the “drip” way in an Early American 
“Wear-Ever” Coffee Pot. 


Would you like a copy of my new cook book, “Things You Have Always Wanted 
to Know about Cooking”? In it I have told lots of my cooking secrets—for 
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The Aluminum Cooking Utensil Company, 
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OCTOBER, 1932 


1 


I’d expect to have "Pink Tooth Brush" if I were old 



E VEN though your age is flatteringly young, 
even though your teeth are clean and 
gleaming, you still may arise some morning to 
find that there is “pink” upon your tooth brush. 

As a small child, your gums were firm. If 
you had always eaten coarse foods, they might 
still be firm—because coarse foods and tough 
foods stimulate the gums, make them work, 
keep them healthy. 

But with creamy soups, well-cooked meats 
and vegetables, tender salads and soft desserts, 
your gums get mighty little work and stimula¬ 
tion. Inactive, they become flabby and, sooner 
or later, they’re so tender that they tend to 
bleed. And “pink tooth brush” arrives! 

“Pink tooth brush” may lead to gum troubles 
as serious as gingivitis and Vincent’s disease 
and even pyorrhea (though the last is much 
more rare.) It may even threaten the sound¬ 
ness of your teeth. 

Today — get a tube or two of Ipana Tooth 
Paste. (Ipana is first of all a splendid modern 
tooth paste that really cleans the teeth, yet 
can’t possibly harm the delicate enamel.) 

Now—each time you clean your teeth—put 
a little extra Ipana on your tooth brush or fin¬ 
gertip, and rub it lightly into your gums. 

Ipana contains an effective toning agent 
known as ziratol. This, with the daily mas¬ 
sage, will bring your gums back to a healthy 
condition. Slack circulation is speeded up— 
the walls recover the firmness they had when 
you were a child—and you’re safe from “pink 
tooth brush”! 



DON’T TAKE CHANCES! 

A good dentist and a good dentifrice are not 
costly. To save on dentists’ bills or to skimp on 
the quality of your tooth paste is poor economy 
indeed. For dental care and the best tooth paste 
you can buy are the most economical things 
on earth. 

BRISTOL-MYERS CO., Dept. B-102 

Kindly send me a trial tube trflPANA TOOTH PASTE Enclosed 


I P A N 


TOOTH PASTE C 


A 








THE 


LIVING DELINEATOR 


OCTOBER, 1932 





Maxine Davis, who knows Washington 

Grace HEGGER LEWIS started it months and 
months ago. She wrote me from Arizona where she was 
spending the winter months, and after mentioning this 
and that said: ‘‘But the most exciting thing is my invita¬ 
tion to a ringside seat at the Democratic Convention 
and the invitation is from the National Executive Chair¬ 
man. And one of the Democratic women higher up! 
This woman suggested I get a magazine assignment, for 
I have the promise to be in the inner circle.” 

To that, I answered immediately: “Now listen, you 
can be our representative at the Democratic Convention 
but any tale of the Convention itself will be awfully old 
stuff by the time we can publish it. We couldn’t possibly 
get it into any issue earlier than October and think what 
the newspapers and the radio will have done to it by 
then. But how about personality stories of the Demo¬ 
cratic Party? It seems to me you have a wonderful 
chance to get the material there at the Convention.” 

So that’s how it happened. 

But as we’re non-partisan, politically, we couldn’t 
think of having an article about the Democrats without 
one about the Republicans. So we sent the brilliant 
Maxine Davis, who has known Washington politics for 
years, to the Republican Convention. 

To both our representatives we said, as a final word: 
“Don’t write a lot of highfalutin bunk. People are so 
tired of that. Tell what you see and say what you mean 
in simple, everyday language.” 

And now turn to pages 22 and 23 and read the results 
of our own little political campaign. 

Otherwise this October issue looks like Old Home 
Week, doesn’t it, with so many Delineator favorites 
represented—William Lyon Phelps, Grace Hegger Lewis, 
Margaret Craven, Anna Brand, and isn’t it delightful to 
have Dorothy Canfield back with us again? The one 


Grace Lewis starts something, 
praise for a new home sewing 
idea. Professor Phelps' travels, 
other behind-the-scenes gossip 


comparative newcomer is May Stanley, and if you don’t 
like her new novel, my judgment is warped again. 

Usually, this more-or-less eagle eye notes even- great 
hit that appears in our pages. But something did escape 
me. and that’s because the letters about it went to our 
Fashion Department instead of coming to my desk. 
The hit I’m speaking about now is a page in our July 
issue called “An Entire Wardrobe for Less than Fifty 
Dollars.” That page brought in hundreds of letters from 
all over the country. I have the letters before me now. 
Here are a few examples. This is from Miss V. L. of 
Cincinnati, Ohio: “I was indeed pleasantly surprised. 
If all those pretty frocks can be made for such a small 
sum, there’s no excuse for a small and uninteresting 
wardrobe.” Mrs. J. E. D. of Ordway, Colorado writes: 


Cover Note 

Again, our cover sounds the newest fashion 
note from Paris. Dvnevor Rhys, that tal¬ 
ented young American artist, has painted 
his lovely model this time in a broadtail coat 
from Max-Leroy, in brown with matching 
fox collar and cuffs. It is worn over an after¬ 
noon frock of brown and white satin: 
lustrous brown skirt and dull white top. 
The hat from Agnes is of complicated cut, in 
green, over which are placed folds of brown 
cire satin ribbon, made to show the founda¬ 
tion through openings. Draped ends of the 
green cap are pulled through one of the 
openings on the left top and tied in a bow. 
Emerald beads, gardenias and dull white 
gloves complete the color ensemble. 


Grace Hegger Lewis and her son, Wells Lewis 


“‘An Entire Wardrobe for $33.77’ is the most complete 
and the most detailed of anything I have ever read.” 
And Mrs. H. R. D. of Norwalk, California says: “I’m 
already starting the red and white dress and the white 
coat and am awfully pleased with them. I make all my 
own clothes and my little boy’s too. Everyone always 
compliments me on how well dressed we are. Later on 
let’s see you compile us a winter wardrobe.” 

Well, Miss Marian Corey of our Fashion staff, who is 
responsible for that July hit, has taken Mrs. D’s sugges¬ 
tion and compiled a charming and inexpensive winter 
wardrobe. You’ll find it on page 62. 

William Lyon Phelps who spent last spring abroad has 
written a series of articles for us about his travels. If we 
can’t go traveling ourselves just now, I can’t imagine a 
more delightful companion to travel with—in imagina¬ 
tion—than Professor Phelps. The series starts with his 
interview with Mussolini in this issue. 

Next month, Frances Parkinson Keyes will be back 
with us with an inspiring message and there’ll be short 
stories by Margaret Sangster, James Hopper, Gerald 
Mygatt and Dixie Willson, as well as the serials by 
Robert W. Chambers and May Stanley. Here’s a blessing 
on Miss R. C. J. of Louisville, Kentucky who wrote me 
the other day and said: “How do you find so many good 
stories? I have been making a study of good short 
stories. I list every one in a book kept for that purpose. 
And I find at the end of a month more listed from 
Delineator than any other magazine.” 

Well, Miss J. may be a little extravagant in her praise 
but she can’t make me mad in that way. In fact, a letter 
like that—and I get lots of them too—is better than 
food and drink for 

Oscar Graeve, Editor 



CONTENTS, VOLUME 


121, NUMBER 4 


PUBLISHERS' 

ANNOUNCEMENT 


SPECIAL FEATURES 


DELINEATOR INSTITUTE 


COVER DESIGN DYNEVOR RHYS 

MUSSOLINI AND THE NEW SPIRIT IN ITALY 

WILLIAM LYON PHELPS 


Interior Decoration 

TABLE NEWS FROM ENGLAND.16 


THE REPUBLICANS MAXINE DAVIS .22 

THE DEMOCRATS GRACE HEGGER LEWIS .23 


LIGHTING GIVES 


CHEERFULNESS 


FICTION 


BLUE MEADOWS, I MAY STANLEY.11, 12, 13 

A FAMILY ALLIANCE DOROTHY CANFIELD. 14,15 

THE FOOTPRINTS OF DIANE LE MAR 

MARGARET CRAVEN.17, 18 

A LITTLE CAP FOR ANGEL 

ANNA BRAND. 19 

ROBERT W. CHAMBERS .... 20, 21 



Home Management 

STYLISH STOUTS FOR THE MENU 

ANN BATCHELDER 


A NEWSREEL OF NUTRITION 

DR. ESTHER LORD BATCHELDER. -1 

GRACE I,. PENNOCK.32 

Beauty 

TO LADIES IN WAITING 

CELIA CAROLINE COLE.34 

AUTUMN FACES COME TO TOWN.73 


Children 

WHAT IS A HEALTHY CHILD? 

WILLIAM PALMER LUCAS .... 6 


DELINEATOR INSTITUTE BOOKLET SERVICE 


PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY The 

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Avenue, Neve York, N. Y„ U. S. A. Joseph A. Moore, 
Chairman of the Board; S. R. Latshaw, President; IV. C. 
Evans, Secretary; Fred Lewis, Treasurer. Branches: Chicago, 
San Francisco, Atlanta, Dallas, London, Toronto. 
TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION 
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3 


OCTOBER, 1932 


What if he DOESN'T GAIN 


when you start him 
on solid food? 


I f every mother had a physician’s advice when choos¬ 
ing her baby’s first solid food, there would be little 
need of our telling them about Cream of Wheat. They 
would make this important change in their babies’ lives 
with utter confidence. 

But when mothers try to make the decision them¬ 
selves, they often worry. Will he thrive? What if he 
doesn’t keep on gaining 

And so, with the approval of the medical profession, 
at the urging of thousands of grateful mothers, we 
spread the news of this cereal uniquely fitted to a healthy 
baby’s needs. 

This solid food babies handle like milk 
You can give your baby Cream of Wheat as a sure 
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babies digest it as easily and safely as milk itself. Free 
from upsets, they gain weight steadily, naturally. They 
thrive as they should and put on solid pounds. 

Take no chances with your baby’s first solid food! 
Give him Cream of Wheat for its proved value in pre¬ 
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protection through all of childhood’s strenuous years. 

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4 


DELINEATOR 


WILLIAM LYON PHELPS 

MUSSOLINI AND THE NEW SPIRIT IN ITALY 


Come, chat with Mussolini, in 
his vast and terrifying office. 
Dr. Phelps will introduce you 


I T IS superfluous to say that the leader of Italy is one of the 
busiest men in the world; he believes in work, and sets a good 
example. His physical exercise is taken on horseback, at seven 
o’clock in the morning, for he knows he would never have a 
chance for exercise or recreation between breakfast and midnight. 
As I was to be in Rome only three days, the opportunity for a 
conversation with him seemed none too favorable, although I was 
well armed with introductions. Hence I was more than pleased 
when an official letter came, asking me to present myself at the 
Palazzo Venezia, on Saturday, at six o’clock. 

Knowing that with Mussolini six o’clock means just exactly that, 
I reached the main gate of the Palace at 5157. An officer in uniform 
was expecting me; I was led up a flight of stairs, w’here three uni¬ 
formed officials gave me the Italian military salute, which I imi¬ 
tated as well as I could. One of them took my hat, coat, and stick, 
and as the city clocks struck six, I was led to a door; a knock and I 
was inside. 

The room was enormous. It seemed at least fifty yards long and 
thirty wide. It was brilliantly lighted. At the extreme other end, 
in the corner, a large desk in front of him, sat the most famous 
man in the world—Mussolini. There was no one else present. It 
was a long walk from the door to his desk. The floor was highly 
polished and seemed slippery. I was glad I had no favors to ask 
and no defense to make. I can well understand how one who 
comes begging would lose his assurance in crossing that vast sur¬ 
face; or how one who had been summoned for some error would 
wish the floor to open and swallow him. 

But I, knowing I had no request to make and no guilt to confess, 
got over that shining space pretty well. As I drew near the desk, 
the great leader rose, came around to meet me, and gave me a most 
friendly handshake. Then he sat down behind the desk. I sat down 
in front of it, and looked at him under the lamplight. He was in¬ 
formally dressed, with soft shirt and collar, and wore no uniform. 
The first thing one notices is his eyes—big, dark, expressive of an 
indomitable will that is making history. 

As I looked into the eyes of Mussolini, I was glad he was not 
an enemy and that I had never done anything to incur his dis¬ 
pleasure. And yet I do not wish to give the impression that he was 
haughty or overbearing in manner; on the contrary, I have never 
met anyone with whom I felt more at ease. He was so cordial and 
so informal himself that I felt not the least shade of embarrass¬ 
ment. It was simply that occasionally, when he was speaking with 
particular emphasis, his eyes opened so wide as to display the 
white entirely around the iris, so that the pupils glowed with ter¬ 
rific intensity. I could without difficulty imagine what those eyes 
of Mussolini looked like when the situation called for action. 


As I cannot converse in Italian, I wondered whether we should 
conduct the conversation in French or in German; but he settled 
that question immediately by speaking English, which he speaks 
easily though not with absolute fluency. He asked me if this was 
my first visit to Italy, and I informed him it was the third, but as 
the last time was 1912, I had not seen Italy for twenty years. 
He smiled and said significantly, “Do you notice any changes?” 

We had debarked at Venice, and as we motored around the 
countryside, I told him that my wife exclaimed: “How different 
every thing looks! What a clean and orderly country! How healthy 
and well dressed the people! And how everybody works!” 

I told him I was not an authority on politics and could not ex¬ 
press an opinion on national or international affairs. But it 
seemed to me that he had accomplished in ten years one of the 
most extraordinary and most difficult tasks. “Sir, you have 
changed the spirit, the temperament, the character of a whole 



nation. I always knew that the Italians were lovable, kindly, re¬ 
sponsive, affectionate; but I had thought they were easy-going, 
rather lazy; as compared with the Anglo-Saxons and Germans, I 
had thought they lacked energy and the will to work. But now not 
only do the Italians everywhere in the country work energetically 
and persistently, they seem to want to work.” 

I reminded him of a remark made to me by an Italian marquis, 
Piero Misciatella, the famous Dante scholar who has recently 
lectured at Columbia University. I asked the marquis how he 
regarded the question of personal liberty in Italy under the present 
regime. He said, “There has been a release of personal freedom in 
energy, the like of which Italy has not known for many centuries.” 

Mussolini said he hoped I would repeat this statement of the mar¬ 
quis in America. “In many parts of America and by many Ameri¬ 
cans I am not understood. They regard me as a tyrant and Italy as 
suffering under a tyranny. They are not familiar with actual con¬ 
ditions.” 


CERTAINLY an enormous improvement in many ways is so ob¬ 
vious one cannot help seeing it. The excellent roads, the trains 
running faster and exactly on time, the long hours at school for 
boys and girls, the absence of beggars around church doors and other 
public places, the cleanliness of city streets, the steady and energetic 
work in town and country—all these exhibit a new spirit in Italy. 

He then spoke of American political affairs and asked me when 
we had our next national election. I said it would take place in 
November. “Not till then?” But I told him the nominating con¬ 
ventions would be held in June. I thought that Hoover would 
certainly receive the Republican nomination. “Who will run 
against him?” Well, I said I was no prophet, but it looked to me 
then as if Franklin Roosevelt, the Governor of New York, would 
receive the Democratic nomination. 

He asked, “What chance has Smith?” By the time these words 
appear in print I may be proved to be densely ignorant; but I said 
I thought that Mr. Smith did not have much chance of a nomina¬ 
tion, in spite of his personal popularity. 

He asked about business conditions in the United States and 
wished to know if I saw any evidences of immediate improvement. 
I told him that I was a teacher of literature, and that my views on 
finance and business affairs were unimportant; but that so far as I 
could see, there was no prospect of any great improvement in the 
immediate future. He said that the British people had made great 
strides forward in the last few months and that the situation in 
Italy was distinctly better. 

He believed that the whole question of reparations, etcetera, 
must be revised before the world could advance in the right direc- 

At exactly ten minutes past six he rose from his chair. His 
desk, like that of bank presidents and great captains of industry, 
contained very little on its surface; although he was examining a 
document of some kind when I entered the room. He came 
around in front of the desk, and shook hands so cordially that 
he seemed sincerely affectionate. “Present (Turn to page 38) 





OCTOBER, 1932 


5 




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6 


DELINEATOR 


WHAT IS A HEALTHY CHILD? 



With abounding, positive health, a child is ready and able to seek all good things of life 


T HE goal for each child should be not merely freedom 
from disease, but the possession of abounding, posi¬ 
tive health. With good health the child is ready and 
able to seek the other good things of life. Ill health 
is a great handicap to success, and when prolonged be¬ 
comes a tragedy. The child who is always a little “below 
par” can never achieve his best, while the bright-eyed, 
vigorous child usually makes his adjustments with ease. 
Health—-by which we mean the adequate functioning of 
the organism to meet the various physical demands of 
existence—is the basic factor in enriching life. 

There are laws of health which, if studied, understood 
and applied, finally lead to health. But progress in the 
field of health must often trample on the static and tra¬ 
ditional, as new facts are discovered that overthrow old 
theories and practises. 

Recent studies have shown the fallacy of overstandard¬ 
ization in many branches of child welfare. For example, 
a common fault of the recent past consisted of collecting 
data on a series of children, finding the average or group 
tendency of some mental or physical trait, and calling 
this average “normal.” (The distinction between a 
numerical average and what is normal is of very great 
importance and is too often overlooked by experts as well 
as by laymen.) 

As an illustration, consider the widespread use (as a 
measure of nutrition in children) of the height-weight-age 
tables in schools, public health clinics, and doctors’ 
offices. Too much significance has been attached to 
deviations from average weights for height and age. As a 
result, the usual belief among parents is that if a child 
is noticeably underweight according to the height-weight- 
age table, he is necessarily malnourished. 

But the basis of this table is average weight for height 
and age. Careful studies have shown that body weight is 
more closely related to width of shoulders, chest and hips 
than it is to height. Children are heavier or lighter than 
average not only as a result of their nutritional state, but 
also (and this is what we often neglect to take into ac¬ 
count) because heredity plays a large part in producing 
the stocky or intermediate types of body build. 

For example, an eight-year-old boy is fifty-two and a 
half inches tall and weighs fifty-seven and a quarter 
pounds. Since his “normal” weight according to the 
height-weight-age table is sixty-three pounds, he is 

DELINEATOR 

INSTITUTE 

Department of Child Training 


by 

WILLIAM 

PALMER 

LUCAS 


labeled nine per cent underweight by the school nurse. 
But he is a slender-built boy with narrow diameters at 
shoulders and hips; in fact, the ratio of the width of his 
body to his height shows that he is four and a half per 
cent narrower than the average eight-year-old boy in his 
social group. The ideal weight, as calculated for his par¬ 
ticular bony framework, is found to be fifty-six pounds. 
He is then found to be one and a quarter pounds above 
his ideal weight. 

In another case a six-year-old boy is forty-four inches 
tall and weighs forty-eight pounds. His “normal” weight 
on the height-weight-age table is forty-four pounds so he 
is labeled nine and one-half per cent overweight by the 
school nurse. But this boy is broadly built with large 
diameters, and the ratio of the width of his body to his 
height indicates that he is seven per cent broader than 
the average six-year-old boy in his social group. The 
ideal weight for his body is found to be forty-nine pounds 
so that he is actually one pound under his ideal weight. 

True, each child has a “normal” weight which can be 
estimated for his build. But the estimation of nutrition 
should always be an individual matter, determined ac¬ 
cording to the proportional amount of soft tissue padding 
on the child’s body, rather than by comparing him ar¬ 
bitrarily with others of the same age or height. 

At THE present time, however, health reports sent 
home from the public schools at regular intervals announce 
flatly to millions of parents in America that their chil¬ 
dren are either under or over or exactly at “normal” 
weight. Let a child be labeled underweight, and tension 
and strain are often injected into what may or may not 
be a serious situation. In a frantic effort to bring chil¬ 
dren up to an often fictitious normal, parents take little 
heed of the danger of arousing, on one hand, anxiety, 
frictions, hypochondria—or, on the other, a negative at¬ 
titude of irritation and impatience with all health pro¬ 
cedures. The parent who is obviously too concerned about 
the child’s health is lucky indeed, if his child does not 
fall, according to his temperament, into one or the 
other of these extreme attitudes. 


Parents of children of all ages 


will learn many helpful new things 
about growth, diet, habits of sleep, 
and mental health, from this article 


by a leading California specialist 


Forcing food upon a child who does not need it may 
upset his digestive processes and may end in open re¬ 
bellion. If a mother urges her child to eat some particu¬ 
lar food because it is “good for him,” he may come to be¬ 
lieve that his eating is a very important thing in the life 
of his mother. His natural reaction is to use this new¬ 
found power of unwillingness to eat as a method of self- 
assertion. Lack of hunger, then, may become a psycho¬ 
logical attitude, developed by an over-conscientious 
mother who forces food in obedience to some artificial 
standard. The recognition of different foocf require¬ 
ments in children of different types, coupled with a knowl¬ 
edge of child psychology, will solve most problems of 
poor appetite. 

Besides this highly important psychological objection, 
there is also a physiological basis for criticism of forced 
feeding. By studying the individual child’s physiological 
processes, it is possible to determine how often a child 
should eat and what kinds of food he can best assimilate. 
Of course there are some children with marked special 
needs, and for these, special diets can be prescribed. 

But just as it is impossible, because of inherited differ¬ 
ences in body build, to standardize weight by having only 
one zone of normal weight for a given age and height, 
so also it is equally impossible to standardize diets for 
a given age. Marked differences in size, shape, and po¬ 
sition of the stomach in various physical types are di¬ 
rectly related to differences in the digestive processes. 
The quantity and variety of food required varies with 
each type of child. Children who consistently refuse to 
eat, as well as chronically constipated children, are for 
the most part the slender-built type. (Turn to page 74) 


Courtesy of Snuggle Rug 



Heredity makes a child slender, tall, or stocky 


OCTOBER, 193 2 


DELINEATOR 



GET WEAR out of your CLOTHES 
-with safe CHIPSO SUDS! 


STRONG SOAPS 

-Xdid.i- 

SOAPROTTSD TnlS 

THREADS TEAR-jp--N* ■ ■ ■ ■ W 

EASILY Jk 

fA ^ 'T\ I §r y 

not ^ r S- 

Johnny * 


“Look at Johnny’s blouse!” 
said Beth, “I can’t see 
why it TORE so EASILY!” 

* * * 

I had to WARN her against 
her STRONG granulated SOAP 
“You know how HARD 
it is on your HANDS,” I said. 
“Well, it must be just 
as HARD on your CLOTHES. 

* * * 

“I want you to try CHIPSO,” 

I said, “It’s GUARANTEED 
to have NO FREE LYE! 

* * * 

It’s HONEST RICH SOAP 
in CHIPSO that SOAKS' 
the clothes so CLEAN! 

And you’ll know that 
CHIPSO is SAFE by the way 
it SMOOTHS your HANDS!” 


V 6 Wh° says cheap 
4 soap chips are 
f/t a saving?” 

I trust only Chipso— 
that’s guaranteed safe! 

I didn’t use my HEAD when I tried 
out those CHEAP SOAP CHIPS! 

I got what I PAID for-POOR SOAP- 
and COLORED clothes got FADED! 

* * * 

My best FRIEND said to try CHIPSO, 
“It’s MADE by PROCTER & GAMBLE, 
and it’s GUARANTEED to have 
NO free LYE to weaken CLOTHES!” 

•(■ "j* *i* 

CHIPSO gives the BIGGEST VALUE in 
SUDS that I’ve yet to SEE— 

They certainly SOAK OUT DIRT— 
but leave the STRENGTH in MATERIALS! 


“My hands tell 
me that 


Chipso is safe . 
safe even for colored silks” 

I’ve DEAF EARS to any talk about 
CHEAP CHIPS or GRANULATED SOAP! 
I changed to CHIPSO when my GROCER 
told me, “Mrs. Johns, CHIPSO is 
SAFE-even for SILKS!” 

* * * 

SHEER STOCKINGS and SILK UNDIES 
- even colored SILKS—wash perfectly 
in those rich safe CHIPSO suds! 

* * * 

And now I wash DISHES with CHIPSO 
my MANICURIST says my HANDS 
are so much SMOOTHER! 

* * * 

It’s wonderful to DEPEND upon CHIPSO. 
It SOAKS clean the FAMILY WASH- 
yet it’s so SAFE for 
EVERYTHING! 


CLOTHES 

COST 

MONEY 


Chipso 

MAKES CLOTHES WEAR LONGER 



OCTOBER, 1932 


DELINEATOR 


OV/dch oithese 

Grand 

Thrift 

Dishes 

do you like BEST? 


They are as digestible as they are good-to-eat 

I wish I could be looking over your shoulder now. I’d love to 
know which of these delicious thrift recipes appeals to you 
most. Of course, I’m really hoping you’ll try all eight of them! 

You’ll notice that I always specify Crisco in my recipes. 
I’m frank to tell you why I do it. I want my recipes to taste 
their very best when you make them—as they will, if you use 
sweet, fresh-tasting Crisco. But that isn’t my only reason— 

I believe in protecting your digestions, too. So my recipes 
call for Crisco, the pure digestible shortening. I distrust heavy 
greasy fats that turn smelly and rancid— indigestible. 

Crisco’s own pure, sweet taste tells you it’s digestible 

For the good of your family’s digestion, I do urge you to use 
Crisco. Just taste Crisco, then any other fat and 
I’m sure you will see the reason why. Crisco is pure 
and sweet-tasting all by itself—Crisco is digestible! 

Buy Crisco in that 3-lb. size that keeps you stocked 
up for a goodly time. You won’t be taking a mite 
of risk, because Crisco is made by its own secret 
process to keep snowy and fluffy and digestible. 

Send for my radio cook book, “Good Things to 
Eat from Out of the Air.” Yo.u’11 find what your 
radio favorites like to eat—and you’ll have 136 of 
my tested recipes. Address me, Dept. XD-102, 

Box 1801, Cincinnati, O. Winifred s. carter 



23 * :zi 

H cup Crisco 

SEX 

Ifir; jp** 

^‘cu^aprici^^ceTs^ ^minuta^ ^ 

HSIHii 






Wh, 




mam. 



(Whq does 


Crisco 

sfil 

digest emdij ? 

r0 1 

Its /rare. 

sweet toste 


w ill tell ijo k 











OCTOBER, 1932 


DELINEATOR 

























OCTOBER, 1932 


DELINEATOR 



Honestly, Lily’s too dumb! The woman «■ p-fft. 
who sold me Junior’s sweater suit said par¬ 
ticularly to wash it in Ivory Flakes. You 
don’t need hot water to dissolve 
these thin, curly flakes. They are 
safe for wools. I told Lily 
that, but she used some 
other soap anyway. 
Now Junior’s suit 
has shrunk so he 
can’t wear it!” 


11 a.TH. "I bought some terribly smart lounging 
pajamas. I was afraid the colors might run, 
but the clerk said they’d wash perfectly 
in Ivory Flakes. These tissue-thin, 
curly flakes dissolve in water the 
right temperature to prevent 
color fading. They don’t 
flatten against silk, 
and make soap 
spots, or streak 
the colors.” 


"John’s sweet 
—but awkward! 

He served the 
breakfast — and 
spilled coffee all over 
my new peach-satin negli¬ 
gee. The salesgirl told me to 
wash it in Ivory, because Ivory 
Flakes are so safe. The thin curly flake 
dissolve instantly in lukewarm water. 
can’t stick flat to satin and cause ugly streaks. I 
followed her advice and my negligee looks just like new.” 


6 p.m. 
When we 
were dressing 
for the Brant- 
well’s dinner to¬ 
night, John said, 'Peg, 
you look nice. You’re one 
of the few women I like to see 
in a sleeveless dress, because your 
hands are as smooth and white as your 
arms.’ Was that music in my ears! I do take 
care of my hands, though—I never use anything 
but pure, gentle Ivory Soap for dishwashing and cleaning.” 


tVtbj AaleA^ectde 


7 

The new Ivory Flakes are made chiffon- 
thin and curly so that they will dissolve 
fast—even in lukewarm water! They 
won’t stick flat to silks or satins or fleecy 
wools and make soap spots. 

Salespeople in big department stores 


say “Wash it in Ivory,” because they 
know goods washed this safe way will 
give better satisfaction. Ivory Flakes are 
made of the pure Ivory Soap doctors 
advise for bathing babies. No wonder 
they are safe for fabrics and your hands! 

Ivory Flakes now in bigger packages at lower prices! Now 
you can afford to use safe, gentle Ivory for everything. 


et^efcy 

ff 

w 


ivlictv 

aA$ it w ith 

IVORY 


Joy 


V! 


TISSUE THIN . . . CURLY . . . 99 00 °/ 0 PURE 







11 



She looked, Lige thought, like the figurehead of a ship as she stood there, facing the sea. And she was the woman he wanted 


Blue Meadows 


by MAY STANLEY 


Beginning a novel of the real 
America, of its seacoasts and its 
prairies, and of men and women who 
toil and love, suffer and rejoice, 
close to the heart of our daily life 


W HEN the thing happened, it set all of 
Goodhaven talking. Of course they had 
expected Captain Lige Bickers to marry 
someone—but not Abigail Hosmer, of all 
people! Old Daniel Hosmer, Abigail’s 
uncle, summed up Goodhaven opinion when he said, 
“Sea-goin’ folks and landsmen don’t get along together. 
It ain’t in natur’.” 

And Lige was a sea-going man by inheritance and 
choice. Bom and raised in Goodhaven, he had fished 
there as a youngster, gone out from the little hamlet on his 
first trip to the Banks. 

After his mother’s death, he lived alone in the old 
Bickers place—although a fisherman can hardly be said 
to live ashore. 

The years had brought him*a comfortable living and 
saw him, at thirty, the master of the Valhalla , a fast 
schooner with a flare to her forward hull that kept her 
dry as a week-old loaf. A big, upstanding man, Lige. 
Quiet and slow of tongue, with far-gazing blue eyes and a 


body strong as a cliff against which the sea breaks in vain. 

Abigail was strange to the sea and its ways. Her people 
had a farm inland, and she had only come to Goodhaven 
for a brief time, to care for her Uncle Daniel, who was 
“laid by the heels” with one of his periodic attacks of 
rheumatism. 

Lige saw her first standing on the porch of Daniel 
Hosmer’s house, looking out toward sea. A strong 
southerly wind was blowing, pressing the girl’s clothes 
tightly against her slender form, making her loosened 
hair stream out wildly. She looked, Lige thought, like 
the figurehead of a ship—a woman fashioned to gaze 
forever toward some far meeting place of sea and sky. 
(He could not know that Abigail’s eyes were cold and 
that she was wishing her uncle would hurry up and get 
well so that she might go home, away from the sight and 
smell of salt water.) 

Even if he had known her thoughts, they would not 
have disturbed him. He would have said, and believed, 
that she felt that way because she’d always lived inland. 
That there might be people who hated the crash and roar 
of waves, the whisper of the tides, was outside his reckon¬ 
ing. 

But the first sight of Abigail made him realize that 
here, at last, was the woman he wanted, one to take his 
mother’s place in the old white house where four genera¬ 
tions of Bickers women had lived—and waited for the 
homecoming of their men. 

Two weeks later they went down to Portland and were 
married . . . 

Abigail felt it would be an easy matter to persuade 
her husband to give up fishing. Of course he talked 
about it a lot, and about the vessel, but that was just a 


Illustrations by CLARK FAY 

man's way. Didn’t her father talk the whole time about 
potatoes and turnips and pigs? 

She would coax Lige to sell this house and his share of 
the Valhalla and use the money to buy a farm up home. 
Just as soon as swordfishing season was over and they 
had a little more time together, she would have a talk 
with him. 

Meanwhile it was nice to be mistress of this roomy old 
house—so long as you knew you wouldn’t have to stay 
in it too long—and nice to realize that other, and prettier, 
girls looked at her with envy in their eyes. 

During her husband’s first trip to the Banks, Abigail 
spent the two weeks of his absence in house-cleaning; 
polishing tables and chests and beds, all of solid mahog¬ 
any, taking down from the top shelves of the old pine 
cupboard its precious store of glass and china, washing 
and sorting the pieces carefully, unpacking old sea chests 
that held lengths of shimmering embroideries and strange 
figures of jade and lacquer, exquisitely wrought—treasures 
brought from far ports by the Bickers of other days. 

The embroideries Abigail put carefully back, but the 
lacquer and jade figures she carried to the edge of the 
cliff, and flung them into the sea. It should never be said 
that Abigail Bickers—a church member in good standing 
—harbored heathen idols beneath her roof! But she did 
not tell Lige of this act of vandalism, rightly surmising 
that he would disapprove. 

There were a number of things, she soon learned, about 
which he held strong views. When she broached the sub¬ 
ject of selling his holdings here and buying a farm, 
Abigail was amazed to find that her husband would not 
even consider such an idea. 

“I don’t seem to see what you’re aimin’ at,” he said 


DELINEATOR, OCTOBER, 1932 






OCTOBER 


DELINEATOR 

slowly. “Ye don’t mean it’s in your mind to have me give 
up fishin’, do you?” 

“Well, my sakes! you don’t need to look like that” 
Abigail returned, irritated by the blank surprise on his 
face. “I’m just telling you how I feel. I don’t like— 
things here ...” She made a vague gesture toward the 
window that looked seaward. “I like land around me, 
growing things to look at, and a man who's home instead 
of away the biggest part of the time.” 

“Why—I hadn’t figgered anybody’d not like it here.” 

“Of course,” Abigail said, determined to be patient, 
“it’s all right to stop here a while. I wouldn’t ask you 
to sell at a loss, or anything like that. But I wouldn’t 
want to make my home in a place like this.” 

“You mean—you wan’t aimin’ to stay here when you 
married me? You figured then that you’d get me to sell 
and move away?” 

“I figured we’d make our home some place different 
from this,” Abigail returned tartly. “ ’Tisn’t only the 
sea—though, goodness knows, that’s bad enough! But 
I don’t like the folks. They’re just queer, if you ask me. 
And no church to go to on Sundays, nor sociables, nor 
church doings of any kind. I can’t get used to it.” 

“If it’s meetin’ you hanker for.” Lige said thought¬ 
fully, “I can al’ays take ye up to Jonesport, or across to 
Gull Harbor—when I’m home. Here in Goodhaven we 
don’t seem to hold much with preachin’.” 

“That’s easy seen,” his wife returned disapprovingly. 
“It’s an ungodly place—and I’m used to places where 
folks live decent, God-fearing lives; where there’s preach¬ 
ing and missionary meetings and the like o’ that. Mebbe 
if I hadn’t been brought up to them things I wouldn’t 
mind it here, but I do. I’d like for you to sell here and 
buy a farm. Then we could-” 

“But, Abby, you ain’t give it a chance yet! I mean, ye 
can’t judge a place lessen ye’ve lived in it a while and 
kind of—kind of let yerself be friendly with it.” His 
voice softened as he went on: “I ain’t much of a hand 
for talkin’, never was, but I’d like to make ye see there’s 
something to salt water, something ye can’t get from 
anything else. Living by it, ye get to feeling there’s more 
to the world than just folks and their—their leetle 
goings-on. Ye get to see how big God must be, when he 
could make the like o’ that and divide it off from the 
land—” He stopped abruptly, conscious of Abigail’s 
horror. 

“I’ll thank you not to blaspheme afore me again!” she 
said stiffly. “It’s sinful to talk like that.” 

“And as for sellin’ my share of the vessel,” he went on 
steadily, “I can’t do that. I’m responsible for her and 
for what she does. More’n that, my work’s here, Abby. 
The way your folks feel about the land, raising crops and 
such, is the way I feel about salt water. I’d have told you 
that afore we was married, if you’d asked me.” 

It was one of the rare occasions when Abigail took 
refuge in tears. 


“But I tell you, I hate it here!” she sobbed. “And I 
hate the water! You can’t get away from it, not for a 
minute. Day or night, a body can hear it. There ain’t no 
words for how I hate it!” 

“Nor for how I love it,” the man said in a low voice. 
He stood up and went slowly toward the door. “But hate 
or love—it’s all one to the sea, I guess.” He paused in 
the doorway, to say gently: “I wish ye’d give it a chance, 
Abby. Come out in the vessel with me now' and again 
and see if it don’t make ye feel diff’rent.” 

“I don’t want to. I’m telling you now that I don't like 
it—I don’t like Goodhaven, nor having you away more’n 
half the time, nor the goings-on when the vessel does get 
in. All of you carousing and going your wild ways, with¬ 
out let or hindrance! Some day the Lord’s w'rath’ll fall on 
you, mark my words!” 

“When it does,” he returned quietly, “I’ll be ready to 
meet it—like I am other things—but, I wish, Abby, ye 
wouldn’t say things like that. First off, it ain’t true. 
F’olks here don’t carouse. Mebbe somebody’ll get a mite 
jollified now' and again, from takin’ a nip o’ whiskey to 
keep out the cold; but that’s all. We don’t hold much 
with preachers and the like o’ that, because w r e can’t see 
any sense in havin’ a feller who’s never been to sea stand 
up and tell us what to do and how w r e’d ought to five. 
We know how'. A man learns from fishin’, learns a lot o’ 
things.” 

“Mebbe you think so-” 

“I know so. And I’d like to feel, w'hilst I’m out fishing, 
that you’re here—thinkin’ about me and the vessel, 
watchin’ the tides and the set o’ the wind, hopin’ I’ll be 
back soon with a good stock. Bickers women—that’s 
their work, Abby. Al’ays has been. Al’ays will be.” 

THEY had been married nearly three years when 
Abigail told him that they w'ere to have a child. She 
made the announcement quietly enough, one morning 
at breakfast the day after Lige had come home from a 
trip. 

“I w r ent to see Doctor Hazlett, over to Holmsport, 
yesterday. Ain’t been feelin’ just right for a while and I 
got to wondering. He says I’m going to have a baby.” 

Lige was silent for a moment, then he came around the 
table and drew her into his arms. 

“Can’t begin to tell you how glad I am, Abby. I—I 
was nigh to givin’ up hope.” 

“So w'as I,” she admitted, “and I’ve been feeling bad 
about it, but now—Lige, he’s just got to be a boy!” 

“Why, sure he’ll be a boy!” her husband returned 
cheerfully. “Stands to reason.” 

His heart sw'etled exultantly. Things would be all right 
at last! The young one was what Abigail needed. With 
him to tend and look out for, she’d be happy, stop talking 
about things inland. The old house would have Bickers 
children running about it once more, there’d be a son to 


teach ... he would make him a good fisherman . . . 

Abigail was talking. “If he’s a boy, I aim to have him 
grow up and study to be a preacher.” 

“You aim—w'hat’d you say, Abby?” 

At the amazement in his voice, her lips tightened 
ominously. 

“I said I want him to be a preacher. You don’t think 
I’d let any son of mine be a fisherman, do you?” 

For a few moments he sat without speaking. When he 
began, it was in a level voice, as though paying out each 
word carefully: 

“The Bickers are sea-goin’ folks, Abby, but I guess you 
don’t sense yet what that means. For more’n two 
hundred years we’ve lived on this coast, made it our home, 
gone out from here—deep-sea fishin’ or on whalin’ 
vessels. Any boy I’m father to will have salt water in 
his blood!” 

Abigail looked at him searchingly, then her gaze with¬ 
drew itself as though tinning inward to some secret wall 
of strength, where he could not follow. She rose and 
began gathering up the dishes, piling plate on plate with 
sure hands. 

“If you’re done breakfast,” she told him, “I’ll get 
redded up. It’s nigh on to eight o’clock and my bread 
needs seeing to.” 

Thereafter she did not speak of the child to him, except 
when she must answer his questions. Yes, she was feeling 
fine. Yes, she’d seen Doctor Hazlett—twice a month, as 
he’d told her. The doctor said everything was going the 
way it ought. 

Lige engaged Lissie Caton, one of the tribe of Caton 
youngsters, to help with the housework, and also ar¬ 
ranged with Hannah Anne Parse—a rugged spinster who 
worked for summer visitors but could, if the need arose, 
also act as midwife—to stay with Abigail while he was 
away. 

The doctor had told Abigail to take a walk each day 
that the weather was fine, and she fell into the habit of 
rambling along over the cliffs until she found some nook 
sheltered from the sea wind. Here she would sit for hours, 
dreaming of the time when her son, a man grown, should 
take his place as one of the leaders of the church. When 
the child stirred in her womb, she would cross her hands 
above it and pray that he might be strong and vigorous, 
a mighty warrior in the army of God . . . 

At night, lying sleepless while the long hours crept 
slowly past, she would listen to the swish and break of 
the waves or the long murmur of an incoming tide—and 
smile triumphantly. Under her breast a man-child was 
growing—a man whom the sea should not have! 

Of course, when her son grew up, he might not feel the 
call for missionary work. And, perhaps, that would be 
best. 

She pictured a quiet town—a church spire rising 
slimly above friendly elms, bells calling to service, people 
observing the Lord’s day as they should, on their knees 



’Now, what is them boys—‘ 
Mereen was beginning. But 
he neverended the sentence 


12 


19 3 2 


DELINEATOR 



reverently listening to her son’s voice interceding for 
them . . . 

In her scheme of life, Lige was no longer important. 
He had opposed her, held of no account the things she 
valued most. Very well, then! Let him take the result. 
The Lord had listened to her. Not Lige, not even the 
sea, was strong enough to thwart her now! 

Yet, in some curious way, she still clung to her husband, 
fretful and exacting, drawing assurance from his quiet 
strength, his never-failing kindness and care. Jealously, 
she had made him promise, over and over, that he would 
not be out fishing when her time came. 

But the time came sooner than she thought, and Lige 
was out at the Banks, swordfishing, the day that their 
daughter was bom. 

It WAS a sultry August afternoon, with an overcast sky 
promising rain, when Captain Bickers reached Good- 
haven. 

Hannah Anne Parse—tall and weather-beaten—stood 
in the doorway of the homestead as he came up the path. 


“How’s Abby?” were his first words. “Is she all right? 
Nothing happened-” 

“Yes, there was. Ye got a darter.” 

Lige took the news in silence. After a moment, he said: 
“And Abby, is it all right with her? Does she mind—- 
havin’ a girl?” 

“Sure she minds—her bein’ completely sot that it was 
goin’to be a boy! I told her it wan’t right. ‘Ye can'never 
figger them things fer sartain,’ I says, but she wouldn’t 
listen.” 

“No, likely not.” 

She nodded. “Want I should fetch the young un out 
here? Or, air you aimin’ to go in and see ’em both?” 

“I’ll go in.” 

He went slowly across the sitting room, where blinds 
had been decorously drawn, and pushed open the door of 
the “spare bedroom.” Here also the room was in half¬ 
darkness, and the woman in the huge bed was only a 
shadowy mound beneath the white covers. She did not 
move as he came in, or give any sign of having heard him. 

“Well, Abby!” Bickers tried, without success, to make 
his voice cheerful. “I got here.” 


A NOVEL OF THE MEN 


WHO GO DOWN TO THE 


SEA IN SHIPS, AND OF 


THE WOMEN WHO WAIT 


AND, SOMETIMES, REBEL 


"Say, the baby's strong!" Lige 
announced in surprise. "But had 
it ought to be only that size?" 


She did not speak, and after a moment’s pause, he went 

“It wan’t my fault we stayed out so long. Didn’t sight 
a fish for more’n a week. And I had to think of the crew. 
I couldn’t turn back so long as they didn’t have anything 
to pay ’em for the trip.” 

Her eyes opened slowly. 

“Yes, of course, the crew!” Abigail’s words were a frail 
thread of a sound. “The crew and the vessel! You don’t 
forget them. You’d think of them—and of everything else 
in the world but me. What did I matter, here alone?” 

“But you wan’t alone. There was the doctor, and 
Hannah Anne—and anybody else you needed-” 

“Yes, everybody but you—who’d ought to have been 
here. No wonder the young one is what she is! If you’d 
a stayed home like you ought, and set your mind on me, 
I’d a had a man-child!” 

“Don’t talk that way, Abby, ye’ll only set yerself back. 
Anyways, a girl-baby’U be comp’ny for you and mebbe— 
after a while-” 

“The doctor says,” she returned grimly, “that I’ll 
never have another.” 

“Well, doctors have been wrong afore this. Even if it 
is true, I’ve got it in my heart to set a lot of store by a 
darter. Don’t you feel that way, too?” 

“No.” 

Lige sighed, reached out one huge hand and gently 
stroked her hair. Abigail lay rigid beneath the caress and 
presently he moved away, saying quietly, “You’ll feel 
better about things when ye’re a mite stronger. Is she 
here? I—I’d kind of like to look at her.” 

Abigail made an indifferent gesture toward the small 
mound in the bed with her. Captain Bickers lifted a 
corner of the blanket and peered intently at the red¬ 
faced mite beneath. His daughter squirmed under the 
unwelcome light. Her tiny hands wavered aimlessly, 
then clutched at one of his fingers and held fast. 

“Say, she’s strong!” he announced in surprise, then 
added dubiously, “But not so terrible big. Had she ought 
to be only that size?” 

“She’s big as most, I guess. D’you mind going out 
now, Lige? The doctor said for me to keep quiet.” 


GoODHAVEN lies in a sheltered hollow, with all the 
North Atlantic] for its front dooryard. At either end 
of the bay which gives the little hamlet its name, tall 
cliffs rise as though striving away from the tides that 
swirl strongly about their feet. They hem in the strag¬ 
gling cluster of gray-roofed houses so that, to the eyes of 
a stranger approaching by water, Goodhaven seems to be 
nestling confidently in a curved arm of the sea. 

To reach the place by land, one must follow a winding 
country road that severs itself from the main highway 
a few miles back and goes wandering casually across 
rocky terrain and through a sparse growth of spruce and 
poplars before dropping down the long (Turn to page 52) 

13 







DELINEATOR 


OCTOBER 


A 


DOROTHY 

CANFIELD 

A Delineator favorite returns to our 
pages with a charming and humorous 
story of people quite like you and me 


FAMILY ALLIANCE 



She had never read Thomas a Kempis’s axiom that 
temptation can do no more than show what stuff you are 
made of. For that matter she had never heard of Thomas 
a Kempis or any other literary classic not included in 
the required reading list of the Blue Falls High School. 
So far but not a step further up the educational lad¬ 
der her beneficent country had coaxed the reluctant 
Jigger. 

(Her name was really Gladys, but that along with many 
other things about her was not known to the young 
crowd she ran around with in New York. The first eve¬ 
ning, before Dora Warren had a chance to introduce her, 
one of the boys, several inches shorter than she, had asked 
ironically, “Who’s the cute little jigger with the cock¬ 
eyed bob?” And Jigger she remained thenceforward.) 

But if she ever had heard that axiom she would have 
called the worthy Thomas a darned old liar. For she was 
convinced that all her troubles were to be laid to tempta¬ 
tion alone, and that the stuff she was made of had nothing 
to do with the matter. 

Temptation’s name was Dora Warren. Like every in¬ 
sidious danger, Dora was apparently harmless. She 
seemed to want nothing for herself but to think that 
everything Jigger did was cute. They had met only a 
few months after Jigger had clawed her way to the New 
York job she had set her heart on from the time she 
could read the fashion magazines. She had only just had 
time enough to find out that all her clothes were impos¬ 
sible and where to get others, where to have her hair done 
and where to buy shoes, and in general to get her New 
York legs under her, when Dora, who had broken into 
the big town all of a year before, dropped in one night to 
see if the food in that; boarding-house was any better than 
in the others she had sampled. It was not; but she 
thought Jigger marvelous. They had about the same kind 
of job and made about the same salary. They both came 
from small places and w'ere crazy about New York. Dora 
proposed that they join forces, rent a studio apartment— 
they called it that—and have some decent eats. Not to 
speak of latch-keys. 

They were different enough to get on very well to¬ 
gether. Dora’s typewriter stood in a publisher’s office, 
and Jigger’s was in that of a silk importer. Dora was 
rather plain—that is, she was pretty in the dowdy 1880 
way, plump and little and smiling, with curly hair and 
rosy cheeks and regular features. The kind our fore¬ 
fathers thought “looked good enough to eat.” With that 
r88o outfit the poor girl had learned early, of course, to 
expect little enough in the way of admiration and to take 
thankfully what she got. 

Jigger was plain, in the way that is pretty now-—long- 
legged, flat-hipped, sleek-haired, with a thin face and high 
cheek bones. She had picked up, along with her clothes, 
the weary, slightly sinister expression that went with 


them, and successfully gave the desired effect of being 
something that would poison you if you ate it. 

They settled down very soon into the roles to which 
they were destined by their looks, Dora to being the one 
who did the kissing, Jigger to extending the cheek. 
Jigger, introduced by Dora to her crowd, instantly took 
precedence over her, in virtue of long legs, irregular fea¬ 
tures and a snugly fitting aura of poison. Dora, humble 
through long practise, took up the second fiddle without 
resentment, and fell without protest, even gratefully, 
into the role of satellite, doubled with that of press agent. 
For, used to getting her limelight by reflection and being 
really very warm-hearted, she enjoyed nothing more than 
telling people nice things about Jigger and her family. 

Now I put it to you, how could anybody expect Jigger, 
inexperienced in life as she was, to foresee the danger 
lurking in Dora’s pleasant little puffs? For that matter 
when Dora let fall the statement that the Pratts—■ 
Jigger’s people—“were one of the old land-owning fami¬ 
lies in the upper Hudson Valley,” she was telling the truth. 
And so she was when she told the crowd that “Jigger is 
running up to spend the week-end at her people’s country 
place.” You couldn’t object to that. Jigger didn’t any¬ 
how. Nor to “Jigger’s mother is a professional woman, 
too. A musician—pianist,” though later this became a 
“concert pianist.” You couldn’t even object, nor what 
you’d call object, when she said, “Her father was an army 
officer before he returned to civilian life to take over her 
grandfather’s affairs.” Every word of it was so. What 
could Jigger have done about it? 

As far as that goes (just as a person who constantly 
hears a foreign language comes to think in it) she slid 
pretty soon into using Dora’s lingo herself. She not 
only said but thought that “I’m just running up for 
the week-end to my people’s country place.” She was, 
wasn’t she? And on the first evening she met Spike 
Hunter, it was she herself, not Dora at all, who let fall 
that her people were one of the old land-owning families 
in the upper Hudson Valley, and that her mother was a 
concert pianist. 

But then she was so flustered that night she would 
have said anything. She mentioned her folks only be¬ 
cause someone had just told her that the snappy young 
thoroughbred being introduced to the crowd was a Yale 
graduate, son of a fine old Ohio family, and she hoped 
a hint that she too had a Family might attract his atten¬ 
tion. For she wanted him to like her from the min ute 
she saw his queer.dark face with its fuzzy, funny eye¬ 
brows and its black eyes and its bulging forehead. 

She liked his line. She liked his eyebrows. She liked 
his voice. It was not just that she was getting awfully 
tired (though she was) of living in one room and pretend¬ 
ing it wasn’t the bedroom, and of delicatessen food, and 
cooking over a gas ring and dressing as though she earned 


more than she did, and talking about things she didn’t 
know anything about, and in general living according 
to a pattern that fitted her looks better than it did her. 

She was twenty-four years old now, Jigger was, had 
lived with Dora in one or another “studio apartment” 
for longer than she ever admitted, and there were mo¬ 
ments when she panted for a kitchen with a coal range. 
She seldom allowed herself to think of that coal range, 
because when she did her mind was almost instantly out 
of control. Before she could open the copy of the New 
Yorker on her knee, she was swept from the airy kitchen 
in which the dream range stood, out to a breeze-swept, 
vine-shaded back porch on which sat a non-poisonous 
Jigger shelling peas out of her own garden, and from there 
to a real dining room, not an alcove, and upstairs to a 
bedroom with a real bed in it. A double bed. 

But, truly, this was not why she was crazy about 
Spike Hunter, any more than spring is why seeds sprout. 
They wouldn’t sprout if it weren’t springtime of course. 
But there have to be seeds before springtime can do any¬ 
thing with them. 

Whether it was the mention of her family or some¬ 
thing else, Spike liked her all right. She hardly dared 
believe he did as much as he seemed to. Before long 
they stopped going around with the crowd and went 
around together. A striking couple they were, who 
might have stepped right out of the advertisements of a 
transatlantic steamship line—you know, the quietly 
smart, upper-class couple who play shuffleboard and lean 
over the rail, and on the dock are not cringingly ashamed 
but happily proud of their luggage. Yes, I know that is 
another advertisement but it is the same couple. Jigger 
knew they looked like that, but it didn’t seem so impor¬ 
tant to her as it would have five years ago. In fact it 
seemed less important to her with every minute. Some¬ 
time, when she and Spike were, with astonished awe, 
discovering yet one more idea or feeling they had in 
common that nobody else had ever shared, she forgot 
all about how she looked for half an hour at a time. You 
can’t imagine how this rested her. 

Spike had made no secret of the fact that he had taken 
to Jigger on sight and, getting off to a fast start, he kept 
on burning up the track. Before long, a paltry two 
months, he was adoring her and telling her so and Jigger 
was so happy that she ached all over, and might have 
lost the discontented, scornful expression that made her 
look so distinguished if a secret uneasiness gnawing at 
her heart had not fastened it still more firmly on her face. 
But then, defying convention in the courageous way 
that made her love him so, Spike asked her to marry him, 
not companionately but permanently, even though he 
wasn’t making very much money yet, just as her father 


14 


19 3 2 


DELINEATOR 


These two seemed the very essence 
of New York, yet the girl was saying, 
"I’d love a little house with a garden" 


Illustrated by CAROLYN IDMUNDSON 


had asked her mother; and forgetting all about that 
uneasiness, Jigger cried heartily for joy just as her 
mother had, and said yes, sure, she couldn’t think of any¬ 
thing she’d like better and she didn’t give a damn about 
the money. (This sentiment if not the turn of the phrase 
was also like her mother.) 

And then, Dora being “family” for the New York 
Jigger, thev went to tell her, and she said, “Oh, how 
marvelous! You’ll have the wedding at your people’s 
country place, of course.” And Spike who had to listen 
a good deal to Dora’s line while waiting for Jigger to get 
dressed to go out with him said, “Sure, where else?” 


YoU are thinking that it was then she heard the 
breakers crashing. You are wrong. She was still in too 
much of a shining cloud to look ahead. She said, “Oh 
yes.'” on a long breath of excitement at the very idea of 
her wedding day. 

It was the letter from Spike’s father and mother that 
gave Jigger her first intimation of the trouble Dora had 
got her into. She and Spike had written to their families 
the'same day. But the answer from Jigger’s parents, 
living much nearer, came first. They wrote to Jigger 
as they always did, only more so, naturally, and Jigger 
being in an emotional state anyhow, shed some more 
delicious tears over their motherly and fatherly love and 
anxiety and hopes for her .happiness. They each had 
written and enclosed a note to Spike, too. “Sweet!” 
Jigger thought them. But Spike was out in Ohio on 
business and was taking advantage of the trip to visit 
his parents so she couldn’t hand her own parents’ greet¬ 
ings over to him at once. They too, of course, looked 
forward to her being married from her own old home. 
“Mamma says wait till June when the peonies will be 
out,” wrote her father, “and if you do, I’ll get the barn 
and chicken house painted.” 

But two days later came the letter from Spike’s family, 
the Hunters of Ohio. Jigger opened the big square en¬ 
velop, and read the well-turned phrases (there was a 
marked family likeness to Spike’s style in them) written 
in very black ink on thick creamy linen paper, and al¬ 
though they gracefully expressed a cordial welcome to 
her as their son’s fiancee, she looked very sober. She 
took out her parents’ letters. They had been written on 
sheets torn off the family pad, and she guessed by the 
looks the ink had partly dried down in the bottle and 
her mother had added a little water to make it run 
better. 

That afternoon after office hours, if you had been work¬ 
ing at the stationery counter of a chic New York depart¬ 
ment store, you might have seen a tall, dark, sophisti¬ 
cated-looking Park Avenue girl with a worried expression, 
buying a box of the most expensive (Turn to page 36) 



Mrs. Pratt thought: What use are 
the best clothes Blue Falls can offer, 
when this glorious Paris vision is the 
mother of the man my child will marry? 


15 







DELINEATOR 


OCTOBER 


TABLE NEWS from England, by helen ufford 



Above: Leisurely, comfortably, to 
begin the day—with this charming 
breakfast tray proudly equipped for 
a simple breakfast in bed. A copy of 
"The London Times" really should have 
been part of this breakfast setting! 


In distinguished homes in London and 
in the pleasant English countryside— 
homes renowned for their hospitality 
—Delineator set and photographed 
these British tables of various kinds 


Photographs by E. J. Mason, London 




Above: The gay spirit of a fragrant 
English garden is in this high-hearted 
luncheon setting. Jocund white hya¬ 
cinths in the center bowl and in mossy 
flower pots. Flowers bloom also on 
the flat place plate and side plate 


Right: This sophisticated table we 
photographed just after it had been 
completed for a dinner party. Wisely 
no cloth conceals the handsome table. 
Centerpiece of Chinese horse statu¬ 
ettes, in proud parade. Simple crystal 





Above, left: As "merry and bright" as 
the old English song is this lunch¬ 
eon table. In the center dish, dewy 
fruits artfully arranged. Silver tank¬ 
ards filled with pert garden flowers. 
Traditionally, the roll is in the serviette 



Happily, graciously this dinner table wel¬ 
comes the guests. Lovely lace doilies. Tall, 
shaded candles. Handsome cased crystal 

16 


Individual place: No service plate. Serviette debonairly "A dish of tea," ladies and gentlemen, and 

folded in European fashion. Tablespoon for soup. A knife such tea! With lovely English silver. Cheery 

for every fork. Bone-handled knives. Above, dessert silver English china. And delicious things to eat 




19 3 2 


DELINEATOR 


The FOOTPRINTS 
of DIANE Le MAR b Y 


Now let's visit that glamourous 
Hollywood, and share the trials 
and triumphs of one of its stars 


HE dav when Diane Le Mar joined the immortals 
by putting her hand- and footprints into the cement 
of the big theater courtyard, started all wrong. 

At eight sharp the telephone began to ring, de¬ 
spite the fact that Diane had long since copied Holly¬ 
wood’s famous by keeping her name out of the directory. 

In the mail had come a butcher knife covered with red 
paint from some insane admirer. At noon had come the 
man who demanded to see the star herself, and wouldn’t 
go away until he was threatened with the police. 

At three o’clock had come Cal for one of his rare, 
brief visits. 

The housebov had called the studio and told Diane that 
her husband was home. Diane had called Stelling, the 
studio czar. Stelling had gone for a press agent. In a few 
moments he would be back, and the three of them would 
shut themselves up in Stelling’s inner office, preparatory 
to giving Calvin King the proper amount of atmosphere 
necessary to the husband of cinema’s newest find. 

While she waited in her new sable coat which was not 
paid for, Diane tried to stop thinking—and failed. On 
the desk was a movie magazine, and in the movie maga¬ 
zine was the usual paragraph: 

“Miss Le Mar , then a beautiful young society girl from 
Texas, visited Hollywood three years ago. A famous director 
saw her dancing at the Ambassador, and struck by her rare 
beauty and charm, etc., etc., etc.” 

She didn’t have to read this because she knew it by 
heart. She had seen it so often these past three months 
that she had come to believe it. It was only in moments 
like this that she was forced to remember it wasn’t true. 

She hadn’t been a society beauty. She hadn’t even been 
very young. Calvin King and his wife, Missie, had ar¬ 
rived in a shabby, dusty car, and spent their first night 
in the Water Hole, which is a district where the men who 
work in Westerns have their boots made or their bridles 
mended. Cal had liked it because it smelled of home, 
and Missie hadn’t for the same reason. And after dinner 
they had strolled down the boulevard to see what they 
could see, which is exactly what all tourists do at that 
hour anyway. 

Now, there is no one Hollywood. There are several. 
You see which one you want to see. 

Cal had seen the palm fronds against the sky, and the 
terrier pups in the dog store window. Missie had seen 
those people who looked as if they were in the movies and 
probably weren’t, but not those who looked as if they 
weren’t and probably were. 

If that were all, Diane Le Mar would not have been 
waiting so impatiently in Stelling’s inner office. 

Missie King had seen one thing more. 

In front of the Chinese theater, sightseers were staring 
at their feet. The great front court was marked off into 
squares, and in a chosen few were the names of the stars 
written by themselves in the cement before it was dry. 
“May this cement our friendship, Joan Crawford,” or 
“Every best wish, Gloria-Swanson.” And in each square, 
close to the name, was the handprint of the star herself, 
and the mark of her high-heeled slipper. 

Missie had tried her own foot in the mark of Mary 
Pickford’s tiny shoe. Right out in front was a big vacant 


square. She had stood on that, too, and suddenly across 
her commonplace life had swept the vivid force of am¬ 
bition. In that square she had seen her own name—the 
name she had become that very instant. These Are the 
Hand- and Footprints of Diane Le Mar. 

Diane had forgotten Missie King. She had forgotten 
Cal’s friend who worked in cowboy pictures and gave her 
a start. She had forgotten the three years of careful, 
strained climbing. She had almost forgotten Cal. But 
she had not forgotten that square of cement into which, 
tonight, she was going to put her mark. 

It was not cold, but she shuddered a little and drew 
her wrap closer, and pushed the magazine across the desk. 

Then the door opened and Stelling came in with the 
press agent, and they both sat down. For a moment 
there was an uneasy silence, because no one knew how to 
begin. 

“We’ve gotta do something about this husband of 
yours, Diane,” said Stelling, finally. “Now don’t take 
this too personal. I expect he’s a grand fellow r . But it 
won’t do either of us any good to have the public know 
you’re married to a Texas rancher who talks about the 
price of beef on hoof.” Then he sighed. It was hard 
enough to keep tab on these movie queens without play¬ 
ing nurse-maid to their husbands. 

“It’s too bad he isn’t a bond salesman or a broker, or 
even a lawyer,” smiled Stelling. “That’s more genteel. 
Well, what I want you to do is to tell Miss Miller about 
him. She’ll do the rest.” 

Then he went out, and Diane was left alone with this 
woman who opened an alligator bag and took out a bunch 
of copy paper, and two pencils sharpened at both ends. 

Diane watched her carefully. Miss Miller was experi¬ 
enced and hard, and not quite immaculate. She had the 
kind of eyes that no woman should have, that belong by 
rights only to men who know too much. 

Eagle eyes! Waiting eyes! Cynical eyes! Eyes that 
said to Diane: “I shall be well paid for what these pencils 
say about you. You will send me expensive presents and 
take me to New York, and we will both know why.” 

ALREADY Diane hated these women who snooped 
around for tidbits about the stars and peddled them to 
papers and magazines—these women to whom every 
movie star owes so much. 

“Let’s begin,” she suggested nervously. 

Miss Miller said, “Tell me about your husband.” 

“He is much older than I,” began Diane, who was 
twenty-seven to Cal’s thirty-three. “I met him when I 
was a young girl. He owns fifteen thousand acres left to 
him by his father.” She did not add that fourteen 
thousand of those acres were practically worthless. 

The pencil began to scratch: The husband of this 
charming screen star inherited an estate of twenty-five 
thousand acres from his father. 

“He went to college,” said Diane helpfully. Yes—cow 
college where he wore overalls, and learned how to plow 
a field with the latest tractor. 

The pencil moved again: He is a university man who 
manages his estate and spends his spare time -with his books 
and his dogs. 

“He has traveled?” asked Miss Miller. 

“He went to France in the war.” 

He has traveled extensively on the Continent, wrote Miss 
Miller. 

There was more—lots more—and all quite painless. 
Finally, Miss Miller put down the pencils which had lost 


MARGARET CRAVEN 



Diane Le Mar had come into her own! 
She fluttered her eyelashes, exactly as she 
had seen all the other stars do before her 


17 






DELINEATOR 


OCTOBER 



their fine points and said: “That will be enough. Thank 
you, Miss Le Mar. And if you will excuse me for being 
bold enough to suggest, if I were you, I should be seen 
only with your leading man tonight. Your first big 
premiere.” 

Diane nodded. She had thought of that herself, 
would never do for her to step out under the marquee of 
the smartest theater in town with Cal who called evening 
clothes “monkey suits.” 

When the Miller woman had gone, Stelling came back 
and put Diane in her car. 

It was her first big car—custom built, naturally— 
which the chauffeur sat exposed to the elements, and she 
sat in the back seat enclosed by plate glass. If you can 
believe it, it was lavender with a sort of baby-blue trim. 

In it Diane felt safer. She looked at Patrick’s uni¬ 
formed back and, beside him, Suzanne, looking exactly 
as a personal maid should with the leather box of make¬ 
up on her knee. But she was not through yet. There still 
remained the task of finding some way to keep Cal from 
accompanying her tonight, and, if possible, to get rid cf 
him. 

When the car had stopped at her new home in Beverly 
Hills, she found Cal in the drawing-room. 

“Hello, dear,” she greeted him. “How’s the ranch:” 

He held her off a moment and then kissed her. “I’v< 
missed you,” was all he said. 

This was her chance, and Diane knew it. She held his 
coat lapels and let tears come into her e - 

“Why don’t you stay here? Why wc 
tied to be just a movie star’s husband?” she begged him. 

“Give up that old ranch. I’ll get you 
a job in the scenario department.” Diane 
had noticed that when a husband couldn't 
do anything else, they let him write. 

“I’ll buy. you a foreign-built roadster.” 

She felt him stiffen. And then he 
laughed. “And give me an allowance 
not too conspicuously,” he teased her, 

“while I make a pretense of working at 
something I don’t know anything about. 

No thanks!” 

She had hit where it hurt, and she 
knew it. “I think you’re silly,” she 
smiled at him. “Paying these brief visits 
when you might as well stay. We’ll have 
dinner early tonight because I have to 
dress for a premiere. Tonight’s the night 
I put my hand—and footprints in the 
sands of time. Silly, isn’t it? Did you 
bring evening clothes?” 

“What?” 

“Well, of course, it’s a dress-up affair. 

Thousands of people and lights and an¬ 
nouncers, and the streets roped off. Isn’t 
it the limit? When I would rather stay home.” 

“You mean you want me to go with you?” asked 
Cal. 

“Of course. Patrick will drive us down.” 

The door was open and they could see the car. 

“You mean you expect me to ride in that car?” 
asked Cal. “With thousands of people staring at us. 
Why, I’d feel like a pink elephant. I should say not.” 

“But, dear, I can’t go alone,” she protested. i 

“Honey,” said Cal positively. “I guess you’ll just j 
have to stick your feet in that cement without me | 
there. I don’t mind a mad bull, but gosh-” ! 

“Now, dear, don’t you worry. I know how you feel. ; 
I’ll call up my leading man. He’s used to this sort of 
thing.” _ _ ; 

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” said Cal, relieved. 

Diane said, “Of course not. I don’t mind a bit.” 


And that’s how it was that the public saw Diane 
Le Mar, lovely and trembling, attend the premiere of 
her first starring picture on the arm of her leading 
man, Paul Nevin. 

With five thousand gaping stenographers hanging 
on the ropes. And three daring young men on tele¬ 
phone poles. And three thousand dollars worth of 
sun arcs cutting the sky to ribbons. With her big, 
gentle, kind husband lost in the crowd. 

And that’s why, when the radio announcer said: 
“It is my great honor to present Miss Le Mar, herself 
. .” Diane fluttered her eyelashes and made big eyes 
exactly as she had seen other stars do before her, and 
said, “Thank you so much. I do hope you like my 
picture.” 

“Charming,” said the public. 

“Money in the box office,” said Stelling. 

“If I can play with her, I’m made,” said Paul. 


Illustrated by 

GEORGE MITCHELL 


But Cal said nothing at all. Next morning he picked up 
the paper and happened on Miss Miller’s write-up— The 
star’s husband inherited twenty-five thousand acres from his 
father. 

“My gosh,” said Cal. “Read this. Where do you sup¬ 
pose she got that rot?” 

“I gave it to her,’’.said Diane, “and she exaggerated 
it.” 

Cal only laughed. “You forgot to tell her that I am an 
authority on the private life of cows.” 

He stayed three days. On the fourth she found his 
note on her dressing-table: “The air is too rarefied. I'm 
going back to my books and my dogs. Cal.” 

She knew then she hadn’t pulled the wool over his eyes. 
He had gone because he knew he was in the way, because 
she wanted him to go. 

“I’ve just outgrown him,” she said. “Poor Cal.” 

Underneath, she was so relieved that she almost cried. 

C.AL didn’t come again that winter. He wrote often 
and wired on holidays. His letters were brief and 
kindly. He never asked questions or exhibited any great 
interest in what Diane called her “career.” 

Sometimes Diane wrote him. She penned small notes 
on her own paper with its large gilded monogram, using 
the same jagged handwriting that you could see in almost 
any window of the best Hollywood shops on large photo¬ 
graphs of herself. 

At Christmas Cal sent a box of tiny yellow violets 
packed in moss. But there were always so many flowers, 
from Paul Nevin and others, that she 
scarcely noticed them. 

She moved gracefully back and forth 
from one type to another, according to her 
roles. Stelling despised wigs, so she dyed 
her hair, then bleached it, then dyed it 

When she was a brunette, she wore white 
fur coats and tiny, white hats, and very 
much scarlet lipstick. When she was a 
blonde, she dyed her eyelashes and eye¬ 
brows black and wore black fur coats, tiny 
black hats, and the inevitable white 
gardenias. When you saw her, you didn’t 
say, “What a beautiful woman!” You said, 
“Oh, look, there’s a movie star!” because 
everything she wore was designed to be 
stared upon. 

She progressed. She progressed from the 
lavender brougham with the baby-blue 
trim to an equally huge Rolls-Royce, very 
black and very conservative. When she 
attended a premiere—she always made it 
plain she would much rather be home in 
bed, since all the stars said that—Patrick 
would race that Rolls-Royce up to the marquee, coming 
to a quick stop, and out would step Diane in her ermines, 
a picture of frozen sweetness. 

When Stelling sent some of his stars to the opening of 
a new garage, he did not include Diane. She had pro¬ 
gressed beyond that. When Stelling sent a different star 
each night to ride down the street with Santa Claus for 
the benefit of the merchants’ association, he did not send 
l.er. She had progressed beyond that, (Turn to page 41) 


It was Cal—looking big and 
comfortable. "Hello," he said, 
"I figured you might need me" 


18 







19 3 2 


DELINEATOR 



A LITTLE CAP FOR ANGEL 


JuANITA sang as she swept the dirt floor. She had 
sixteen years and she had a lover. She had' almost 
nothing else. Her clothing was ragged, her food was 
black coffee and frijoles, her bed was a pallet which she 
shared with the other Pinon children and her home was a 
hut in the “little parish of the beggars.” But Juanita 
didn’t care, she had great happiness. It flushed her 
brown cheeks, lighted her black eyes and sent forth a song 
from her prodigal lips. Pedro ioved her and soon she 
would have everything. 

Juan, Salvador, Trinidad—they had all tried to kiss 
her but she had fought them with fierce little nails. She 
had long before decided that no man would ever love her. 
It was Paz,' her mother, who had fostered the resolve. 


There were seven little PinOns, all of them ragged and 
hungry. At one time there had been a father—Juanita 
could recall him vaguely. He had laughed noisily in the 
nights, waking her and making her hide under the covers 
in fear. He had slept through the days, while Juanita 
. lugged the heavy baby about. Then one day he had dis¬ 
appeared. 

Her mother had wept bitterly at first, but life went on 
about the same in the little hut. There were days when 
they had enough to eat and days when they were hungry; 
there was only one difference, there were no more babies. 
Juanita had commented upon this to Paz and her 
mother had explained it with a heavy sigh: 

“That is what happened when you have married, men 


by ANNA BRAND 

How well the author knows 
these simple Mexicans about 
whom she writes so movingly 



What law could this 
baby have broken? He 
was but two weeks old 


beat you much, kiss you a little and you have babies— 
Ay Dios! how they do come! I know only one woman 
who has escaped it—old Sarita, who talks to herself. Do 
not marry, Juanita, if you do not want it.” 

Firmly Juanita resolved she would never marry. It 
was far better that she become like old Sarita. But that 
was before Pedro had kissed her and she had found great 
happiness. He had not seized her with rough hands and 
bold lips; he had taken her with soft possession and eyes 
that pleaded. And it was marriage that Juanita shunned 
with superstitious fear, not Pedro. 

When Pedro had first talked of marriage she had 
thrust him away in agitation. They would be very poor, 
there would be many babies and some day he might leave 
her—that was marriage, Paz had told her so. And she 
had eyes that she could see for herself the sorrows of the 
women who had married. Why couldn’t they be simply 
happy? 

Pedro shook his head, he was wiser than Juanita. It 
was the poverty that made the sorrows. Food enough . 
for one person was hunger for tw'o and starvation for 
four. He would earn a lot of money, then they could be 
married and Juanita would see that with luxury it would 
be different. She listened, unconvinced. 

“How can you get so much money?” she questioned. 

“I will get the night job,” he said in a whisper. 

She stared at him with wide, frightened eyes. There 
were a few men in the little parish who had the night job 


Illustrated by MARGARET harper 

—strange work which must be accomplished at those 
times when the moon did not shine on the Rio Grande 
and burlap sacks with gurgling contents could be carried 
across the river with less danger of interruption. Always 
these men were watched by the parish in expectant awe. 
Sometimes they appeared on the street, bandaged and 
with haggard faces. And again, in the dead of night, it 
would be a wild-eyed woman who would run for Padre 
Dominguez. 

In the end, Juanita and Pedro compromised. For a 
few weeks only, Pedro would work at the night job, 
taking extra precautions for his safety. He would wear 
his scapulars, his relic of Saint Anthony, and Juanita 
would pray for his deliverance. If by that time they 
could accumulate enough wealth to allay her fears they 
would be married, but for the present they -would con¬ 
tinue to be simply happy. 

Each night Juanita slipped from the little hut, and 
went down to the river where she waited for an hour in 
the black shadows of the trees. She could not see Pedro, 
she could only hear the faint clank of the sacks as he 
lowered them to the ground and the whispers of the men 
who received them. When it was all done and she could 
breathe' again, Pedro found her, and together they 
counted the money. Madre de Dios! but there was much 
of it! A hundred dollars -was the sum they had decided 
upon and Pedro was right, it would not take them long 
to achieve it. {Turn to page 46) 


19 















DELINEATOR 


OCTOBER 


WHATEVER LOVE 

by R< 


IS 

BERT W. CHAMBERS 



"Darling," said Connie, "this will hurt. But Clyde said something awful about 


The dazzling new novel of a girl who 


scoffed at love, or whatever it is, until 


she herself fell in love profoundly and 


irrevocably. By an author who has 


written such famous romances as "The 


Restless Sex" and "The Common Law" 


A RUNAWAY HORSE left her alone in the desert 
—Lady Grey-Spinner who had always had her 
own way. She was rich and young and viva¬ 
ciously beautiful. As Ursula Wvchwood she 
had married Lord Grey-Spinner impetuously— 
and a moment later, regretted it. So she waved him good¬ 
bye on the City Hall steps, and departed luxuriously for 
Nevada—still her own master, still untamed . . . 

But now, a mere speck in all this immensity, suddenly 
she sensed that life can mean loneliness and defeat. 
When John Vyning, in a rattletrap car, happened to find 
her, her gaiety, the instant charm he held for her did not 
completely bring again her old assurance. 

Who was this quiet John Vyning who so strangely 
stirred a heartless youngster? There was a mystery 
about him, though his place in the scheme of things was 
simple to explain: wounded in the war; now in Nevada 
partly for his health, partly to develop a gorgeous play¬ 
ground for the rich—Steamboat Springs—in which he was 
endeavoring to interest a group of wealthy friends, 
backers of a national combine known as Casino Corpo¬ 
rations. 

Ursula instantly adored him. She lured him to tea 
with her, coaxed him to take her out to dinner. Her 
guttersnipe chatter bored him. She sensed his indiffer¬ 
ence. ‘‘Shall I plav countess?” she asked. “Yes,” he 
told her—and to his surprise he found himself really in¬ 
terested in the quiet, intelligent young woman who was 
suddenly his companion. Here the story continues: 

No WORD in regard to Steamboat Springs came to 
John Vyning from Ranald Allaire, who was dabbling with 
the idea of backing this expensive venture. A letter from 
Vyning’s young brother in New York, Vincent Vyning, 
bearing an air mail stamp, spoke vaguely of glorious 
schemes and of millions. His callow cynicisms, enthusi¬ 
asms, and general incoherence left John Vyning a prey to 
increasing uneasiness. 

Eastern newspapers, by air mail, reported the arrival in 
New York of his whole group of possible backers—Judge 


Fidelius Richburn, Major General Cadwallader Goats- 
ford, and Mr. and Mrs. Ranald Allaire; noted their ap¬ 
pearance at the opera; described Nonnie Allaire’s gown 
and jewels. The Allaires occupied the box of Paul von 
Scarf, the new dictator of the Metropolitan; and, to that 
box, during the colorful evening, came every man of 
social distinction present. 

And Nonnie Allaire was all things to all men. She held 
her narrow, Grecian head high as though already the 
supreme social diadem rested lightly upon that golden 
hair. 

Anyway, those were the fulsome words of his young 
brother, Vincent, concerning a reigning social goddess. 
The letter ran on: 

Grey-Spinner was there, sprawling in the Goatsford box, 
monocled, bored, supercilious. He’s a terrible Englishman, 
and everybody squirms at his tactless British manners. But 
I’ll say he’s a right ’un to have with Casino Corporations, 
whatever he may t hink of us and of our United States. 

By the way, I hear that Grev-Spinner’s Ex—or, rather, 
his Ex-to-be—is out there in your fair city; and Ranald says 
you know her. Is she really sucha such? 

I never met Ursula Wychwood, but I know a lot of people 
who have met her. When she left school and ambled home, 
she sure gave New York the works! Did you know that 
Nonnie and Ranald threw her first party for her? 

Some party! And no booze! And every deb and ten-cent 
sheik plastered before one! What a chukker that schoolgirl 
pulled! And now she’s put old Spinny on the spot! Look 
out she doesn’t take you for a ride! 

The gay, youthful irreverence of these fraternal letters 
gave John Vyning, in his exile, his only comfort. And 
he was very careful about what he wrote to Vincent in 
reply, lest any hint of elder brother domination tamper 
with the frank confidence of their relations. 

One November day, as he passed through the hotel 
lobby to mail a letter, he heard a sudden stirring and 
general exclamation: “Hello, Jim! Hey, thar, old timer! 
How’re they rolling, Jim?”—and similar familiarities 
emitted spontaneously by mining men, sheep-men, cattle¬ 
men, drummers, hotel employees, and desert-rats alike. 


The ovation was for Jim Dashwood, local magnate, 
courted financially and politically throughout the state. 

Mr. Dashwood" acknowledged the usual acclamations 
with a nod; and, leaning over the cigar counter, applied a 
long, pallid cheroot to a burning alcohol jet. 

To everybody in the Far West, high or humble, Mr. 
Dashwood was “Jim.” He never shook hands with any¬ 
body. Maybe because he wore two guns. But he never 
ignored anybody, either. 

Men came to confer with him—sometimes several at a 
time. When he was through with them they knew it im¬ 
mediately and went away. Some whispered in his small, 
fat close-set ears; some showed him thumbed documents 
and dirty, tattered plans; some merely stopped to spit 
sociably with him or pay other friendly tributes to liberty, 
equality, and fraternity. 

Light grayish eyes in a square, shaven face which desert 
winds had weathered a brick red; a stocky figure; stubby 
fingers; this was Jim Dashwood. And a knife-edge 
mouth, always shut. 


HAPPENING to look up from a penciled map of some 
copper claims which a desert-rat had offered him, he saw 
John Vyning buying air mail stamps. 

“Hello, Jack,” he said in his pleasant voice, handing 
back the dirty scrap of paper to the rat, who understood 
and shuffled away. 

“Hello, Jim,” replied Vyning, paying for the stamps 
and sticking one on a letter to Vincent. 

“How’re they coming?” inquired Dashwood, removing 
his smoldering cheroot from his expressionless lips. 
“Fixed it up with Horrie Faul about Steamboat?” 

Vyning mailed his letter, turned and walked slowly 
back toward the cigar counter. 

“No,” said he, “I haven’t fixed it up; and you know it. 

“Ain’t interested?” 

“It’s a big undertaking.” 

“Ain’t you out for big things?” 

“Everybody is.” 

“Well?” insisted Dashwood. 


20 


19 3 2 


DELINEATOR 



John Vyning." Ursula's face went white. "It's a lie," she whispered, "whatever he said" 


Illustration by SCHABELITZ 


“I’ve had nothing from my people,” said Vyning. 

“They were here last week, I hear,” remarked Dash- 
wood. 

“Some of them were.” 

“Yeah, the big shots. In Richburn’s private car. 
Did you pull it on ’em?” 

Vyning nodded. 

“Yeah,” said Dashwood, “I heard so. Couldn’t stick 
’em up.” 

\ yning shrugged. “Horace Faul’s options expire 
next month, I understand.” 

“That’s right.” 

“I don’t believe I could swing anything in a month’s 
time,” said Vyning. 

Dashwood replaced his cheroot and smoked in silence. 

“I suppose,” continued Vyning, “somebody will re¬ 
vive that steam-heating scheme from the natural steam 
there, unless I take over the place.” 

“Yeah.” 

After another interval of smoking silence: “Jim,” 
said Vyning, “how much do you figure it would take to 
build and operate such a unit of Casino Corporations as I 
once outlined to you for Steamboat Springs?” 

“About fifteen million . . . What’s your figure?” 

“About that . . . And it’s a head-or-tail, guess-which- 
card proposition.” 

“Everything is,” remarked Dashwood. “That’s why 
I made gambling a profession in this age of amateur 
suckers. Nick or be nicked!” 

Vyning smiled. Dashwood’s string of gambling re¬ 
sorts, alone, gave him a huge income. 

“Well, we’ll see,” murmured Vyning; “I may get a 
break some day.” 

“Anything I can do?” asked Dashwood pleasantly. 

“That’s kind. But there isn’t anything-” 

“Want me to renew the Faul options?” 

“I wouldn’t ask that!” 

“You didn’t. It’s up to you.” 

“But if nothing should come of it, and if the steam 
heating outfit-” 

“To hell with them. Go on and take your time.” 


Vyning went out into the street, smiling; boarded his 
dusty car; ran down to the fur warehouse near the rail¬ 
road tracks, to talk to a government hunter about some 
coyote pelts for a robe which Vincent wanted. Then, 
with his twenty-gauge gun, and a box of lunch on the 
seat behind him, he steered away along a fine concrete 
road. 

The road runs around the widely spread and billowy 
skirts of Mount Rose where she sits lofty and lovely in her 
cap and kirtle of dazzling snow. 

Beyond the suburbs the perfect road stretched away 
between deeply ditched fields, a fenced farm or two, 
hidden in cottonwoods, miles of sage-brush, and here and 
there a reedy swamp. 

Toward these latter evil-looking bogs he peered in¬ 
tently, hoping to discover jack-snipe. For he meant to 
shoot a few on his return that way. 

About a m’le this side of Steamboat Springs a car be¬ 
hind warned him melodiously, and whizzed by. 

But before it had sped a hundred yards he saw the 
chauffeur’s arm flung out in signal; saw the car stop, wait¬ 
ing, and a white-gloved hand waving from a window. 

His rickety flivver drew up beside the limousine and 
halted; and he exchanged amiable greetings with Lady 
Grey-Spinner. 

“Where are you going?” she inquired naively. 

“Only as far as Steamboat. And you?” 

“Oh, I’m just driving. I’m sunk!” 

“Sunk?” he repeated. 

“Scuttled! Emmie Whelan arrived for the cure the 
other day. She threw a party last night. She would!” 

“You look as fresh as—— 

“Oh, yeah? Well, I feel like one of those Chinese duck 
eggs . . . What are you doing with that gun; chasing the 
poor Paiutes again. More maidens, Mr. Vyning?” 

They laughed. 

“Shall I send you a few little snipe to roast on toast?” 
he asked. 

She leaned wanly on the sill of the open window and 


surveyed him, his battered car, his gun, the packages of 
shells and of lunch. 

“Take me shooting with you?” she suggested. 

He said: “I can’t imagine you leaving that luxurious 
car to go snipe-shooting in a bog with me.” 

“Yours is a poor imagination, John Vyning. But I’ll 
fix it . . .” She spoke through the speaking tube to her 
chauffeur. The next instant the other man left the box 
and Lady Grey-Spinner sprang out and laid her gloved 
hand on the door of the rusty Ford. 

She had pulled it open before anybody could do it for 
her, and was already cuddled beside Vyning, and hauling 
the Navaho blanket up around her, talking all the time. 

“You haven’t a date, have you!” she inquired, inter¬ 
rupting her chatter. “I don’t want to cut in on some 
pretty Paiute girl!” 

Her own car already was speeding away to find a 
turning. He accepted the situation. 

“There are some toast and bacon sandwiches,” he 
said, “and two cold bananas.” 

“Wonderful,” she cooed with that heavenly, childlike 
smile he remembered. 


It WAS not very far to Steamboat. And there they got 
out, accepted tw r o glasses and pepper and salt shakers 
from the old man in the bath shacks; and started for the 
spring. 

Chicken-soup Spring boiled up steaming within a foot 
or two of the rapid trout brook. Out of this grassy 
tureen Vyning dipped two glasses of boiling water, and 
salted and peppered them; and they sat down on the 
warm green grass to sip what tasted exactly like delicious 
chicken bouillon. 

“Think,” said Vyning, “what an item could be saved 
in the overhead of any inn built here.” 

“So this is your El Dorado, is it?” 

He nodded. “But I’m ahead of my time, Lady Grey- 
Spinner. Somebody, of course, will do it some day. Not I.” 

“Why not?” 

“Old Man Misery stalks the world. {Turn to page 76) 

21 






DELINEATOR 


OCTOBER 


NOW is the TIME for all GOOD WOMEN 


THE 

REPUBLICANS 


by MAXINE 
DAVIS 


T HE electorate, like a mother with a sick child, does 
not want to call in a new doctor unless she is sure the 
family physician is incapable of handling the case. 
No new specialist, be he ever so superior, has the 
knowledge of the case and the sympathy of the old 
family friend. 

The women of the American electorate are facing just 
such a decision. Their baby, the nation, is ill. They will 
go to the polls next month either to retain the Republican 
practitioner, or to call in new treatment from Dr. 
Democratic Party. 

The condition is critical. They must not be influenced 
by the facile cries of, “It can’t be worse and it might be 
better . . . Let’s change”—or with the cliches of the 
“Don’t change horses” variety. Instead they had best 
review -the capabilities of the present physician and 
weigh them well against those of a new one. They must 
know, first of all, what is in the Republican medicine 
case. What pills will the Grand Old Party administrate 
as a cure-all? Ah, there they are—conservatism and 
paternalism, all tightly corked up in Mr. Herbert Hoover. 

The reason for the conservatism pill is that people in 
a depression do not want to experiment unless they are 
completely down and out. They have, to deter them, the 
expensive fiascos of such European experiments as the 
communistic Socialism of Austria, with its intensive 
efforts for humanity but not one thought for budgets; the 
early and disastrous mistakes of the Social Democratic 
Government in Germany; the bugaboo of Russia. They are 
influenced by the swing to conservatism in England, and 
the tenacious French hold on the old ways. 

How often do we hear that this crisis is a crisis of 
confidence? When men and women are afraid, they cling 
to their familiar remedies: in this case their gold standards, 
their established formulas of domestic and foreign pro¬ 
cedure. As long as the child lives, though its tempera¬ 
ture may soar, the mother wants neither a major opera¬ 
tion nor a new doctor until she is convinced that without 
a chance or a change her-babe cannot survive the crisis. 

When all is said and done, the President is the only 
man from whom any remedial measures have originated. 
In the panics of other years men, such as old J. P. Morgan 
in 1907, rose to meet the emergency with constructive 
ideas. Thus far Herbert Hoover is the one man within 
or without the Federal Government who has offered and 
effected genuinely practical legislation. 

These measures are symptomatic of Hoover’s paternal¬ 
ism. The bankers’ credit pool, followed by the Recon¬ 
struction Finance Corporation and the Glass-Steagall bill; 
the Farm Loan Act, passed before the depression became 
acute; and the increase in railroad rates to raise money 
for the railroad pool to aid weak roads, engineered 
through the Interstate Commerce Commission; a program 
of reduction in the cost of government, as well as co¬ 
operation with Congress in effecting further economies; 



“Let's have two intelligent women 
write about the political parties," 
we decided. "Without buncombe, 
without high phrases. Too often 
politics are befogged by promises" 


Herbert Hoover, and Curtis, offer our country conservatism and paternalism 


and the moratorium on intergovernmental debts. These 
are the outstanding results of the President’s efforts. 
They are not negligible. Re-election would be ratification 
by the people. 

Mr. Hoover came into office a staunch individualist. 
In four years he has seen the breakdown of his economic 
philosophy by which men and corporations control them¬ 
selves. It failed to survive the hard times. He realizes the 
resultant problems are nationwide and not held within 
the boundaries of the individual states. Consequently Mr. 
Hoover apparently now believes that when a man in 
Lincoln, Nebraska, is dependent for his job upon a cor¬ 
poration in New York, the solution lies in the hands of the 
Federal Government. 

When the public too realizes this situation, you often 
hear knots of befuddled citizens agreeing that “What we 
need is a dictator.” 


ACTUALLY, we elected a dictator in Mr. Hoover. He 
was Caesar during his previous careers: while amassing 
a fortune in business; during the Belgian relief work; as 
Food Administrator in wartime; as organizer and director 
of the American Relief Association; and as Secretary of 
Commerce. He pushed a button, issued an order, and his 
will was done. 

Why did this man change—as change he has—in the 
White House? Why did his cornerstone qualities, the 
ability to diagnose a situation, make a decision and then 
stand by it, disappear in the harrowing hours during the 
past four years? 

The reason is obvious. Herbert Hoover has always 
ridden the fast horse, which responded to him alone. 
When he entered the Executive Mansion he was halted 


with the double check of Congress and the Supreme Court. 
Politicians got in his way. He did not know how to get 
around them. In his dodging he signed the Hawley- 
Smoot tariff—a bill contrary to his campaign pledges 
against a general increase in schedules—and was jockeyed 
into a one-year moratorium when he originally demanded 
a two-year extension. 

Part of the public was disappointed but not desper¬ 
ate. It took confidence from Sir Arthur Salter’s “It is the 
second effort, after the first has brought disappointment, 
that tests the quality of a man . . .” 

Hoover is convinced of that wisdom too. He believes 
that with no need to placate the politicians for another 
four years in office, he can think for and appeal to the 
people. 

The President has failed to gain public sympathy in the 
worst years since the Civil War. Perhaps because he 
completely lacks the Bamum instinct. Coolidge had it. 
with his dramatized taciturnity. Even the remote Mellon 
was the Magnificent Esthete. We do not see Hoover as 
the engineer in overalls, toiling with the national ma¬ 
chinery, simply because this is not his picture of himself. 

He seems to lack the human touch and his efforts to 
achieve it have not been altogether successful. Many 
sensed a mechanical gesture when the boy hero of a 
Western blizzard was invited to the White House. Hence 
his first-aid methods, aimed as they are to help banks and 
industry, are translated as care for the corporate, not the 
human interests. It is easy to admire a President trying 
to find bread for the starving; it requires keen interpre¬ 
tation to explain that Hoover has directed his energy to 
finding the starving a way to earn (Turn to page SI) 






"Love interest": Hurley —and his beautiful wife 


"Dignity": Mrs. Hoover 


"Loyalty": Dolly Gann "Tact": Everett Sanders 


22 


19 3 2 


DELINEATOR 


to COME to the AID of THEIR 


PARTY 


★ 

by 


Hence, the two articles! For years 
Maxine Davis conducted her own 
newspaper service in Washington. 
Grace Hegger Lewis is known to 
all as the author of "Half a Loaf' 


intended that it should be candid and clear and not 
clouded by long-winded ambiguities to, catch votes. 

There is not space in this article to print the complete 
platform, short as it is, but I pray the woman voter who 
has not already clipped it out of her newspaper when it 
appeared, way back last June, to go to her local Demo¬ 
cratic Club and ask for a copy and if she is in doubt of 
certain clauses to have them explained to her—and not 
necessarily by her husband! 


Franklin D. Roosevelt's political star, and Garner's, is Progressive Democracy 


INE HUNDRED AND FORTY-FIVE votes 
for Roosevelt!" 

“For who?’’ asked the middle-aged woman 
who for some time had been leaning on the out¬ 
side of the rail which enclosed the press gallery. She was 
apparently taking the deepest interest in the final ballot¬ 
ing to nominate a Democratic President. 

Was it possible to be so dumb? Yes, it was. I didn’t 
feel much brighter myself after a week on the other side 
of the rail, where I had been wearing—-waking and almost 
sleeping—-a badge for the first time in my life. This badge 
was inscribed “Active Press,’’ and I was attending my 
first Convention. Although I did know that Franklin 
Delano Roosevelt had been nominated by a large ma¬ 
jority, I still could not see why it was necessary to pull off 
a Mardi Gras to do it. The newspaper men and women 
amongst whom I sat told me not to take the absurdities 
too much to heart, it was part of the game—the “milling 
about” of the delegates and alternates who were con¬ 
stantly being sent back to their chairs like naughty school 
children, by the pounding of a gavel; the delays in de¬ 
cisions caused by flatting brass bands and movie organ 
sonorities playing the theme songs of the candidates; 
the boos and “ride-em cowboy” yells of the gallery; the 
applause which followed each meaningless patriotic 
cliche; the parades of the states in paper hats and noise- 
machines and carrying brooms and sunflowers and even 
slim young ladies on their shoulders; the summer light¬ 
ning of the photo flash bulbs which respected no one, not 
even sleeping dignitaries during the third-degree of an 
all-night session. Also the vaudeville show of Will Rogers 
and Amos ’n’ Andy on the platform where later a Presi¬ 
dent of the United States was solemnly to be nominated. 

The press told me that the real work was done by 


trained politicians outside the Convention hall. Then 
why not a dignified debate by these trained politicians, 
by statesmen who knew the science and history of 
economics, instead of turning the Convention into a gi¬ 
gantic and appallingly expensive picnic? Why all this 
waste of time and money when at the very doors of the 
Chicago stadium the picnickers had daily to pass hun¬ 
dreds of jobless men who hung about, idly staring, be¬ 
cause they had nothing better to do? Surely now, if ever, 
was the time for America to cease being a juvenile nation, 
to grow up and take her place among other nations quite 
as muddled and distressed as we and without our re¬ 
sources and great vitality! 

My APOLOGY for the foregoing explosive intrusion 
of my personal reaction to my first Convention is that I 
fancy it was the same as would be that of the average 
woman voter who wants to use her vote wisely this No¬ 
vember. 

We all know President Hoover’s bright red prosperity 
balloon lies on the earth; a pricked and wrinkled bit of 
rubber. We all know that we don’t want more balloons, 
even though they are of a different color. The woman at 
home who did not come to the Convention, as well as the 
one who did, wants something solid to stand on, and what 
is better for standing on than a good platform? That the 
Democratic party has to offer her. Democrats, non¬ 
partisans, and a large number of disillusioned Republi¬ 
cans all admit that it is the best platform written in 
twenty years. Some say it is so good that it would carry 
any ticket, regardless of the men chosen. It is brief— 
fourteen hundred words as compared with the nine 
thousand of the Republican platform. And it is honestly 


She will know from everlasting hearsay that the main 
issue in this campaign, regardless of increasing unem¬ 
ployment and the still existing governmental stupidities 
started after the World War, is prohibition repeal, and how 
wet that repeal is going to be. She will know that the Re¬ 
publicans have straddled the issue and that the Demo¬ 
crats have come straight out with, “We favor the repeal 
of the Eighteenth Amendment.” In the final clause of the 
Democratic repeal plank she can read: “Pending the 
repeal, we favor immediate modification of the Volstead 
act to legalize the manufacture and sale of beer and other 
beverages of such alcoholic content as is permissible 
under the Constitution and to provide therefrom a proper 
and needed revenue.” And she must realize that there lies 
one swift and popular means of balancing our national 
budget. 

That women, rich and poor, under the guidance of Mrs. 
Charles Sabin and the Women’s Organization for Na¬ 
tional Prohibition Reform, have had a tremendous in¬ 
fluence in forcing both parties to recognize the evils of 
prohibition, should be a deciding factor in the woman’s 
vote this year. Women won prohibition and now women 
—at least one million signed members of this organi¬ 
zation—see it as a hideous victory. Things can’t be worse; 
repeal may make things better. No one knows. There 
isn’t a single prophet alive today. 

Other welcome details in the platform are a drastic 
economy in government administration, with such 
definite wording as “A saving of not less than a twenty- 
five per cent cut in expenditures”; sound currency to be 
preserved at all hazards; a better protection of labor and 
the small producer and distributor; a simplification of 
legal procedure and reorganization of the judicial system 
to make the attainment of justice speedy, certain, and at 
less cost; unemployment and old age insurance under 
state laws . . . 

One of the dramatic incidences of the Convention was 
the passage from the floor of the resolution of Mrs. Caro¬ 
line O’Day, committeewoman from New York. It read: 
“We advocate continuous responsibility of government 
for human welfare, especially for the protection of chil¬ 
dren.” All such references as the above had been left 
out of the platform, and women delegates from many 
states rushed to the headquarters of (Turn to page 71) 



THE 

DEMOCRATS 


GRACE 

HEGGER LEWIS 



DELINEATOR 


OCTOBER 



West wall: balanced group of bookcase, side chairs 


Detail of wallpaper The soft-toned rug provides a good background for the decoration of this room 



Of fine traditional flavor is the design of this mantel 


THIS LOVELY ROOM IS 
A HOUSE IN ITSELF! 


Delineator is proud to present this one- 
room apartment: living room, dining 
room, bedroom, all at moderate cost 


W E USED to think of a one-room apartment as 
a rather bizarre affair ... a mongrel room . . . 
informal to the point of being “arty” . . . full, 
too full, of nondescript furnishings ... a room 
of little real beauty and less comfort... a room neither 
fish nor fowl nor good red herring. 

But other days have brought other ways, and now, 
when our problem is to mold one room to our heart’s 
desire, we are realizing more and more that it is wise to 
create a room which will be not only beautiful but which 
will have a certain dignity, an easy grace and poise, an 
inclination toward formality, albeit always a friendly 
formality. The room that is to be a twenty-four-hours- 
a-day room must be an unfailingly pleasant and happy 
companion to our daily needs. 

This room that we have built this month is such a 
room. It is a symphony with three predominating 
chords: the living room unit; the bedroom unit; the din¬ 
ing room unit. And our ideal has been to combine these 
chords so perfectly, so exquisitely, that there will be no 
jarring note. (You will see photographs of the bedroom 
and dining room aspects of this apartment on page 26.) 

Where so much living is to be lived, there must be 
harmony. The room must be “at rest.” And harmony, 
restfulness, good taste, beauty, can be captured only if 
we first have in our minds a definite plan, and only if we 
most thoroughly and carefully scrutinize every detail 
that we plan to put into the room so that we are abso¬ 
lutely certain that it is just right. There must be no hit- 
or-miss quality about such a room. The smaller the 
space we work with, the more personal and particular 
must be our study and care and ingenuity. 

Naturally the background quality of such a room—the 
wall treatment and the floor treatment—is of supreme 
importance. Ideally, this quality, in a room of this kind, 
should be subdued, "but not subdued to the point where it 
lacks interest, becomes characterless, dull, monotonous. 

On one side of the room, the south wall, we sought to 
achieve a perfect combination of beauty, gracious use¬ 
fulness, and effective compactness. In the center we 
built a generous-sized window group. The space below 
this we used for the radiators, concealed by simple, in¬ 
conspicuous grilles. On both sides of the windows we 
built bookcases, and under both we provided deep, 
spacious cupboards to store the accessories for the bed 


and dining table. The lower part of the bookcase on the 
right is transformed into an excellent desk. The sturdy 
drop-shelf, which forms the desk-leaf, is most firmly sup¬ 
ported by extra strong stay joints. 

To carry out a similar architectural interest on the 
other three walls, we built a dado with a chair rail. As 
a balance to the window-group on the south wall, we built 
the fireplace on the north wall, with a mantel of fine 
traditional flavor. 

Next came the choosing of the kind of paint that we 
were to use. In the building of our rooms at Delineator 
we have, naturally, done a great deal of research with 
paints of different kinds. The paint we used here is 
“Wallhide,” the paint about which we have told you 
before—for we are vastly enthusiastic about the way it 
“goes on,” about the quality it has that prevents it from 
cracking, about the fact that it is most economical to use. 

Dawn-gray was the soft, liveable-with shade of paint 
that we chose for the general color of the room, for the 
walls, doors, mantel, and trim. In harmony with this we 
ainted the book-shelves, inside and trim, a pleasant 
orizon-blue. 

But we didn’t want the walls of this room to have 
the usual treatment of painted walls. So, for the walls 
above the dado on the sides of the fireplace (the wall 
space which we realized would most frequently be the 
center of interest) we chose a scenic wallpaper, “La 
Cdte de Villefranche.” This wallpaper is a reproduc¬ 
tion of a lovely old wallpaper depicting a peaceful 
medieval scene on a happy shore, with the restful quality 
of water and picturesque islands in the background. We 
treated this scenic wallpaper as it should be treated— 
as though it were a painting. And we felt that we could 
indulge in its beauty since the important decorative 
treatment of this wall meant that we need do no budget¬ 
ing for pictures for this wall and little for the other walls. 

For the room that is to see so much living, and in all 
seasons, linoleum is a perfect floor-covering. Linoleum 
of such an inconspicuous patterning that there is no prob¬ 
lem about combining with it any other patterns that 
may be used in the room. We chose a straight-line, in¬ 
laid linoleum in softly blending tones of maroon, tan, 
and dark grays. 

The Wilton rug we used is a marvel in its adaptation 
for this kind of room as well as for {Turn to page 43) 


24 

















19 3 2 


DELINEATOR 





The combination couch-bed, slip-covered in the same chintz used for draperies 


Another view, without rug, showing the linoleum of good background pattern 


Most companionable is 
this radio grouping. 
Below: lounge chairs 
and occasional chair 


Between meals the friendly dining room group assumes its living room personality 


These lounge chairs—simple, dignified, comfortable—create a friendly grouping 


DELINE AT OR INSTITUTE 
OF INTERIOR DECORATION 

JOSEPH B. PLATT, Director 


25 
















DELINEATOR 


AMERICA'S SMARTEST WOMAN'S MAGAZINE 


OCTOBER 


The one-room apartment (on pages 
24 and 25 ) photographed in action, as 
living room, dining room, and bedroom 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT is gratefully made to 

the following firms for their courtesy and cooperation: 

The Background: Construction units used in this month’s room are 
Silentite Pre-Fit windows, doors, mantel, and trim, Curtis Companies, Inc., 
Manufacturers of Curtis Woodwork, Clinton, Iowa. • The wall paint used is 
Wallhide, the “Vitolized Oil” Wall Paint; Horizon Blue for book-shelves and 
Dawn Gray for doors, mantel, and trim, Pittsburgh Plate Glass Company, 
Milwaukee, Wisconsin and Newark, New Jersey. • French scenic wallpaper 
(La dote de Villefranche), Richard E. Thibaut, Inc., New York. • Straight- 
Line Inlaid Linoleum, Armstrong Cork Company, Lancaster, Pennsylvania. 

• Whittall Palmer Wilton Rug, M. J. Whittall Associates Ltd., Worcester, 
Massachusetts. • Ozite Rug Cushion, Clinton Carpet Company, Chicago. 
The Draperies: Drapery hardware, Kirsch Company, Sturgis, Michigan. 

• Bontex window shades, Columbus Coated Fabrics Corporation, Columbus, 
Ohio. • Material for glass curtains of “Virginia Gauze”; overdraperies and 
slip cover for lounge of “English Chintz,” Waverly Fabrics, a Schumacher 
Unit, New York. The Mechanical Equipment: Arco radiators and 
Arco radiator enclosures, American Radiator Company, New York. • Con¬ 
sole radio ( Convention Model), General Electric Company, Bridgeport, Con¬ 
necticut. • Electric Strike Clock {Middleton Model), Seth Thomas Clock 

phone & Telegraph Company and Associated Companies in the Bell System. 

• Curtis LightStrip, Curtis Lighting, Inc., Chicago and New York. • 
Magiclog Electric Fire, andirons, fire tools, and screen, H. A. Bame, New 
York. The Furniture: Dresser base, side chairs, coffee table, end tables, 
and dumb waiter, Baker Furniture Factories, Allegan, Michigan. • Book¬ 
case from “Milling Road Shop” by Baker Furniture Factories, Allegan, 
Michigan. • The four qomfortable lounge chairs and occasional chair, 
Kroehler Manufacturing Company, Chicago. • Living room table, pie crust 
table, and occasional table, The Mersman Brothers Corporation, Celina, 
Ohio. • Rome “Chesterfield” (living room lounge and double bed combined). 
The Rome Company, Inc., Chicago and New York. The Equipment for 
Bed: Queen Louise White Goose Feather Pillows, The P. R. Mitchell 
Company, New York. • Cannon sheets and pillow-cases {Cavalier), Cannon 
Mills, Inc., New York. • Chatham blanket (Norfolk), Chatham Manufac¬ 
turing Company, Winston-Salem, North Carolina. • Comfortable (Rotneo 
Pattern), The Palmer Brothers Company, New London, Connecticut. • 
Blanket cover, Maison de Linge, New York. The Table Equipment: 
Table cloth and napkins (Rustic Weave), Linens, Limited, New York. • 
Silverplated flatware and hollowware ( Guild Pattern), Wm. Rogers and Son, 
International Silver Company, Meriden, Connecticut. • Glass, A. H. 
Heisey and Company, Newark, Ohio. • Italian Pottery plates, and china 
after-dinner coffee cups (Cortona), Black Knight, New York. • Candles, 
Waxels; Will and Baumer Candle Company, Inc., Syracuse, New York. • 
Roylace paper doilies, The Royal Lace Paper Works, Inc., Brooklyn, New 
York. The Accessories: Black and white engraving, Arthur Ackermann 

table lamps and shades, figurines, Dresden vases, china cigaret boxes and ash 
trays, Pitt Petri, Importer, Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, New York. • Bridge 
lamp and shade. The Miller Company, Meriden, Connecticut. • Wall 
brackets, Collins and Wagner Manufacturing Company, New York. • 
Crystal candelabra and Waterford cut vases, glass cigaret boxes and ash 
trays, F. Pavel and Company, New York. • Plaster wall brackets, R. H. 
Macy, New York. • Desk pen set and Quink, The Parker Pen Company, 
Janesville, Wisconsin. • Letter-paper holder. The Star Case Company, New 
York. • Letter-paper, Eaton Paper Company, Pittsfield, Massachusetts. 



The dining room unit, set with a hospitable welcome to guests. At left of table, a convenient dumb waiter 



In happy mood is this harmony of pat- After-dinner coffee is leisurely served 

terns in linen, pottery plates, beauti- on the simple, graceful coffee-table, 

ful glasses, gracefully designed silver conveniently placed before the couch 



By day: a smartly-tailored living room lounge, slip-covered in chintz 


By night: a comfortable double bed, with excellent spring-filled mattress 


DELINEATOR INSTITUTE OF INTERIOR DECORATION 












19 3 2 


DELINEATOR 




By ANN BATCHELDER 


We 


jf E’YE come through the summer pretty well, haven’t 
we? And I hope you have had a good time. Writing these 
highly unoriginal words reminds me of the old “Ready 
Letter Writers” we used to dig out of the piles of dis¬ 
carded books in the attic on rainy Saturdays. That was 
at the period in our lives when we yearned to have a 
model for our love letters and such. 

I guess you all have seen these books. There were 
letters for every occasion, from business to proposals. 
Nowadays, I presume the business and proposal sections 
would be together. But in the old “Ready Letter 
Guides” they were separated by letters of con¬ 
dolence, epistles appropriate for the absent hus¬ 
band or wife. (Were wives ever absent in those 
days?) And letters of congratulations on all such 
occurrences as birth, marriage and the size of the 
estate left by an uncle in Australia! Great old 
books, these. 

And what models for the young were the letters 
of Clarissa Harlowe. “I now take pen in hand to 
tell you I am well and hope you are the same.” 

(Does anvone read Clarissa’s epistles and 
travelogs nowadays?) Well, that’s the style of 
my first sentence regarding your summer. Do 
vou recognize it? 

Anyway, the hot days are gone and we are 
rounding the curve into autumn. In spite of all 
the excitement of saving the country which we 
are about to do next month, by one route or the 
other, there are other things to think of. Things 
that to me, and I fancy to you, also, are pretty 
important. We’ve got to begin to explore in the 
pantry and do a research job in the kitchen and 
plan what we are going to cook and eat and take 
pleasure in doing. Summer is gone. And we did 
have a sort of nice time, what with cold dishes and 
cold drinks and long afternoons to be lazy in. 

And we are going to have more fun cooking this 
fall than we ever did. For I hope we can get to¬ 
gether and plan how to dress up the dear old 
three meals so that they’ll be as excitingly differ¬ 
ent as the new fall frocks. And that means a good 
time all around, if you ask me. 

It does seem to me that if we can’t have a good 
time doing our job, we might as well shut up shop 
and go swimming. I feel, also, that this is the 
time to put snap and style into the stouter dishes 
for cool weather. Stylish stouts, I call them, 
and what that expression brings to mind! You 
know what I mean! A certain decisiveness in the 
menu. We are through now, for a while, with the 
r-ub-deb models. Anyway, for the main course. 

A good many times I have spoken of steak. 


There’s only one way to cook a steak so it becomes 
unforgettable—and that is to broil it. No, I’m not speak¬ 
ing of other than good beefsteak. When I say steak I 
mean a nice, juicy, well broiled beefsteak, and no mistake 
about it. 

But you can do things in the way of presenting your 
steak to your family and guests that give it a modish air. 
And one way is to get yourselves a set of the individual 
hardwood planks that are made for just this dramatic 
purpose. These small round planks are used exactly as 


DELINEATOR INSTITUTE 


are the large ones, for the well-known planked steak. 

First, I greased the planks and heated them thoroughly 
in the oven. Having rarely and circumspectly broiled 
small tenderloin steaks, each one a serving for one person, 

I set them in the center of the planks. Around each steak 
I arranged green peas, well seasoned and dressed with 
butter, having between the mounds of peas, creamy 
mashed potatoes rosetted on with the pastry tube. 
Sauted mushrooms and broiled tomatoes were alternated 
as befitted the scheme, and the planks popped into a hot 
oven for the rosettes of potato to brown slightly. 
The steaks were then dressed with a little butter, 
the planks set on hot plates, and there was a 
dinner against which I’d pit the efforts of any 
cook in the land. And does such a dinner have 
style? Are you asking me? 

Of course you can go as far as you like in the 
way of serving sauces and condiments with your 
steak, and a salad to follow it. I needn’t say, I 
suppose, that a piping hot soup may well begin 
this meal. And fruit and cheese will end it. And 
don’t forget the coffee—last and maybe best of 
aU! 

I don’t see why these little planks shouldn’t be 
used to “plank” chops and fish and cutlets, too. 
And there are any number of vegetables that 
would add color and decoration to them. Be 
sure to have the planks well heated before you 
arrange the food on them. 

How many of you know what a delicious thing 
fried hominy is? Needs long cooking, first, in the 
double boiler. Make it stiff enough to mold and 
chill in an oblong mold or cake tin. Slice it about 
one third of an inch thick, dip the slices in flour 
and fry in a little hot fat in the frying pan or in 
deep fat—just as you feel like. I prefer deep fat, 
myself; but you know how I am. Crazy about 
deep fat frying. I like to do it and to eat the crisp 
fried things afterwards. And you know it as well 
as I do, for I’ve told you often enough! 

Well, hominy done this way and served with 
brown or maple sugar and plenty of butter is a 
swell thing to serve for breakfast or with fried 
chicken, broiled chicken or any chicken, for that 
matter. 

But in the picture you’ll see it accompanying 
the honest and uncompromising pork chop. Pork 
chops all breaded and fried, and hominy to go 
with them. Oh, how good they are, brown and 
well done and tender. And the hominy just per¬ 
fect. This is a notable combination. Yes, you say, 
but what’s so stylish about it? Well, let me tell 
you. The perfect touch is (Turn to page 75) 


27 
















DELINEATOR 


2 8 



Menus- 

WITH CHEESE 


If I Know What I Mean 


W HAT an old trick that one is of pretending to 
see a silver lining in every cloud. I never 
thought much of it. People who go around 
saying, “Oh, it’s not so bad,” bore me a good deal. 
Somehow I’ve come to like a good healthy pessimism. 
The kind I mean is the kind that looks a diminishing 
return right in the eye and says, “Well, what are you 
going to do about it?” 

My idea is that when you hear the much-publicized 
wolf trying to find the door-bell, the thing to do is to 
unloose the wicket and ask him in. There isn’t much 
point in barricading the door with the bureau. It works 
every time, though, if the wolf suddenly finds himself 
invited into the parlor. I know. I have entertained 
several such, in my time. And found them sort of 
friendly fellows, once we got acquainted. 

It’s just too bad, but does my heart ache for the 
woman who suddenly discovers—because of a slump in 
the market—that there’s a kitchen in her house and an 
egg-beater in the kitchen? And a can-opener? Well, 
not so you’d notice it. The kitchen has been there all 
the time, but that gal had just ignored it or forgotten it 
or maybe she didn’t know about it. 

Then one day she meets it eye to eye. And she’s got 
to do a little something about it. One glance at the 
check-book tells her that. Not to mention the mail on 
the first of the month. Does she sit down and lean her 
head on the oven door and weep and bemoan her lot? 
Not if she’s the right sort. She sets about making the 
wolf very comfortable. She treats him so well that he 
gets bored to death and plans how he can make a 
quick getaway. Like Othello he cries, “My occupa¬ 
tion’s gone!” He must be out howling at somebody 
else’s door. He is extremely fed up in more ways than 

And so one day, when his hostess is upstairs making 
the beds, this ungrateful beast slips out and is gone. 
But the right sort of woman has made a great dis¬ 
covery. She has found that her house is a home. She 
has learned the strength and comeliness in homely 
things. She knows, now, that no idling in boudoir and 
drawing-room is half so wonderful as being mistress of 
the art of cooking, and no pride of position is comparable 
to the pride in achievement. And it seems to me that 
such a woman has the wolf licked and that the exercise 
has done her a lot of good. Of course the wrong sort 
of woman will still be hiding under the bed. But I can 
do nothing about that. 

This is my idea regarding the good healthy brand of 
pessimism I spoke of. And that is the brand that knows 
things aren’t so good, maybe, but gets out and does 
something about it. Lots of good things have come up 
for air since “the depression” opened its run in our 
theater. And yet—and yet—I still wake myself up hum¬ 
ming, “River—stay away from my door.” Yes, I’ll see 
you in the lobby—the last night of the show. 


Qua fheU-r4<^uy. 



MENUS 

1. 

Luncheon 

Grapefruit with Rum 
Nut and Cheese Loaf 
Rolls 

Vegetable Salad 
Frozen Pudding 
Coffee 


2 . 

Dinner 

Canapes au Gourmet 
Clear Tomato Soup 
Breaded Veal Cutlets 
Potato Puff Peas 

Lettuce Hearts Roquefort Dressing 

Banana Ice Cream Cakes 
Coffee 


Supper 

Clam Broth with Pimiento 
Ham Mousse in Jelly 
Hot Rolls 

Pineapple and Peach Salad 
Savories 
Chocolate Cake 
Coffee 


For a Party 

Fruit in Cups with Kirsch 
Squabs in Casserole 
Minted Peas Bread Sticks 

Grilled Mushrooms 
Pecan and Celery Salad 
Cheese Tart 
Coffee 


RECIPES 


Nut and Cheese Loaf 

Mix one cup grated yellow cheese with one cup 
chopped walnut meats and one cup fine, dr}' bread 
crumbs. Fry, in one tablespoon butter, a small onion 
chopped fine. Add one-half cup tomato juice and cook 
until the onion is soft. Then add the other ingredients, 
seasoning with salt, pepper and a few drops of tobasco. 
Tut the mixture into a shallow greased baking dish and 
brown well in the oven. Serve with tomato sauce poured 
over the loaf. 

Potato Puff 

Prepare three cups of mashed potatoes. Better put 
them through the ricer. Into the potatoes beat the 
yolks of two eggs. Add three tablespoons butter and 
season to taste with salt and pepper. Beat extremely 
well. Add enough hot milk to make the potatoes very 
light and creamy. Pile lightly in a baking dish and cover 
with a meringue made by beating stiff the whites of two 
eggs, adding one-half cup grated yellow cheese. Dust 
with paprika. Bake in an oven at 375 0 F. until brown. 

Canapes au Gourmet 

This is a hot canape. Take one can of crab meat and 
flake fine. Blend one cup of thick cream sauce, highly 
seasoned, with one-half cup cheese. When well blended, 
add the crab meat. Saute rounds of toast in butter. 
Heap the crab meat mixture on these. Cover the tops 
with grated cheese, sprinkle with paprika and set into 
a hot oven until the cheese melts and the canape 
“bubbles”—or do them carefully under the broiler. 
Serve garnished with a little cress and lemon slices. 
Good for late suppers, also. 

Cheese Tart 

Make a rich pastry. Chill, then roll thin and bake in 
small patty pans. Beat one cup cream cheese with 
three tablespoons heavy cream. Season slightly with 
salt and add one tablespoon powdered sugar. Beat 
thoroughly, and if not creamy enough, add a little more 
cream, to get a light, fluffy consistency. Partly fill the 
cooled pastry shells with the cheese mixture, then fill 
with gooseberry' or currant jam, or any tart-flavored 
preserve. Serve cold. These make a fine tea-time deli¬ 
cacy as well as a delicious dessert for supper or for 
lunch. Easily prepared, too. 

Savories 

These are for soup or salad service, or just as an 
accompaniment to a good beverage. Cut bread in 
finger shape, having the crusts removed. Spread with 
a Welsh rarebit mixture or with some creamed snappy 
cheese. Add paprika. Then put on each finger a slice 
of bacon and toast under the broiler until the bacon is 
crisp and the cheese melted. Or, spread rounds of 
bread with fish or meat paste. Cover with cheese, and 
toast. Toasted cheese and chutney savories are a varia¬ 
tion w'orth trying with a fish salad. 


Delineator Institute 











OCTOBER, 1932 


DELINEATOR 



SPAGHP 


A u 

(TOMATO SAUCE WITH G&* 


O n, y 

in Franco-American 
can you enjoy such flavor 


Franco-American Spaghetti will surprise and delight 
you. Surprise you that it is possible to get spaghetti so 
good, already prepared. Delight you with its delicious flavor, 
its delicious sauce, its appealing charm and color. 

Nor is it hard to understand why. Blended by chefs to 
whom flavor and quality are instinctive. Guided by a 
favorite old Italian recipe, they combine tender, golden 
spaghetti with a sauce which is nothing short of per¬ 
fection. Cheese especially selected for sharpness and zest. 
Tomatoes gathered in their red-ripe prime. 

You must taste it. You can’t guess how good it is. And 
actually ready to serve. 

10 CENTS A CAN 













OCTOBER, 1932 


DELINEATOR 


Three girls competed in this Beauty Contest 
and she who Won had a Lovely Skin 



When she entered the room , she entered one of life's daily Beauty Contests. The other girls were as 
smartly gowned • • • as talented. Yet her skin was lovely • • • soft and exquisite as a flower. She won 
this evening s Beauty Contest! The others lost!" 


★ 


You’ve often heard it said “Her face is her For¬ 
tune.” What is true of the woman with beautiful 
features is equally true of the woman with a lovely 
skin. People look first at your face, and if your 
skin is fresh and vibrantly alive, you’ve passed 
the most important test of beauty. 

A lovely skin is not entirely the gift of Nature. 
It may be cultivated • • • with Camay’s gentle care. 
For the first step to an exquisite complexion is 
deep cleanliness. And Camay’s creamy-white, 


soothing lather helps your skin to breathe again • • • 
to glow with new life • • • become soft and flower-like. 

UP WITH QUALITY • • • DOWN WITH PRICE 

Here’s more good news! Camay saves you money. 
It is priced in line with the times. The Soap of 
Beautiful Women, that keeps your skin so soft 
and fresh, saves you at least 20% of the money 
you spend for beauty soap. Get a dozen cakes of 
gentle Camay today! 


If you are a woman, you are in a Beauty 
Contest every day of your life. You are 
competing with every woman in your 
social set • • • with hundreds of women 
who are strangers to you. With a lovely 
skin, you can win your Beauty Contest! 
Let gentle Camay help you! 



★ Lather your face well with Camay and 
warm water. Then rinse with cold water. 
Now your skin is ready for your make-up , 
deeply clean and petal-soft again. 



★ This is Camay , the soap that keeps your 
skin in healthy , dean condition. Smartly 
wrapped in green and yellow , and sealed in 

Cellophane. Cc w . 1832, Procter & Gamble Co. 


CAMAY 

THE SOAP OF 
BEAUTIFUL WOMEN 










OCTOBER, 1932 


3 1 


A NEWSREEL of NUTRITION 

by DR. ESTHER LORD BATCHELDER 


Y ES, we still talk about three meals a day, althougn 
a close examination of many people’s breakfasts 
and other people’s luncheons shows that they don’t 
merit the name of meals at all. And after all, 
“What difference does it make?” they may ask. 

For some people it does not make much difference. 
This is especially true of those whose total food require¬ 
ments are low, such as the stout person who wants to 
reduce and the sedentary person who uses relatively little 
energy in work or play. But for many, a good meal at the 
beginning of the day is very important, especially for 
children and young people. 

The, is a whole army of unemployed teeth wanting a 
chance for more frequent exercise; also many misem¬ 
ployed stomachs that are forced to receive an ill-assorted 
collection of food, sometimes freezing cold, other times 
scalding hot, frequently too much at night and often too 
little in the morning. It is really too bad, because this 
mismanagement all too often shows up in our disposi¬ 
tions or our.complexions or our sick-leaves. 

Why is it that breakfasts are so neglected? Surely 
there are unlimited possibilities for delicious breakfasts: 
fruits of every kind, cereals in wide variety, eggs, bacon, 
toast, muffins or rolls; coffee to make enjoyment com¬ 
plete for most grown-ups, and milk, cocoa, malt cocoa or 
cereal coffee to provide the milk and please the tastes of 
the children. 

By the time we have made this incomplete list, the 
answer is almost unnecessary: “There isn’t time.” That 
is the trouble these days. We stay up so late at night that 
we get up too late in the morning to do much more than 
dash through the breakfast room in a mad rush to meet 
the first appointment of the morning. 

As we have said before, some people may not need much 
in the morning, especially if they do a little planning so 
that food essentials are included some time during the 
day. For children, however, the essentials can practically 
never be included without a good breakfast. When 
breakfast is skimped, children cannot eat all they need 
during the day and it is up to us to foster in their earl}' 
years habits which insure plenty of time for a nourishing 
breakfast, good hygiene, and an unhurried start for the 
day. Breakfast need not be elaborate but we should 
allow time for eating an adequate amount. 



Baby Cereal: Since cereal is usually the first solid food 
given to the baby, it is always of primary interest to the 
babies’ mothers. A new form has now been developed in 
which a mixture of finely ground whole wheat, hulled 
oats and added wheat germ is long cooked in milk, and 
canned. The nutrients of the whole grain have therefore 
been further enriched, especially in vitamin B and iron, 
by the use of extra wheat germ. The resulting cereal mix¬ 
ture, finely ground to make it suitable for baby’s delicate 
digestive tract, has the added value of the milk which was 
used instead of water in the cooking process. Extensive 
experiments have shown that milk and whole grain 
cereals supplement each other in almost every way so 
that, with the exception of vitamins C and D (which enter 
the baby’s diet in orange juice and cod liver oil or their 
equivalents), the new cereal represents a well-propor¬ 
tioned assortment of necessary food factors. It has an 
excellent flavor and offers the hitherto unavailable con¬ 
venience of a baby cereal which needs no further cooking 
but is all ready to warm to the desired feeding tempera- 

Furthermore, it can be thinned, if desired, with milk 
or water; the smooth, even consistency is maintained with 
no lumping or other difficulty when liquid is added. This 
product, prepared by a pioneer manufacturer of strained 
vegetables, is another contribution to mother’s conveni¬ 
ence and baby’s good health. 






Fruits: Fruit is one of the most pleasant necessities in 
a nutritious menu. We have, in other issues of Deline¬ 
ator, spoken of orange juice and economical ways to ob¬ 
tain it. There are also other delectable fresh products 
which will spare the purse of the homemaker and make 
every member of the family happy. Golden skinned 
bananas are favorites with the children and bring in each 
closely wrapped “finger” an abundance of vitamins and 
minerals to add value to the easily digested calories which 
they also provide. The other day we found on the mar¬ 
ket, miniature bananas, called “figanas,” only about 
three inches long, of delightful flavor, which suggested 
possibilities of salads, meat garnishes, or other uses in 
which the tiny fruits, whether raw or cooked, would make 
a picturesque variant from the bigger and more familiar 
members of the banana family. Apples for the school 
lunch or for any meal of the day are not to be forgotten, 
and nowadays they are on the markets practically all 
seasons of the year. And always, dried apricots, prunes, 
and peaches form a dependable background of nutritious 
and economical fruit in which the vitamins have been 
preserved to a surprising degree and w T hich make excellent 
contribution to any part of the meal. Fruit twice a day 
is an excellent rule to keep in mind when planning meals. 



Bran as a Laxative: Bulk,roughage,fiberandballast 
are terms commonly applied to that portion of our food 
which is not digested, provides no nourishment, but acts 
something like a brush in removing waste matter from 
our digestive tracts. Of recent years, the replacement of 
natural foods by refined flour and sugar has, in spite of 
some increase in fruits and vegetables, reduced the 
bulk in the average American diet and has probably been 
an important cause of the present interest in, and doubt¬ 
less therefore affliction with, constipation. 

A common and seemingly rational means of controlling 
this malady has been the use of bran or bran preparations 
to compensate for the lack of roughage in most of the 
wheat products used today. Regarded in this light, bran 
has a natural place in the modem dietary. There has 
been some question, however, as to the desirability of 
using large amounts of bran because of its irritating effect 
under certain conditions of intestinal sensitivity or slug¬ 
gishness. It is known that some people suffer from in¬ 
testinal disorders in which indigestible fiber is a hin¬ 
drance, not a help. We have had little definite knowledge, 
however, of the actual effect of a fibrous food like bran 
in the diet of individuals whose elimination is poor but 
whose health in every other way appears good. If bran is 
harmless and efficient, it provides a convenient, economi¬ 
cal, appetizing way to make the diet more laxative. 



The results of two very careful studies have recently 
been published: one by Cowgill and Anderson at Yale, 
and the other by Rose and co-workers at Teachers Col¬ 
lege. The former study was done on healthy young men, 
the latter on girls and young women, supplemented by 
extensive observations on laboratory animals. From both 
investigations the conclusion can be drawn that bran has 
a definite laxative effect, due chiefly to its fiber content. 
The Yale workers conclude also that a definite relation¬ 
ship exists between the rate of laxation and the amount 
of fiber in the food. The practical application of their 
work is made possible by calculations of the amounts of 
certain common foods which need to be added to a bor¬ 
der-line diet in order to make it sufficiently laxative. The 
foods for which such calculations have been made are 


bran, grapes, peaches, pears, apples, bananas, cabbage, 
spinach, lettuce, whole wheat, graham and rye breads. 
In the Teachers College work an expert pathologist ex¬ 
amined the digestive tracts of rats which had eaten no 
bran and those which had received graded amounts dur¬ 
ing a long period. The tissues had suffered no harm and 
it is concluded that moderate quantities of bran, such as 
are usual in human consumption, will not damage the 
tissues of the normal alimentary tract. The studies with 
animals gave further evidence of the fact, already re¬ 
ported, that the vitamin B content of bran was also a 
significant factor when the diet to which it was added 
contained only small quantities of this vitamin. 



The Iron Supply: Many aspects of the place of iron in 
the diet have been studied and reported in recent months. 
From the point of view of requirement, the study by M. 
S. Rose and her co-workers at Teachers College has shown 
that the needs of one child were higher than have been 
generally estimated and that our standards for iron in 
the diet of children should be increased. More recently, 
I.iechsenring and Flor have come to a similar conclusion 
after studying the iron utilization of four pre-school chil¬ 
dren. Moreover, in both these investigations, it was found 
that actual analyses of the food showed a lower iron con¬ 
tent than would be calculated from the most commonly 
used figures. Such results emphasize the importance of 
including iron-rich foods in the diets of young children, 
both because their need is greater than has heretofore 
been estimated and because the amount supplied by 
common foods may be lower than ordinary calculations 
would indicate. A systematic study of the iron content of 
vegetables and fruits has recently been published by 
Stiebeling of the United States Department of Agricul¬ 
ture. The Bureau of Home Economics has, moreover, 
listed for popular use some available and economical 
sources of iron as follows: for breakfast, whole grain 
cereals, prunes, apricots, whole wheat bread or toast, 
eggs, molasses; for other meals, additional sources are 
lean meat (liver, kidney, brain and heart are richest), 
vegetables (especially greens, beans and peas); among 
desserts, those made with eggs, apricots, prunes, raisins, 
molasses; in fruits, blackberries, blue-berries, raspberries. 



Iodized Salt: Such a simple thing as the kind of 
salt has made a tremendous difference in the amount of 
thyroid enlargement observed in school children in 
Detroit. As a result of a determined effort to overcome 
iodine deficiency in that city, endemic goiter in school 
children has decreased from 36 per cent in 1924 to 2.1 
per cent in 1931. Dr. Kimball, who directed the first 
survey, attributes the success of the effort to the cooper¬ 
ation of state, city, school, and medical authorities with 
the manufacturers and wholesalers of iodized salt. The 
cost of iodized table salt was kept the same, and iodized 
salt was the only kind sold as food in Michigan. Failure 
to obtain marked improvement during a similar campaign 
in Cleveland, Ohio, is attributed to lack of cooperation, 
due chiefly to the hesitancy of the medical profession to 
endorse the use of iodized salt as a preventive measure. 
Fortunately, results in Detroit are such as to dispel 
further fears as to the safety of iodized salt for general 
consumption. Heretofore there has been some fear that 
the extra iodine might aggravate another form of thyroid 
enlargement called hyperthyroidism or toxic goiter. 
Several Detroit hospitals report a marked decline in 
hyperthyroidism, however, coincident with the use of 
iodized salt in Michigan. 

Delineator Institute 


DELINEATOR 


3 2 





The Facts as We Find Them 


Convenient for the refrigerator: 
wire baskets for fruit and eggs; 
flat, capped bottles for water 


A moisture and flavor test of 
foods kept in waxed paper, alu¬ 
minum foil, and other wrappings 


A sturdy clothes rack that stands 
in a small space or spreads out 
to accommodate a sizable washing 


exists primarily for developing more interesting and more helpful editorial articles 


We test the merits of black 
bottom pans, among other things, 
and find them very efficient 


“T’LL try it and see.” Haven’t you often said that 
about some article of household equipment? You 

I hope it will be useful and efficient and a ‘‘good buy,” 

X but you can’t tell until you have actually bought it 
and tried it. There are facts about such appliances which 
you cannot determine without experimenting yourself. 
Sometimes not even then. So we do it for you. These 
pages tell you what an article will do, how well it is likely 
to last, how convenient it is and how easy to care for. 
Our findings are the result of actual tests and our experi¬ 
ence is of value to you. 

Here are some articles which have recently come along 
for investigation. Black bottom pans, for instance. No, 
they are not black so they won’t show the dirt. The black 
bottom makes them more efficient. They will start 
cooking more rapidly than a similar pan, without the 
black bottom. Our tests showed an increase in efficiency 
of from five to twenty per cent under varying conditions. 
But the black bottom is not the only reason for that. 
They are designed throughout to be so. They have 
straight sides. One enamel pan has sides sloping in 
toward the top, giving a broad heating base. They all 
have tight fitting covers; well-shaped, convenient handles; 
easy to clean corners; and besides they are most attrac¬ 
tive to look at. 

A small clothes rack is another newcomer to the In¬ 
stitute. It isn’t so small in capacity either. We found 
that it held a great many clothes, enough for a 2-or-3- 
in-the-family wash. This rack stands very firmly on the 
floor, and it is rigid and secure throughout. It gives 
none of the uncertain feeling of a flimsy, wobbly frame. 
What is most surprising is that it stands securely even 
when closed. In this position it takes up very little 
room. It can stand in the bathtub or close to the radia¬ 
tor, still holding many articles for drying. Its compact¬ 
ness and its independent standing ability make it most 
easy to store. It is made of enameled metal. It is very 


easy to clean and looks extremely well. A boon, particu¬ 
larly to the apartment dweller, I should say. 

A scheme to avoid the need of replacing fuses will 
surely interest you. It is particularly pertinent if you 
have a new house in mind. With this device, prowling 
around in some dark corner of the cellar to put in a fuse 
when one has been blown is a thing of the past. The 
circuit breaker takes the place of the fuse box. It is 
placed in the wall of the kitchen, the entry, or other con¬ 
venient spot. Its trim metal plate with neat trip handles, 
the part which shows, recommends it to the eye. When 
a circuit is overloaded one of these handles automatically 
trips, shutting off the current. When the difficulty is 
remedied a touch of the finger trips the handle back to 
position and electric service is restored. There are no 
fuses to keep track of and above all no journeys to the 
basement before the trouble can be remedied. We’ve 
been using this circuit breaker and we have a warm spot 
in our hearts for it. 


HoW about an ironing cord that keeps itself out of the 
way? Does that sound too good to be true? We have 
been using one that does just that. It comes pleated 
almost like a frill. As you iron back and forth the cord 
stretches, then pulls back into position. It doesn’t hang 
over the edge of the board to wrinkle the clothes you 
are working with. If the cord is plugged in at a point 
on the level with, or above the ironing board, it keeps 
entirely off your working area. You iron along, without 
paying any attention to the cord. The cord takes care 
of itself. If you need to turn the current off, as you often 
do with a non-automatic iron, there is a switch on the 
plug. You do not have to detach it from the iron. 

We have just been having a very special cleaning day 
in some of our Institute rooms. We believe thoroughly 
in the theory of keeping clean rather than going through 
periodic spasms of cleanliness, but we find a need for 
more than a “weekly cleaning” of some of our rooms, 
now and then. Perhaps this might be termed the monthly 
cleaning. At any rate it included cleaning ceiling and 
walls which had become decidedly dusty. These were 
not surfaces which would lend themselves to soap and 
water treatment, nor were they really in need of that. 
In the old days we would have tied one cloth over a 
broom and another over our heads, and gone at it. A 
room full of dust, and a protest from any of the family 
who were about, would have resulted. Instead, being 
up-to-date housekeepers, we used the Institute’s latest 
arrival in the vacuum cleaner field. (Turn to page 72) 















OCTOBER, 1932 


3 3 



Fleischmann’s Yeast for health comes 
only In the foil-wrapped cake with the 
yellow label. It’s yeast in its fresh, effec¬ 
tive form—rich in vitamins B, G and D— 
the kind famous doctors advise. Write for 
booklet. Dept. Y-U-10, Standard Brands 
Inc., 6<>1 Washington St.. New York City. 


advises Dr. ZlJELZER 
of Berlin 


Sluggish... Irritable 
Run-Down ? 


“It proved the perfect remedy ” 

“I was terribly run-down and headachy, and had no energy at 
all,” writes Mrs. Margaret C. Snyder of Malba, L. I. ‘‘The 
doctor said my trouble was due to a sluggish system and advised 
Fleischmann’s Yeast ... I noticed a decided improvement in 
two weeks. My appetite picked up and I felt stronger. Yeast 
proved the perfect remedy in my c: 


Don’t feel only “half- 
well”! Read the advice 
this famous doctor gives 

“Y T THEN we consider that food 
VV residues, instead of leaving 
the body within twenty-four hours, 
sometimes remain in the intestines 
for days, it is not surprising that 
some people have headaches, indi¬ 
gestion, coated tongue, bad breath, 
poor appetite, skin troubles, irrita¬ 
bility, lowered vitality.” 

That is how Dr. Georg Zuelzer, 
of Berlin, Germany, explains the 
effects of chronic constipation. Dr. 
Zuelzer is physician-in-chief of the 
great Lankwitz Hospital, and the 
author of the famous medical text¬ 
book, “Innere Medizin.” 

We asked Dr. Zuelzer what he 
advised for sluggish intestines. 

‘‘For twenty-five years,” he 
replied, ‘‘I have fought this battle—that 
‘‘cathartics and laxatives injure the in- 
“testines and consequently the health. 
* ‘They cannot correct constipation. Fresh 
“yeast does correct constipation.” 


“ By all means, ” he added, “ try it, if you 
“are sluggish and ‘run-down.’ ” 

Eaten regularly, 3 cakes a day— 
before meals, or between meals and 
at bedtime—Fleischmann’s Yeast 
has a remarkably stimulating ef¬ 
fect on “ tired ” intestines. At the 
same time it softens accumulated 
wastes so they can be expelled easily. 

Thus normal elimination is fos¬ 
tered, appetite restored. You di¬ 
gest your meals better. And as 
yeast continues to “tone” and 
purify your system, your strength 
picks up— “ pep returns ”—you feel 
life’s really worth living! 

If you want to enjoy perfect 
health, begin eating Fleischmann’s 
Yeast now. Eat it just plain, or in 
water (a third of a glass). At grocers, 
restaurants and soda fountains. 

Dr. Weicksel, famous German authority 
on internal diseases, says: “I have pre¬ 
scribed fresh yeast for a very large number 
of patients suffering from . . . disturbances 
brought on by chronic constipation. In such 
cases yeast has, in my experience, been the 
only effective remedy.” 


Important 






DELINEATOR 



by CELIA CAROLINE COLE 


I F YOU want to travel and to be adjustable, be a 
beauty writer. Not that a beauty writer’s body goes 
continuously shooting over space, but her inside self 
does. Letters from every comer of the U. S. A., from 
China, from France (oh, yes, even France wants to know), 
come rushing in, crying, “Tell me this, tell me that,” and 
you have to shut your eyes and send your inside self 
rushing back to where they came from and see everything 
in its own setting and, for a minute, live the lives of 
these Delineator readers. 

Because they don’t ask, you know, merely about their 
outside selves—beauty goes deep. A beauty writer has 
to push on into all those areas where love and fear and 
ambition and hate and shyness and egotism and all the 
things like that have their strongholds and find out 
what’s what down there and then tell, the best she knows, 
what to do. It all makes a face. So she travels. And 
adjusts herself. And prays every day, “Please let me see 
like lightning and be seen like light.” 

But in spite of it, things like this happen. In the mail 
there arrives a letter from a young business woman in 
Chicago, in which she says: “Almost all your articles 
seem to be written for housewives who have reached the 
age of thirty at least. I know loads of business girls who 
read you quite faithfully, and we have to pick out what 
is practical for us and sometimes when we finish picking, 
there isn’t much! I know that there is no short cut to 
beauty, of course, but isn’t there some system of taking 
care of oneself that doesn’t require simply hours?” 

1 stare at the letter? Has she mixed me up with some 
other beauty writer? Am I not always telling the shortest 
possible cut? Am I not always fussing because cosme¬ 
ticians make so many things and life is so short? (But 
she has it on me a bit about the age—I do talk too much, 
probably, to the older women. They need it more!) 

Well, I will expand and take in those delightful 
young business women more often. 

Then I open the next letter. “Dear Mrs. Cole, I read 
you so faithfully and profit by your philosophy, but can’t 
you please write an article for middle-aged women who 
have lost everything and have to work for the first time 
in their lives and so need to look their best? It’s easy 
for youth to keep whatever beauty it has and to be at¬ 
tractive anyway, but, for heaven’s sake, help us!" 

Coming or going, I lack. And I care so much about 
helping all of you. I really do! I wish always that in the 
town of each of you there were some wise, honest, simple 


Less-than-thirty, yours is a 


simple beauty ritual. Women 


of over thirty must do more 


Drawing by WINIFRED MURY 


beauty expert who could look at you and tell you just 
what to do, just what preparations you need. It is never 
much that you need, just a few exactly right things and 
faithfulness—old or middle or young. It needn’t take 
much time. Nor do you need much money. 

I wish that never in any department store was there a 
clerk who has a private arrangement to push this or that 
cosmetic and who tries to side-track you from the prepara¬ 
tion that you want by something that is “just as good” 
or “better”—perhaps a mushroom preparation that has 
sprung up overnight, and no one knows what oils, what 
chemicals are used that may injure the skin, enlarge the 
pores, dry out the natural oils. 

I believe so in this thing called beauty. I believe when 
all else fails and the heart is dying, beauty can bring it 
back to life and give it courage to start all over again. 
I look at you day after day as I pass you on the street 
and everywhere and thrill at you—so few really plain 
ones, so many really charming to look at and so often 
even the plain ones distinguished and interesting to see. 
We really are finding out how to do it—how to push out 
ugliness and drabness, how to prolong youth and its joy 
in living. (Thanks to manufacturers and chemistry.) 

Just a few right things and faithfulness. And really 

DELINEATOR 

INSTITUTE 

.Department of Beauty 


very little time, Miss Chicago. Young things need to 
take very little time, and older ones would need very 
little time if they would begin when they are young. Ten 
minutes in the morning, five minutes at noon, ten minutes 
at night—is that much to give to attain the look of being 
groomed, to retain the look of firmness and color clear 
through the fifties? Heavens—why were we * made 
women, if that’s too much! 

F'irst of all, for all of you, there is, in almost every 
good-sized town or city, a new kind of beauty expert that 
will tell you what you need. This beauty expert is a 
machine, and it is simple and honest. It magnifies the 
skin so greatly that not only can you see in what con¬ 
dition your skin is but toward what condition it is headed. 

The operators who examine your skin with this glass 
are employed by a reputable cosmetic manufacturer. 
They are qualified to tell the truth to you. Insist upon 
being told what the condition is, as well as what to do 
for it. Even if yo.u are using preparations that you very 
much like, go to this salon that has the machine and take 
a treatment and get the examination and skin chart. 

FlND out by experimenting which is the best way to 
cleanse—for you. If your examination has told you that 
your skin is too dry, then follow your soap and water 
cleansing with plenty of oils. Or you can use some of the 
lovely milk cleansers, or cream-and-tonic, or a liquid 
cleanser that has an accompanying cream for dry skin. 

If your skin is oily, use soap and water, cleansing 
grains, or cleansing cream followed by astringent, or a 
liquid cleanser. Try them out and see which one makes 
your skin more supple and silken and fine. 

If the skin is normal, avoid the corrective cleansers and 
use a normal one—a fine, bland soap and lukewarm 
water, then cream followed by tonic. 

If you are under thirty, use very little astringent unless 
your skin is extremely oily. Use a rich cream, a nourisher 
around the eyes at night, pat it in lightly—don’t just 
rub it on—and get the blood up. Nourishing creams 
can’t accomplish much, just lightly rubbed on. Use tonic 
twice a day if your pores have a tendency to enlarge, or 
at night put on a very thin film of pore cream. And give 
more hours to sleep than you have been giving. Drink 
lots of water. Keep the intestines cleansed. 

If you are on your feet most of the day, take the 
tipped-up ironing-board treatment every night—for ten 
or fifteen minutes before dinner if you can—and totally 
relax while you lie there—just {Turn to page 52) 












































OCTOBER, 1932 


35 



Special Uses lor Pond’s 
Two Famous Creams 

Pond’s Cold Cream is mare 
than a cleansing cream. It is 
wonderful for bringing life and 
freshness to a tired skin. And to 
make a dry skin soft and supple. 
It has the perfect consistency. 
Not too heavy. Not so thin it 
dries the skin. 

Pond’s Vanishing Cream is a 
godsend to women whose skin 
roughens and chaps. It smooths 
and heals the skin. Is not drying. 
Use it before and after exposure. 
And to hold your powder. One 
application will give your hands 
a lovely white transparent finish. 


Keeping m v skin lovely is easy 
with this quick daily care . .. 

M BS ROBERT H. M c ADOO 


Mrs. McAdoo demonstrates the 
first step—the Cold Cream and 
Tissues give a thorough cleansing. 


Last step, the Vanishing Cream 
protects and holds the powder. 


Brilliant young society matron shows 
Just how she gives herself a quick 


home beauty treatment 


Mrs. McAdoo is famous 
both for her crisp smartness and her many 
activities. Her chic young figure is snapped 
by society reporters at the smartest gather¬ 
ings everywhere. 

How does she care for her piquant beauty ? 

As expertly as she manages the rest of her 
busy life. 

“There are so many things I must do 
each day that I long ago decided to find out 
how to take proper care of my skin at home. 
And I did. 

“It’s marvelously simple. Here’s what Ido: 

“First, cleansing —ThisPond’sColdCream 
is the best cleanser I’ve ever found, it’s so 
rich and pure. It floats every speck of dust 
out of the pores—and these Pond’s Tissues 
wipe it all away in a second, they’re so much 
softer than any others. 


“Now, being absolutely clean, my skin is 
ready for the second step— stimulating. A 
pad of cotton soaked with Pond’s Skin 
Freshener and pat, pat, pat like this—it 
tones and firms the skin, keeps your pores 
fine—brings up the natural color. 

“Now comes— protection. If you don’t 
protect your skin, wind and cold and sun¬ 
shine will play havoc with it. This Pond’s 
Vanishing Cream is the protection I always 
use. It’s invisible but it makes powder stay 
on for hours. And it doesn’t dry my skin. 
Now a bit of powder and a touch of lipstick 
and I’m ready to face the world. 

“There—isn’t that a quick, simple beauty 
treatment? 

“At bedtime —after cleansing with the 
Cold Cream and Tissues I always put on a 
bit more of the Cold Cream and leave it on 


to lubricate my skin. It keeps away little 
lines and wrinkles. Cleansing, lubricating, 
stimulating, and protecting. My Pond’s 
method supplies every one of these!” 

For 25 years in the most scientifically 
equipped laboratories. Pond’s has been 
making and testing preparations to beau¬ 
tify the skin. Be sure that you get Pond’s 
Creams—they are the most reliable that 
your money can buy. 

Send 10<t (t° cover cost of postage and pack¬ 
ing) for free samples of Pond’s four products. 

pond’s extract company, dept. K 
115 Hudson Street . . . New York City 




City 

State 


Tune ii 


Pond’s, Fridays, 9:30 P.M., E.D.S.T., continuous dance music rhythmed for actual dancing.Leo Reisman and his Orchestra—WEAF and NBC Network 






DELINEATOR 


3 6 


A FAMILY ALLIANCE 

Continued from page 15 


cream linen paper in stock and a bottle of 
the blackest ink. 

That evening Jigger sat down to write her 
father and mother. She said she was sending 
them some New York letter-paper, and would 
they mind using this when they wrote Spike. 
And perhaps it would be nice to say this and 
this to him—she consulted Spike’s parents’ 
letter—she’d write out a few phrases that they 
might care to use. She tore that beginning 
up and started again. This time she wrote 
that she had told them so far, only about 
Spike, but of course, they’d be interested in 
his family too. The Hunters were an old 
Ohio family, more or less in politics like all 
Ohio people. “His father is owner and editor 
of the largest daily newspaper in the place 
where they live—it was his father’s before 
him—and is trustee of one of the Ohio uni¬ 
versities. Spike’s sister is married and she 
and her husband are now living in Paris.” 
She hesitated, wrote, “France, you know,” 
was ashamed of having done it and tore up 
that letter. 

Well, to make a long story short, Jigger 
wrote letters to her parents all night long and 
in the morning tore them all up and burst 
into tears. Not of joy, either! If she’d been 
there at home with them, she might, per¬ 
haps ... But you couldn’t write that kind of 
letter to your father and mother. At least 
Jigger couldn’t. Not to her father and 
mother. I haven’t spoken about it before— 
it was something she would have blushed to 
have the gang suspect—but Jigger was 
rather a nice girl. 

She decided just not to show their letters 
to Spike when he came back but to tell him 
they had sent all kinds of good wishes to him. 
And when he actually saw her again, Spike 
was so astounded to find that Jigger was 
still there, still engaged to him, that he never 
noticed about her parents’ letters one way or 
the other. 

He had so much encouragement from his 
boss (he was on the selling end for a big firm 
of wholesale druggists'! that they fell to calcu¬ 
lating minutely the cost of life in the suburbs. 
One of the surprising things those two 
smart-looking young New Yorkers had in 
common was a secret yearning for a house 
with a yard around it. 

Then Jigger went to her boss (the silk 
importer) and told him cheerfully that she 
was going to get married and that she would 
be leaving next week to go home and get her 
things ready. Her boss had spent a good 
deal of his time in the last five years repairing 
Jigger’s mistakes of ignorance and had just 
begun to take some satisfaction in her ser¬ 
vices. What he thought about her and 
about women employees in general would be 
spicy reading. But you know what he 
thought. Perhaps from experience. So I 
won’t spend any time on him but take you 
along with Jigger as she went home in May. 

And because I am sure that such a dis¬ 
cerning reader as you knows very well by 
this time what kind of folks Jigger’s father 
and mother were, I don’t need to describe 
them as they got out of their Ford at the sta¬ 
tion at Blue Falls, well ahead of time because 
Mr. Pratt wanted to ask the station agent 
about a new sprayer which should have ar¬ 
rived before this, and Mrs. Pratt wanted to 
speak to him seriously about his small daugh¬ 
ter’s practising. “If Laura can’t get in at 
least her hour a day, Mr. Elmore, it’s just a 
waste of time for her to take music at all. 
I’d feel I was getting your two dollars a 
lesson on false pretenses,” said Mrs. Pratt. 

And then the train came chugging around 
the curve, and they hurried out on the plat¬ 
form, and stood, the tears in Mrs. Pratt’s eyes, 
a lump in Mr. Pratt’s throat, to greet their 
baby girl coming back home for the last time 
—at least the last time she would still be 

Some of the New York make-up, and a 
good deal of the New York expression, had 
disappeared from Jigger’s face during the 
trip from Manhattan to Blue Falls, and when 
she saw her father and mother waiting there, 
with their muddy country rubbers on their 
feet and that expression in their steady, 
loving eyes, she ran very fast to them and 
flung her arms around their necks and shed a 

But all the same, all the same . . . You 
don’t need to be told what was in the mind 


of the Pratt’s baby girl when she got into 
that battered middle-aged Ford, and drove 
over muddy roads to her “people’s country 
place” and saw the square, clapboarded, red- 
painted house; the bay window filled with 
geraniums and wandering-jew; the golden 
oak dining room set; the front parlor with its 
long lace curtains draped back from the win¬ 
dows and its comfortable furniture of no 

rticular style or period; and her mother’s 

ttered black upright piano and round 
piano stool, screwed high for the children 
who “took of Mrs. Pratt.” 

They had a surprise for her, they told her, 
something done in honor of the wedding. 
Proudly watching her face they drew her into 
the front hall. A brand-new maple floor had 
been laid there, and new paper was on the 

“Well, Sister, what do you say to that?” 
asked Mr. Pratt. (For at home Jigger was 
not even Gladys, but Sister.) 

Sister-Jigger, feeling their eyes on her, 
looked at the shiny varnish on the floor and 
at the pretty little sprigs of flowers on the 
wallpaper and cried out with enthusiasm that 
it was jfxT-fectly wor-velous! Knowing her 
every inflection from babyhood up and hav¬ 
ing the advantage of twenty-five years more 
of life’s battering than she, they perceived at 
once that something was wrong. And they 
were very much afraid they knew what it 
was. They had tried to put out of their 
minds the uneasiness they had felt when they 
read their daughter’s letter about the uni¬ 
versity trustee, newspaper owner, living-in- 
Paris family she was marrying into. But it 
came coldly back now, filling the newly- 
done-over front hall with dismay. So they 
all began to talk in loud cheerful voices and 
moved on to take Jigger to her own room. 

They left her there to unpack and went 
downstairs together, heavy-hearted. 

“Gosh! I wish it was over!” said Mr. 
Pratt, plucking at the loose skin on his 
brown, weather-beaten neck. 

“Now, Papa, don’t get nervous! The 
father of the bride is always fit to be tied, 
they say. It’ll be all right.” This was what 
Mrs. Pratt said. But after her husband had 
put on his overalls and had gone out to boss 
the spraying of the far orchard, Mrs. Pratt 
stood a long time by her old piano looking 
fixedly at the cover of “The Mulhausen 
Album for Beginners,” although she must 
have known every word in it by heart. 

She was thinking so deeply that she did 
not notice the arrival of a little boy till he was 
there behind her. Coming to herself she 
caught sight of her face in a mirror opposite 
and was startled to see how somber and fore¬ 
boding she looked. “I’ll have to do better 
than that,” she thought. And said with an 
artificial cheerfulness that alarmed the little 
boy, “Oh, how are you, sonny? Let’s start 
our five-finger exercises today with both 
hands. Don’t you think that will be nice!" 

JlGGER had taken off her city shoes and put 
on a pair of sneakers, had changed her dress 
for an old skirt and sweater left hanging in 
her closet, and was now in the side yard 
under the grape arbor. A wild idea had oc¬ 
curred to her that perhaps they could have 
an outdoor garden-party wedding, with a 
striped tent for refreshments and a banked 
flower altar, and not have to go inside the 
house at all. But one look was enough. The 
side yard was just the side yard, no more. 
There were, it is true, lilac bushes in plenty, 
and clumps of tulips in bloom, a big bush of 
snowball, and a hydrangea; but there were 
also clumps of rhubarb in the comer, and a 
line of currant bushes at one side, and from 
it you saw the o/rfside of the house! Also the 
barn and chicken-house. Jigger stood still to 
look at the outside of her father’s old house 
standing sturdily high and square on its 
green grass, the new leaves of its locust trees 
throwing a pattern of shadow on its shingled 
roof. A hen with some chickens wandered 
around the comer of the side porch. Some 
clean dish towels fluttered from a line by the 
back door. Jigger clenched her fists and said 
stormily to the hen and chickens, “I’ll be 
darned if any stuck-up Ohio people are going 
to make me ashamed of my own home!” 

But this didn’t prevent her from having, 
during the three weeks before her wedding, 
more crazy ideas than I could put down here, 
about how not to go through with what 


she (and Dora) had started. Every day she 
said fiercely to herself, “Let them think 
what they will. It’s nothing to me!” And 
every day she knew that what they thought 
would be a good deal to her, might easily be 
a handicap to her all her married life. 

Every day she reminded herself that it 
would unendurably hurt her father and 
mother if now she just ran away with Spike 
around the corner in New York somewhere 
and got married by a justice of the peace or 
the county clerk or whoever married people; 
and every day she thought they might easily 
be even more hurt if she was married at 
home under the eyes of those hateful Ohio 

She put on a grimacing cheerfulness to hide 
the existence of this undercurrent, and she 
was, naturally, about as successful as she had 
been as a little girl trying to hide a misdeed 
from her mother. Mrs. Pratt grimaced cheer¬ 
fully back, her heart as heavy as lead. But 
when Mr. Pratt called her to come see how 
high the peas were sprouting, or to tell him 
where she wanted the clothesline hung and 
getting her there all to himself, asked in a 
low anxious voice, “Don’t you think maybe 
Sister kinda hates to have those folks from 
Ohio come here for—” or, “Wouldn’t it be 
better if we could somehow—” Mrs. Pratt 
always cut him short. “Mercy no! Fred! 
What an idea! She’s just a little nervous 
about getting married. All girls are.” She 
wasn’t going to have any body, no matter if 
he was trustee of a university, make her Fred 
feel apologetic about not having made more 
money! He’d made enough! 

And then the fateful day came. Not the 
wedding day. The day the Hunters from 
Ohio were to arrive. They had decided not 
to drive, Spike wrote. His mother’s back 
wasn’t strong and long drives tired her. 
They were due on the late afternoon train 
the day before the wedding and Spike with 
them. The cheerful grimaces had worn 
pretty thin by that time, and none of the 
three Pratts even tried to keep them up as 
they made the last preparations at the house 
and donned their new street clothes to go to 
the station. There was little talk of any kind, 
and what there was quavered on a note of 
nervous uncertainty. “Sister, would you 
rather have me wear my overcoat?” “Which 
tie would you like to have me put on?” 
“Oh, Mother, do you think I look all right in 
this jersey? Or had I better put on my 
voile?” “Will this hat do, Sister?” 

In the Ford, Mrs. Pratt and her daughter 
on the back seat plucked at each other’s 
neck arrangements, smoothed down each 
other’s hair, put on their gloves and took 
them off and put them on again. On the 
front seat Mr. Pratt was thinking sadly, “I 
ought to have got on better. Other men do.” 

On the platform, hearing the train whistle, 
they arrayed themselves in a row, thought 
that looked silly, stood back of each other, 
thought that looked worse, and held their 
ground despairingly just where they chanced 
to be. The train stopped. The brakeman 
came running down the steps, set a stool and 
turned to give a hand to an undeniably 
Fifth Avenue traveling costume, surmounted 
by a perfectly fitting, severe little dark hat 
which proclaimed negligently that it had been 
made in Paris. Back of this came a stunning 
overcoat accompanied by tan gloves, and 
topped by a marvelously fine and supple tan 
felt hat, the brim turned dashingly down in 
front. Yes, there were people inside those 
clothes, but Jigger didn’t see them. Behind 
the Fifth Avenue costume with the Paris 
hat, and the stunning overcoat, was a tall 
young man with soft black eyebrows and 
bumps on his forehead. He was just as well 
dressed as the others but Jigger was so 
amazed to see who it was, she did not notice 
his clothes at all. It was Spike! Why, there 
was Spike! She gave an involuntary shriek 
of pure astonishment, echoed by one like it 
from the young man who ran rapidly toward 
her. Forgetting all her plans for well-bred 
self-control she sped as fast as she could into 
his arms. 

When they came back to this life, which 
took them rather longer than they realized, 
the Fifth Avenue costume and the swell 
tan overcoat had stiffly shaken hands and 
exchanged formal greetings with Mr. and 
Mrs. Pratt. Spike and Jigger were presented 
now and nervously shook hands with all. 

Spike’s father and mother did nothing 
whatever to put their son’s fiancee at her 
ease. They merely murmured a few guarded, 
cool words which she could hardly hear. “I 
hate them!” thought Jigger. “They don’t 
like me! I’ll always hate them! I’ll take 
Spike away from them if it’s my last act.” 


And then Mr. Pratt said what had been 
agreed on beforehand (after the livery-car 
idea had been abandoned in a tacit resolu¬ 
tion to “get it over once and for all”) as the 
best thing to say. He didn’t do very well 
with it, did not use the jaunty accent his 
daughter had tried (trying not to seem to 
try) to suggest to him as the best one to carry 
it off. But he said it: “Well, our good old 
friend, the family Ford, waits at the back. 
It won’t hold all six of us. Suppose we let 
the young people walk.” 

Jigger, aware at once of suppressed sur¬ 
prise from the Paris hat and the expensive 
overcoat, ground her teeth and thought de¬ 
fiantly, miserably, “If I can only live through 
it!” Which is not, you will admit, a desirable 
way to look forward to your wedding day. 

Nobody said much of anything so they 
went around to where the Ford was parked. 
Jigger and Spike helped get the luggage in— 
sophisticated, expensive, going-to-Europe 
suitcases and a pigskin kit-bag that made the 
Ford hang its head. The four elders took 
their places. Spike shut the doors. 

“All right. We’ll expect you when we see 
you,” said Mr. Pratt, being over-jaunty now 
to make up for having boggled his speech 
about the Ford, and they drove away. 

AND if you please, we’ll drive along with 
them, leaving Jigger and Spike to manage 
somehow—as they did—-to use up two hours 
walking the two miles to the old Pratt place. 

I can’t imagine what they did to take that 
long, and anyhow it’s none of our business. 

The first thing that happened inside the 
Ford was that Spike’s father pulled off his 
gloves. “I see you don’t wear ’em,” he re¬ 
marked to Mr. Pratt at the wheel. When he 
had taken them off, he stretched his hands 
and wriggled his fingers and murmured, 
“Gosh! That feels good!” He then wriggled 
out of his overcoat, hung it over the back of 
the seat, ran his fingers around his collar, 
and took a long breath. 

His wife might have had something to say 
to this if her attention had not been fully 
engaged by Mrs. Pratt’s answer to her first 
question. She had asked, in a prim, guarded 
voice, “Have you been away on tours a good 
deal this winter, Mrs. Pratt?” Jigger’s 
mother had not the faintest idea what this 
meant, but having a lifelong habit of counting 
on plain truth-telling to get her out of any 
difficulty, answered, “Oh, no, I never go 
away from home. I couldn’t leave Mr. 
Pratt. And he can’t ever get away for more 
than a day or so. You know how it is with 
a farm and orchards. There’s always some¬ 
thing that has to-” She did not finish 

her sentence. Her eye had fallen on the ele¬ 
gant overcoat which hung down from the 
front seat. It was folded so that the inside 
was out. Inside the collar was a forgotten 
price tag, very new and clean. 

Mrs. Pratt looked from this to the expen¬ 
sive suitcases. She now saw that they were 
new, brand-new. And so was the pigskin 
kit-bag. She looked around full into the face 
of the woman next her, and saw—under the 
perfectly fitting French hat—a face like her 
own. frankly middle-aged, rather worn, with 
honest, somewhat anxious eyes. 

From the front seat came the voice of 
Jigger’s father, making conversation if it 
killed him 

“I understand you are much interested in 
education, Mr. Hunter.” 

Spike’s father looked around at his wife, 
got no help from her and answered uncer¬ 
tainly: “Oh, not so specially. Newspaper 
work’s my line. I run the little daily my 
father started. I do it myself—with one old 
compositor. I haven’t time for much else. 
Of course I believe in education, but-” 

“Why, I understood from Sister—our 
daughter, I mean—that you are trustee of one 
of the Ohio universities.” 

“Oh, that!" said Mr. Hunter, laughing. 
“They call it a university. They call any¬ 
thing a university in Ohio, you know. There 
are seventeen of them, somebody told me 
once, or was it twenty-seven. It’s just a 
local thing, a Methodist institution—only 
forty-seven students. They were having a 
hard time to get anybody to take a vacant 
place on the board, and Mother wanted me— 

But he went no farther. Mrs. Pratt leaned 
forward over the new price mark on the over¬ 
coat to ask intensely, “Do you mean to say 
you are Methodists ?” 

“Yes,” they said. “Why?” 

“Why, so are we!” cried Mrs. Pratt. 

They were as struck by this as she. “You 
don’t say so!” said Spike’s father, turning his 
head to look at Mrs. Pratt as if he saw her for 
the first time. “Kenneth (Turn to page 38) 


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A 


Continued from page 36 


never told us that!” said Mrs. Hunter. 

“Kenneth?" 

“Perhaps Gladys hadn’t happened to tell 
hint about it.” 

“Gladys?" 

“Well, anyhow,” said Mrs. Pratt, “I’ve 
played the organ in our church for twenty- 

Over his shoulder, Mr. Hunter said: 
"Mother was Christian Endeavor leader 
when T first knew her. That’s where we got 
acquainted.” 

“Well!" said the mother of the bride. 

And “Well!" echoed the mother of the 
bridegroom. 

A thoughtful silence followed. Presently 
Airs. Hunter asked, “How did your daughter 
ever happen to go to New York?” 

“Well, she wanted to,” explained Airs. 
Pratt, apologetically. 

“Yes, I know.” The other mother under¬ 
stood perfectly. 

“It’s better to let them,” wisely com¬ 
mented the Ohio father from the front seat. 
“They have to get it out of their systems.” 

THERE was another reflective silence. This 
was broken by Airs. Hunter’s putting her 
hands up to her head. “Would you mind if I 
took this hat off? It’s so tight it gives me a 
headache. Kenneth would have me buy it.” 

“It’s very stylish,” said Airs. Pratt, looking 
at it on the other woman’s knee. 

“Oh, stylish!” said Mrs. Hunter impa¬ 
tiently. “I never had such a thing on my 
head before. I think it makes me look per¬ 
fectly ridiculous. But Kenneth wanted 
us—” She broke off hastily. 

Airs. Pratt now asked her acutely, “Did 
you come by way of New York or straight 

“We’ve been in New York with Kenneth 
three whole days,” said the other. 

“You must be tired.” 

From the front seat Air. Hunter cried out, 
“Tired? Dead! Once is enough for me. I 
wouldn’t live there if you gave me a million 
dollars.” 

“That’s what I always say!” agreed Mr. 
Pratt. 

They were now arrived. The Ford stopped. 
“Here we are,” said Air. Pratt. He had 
stopped at the side porch and when they got 
out, they faced the row of currant bushes. 

“Aly! Aren’t they far along!” said the 
lady with the Paris hat in her hand. “They’ll 
be ready to do up before long, won’t they?” 

“I hope they’ll last till some of our early 
raspberries are ripe,” said Mrs. Pratt. 

“Yes, I put up mine with raspberries too,” 
said the Fifth Avenue traveling costume. 

“Well, well, come on in, folks,” said Air. 
Pratt, heartily. “We’re just awfully glad to 
have you here.” He sounded as though he 
meant it, and he did. 

They all went in and shut the door. And 
it was not opened again till two hours later 
when Spike and Jigger came in, and Jigger, 
bracing herself and looking very determined, 
pushed it open and led her fiance inside her 

This is what she saw. 

In the living room, sitting with her father, 
who was in his shirt-sleeves, sat a fatherly 
looking bald-headed man, also in his shirt¬ 
sleeves. Both men were smoking pipes, and 
both were laughing. 

“Hello there, Sister!” said her father, put¬ 
ting out a hand to her. “What do you think! 


Your young man’s father and I were in the 
same regiment down in Cuba, when we were 
boys. Can you beat that!” 

“Your father had a little the edge on me 
before it was over,” said the good-natured 
looking man with him—could that be Spike’s 
father? “We were both corporals but he 
got to be a sergeant.” 

“Only just made it before we were mus¬ 
tered out,” said Mr. Pratt. He leaned for¬ 
ward and clapped the other man on the knee. 
“Say, do you remember the time Lieutenant 
Atwater Dillingham Jones knocked his cam¬ 
paign hat off, saluting the Colonel?” 

A delighted yell of recollection and laugh¬ 
ter from the other man drowned him out: 
“By George, I haven’t thought of that from 
that day to this!” he said brokenly through 
his spasms, alternately wiping his eyes and 
holding himself together with his hands. 

Jigger and Spike turned, looked deeply into 
each other’s eyes and, unnoticed by the laugh¬ 
ing fathers, stepped out into the front hall, 
shutting the door behind them. But they 
were not alone there. Yoiccs sounded from 
the top of the stairs. Someone was starting 

Looking up Jigger saw a pleasant-faced, 
gray-haired, comfortable-looking woman in 
one of her mother’s clean wrap-around blue 
aprons. She was saying over her shoulder 
to Mrs. Pratt on the landing above, “But 
she’s never liked it at aE over there. Nor he 
either. They're crazy to get back to Akron.” 
Seeing her son’s fiancee staring up at her, she 
explained, “I was just telling your mother 
about Kenneth's married sister, Carrie. He’s 
probably told you her husband works for a 
company that makes vacuum cleaners and 
when they thought they'd try to sell some in 
France, they wanted somebody over there that 
understood all about the way they worked. 
He’s a very good hand with machinery, 
Carrie’s husband is.” Having now come to 
the bottom step, she looked around her and 
said, “Aly! I wish my front hall was as 
fresh as this. We haven't had it done over 
since Kenneth was in the seventh grade. 
But I simply can’t get Air. Hunter to admit 
how terribly it looks." She looked shyly at 
the girl before her and said, smiling, “You 
must make Kenneth mind you better than I 
ever have his father.” 

She had a very sweet smile and it went 
to Jigger’s heart. “Oh. I love her!” she 
thought emotionally. “I must be sure not to 
take Spike away from her." 

A roar of laughter came from the living 
room. “What a good time those boys are 
having,” said Airs. Hunter, indulgently. 

The two mothers passed on to the kitchen, 
Mrs. Pratt saying, “And we thought it would 
be nice to have baking-powder biscuits with 
the salad—little tiny ones, you know.” 

“Yes, I cut mine out with a napkin ring,” 
said Mrs. Hunter. 

Alone in the front hall stood a couple of 
distinguished young cosmopolites, just 
stepped out of their expensive stateroom on 
an ocean grayhound. Dreamily, almost 
absently, as if they did not really know what 
they were doing, they put their arms around 
each other, and laid their cheeks together. 

“Kenneth,” breathed the girl in his ear, 
“do you know we never can live up to our 
parents, not if we live to be a hundred!” 

He moved his cheek against hers in a nod 
of assent. “You said it, Sister.” 


MUSSOLINI AND THE NEW SPIRIT IN ITALY 

Continued from page 4 


my compliments to your wife, and I hope 
that you will both continue to enjoy your 
travels in Italy.” 

The room was altogether too vast for me to 
retire backwards, as one is said to do in the 
presence of royalty. Furthermore, he had 
been very informal in manner, and I knew it 
was necessary for him to return to his work as 
soon as possible. I thanked him for his kind¬ 
ness in granting the interview. Then I 
turned and walked over that shining floor to 
the distant door. At the portal I turned. 
He was still standing. I gave him an imita¬ 
tion of the military salute, and received the 


real article in return. But it was given with 
a friendly smile. 

Outside the door were the three officers in 
uniform. Heels clicked, hands in the air; 
salutes were exchanged. At 6:12 I was in 
the street. 

Aleeting Alussolini was a great experience. 
Although he was cordial and informal, his 
personality is as impressive as I thought it 
would be, and my anticipations were very 
high. He has already won an imperishable 
place in history, and as he seems to be in 
perfect health and in the plenitude of his 
powers, the future will be most interesting. 



















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OCTOBER 


1932 


4 1 


THE FOOTPRINTS OF DIANE LE MAR 


Continued from page 18 


too. But at the more exclusive affairs where 
only the big stars exhibited themselves, Diane 
was sure to be present. 

Miss Miller wrote: Diane is one of the most 
natural of our stars, unaffected by the glamour 
of success. She is a quiet, home-loving girl who 
likes nothing better than her garden and. her 
boohs, whose home is filled with good music and 
rare objects of art. 

For this Diane sent her an old fur coat and 
a solid silver cocktail shaker. 

The gossip journals wrote: When will 
Diane Le Mar marry Paul Nevin? Will you 
keep us guessing, Diane? 

The public and the press had entirely for¬ 
gotten Cal. They had forgotten that she had 
a husband. Once in a while Diane thought of 
him, of course, and she remembered that 
when she was less busy and got around to it, 
she must divorce him. Divorces, however, 
were too common to be useful publicity, so 
she didn’t get around to it. 

Every so often Paul Nevin would pin her 
down: “Diane, when are you going to di¬ 
vorce-” 

“S-sh-h. . .” 

“Well, I know, everybody knows that-’ 

“That what?” 

“That he isn’t your kind.” 

On such occasions Diane always promised 
that she would do it immediately. Once she 
got as far as calling up her lawyer. But on 
that night the first talking picture had its 
preview, and the movie world was thrown 
into bedlam. 

' “They will never, never last,” said Diane, 
because she didn’t want them to. 

“A ridiculous fad,” said Paul, who didn't 
either. 

They did. They lasted, and Diane forgot 
that Cal existed. If she had known work in 
the old days, she knew it thrice in the new. 

When she had bought her Beverly Hills 
home, she had never expected to sing in the 
music room, read in the library, or practise 
tap dancing in the ballroom. She did all 
these and more too. 

Every other day Signor Bellico put her 
through her singing exercises. 

On the days when Signor Bellico did not 
come, an elderly female actress did. She 
came promptly, and the two of them shut 
themselves in the library, while Diane rounded 
off a hard day at the studio by reading aloud. 

On the days when neither Signor Bellico 
nor the actress came, Diane took French les¬ 
sons. She ran off French records on a port¬ 
able phonograph, and repeated sentences 
after them. 

Diane’s talkie debut was considered auspi¬ 
cious. The studio bought a good story for her 
and surrounded her with the best Broadway 
talent. It did the same thing in the second, 
and when the third picture came out, Diane 
was definitely considered one of the chosen 
few to weather the storm. 

Of course the more critical reviews carried 
such paragraphs as: Why did they make 
Diane Le Mar sing? If she had talked her 
songs instead of singing them through her nose, 
her performance woidd have been greatly en¬ 
hanced. 

One expected that sort of thing. The box- 
office had the final say-so, and the box-office 
said she clicked. 

WHEN her third talkie made such a hit, 
Diane relaxed a bit, let the phonograph run 
down, told the elderly actress she had a head¬ 
ache, kept Signor Bellico waiting in the hall, 
and remembered that she must write Cal and 
ask him if he would give her a divorce. 

However, she didn’t do it. She laid off 
work a few days, until Stelling asked her to 
come to his office and discuss her next picture. 

In the anteroom, with its huge picture of 
Stelling, which had been painted by one of 
Europe’s best artists, she met Paul, and he 
asked her to dance at the Blossom Room the 
next evening. 

He went in to see Stelling first. When it was 


her turn, Paul had gone and Stelling was alone. 

“Come in, Diane.” 

She sank luxuriously into her chair and re¬ 
turned his smile. 

“I’m going to give you a little rest, Diane. 
You’ve been looking tired.” 

So they weren’t going to start work on 
“Top of the Moon” at once. She was glad. 
She was tired. 

“We’re changing your type, Diane.” 

That meant dyeing her hair again. She 
laughed. “Blonde or brunette?” she asked. 

“I don’t know,” said Stelling. “I’m look¬ 
ing for something different for you. Some¬ 
thing big.” 

She didn’t care much what it was. He had 
good judgment and she trusted him. 

"YOU know,” said Stelling, “the public 
goes to a screen star’s first talkie out of curi¬ 
osity. If she’s any good at all, that picture 
is likely to be considered better than it really 
is. It goes the second tifhe to see if she can 
do it again. It’s the third and the fourth 
pictures that count, Diane. And after that, 
when the novelty’s off.” 

“The screen stars seem to be holding their 
own,” she reminded him. 

“A few are,” he admitted. “Some only 
seem to be, because they’re surrounded by 
the very best talent the stage can give. The 
public’s getting too darned smart. It’s 
learned the difference between a pretty face 
and somebody who knows his stuff.” 

She wondered how this concerned her. 

“I can’t find a new picture for you that 
suits me. I’m shopping around,” said Stelling. 

So that was it. She relaxed again into the 
depths of her big chair. 

“Meanwhile we’ve rented you out, Diane, 
to Tri-Art.” 

Rented her out! She knew what that 
meant. When a star is not working, her com¬ 
pany sometimes lends her to another com¬ 
pany. The Tri-Art was not one of the best 
studios. It made quick films with an eye only 
on the box-office. It could take her and put 
her in one poor picture, and she’d be skidding. 

She should say something. Protest! Talk! 
Cry out! Anything but sit there, quiet and 
level-eyed. She only said, “For how long?” 

“Three months.” For the rest of her 
contract. 

Stelling rose. He was dismissing her. 
“Well—I’ll see you again. Tri-Art will want 
you over next week. And by the way, we 
have a new stage star coming in. We’re 
crowded. Better let her have your bungalow. 
You can move back when you return.” 

When she returned. She knew and he knew 
that she wasn’t coming back. That her con¬ 
tract at the end of three months wasn’t going 
to be renewed. Well, why couldn’t he say so? 
Why couldn’t he come right out and tell her 
he was firing her after her years of loyalty and 
work? After they had tied her up on a long¬ 
term contract which was much less than that 
of some of the stars. 

Diane got up. She was white now. It had 
come to her in a flash that he was dismissing 
her just exactly as she had dismissed Cal. 
Pretending she wanted him. Pretending she 
hoped he would stay. And now somebody 
else was doing it to her. 

Somewhere down underneath there was 
just enough of Missie King—a rancher’s 
daughter and a rancher’s wife—left in her to 
make her take this thing standing. 

“Who is the new import?” she asked him. 
Her voice was poised. Only its tone, pitched 
lower than usual, gave her away. 

“Sally Wilcox. I’ll see that you meet her.” 

“Thanks. I’d like to.” 

Stelling looked horribly relieved now. He 
was going to get out of this without hysterics. 
He thought she was so dumb she didn’t know 
what he was doing to her. 

She said, “So you’re dropping me. Well— 
that’s that, isn’t it? Goodbye.” 

It was Stelling’s turn to be surprised. She 
didn’t give him a ( Turn to page 42) 


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portant. Read it, please—and remember. Changes of address must reach us five 
weeks in advance of the next issue date. Duplicate copies cannot be sent to cover 
copies not received through failure to advise us in advance of your change of address. 
Be sure to give both the old and new addresses. No copies will be forwarded to you 
by the Post Office from your old address unless you supply the extra postage. 



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THE FOOTPRINTS OF DIANE LE MAR 


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Continued from page 41 


: ha nee to say anything. She walked out, 
shutting the door behind her. 

Paul was waiting at her bungalow. She 
:ould tell by his face that he knew, that this 
was what Stelling had called him to tell him. 
She tried to make herself believe that he was 
,'oing to smile at her in that clean, fine way 
the public loved, and say: “That’s the game. 
Diane. I’m with you.” 

“Hello, Paul. Been waiting long? Come 
ni in.” She tried to sound very casual—and 

They went in. He was squirming too. Why 
lid they have to squirm? If she could go 
through this, why couldn’t they? 

“Are we going tomorrow evening?” she 

“As a matter of fact, that’s what I came in 
about,” he said, none too easily. “I can’t 
make it. I’ve got to attend the studio 
welcome for Sally Wilcox. She’s coming in 
on the Chief tomorrow. It’s been kept a 
secret. I didn’t know myself until today. 
You see—I’m going to play with her in her 
first picture, ‘Top of the Moon’.” 

She looked at him carefully, this man she 
had made. She gave him that same level¬ 
eyed look she had given Stelling. She even 
made it easy for him. She didn’t know why. 
She said, “That’s all right, Paul.” When he 
had gone, she sat in her little room alone. 


D i AXE moved out of her bungalow the day 
after the welcome to Sally Wilcox. News 
spreads like fire in Hollywood. The whole 
town knew her contract was not going to be 

She took Suzanne out with her to pack up 
the contents of the precious dressing room on 
C street in the studio yards. 

Across the street was Paul’s bungalow. 
There were voices in it today. A new voice 
raised itself above the others. Nobody had 
to tell Diane that it belonged to Sally. No¬ 
body had to tell Diane either that when she 
was gone, Sally would come over to have a 
look at the bungalow which was to be hers. 
To finger the curtains. To poke into the 
drawers. To make remarks. Oh, she knew! 

Already the younger satellites were hover¬ 
ing about Sally. It was Sally who would 
spend the afternoon posing for “stills,” who 
would be shut up in Stelling’s office with 
the press agent. 

In the morning paper Miss Miller had 
written: It is learned from dependable sources 
ihat M.H.J. will not renew the contract of 
Diane Le Mar. Just another movie star who 
couldn’t make the grade, although this one held 
on longer than some of the others. 

For this Diane sent her nothing at all. 

Diane directed while Suzanne packed. To¬ 
morrow the carpenter would come over and 
take down her name, and put up a new plaque 
with Sally’s name on it. And tomorrow the 
bungalow would be “done over.” 

She wouldn’t even be able to go away in 
her own car with Suzanne in her dark maid’s 
uniform beside Patrick in the front seat. The 
car was in the garage for repairs, and the exit 
would have to be made as gracefully as 
possible in a taxi. 

One thing Diane was glad to know. Her 
pay check would come from the old studio. 
For three months it would be as large as ever. 
In one stricken moment she wondered what 
had happened to all this money she had made. 
She saw a million ways she could have saved. 
She should have known it would not last 
forever. 

When everything was packed, she sent 
Suzanne to call a taxi, and took her last look 
around the room. 

She heard a man’s step on the tiny porch. 
No doubt it was Paul, coming to do the big 
thing and say goodbye. 

She opened the door. There stood Cal. He 
looked big and comfortable. Cal wouldn’t 
squirm, no matter what happened to him. 

“Hello,” he said. “I just figured you might 

He had a car with him into which he stowed 
the baggage. He didn’t ask any questions. 
He laughed while Suzanne got in the front 
seat with an armload. Paul could hear him. 
And Sally too. 

Diane laughed too. She made her exit 
gracefully. But in the car on the way home 
she looked at Cal strangely, and she won¬ 
dered if something more, than luck had 
brought him when she needed him so. She 


said, “I’m being sold down the river. I’m 
being let out, Cal.” 

“I know. I guessed it.” 

“How?” 

He grinned a little sheepishly. “Well,” he 
admitted, “I went clear to San Francisco to 
hear you sing.” 

Tired as she was, Diane had to laugh and 
laugh. 

Cal stayed six months. He moved in and 
sent for his trunk. In all these years it was 
his first long visit. He fussed around the 
house, or played golf with somebody he had 
picked up and was never in the way. 

It was nice to have him there, though he 
was very little help in the new campaign into 
which Diane threw herself. She tried to be 
kind to him, but it was hard for her to be kind 
to anybody. There was too much else to 
think about. 

Tri-Art was even a cheaper outfit than she 
had expected. It made a picture in one 
month that should have taken three. She 
told herself that even in a poor picture good 
work could stand out, but she didn’t believe 
it. And all the time she knew that when her 
contract was out, unless something happened, 
she would have to accept a cheap offer from 
a cheap company or go on a vaudeville tour 
“for stage experience” as a hundred other 
screen stars had done before her. “I’m 
going to stage a comeback,” she told herself 
fiercely. “Others have done it. So can I.” 

She reminded herself that Hollywood is a 
supper table town. It is a place where you 
plot for what you want. You work your 
friends to ask you to dine and seat you next 
to the man you want, and if there are no 
lumps in the dessert and the demi-tasse is 
good, perhaps . . . 

Diane told herself that it is a place of 
favors. You do a favor for me, and I do a 
favor for you. Diane had plenty of favors to 
her credit, but when she looked around for the 
return check, the recipients were so busy 
doing favors for somebody else that they had 
forgotten her. 

She worked the friends who stood by her. 
She picked up a clever young press agent and 
paid her to keep the movie columns full of 
rumors as to what she was going to do next. 
She splurged instead of saving in clothes, and 
managed to be seen where it might pay to 
be seen. 

The only trouble was that there were a 
dozen others doing exactly the same thing. 

Cal was sweet as usual and just played golf. 
Sometimes she felt like shaking him—so 
dumb he was, and so oblivious to the fight. 

Once he asked if he could bring some fellow 
golfer home to supper on a Sunday night. It 
had been a blue day. Diane had pulled 
plenty of ribbons, and not one of them had 
had anything on the other end. When she 
reached home, Cal was there already, and to 
her amazement she saw that he had brought 
home Griffin, an independent director, much 
in demand by the studios. 

She was so angry she could have murdered 
Cal for not telling her he knew this man who 
might help her. Naturally she did not show 
it. There was too much to do. She rushed 
upstairs and changed her dress, and gave 
orders to the cook. And she put on as fine 
a performance of connubial bliss as has been 
done before or since. 

She was lovely to Cal. She was lovelier to 
Griffin. 

Griffin came once. He came again. It be¬ 
came rather a customary thing that he and 
Cal should play golf together Sunday and 
drop in at the house for supper. 

On his third visit he asked Diane what she 
was going to do after her contract was done. 
She said frankly that she didn’t know. 

“Perhaps,” said Griffin, “I have something 
that might interest you.” 

THAT is how Diane Le Mar began to climb 
again. On that picture with Griffin she 
worked as she had never worked before. 
Everything had to be just right, put together 
bit by bit with an eye for detail. 

Diane was not on contract now. She was 
being paid only for this one picture. How 
good it was or how good a chance it gave her, 
she didn’t know. She only knew that she had 
no opportunity for sumptuous clothes, that 
there were no marvelous stage effects, that 
Griffin was breaking away from the musical 
comedy rage to do an outdoor epic sort of 






















OCTOBER, 1932 

thing which was considered a rather daring 
experiment. She only knew that her part 
was easier for her, and that she seemed to do 
it more naturally. 

Nobody knew how much of a success this 
picture would be, but everyone knew that if 
Griffin made it, it was bound to be different. 
It had its world premiere in Hollywood. .Vll 
the other studios sent representatives, not as 
a courtesy this time, but as scouts to see what 
Griffin had done. 

Diane went with Griffin, but Cal stayed 
home. He said he would go by himself and 
get a seat somewhere in the back. 

Everybody was there. Miss Miller was 
there. Paul Nevin was there. Sally Wilcox, 
whose first picture had come on the tail end 
of a flock of equally good musical comedies, 
and therefore not made the hit expected of it, 
was there. Stelling was there. 

The gaping crowds, the trucks loaded with 
sun-arc lights, the squads of policemen, the 
glare and the glitter were all there. 

When the picture was run off, everyone 
knew it was a hit. It had the tang and breath 
of the West about it. There was a good story 
full of suspense, marvelous scenic effects, and 
acting that wasn’t acting at all. 

The public knew only that here was a new 
kind of picture and a new kind of Diane 

Only Diane, tense and scared, knew that 
they were not looking at Diane Le Mar at all; 
they were looking at Missie King. 

She said to Griffin: “Tell me the truth. 
How did you happen; to get me for this pic¬ 
ture? How were you clever enough to know 
that once I was that?” 

He said: “I wasn’t. Your husband told me. 
He asked me to give you a chance. He said 
he felt that you had never been given a part 
that suited you.” 

So Cal had done this for her. She hadn’t 
done it herself, after all. When she had made 
her first big success, he had gone away be¬ 
cause she wanted him to go. But when she 
had hit the skids and everybody else had gone 
back on her, he had come back and found a 
way to start her climbing. 

After the picture Griffin said, “I’ll put you 
on a contract.” 

Stelling said, “My God, why did I ever let 

Paul said, “If I can only play with her 

Miss Miller wrote: The most astounding 
comeback of years. Diane Le Mar, considered 
through by her own company, has staged a 
triumph. For this she would expect a very 
nice gift, and she would not get it. 

Cal said nothing at all. All through the 
evening Diane waited for him. These people 
were crawling back now, but they meant 
nothing to her. For the first time of the many 
times she had said so, she really wished she 
were home out of this fuss and flutter. 

There was a supper after the premiere, but 
Cal was not there. When at last she was 
home, she almost ran up the steps. She went 
in the front door and called, “Cal, Cal . . .” 

On the dressing table was his note: “Honey, 


I’m going home. I guess you won’t need me 
now.' Cal.” 

All night Diane thought about that note. 
She thought about Cal sitting on the porch 
of the ranch, staring off into the blue of the 
hills, puffing at his pipe, and waiting for her 
to find out that what he offered was what she 
wanted—the one thing fame had not given. 

In the morning, very early, she borrowed 
Suzanne’s coat. It was just an ordinary tan 
coat with a little bunny rabbit on it. She 
borrowed Suzanne’s hat, which anybody 
could buy in the basement of a big depart¬ 
ment store for five dollars. 

This was her big moment and nobody was 
going to spoil it for her. 

When Suzanne had packed a shabby brown 
bag for her, she took the bus to Hollywood, 
and the street-car downtown. Nobody ex¬ 
pects to see a screen star on a street-car. 

It was a long ride. When she transferred 
at Hill and Sixth, she realized that nobody 
had looked at her. 

At the station she ignored the extra-fare 
train, patronized by the movies, and caught 
the slowest train of them all that stopped at 
every jerkwater station. 

She would come back of course to take the 
velvet and make the money while it was 
offered. But with a difference now. 

There is only one truth about Hollywood: 
that what is here today will be gone tomor¬ 
row; that when you reach the top there is 
only one place to go, and that’s down. When 
the time came for the theater management to 
send a man out to dig up her name in the 
cement and put a new young star’s down, 
there would be two people who wouldn’t care. 


DI ANE sat in the coach and wished the train 
would hurry. A housewife from Iowa shared 
the seat with her. “You look right like Diane 
Le Mar,” said the housewife. 

“Really?” 

“I’ve been to Hollywood,” confided the 
housewife. “I’ve seen some of the stars per¬ 
sonally. Once I was that near to Clark 
Gable I could have touched him. I visited 
my aunt there. She’s got a right bad case of 
kidney trouble.” 

“Too bad,” said Diane. 

“Oh, I was glad to go. I always say a 
family’s got to stick together. Besides, it’s a 
right interesting place. You’ve never been 
there, have you? Well, say, they’ve got a 
theater there with the hand- and footprints of 
the stars in the cement. It says, ‘These are 
the Hand- and Footprints of Diane Le Mar’ 
in her own handwriting. Seems silly, but I 
guess they eat it up.” 

“I guess so,” said Diane. 

The woman leaned nearer. “Say—you 
aren’t her, are you?” 

Diane’s answer was an accomplishment. It 
had taken years to learn how to give it. It 
was something big and shining and glorious, 
but of all the shining things she had ever 
done, she did not know that this was one of 
them. She only knew that she was tired. 
She said simply: 

“Me? No—I’m just a rancher’s wife.” 


THIS ROOM 


IS A HOUSE IN ITSELF! 


Continued from page 24 


many other kinds. The simple design is so 
skilfully carried out in pleasantly varied 
tones of brown, tan, and beige, that it com¬ 
bines all the restfulness of a one-color rug 
with the charm of an unusually attractive 
design. This rug was laid over Ozite, a 
resilient rug lining. 

You will see at once the forthright charm 
of the window treatment. At the top of the 
window group is a trough of indirect lighting, 
achieved by a light-strip, which gives a glow 
to this entire side of the room. Obviously 
this is most effective for the reading, writing, 
dining, and radio groupings at this side of the 

The window shades, in linen color, are of 
excellent quality. The glass curtains 'are of 
sheer, flesh-color Virginia gauze. The three- 
sided valance makes a feature of the lovely 
design of the chintz, by pattern cut-out and 
the one-inch beige border. This chintz, with 
its warm, prune-color background, has the 
conservative charm and the unmistakable 
mellowness of an old English chintz ... in¬ 
deed, it has been named just that—“English 
Chintz.” The luminous quality of this 
chintz, in the draperies and in the slip-cover 


of the couch, gives an artistic accent against 
the other neutral patterns in the room. 

Now we are ready for the furnishings. 
When we chose our furniture for this room we 
held firmly to the thought that, although we 
were building a three-in-one room, it was the 
living room personality that we wished to 
develop. Every chair must make its contri¬ 
bution as a living room chair, even though 
the side chairs were also to be used as dining 
room chairs. All the tables must be appro¬ 
priate to a living room, even though the 
library table was to be used as a dining room 
table. The couch, the bookcase, the radio, 
the chest of drawers ... all living room 
pieces. 

The very special problem of a room that 
must be lived in by day and slept in by night 
is the finding of a bed that will, in some magic 
way, have the smart and graceful appear¬ 
ance of a day-couch, that will be of a size 
adapted to the scale of such a room, and that 
will climax all this by transforming itself into 
a miracle of comfort as a bed. 

We found that an American manufacturer, 
after years of study and experiment on this 
problem . . . which he ( Turn to page 44) 


43 



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44 


DELINEATOR 



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—it makes stockings jit 


Those dowdy little wrinkles around 
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Lux 

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E-L-A-S-T-I-C-I-T-Y 


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THIS ROOM IS A HOUSE IN ITSELF! 

Continued from page 43 



Windows without sashweights 


now give us slender mullions 


wisely realized was becoming a national one 
. .. had produced just this wonder. He had 
given a low, smartly-tailored line to the 
back; had made the pillow-rest and the 
pillow exactly the right design for couch- 
comfort; had devised the simplest and easiest 
way of opening the bed; and then had capital¬ 
ized, in the construction of the bed, all the 
excellent qualities that had already become 
famous in the construction of his comfort¬ 
able, buoyant, innerspring mattresses. 

This couch-bed we slip-covered, with con¬ 
venient zipper fastenings, in the same lovely 
chintz used in the draperies. This not only 
gave a new personality to such a piece of 
furniture, but created an artistic balancing 
of design in the room. 

The photograph of the opened bed on page 
26 shows you how comfortably it can be 
made: with pillows filled with white goose 
feathers; with sheets of fine, soft texture; with 
a reversible blanket, the interesting new 
combination of white on one side and peach 
on the other; with a lovely peach-and-apricot- 
toned comfortable; and with a scalloped beige • 
blanket cover of Korean silk. 

A living room deserves that happy name 
only when its chairs combine perfect comfort 
with an excellent appearance. Here, funda¬ 
mentally, we capture that desired “at rest” 
quality for the room. In our choice of chairs 
we feel that our living room completely 
qualifies for that name. To carry out in the 
room a certain quality of sensitive balance 
which was to contribute an interesting deco¬ 
rative feature to the room, we chose two 
lounge chairs of one kind, two of another 
kind, and a most attractive occasional chair, 
all registering that deep, complete restful¬ 
ness so essential, so very essential, in chairs. 
These chairs tempt you to sit in them . . . 
What more can be said? 

But something more should be said, for 
we carefully investigated the method by 
which these chairs are constructed, and found 
it supremely meritorious. And—good news! 
—they are as inexpensive, as rightly priced, 
as it is possible to price chairs that are so 
excellently constructed and so beautifully up¬ 
holstered. Our creed is, as you know, that 
it is the most unwise economy to buy a 
poorly constructed chair. 

THE chairs and couch are, as they should 
be, companioned with tables—simple, charm¬ 
ing, useful tables. The handsome library¬ 
dining table. The pie crust table, beautifully 
designed. The occasional table, most useful 
beside the lounge chair by day, and as a bed- 
table by night. The beautiful end-tables by 
the couch. The coffee table, in front of the 
couch. The two-tiered dumb waiter as a 
supplement to the dining table. 

Notice, too, the unusual distinction of the 
dresser base and the bookcase. The excel¬ 
lently designed console radio in the new Con¬ 
vention model. The pleasant, unassuming 
quality of the electric strike clock. The 
ingenious Magiclog electric fire. 

The chief glory of the dining room group is 
that every member of it thoroughly achieves 


a living room personality between meals and 
a complete dining room convenience during 
meals. In this way the artistic unity of the 
room is maintained. The handsome living 
room table becomes an excellent dining 
table. The Chinese Chippendale side chairs, 
unusually fine in design and workmanship, 
become the dining chairs. 

So that the table could easily be cleared, 
we put on it, in its living room capacity, only 
a crystal girandole, and a pair of flower pots 
with geraniums. 

CONSISTENT with our plan of keeping a low 
budget for this room, we equipped our table 
with items of low cost and of good taste. 
The table cloth and six napkins, of provin¬ 
cial weave, cost, for instance, less than three 
dollars. The plates are of Italian pottery, 
the bread and butter plates uniquely carrying 
the scenic background. We used a new de¬ 
sign in American glass, most graceful and 
effective. And combining excellently with 
these is the handsome new “Guild” pattern 
of silver-plate, in flatware on the table, in 
the hollowware that we have shown on the 
dumb waiter, and in the service that we have 
shown on the coffee table. 

“Uncluttered this room must be,” we de¬ 
termined as we chose the accessories. Every 
detail to be light-hearted, appropriately to 
complete the personality of the room. 

First we maintained the restful spacious¬ 
ness of the walls by putting very little on 
them—the chief decoration being two pairs 
of painted plaster wall brackets holding vases 
from which bloom a few daisies. What a gay 
idea, this, to bring spring to a room! Be¬ 
tween the two brackets on the east wall we 
hung a black and white engraving. 

Appropriately gay in their spirit are the 
alabaster lamps and their lustrous shades . .. 
the Dresden lamps, for the desk and table ... 
the Dresden vases and figurines... the china 
and glass cigaret boxes and ash trays. 

Uncluttered, too, the fireplace unit. Above 
the mantel, two simple, graceful, mirrored 
sconces, and a pair of crystal vases, of Water¬ 
ford cut, at the sides of the friendly clock. 
Andirons and fire tools of simple antique 
brass effect. A dignified three-fold screen. 

For the radio comer of the room, we found 
a good bridge lamp, with a shade so well 
planned that it gives excellent light for 
reading . . . and all at the proper height and 
angle. And on the top of the radio as well as 
on the top of the bookcase, are interesting 
statuettes. 

For that “far-off” mood, happily captured 
by firelight and candlelight, we have pro¬ 
vided, as a supplement to the hearth, two 
crystal girandoles, with tall, ivory candles, 
and the four single crystal candlesticks used 
on the dining table. 

On the desk leaf is a generous-sized blotter, 
a compact leather letter-paper holder, a pen 
set with two pens, an extra supply of boxes 
of letter-paper of various sizes, a lamp, and a 
handset telephone. 

(Turn the next page and read about hoar this 
room is lighted for convenience and beauty. 



A rug cushion gives longer 


life and resiliency to carpets 











OCTOBER, 1932 


45 



TJTERE is lovely Lorraine hunt 
' JO. picking at a box of chocolates 
all alone because her husband’s staying 
down at the office again. It’s much too 
soon for that sort of thing and she de¬ 
cides to tell Betty Le Bar about it next 
day at lunch. 


TN the middle of their Spanish melons 
^ their attention is distracted by a couple 
of well-known debs. One has on a beige outfit 
with Rose Anger nails. The other is a knockout 
in dark blue and deep Coral nails. Heaps of 
allure! But Lorraine thinks her husband would 
never stand for it. That reminds her. "Let’s 
drop in on him and I’ll get some cash for a 
new hat." 


private door with 
Jack’s name on it, 
their eyes get wide. 
Something new in 
secretaries. Pound¬ 
ing the keys with 
bright Cardinal An¬ 
ger tips! Is that 
what’s so fascinating 
about the office? 
"Hello, Jack dar¬ 
ling .. 


M ]CIVE MINUTES later at the near- 
** JC est drug store Lorraine is getting 
—not a new hat—but the latest news about 
nail polishes. Cutex has 6 lovely shades 
that go on smoothly and dry in no time. 
“It’s very intriguing to vary them with 
your costume,” the clerk says. "So I 
notice,” murmurs Lorraine. “Give me 
Rose and Coral and don’t bother to wrap 
them. I’m dashing.” 


a'yOU’VE got them all stopped when 
JL you want to,” he says as they whirl. 
"You’re not such a dumb-bell yourself, darling,” 
says she. 


Don’t let Other Girls be More Alluring • Mail Coupon 

With 12^ Today NorthamWarren,Dept.2D10,191HudsonSt.,N.Y. 


\X/HEN the front door clicks that night, Lor- 
» » raine is wearing Rose nails with a baby blue 
chiffon. Is John knocked for a goal! He kisses her 
Angers as if he were an Italian duke instead of a former 
football star. But soon reverts to form and suggests 


























































46 


DELINEATOR 




WHEN YOU GROW UP, ETHAN, 
AND GO AWAY FROM THE FARM, 

I GUESS YOU’LL HANKER AFTER 
MAPLE SYRUP AS GOOD AS . 
THIS ! S" 


YOUR PANCAKES ARE JUST 
AS GOOD AS MOTHER’S 1 , BUT 
THE SYRUP -TAKE IT 

AWAY ! . 


I'LL MISS MAKING 
IT UP IN THE 
SU6AR HOUSE, 
TOO. mv'how 
U300D IT TASTES. 1 


I WISH I COULD FIND 
A SYRUP WITH A FLAVOR 
AS GOOD AS THAT YOU 
AND YOUR DAD USED 
\ TO MAKE BACK IN 

k Vermont! 


here’s just the 
SYRUP FOR rfcf 
YOUR HUSBAND, LZm 
MRS. ELLEN ! 


Boyhood 
on a 

Vermont Farm 


15 Years 
Later in 
San Francisco 


The Ethan Ellens have Vermont 
Breakfasts in San Francisco 


THE MAPLE SUGAR COUNTRY 

Try Vermont Maid Syrup. Your grocer 
has it in handy glass jugs. Be sure you get 
Vermont Maid—spelled M-A-I-D—with 
the pretty girl on the Vermont-green 
label. This velvet-smooth, golden syrup 
comes from Burlington, Vermont—the 
heart of the maple sugar country. Penick 
& Ford, Ltd., Inc., Burling¬ 
ton, Vermont. 


Right from the heart of 


have you any syrup 

MR. ELLEN WOULD LIKE? j 
HE'S VERY PARTICULAR. 
HE’S FROM VERMONT J 


SAY! THIS IS REAL SYRUP, 
WHERE DID IT COME FROM? 


RIGHT FROM VERMONT, 
ETHAN. IT’S MADE IN 
BURLINGTON BY 
VERMONTERS. A BLEND 
OF PURE CANE AND 
MAPLE SU6ARS. IT’S jg rzl 
CALLED 

_ Vermont FIT ^ 
H Maid NT 
Syrup AW 


Lighting Gives Cheerfulness 

by GRACE L. PENNOCK 

DELINEATOR INSTITUTE 



The lighting and floor plan of 
the room pictured on pages 24-26 


Our ONE-ROOM APARTMENT (shown 
in this issue) is a cheerful place. Skilful 
use of light has had a big share in making it 
so. It is a room that induces a sense of well 
being. 

There is the effect of sunlight coming 
through the window at any time of day or 
evening. Sunlight itself shines through flesh- 
tinted glass curtains by day. Artificial light 
comes from the same position by night, giv¬ 
ing a lighting similar to sunlight to the room, 
though less in intensity. 

The mechanics of this lighting are simple. 
There is but one long window to consider. 
The window frame itself runs to the ceiling. 


The wide cornice which runs around the en¬ 
tire room continues over the window space in 
front of the frame. Thus a pocket is formed 
in back of this cornice where the receptacles 
for the light are concealed. A special metal 
trough is fastened in this pocket. The 
receptacles for the lamps and the necessary 
wires are all lodged in this metal casing. 
Tubular lamps are used—twenty-five-watt 
lamps eight inches apart, taking fifteen for 
the entire available window width. The tai¬ 
lored valance which drops below the cornice is 
lined with white to add to the amount of 
light reflected. Lightly tinted glass curtains 
over the windows color and soften the light 
as it shines over and through them. 

The light from this window furnishes 
ample illumination for the dining table. 
Lamps and wall brackets furnish additional 
light throughout the room. Table lamps at 
either end of the couch provide light here, and 
for the chair at the end of the couch. The 
lamps themselves are tall, have light-colored, 
wide-spreading shades and provide a wide 
circle of light about themselves. There are 
two forty-watt bulbs in each lamp. 

A bridge lamp back of the comfortable 
chair in one corner of the room provides ade¬ 
quate lighting at this point. The lamp at the 
built-in desk has a light-colored shade, yet 
one which affords soft diffusion of the light. 
It provides ample, comfortable light for either 
reading or writing. Wall brackets with white 
parchment shades add a good bit of light to 
the room. 

The white ceiling and light walls reflect 
back light from all the lamps and wall brack¬ 
ets, making brightness enough for cards and 
general conversation at any point. In addi¬ 
tion to ample light, there is that definite at¬ 
mosphere of cheerfulness which makes this a 
good room to live in, twenty-four-hours-a-day. 


A LITTLE CAP FOR ANGEL 

Continued from page 19 


And so it was that Juanita could sing as she 
swept the dirt floor. Not only was she to 
be a bride, with a white dress and a fine 
wedding—a distinction seldom achieved in 
the little parish of the beggars—but there 
would be much money. And there was no 
need to wait to be happy, for there was 
Pedro, whose strong arms and warm lips 
blotted out all the cold and hunger of the 
present. 

She said nothing to her mother of her com¬ 
promise with happiness. Paz might tell 
Padre Dominguez, and the priest mustn’t 
know—Juanita knew he mustn’t, with an in¬ 
tuitive prudence. 

A beloved, but awe-inspiring man was 
Padre Dominguez, with his snow-white hair, 
wrinkled brown face and sharp, all-seeing 
eyes. There was very little he did not dis¬ 
cover and he controlled his strange little 
flock with an undisputed authority. Health 
officers, truant officers, blue-coated police¬ 
men in the enforcement of law and order, 
gave up in hopeless disgust. The parish was 
bounded on the east by disclaiming shrugs, 
on the west by impeccable alibis, on the 
north by all the detachable belongings of a 
careless American city and on the south by 
the Rio Grande, across which one might wade 
in three minutes to invulnerable privacy. 
They were only too glad to relinquish their 
problems to the efficient hands of the priest. 

“Si, si, senor," he would agree with grave 
regret, “if there is a misappropriated dog 
among my parishioners, it will be discovered. 
I will find it for you by morning.” . 

The return of a lost dog had long been a 
simple means of making a few extra dollars, 
so simple in fact, that it was only necessary 
to connive with a sociably inclined pet in the 
fine residence district to induce him to 
change his home, and then wait for the offer 
of the reward. But while one might fool the 
officers with protestations of rightful owner¬ 
ship, not so Padre Dominguez; he knew 
even,' pet in his parish. The alien dog would 


be restored, sans reward, although the padre 
was curiously unable to produce the thief. 
The meting of punishment he reserved for 
himself; it was not for these officers with 
their angry blue eyes. Later, a dispossessed 
and temporarily repentant Juan would do a 
bit of extra penance washing the windows of 
the Guardian Angel Church, but the matter 
was between himself and the padre. 

The priest in Padre Dominguez censured 
the sins of his flock sternly, with faithful ad¬ 
herence to the law, but the Mexican in him 
tempered his discipline with compassionate 
understanding of his own people— pobrecitos, 
they were desperate, ignorant children I 
When a man is starving he may be close to 
a spiritual God, but he is much closer to a 
physical devil. 

PADRE DOMINGUEZ pondered as he 
tidied up his little church. With his cassock 
pinned above his knees and a dust cloth fast¬ 
ened over his white hair, he worked alone. 
There were no penitents to assist him. It 
had been a good week, entirely too good for 
his peace of mind. 

He inspected the holy water font and the 
poor box, shaking his head over the empti¬ 
ness of them both. Abstractedly he filled 
the font and reaching into a pocket under his 
cassock he drew out some coins. He looked 
at them a moment reluctantly. It meant 
dining on frijoles for a week if they went in, 
but quin sale how some of his little ones 
might dine if they didn’t. He dropped them 
into the box. 

His face brightened as he closed the door 
behind him, and he crossed the church yard 
to his own room with a sense of anticipation. 
His work was done for the day, it was now 
the hour for the little gorritas —the baby caps. 
Hurriedly he hghted the lamp and reached 
behind the bedroom shrine for his battered 
work-basket. The basket was kept there 
that it might never tempt him to become 
remiss in his holy duties. (Turn to page 48) 












































OCTOBER, 1 9 3 2 4 7 

/ 7hought 

my Child was Zazy 



But 

a sympathetic 
teacher 
told me 

the truth! 


“An unskimmed wheat cereal,” I asked, 
“what kind of a cereal is that?” 

And then she told me some facts about 
cereals that utterly amazed me. I had never 
dreamed before that there was such a differ¬ 
ence in cereals. She brought out the most 
interesting chart* (reproduced at right) which 
made it perfectly clear to me just why cereals, 
like milk, must be “unskimmed.” The chart 
also showed that in addition to being “un¬ 
skimmed,” Ralston Wheat Cereal is double 
rich in those precious yellow parts of wheat 
which Martha-Jean needed so badly. 

It’s been several months since my visit with 
Miss Grimes—months that have made an in¬ 
credible difference in Martha-Jean. She’s 
gained weight—and a seemingly endless store 
of energy with every pound! Her cheeks 
are rosy—she bounces out of bed every morn¬ 
ing—eats her bowl of Ralston 
with a relish—and hurries off to 
school—eagerly. Do you wonder 
that I’m grateful to Ralston 
Wheat Cereal for the change it 
made in my child? 

Her father and I like Ralston, 
too. It’s so easy to prepare—takes 
only five minutes, and costs so 
little—less than one cent a dish! 


These three parts are: 

1. BROWN (outer layers) — 
rich in proteins and minerals 
needed to build firm flesh, sound 
teeth, strong bones. 

2. WHITE (centers) — starch, 
which supplies body heat and 
energy. 

3. YELLOW (hearts)-vita- 
min B—createsnormal appetites. 

Without vitamin B a child can’t 
have perfect health and growth. 

To be sure your child’s cereal is 
unskimmed, look for the tiny brown, 
white and yellow particles. 
RALSTON HAS ALL THREE 


P oor little Martha-Jean! I’ll never forget 
how dejectedly she came in that day—two 
big tears coursing down her cheeks. “Teacher 
wants to see you,” she managed to say be¬ 
tween sobs. So the next morning we were at 
Miss Grimes’ desk long before school time. 
Worried and irritated as I was—it was a dis¬ 
tinct surprise to have the teacher smile as I 
entered the room. “Good-morning, Mrs. Hall,” 
she said pleasantly—“how nice of you to come 
so quickly. I’m sure we’ll find Martha-Jean’s 
trouble now.” 

“You know, Mrs. Hall,” Miss Grimes con¬ 
tinued, “it isn’t like Martha-Jean to be diffi¬ 
cult in school—yet she seems so inattentive 
and listless lately that I can’t help being con¬ 
cerned about her.” 

“I’m afraid Martha-Jean is lazy,” I con¬ 
fessed, unwillingly. 

Miss Grimes shook her head. “No, she isn’t 
lazy. I think this trouble comes from some¬ 
thing quite different. I’ve noticed that Martha- 
Jean is best in the first morning classes—then 
she seems to droop around 10:30 or 11! That’s 
what made me wonder. Does Martha-Jean 
eat a hearty breakfast?” 

“Oh, no! In fact, she eats almost nothing. 
A little toast and some milk—very rarely she 
will take a little bacon—or an egg.” 

“No hot cereal?” 

“We seldom have cereals of any kind.” 
“There’s the answer,” Miss Grimes cried 
triumphantly! “That accounts for Martha- 
Jean’s listlessness. She isn’t getting enough 
nourishment to carry her through the morn¬ 
ing. She really ought to have a bowl of hot 
whole wheat cereal every day.” 

“I’ll buy some cereal on my way home,” 
I said with relief. 

“Not just ‘some cereal’, please,” Miss Grimes 
interrupted quickly. “Martha-Jean needs an 
‘unskimmed’* wheat cereal.” 


plainly 

















48 


DELINEATOR 


Whose job is it? 


A LITTLE CAP FOR ANGEL 


Continued from page 46 


-okJiA ot ij&Wi cjtoc&is 



Really it’s up to both of us—to keep you 
informed about anything better in 
foods! 

But your grocer is one of the busiest 
men we know. 

If he hasn’t already told you about 
Del Monte Coffee, let us go back of 
his counter a minute—and give you 
some of the reasons Del Monte Coffee 
should please you more than any coffee 
you’ve ever tasted. 

When we set out to add coffee to the 
Del Monte family of foods, we had a 
freehand. A new opportunity in coffee! 
No set ideas—no old-fashioned preju¬ 
dices about quality or flavor. Just one 
ideal—to make Del Monte Coffee as 
outstanding in flavor, as dependable, as 
every other Del Monte Food. 

We were able to look over everything 
the coffee industry knew about produc¬ 
ing really good coffee—to take advan¬ 
tage of every last improvement we could 
find—to create a really “modern coffee 
for modern tastes.” 

Then we selected the vacuum can. 
And developed super -vacuum packing— 
to bring you super-freshness. 

Try Del Monte Coffee yourself. Buy 
a pound today. If your own grocer 
hasn’t it in stock, suggest that he get it. 
Smell its fine aroma—taste its rich, full- 
bodied flavor. See if here isn’t just the 
coffee you’ve been trying to find—the 
coffee you’d expect Del Monte to 
bring to your table. 


THE MODERN COFFEE FOR MODERN TASTES 



DEL 


The wrinkles in his face crinkled into a 
deep smile as he fingered the soft wool. He 
had never been quite sure about the baby 
caps; his crocheting them seemed a benign 
and needed charity for the bare little heads 
they adorned, but his pleasure in the work 
made him sometimes wonder it it partook 
of secular joy. He had seen a new pattern 
that morning, two stitches interlocking in¬ 
tricate shells that shaped themselves into a 
hali-moon—or was it three stitches? He 
gazed at the wool dubiously. He knew he 
should adhere to the old pattern which had 
proven so economical with the material. The 
elaborate beauty of the new one would re¬ 
quire much wool. But only this one little 
bonnet he would make entirely to his own 
satisfaction, and to pay for it he would not 
touch his needle for a whole week when it 
was completed. 

With a sigh of utter content he settled 
himself in the good chair and chained off the 
first row of stitches. 

So complete was his absorption in his 
work that the hours passed by unnoticed; 
it was late, very late when he rose at last, 
stiffly, and replaced the basket behind the 
statue of Our Lady. 

As he turned from the shrine he paused and 
stiffened . . . Shots! And from the direction 
of the river . . . 

His face drained of color as he walked to 
the door and listened intently. There was 
only silence. With a shaking hand he blessed 
himself and went back to his chair. He 
could not go to bed. Not now. 

The night workers were the most heart¬ 
breaking of his flock. There his prayers, 
vigilance and penances had little effect. 
So much pay, it seemed, for brief moments 
of risk. It was futile to argue with a hungry 
man that he was endangering his life, for 
starvation kills also. 

He half arose and listened again. The fin¬ 
gers gripping the chair were white with press¬ 
ure .. . There they came—the frantically 
hurrying feet. Madre de Dolores! it was one 
of his children! 

“Padre Dominguez! Padre Dominguez!” 
came the cry as the scurrying feet reached the 
gate. “Padre Dominguczi Padre Domin¬ 
guez!" —louder yet as they tore up the walk. 

And with an anguished readiness Padre 
Dominguez went to meet them. 

Juanita fell into the doorway, clutching 
the priest with frenzied hands. “Pedro—” 
she gasped—“Pedro—he has been shot-” 

AND again life went on as usual in the little 
hut. Paz continued to wash in the homes 
of the American se floras. Juanita swept the 
dirt floor, cooked the frijolcs and watched 
over the little ones. But she no longer sang. 

Once, in desperation, she went to the priest 
and told him everything. She knew she had 
been bad, she had let Pedro take the night 
job and God had punished her—Pedro was 
gone. Wasn’t that enough? Couldn’t God 
make it stop hurting and let her be happy 
again? Or was it always going to be like this? 

“There were two bad things, Juanita.” The 
priest spoke gently but gravely, “and you 
have paid for only one. You and Pedro 
broke the laws of men, and men punished you 
—that was the night job. But what about 
the happiness you stole when you gave your 
love to Pedro?” 

But Juanita was bitterly unconvinced. 
Loving Pedro was not bad—for how could 
you steal something you could not see? 

Patiently Padre Dominguez tried to ex¬ 
plain; she could see the ceremony which gave 
the sanction of God, she could see the little 
certificado which gave the law’s approval. 

Yes, she could see them, the girl agreed 
with skeptical, impenitent eyes. But the 
love was hers, she insisted stubbornly, it 
didn’t belong to God, or to men who sold the 
certificados, it belonged to no one but herself. 
And she wasn’t sorry she had given it to 
Pedro—she was glad. When she had gone, 
Padre Dominguez sighed in weary defeat. 

Weeks passed and when it came to Juanita, 
at first stupidly, then incredulously, and at 
last irrefutably, that although Pedro was 
gone, he had not left her alone, she sought 
her mother in great bewilderment. 

Paz was visibly upset over the news. It 
was terrible for Juanita, Paz bewailed, she 
was only a child and now she must begin 
the troubles of a woman. It was terrible for 


her, too—another mouth to feed and only the 
Mother of God knew how they managed to 

“I warned you,” she commiserated, "it 
is always thus with men. If they do not bring 
you sorrow in one manner, they do in an- 

“But I did not marry Pedro,” Juanita pro¬ 
tested defensively, “and you said it was mar¬ 
riage I must avoid if I would stay happy.” 

“Tonta!” Paz spoke in exasperation. “It 
is not the words the padre says that make the 
unhappiness, it is the men. Ay Dies! that 
you could know so little and yet the good 
God would senchyou a baby!” 

Immediately Paz’s sympathy transferred 
itself to the baby. Poor little thing, he would 
need all of her care—bom without a father 
and with a little mother who knew nothing. 
But she would be a good grandmother to 
him, she would make him a warm little soap¬ 
box bed and, maybe, she could buy him some 
little dresses. 

THE more Juanita thought about the com¬ 
ing of the baby, the better she liked it. A 
nifiito warm and soft in her arms—the vision 
filled her with a curious content. It was not 
like that other happiness, it had no hunger 
or fears, it had completeness in itself. 

As for Paz, having exercised her emotions 
over all the terrible phases of the situation, 
she was free to enjoy the preparations for the 
event. The cloth for the little dresses was 
bought and they were made with much lace 
from the ten-cent store. A piece of old quilt 
was found and washed to fine softness for the 
soap-box bed. 

The neighborhood attitude over the com¬ 
ing of Juanita’s baby was agreeably casual. 
They were neither surprised nor shocked, 
they were merely interested. 

By twos and threes the women flocked into 
the little hut to view the tiny face of Juani¬ 
ta’s son. There were murmurs over his size— 
a magnificent baby—and an entire absence 
of any criticism concerning his social status. 

And upon Juanita’s face there was the 
white light of discovery. Each time Paz 
took the little blanketed bundle and opened 
it for a fresh audience, her eyes followed it 
rapturously, yearningly, and she sighed with 
an ecstatic fulfillment when it was restored 
to the warm hollow of her arm. 

She had thought of calling the baby Pedro, 
but that, Paz warned her, was unlucky since 
the little one’s father had never seen his face. 

“Then I shall call him Angel,” she de¬ 
cided prudently, “for Pedro has sent me a lit¬ 
tle angel.” It would not do to handicap 
the nihilo with bad luck, but he would still 
be named for his father, in a sense. Then, 
too, the name would please Padre Domin¬ 
guez—he would think it stood for the 
Guardian Angel Church—and pleasing the 
priest was something for which Juanita felt 
an uneasy need. 

All the months Padre Dominguez had 
watched her with his stem, sorrowful eyes. 
Juanita could not forget that he had said 
there were two sins—and for one of them she 
must answer to the good God. She didn’t be¬ 
lieve it. God wasn’t going to punish her, for 
He had sent her a new happiness. But she 
would feel more assurance in its permanency, 
with the approval of the priest. 

When little Angel had two weeks, Juanita 
made ready for her visit to Padre Dominguez. 
It was the custom to carry a new baby to the 
priest and, although no mention was made of 
expected gifts, the little one was taken with 
only the blanket tucked over his bare head 
so that it was easily seen what he needed 
most. After he had fully admired the baby, 
the padre always gave him the cap made 
by his own hands. No one, not even old 
Sarita, could make such beautiful ones. 

And it was whispered the cap would do 
more than keep the baby’s head warm. 
When little Geronimo Gomez had lain mor¬ 
tally ill and everything else had failed, they 
had tied his bonnet on his inert little head 
and he had recovered as if by a miracle. 
After all, they were made by consecrated 
hands and it was reasonable to suppose that 
they carried a special blessing. 

While Juanita feared that the display of 
Angel to the priest might appear as a piece 
of arrogance, since he had prophesied she 
would be punished, still (Turn to page 51^ 








OCTOBER, 1932 


DELINEATOR 



VbuR FAMILY VITAMIN 


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the average American diet to be 
deficient in at least three impor¬ 
tant vitamins—A, C and D. (1) (2) 

2. These vitamins, together with 
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lacking than any other food- 
essentials. (2) 

3. Absence of these health-pro¬ 
moting elements often lays the 
groundwork for future trouble, 
without immediate, visible symp¬ 
toms. (1) 

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and every woman building her family’s 
health and future! 

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danger. They do not say that vitamins 
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5 0 

NUMBER FIVE IN A 


SERIES OF FRANK TALKS BY LEADING 


DELINEATOR 

WOMEN PHYSICIANS 


“If I could tell 
the qounq bride 
but one thinq 


"IT WOULD BE THIS: 

Practice feminine antisepsis faithfully and intelli¬ 
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trials and demands of home-making is not only a 
tragedy to a wife but a doleful catastrophe to her 
husband. 

“Yet such is the frequent penalty of neglected 
marriage hygiene. Those poignant fears and appre¬ 
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serious mental and physical disturbances ... through 
slovenly inattention to feminine daintiness. 

“For feminine health and mental serenity, “Lysol” 
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ministrations of childbirth. It is safe, gentle, efficient. 
It is not merely antiseptic. It is germicidal. Safe¬ 
guarding the frail or overtired wife from taxations 
upon her health which all too often she is not 
physically qualified to meet.” 

(Signed) 

DR. NELLY STERN 


Dr. Nelly Stern. Awarded her medical degree at the University of Vienna; considered leading 
gynecologist at the world famous women’s spa of Franzensbad in Czechoslovakia. Author 
of a book entitled “Hygiene und Diatetik der Frau” (Woman's Hygiene and Dietetics). 




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Street - 

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OCTOBER, 19 32 


5 1 


A LITTLE CAP FOR ANGEL 

Continued from page 48 



—a milium mothers 
/had Aomethivuj to tell ijoii 

WOULD YOU LISTEN ? 


it might serve to convince him that she 
was right. In any event, she must take no 
chances. As quickly as possible, Angel must 
have the protection of the blessed bonnet. 

Padre Dominguez was expecting the visit 
from Juanita. He had looked over the con¬ 
tents of the battered work-basket, gazing 
long and speculatively at his most elaborate 
cap—all babies needed caps, he argued weakly 
—then he shook his head and put it away 
with considerable depression. But when 
Juanita came, he admitted her with a cheer- 

“Good afternoon, Padre,” she breathed, 
looking up uncertainly, then down at the 
bundle in her arms. “It is my little Angel. 
He has two weeks and I have brought him for 

In the good chair, beside the window, 
Padre Dominguez examined his newest 
parishioner with entire absorption. Ah, que 
bonitot he exclaimed over the little brown 
face and the aimlessly flapping fists—a 
beautiful baby! But when he had bestowed 
his blessing, lie tucked the blankets in place 
and returned Angel, capless, to Juanita. 

She took him and waited, her eyes expec¬ 
tant, questioning. 

“Is there something you wish?” the padre 
mqmre 

flushed and looked down—it wasn’t 
polite to ask for it, but apparent!}- he had 
forgotten. “You give a little cap to babies?” 
she suggested hopefully. 

“Sometimes I do. I am very sorry I can¬ 
not give one to Angel.” 

Juanita clutched the baby. “Do you not 
have any?” she demanded in sharp appre¬ 
hension. 

“Yes, I have some—but not for him.” As 
he spoke, Padre Dominguez removed his 
gaze firmly from the little black head nuz¬ 
zling in the blankets. Angel, he explained, 
had broken a law and he must be punished. 

Juanita stared and her face paled slowly. 
What law could Angel have broken? He had 
done nothing but be born. 

“You and Pedro,” the priest reminded 
her gravely, “took a love that did not belong 
to you and in taking it you obliged Angel, 
also, to steal.” 

Then Juanita’s agitation became terrible; 
she gripped the bundle and her eyes were big 
and shining with fear. It wasn’t true, she 
cried in anguished defiance, she had taken 
nothing that was not her own. But even if 
she had—her gaze sought the padre’s implor¬ 
ingly—what had little Angel acquired that 
did not belong to him? 

“Angel—” Padre Dominguez said it 
sternly—“acquired life.” 

There was a long silence in the little room. 
Automatically Juanita adjusted the covers 
about the baby and pulled her rebozo over 
her hair with a shaking hand. Again her 
eyes sought the priest’s but he was not look¬ 
ing at her now, his gaze was fixed on the 
corner shrine that hid the work-basket. 
Blindly she turned and stumbled to the door. 

THERE was great excitement in the neigh¬ 
borhood when the scandal spread about 
that Padre Dominguez had not given a little 
cap to Angel. It was old Sarita who dis¬ 
covered it first, when she stopped the girl 
on her way home, wishing to inspect the 
padre’s stitches with a jealous eye. But 
Juanita had held the blankets shut. 

No, Angel had no cap. The padre had not 
given him one. Why, she didn’t know. That 
was all she would say. 

But it was not all the neighbors said. Por 
Dios! they exclaimed, the priest had con¬ 
demned the little one! And knowing Padre 
Dominguez, there must be just cause. It was 
certain the priest would not have slighted 
Angel unless he had found in him some 
evil-doing. 

At once the whole parish held Juanita’s 
baby under suspicion. The mere fact that 
they could find no wrong in him themselves 
made it all the more necessary to shun him 
lor his unknown and mysterious guilt. There 
were even whispers that the padre, as a holy 
man, might have recognized Angei to be ac¬ 
cursed—the offspring of an evil spirit. 

There were no more admiring callers in the 
hut. When Juanita had occasion to pass on 
her way to the store they stared after her 
with furtive curiosity. 

One night Juanita lay awake, gazing into 


the darkness with angry eyes. She wouldn’t 
have it, she told herself fiercely. Angel had 
done nothing and she would not let him be 
punished this way. He should have his little 
cap and she would get it for him, herself. 

The next morning she went to the city em¬ 
ployment bureau where the American 
scfiorila found patrons for the women who did 
washing. On the following Sunday she 
made her way to church, carrying her son in 
her arms, his head uncovered boldly—on it 
was a magnificent bonnet with satin bows. 

But Angel’s purchased grandeur did noth¬ 
ing to restore him to favor. Padre Dom¬ 
inguez had not made the cap—anyone could 
see that with half an eye. 

Sl.OWLY, bitterly it came to Juanita that 
her son was condemned to be a social out¬ 
cast. Desperately she reflected she might • 
take little Angel and run away to some place 
where his shame could be hidden. But that 
would not help much, he would still be de¬ 
nied the blessing and the protection from 
evil that only the little cap could bring him. 

Par into the night she pondered this. It was 
not Angel’s fault, it was her own. She had 
made him a thief because she had not had 
the wedding. But there must be some way 
she could undo it. You could always pay for 
things you had stolen, Padre Dominguez had 
said so many times. 

Two weeks passed. It was late on Satur¬ 
day afternoon. Padre Dominguez had fin¬ 
ished tidying his church with the assistance 
of big Salvador, who was doing a penance 
over some light fixtures which had unaccount¬ 
ably found their way from a vacant house to 
his hut. The priest had lighted the lamp 
and was so deep in the intricacies ot a new 
stitch he did not hear the timid knock. A 
soft step roused him and he looked up. It 
was Juanita with the baby in her arms. 

“I saw the light—” she stammered. “I 
had to come in.” 

The padre listened while she told him the 
story of Angel’s ostracism. It took a long 
time, for she was obliged to pause so often 
and wipe her eyes. The shuns, the snubs, 
no one would even look at him. The days 
she had spent over the washtubs that he 
might have a fine cap and be admired like 
other babies. But it was no use. Nothing 
would do any good without the padre’s cap. 
At any minute he might fall ill.. . Her voice 
trailed off despairingly. 

Padre Dominguez had leaned on the chair 
arm, his hand shading his eyes as she talked. 
Now he spoke quietly: 

“And what do you want me to do, Juanita? 
A sin is a sin. I cannot sanction it.” 

Hastily the girl dried her eyes and fumbled 
in her dress. She extended a piece ot paper 
to the priest and he read it with dazed eyes. 
It was a certificate of marriage for Pedro 
Oritz and Juanita Pinon, issued that day. 

“I bought it,” she explained eagerly. “It 
is what the law says babies must have to be 
bom without stealing, isn’t it? I don’t want 
Angel to be a thief. I want him to be like 
other babies. I thought if I paid the men who 
sell the certificados, maybe you could tell me 
some way I could pay Die rest to God.” 

“And how—” the priest paused and stead¬ 
ied his voice—“how do you feel about having 
given your love without it?” 

Juanita looked at the blanketed bundle, 
then into the eyes that held and probed. 

“I’m sorr>" I hurt Angel,” she faltered, 
“but I’m glad I have him. I can’t be sorry— 
about that.” With a sob she hid her face in 
the baby’s blankets. 

There was a long silence. Then Padre 
Dominguez turned and fumbled in the bat¬ 
tered work-basket. 

Betore Juanita could dry her eyes to see 
what was happening, he had taken Angel 
and was seated in the good chair, adjusting 
the little cap. 

Speechlessly Juanita took Angel and 
hugged him, blessed bonnet and all, to her 
breast. Had re de Dios' he was forgiven! 
Her eyes were shining as she started for the 
door. But abruptly she turned back. 

“Padre Dominguez, how can I pay the 
rest—the part I owe the good God for what 
I stole? What does He want me to do?” 

“He wants you,” the priest said sol¬ 
emnly, “to promise me that you will never 
give your love again without His blessing.” 

And Juanita bowed her head and promised. 


A mother who has watched over her 
baby . . day after day . . night after 
night . . thrilling to his every little 
gain . . anxious about his smallest 
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grocer sells Eagle Brand—feeding in¬ 
structions on the label. 











DELINEATOR 


5 2 




Continued from page 34 


disintegrate; and then again before you go 
to bed. It will do wonders—really it will; 
the narrow end up about eighteen inches, 
broad end on the floor; feet on the narrow 
end and your head on a pillow on the floor. 
It’s for relaxation and freshening. 

If you are over thirty, you do all these 
same things and then use astringent under 
your chin—all along clear up to the ears. Pat 
it in with your cotton pad! It’s for firmness 
and to contract the skin, which has a tendency 
to grow flabby. If your throat is too thin, 
always apply a nourishing cream for ten 
minutes before your astringent patting; if it 
is too fat, apply an intermediate or cold 
cream. And whatever the throat, use a circu¬ 
lation cream or ointment two or three times 
a week, applying exactly according to direc¬ 
tions. After removing it, apply the nourish¬ 
ing cream for the too-thin or normal, and a 
cold cream for the too-fat. 

IF your skin is dry, apply a thin film of 
nourishing cream or a facial oil all over face 
and throat and leave on while you are getting 
ready for bed and while you read that one 
verse or paragraph or many verses and para¬ 
graphs from some book—or from your mind 
—that helps your spirit to meet life victori¬ 
ously and serenely. So you take into sleep 
peace and security. It’s good for a face. 

If you put on a nourishing cream at night, 
you can’t, of course, put on a pore cream. If 
your skin is extremely dry, leave a trace of 
nourishing cream on all night; if not, wipe it 
off at the end of the half hour of getting ready 
for bed. Skin tonic, after cleansing with 
cream or after an application of nourishing 
cream, will remove the surface oil and refine 
the pores. A mask two or three times a week, 
made of pore cream and muscle oil, will help 
keep the pores fine. Oily skins can put the 
pore cream on at night and can also use 
astringent during the day to save their tex¬ 
ture alive and whole. 

Cold water rinse in the morning, dashed 
against the face with the two hands making a 
cup, or held against the face with a dripping 
wash-cloth, so cold it makes your hands ache, 
is a fine morning treatment for everybody; 
it refines the texture, keeps the circulation 
lively, and brings up your color. 

If you know what your skin needs and use 
those things faithfully, you don’t need a lot 
of extras—only professional beauties have 
time to use all the lovely things there are. 


All of you should faithfully exercise in the 
morning and remember always that all ex¬ 
ercise is for relaxation as much as for up¬ 
building. Relax completely by stretching 
before you begin; relax after every exercise— 
as loose as a rag doll. When you feel tense, 
nervous, tight in the neck and shoulders, go 
limp mentally. Then with your hands, knead 
the back of your neck and shoulders, then 
drop the head forward until the chin rests on 
the chest, then drop it way back and let your 
mouth drop open as it drops back. Do this 
several times. Wiggle your shoulders all 
around. Drop your head from side to side, 
roll the head around gently. Tenseness makes 
one look old almost sooner than any other 
one thing. Shut your eyes several times a day 
—they work so constantly—feel the little 
nerves around them relax, mentally see deep, 
velvety black. And every night and morning 
bathe your eyes with boracic acid solution, or 
mild salt water, or an eye bath. 

Neither of you ever must use powder that 
is lighter than your skin—that’s one of the 
sins of grooming—it rubs off in little, tricky 
places, corners of the mouth and so on, and 
makes you look an unclean, whited you- 
know-what. Under-thirties please do not use 
much vanishing or foundation cream—unless 
oily-skinned. There are beautiful powders 
that stick even though they are feathery— 
one special one that has all the clinging virtue 
of a burr combined with the lovely color and 
lightness of tinted swansdown. 

Over-thirty may use foundation creams but 
always the thinnest possible film. 

And everybody use hand lotion after each 
wetting of the hands and give the hands 
nourishing cream at night and a little fragrant 
oil around the cuticles. 

No hair can be beautiful that isn’t brushed. 
Make a habit of brushing your hair while you 
think out things. 

You both want simplicity and results. You 
can have them. Find your own program from 
these routines I have outlined for you. 

Is that so much for beauty? Most of 
these things you can do while you are doing 
something else. Stick to them, and have 
faith. Faith, like everything else, grows by 
exercise. Try it. 

Then add a little glamour—and try out 
that prayer—it isn’t such a bad prayer— 
“Help me to see like lightning and be seen like 
light." 

Light is so needed. 


Has your skin been exposed to summer sun? Read "Autumn 
Faces Come to Town," a Beauty Institute article, page 73 


it is ready for you to sip and to aooreciate. Aged flavor 
is mellow flavor—the distinctive taste in Clicquot. 
Are you enjoying it? 


That EXTRA Something: Finest of real fruit flavorings . True 

Jamaica ginger root . Mellowed and ripened by Time . Pure refined 

sugar . Sparkling, crystal-clear water . Bottled in brand-new bottles. 


BLUE MEADOWS 

Continued from page 13 


slope to the bay. From the hilltop, Good- 
haven’s scattered gray roofs might be shock 
troops—the land’s first line of defense against 
the marauding sea. 

The hill itself has long been known as 
Treasure Hill, and the top of it—as well as 
the land dropping down the northern side— 
is part of the twenty-odd acres which com¬ 
prise the Tay holding. No one knows how 
long the Tays have held the land, although 
there is a rumor that the first man of that 
name to reach the New World built a house 
here in 1630. There have always been Tays 
here, Goodhaven people will tell you. Now 
only two brothers were left, Mereen and 
Manuel. Both members of the Valhalla’s 
crew, they went fishing only when the need 
to earn a little money for food became acute. 
The rest of the time they dug the hilltop for 
buried gold. 

All the Tays had dug the hill for treasure. 
Old Ezekiel Tay, father of Mereen and Man¬ 
uel, had mortgaged the land to buy tools for 
digging and always had sunk into the work 
any money he might earn or could borrow. 
His reward was one battered coin, dug up the 
year before his death, dated 1721 and bearing 
the inscription, “ Georgius die gratia Rex.” 


The coin, mounted on red plush and se¬ 
cured behind glass in a heavy old walnut 
frame, hung thereafter in the place of honor 
in the Tay kitchen—a silent and visible 
proof the Tays knew what they were doing. 

No Tay had ever doubted that he would 
one day unearth the treasure. Didn’t it stand 
to reason that all you had to do was dig until 
you struck the spot where it lay? Wasn’t it 
a known fact that pirates had come ashore to 
bury stolen treasure at half a hundred places 
along the New England coast? Hadn’t Mor¬ 
gan plied these waters? And Captain Kidd? 
And “Blackbeard” Teach as well? 

The Tays, Mereen and Manuel, were mild 
little men, who might have been any age from 
thirty to fifty. Actually they were thirty- 
two and thirty-four years old. Neither had 
married. Mereen, the elder, had for ten years 
kept company with Hagar Caton, but she 
finally grew tired of waiting for him and ran 
off to marry a fish packer down Portland way. 

Mereen would sometimes talk mournfully 
of the good chance Hagar had thrown away— 
“For one o’ these days I’ll be ridin’ around in 
a shiny buggy, with a pair of high-steppers in 
front of it. good clothes ( Turn to page 54) 


The time it takes to perfect the flavor 
of Clicquot Club Ginger Ale is not wasted. Indeed 
not! No hurried process could possibly accomplish the 
purpose. So choicest ingredients are AGED 6 MONTHS 
to ripen and mature while blending. Then, and only 
then, sugar and sparkling water are added. And at last 












OC I <» H KR, 1 9 3 2 


New Antiseptic-Endorsed by these Hospitals 

WOMAN’S HOSPITAL OF BALTIMORE • WASHINGTON, D. C., EMERGENCY HOSPITAL • NEW ENGLAND MEDICAL CENTER 
THE NEW YORK INFIRMARY FOR WOMEN AND CHILDREN • LYING-IN HOSPITAL OF CHICAGO 



j ...You get 
large si*e for ! 

sa fely dilute 



safe 


M ORE and more hospitals are using 
Hexvlresorcinol Solution S. T. 37 
( i:iooo) to safeguard the lives of those in 
their care—for gargling, for the cleansing of 
wounds and in operations. 

Because it is so effective, yet safe and non¬ 
irritating to the most tender and delicate 
membranes. 

The Washington Emergency Hospital and 
the Children’s Division of the New England 
Medical Center use it in hundreds of nose 
and throat cases where frequent irrigation of 
inflamed membranes is necessary. 

The Woman’s Hospital of Baltimore uses 


The IVOman’s Hospital of Baltimore 

and effective—use it at home 


it “throughout the hospital for antiseptic 
purposes.” This antiseptic does not sting or 
burn ... its gentleness makes it especially 
valuable in hospitals for women and children. 


Recommended by hospital for home use 
—does not sting or burn . . . 

The New York Infirmary for Women and 
Children says, “When patients leave the hos¬ 
pital we suggest that they keep this new, safe, 
reassuring antiseptic in their home medicine 
cabinet.” 


Use Hexylresorcinol Solu¬ 
tion S. T. 37 twice daily as a 
mouth wash and gargle, 
whenever the throat is irri¬ 
tated. Tests show that its 
active ingredient is 70 times 



IIEXYLRE S ORCINOL 

SOLUTION S.T.3 7 



more powerful than carbolic acid in germ-killing 
power, yet this Solution is pleasant to the taste 
and entirely safe, even if swallowed! Use it your¬ 
self and teach your child to use it freely. As a gar¬ 
gle. And for every scratch and cut. 

The Seal of the Council on Pharmacy and Chem¬ 
istry of the American Medical Association, which 
appears on this page, should serve as an indication 
of its trustworthiness. 

Buy a bottle of Hexylresorcinol Solution S. T. 
37 today. At all druggists in the United States 
and Canada at the new price reductions. 

MAIL COUPON TODAY 


SHARP & DOHME, Dep]t. C -3 

640 NORTH BROAD STREET, PHILADELPHIA, PA. 

I enclose 10* in stamps, to cover cost of mailing and 
handling, for which please send me a generous-sized 
complimentary clinical package of Hexvlresorcinol 
Solution S. T." 37. 

Name_ 

Address_ 












DELINEATOR 


5 4 

LET HIM SPEAK 
FOR HIMSELF! 



"I gotta nuvver toof!" 
pleases far-away rela¬ 
tives and costs little 

Let His Highness, the Baby, tell 
the world about himself — over 
your home telephone. Grand¬ 
parents and family friends who 
are too far away to see him will 
he delighted to hear him. 

As he grows up and goes away 
to school or camp — to business 
•—keep in quick, personal touch 
with him by telephone. Remem¬ 
ber his birthday and anniver¬ 
saries. There’s a deep, lasting 
pleasure in such constant con¬ 
tacts, and the cost is quite small. 

The day station-to-station rate 
for such calls is about 

25c for 25 miles 
40c for 45 miles 
75c for 125 miles 
95c for 175 miles 
Many evening and night rates 
are loiver. Where the charge is 
50 cents or more, federal tax 
applies. 



BLUE MEADOWS 


Continued from page 52 


on my back and pockets jest bulgin’ with 
gold! Guess then she’ll wish she’d a had more 
faith.” 

The brothers looked alike; both of them 
thin to the point of emaciation, both with 
colorless eyes that blinked in the sunlight and 
colorless hair that was continuously in need 
of cutting. They took turns at all tasks, pre¬ 
paring meals, setting and hauling the few 
lobster traps they possessed, or going out for 
a trip with the Valhalla. The one who was 
not busy with these occupations had to dig— 
and to render a faithful account of his findings. 

Before her baby was born, Abigail Bickers 
would occasionally go up to watch Mereen or 
Manuel at work. If she had to walk, the path 
up Treasure Hill was as good as any other 
place. Besides, it was vaguely comforting to 
watch earth being dug and men struggling 
with the soil. Her father, Henry Hosmer, 
was always digging at something—hilling up 
potatoes, turning over new ground or pitting 
turnips for winter use. 

Here in Goodhaven, she thought resent¬ 
fully, a body almost forgot how nice it was 
to look out across a field of young oats, or 
watch a row of potatoes that had just come 
into flower. Nothing to see here but the same 
gray rocks, the same endless stretch of water. 
And water hadn’t any growth to it. If it lived 
at all, it was like some evil wild thing—wait¬ 
ing to pounce on you, smother you in foam. 

Since the birth of her child, Abigail’s re¬ 
sentment against her surroundings had 
deepened. Her thoughts scurried round and 
round the situation in which she found her¬ 
self, seeking some way of escape but finding 
none. Then she would rage, bitterly and 
silently, at her husband’s stubbornness, his 
indifference to her wishes. Pretending to be 
so good to her, and yet not doing the one 
thing she really wanted! Before you were 
married, a man came speaking soft and gentle, 
but after you married him, and tried to 
have things just a little your own way, how 
different everything was! 

SHE tried one day to say something of what 
was in her mind to Uncle Daniel Hosmer, but 
the old man stared at her disapprovingly. 

“Well,” he retorted grimly, “ye married 
Lige, didn’t ye? What fer did ye do it? 
Think ye could make a farmer out o’ him?" 

“Yes, I did,” she returned, stung by his 
skepticism into explanations. “Farming’s 
sensible! It’s a decent way to live, and that’s 
more’n can be said of this. Besides, when 
you’ve got money in land it’s there, not tied 
up in a vessel that’ll mebbe sink-” 

The old man studied her a few moments in 
silence, exasperated tolerance in his gaze. 

“I s’pose ye can’t help bein’ the way ye 
air,” he said, at length. “God made ye— 
though I don’t aim to fault him in sayin’ it. 
But the hull trouble, Abby, is jest this— 
you’re land, and Lige is sea. They don’t mix. 
Never have and never will.” 

“Mebbe not,” she said coldly, rising to go, 
“but I can tell you one tiling: some time 
there won’t be no more sea. There’s Bible for 
them words!” 

“Say you so? Well, I won’t be livin’ when 
that time comes—and you won’t neither. 
So if I was in your place, I wouldn’t take to 
leanin’ on them words too heavy.” 

Uncle Dan’l’s argument came drifting back 
to Abigail’s mind one sunny afternoon as she 
sat watching Mereen Tay at work— “Don’t 
lean on them words too heavy.” Still, it was 
Bible promises, written out there plain as 
plain. It had to come true—some time. 

She tried to visualize it: water and vessels 
and fish and the drowned hulks of dead ships, 
all gone—gone like fog before a shore-wind. 
Nothing left but earth, solid earth that a 
body could depend on . . . “and there shall be 

If her son had been born, she could have 
laughed at the sea. He would have grown up 
hating it, she would have seen to that, hating 
it and getting away from it just as soon as he 
could ... 

But he would never be hers now, never he 
in her arms and look up, laughing, into her 
face. He w.as only a dream God had sent— 
and then taken back. Punishing her, most 
likely, for marrying Lige, for yoking herself 
with an unbeliever . . . 

Things like that happened, happened all 
the time. If you did one thing God didn’t 
like, you had to pay for it—pay as long as 


you lived. Look at these people here— 
digging for something God didn’t mean them 

“How long you been working?” she asked 
abruptly. “How long have you been digging 
here, lookin’ for gold?” 

Mereen blinked up at her, startled. She 
had been silent for so long a time that he had 
forgotten she was there. 

“Diggin’? Why—ever sense I’ve been big 
enough.” 

“And you don’t never misdoubt?” she per¬ 
sisted. “You think you’re going to find 
treasure that’s been hid?” 

“Why, sure we will!” he returned indig¬ 
nantly. “Stands to reason! Ain’t you seen 
the coin Pa dug up? Don’t ye s’pose there’s 
more where that came from?” 

“There don’t have to be—not that I can 
see.” 

Mereen shook his head pityingly. 

“THAT’S because ye don’t know. Folks from 
away ain’t got the first notion—why, this 
here coast is jest alive with gold! Buried it 
up and down the hull place, them pirates 
did.” 

“Well, I’ve been here a good many days 
and you haven’t dug up anything yet.” 

“That’s so, and you’ll mebbe be settin’ up 
there the very day my shovel hits wood. 
D’ye mind what that’ll be? The chest!” 

Abigail looked skeptically at him but did 
not speak, and after a moment’s pause 
Mereen went on: 

“It’ll be filled, right clean to the top, with 
gold. And jewels they took offen captive 
females. But I ain’t judgin’ ’em none for 
such doin’s. Them pirates knowed, well as 
anybody else, that wimmen-folks is tricky. 
Take Hagar! Why, if she’d a been the woman 
she ought—” he shook his head mournfully 
at the memory of her delinquency—“I’d a 
give her some o’ them jewels to wear. But 
now I’m aimin’ to sell the hull lot.” 

Abigail said thoughtfully: “All that gold 
and the jewels you’re looking to find—they 
was fetched in from sea, wasn’t they?” 

“Sure they was.” Mereen straightened his 
weary back, scrambled out of the hole and 
sat down to fill his pipe. “Got kind of a 
finicky back today. I’ll rest it one pipeful and 
get at it again.” 

“It was all took offen ships’ passengers, 
wasn’t it?” Abigail persisted. 

“Yes, most of it.” 

“Then there’s blood on it!” she said 
fiercely. “Just like everything else that’s out 
of salt water! And even if you do find it, that 
treasure’ll never fetch you a mite of luck. I 
know! You can dig and sweat all you’ve a 
mind to—but what’s here’ll stay here, or it’ll 
fetch a curse on them that disturbs it. It’s 
jot to stay till the sea gives up its dead. 
There’s Bible for that!” 

“Is there, now?” He peered at her dis¬ 
trustfully. “Well, mebbe so, and then again, 
mebbe not. If we wa’n’t meant to find the 
treasure, why was Pa let dig up that gold- 
piece? Tell me that!” 

“It’s Bible,” she returned, more calmly. 
“I’ve been reading it and 1 know.” 

“Oh, do ye? Well, mebbe I know some¬ 
thing too.” His voice was sharp with suspi¬ 
cion. “Mebbe I know folks that has it in the 
back o’ their minds to buy this land, and 
then dig up the treasure for their ownselves! 
It ain’t the cap’n, and I ain’t namin’ no 
names, butitw/g/il be somebody close to him.” 

“If you mean me,” Abigail said carelessly, 
“you can make your mind easy. I wouldn’t 
have the place—not if it was give to me.” 

“Nobody’s goin’ to do that,” he returned. 
“You nor nobody else’ll ever get this hill. Me 
and Manuel, we aim to dig jest as long as we 
got strength to turn a spade. When that day’s 
over and it’s time for us to go—well, this hill 
goes too! I ain’t sayin’when nor how. But 
it’ll happen, if so be we ain’t come on the 
treasure afore we’re too old to dig any more.” 
He paused, then went on in a calmer voice: 
“That time’s a long way off yet. Till then, 
this is our land and we aim to keep on diggin’.” 


WHEN Captain Bickers returned from his 
next fishing trip, there was a letter waiting 
for him. Abigail had written: 


I’ve just had word Pa’s passed a' 
king the baby and going home fo 
g. It will be on Thursday. If yo 



get home 


If you do not get back before 
can figure that 1 will be back 
burying is over and 1 can ha 
my brother Henry and find ou 
to do about the place. Your afl 


rish you would 
Thursday, you 

ive a talk witli 
fee. wife, 


She had said nothing about Uncle Dan’l, 
and Lige wondered if the old man had gone 
with her. Better find out, then take the stage, 
which left at two o’clock. Have to find if a 
train from Bath would take him anywhere 
near Prout’s Corners. There’d likely be one 
some time this afternoon. 

Uncle Dan’l was sitting in a rocking-chair 
on his porch, the rheumatic leg eased across 
another chair. 

“Hello, Lige!” he chirped. “Kind o’ 
figgered ye’d be down. Did Abby leave word 
about what happened?” 

“Yes, and I come to see if you feel like 
goin’ along with me.” 

“Me? No, sir!” Uncle Dan’l shook his 
head with great decision. “Buryin’ ain’t in 
my line. ’Course Henry was my own brother, 
but we never had no dealin’ to speak of. 
Reckon he’ll lay jest as easy if I ain’t there 
to see him put under sod.” 

“Well, then, I’d best be movin’ along.” 

“Wait a minute!” Uncle Dan’l said abrupt¬ 
ly. “Don’t be in sich a rush. I just wanted to 
say that ye’ll mebbe save yourself bother by 
not goin’. Buryin’s fetch out things in folks 
—things that’s better hid.” 

“What d’ye mean, Uncle Dan’l? What do 
they fetch out?” 

“Things!” he nodded solemnly. “Take 
Abby now, and young Henry. They’re peace¬ 
able-actin’ toward one another most of the 
time, but I’ll bet soon as their Pa’s laid away 
them two’ll be at one another, hammer and 
tongs! Tryin’ to see who’ll have what’s left. 
That’s one o’ the reasons I’m stayin’ here.” 

“But they don’t need to do that,” the 
younger man said quickly. “I’ve got plenty 
for Abby and me.” 

“Mebbe so—but it ain’t the needin’. It’s 
the way folks is made, I guess—ornery-like. 
And Abby’s crazy about land. She’ll stick 
and hang for her share of it, see if she don’t.” 

Captain Bickers’ eyes grew troubled. 

“I know she likes land,” he said . slowly. 
“It makes me wonder, sometimes, if she’ll 
ever get the feel of home-things here. I mean, 
she walks through the house up yan as if— 
as if she was company, instead of a woman 
by her own fire. I us’n’t to think about it 
much. Just kind o’ thought it was natur’ for 
a woman to settle down where her man’s work 
was. But now—I don’t know.” 

The kindly old eyes rested briefly on Bick¬ 
ers’ downcast face, then turned seaward 
again. Their owner said thoughtfully: 

“Some does. But some don’t. You and 
Abby’s young yet, and you’re both kind of 
sat. Time’ll soften ye both, though, if ye got 
the patience to wait.” 

“Mebbe that’s true, Uncle Dan’l. I get to 
feelin’ sometimes we’re wastin’ the good 
years, Abby and me, just pullin’ against one 
another.” Bickers rose, reluctant to go. 
“Guess I’ll have to be gettin’ along. Ye won’t 
change your mind, Uncle Dan’l?” 

“No. It’s like I said—I don’t hold with 
buryin’s.” 

Before he had been in the Hosmer house 
many hours, Captain Bickers was forced 
to admit that Uncle Dan’l had ample reason 
for his dislike of “buryin’s.” 

Among fisher people, death is too frequent 
a visitor for his arrival to be heralded with 
ceremony, and Lige was not prepared to find 
the house filled to overflowing and his wife 
surrounded by sorrowing neighbors. 

Abigail, looking tall and formidable in her 
black dress, greeted him perfunctorily and 
then went back to her whispered colloquy 
with a group of women who seemed to be 
stage-managing the affair. All of them spoke 
in loud whispers and moved around on tiptoe 
as though fearful of waking the sleeper from 
his rest. The men, who came from time to 
time to offer their services, seemed abashed 
before so much femininity and hurried off in 
relief as soon as errands had been assigned 

Bickers decided that he liked the look of 
young Henry Hosmer—a tall, shy youth who 
tried, without success, to keep out of every¬ 
one’s way and who was, (Turn to page y6) 




OCTOBER, 1932 


55 



Science T N 


L 

O 


Pain is nature’s warning that teeth are diseased. 
The cause of pain is usually decay and an im¬ 
portant cause of decay is the invisible film on 
teeth that science calls “Bacterial Plaque” 


In addition to eating bone¬ 
forming foods, children to¬ 
day have the health rays of 
sunlight given them artifi¬ 
cially during winter months. 


DENTINE 

-PULP 

GUM 


Removing film twice a d 
visiting the dentist twic< 
year, and eating the pro] 
foods will give children 
today far better teeth. 


£ one has been able 
to give a universally 
satisfactory explana¬ 
tion of just why teeth 
ache. Only recently 
has the reason been 
ascertained. 

The actual cause of 
the aching tooth is 
now believed to be 
due to gases, formed 
inside the tooth dur¬ 
ing the process of de¬ 
cay, which may or may 
not be visible to the 
dentist from the out¬ 
side. These gases expand and press on the sensitive 
nerves of the teeth. 

Dental science answers the question of what leads 
to toothache by saying that food particles have been per¬ 
mitted to remain between the teeth and under the gums, 
to decay. Germs in this decaying food make acids which 
attack the cement-like structure of the teeth and dissolve 
out the material between the enamel rods. 

In short, the tooth aches when the tooth n 
rotted away, so that only a thin covering for t 
remains, causing the blood vessels around the to< 
to swell up and painfully press on the nerve. 

The germs that cause the decay-producing acids, have 
a friend in the film-coat, or mucin plaque, which forms 
on teeth. This film glues the bacteria to the teeth, pro¬ 
viding a warm shelter for them and also food. 

Removal of film has therefore become an important 
problem for dental science. One of the most notable 
discoveries ih this field was made recently in the labora¬ 
tories of the Pepsodent Company when a new and revo¬ 
lutionary cleansing material was developed. The cleans¬ 
ing and polishing material is the part of any b 
that does the work. Herein lies the difference 
the best toothpaste and ordinary brands. Most cl 

























56 


DELINEATOR 


win 



’s vote 


BLUE MEADOWS 


Continued from page 54 


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obviously, very much in love with Susan 
Bowker, a plump, black-eyed girl from a 
neighboring farm. 

The fact that he was Abigail’s husband 
and so—technically—one of the mourners 
exempted Lige from the duties assigned the 
other men. For the rest of that day, and 
the day following, he sat out on the porch 
the greater part of the time, wondering if the 
Spinney boys had remembered to have the 
Valhalla's mainsail mended, and waiting 
patiently for the time when he might take 
Abigail and the baby home. 

Abigail cried a great deal, although—as 
her husband now recalled—she had never 
expressed any great degree of affection for 
her father during his lifetime. Most of the 
other women went about their duties with 
red eyes and compressed lips—cooking a vast 
amount of food for the supper which would 
follow the funeral, making crepe armbands 
for the bearers, and fashioning a voluminous 
black veil for Abigail. 

The only ray of light that gleamed dur¬ 
ing those lugubrious days was supplied by 
old Ezra Gleet, grandsire of a neighboring 
family, who sat down on the porch beside 
I.ige on the day preceding the funeral and 
opined that he was “kind o’ lookin’ fer 
Minnie Jane Haskins to show up at the 
buryin’.” 

“Who’s that?” Bickers asked indifferently. 

“Minnie Jane? Sakes alive! Ain’t you 
heard?” the old man cackled gleefully. 
“Lives down the road a piece.” He leaned 
forward, dropping his voice mysteriously. 
“Her and old Henry ust to be thicker’n 
thieves till Abby got wind o’ what was goin’ 
on and druv Minnie Jane off the place. I 
cal’late she’ll take on consid’able at the 
buryin’—if she’s let.” 

“Don’t suppose anybody’ll stop her.” 

“Oh, yes, they will!” He pointed the stem 
of his pipe toward the door back of them. 
“Abby won’t hear to it. Henry would a 
married Minnie Jane, and stopped all the 
talk that was goin’ around, only Abby 
wouldn’t-” 

Abigail opened the door just then, gave 
old Ezra a baleful look, and said to her hus- 

“I’m takin’ Martha in now to see her 
grandpa. D’you want to come?” 

“No, I guess not. And I’d rather you 
didn’t take Martha, either.” 

“Why not? It won’t do her no hurt.” 

“Things like that—they’re bad for young 
uns. I don’t hold with it.” 

“No, nor with nothing else Christian!” she 
retorted. For a moment she stood, hesitating 
between the temptation to defy his wishes 
and the conviction that it might not be wise. 
Then, putting Martha abruptly down, she 
went back into the house. 

The child promptly burst into loud sobs. 
Bickers, picking up his small daughter, 
cuddled her against him and began to sing 
softly: 


"Oh, the boat’s been lowered. 
And the whale’s been struck 
And lie give one flurry with 1 

Never again will-” 


Melissa Bowker, Susan’s mother, came out 
of the kitchen, her shoes creaking loudly, and 
whispered: 

“Don’t do that!” 

“Do what?” 

“Sing. Itain’tfitteninahouseof mournin ’. ” 

Old man Gleet leaned toward him, after 
Melissa had creaked away, and tapped Bick¬ 
ers’ knee with his pipe. 

“Ye mark my words,” he croaked, “there’ll 
be doin’s up to the buryin’—if Minnie Jane 
gets to come!” 


THE morning of the funeral broke cold and 
cheerless. Dank clouds, heavy with Sep¬ 
tember rain, hung low above the wet fields. 
The preacher, Brother Amos Quiner, arrived 
early in a shabby, mud-spattered buckboard 
drawn by a gaunt sorrel mare. 

When Abigail introduced her husband to 
him, he surveyed Bickers’ length and breadth 
with disapproval and said severely' that he 
was glad to meet Abby’s husband and trusted 
that he was a follower of the Lord. 

“No, I don’t lay claim to that.” 

“I’m sorry to hear it.” Brother Quiner’s 
loose mouth folded itself in lines of disap¬ 
proval. “Still, there’s time to repent. You 


won’t be the first lost sheep that’s been found 
and fetched into the fold.” 

“And I ain’t—as ye might say—lost,” 
Bickers pointed out mildly, “nor likely to be. 
Nigh the first thing a fisherman learns is how 
to take his compass bearin’s.” 

Brother Quiner thought best to ignore this 
remark. He turned to Susan Bowker, who 
had been standing near them with mouth 
agape and round, cowlike eyes wide: “We’d 
best be lookin’ over the hymns ye’re to play 
today, Susie.” 

AT eleven o’clock the service at the house 
began. Brother Quiner took his place at the 
head of the coffin and solemnly intoned a 
hymn. Susan pedaled the cottage organ 
vigorously and led the singing of “On the 
other side of Jordan.” 

A long prayer followed, in which the virtues 
of the deceased were itemized and dwelt on 
until the list would have amazed and be¬ 
wildered Henry Hosmer, could he have heard 
it. Another hymn was sung and then the 
preacher launched into what he called “jest 
a leetle talk to the dear ones left behind.” 

The talk included a reminder of the short¬ 
ness of life, the ever-hovering presence of 
death and the urgent need for everyone to 
“get right with God” and be prepared, at all 
times and seasons, to enter into glory. The 
dissertation passed the half-hour mark with 
no sign of diminishing fervor, and might have 
gone on indefinitely had Israel Bowker not in¬ 
tervened. Treading heavily, he pushed his 
way across the sitting room to announce in a 
husky whisper that it was already “nigh to 
twelve o’clock and folks at the church’ll be 
gettin’ tired.” 

After a long interval of waiting, Bickers 
finally found himself out of doors, grateful for 
fresh air and free space to breathe it. Abigail, 
swathed in a heavy crepe veil, clutched at 
his arm and said fretfully: 

“Where’s the rig we go in—you and me and 
Henry? It’s got to follow right after Brother 

“It’ll be here,” he assured her. “Every¬ 
thing’s bein’ seen to.” 

The church was a mile distant, along a 
muddy road that wound dejectedly through 
scrubby, second-growth timber. It had com¬ 
menced to rain. As the procession turned in 
at the church yard, and there was the little 
stir of making tilings ready for entry, Abigail 
suddenly clutched at her husband’s arm and 
whispered feverishly: “Let me out!” 

“What for? It isn’t time yet-” 

“Let me out, I say!” 

Helping her down as quickly as he could, 
Bickers became conscious of a tall woman, 
standing near the hitching shed. He had a 
glimpse of two burning black eyes, in a sallow, 
colorless face that was framed by a black 
shawl. Abigail crossed quickly to the woman 
and began talking to her in a low voice. He 
went toward them, wondering uneasily if this 
could be Minnie Jane. 

As he neared them, Abigail said in a cold, 
hard voice: 

“I don’t want you here and you know it!” 

“Anybody can go to a buryin’,” the woman 
said, in a voice so low that her words were 
scarcely audible. 

“Well, you can’t. Not to this one.” 

“You’re a hard woman, Abby Hosmer,” 
the other returned. She went on in a flat 
monotone: “I wasn’t aimin’ to come, not at 
first, but when it started in to rain—and 1 
called to mind how he didn’t like wetness—I 
thought mebbe—mebbe it’d ease him a mite 
if I was to be here. I ain’t meanin’ to take 
on, or make a show of myself-” 

“I know you ain’t and a good reason why! 
You’re goin’ back home.” 

“It’d ease him,” the woman persisted, her 
eyes on the coffin that was just then being 
lifted from the improvised hearse. “He’d feel 
better, knowin’ I was here.” 

“Yes, settin’ up in church so as everybody 
could see you and remember-” 

“Let her alone, Abby,” her husband said 
quietly. “What call have you got- 

“I won’t let her alone!” Abigail turned on 
him fiercely. “She never let us alone—not 
all the time my ma was sick. Sneakin’ into 

“I didn’t sneak,” Minnie Jane interrupted, 
with the first faint trace of spirit she had 
shown. “I took care of your ma the best I 
knowed how, tended her (Turn to page $8) 








OCTOBER, 1932 


57 


WE INVITE 

Every Mother Of A Nervous Child 

To Try This Amazing Swiss Food-Discovery 
Found To Decrease Nervousness 30% In 2 Weeks By Actual Test 



See For Yourself How Remarkably 
Ovaltine Can Curb A Child's Nervousness 
While Adding Weight At The Rate Of 
A Pound A Week Or More 


T HIS is probably the most important message ever ad¬ 
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underweight. 

For it will acquaint them with a remarkable, scientific way 
to diminish nervousness in children as much as 30% in two 
weeks’ time. 

This method of reducing nervousness was recently demon¬ 
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In some cases, nervousness—as measured by the Olson- 
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BLUE MEADOWS 



Southern Spicy Gingerbread 2 eggs - 
cup brown .sugar —% . cup Brer Rabbit Mola 
— % cup melted shortening — cups flour—2 


stly the hot wat< 
i a shallow pan 


P eetty little Mrs. Jones, popular new 
member of the Bridge Club, was be¬ 
ginning to feel scared at the idea of enter¬ 
taining the members at her house. 

Such elaborate food as those women 
served! What showing could she make? 
On Bill’s salary! 

Thinking of Bill, and “what to eat” 
brought her back onto familiar ground— 
gave her the answer to this Bridge Club 
menu problem. A nice fruit salad, with 
cheese crackers and coffee, and then—why 
Bill’s favorite dessert, of course—ginger¬ 
bread! 

For little Mrs. Jones was clever as well 
as pretty. She knew how to make a ginger¬ 
bread tender and tempting—golden- 
brown, and utterly delicious. 

For its pungent-, spicy flavor she used 
Brer Rabbit Molasses — old-time New 
Orleans molasses with a gorgeous tang. 
Simple, but oh, so appetizing! Easy and 
inexpensive— perfect, Mrs. Jones decided. 


Brer Rabbit has that delicious, distinctive 
flavor because it is made from the very 
cream of fresh-crushed sugar cane juice. 
It is made in two grades: Gold Label— the 
highest quality light molasses for fancy 
cookery, delicious on pancakes; Green 
Label —a rich, full-flavored dark molasses. 

Try Brer Rabbit Gingerbread when you 
want an economical but especially appe¬ 
tizing treat. 


“Perfect!” echoed the other members of 
the Bridge Club, a few weeks later, at Mrs. 
Jones’ house. “Simply marvelous ginger¬ 
bread, my dear.” “However do you make 
it?” “The best idea yet!” ... So that she 
said to Bill that evening: “That ginger¬ 
bread was the best bridge partner ever!” 

Brer Rabbit 

IN TWO GRADES 




New Edition Brer Rabbit Recipe Booklet 


Continued from page 56 


and nursed her and done all I could. It 
wasn’t my fault if—if—” She began to cry, 
slow, dreadful tears. “It’d ease him,” she 
repeated drearily, “if he knowed I was here.” 

“You get out of this yard!” Abigail took a 
threatening step forward, and Minnie Jane 
turned slowly toward the gate. 

“Abby, that was—” Bickers began, but 
just then Melissa Bowker ambled toward 
them, whispering hoarsely: 

“Come on, Abby! They’re waitin’ for 

The bearers, six muscular farmers, were 
already halfway up the aisle, going slowly 
toward the place where trestles waited to re¬ 
ceive their burden. 

SEPTEMBER dusk had fallen before the 
funeral meal had been eaten, dishes cleared 
away, the kitchen “redd up” and the last 
guest gone. Only Susan Bowker remained. 
Her father had suggested it would be best for 
her to ride home with him and her mother, 
but Henry intervened. 

“I’d like to have Susie stay for a while,” he 
said. “Me and Abby, we’ve got things to 
talk over and I’d like Susie to be here. I’ll 
fetch her home in good time.” 

Now, the chores done and wood box heaped 
high, they sat—Henry, Susan, Abigail and her 
husband—watching the red glow from the 
cook-stove play across whitewashed walls, 
each thinking of the day just ended and of the 
work that lay ahead. 

The men smoked. Susan, her docile eyes 
fixed adoringly on Henry, held the cat in her 
lap, stroking its yellow fur. Only Abigail sat 
bolt upright, her unspoken impatience quiver¬ 
ing in the quiet room. 

“Henry,” she said, when the silence became 
unendurable to her, “it looks like this is as 
good a time as any to talk. Lige and me— 
we’ll have to be goin’ home tomorrow.” 

“There’s no hurry,” her brother returned. 
“You’re welcome to stay and visit, long as 
you like.” 

“I know, but Lige has to get back—and 
I’ve got plenty of work waiting. So we’d best 
arrange tonight how we’re going to fix 
things—about the place, I mean.” 

“Dunno as there’s much to fix,” Henry re¬ 
turned hesitantly. “I’ll make out alone this 
fall and winter, get the potatoes dug and 
marketed and the house fixed up a mite in 
odd times. Then me and Susie, <ve kind of 
aim to be married soon as it’s proper . . .” 

“I know all that!” Abigail’s voice grew 
sharper. “It’s about the place I want to talk. 
We got to divide it, some ways.” 

“You don’t have to divide it.” Bickers, 
who had been watching young Henry’s face, 
turned now to his wife. “You’ve got your 
own home, Abby. Leave this place for 
Henry.” 

“Ye mean that?” Henry asked incredu¬ 
lously. “You’re willin’ for Abby to leave go 
her share?” 

“Net only willin’—I want her to. I’ve got 
plenty for us, and Abby knows it.” 

“What if you have?” his wife retorted. “Is 
that any reason for me to give up what’s 
mine, lawful? I’ve got just as much right to 
things here as Henry has, and I want the 
] place divided, fair and square.” 

I “But hew are you goin’ to do that?” Henry 
asked helplessly. 

“Easy enough. We’ll both sign a writing 
that says the place is half mine and half yours. 
Then you can farm it—and pay me half every 
vear after things are sold in the fall.” 

Henry shook his head. “That wouldn’t 
work. Half of what we raise wouldn’t give 
me a livin’.” 

“Then we’ll sell and divide what we get 
for it.” 

“But, Abby,” he protested in dismay, “half 
o’ what this place is worth wouldn’t give me 
enough to buy and start in again—even if we 
could sell, which ain’t likely.” 

“Then I suppose the idea is for you and 
Susie to take everything! Well, if you think 
I’m goin’ to stand by-” 

“Now, Abby, keep your temper and listen 
to reason,” her husband broke in. “All Henry 
wants is a chance.” 

The boy turned gratefully toward him. 

“That’s what I mean,” he explained 
eagerly, “just a chance. I wouldn’t want to 
keep Abby out of anything that’s hers, only 
Susie and me—we’ve got to live. And there’s 
! been two bad crops, hand-runnin’, that’s put 


land away down in price. But if she’ll just 

“Sure she’ll wait,” Bickers agreed. “That’s 
only fair, Abby. Wait till Henry gets a 

“I won’t wait!” she retorted. “And all that 
big talk of yours can’t change my mind. You 
don’t seem to realize that I’m just like any 
other fisherman’s wife—when you go out in 
that vessel, what have I got ashore to call my 
own? Nothing! Just that old house, that’s 
liable to tumble around my ears any minute. 
If I had land to fall back on, it’d be diff’rent. 
That’s why I want papers drawed up to say 
that half o’ this place is mine!” 

“The house won’t tumble down,” Bickers 
said quietly, “and as to land—if anything was 
to happen to the Valhalla and me you’d be able 
to buy land, plenty of it. I’m insured and so 
is my share of the vessel. Tf we go down, why, 
there’ll be twenty thousand dollars cornin’ to 
you. That ought to be enough to buy ye 
quite a passel o’ land.” 

She stared at him in amazement. 

“Twenty thousand dollars! Why didn’t 
you tell me?” 

“Didn’t know you had it so much on your 
mind. But now—will you leave Henry alone? 
Ye don’t need this place.” 

“Tell ye what I will do,” she returned 
slowly. “Henry can have papers drawed, 
sayin’ if he ever should sell, I’m to have a 
third of what the place fetches. He can have 
the other two-thirds and that ought to fix 
things for him and Susie. And I won’t,” she 
ended magnanimously, “ask for my share o ! 
the crop. That’s fair, seems to me.” 

“Yes,” Henry agreed, “that’s fair enough. 
I’ll have Lawyer Wilson draw the paper, so’s 
it’ll be bindin’.” 

“I’ll see that it’s bindin’,” his sister prom¬ 
ised briskly. “And when you get the papers 
ready I’ll come up and sign them. More’n 
that, if Susie’ll let me know what she wants, 
I’ll give ye somethin’ nice and useful to help 
along on your settin’-out.” 

She could, she felt, afford to be a mite free¬ 
handed, with things turning out as well as 
they had. 

GETTING down from the stage at the 
Goodhaven post-office the following after¬ 
noon, Captain Bickers and his wife found 
themselves in the midst of an agitated group. 

Everyone in the place seemed to be there. 
Mereen and Manuel Tay were the center of 
an excited knot of men, while around the 
' edges of the group women talked vehemently 
and children ran in and out, eyes wide and 
mouths agape. 

“What’s happened?” Bickers demanded. 

“My land! ain’t you heared?” 

“Listen, cap’n-” 

“Ye been away, that’s what!” Uncle Bige 
Wotten detached himself from the group and 
hobbled toward the newcomers. “Been clean 
away and ain’t heared a thing. Mereen and 
Manuel—they’ve done it!” 

“Done what?” 

“Come down the hill up yan,” Uncle Bige 
announced. “‘Bout noon it was—mebbe a. 
leetle mite afterward-” 

“ ’Twas a neck-chain they found!” Libby 
Caton gasped. “A neck-chain with red stuns 

“Leave me through, can’t ye?” Mereen 
was unceremoniously shouldering his way 
through the group that cut him off from Cap¬ 
tain Bickers. “I want to tell the cap’n— 
look!” He held out a roll of bills. “That’s 
what the man down to Portland give me for 
it—four hundred dollars! Rubies, he said, 
them red stuns was. Don’t it beat all? And 
we ain’t even come on the chest yet- 

“That’s fine!” Bickers said heartily. “I’m 
glad you boys got something to pay for all the 
hard work ye’ve done. Best take that money 
and tuck it away in the bank, where it’ll 
grow for ye.” 

“No, sirree!” Mereen chuckled. “We’ve 
worked too hard for that money to gq savin’ 
it. Manuel and me, we aim t# buy us a fancy 
buggy and a high-steppin’ horse, one that’ll 
trot us up to Portland quicker’n you could 
say scat! Only yiste’day I said to Manuel, I 
says, ‘Manuel, soon as ever we come acrost 
the chest, le’s buy us a fancy buggy and a 
trottin’ horse,’ and I hadn’t the words 
more’n out o’ my mouth when I looked down 
and there was the neck-chain shinin’ up at 
me ” (Turn to page 66) 









OCTOBER, 1932 


5 9 


TEEN5 - TWENTIES - THIRTIES - FORTIES 





“Beauty is 
not a matter of 
Birthdays” 

Screen Stars declare — 
and these pictures prove it 

Which one of these lovely favorites is 
near your age? Do you, too, know 
that beauty is not at all a matter of 
birthdays? “We must keep youth¬ 
ful charm right through the years,” 
the stage and screen stars say—“in 
spite of birthdays!” 

Looking at these recent photo¬ 
graphs you want to know their secret! 
“To keep youthful charm you must 
guard complexion beauty very care¬ 
fully,” they declare. “Youthful skin 
is absolutely necessary.” 

How do these stars stay so ravish- 
ingly young looking? How do they 
guard complexion beauty? “We use 
Lux Toilet Soap,” they say. “Regular 
care with this nice white soap does 
wonders for the skin!” 

How g out of io Screen Stars 
guard complexion beauty 

Of the 694 important Hollywood 
actresses, including all stars, 686 guard 
their complexions with Lux Toilet 
Soap. It is the official soap for dress¬ 
ing rooms in all the great film studios. 

Why don’t you try this gentle, fra¬ 
grant white soap—start using it today! 



Lux Toilet Soap 
























60 


DELINEATOR 




I n creating the new styles, 
Paris has paid graceful trib¬ 
ute to the healthy figure of the 
average American girl. These 
new fashions accent the youth¬ 
ful, feminine curves. 

To some of us, this means 
reducing. But when dieting, 
care must be taken not to 
harm beauty. 

When the reducing diet lacks 
the proper “bulk,” faulty elim¬ 
ination develops. Eyes often 
lose their sparkle. Skins be¬ 
come sallow and lifeless, and 
other complexion troubles may 
appear. 

Laboratory experiments show 
that Kellogg’s All-Bran fur¬ 
nishes the required “bulk”—• 
and also supplies Vitamin B to 
help tone the system. This 
“bulk” is similar to that of leafy 



The simple, workmanlike clothes of active sports 
... the intricate, fitted lines of evening . . . 
Dorothy Mackaill, lovely, blonde screen star, has 
the figure to wear them both. 

vegetables. All-Bran is also 
rich in blood-building iron. 

Enjoy Kellogg’s All-Bran as 
a tasty cereal with milk—or 
cook into fluffy bran muffins, 
breads, omelets, etc. Two table¬ 
spoonfuls daily are usually suf¬ 
ficient. How much better than 
unpleasant pills and drugs. 

Kellogg’s All-Bran is not 
fattening. It helps satisfy hun¬ 
ger, without adding many cal¬ 
ories to the diet. Get the red- 
and-green package at your 
grocer’s. Made by Kellogg in 
Battle Creek. 

WRITE FOR FREE BOOKLET 

“CHARM” 

Packed with valuable beauty-hints, 
and advice on charm and health. 

With special menus for reducing 

picture actresses are shown in “fash¬ 
ion close-ups,” wearing the costumes 

on the screen. Free upon request. 


KELLOGG COMPANY 

Dept. A-10, Battle Creek, Michigan 

Please send me a free copy of your 
booklet, “CHARM.” 

A dir ess _ 



BLUE MEADOWS 


Continued from page 58 


The saga went on and on. 

Abigail finally left the group and went 
toward home, Martha asleep against her 
shoulder. But the others, unmindful of cook¬ 
ing to be tended, traps to be baited and hand¬ 
lines set, waited and listened. 

Captain Bickers at last put an end to the 
session. 

“If you’ve got your minds set on a horse 
and buggy, guess there ain’t no stoppin’ you,” 
he said. “You goin’ out with us tomorrow, 
Manuel?” 

Manuel scuffed his feet uneasily and 
glanced sideways at his brother, who replied 
for him: 

“No, cap’n, Manuel’s goin’ to stop ashore 
and dig. We’re likely to come on the chest- 
most any day now.” 

“Well, mebbe ye will. But the only gold 
the rest of us is li’ble to get,” Bickers said, 
glancing about the crowd, “is what we make 
fishin’—and there won’t be much of that if 
we don’t get at it.” 

“That’s right!” the men agreed and began 
to move reluctantly away. 

A LONG, rangy black horse of peculiar gait 
and dubious ancestry came briskly down 
the hill, drawing a shining new buggy. In the 
buggy Mereen sat, guiding his steed as best 
he could through the ruts and hollows of 
Goodhaven’s one and only road. 

“Whoa! there, boy, whoa!” He pulled up 
before the Goodhaven post-office and said 
pridefully: “Well, Hannah Anne! Come and 
see what you think of it.” 

Hannah Anne rose from the steps and came 
toward the buggy. “I dun’t like the look o’ 
that horse,” she announced. “Got a mean 

J “He ain’t, either!” Mereen exclaimed. 
“That there animal’s so gentle he could be 
driv by a child—the man said so. Used to be 
a racin’ horse, he did, but his feet ain’t so 
good now. That’s why I got him and the 
buggy fer three hundred dollars. And I made 
the man throw in this here laprobe and the 

hlannah Anne fingered the material dubi¬ 
ously. “I’ve seen better.” 

“Yes, and ye’ve seen wuss.” He chuckled 
at a sudden memory. “I driv right by 
Hagar’s house, the day I bought this here 
outfit!” 

“Did she see ye?” 

“Well,” he admitted reluctantly, “I ain’t 
just, as ye might say, certain it was her 
lookin’ out the window. But one o’ these days 
I’m goin’ back—yes, sir! And I’ll drive up 
and down, and back and forth, till I see her— 
and I’m certain sure she sees me." 

Abigail Bickers came out of the post-office 
as Mereen was making this objective known. 
She was reading a letter and frowning 
thoughtfully over its contents. 

“Hello, Mis’ Bickers! Nice day, ain’t it?” 

“It’s a fine day,” she returned absently. 
“How air you?” 

“I’m fine—and so’s the horse. Wished ye’d 
tell the cap’n, soon as he gets back, that I’m 
aimin’ to take him for a ride.” 

“Yes, I will,” Abigail promised. Her face 
cleared at a sudden thought: “See here, 
Mereen, why don’t you drive me up to Bath? 
I’ve got to catch the afternoon train for home, 
or them papers’ll never be fixed up. Henry 
says—” She broke off abruptly and turned 
to Hannah Anne. “I can’t trust Lissie Caton 
with the baby. She’s too flighty. Would you 
just as lief come up and stop over night whilst 
I’m away?” 

“Yes, I’d just as lief.” 

“Then you best go and get your things 
now.” She turned back to Mereen: “How 
much’ll it cost? I’ll pay you, same as I 
would anybody else.” 

“Oh, it won’t cost nothing. I was just 
thinkin’—” He clutched the reins longingly, 
visualizing the delights of a ride to Bath and 
back again. But that wouldn’t leave much 
time for digging ... 

“Guess mebbe I can do it, he said at 
length, “and work a mite harder tomorrow. 


Only we’d ought to stop by for Manuel. .He’d 
like the ride too.” 

“Just as you say. I’ll be ready by three. 
That’ll give us plenty of time.” 

“Then I’ll wait here fer ye. Too many 
stuns in the road up yan.” 

Abigail nodded and hurried off toward 
home. Mereen leaned happily back, wishing 
that there were more people who had not yet 
seen Jasper and the buggy. After a while a 
group of boys, playing truant from school, 
came along and gathered around him. 

“Take us fer a ride, Mereen?” they begged. 

He shook his head. “No, I can’t take any¬ 
body today. What you boys up to?” 

“Oh, that old ground-hog up the road a 
piece—we’re aimin’ to smoke him out. Can 
we ride that far with ye?” 

“No, I got folks to take.” 

As the boys went, scuffling and laughing, 
up the road, Abigail appeared. “Took me 
longer’n I thought to get ready. You best 
cramp that wheel a mite for me to get in.” 

Mereen said, as he turned Jasper’s re¬ 
luctant head toward the road: “It’s gettin’ 
kind o’ late. If .Manuel ain’t out by the road 
when we come along, I’ll give him a special 
ride by hisself tonight.” 

“Best do that,” she agreed. “1 don’t want 

When they reached the spot where the road 
wound past one side of Treasure Hill, there 
was no sign of Manuel. 

“Guess he’s still diggin’,” Mereen told his 
passenger. “We’re workin’ now right under 
where we found the neck-chain. Ought to 
come acrost the chest most any time.” 

“Well, ye won’t find it,” Abigail retorted. 
“I’ve said it afore and I’ll say it now—there’s 
blood on that stuff, and no good’ll ever come 
of tryin’ to dig it up. It ain’t yours and you’d 
ought to stop lookin’ for it.” 

“Like to know why! On our land, ain’t it? 
And, anyways, we found the neck-chain.” 

“Just leadin’ ye on, that’s all it is.” 

“Well, we’re willin’ to be led,” he returned. 
“Way I figger it is, some o’ them oak planks 
must a rotted clean away, they’ve been there 
so long, rotted and spilled out the neck- 
chain. Wouldn’t surprise me a mite to find 
when I got home—” A rough stretch of road 
compelled Mereen to give his attention to 
guiding Jasper and he stopped talking. 

As they jolted across the ruts, Abigail 
clasped her hand-bag tighter, making the 
letter in the bag crackle stiffly. Henry’s 
letter! She had written him, asking why he 
had not yet let her know about signing the 
papers. This was his answer, and it was silly 
of him to say he hadn’t had time yet to tend 
to the papers. Or, maybe not so silly! Maybe 
he thought she would grow tired, if he kept on 
putting her off, that she would stop bothering 
him. Well, if he did, he thought wrong! 
She’d make him come right up to the Center 
with her tomorrow morning, have the papers 
drawn up and signed. Fixing things that 
way, she’d be back before Lige got home. 

THEY emerged on a smoother bit of road, 
where the State highway skirted the far side 
of Treasure Hill, and jasper quickened his 
pace. A thin wisp of smoke had begun to rise 
directly before them, hanging motionless in 
the still autumn air. 

“Now, what is them boys—” Mereen was 
beginning. But the sentence was never 
finished. 

With a roar that mounted and mounted 
to an ear-shattering fury of sound, the earth 
rose all about them. Rocks, trees and soil, 
were lifted and flung upward as though some 
giant hand had suddenly reached down to 
tear them apart and fling them out across the 

The blast reverberated over land and 
water. Then slowly the sound died out and 
the world was once more silent. 

But where the roadway had been, was now 
only a great jagged hole. Torn trees, splin¬ 
tered rocks—all the debris of a vast upheaval 
—were slowly settling into it, and over the 
mangled spot, dust rose and hung like a veiL 


Thus, a concealed blast of dynamite kills Abigail Bickers, who so hated 
the sea. But will Martha, Lige's daughter, hate it too? In the next issue 
Is a strange new conflict between these stalwart farmers and fisherfolk 


















OCTOBER, 1932 


6 1 




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DELINEATOR 


6 2 




O NE THOUSAND women wrote us in July that what 
this country needs, among other things, is more articles 
in Delineator like the less-than-fifty-dollar wardrobe 
in the July issue. One thousand women must be 
pleased, so from now on Delineator will publish a budgeted 
wardrobe each season. 

Here is the one for winter. If you make it yourself and do 
a little economical juggling, it will cost you just $32.83. 

This wardrobe is right for almost anyone living almost any¬ 
where. It is the thing for “Margaret,” who writes us from a 
small Western village that she is to visit her cousins in New 
York next month and “what do New Yorkers wear anyway?” 
Also for “Helen” who wants to know how a super-secretary can 
keep up a successful looking appearance on a salary that was 
never important at any time and has recently suffered two ten 
per cent cuts. And for “Alice” who is on the verge of being looked 
over for the first time by her future parents-in-law, and is in all 
kinds of panic, including a clothes panic. To all Margarets. 
Helens and Alices, we say—Darlings, keep calm! Do as we tell 
you here, and you’ll go over big! 

Make this wardrobe, or else purchase a similar one with all 
the smart features illustrated here. Stick to this color scheme, or 
else plan one as carefully and as smart. And before we forget 
it, we want to say here and now to anyone making these clothes, 
that you need have no inferiority complex about a made-at-home 
wardrobe. That is completely old stuff. It really is. In this era 
of cheap and shoddy merchandise on every hand, the carefully 
made dress of good fabric, with hand-rolled edges and other 
hand touches on it, is the aristocrat of clothes, whoever makes it. 

THIS is a “quick-trick” wardrobe. If you think it consists of 
one coat and six dresses, you are right about the coat, but you 
are “seeing things” when it comes to the dresses. There are only 
three dresses here, but each dress does one very clever quick 
trick, and turns itself into another dress of a very different type. 

Take the dress above, No. 4720, for instance. At the left you 
see it as a strictly tailored frock of the day-after-day type. At 
the right is the same dress, but a fur-edged cape has been added 
and it is now an important looking frock that can be worn to 
lunch, to a matinee, or a tea. We chose wool for this frock— 
a thin, roughish, dark-and-light mixed wool. The color is gray, 
for gray, as you may or may not realize, has suddenly become 
very fashionable. You can purchase a two-inch gray fur band¬ 
ing for about two dollars a yard and you need a yard and three- 
quarters of it. $1.75 a yard will buy a nice thin wool. Three 
yards of it, a fifty-cent pattern and S3.50 for the fur makes the 
dress cost only $9.25. If you are willing to spend more on this 

*Usitig own fur. If you buy new fur, add $14 to cost of coat. 


frock, we advise you to invest in moleskin for the cape—it is so 
lovely on gray wool. Nothing is allowed for buttons, because 
there must be lots of black or gray buttons in your button box. 

The dress in the left corner is both a daytime dress and an 
afternoon frock. On the standing figure you see it in its day¬ 
time version, made of wine-red, very heavy crinkly crepe. This 
is the way Helen will wear it during office hours. But after five 
she will snap on these lovely white starched lace cuffs, pin on 
this big bow, powder her nose, make a few passes with a fire-red 
lipstick and be all ready to step out to dinner with the fascinating 
young lawyer from the office across the hall. The crepe will 
cost $1.30 a yard and she buys three and a half yards. The pat¬ 
tern is forty-five cents—and the entire dress $5.70. We shan’t 
allow her to spend money on the lace, because this is a grand 
opportunity to cut up last season’s torn lace evening gown. 

The quick trick in the evening frock in the right corner con¬ 
sists of adding a cape. This changes the very formal gown into 
an informal one. Black rough silk is smartest, we think, and most 
practical for a two-way dress; and heavy semi-sheer crepe in 
white or magnolia pink—really just a faintly tinted white—is 
nicest for the capelet. Pay about $1.19 for the rough crepe 
(3^ yards for size 36) and $1.00 for the heavy sheer (ijj yards), 
fifty cents for the pattern, and the total is a mere $5-92 for what 
amounts to two evening dresses! 

We haven’t gone into the subject of a wrap. You probably 
have one, but if not, cast your eyes on the black velvet wrap on 
page 68—it couldn’t be nicer. 

ABOUT the coat. Here we cheated a little bit. We did not add 
in the fur. We are hoping that you have a silver fox left over 
from some prosperity season, or that you can take a kit-fox collar 
off an old coat, or that you have a piece of moleskin somewhere 
around. Almost everyone has. Have this cleaned and glazed at 
the furriers and it will be lovely again. We chose black roughish 
wool for this coat, because black is most practical for a one-coat 
wardrobe. And smartest, incidently. 3 >6 yards of wool at $2.75 
and 3 yards of $.85 crepe for lining, a fifty-cent pattern, and this 
coat cost $11.96. And the entire wardrobe totals $32.83. 

And so, Margaret, Helen and Alice, and anyone else, here is 
your winter wardrobe, and we hope you get a big thrill out of 
it. If you want to know anything more about it or about 
accessories for it, write to us and we will write to you. 

MARIAN COREY 


A "QUICK-TRICK" 
WARDROBE 

lor $ 32.83 


$9.25 
















OCTOBER, 193 2 


63 




"two-in-one evening frock" 

4 7 5 3 The grand thing about the new clothes is their 
“spare parts.” At the right, you have a formal frock. 
At the left, the same dress less formal with a jacket. 
Substitute a cape and you have still a third costume 
with which to fool your public. For 36 (size 18), 
4% yards 39-inch crepe, skirt cut bias; % yard 39- 
inch contrast. Designed for sizes 12 to 20; 30 to 42. 


"the Gay Nineties have done it" 

47 5 8 The Gay Nineties are responsible for a lot of 
the nicest clothes of the year, especially for the fash¬ 
ion for capes. Evening wraps with big cape collars 
are right in line with all the new wear-them-several- 
ways clothes, for you can drape the collar any way 
you please. For 36 (size 18), 6% yards 39-inch 
erect pile velvet. Designed for sizes 12 to 20; 30 to 44. 


FIRST 


FASHIONS 

FOR 


FIRST NIGHTS 



Purchase Butterick Patterns with Deltor Picture Instructions at the leading stores throughout the world at prices given on page 72 










DELINEATOR 


6 4 


"CREPONS," 

SILKS OF THE 
GAY NINETIES, 
COME BACK 




"crinkly silk seersucker" 

4 7 3 9 The very different look of the new 
frocks is due to these old-fashioned, but 
now new-fashioned, very, very crinkly 
crepes. Silk seersucker is one of them, and 
it is best in a rather simple frock like this 
one. For 34 (size 16) 3(4 yards 39-inch 
crepe. Designed for sizes 12 to 20; 30 to 38. 


"oblong crinkled crepe" 

4 7 3 5 Picture a crepe twice as deeply 
crinkled as Roshanara and pressed in an 
oblong design, and you have the wrinkled 
heavy crepe that is smart for this frock. 
At its best in wine red, with white lace. 
For 36 (size 18) 3% yards 39-inch crepe. 
Designed for sizes 14 to 20; 32 to 44. 


"furrowed crepe" 

4 7 57 The crepon of this coat-dress is 
woven in deep ridges. Observe'the leg o’ 
mutton sleeves revived from the dear de¬ 
parted days. These, we think, are more wear¬ 
able than those gathered at the shoulder. For 
36 (size 18) 4% yards 39-inch dark crepe. 
Designed for sizes 12 to 20; 30 to 44. 


Purchase Butterick Patterns with Deltor Picture Instructions at the leading stores throughout the world at prices given on page 72 



























OCTOBER, 193 2 


65 



TWO-WAY 


CHANGE-ABOUT 
“SPARE PARTS" 


"the collar is a 'spare part' " 

47 4 6 The beauty of these new “con¬ 
vertibles” is that they need not look the 
same twice. Off with the collar and you 
have another dress. Substitute a bow, a 
clip, a scarf. For 36 (size 18), 4 yards 
39-inch silk crepe; 1 yard 39-inch contrast. 
Designed for sizes 12 to 20; 30 to 44. 


"with or without a cape" 

4 7 5 5 Capes are the perfect “spare parts” for the 
new woollen dresses as they make them into com¬ 
plete street outfits. Without the cape, this dress is 
surprisingly formal for the top is light, and the 
armholes are very deep. For 36 (size 18), 2% yards 
54-inch wool (skirt cut bias); 1% yards 35-to-39-inch 
crepe. Designed for sizes 12 to 20; 30 to 42. 


Purchase Butterick Patterns with Deltor Picture Instructions at the leading stores throughout the world at prices given on page 72 




























66 


An Entire Daytime Wardrobe 
Devoted to Slenderizing Lines 


DELINEATOR 



"spiral cuffs" 

4 7 4 8 When this winter’s coats have fur 
cuffs they are almost always set above the 
wrist, and often spiral up to the elbow, 
as in this coat. Their fur collars may be 
adjusted to the weather. For 40, 3% yards 
of 54-inch wool. The coat is designed espe¬ 
cially for the shorter figure, for 34 to 52. 

"and buttons are news" 

47 2 8 The talk of the “straighter sil¬ 
houette” this fall, really means a slimmer 
one—skirts with concealed fulness and a 
smooth, flat hipline; all very flattering. 
White pique is still “ace” on wool. For 
40, 2% yards 54-inch novelty wool; % 
yard 35-inch pique. Designed for 36 to 52. 


"matching lace for trimming" 

4 7 47 Flatten the palms of your hands 
against your sides, from your ribs to your 
hipbone, and you get the feeling of cling¬ 
ing smoothness that the new dresses have. 
Here you have it in a velvet dress with 
new sleeves. For 40, 4 % yards 35-inch 
erect pile velvet. Designed for 34 to 48. 


"wool in wine" 

4 7 49 Rich wine-reds have just become 
fashion favorites, which is good news for 
the older woman for they are especially 
flattering to her. This is a smart dress for 
burgundy crepe, with its cuffs and one¬ 
sided collar in satin. For 40, 4% yards 
39-inch crepe. Designed for 34 to 48. 


Purchase Butterick Patterns with Deltor Picture Instructions at the leading stores throughout the world at prices given on page 72 























OCTOBER, 1932 


67 



Standing High and Wide, New Fur 
Collars Throw the Head into Relief 


"the sleeves date the coat" 

4 7 5 4 One thing that makes this win¬ 
ter’s coats unlike any others is the sleeves. 
They’re raglan in front and in one with' the 
back. Here, of course, we have sleeves 
and oversleeves giving the effect of a cape. 
For 36 (size 18), 3% yards 54-inch wool. 
Designed for sizes 12 to 20; 30 to 42. 

"the ways of furs" 

4 7 6 2 There’s just one rule about fur— 
there must be plenty of it. Lei collars, 
waistcoats and epaulets, little Victorian 
capes—these are the new things. And they 
are very very clever at making a last year’s 
coat into a this year’s one. Designed for 
small, medium and large; 32 to 42. 


In this year of good fabrics at 
low prices, it is possible to 
make a most expensive look¬ 
ing coat most inexpensively 


"a Victorian revival" "look to the sleeves" 

4 7 2 5 Thank the Gay Nineties for all the 4 7 2 7 As new as the present moment are 

capes you’ll see on clothes this season. coats with wide armhole sleeves. And 

This fashion for capes—fur capes espe- they’re especially the thing over big-sleeved 

cially—runs all through the mode. Wear dresses. This is the leading silhouette— 

the collar up or down. Either is smart. broad shoulders, molded waist, slim skirt. 

For 36 (size 18), 314 yards 54-inch wool. For 36 (size 18), 3% yards 54-inch wool. 

Designed for sizes 12 to 20; 30 to 44. Designed for sizes 12 to 20; 30 to 42. 


Purchase Butterick Patterns with Deltor Picture Instructions at the leading stores throughout the world at prices given on page 72 























68 


DELINEATOR 


PARIS FROCKS 

AND PARIS NOTES 


DEAR DELINEATOR: 


Paris, France 


First of all, let me congratulate you on the grand job you did with the last batch of French 
clothes. I glowed with pride when I saw them so exactly like the originals that I couldn’t 
tell which was which. Here are some more for you to try your hand on. I hope you like them 
as much as I do, for I honeycombed Paris to find them and they’re the pick of the new season. 
Over here, everyone is wearing little tailored wool dresses. LIGHT TOUCH is one I saw 
at the Ritz at luncheon the other day. The material was one of those thin rabbit’s wools, so 
enticingly soft looking that you can hardly resist touching it. The checks were in light and 
dark beige and the buttons and buckle were big round wooden affairs that glistened like pieces 
of old oak. The “light touch” of course is the white linen collar and cuffs, starched crisp. 
• TOUCHDOWN is a sentimental gesture on my part—just about now I always get homesick 
for the excitement of a big football game, and the sight of a raccoon coat or a yellow chrys¬ 
anthemum moves me to tears. In crimson tweed, TOUCHDOWN would give the dashing 
touch to your tweed suit that would make you stand out in a whole bowl full of smart young 
women. • “A velvet dress in every wardrobe” seems to be the couturiers’ platform, and 
LADIES' CHOICE is perfect for velvet, whether you choose the new dull velvet of the 
“Bagheera” type or the old faithful transparent velvet. Both these fabrics are so lovely in 
themselves that it’s best to use them unadorned. The sleeves have the fulness fitted in instead 
of gathered the way they were this spring—they’re much trimmer and easier to wear under 


Anybody that looks like the young girl at the right is certain to be DATED UP seven nights 
a week. I chose it particularly because it proves that you don’t need a lot of fur to be alluring. 
Crimson velvet, big sleeves and a big bow are a match for any fur. However, if you happen 
to be the possessor of a piece of fox, ask to see the pattern of this wrap the next time you’re 
at a Butterick pattern counter—it can be made with a big fur collar and it’s ravishing. • 
Don’t overlook the silly little veil that DATED UP is wearing because it has a serious purpose. 
It’s a cap and veil in one. It covers the whole head and keeps your hair slick even if you’re 
unlucky enough to draw a roadster and an escort that would rather have the stars over his 
head than the top of the car. And incidentally that same escort is sure to be overcome with 
admiration for the veil. All the smart young girls are wearing them. • GOOD NIGHT is 
bias cut as all French underthings are. They fit so much better and look so much better than 
straight lingerie. The original was white satin with coffee lace—and it couldn’t have been 
improved upon. • All those buttons and the velvet collar were the things that won me over 
to BUTTON UP. I’ve seen velvet accessories at every smart event in Paris recently. Velvet 
hats and bags, belts, scarfs, and collars and cuffs. They’re used on wool dresses and crepe 
dresses. BUTTON UP is dark emerald green with a black velvet collar, and the smart young 
French woman who wore it, wore a black velvet hat and carried a black velvet bag. • 
PARK AVENUE is a shining example of the chic of brown and of brown furs. The jacket is 
simply swathed in mink. If you’d like to make it a bit less formal and a lot less costly make 
it of brown tweed and leopard-stenciled lapin. I’ve seen it that way, and it’s very chic. 


All the new coats bear heavy burdens of fur, and the most interesting thing about them 
is the way the fur is used. Nobody is satisfied with just a shawl collar, as they were last year. 
Each French dressmaker seems to be trying to outwit all the others in thinking up unusual 
ways of applying fur. SNOWBOUND is one of the most amusing with its little Victorian 
cape of mole. Mole has staged a comeback. It’s being used not only in its natural color but 
also dyed to match the color of the coat or dress. Dark green, for instance, on a dark green 
coat. There’s a Victorian flavor to SWEET ADELINE, too. The cherry red velvet ruffles 
that broaden the shoulders and the slim, unbelted silhouette give it that Gay Nineties look. 
I first saw it at “Le Montmartre,” the smartest night club of the moment. It was made of 
a most intriguing white crepon that looked for all the world like seersucker. By a lot of 
unmannerly staring I discovered that it’s really very simple—you could dash it off in a day. 
• Remember how everybody pinned white organdy bows on everything last summer? 
Well, here’s the fall version. A white chalk-crepe bow. They’re much too becoming to give 
up just because of a change of weather. COQUETTE is the name of the dress—just another 
one of the simple black velvet dresses with big sleeves all Paris is wearing. OXFORD 
ACCENT is gray—and gray is the smartest color for sport clothes. Oxford gray tweed 
makes the skirt and half the scarf, lighter gray tweed the blouse and the other half of the 
scarf. Wear it with dark brown accessories, if you want to look as if you had just walked 
out of Schiaparelli’s. • I was so torn between the two versions of LUCKY NUMBER that 
I put them both in—instead of asking you to look in the big Butterick Counter Catalog for 
them. One of them has page-boy sleeves and one of those little tab collars that are all over 
Paris. The other has white pique collar and cuffs. 


What does GIBSON GIRL remind you of? Of course, that picture of your mother taken 
in the shirtwaist period. The neckline will make mothers look like daughters and daughters 
look like younger sisters—especially if its spick-and-span whiteness is against a background 
of burgundy red wool. Do you remember the year Chanel made those natural cashmere 
jersey dresses that were such smash hits? If you do, the news that cashmere jersey is back 
in fashion again will be glad tidings. Nothing stands up better—and it never gets boring. 
I know, because I lived in one a whole winter and I intend to live in STRICTLY BUSINESS 
this winter. It’s perfect for work or play, being a grand sports dress. • It was Mainbocher 
who made the first fringe dress last summer and now everybody is following suit. AFTER DARK 
uses the fringe around the decolletage. There’s another version of this dress that is one of 
the new “convertibles” with a spare part to add to it when the occasion is informal. You'll 
have to look in the Butterick Counter Catalog or at Butterick’s Advance Fashions for it, 
as there was no room to sketch it here. Sorry. 


HEATHER has the same sort of ’smartness that a perfectly turned out Englishman has. 
It’s perfectly simple and yet it can’t be “copied down.” It’s in the cut and the drape of the 
shoulders and the soft purplish gray tweed. If you can have just one winter coat let it be 
WARM HEART in black wool with a mink collar. It won’t look out of place over a wool 
dress and it’s formal enough for velvet. I chose it on the advice of one of those geniuses 
who dress on a song—have vep’’ few clothes but always look smart. I forgot to tell you 
about PRIVATE LIFE. I found it at one of those tiny places that turn out such marvels 
of handwork. I put it in because it will give you that “fragile flower” look and because it’s 
just the thing to wear when reading your Delineator in bed. R. S. 


For the sizes and prices of 
these patterns, see page 82 





OCTOBER, 1932 


69 














70 


DELINEATOR 



"with cherry red ribbons" 

4 7 5 6 The bertha is what makes this dress 
so beguiling—otherwise it’s perfectly simple 
and very, very easy to make. Gay cherry 
red ribbons decorate its snowy whiteness, 
threaded through in the most fascinating 
way. For 25 (size 7), 1% yards 39-inch 
crepe. Designed for 24 to 28 (sizes 6 to 10). 

"choose your own fabric" 

47 24 One of the nicest things about this 
dress is that it can be made in almost any 
fabric—gingham or thin wool for school; 
velveteen, or taffeta with the sleeves short¬ 
ened to puffs, for parties. For 25 (size 7), 
1% yards 54-inch wool, 14 yd. 35-in. linen. 
It is designed for 24 to 28 (sizes 6 to 10). 

"slim and straight" 

4 7 5 2 New coats are slim and they bear 
their burden of fur in new ways. Collars 
are big and warm and cuffs often run up 
all the way to the elbow. If you’re twelve 
years old, you’ll want a belt on your coat. 
For 30 (size 12), 214 yards 54-inch wool. 
Designed for 26 to 33 (sizes 8 to 15). 


READY 

FOR THE SOCIAL WHIRL 


"dolling up a doll" 

44 2 A mare completely outfitted doll you 
couldn’t hope for, if you dress her in this 
wardrobe. There’s everything from a play 
suit t» a best dress—just like mother’s. 
The bathing suit, especially, we feel is 
pretty trick. Wardrobe designed for dolls 
of 10 to 24 inches length (6% to 14 breast ). 

"shoulder ruffles" 

4 7 5 0 Masses of ruffles are quite happy 
being sleeves this season, after a famous 
young film actress started the idea. Here 
they are in miniature—on a very best dress. 
Separate panties. For 23 (size 4), 2% 
yards 35-inch taffeta; 1% yards % inch 
ribbon. Designed for 21 to 25 (sizes 2 to 1). 


"school days" 

4 7 41 This tweed dress with epaulet shoul¬ 
ders, buttons where they do the most good, 
and collar and cuffs of crisp white pique is 
one of the smartest sch@«l-going fashions 
yet discovered. For 30 (size 12), 2 yards 
54-inch wool and 14 yard 35-inch pique. 
Designed for 26 to 33 (sizes 8 to 15). 


"more guimpes" 

4 7 29 There never has been such a season 
for guimpes! They’re everywhere—which 
is all right with everybody, because a ging¬ 
ham guimpe and a batiste guimpe make this 
dress look like two. For 30 (size 12), 1% 
yards 54-inch wool; 1% yards 35-inch linen. 
It is designed for 26 to 33 (sizes 8 to 15). 


"ruffles" 

4 7 6 4 Palest pink crepe de Chine with a 
sash of burgundy velvet will be the center 
of attention at young parties this fall. Ver¬ 
tical ruffles, as you see them in the skirt, 
are quite the new thing. For 30 (size 12), 
2% yards 39-inch crepe de Chine. The frock 
is designed for 26 to 33 (sizes 8 to 15). 


"fur for the young" 

4 743 Even though you’re much too young 
to have a fur coat you can have lots of fur 
on your cloth coat. It’s used here for a col¬ 
lar, cuffs, and on a cape and enough was 
left over to edge the little round hat. For 
23 (size 4), 114 yards 54-inch wool. Coat 
and hat designed for 20 to 25 (sizes 1 to 7). 


Purchase Butterick Patterns with Deltor Picture Instructions at the leading stores throughout the world at prices given 


page 72 
























THE DEMOCRATS 


tjou cxm hjuJct e 

«jfu| it’s the 

largest-selling 
packaged cheese 
in the world 




,ho ^mooi 


jtti 


Spread some “Philadel¬ 
phia” Cream Cheese on a 
cracker. “Philadelphia” 
brand, rich with pure 
sweet cream! Its fresh .deli¬ 
cate flavor will tell you 
more concisely than any 
words why this is the 
largest-selling packaged 
cheese in the world. Right 
now this choicest of all 
cream cheeses is sell¬ 
ing at the lowest 
price in 40 years! 


Never sold 
in bulk 
No band 


Your grocer has 


KRAFT 


Products 




Continued from page 23 


the League of Women Voters to see what 
could be done at the eleventh hour. In this 
year of economic stress, when the strictest 
governmental economy is necessary, they 
feared that the well-being of the children 
might be sacrificed. But the resolution was 
passed with a truly rising vote which grew 
by way of louder and louder applause quite 
unaided by brass bands and coercive 
parades. 

Women who have lobbied for peace planks 
are also thankful for what is written into the 
Democratic platform regarding international 
cooperation, though to them it is only a be¬ 
ginning. It is significant that they were al¬ 
lowed to speak for fifty minutes before the 
Resolutions Committee as against their three 
minutes at Houston in 1928. 

BECAUSE platforms this year loom larger 
than candidates, I come only now to our pos¬ 
sible future President, Franklin D. Roose¬ 
velt. Mr. Roosevelt is not an unknown, the 
spelling of whose name has to be learned, 
whose activities in public life have to be ex¬ 
humed from the files. His political star since 
1910 has been Progressive Democracy. He 
was first a New York State Senator, several 
times coming to grips with Tammany and 
winning. He helped to elect Woodrow Wil¬ 
son and was rewarded with the Assistant 
Secretaryship of the Navy, which is the 
nearest he ever came to realizing his boy’s 
dream of becoming a sailor. He lost the Vice- 
Presidency when he ran with James M. Cox, 
but learned a lot about the United States in 
the eight hundred speeches he made during 
that campaign. He then returned to law 
practise, and in 1921 came his cruel crippling 
by infantile paralysis. The superhuman 
efforts he made to overcome his illness and 
the success he has achieved have won uni¬ 
versal admiration—but Mrs. Roosevelt must 
have her share in that admiration. 

Previously she had taken an interest in the 
welfare of Dutchess County, New York, 
in which is the family estate at Hyde Park. 
But with the invalidism of her husband she 
determined to keep open for him a corridor 
along which he could walk back into public 
life. She therefore entered more aggressively 
into county affairs, then state politics. She 
did everything to keep the name of Franklin 
Roosevelt alive. She also continued to mother 
her five children, manage several homes, 
superintend a furniture factory which she 
started as a training school for the young men 
in the county, and to teach several days a 
week at the Todhunter School in New York 
where she is assistant principal. 

If the understanding Mrs. Roosevelt goes 
to the White House, she is ideally equipped 
for the position—by the achievements which 
I have just cited as well as by her capacity to 
enjoy what she is doing at the moment, with¬ 
out dissipating her attention by worrying 
what she is going to do next. She also al¬ 
ways remembers faces and promises . . . 

And then in 1924 Mr. Roosevelt was back 
on a public rostrum, nominating Alfred E. 
Smith for President. In 1928, Roosevelt was 
elected Governor of the State of New York 
and re-elected in 1930 by a huge majority. 
The Governor has proved an able foe against 
power interests in his state. His views on 
state ownership have, in general, the ap¬ 
proval of progressive groups in both parties. 
He has avowed himself a wet. Jouett Shouse 
and John J. Raskob gathered together the 
broken pieces of the discouraged Democratic 
Party and presented it to him on a gold 
standard platter, and he has an extraordina¬ 
rily shrewd campaign manager in James A. 
Farley, who is now chairman of the Demo¬ 
cratic National Committee. 

There is magic in the name of Roosevelt, 
and his fine head and shoulders and charm¬ 
ing smile are great assets. When people ques¬ 
tion his physical ability to cope with the 
exhausting duties of the Presidency they 
have only to look at Mr. Roosevelt to see how 
his health has actually improved while he was 
very busy being a governor. There is also 
that apt retort, supposed to have been made 
by A 1 Smith to the same question: 

“What do you want? An acrobat in the 
White House?” 

“1 DECEIVE them all by telling the truth,” 
says John Nance Garner, Vice-Presidential 
nominee, “and I ■ never look backward 


because it doesn’t get you anywhere.” 

Both of these statements reveal the char¬ 
acter of this man from Uvalde, Texas. Mr. 
Garner has been in Congress without in¬ 
terruption since 1903, working his way up to 
Speaker of the House, which he now is. He 
regards himself as an old-fashioned Jefferson¬ 
ian Democrat and dresses and acts the part. 
Few men in Washington have so many 
friends, and though he is a hard fighter on the 
floor he never bears ill will. Last year he 
fought for a manufacturers’ sales tax because 
he believed in it, and finally got it passed 
after many compromises. He was brought up 
a Methodistbuthe was never a prohibitionist. 
He voted against the Eighteenth Amend¬ 
ment and the Volstead Act, and before this 
year’s Convention he asked that a repeal of 
the Amendment be inserted in his party’s 
platform. Much is made of his being the 
late Nicholas Longworth’s close friend, be¬ 
cause in appearance, background, and man¬ 
ner of living they were so different. But the 
integrity, industry and hard common sense 
which attracted Nick to Cactus Jack should 
also appeal to Franklin Roosevelt, who is 
fortunate in having so ably trained a poli¬ 
tician for running mate. 

Mrs. Garner is as much the right wife for 
John Garner as is Mrs. Roosevelt for Frank¬ 
lin Roosevelt. Ettie Garner is also an old- 
fashioned Jeffersonian in politics. Clothes are 
just clothes to her, but cooking is something 
to do yourself and do well. She really is her 
husband’s secretary and is on the job at seven 
in the morning and stays there until six. 
Social Washington means nothing to either 
of the Gamers, so it will be interesting to 
see how, if Democracy triumphs, they will 
side-step the brocade train of Dolly Gann 
and the long black coat-tails of Brother 
Charlie. 

DEMOCRATIC women this year were 
never so eager to be represented officially 
at the Convention, and they are now working 
ardently for the election. There are those, 
legally described as “housewives,” who work 
for the love of it, but there are also an in¬ 
creasing number of professional women giv¬ 
ing of their time—lawyers and doctors, 
editors and publishers, lecturers and writers, 
school teachers and social workers, presidents 
of banks and industrial companies, county 
clerks and realtors, musicians and artists. 

Ex-Governor Nellie Tayloe Ross of Wyo¬ 
ming has again been elected a vice-chairman 
of the National Committee. She was the 
first woman governor in the United States 
and since the day she succeeded her husband, 
who died in office, she has never been out of 
politics. She travels constantly in the in¬ 
terest of her party, galvanizing the half¬ 
hearted, convincing the skeptical, cajoling 
the idle, into active participation in govern¬ 
mental life. 

Both men and women have been disap¬ 
pointed that not more has been done with the 
suffrage that women won; they say that con¬ 
gresswomen are just congressmen, that the 
rest of us hardly trouble to vote, and that 
when we do it is the way our husbands tell 

This is true, of course, it’s true, but not 
completely true, and women like Mrs. Ross, 
who are charming and feminine, but who rely 
on knowledge and not on sweet smiles to win, 
are enlisting a growing number of active 
political workers all over the country. 


When it comes time to vote on Novem¬ 
ber the eighth, find out first what you are 
voting for, remembering that this may be 
your last chance to make your party mean 
something, to prove that democracy is worth 
saving. Remember that the Democrats have 
the best platform in twenty years and that 
if the President makes mistakes, there is a 
trained politician in the hardiest sense in the 
Vice-Presidency, and that you still have the 
opportunity to elect wiser men to minor 
offices throughout the four years before the 
next national election. 

If you do this, your vote will take on some 
of the patriotic fervor which animated citi¬ 
zens when this land was really young; some 
of the sacred trust we begged to assume as 
women when we were fighting for that vote! 


Photographs of Roosevelt, Smitk, Farley, from Blank 
and Slilles; of Garner, Mrs. Roosevelt, and Mrs. Ross, 
from Wide World Photos; of Mm Garner from Raehrarh 


m dijaw .. this 
cheese food with 


rating of + + + 


(TRIPLE PLUS) 



06 milk hhAj 



Hidden in Velveeta’s rare, 
mellowed flavor are the 
health-protective elements 
of many foods, richly con¬ 
centrated. The Food Com¬ 
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Medical Association awards 
this delicious cheese food 
their distinguished seal of 
approval. The whole 
family can have it, 
for Velveeta is as 
digestible as 
milk itself! 


Your grocer has 


KRAFT 


Products 




















DELINEATOR 


7 2 


Including 

Prices of Butterick Patterns fhe 

NEW DELTOR 

Buy Patterns at the nearest Butterick Agency. But if this is not convenient, 
they will be sent, post free, if order is accompanied by remittance, from 
the main office of the Butterick Publishing Company, Butterick Building, 

New York, or the branch offices listed below, at the following prices: 


Prices in the United States of America 






4612 . 
4619 


4671 

4672 

4681 

4682 



4669 

4670 


4685 

4686 

4687 


4704 

4705 




Prices in Canada 






Prices in Sterling 

BRITISH ISLES 


25C 1 

30C 1/3 

35C 1/6 

40c 1/6 

45c 2 

50c 2 


1/3 30c 1/6 

1/6 40c 2/3 

2 50c 2/6 


CHICAGO, ILL., 465 West 22nd Street ATLANTA, GA., 70 Fairlie Street, N. W. 

DALLAS, TEX., Santa Fe Bldg., Unit. No. 2 TORONTO, CAN., 468 Wellington Street, West 

SAN FRANCISCO, CAL., 3 50 Mission Street LONDON, W. 1, ENGLAND, 66 Bolsover Street 



THE FACTS AS WE 
FIND THEM 


Continued from page 32 


This is a small hand cleaner which is sup¬ 
plied with dusting tools similar to those pro¬ 
vided with a cleaner of larger size. This 
small cleaner is carried about in the hand. It 
is light weight and is no burden to handle. 
The long cord permits it to be used in any 
part of a sizable room in the home. It has 
a long tube to which to attach the tools for 
picking up surface litter from the floor and 
rugs, or for cleaning ceiling and walls and 
long draperies. Its various shaped nozzles lit 
into this long attachment or can be used 
without it. Without the attachment it be¬ 
comes a small hand vacuum cleaner. It is 
particularly useful in the one- or two-room 
apartment where storage space for a larger 
cleaner is out ol the question and it makes a 
marvelous supplement to the large cleaner, 
particularly for daily dustings. 

We have also been using another small 
cleaner, made for use with the usual dusting 
tools. This one rests on the floor and slides 
about easily as you work with the tools. It 

Some of our tests bring about social¬ 
appearing gatherings. This happens when the 
opinions of a number of people are needed to 
judge the results of some experiment we have 
been carrying on. Not long ago we had 
occasion to try out several kinds of waxed and 
other papers for use with foods, and a new 
aluminum product—aluminum foil. One 
thing we wished to determine was how well 
these different coverings protected the ar¬ 
ticles inside them from strong odors. You 
know what happens in a refrigerator if a 
strong-flavored food is left uncovered when 
other susceptible foods are near by. Wrap¬ 
ping and otherwise protecting foods with 
suitable covering will prevent this difficulty. 
To determine the effectiveness of the ma¬ 
terials we were interested in, we wrapped 
pieces of sweet butter in them. These pack¬ 
ages were placed in a covered dish, then cut 
onion was put in with them. The next day 
we tasted the butter to see which pieces 
showed traces of the onion flavor. Another 
test we put these wrappings through was to 
wrap sandwiches in them and see how moist 
the bread remained. 

A recent test has included an attractive 
new waxed paper made in four colors. Think 
of the gay and interesting sandwich boxes 
this makes possible. And of course parch¬ 
ment paper finds a welcome place in our 
kitchens. It has many culinary uses. 

IF you haven’t used aluminum foil you will 
certainly be interested in its various uses. 
We use it to cover small dishes which we 
wish to set in the refrigerator, for wrapping 
various articles, and to wrap small pieces of 
meat for roasting. Of course the many cul¬ 
inary papers, waxed and otherwise, have 
become indispensable in our modem kitchens. 
Convenient containers for these are more and 
more common. Certainly convenience in 
using them and storing them depends a great 
deal upon the containers they come in or 
upon some specially designed cabinet. We 
interest ourselves in this matter of how these 
papers are packaged and how they can be 
most conveniently used, as well as in the 
products themselves. 

Paper towels themselves aren’t new. We 
have been using them and talking about them 
for a long time. We have been particularly 
pleased with some we have recently been 
using. They come in rolls and perforations 
mark the end of each towel. The holder for 
the roll is simple and attractive. As you tear 
off a towel the holder checks the roll from 
turning farther, and no extra towels are pulled 
out of place. 

Speaking of coverings for articles to go in 
the refrigerator brings to mind some of the 
refrigerator accessories we have recently been 
using. Every large piece of equipment like a 
refrigerator or a range brings along a follow¬ 
ing of lesser lights to aid in using the main 
item. Some of these lesser lights are very 
useful. They become essential to efficiency. 
Do avail yourself of all the real aids. They 
are important to complete and convenient 
use of the refrigerator. 

We have been using some strong, well- 
made wire baskets in our refrigerators 
lately; a large one for fruit and a smaller 
one for eggs. Being of wire (Turn to page 74) 



0 Formerly 25i 


• NOW | 

IN CANADA \Si 

SMARTEST WINTER FASHIONS 

including . . . 

THE MOST GLAMOUROUS OF EVENING 
GOWNS ... THE NEW COATS WITH 
MUCH FUR . . . THE "CONVERTIBLE 
FROCKS" ... THE BIG-SLEEVE DRESSES 
. . . HIGH STYLE, LOW PRICE PAT¬ 
TERNS ... THE SMARTEST FROCKS CUT 
IN LARGE SIZES . . . SPECIAL PATTERNS 
FOR SHORTER WOMEN . . . WEDDING 
GOWNS OF GREAT LOVELINESS . . . 
CHARMING NEW CHILDREN'S CLOTHES 
. . . LATEST BEGINNERS' PATTERNS . . . 
ALL TIME MATERNITY DRESSES. 

IN THE NEW WINTER ISSUE 



0 On the Newsstands 
0 At the Pattern Counter 

BUTTERICK 

PARIS FASHIONS 





















































OCTOBER, 1932 


7 3 




ur 


kelp pfoT yo 

baby 

H OW constantly on guard you must be 
when you are nursing your baby! If you 
are upset in any way, your baby shows it im¬ 
mediately. Probably you learned before baby 
was born to be particularly careful about what 
you took to relieve the constipation of preg¬ 
nancy. You knew then that any medicinal lax¬ 
ative was carried by your blood direct to your 
unborn child. You see a similar effect on his 
tiny body while you are nursing. And probably 
your doctor told you that the safe and drugless 
way to relieve constipation was to use Nujol, 
which is not a medicine at all. Nujol is just a 
natural lubricant. Your body does not absorb 
or digest it. That is why it cannot affect the 
mother's milk. It takes up and gently carries 
away the waste body poisons we all have. 

Women learn from child-bearing days how 
Nujol helps them, and they find it of priceless 
value in relieving constipation during the dif¬ 
ficult days each month. Free help for your baby 
and for you too is in the free 24-page booklet 
we will send on request. And in the meantime, 
do try Nujol. Take no chances on your baby's 
health! 


NUJOL LABORATORIES, DEPT. B-2 
2 Park Avenue, New York City 


“Mother Help Booklet” 

FREE 

Send for it now 


BABY BOOKLETS 

No. 6 . . . PRENATAL CARE . . . roc 
No. 73 FIRST YEAR OF BABYHOOD 2.5c 
DELINEATOR, 161 Sixth Ave., N. Y. 


Skin Health Derived from Daily 4 
Use of the a 

CUTICURA 4 
PREPARATIONS 4 

Price 25c. each. Sample free. d 

Address: "Cuticura,” Dept. 3K, Malden,Mass. 


AUTUMN FACES COME TO TOWN 



remedy a too ardent summer exposure 


Rich creams and oils will quickly 

I F YOU envy the smartness of women 
gathered in town after a strenuous out¬ 
door summer—then here’s their secret of 
soothing creams and lotions, of circulation 
and bleaching creams and make-up carefully 
chosen. 

Soothing preparations work wonders in 
bringing back dry, sunburned skins, and there 
are mild bleaching preparations that do their 
work safely. 

Warm oil treatments at night are grand, 
too, for sun-dried skins. Work into the skin a 
generous supply of one of the good facial oils, 
after warming the oil slightly. Allow it to 
remain ten or fifteen minutes; then remove. 

One of the best creams for this time of the 
year is a circulation cream. These creams 
stimulate circulation—ideal for quick pick¬ 
up treatments. They also act as a mild 
bleach and gradually wear off your summer 

Foundation creams and lotions should be 
used sparingly to prevent caked make-up. 
There is a splendid new make-up lotion for 
arms, necks and shoulders that are off-color— 
not drying. 

Cream rouges blend most naturally with a 
skin that has been exposed to summer suns. 
To apply them correctly, your skin should be 
damp, and the rouge blended, a little at a 


time, with the finger-tips. Be sure to blend 
away those telltale edges near the ears and 
temples, with your finger-tips or damp cotton. 

Eyes need special attention in the fall. A 
tanned skin makes them look smaller and 
often faded. To bring out the color and 
make them look larger, use a good eye 
shadow. Again, the secret is not too much. 
Apply eye shadow only on the upper lid, 
beginning about the center and working 
toward the end of the eye. Used beneath the 
eyes, it hardens the expression and makes 
the eyes seem smaller. Blue-gray is a safe 
shade for most types. Vivid blue is lovely 
with blue or gray eyes, and the violet shades 
—those with a bluish cast—give a soft, wide- 
eyed appearance. A reddish violet makes the 
eyes look swollen. 

A tiny bit of mascara lengthens the lashes. 
Use very little—on the upper lashes only— 
not too near the eyelids. Blue mascara, 
especially midnight blue, is flattering to 
both blondes and brunettes. 

An in-between shade of light-weight pow¬ 
der will carry you through the period when 
your skin is losing its tan. Deep peach and 
beige are the safest. 

Lipsticks are brighter this autumn, lovely 
shades that harmonize with your powder and 
give clear red color to the lips. 


DELINEATOR INSTITUTE, Department of Beauty 



Your autumn make-up should be carefully chosen and very skilfully applied 



Ik e secret recipe 
of cl 

FAMOUS 

CHEF 


a heartif meat for 4 

-total cost ... 03 t 

Heinz Cooked Spaghetti Buttered Spinach 

Corn Pudding Whole Wheat Bread Butter 
Deep Dish Apple Pie 

N O WONDER Heinz Cooked Spaghetti 
is so extra delicious—so extra nour¬ 
ishing—the recipe was acquired by Heinz 
from one of Italy’s most famous and 
accomplished chefs* Serve the hearty 
and tempting meal outlined above, with 
spaghetti as the main course, and your 
family will never even imagine its amaz¬ 
ingly low cost. Made from choicest Du¬ 
rum wheat, every tender strand of Heinz 
Spaghetti is rich with the goodness of 
ruddy Heinz-bred tomatoes, milk, butter 
and tangy golden cheese—a perfectly sea¬ 
soned, perfectly balanced dish, ready to 
heat and serve. Your grocer carries it in 
three convenient sizes. 

H. J. HEINZ COMPANY 

PITTSBURGH, U.S.A. • TORONTO, CAN. • LONDON, ENG. 

HEINZ 

COOKED 

SPAGHETTI 

REJLEY TO SERVE 



















DELINEATOR 


74 



but you’ll use it 
for j#3 foods 

£ Of course, a good dish has a right 
to be known by any name it de¬ 
sires. But it doesn’t seem quite fair to 
call this just a “cake” dish when you 
think of the butterscotch biscuits— 
apple turnovers—and open tarts that 
it bakes .. . the dozen or so fruits and 
vegetables, and countless scalloped, 
creamed and au gratin concoctions it 
handles so well. . . 

Many foods that the Pyrex Cake 
Dish cooks so superbly are far too 
fragile to stand any changing about 
from baking pan to serving plate . . . 
but with the Cake Dish in command 
you don’t have to worry. It bakes 
food and serves it, too ... all in the 
same shining dish! 

£ For, like all Pyrex brand Oven- 
ware, the Cake Dish is heat-re¬ 
sistant. It’s safe for hours (and years!) 
of oven service... and clear, sparkling, 
transparent as well. Quite pretty 
enough to hold its own with your 
party-best silver and china. 

The Cake Dish shown above is the 
9" square style that costs $1.00. If 
you prefer a round dish we have that, 
too—in the same size, at 75i. 

Every piece of Pyrex Ware carries 
a two-year replacement guarantee 
against breakage from oven heat or 
refrigerator cold. 

FREE . . BOOK OF 30 MENUS. Whole meals baked 
in 20, 30, or 4; minutes. Illustrated price ist of all Pyrex 
dishes. Corning Glass Works, Dept. 2.510, Coming, N. Y. 

Name___ 


PYREX 


OVEN 

WARE 


THE FACTS AS WE FIND THEM 


Continued from page 72 


they do not check the air circulation. And 
you can see just what is in them. They are 
made of strong, flat wires that keep their 
shape and slide easily on refrigerator shelves. 
They are a boon to order, efficiency and con¬ 
venience in your use of the refrigerator. 

Many articles need to be kept in covered 
dishes and we are always interested in con¬ 
tainers of this type. Dishes which can be 
used for baking as well as for refrigerator 
storage serve a dual purpose and are often 
very convenient. 

Water always cold and ready to drink, 
or other beverages all prepared and ready 
chilled, are often life savers. Three bottles 
of interesting shape, holding a quart each, 
have an honored place in one of our refriger¬ 
ators. They store compactly and are well 
worth the space they use. 

THEN there are what might be termed 
built-in refrigerator conveniences. These 
come with the refrigerator. They are either 
permanently attached to it or are made 
especially for it, and become a permanent 
part in the use of the refrigerator. Such an 
item is the special green vegetable pan for 
keeping salad and similar greens moist. 
Another is the water container for keeping 
a supply of cold water always on tap. An¬ 
other is a large storage tray for frozen foods. 
T' e are cleverly arranged shelves which 
permit one to use half or whole of them as 
the occasion demands. One such shelf 
which we have recently been using slides 
back upon itself, thus providing extra high 
space most easily, when some bulky article 
needs to be placed in the refrigerator. We 
have used a wire fruit-and-vegetable con¬ 
tainer of the built-in variety, also. And then 
the light in the refrigerator. This is a con¬ 
venience. It lights when you open the door 


and you see way back in the refrigerator at 
first glance. The light goes out when you 
shut the door. 

If you are interested in a “do-all” for 
baby’s food you will like one we have had 
here. It provides a container for pasteurizing 
baby’s food, and a pan, which is also the cover, 
for mixing the formula. This container be¬ 
comes a sterilizer for the bottles and all other 
items used in preparing the formula. The 
other necessary items all come with the large 
container. You do not have to shop around 
in different stores or departments to complete 
your baby food outfit. The rack inside the 
container can be removed, bottles and all, 
after the food is ready, and be placed in the 
refrigerator. When the family is going away 
for the day and baby is to go along, the same 
container used as a sterilizer becomes a re¬ 
frigerator which is easy to take along. Ice is 
placed in it around the bottles, which remain 
in the rack, and baby’s food is kept in perfect 
condition. 

How would you like a holder all shaped 
to fit the pan handle? Such a holder hangs 
beside one of our kitchen ranges. It is on a 
wire frame. The frame keeps the holder in 
shape to fit the handle and the hand. This 
same frame provides a loop by which to hang 
up the holder. It keeps the holder out 
straight so that hands will not be burned. 
When the holder needs washing it slips off 
the wire frame, and it slips on again as easily 
when it is ready for use. 

And have you seen the new flavoring ex¬ 
tract bottle—shorter and squattier? Not 
tall and slim and ready to tip over as the old 
bottles were. It’s a joy to use. You can put 
it down with assurance. Y’ou don't have to 
place it with care, then look back to be sure 
it didn’t tip over after all. We are all for this 
firmer foundation in flavoring bottles. 


WHAT IS A HEALTHY CHILD? 

Continued from page 6 


In the animal world we recognize physical 
differences and feed according to type. To 
borrow an illustration that carries the argu¬ 
ment to the point of absurdity: Suppose we 
should construct height-weight-age tables for 
dogs. We should then put the heights and 
weights of the Pekinese, terriers, collies. 
Great Danes and St. Bernards all together 
and find the average which we would errone¬ 
ously label normal. Then we would stuff the 
little Pekinese and terriers and starve the 
Great Danes and St. Bernards in our effort to 
make them all conform to this normal stand¬ 
ard. The collies and other middle-sized dogs, 
who would just about fit this “normal,” 
would thrive on “normal” diet; but the dogs 
that were too large or too small would suffer. 

Constitutional differences recognized in 
divergent types of children include the greater 
fatigability of the slender-built. There is an 
anatomical reason for this, in the small bones, 
thin musculature, and more delicate mechan¬ 
ism of the slender-built child. His physical 
reserve is less than that of the broader, more 
vigorous type, and so he needs more rest, 
possibly at shorter intervals. Such a child is 
apt to be further taxed when a high-strung, 
ambitious and sensitive temperament drives 
him to try to keep up with stronger children 
in work and play. Adequate rest and suitable 
food are important aids for the slender child 
in making his adjustments to life. 

A recognition of these principles will often 
relieve parents of much anxiety and keep 
them from futile efforts to make grayhounds 
into St. Bernards. It becomes necessary to 
insist, however, that any attempt to divide 
children into types, to draw too many gen¬ 
eralizations on any basis, is precisely the mis¬ 
take we wish to avoid. There is always the 
child whose physique partakes of both types 
and who refuses to be classified. There is the 
stout person who is “temperamental,” and 
the lean one who is easy-going. The study 
of types is illuminating but by no means the 
last word in our knowledge of physique and 
character. Though a great aid to our present 
understanding, thus far it has not succeeded 


in excluding the need of studying the in¬ 
dividual child as such. 

What is essential, then, is to utilize scien¬ 
tific generalizations as a general guide, but 
to realize at the same time that the “average” 
child is non-existent and that our own Jacks 
and Susans are unique creations of nature 
whose needs must be individually determined. 

Every mother would do well to acquaint 
herself with some of the basic requirements 
of that mental health which is a necessary 
condition of healthy physical functioning. 
All parents can profit by an occasional stock¬ 
taking of their procedures and attitudes, 
much as an artist steps back from his canvas 
to criticize and alter his work. From the 
moment of birth pleasant emotions tend to 
maintain good mental and physical health, 
whereas unhappiness and mental conflict may 
result in loss of weight, digestive disturbances, 
and other physical disorders. Situations 
making for emotional strain may range in 
seriousness from the minor tension set up by 
a hurried mother to the major strains in a 
home harassed by profound emotional strife. 

GOING to bed, for instance, is one incident 
in the day’s routine that should always be 
pleasant. Overanxiety about sleep may cause 
a mother to put a child to bed too soon and 
before he is tired, in order to hold to a cer¬ 
tain schedule of sleep. If the child becomes 
restless and cries a long time before he can 
go to sleep, he may “condition” sleep with an 
unpleasant emotional tension. This can often 
be avoided by a quiet conversation or story 
after the child has been tucked away, and 
mother and child are alone. No matter 
what the events of the day, this should be a 
time of happiness. A child should never be al¬ 
lowed to think that he is being put to bed to 
get him out of the way, or sleep may become 
an undesirable thing. Being put to bed as a 
punishment may have the same result. 
Sleeplessness in a child is almost always due 
to emotional tension. 

Actual illness is often hard to distinguish 
from more or less conscious imitation of it. 


THE GREAT 
FOOD MIXER 


Mixes • Mashes • Whips 
Beats-Grinds Meat-Chops Food 
Extracts Fruit Juice - Stirs - Blends 
Sharpens Knives - Opens Cans 


MIXMASTER 



The 

PRESIDENT 


Atlantic City 
JSfcJjB S&v Newest Board- 

MIEPW illk. walk Hotel 


Rooms 
I with Sea 
^ Water Baths 





Also Beautifully Furnished House¬ 
keeping Apartments, 1 to 4 Rooms, 
With Complete Hotel Service. Sea 
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and Cabinet Baths. Spacious Sun- 
Decks. Booklets and Full Informa¬ 
tion Gladly Given. 


EARN MONEY Easily-Quickly 

ROSETTE Parchment 

Christmas Folders in a BeautifuMSIFT BOX 






















OCTOBER, 19 3 2 


7 5 



How Ted gained 


Seven Pounds 
in two months 


through a delicious new drink 

T HE more Ted grew, the more frail and puny 
he looked. His mother gave him the best 
of everything—the most nourishing foods— 
and still he didn’t gain. At last she went to 
see the school nurse. 

“Give him Cocomalt,” the nurse advised, 
“it is accepted by the Committee on Foods 
of the American Medical Association. You see, 
it’s not just a chocolate flavoring; it’s a scien¬ 
tific food-drink, containing food elements 
every growing child needs.” 

So Ted’s mother began givinghim Cocomalt, 
mixed with milk, regularly. In two months he 
showed a gain of 7 pounds! Now she’d never 
dream of leaving this nourishing drink out of 
his diet—it has improved him so noticeably 
in every way. 

Prepared according to directions. Cocomalt 
adds more than 70% nourishment (food- 
energy) to milk—almost doubling the food 
value of every glass! It contains a rich supply 
of SUNSHINE VITAMIN D and is licensed 
by the Wisconsin Alumni Research Founda¬ 
tion. This sunshine vitamin D converts the 
calcium and phosphorus — so 
richly furnished by Cocomalt 
and milk—into strong bones, 
sound teeth and sturdy bodies. 
comu.ii3i.L- Give your child this delicious 
>ted by the chocolate-flavor drink every 
mmittee on day. High in food value—low 
cost. At all grocers in Jfj-lb., 
,1 Assoeia- 1-lb. and 5-lb. family size. Or 
n. That is mail coupon and 10c (to e< 


lineal. lor trial can. 

Cocomalt 

“Cocomaltia a scientific food concentrate" 

alrimmoT milk ono-nr ’whnlfi fwrs fla¬ 


il. B. DAVIS CO., Dept. SS, Hoboken, N. J. 
Please send me a trial-size can of Cocomalt. In 




A child can become adept in simulating 
symptoms if he is allowed to avoid unpleas¬ 
ant tasks by announcing a pain. And he will 
enjoy being indisposed if he receives extra 
attention and oversolicitude about minor ills. 
Even genuine sickness does not call for extra 
demonstrations of affection, though at¬ 
tention of many other kinds is often neces¬ 
sary. Whatever attitude toward health-goals 
a child ultimately acquires is, in the last 
analysis, largely a matter of parental gui¬ 
dance. A parent’s vision of childhood illnesses 
is often distorted by fear that the child will 
develop the sicknesses from which a parent 
has suffered. This becomes a morbid fear of 
inherited weaknesses. A mother who suffers 
from sick headaches may easily develop a 
neurosis in her child by her fear of certain 
foods. The dread of heart trouble opens an¬ 
other fruitful field for the development of a 
neurotic child. 

Perhaps the most fruitful field for neuroses, 
however, is the parent’s submission to a kind 
of bullying from the child because of real or 
imaginary ailments. If the announcement of 
a headache or other indisposition is followed 
by obvious worry, excitement, the granting 


of special privileges, then the way is paved for 
the development of a first-class hypochon¬ 
driac. The wise parent satisfies herself as to 
the importance of the complaint and main¬ 
tains an air of unconcern before the child, 
no matter what the verdict. 

Every means should be employed to pre¬ 
vent the child’s regarding himself as delicate. 
If he does regard himself so, he will either use 
this as a club to the heads of those who per¬ 
mit him to, or he will think of himself as “in¬ 
ferior.” An inferiority feeling about health is 
as bad for a child as any other kind of in¬ 
feriority feeling. It is unfair to put a child 
constantly in a position where he is forced to 
compare himself with bigger and stronger 
children on health ratings. 

A healthy attitude toward health does not 
seek to make all conform, but attempts rather 
to enable each to develop according to his in¬ 
dividual capacities. The child who differs 
from others in many respects can still be 
taught to take his place in life, and a frank 
facing of one’s weaknesses and strengths, a 
proper ordering of life in accordance with 
them,is one way to physical and mental health. 


Marion M. Miller, editor of our Child Training Department, 
will answer all questions that parents or children wish to 
ask. But be sure to send her a self-addressed, stamped envelop 


STYLISH STOUTS FOR THE MENU 


Continued from page 27 


given by two things. One is the quartered 
tomato, dressed with French dressing and 
added, icy cold, to the platter just before 
serving. And the other is the stunning garnish 
of red cherries in the center. You try these. 

Open a can of sour red cherries. Add to fruit 
and juice a cup of sugar and cook down the 
fruit until the syrup is quite heavy. Drain 
the cherries until they’re no more than coated 
or glazed with the syrup and serve them, hot, 
heaped in the center of your plate of pork 
chops. Talk about style! But the style isn’t 
half so interesting as the taste. I feel sure you 
will see pork chops as something to chatter 
about, once you fix them up with fried 
hominy, ice cold tomatoes and hot red 
cherries, prepared as I’ve told you. Do try it. 
My, I’m glad it’s October so we can wade 
right in and cook and eat and never think 
about the weather. We can’t abandon our¬ 
selves like this when it’s hot. 

And what nice arrangements they are, 
these seasons. No matter what happens, they 
never stay too long or outwear their welcome. 
And each one brings along a chance to do new 
things in new ways, before we are tired of 
all that went before. And every one of them 
gives us dreams of what is to come. What 
may be—what can be. And makes our dreams 
dream true. 

I believe I shouldn’t leave ham out of this 
picture. There are few meats as good and 
none that is better or that we can ring more 
changes on. 

TAKE a slice of ham, about an inch and a 
half thick, leaving a good bit of the fat on. 
If you use the ham that is subtly smoked and 
prepared so it needs no long freshening and 
parboiling, so much the better. 

Anyway, put it in a covered dish or cas¬ 
serole. Then add to it a sauce made by boil¬ 
ing for a minute or two, one cup water with 
one-half cup raisins, steamed to make them 
very plump. Add one-half cup brown sugar 
and two or three slices of orange. Cover the 
casserole and simmer in a slowish oven, about 
350° F., until the ham is very tender. It will 
take two hours, at least. Turn the ham once 
in a while and add a little water and orange 
juice, half and half, occasionally. The secret 
is to cook the ham until it is very tender. Slow 
cooking, you know. Keep it covered. Serve 
with sweet potatoes (you can buy' canned 
ones, if you’ve a mind to them), or serve it 
with pineapple fritters and any vegetables 
you like. Baked potatoes, white ones, go 
first-rate with ham. And a salad, of course. 

If you should be having a roast duck or 
turkey' (and why shouldn’t you?), there will 
no doubt, be fragments that remain, and 
hash need not be the first resource to turn to 
in using them up. Make a ragout for once, 
and I believe you’ll find it good enough to 
do over and over on such left-over occasions. 


Cut up the cold meat to make two cups— 
more if you have it. Put into a saucepan the 
gravy left from your roasted bird, add a cup 
of chicken stock, or canned chicken soup. 
Season with salt, pepper, a teaspoon of 
Worcestershire sauce and a dash of nutmeg. 
When partly heated, thicken with two table¬ 
spoons browned flour mixed with two table¬ 
spoons brown butter. Stir and cook until 
very smooth. Then add two tablespoons cur¬ 
rant jelly, and lastly, one-half cup sherry 
flavoring. Bring quickly to a boil. Add the 
meat and let the latter heat thoroughly. 
Serve on a hot platter, garnished with po¬ 
tato puffs. Do these by beating three cups of 
mashed potatoes with half a cup of hot milk 
and a well-beaten egg. Season with salt and 
pepper. Beat in two tablespoons butter. 
Form into puff shapes and brown in the oven. 

Have I ever mentioned baked bean cro¬ 
quettes? Well, my advice is to get a few cans 
of oven-baked beans and, for a change and a 
style note, make baked bean croquettes for 
luncheon some day. They’re good at dinner, 
also, and that reminds me. Some time I want 
to tell you about cress croquettes, and that 
goes for spinach, too. In fact the vegetable 
that can’t or won’t be croquetted is bound to 
be out of style this year. However, most of 
them long to be done this way, and the mode 
is becoming to one and all. 

But to get back to our beans. You know 
the oven-baked beans that you buy in cans 
have received the same baking treatment 
that mother’s beans used to get. They have 
the baked-in flavor. Very nice, don’t you 
think? 

Now you mash the beans very smooth, 
taking them as they come from the can, and 
add a finely' chopped onion, mixing well. 
Season with salt, pepper, a dash of tabasco 
and a few drops of lemon juice. Add the 
beaten yolk of an egg. Shape into small cro¬ 
quettes. Dip in beaten egg, roll in fine crumbs 
and fry in deep hot fat. Serve with ketchup. 

And I must tell you about the apple pud¬ 
ding. That’s in the picture, you see. Fill a 
deep dish with sliced tart apples, having, be¬ 
tween the layers of apple, sprinkled cinna¬ 
mon, sugar and dots of butter. Either brown 
or white sugar is good. Add the juice of a 
lemon to the apples when the dish is full. If 
the apples aren’t very juicy, it’s well to add a 
little water. Set in a moderate oven and bake 
until apples are nearly done. Make a rich 
baking powder biscuit dough, or use one of 
the ready-mixed biscuit flours for your pas¬ 
try. Roll out a ring of the dough, about two 
inches wide, and put around the edge of the 
dish. You will have to take the dish out of 
the oven while you do this. Then cover the 
pudding with a crust, letting it sit atop the 
crust ring. This keeps the top from getting 
soggy. Bake in a hot oven until the crust is 
well done and well ( Turn to page 76) 



Ready-to-serve 

Long-cooked in 
Whole Milk- 



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DELINEATOR 


76 


How they feel 


STYLISH STOUTS FOR THE MENU 


Continued from page 75 


What they say 


cd/octf t/iid 

$udiMjed4 usid&iavsn. 



the society woman 

“The tell-tale trace of 
perspiration odor on her 
person has cheated many 
an otherwise charming 
woman out of social 
success. What a pity—- 
when daintiness is so 
easyto attain,with Mum!” 


the college girl 

“Certainly, underarm 
odor is cause for black¬ 
balling. We girls all play 
safe by using Mum. It’s 
the quickest, easiest way 
and lasts all day. We 
put on Mum, slip into a 
dress and off to class.” 



browned. Serve hot with cream whipped 
with brown sugar and flavored with nutmeg, 
or serve with plain cream and maple sugar. 
If you don’t want to do the crust ring for 
the top to rest upon, use an inverted custard 
cup in the middle of the dish, and let the 
crust bake above that. Peaches can be used 
instead of apples, and pineapple juice instead 
of water. And it is a delicious, simple and 
satisfying dessert. 

CREAMED celery served in a cheese shell is 
a dressy dish, and this is how you do it You 
may some time have an Edam cheese shell, 
and, having scooped it all out neatly, don’t 
throw the shell away. Save it for another day. 
When that other day arrives, make some 
creamed celery, cutting up the stalks in inch 
pieces, and boiling them in salted water until 
tender and transparent. Drain and combine 
with a highly seasoned, light-textured cream 
sauce, in which two or three tablespoons of 
grated yellow cheese have been melted. Fill 
the cheese shell, set in the oven for a minute 
or two and serve garnished with green. 

If corn pudding is a dish admired by your 


household, and it must be, it’s so grand, try 
it this way. To one can of whole-kernel corn, 
add minced green pepper and a chopped 
pimiento, sauted in a little butter. Add one 
beaten egg and one-half cup of milk, pour into 
a greased baking dish, cover with fine crumbs, 
dot with butter and cover with grated cheese 
and bake in a moderate oven until brown. If 
you chop the com, it will do. If you leave it 
whole, you’ll find it tender, flavorful and de- 

These little changes give us a chance to 
start anew on the fall cooking. Give us an 
interest, you see, that may have waned a 
little since last fall. And now our love of the 
job should wax again. 

You'll find that when you look over the 
list of fruits, you will think of a dozen ways to 
use them with your everyday dishes to add 
flavor, color, style. And so simply. Go 
through your vegetable possibilities and 
touch each one lightly with the magic touch. 
That’s what we need. More magic in life. 
I’ve thought that, always. We never out¬ 
grow it. But I guess we forget. Few things 
in life but are better off with it than without. 


WHATEVER LOVE IS 


Continued from page 21 


the home woman 



woman 


“Underarm odor has lost 
many an efficient woman 
a good job. I take no 
chances. I use Mum 
every morning. It’s 
quick, harmless to cloth¬ 
ing and I can use it right 
after shaving.” 

the sportswoman 

“Goodness knows. I’d be 
safe from perspiration 
odor if bathing could do 
it. I like Mum because 
it destroys odor without 
in any way interfering 
with perspiration. I 
keep Mum in my locker.” 



TAKES THE ODOR OUT 
OF PERSPIRATION 


AND THEY ALL SAY, “What we would ever do 
without Mum as a deodorant for sanitary 
napkins, we don’t know. It’s perfect for this.” 
Mum Mfg. Co., Inc., 75 West St.,' New York. 


Two hemispheres sit supine amid financial 
gloom and depression. The financial tempest 
shrills through the whiskers of the rich in 
vain; they turn only a frozen face to need.” 

“Can’t you hang on to your options and 
weather it?” 

“I haven’t even acquired options.” 

She sipped her bouillon and gazed about 
her while he gaily painted for her his tinted 
air-castles: v 

“That wide, flat plain along the hills, 
yonder, must have been divinely made for 
polo and racing and air-planing. 

“This noisy trout stream is whimpering 
for a dam to make of its sources a beautiful 
lake. Look up at Mount Rose!” 

She turned her head and looked up at 
Mount Rose. 

He said: “When all is green and blossoming 
down here, up there, only an hour away, lies 
another snowy but undeveloped St. Moritz 
on the flowery edge of summer. When you 
weary of golf and tennis, take your skates 
and skis up there.” 

She helped herself to a toast and bacon 
sandwich, still looking. 

“Yonder,” said he, “where some prophet, 
unhonored in his own land, has erected a few 
rude shacks, are deep, hot, healing springs. 
In the rock above, the steam pressure is 
tremendous. Not alone a great hotel, casino, 
and a hundred auxiliaries could be heated, 
but power could be generated to run the ma¬ 
chinery. Really, there is no end to the amaz¬ 
ing things that might be . . . that are . . . and, 
some day, will be, Lady Grey-Spinner.” 

She lighted a cigaret. “Why don’t you call 
me Ursula?” 

A perceptible silence: “Thanks,” he said. 
“I fancy you find me a bit too venerable to 
call me John.” 

“Yes,” said she, “but I’ll call you Jack, if 
you don’t scare me by being lordly.” 

They laughed together; and now he was 
ready to walk with her over the rock-paved, 
rolling upland and show her waters boiling 
in clefts, and vapors pouring out of fissures. 

They wandered on as far as a belt of white 
pines, from whence they could look over into 
a sage-brush country. They seated them¬ 
selves on a sun-warmed rock and gazed out 
upon a panorama of snow peaks, forests, 
brown uplands, and sage-brush. 

“Who are the people behind you?” she in¬ 
quired naively. 

“Nobody, so far. Casino Corporations 
knows about it.” 

“Oh. Mr. Allaire? And Judge Richbum?” 

“Yes ... I scarcely expect them to take it 
up.” 

She said: “Emmie Whelan tells me that my 
ci-devant is now one of that crowd.” 

“I believe so.” 

She considered a while, then: “Well, I’ll 


say this: Freddie Grey-Spinner may be un¬ 
endurable. But a lie dwells not in him. You 
know? All-British. Bad-mannered. Lunk- 
headed. Dog-honest. Like his government. 

“You know the Allaires, I suppose,” she 



“They put my first skids under me,” said 
she, “when I shot the social chute.” 

“I’ve heard so.” 

“There was quite a splash,” she said. 
“And now shall we shoot some snipe?” 

So they got up, went back to the car, and 
clattered away toward one of those bogs 
which he had passed on his way out. 

Near where the concrete road parallels the 
railroad track, they stopped. He pulled on 
hip boots, stuffed his pockets with shells, 
took his gun and got over a wire fence. And 
was amused to find her at his heels. 

“I expected you to sit in the car and look 
on,” he explained. 

“That’s something I never could do—sit 
still and look on. I’ve torn my stockings, 
too.” She displayed the damage, and a pair 
of lovely legs; then, unconcerned, took his 
arm and drifted happily along with him until 
green slime and mud halted her. 

“Having no dog,” he said, “I’ve got to 
walk them up.” 

He slipped two shells into his light gun 
and started out among the withered reeds. 
Up fluttered the plover on flashing wings, 
filling the air with fretful plaints. Then, 
suddenly, up flipped a jack-snipe with his 
dry squak-squak !—and went off into a cork¬ 
screw twist. And, just as he straightened 
out, the crack of Vyning’s little gun stopped 
him in mid-air, and he fell in a long slant. 

Squak-squak! More jack-snipe darted up. 
Some, at the gun-crack, dove earthward. 

THE girl, huddled in her fur coat—for the 
late afternoon was turning cold—awaited her 
comrade on the swamp’s dry edge where she 
stood alternately craning her neck to see, and 
dancing up and down on slim feet, to restore 
a slowing circulation. 

When at last he came wading across the 
mud, the western sky was coppery and a 
stinging wind was blowing. 

“I’m ice to the middle,” said she. 

She was so benumbed that he lifted her and 
set her over the low, barbed-wire fence. 
After he had swathed her in the Indian blank¬ 
et, he got in the car, and started the chilled 
engine. For a while the solitude echoed with 
explosions and the car quivered and bucked. 

“Give her all there is,” murmured Lady 
Grey-Spinner, as Vyning pumped and pot¬ 
tered about. Suddenly, amid suffocating 
fumes, she burst into motion. They were off! 

In lamp-lit darkness they drew up at 
Number Eleven, Bluebird Terrace. The girl 





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was warm enough now. He took her to her 
door. A maid went away to fetch a basket, 
and Vyning dumped the snipe into it. 

“A game dinner!” she said. “You’ll come, 
won’t you?” 

“Thanks, but-”• 

“But! That’s your slogan.” 

He laughed. 

“You’re a coldly mean creature,” she said. 
“I’m lonely.” 

“You needn’t ever be-” 

“Don’t you know what loneliness is in a 
crowd?” 

“Yes; it’s the worst sort.” 

“Well, then, I’m not going to that party 
Kitty Skirtland is throwing at the Gold 
Mine.” 

“How do you know that 7 am not?” 

“Oh,” said she naively, “if you are, I’ll 
go.” 

He laughed and laughed. 

“Lady Grey-Spinner—” he began . . . 

“.Ursula!” 

“Ursula, then,” he continued, still laughing, 
“what are you trying to do to an old codger?” 

“Nothing—if you don’t want me to.” 

“But-” 

“For heaven’s sake, Jack Vyning, stop 
those buts. I’m fed up with them. If you 
wish to squirm out of my clutches, I can’t 
stop you.” 

“That’s good news,” said he. 

“What is?” 


'That I’m in what you call your clutches.” 

“I thought you had begun to like me,” 
said the youngster, with appalling innocence. 

“I do. But the-” 

“Another of your exasperating buts!” 

“But,” he repeated, “the obvious dis¬ 
crepancy of our ages-” 

“What! You are fifteen up on me! Which 
makes us, biologically, break even . . 

He laughed again, but she eyed him grimly. 

“Are you going to put on your best pants 
and dine with me?” she demanded. 

“I am.” 

She dissolved into smiles and honey. As he 
took both her slender hands and kissed them, 
she turned her head and called back to the 
maid: “Stop all traffic! I don’t care what you 
tell them . . . And there’ll be two at dinner!” 


SNOW came. The little silver-gray city 
turned pure white, until traffic tarnished it. 
It was a gay, busy, cocky little city—gay 
with social activities, busy in its mining 
marts, its law courts, its university, its 
crowded streets and big department stores. 

Of the several irons which John Vyning had 
poked into the fire, none was very hot, and 
the fire itself merely smoldered. One specu¬ 
lative venture, however, was poking its head 
up, like a molting bittern in the saw-grass. 

He had received, from a New York attorney 
named Sidney Marsouin, an inquiry concern¬ 
ing some acreage, partly submerged, which 
lay beyond the railroad terminal along the 
extremes of the Florida peninsula. 

After the Florida bubble had burst, and a 
few hurricanes had done the rest, Vyning, 
badly battered and financially scorched, had 
been obliged to take over this swampy terri¬ 
tory for a bad debt. 

Nothing of human habitation existed in 
that region. A distant inn and an oil dock 
at Everglades station, miles to the north¬ 
ward, where the West Coast railroad ended, 
were the nearest outposts of civilization. 

His vast and undesired property was locally 
called Hell’s Delight, being full of game, but 
also alive with venomous reptiles and grue¬ 
some insect life. 

So when Mr. Sidney Marsouin wrote to him 
from offices in a popular New York skyscraper 
making careless inquiry, Vyning replied by 
air mad. But nothing, so far, had come of it. 

Other investments of John Vyning were 
dead or dormant, excepting only a news¬ 
paper which he owned in the booming Rio 
Grande Valley. This Texas newspaper 
sprayed news, pomology, and caustic humor 
over the hustling town of Shaddock in Gila 
County; and was called the Gila Bee. He 
owned three quarters of it. A pretty 
orphan named Manuella de la Torre owned 
the remainder. Revenue from it gave them a 
modest income. Its editor was Philip Darke, 
a Harvard man gone native and doing ex¬ 
tremely well. 

No news concerning Steamboat came 
from Casino Corporations. Faul’s options 
were expiring; and Faul had taken to haunt¬ 
ing some of Jim Dashwood’s gambling 
resorts, picking up a furtive living. 

John Vyning’s waiting role was digging 
lines in his features. He shot snipe amid 
snow-covered marshes only partly frozen; 
he shot quail by hospitable invitation at 
Spanish Springs; he shot duck along Carson 


Sink; stalked white brant on Washoe Lake. 

Socially, also, he went about more or less. 
Those cultivated and conservative circles of 
permanent residents knew and welcomed 
him to their hearths and clubs. Here one 
met that wholesome gaiety, simplicity, and 
dignity which is agreeably American. 

IN the divorce colony, among those who 
had temporarily established themselves to 
take the “cure” for human woes, Vyning knew 
a number of people from the East. 

He met others who had assembled from all 
points of the compass to demand a new shuffle 
and a new deal of the matrimonial deck. 
There were several sets, varying in degrees of 
social desirability. 

The city, was, in fact, a metropolis in min¬ 
iature, and therefore a cross section of the 
weary old world at large. 

Emmie Whelan—Harry Whelan’s Ex-to- 
be—gave a party; and Vyning went and 
danced and laughed and gossiped as long as 
he had a good time. Then he went home to 
the Silver Hotel, in spite of Emmie’s tears 
and unmaidenly language, bom of Jim 
Dashwood’s champagne. 

He had known her since childhood and 
was entirely aware of her caprices, but, here¬ 
tofore, had not figured as one of them. 
Besides, at her wedding in the big old family 
mansion at Tarrytown, he had been Harry’s 
best man. No, she was too Gallic for him. 

Catharine Skirtland, also one of the New 
York younger set, gave a dinner dance. 
He went. Looking about at the bright, 
laughing faces he might have fancied himself 

There was a snappy two-reel picture; a 
lovely young Spanish dancer who showed 
an innocent fondness for him; two popular 
burnt-cork comedians from Hollywood; 
then Contract, roulette, and dancing ad lib. 
And much human wreckage at sunrise. 

He took Lady Grey-Spinner home, against 
her will—not that she desired to part from 
him; she wished him to stay and continue 
to dance with her alone. But he wouldn’t; 
and, as she wouldn’t let go of him, they event¬ 
ually arrived at the curbstone in the glit¬ 
ter of dawn. And thence to Bluebird 
Terrace. 

They entered the lighted hallway. She had 
been silent and sulky. Now, of a sudden, 
and abruptly, she demanded to know where 
he had met that Spanish dancer before. 

“In Shaddock,” he replied, surprised. 

“Where the dickens is Shaddock?” 

He informed her, astonished at her atti¬ 
tude and tone. 

“Oh, well,” said she, “why not?” 

“Why not what?” 

“Follow one’s fancy. Life is a sporting 
journey and it’s sure to land you somewhere.” 

He took a look at her, pleasantly. Mr. 
Dashwood’s synthetic champagne had done 
things to Lady Grey-Spinner. She was 
aware that he knew it. To show him that all 
was normal with her, she sauntered over and 
turned on the radio. 

“Shall we dance?” she inquired in a flutily 
modulated and social voice. 

He merely laughed. At which, intensely 
annoyed, she lifted two delicate eyebrows. 

“Sorry,” she said. “Everybody can’t do 
those hip-twisting Spanish contortions you 
adore. Would it please your majesty if I 
stood on my head?” 

He gave her another look—a polite one— 
but inwardly he was puzzled. Here was a 
very different and very common youngster. 
Here, also, was something resembling the 
jealousy of below-stairs. Not only were he 
and she on no such terms, but there was no 
slightest ground for the wretched sentiment. 
Strange things, that synthetic wine did to 
some people. “It’s daylight,” he said amia¬ 
bly, “so I’ll let you go to bed.” 

“Are you going back to that party?” she 
demanded. 

“It’s nearly sunrise. There’s no more 

“There’s a girl, though.” 

After a pause he took his hat and coat, 
went over and picked up her hand and 
touched it with grave lips: 

“Good night, Ursula. If you don’t turn in 
you’ll have a headache.” . 

“If you go out I shall go somewhere too!” 

“You’re not crazy enough to do such a 
thing,” said he calmly. 

“I am. Why not! Anyway, I am not 
going to go to bed and cry.” 

He thought to himself: “You may do what 
you damn please, you little brat!” But he 
could hardly act on that line. So he laid 
aside his hat and coat and sat on the sofa. 

The radio hooted and (Turn to page 78) 


7 7 



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WHATEVER LOVE IS 




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Continued from page 77 


wailed in syncopated throes. Ursula prowled 
around collecting highball materials. 

“Don’t,” he said. 

“Don’t you want one?” she asked in the 
hurt voice of a wayward child. 

He shook his head. She couldn’t find any 
Irish anyway, and finally came and seated 
herself on the sofa. 

“Tell me about her,” she said carelessly. 

“About whom?” 

“That Spanish girl.” 

“Oh, for the lord’s sake—” But he 
checked himself. “I’ll tell you,” said he 
pleasantly. “She is an awfully nice kid. 
Her father was killed doing something illegal 
on the border. A friend of mine, Phil Darke, 
of Shaddock, Texas, interested himself in her 
and gave her a chance. She has charm and 
talent, and is making good. And that’s all 
there is to it.” 

“You helped her too, didn’t you?” 

“Phil and I scraped up enough to grub¬ 
stake the kid-” 

“Look at me, Jack Vyning!” 

He looked her in the eyes, bored. 

“You are a dear,” she said, and laid her 
feverish little hands over one of his. 

They were the delicate hands of a child 
of twelve. So was her brain, he thought to 
himself. 

But he said: “So that’s the story of my 
life, little lady; and I’ve got to go to Carson 
City on business this morning-” 

“Jack!” 

“What?” he asked, after a wary pause. 

“Haven’t you any heart at all?” 

“What do you mean—heart?” he asked 
uneasily. “Besides, you say modem folk 

“Oh,” she said, “this is becoming mur¬ 
derous. Have a heart—or whatever it is 
that clicks when a girl clicks too.” 

She was greatly over-flushed and her fin¬ 
gers kept clasping, unclasping on her knee. 

He laughed at her: “What on earth are 
you talking about, Ursula? Snap out of it!” 

“Damn it,” she whimpered, “haven’t I 


“Any what?” 

“S-sex appeal?” 

“I suppose so,” he replied, embarrassed. 

“Haven’t I any for you?” 

“Look here,” said he, “it’s Dashwood’s 
nasty champagne talking, not you-” 

“It’s both of us. I know I’m jingled. But 
I’m—rather crazy—about you-” 

“You aren’t, really. You know I’m fifteen 
up on you, Ursula Wychwood-” 

“But that seems to give me afrightful kick.” 

Here was an inexperienced and dangerous 
youngster—yet with all the cheaper sophisti¬ 
cation of her restless generation. 

“You could have kissed me,” she said, 
“but you never have.” 

He felt himself redden a little. “You 
know,” he said, “all that’s wasted time.” 

“You mean pash, and all that?” 

“What’s pash?” 

“Passion.” 

“Yes. That’s what I mean. It’s wasted 
me unless one means business.” 


SHE nodded: “Business or marriage ... I 
suppose you’re right. . . But, after all, when 
one is young and curious, there is only one 
goal. Sensation. And a new one may be 
hiding just around the corner. So why not 
creep up and take a peep?” 

“There is another hider, too,” he said, 
“just around corners. His name is tragedy.” 

“Oh, sure,” she said coolly, “but one should 
take a sporting chance . . . Well, I’m practi¬ 
cally sober. Thank you for staying-” 

She rose; he stood up, she put her bare 
arms around his neck. 

He kissed her very gently. Her mouth 
yielded with ardor unexpected. 

There ensued a silence—a cool searching 
of each other’s eyes—her arms still warm 
around his neck; his clasping her body lightly. 

“Well?” she asked. 

“Well?” he replied. 

Something was beating against him. It 
couldn’t be her heart. She had told him that 
her generation didn’t use them. 

A ray of sunlight suddenly penetrated the 
window, lancing her young face. 

“Oh, lord,” she said, “you’ll know the 
worst, now—lipstick, rouge, mascaro.” 

“You’re as fresh and lovely as a child-” 

“No,” she wailed, hiding her face from the 


sun, against him. “I look like a bedaubed 
strumpet and you’ll never kiss me again!” 

She was mistaken. It was rather a warm 
affair with some rather breathless clinging. 

On his way home: “Damn fool,” he mut¬ 
tered in self-disgust, “slipping like a school¬ 
boy with his first pigtail . . . Keep out of it, 
you ass!” And he meant to keep out of it— 
out of all that stuff for which he had neither 
time, money, nor present inclination. 

“And with a brat like that!” he thought to 
himself, as he undressed to take a hot plunge 
and a shave before starting for Carson City. 

The trouble is one does not shake off so 
lightly the fragrance of young arms and lips. 

It WAS snowing heavily. 

Lady Grey-Spinner, in a lacy pink wool 
effect, lay abed negotiating an iced grape¬ 
fruit. Sheets of the morning paper sprawled 
across her knees, a telephone stood at her 
elbow; an untidy carton of cigarets flanked it. 

The telephone rang again. This time it was 
Connie Quaire. 

“My dear,” said she, “Clyde is in town! 
Can you tie that!” 

Clyde was Clyde Quaire, scion of a family 
celebrated for its vast wealth and position. 
And from young Quaire’s erratic and uxorius 
tentacles, Connie was now in process of dis¬ 
entangling herself. 

“W’hat’s in his mind?” asked Ursula. 

“He wants me to stop proceedings.” 

“Does he threaten to fight?” inquired 

“I don’t know. He’s a treacherous young 
dog when his vanity is bruised.” 

“Maybe it’s only his craze for publicity.” 

“I’m to see Judge Kiefer about it at lunch¬ 
eon. Will you join us at the Gold Mine?” 

“My dear, I’m sunk,” sighed Ursula. 

“Headache?” 

“No; heartache.” 

“You mean- ” 

“I do. I do! We dined here. There were 
scenes. I made ’em. I acted up. He’s fed up. 
I guess it’s a lockout for mine. I’m mad 
about him.” 

“Darling, didn’t I warn you never to cher¬ 
ish a yen?” 

“It’s my first yen,” whimpered Lady Grey- 
Spinner. “How was I to know a yen when I 
met one?” 

“Oh, heavens!” said Connie Quaire. “Are 
you going around looking pale and patient?” 

Ursula sniffed. “He as much as told me I 
was a common little jade. Can you halve 
that!” 

“Yump out of it, darling! You can do it in 
two yumps!” 

A distinct snivel over the wire denied any 
such athletic ability. 

“Stop that jittering,” said Connie Quaire. 
“I could have told you what kind of man he 
is. I’ve known him better than you have. 
He thinks our generation is going scarlet. 
Nobody on earth can convince him we’re 
merely pink.” 

“But he doesn’t even like pink ’uns,” 
whimpered Lady Grey-Spinner. “It’s all red 
or all white for him.” 

“Well,” said Connie Quaire sharply, 
“you’re not going to go red for that old bozo, 
or bleach out either, I hope-” 

“He’s no bozo, Connie. And he’s at the 
fascinating age. He makes kids look pos¬ 
itively piffling to me. Hang it, after all, 
there’s only one kind of man. I know it, now; 
but I never knew it before my giddy little 
fool of a mare left me stranded in the desert.” 

“I’m going to tell you something,” said 
Connie Quaire. “Kids are kids, men are men, 
and women are women; and none of ’em is 
monogamous by nature. I’m not; you’re not; 
neither is your super-boy-friend. Only one 
thing strangles a natural and healthy inclin¬ 
ation to change partners when life goes blah 
on you. And that is education! It’s knocked 
the backbone out of his generation; but, 
thank God, ours is perfectly uneducated.” 

“You’re quite right,” said Lady Grey- 
Spinner, sniffling; “he’s a flop. But there’s 
something frightfully attractive about him.” 

Connie said: “Even if you got him, it 
wouldn’t click, and you know it! Don’t for¬ 
get what you did to Freddie.” 

“But I was jingled when I married Freddie, 
darling-” 

“You are now! Pash gets you faster than 
booze. Pash jingles everybody.” 

“It isn’t pash,” Lady Grey-Spinner 

























OCTOBER, 193 2 



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explained. “At least, I don’t think so. He 
and I never neck or look swimmy.” 

“Really? What do you do? Tell each other 
another?” 

“I don’t mean to say we haven’t ever 
kissed,” said Ursula. “But I’ll tell you what 
bothers me; I want him to stick around. I’m 
so restless, Connie-” 

“We all are.” 

“I wouldn’t be restless if I were always with 
him ,” whined Ursula. 

“You’d die of the heebee-jeebees! It’s our 
inheritance, darling—incurable restlessness. 
There’s no dope for it.” 

“He says there is!” 

“Oh, yeah? What’s his?” 

“The pleasures of the mind,” said Ursula 
timidly. 

“Oh, torture! You’re sunk, all right! Well, 
g’bye, precious lamb. I’ll be an hour late, 
and Judge Kiefer is going to murder me!” 


And the snow continued to fall over moun¬ 
tain, desert, and silver-gray city. No use 
driving about in a car. Besides, it was grow¬ 
ing dusky in the streets. 

So the girl curled up on a sofa before her 
fire, sometimes skimming a detective story; 
sometimes laying aside her book to telephone 
friends; sometimes answering the telephone. 

But a woman who is just out of the hands 
of her beauty culturist likes to be looked at. 
Neither Emmie Whelan nor Kitty Skirtland, 
however, was available, it seemed. 

And, for the universal and always available 
beau, Captain Wangler, Ursula was in no 
mood. She reviewed in her mind other and 
younger men. Too much effort to chase them 
out into the open. 

And all the while only one individual really 
occupied her mind. 

But John Vyning probably was through. 
She had made her curtsey. The audience 


It was after four o’clock before Ursula was 
liberated from the capable hands of her 
beauty culturist. 

By that time she was able to look politely 
upon a cup of tea. But as she was about to 
ring for it, Connie Quaire came in—all furs 
and snow crystals and golden hair and 
breathless chatter. 

“Believe it or not, my dear, Judge Kiefer 
made me meet Clyde alone in his office! T 
told old Kiefer it was no use, but he insisted 
it was his solemn duty to urge reconciliation. 
So I had to do it. 

“We talked politely about irrelevant 
things,” Connie continued, “then he began 
to leer at me—you know—the horrid little 
runt! I didn’t know how to get rid of him. 
I told him he was a dope-dip; and he took it 
lying down. So, to give him a knock-out kick, 
I said the first thing that popped into my 
fool head. I suppose it came from talking on 
the phone to you . . . I’m frightfully sorry, 
darling!” 

Ursula looked at her interrogatively. 

“Sorry,” repeated Connie Quaire, “but I 
told him I was crazy about John Vyning and 
was going to marry him!” 

“Are you mad!” exclaimed Ursula hotly. 

“I guess I was. Anyway, I said it.. . Per¬ 
haps it was lucky I did!” She looked oddly at 
Ursula. “Darling, this is going to hurt you, 
but it ought to cure your yen for John Vyn¬ 
ing. Because Clyde went into a screaming 
rage, and blurted out something awful about 
John Vyning-” 

“It’s a lie,” said Ursula, “whatever he 

“I’m afraid it isn’t, darling. He yelled all 
the particulars at me. It seems that John 
Vyning was badly hurt overseas and con¬ 
tracted the dope habit!” 

Ursula’s face went white. “It isn’t true,’’ 
she whispered. “I could kill Clyde Quaire!” 

“I’m afraid it’s true,” said Connie coolly. 
“Poor devil—he was crazed with pain and 
they kept him under drugs too long. Months. 
And now he’s got the habit. That’s where 
Clyde met him. They were both at Slingby’s 
Sanitarium to be cured. They came out 
cured. But Clyde started in again out of pure 
cussedness. And John Vyning stood it until 
his wound went bad again. Then he started— 
to keep from going crazy, I guess. All kinds 
of awful things happened to officers and men 
over there. And that’s what happened to John 
Vyning. I hate to worry you, Ursula-” 

Ursula shrugged: “You don’t ... If ever 
he took dope—to allay pain—poor lamb— 
he doesn’t take it any more ... Is Clyde going 
to fight you?” 

“I don’t know. Kiefer says he hasn’t a leg 
to stand on. But he could carry it into several 
courts, of course, and delay things.” 

“Do you care?” 

“Not much . . . Only he threatens to name 
John Vyning-” _ 

“Connie!” exclaimed Lady Grey-Spinner, 
“I could murder you!” 

“Go to it, darling. I deserve it,” said 
Connie Quaire meekly. “And bump off 
Clyde, too. If you don’t, probably John 
Vyning will.” 

“Damn it,” said Ursula, “I believe we 
really are vulgar and common. Jack Vyning 
loathes us.” 

“Still, you’d better find out whether he’s 
cured before you start an affair with him,” 
said Connie drily. 

She rose and turned up her fur collar and 
started toward the front door. 

“Do you think I believe that little shrimp 
you married?” demanded Ursula. “He’s just 
a rotten liar-” 

“Modify your language, darling,” pro¬ 
tested Connie, laughing. 

They kissed when they parted at the front 
door. Ursula wandered back; rang for tea. 


Nevertheless she seated herself at her desk 
and wrote him with impulsive bitterness: 


You are prejudiced and arrogant and blg- 

- * A ’-- ' 7 — a stuffed shirt. 

,_ _you. And with 

your world: it’s all stuffed up. People of youi 
sort can’t accept my world without trying tc 
drag it to the drab level of yours. 

John Vyning, I am far more disappointed in 
you than I am angry. Because I’m not com- 
l, and I know I’m not. And I’m very un- 
ee a man of the world like yourself 
understand the frankness and 
a de-bunked world! 

Very sincerely yours, Uhsula 


happy t( 
honesty oi 


P. S. I am at home this afternoon and eve¬ 
ning. My maid, who delivers this, will wait for 
an answer. 


Her maid returned about five o’clock with 
a note from Vyning: 


Dear Ursula, Thanks. I have a telegran 
saying that some people are coming from thi 
East on business. They expected to arriv 
here by air after reaching Salt Lake City; bu 
this is no living weather; and if they re not 
here by five-thirty I’ll know they’ll come on 

y So, in that event, I’ll stop in after five. 

Yours sincerely, John Vynin 


Never a word of defense against her verbal 
onslaught and fierce indictment. Nor any 
sign of contrition for “thinking” her common. 
But the very omission seemed to her like a 
shrug of insufferable indifference. 

The girl lay back in her armchair, closing 
her eyes. His letter lay on her lap. 

Life was still very new to Lady Grey- 
Spinner. Full of brand-new surprises; of in¬ 
coherent desires; of unidentified longings; of 
callow wonder as to what it was all about. 

A shrill buzzing of the doorbell set her 
shivering in the firelit darkness. 

Her maid entered, lighted a lamp, then 
went swiftly to the door and let him in. A 
gust of snow accompanied him; and Ursula 
heard him stamping the door-mat while her 
maid took his snow-powdered coat. 


He found her lying in her chair, rosy fire¬ 
light flickering over her pyjamas. But her 
tightly curled hair and her beauty-culture 
features were in ruddy shadow. 

“Hello,” she said cheerfully. 

“Hello, Ursula.” 

She extended one hand; he took it, released 
the fingers in silence. 

“Tea?” she inquired. 

He declined, pleasantly. 

“Did your business friends arrive?” she 
inquired. 

“Not yet.” 

She shifted her position to rest her cheek 
on her hand. And let him observe a triumph 
of art and beauty-cultured nature. 

“Do you know the latest scandal?’’ she 
asked carelessly. 

“No,” said he, already bored. 

“Clyde Quaire is here, and Connie is 


Vyning had no interest in Clyde Quaire. 
Didn’t like him. And remained silent. 

“It would be rotten if he should contest the 
suit,” said the girl. 

He nodded. 

After a long silence the girl said in a low 
voice: “I’m sorry for the things I wrote, but 
some of them are true.” 

He laughed. “Certainly they’re true,” he 
said. “I know I’m a stuffed shirt.” 

“You’re not!” she said. 

“Ursula,” said he, “I’ll tell you what’s the 

“Oh, I know,” she interrupted hotly, “fif¬ 
teen up on me and all that! It isn’t true, 
either. I—” But she fell silent. 

“My dear, it is true. There’s the root of all 
our misunderstandings.” (Turn to page 80) 


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WHATEVER LOVE IS 

Continued from page 79 


“Then you admit that you don’t under¬ 
stand my generation?” 

“Probably not.” He refrained from adding 
that he was not greatly interested, either. 

“Does the new order of things bore you?” 
she inquired with some malice. 

That annoyed him. “What new order? 
There’s nothing new about the revolt of 

His good-humored contempt gave her a 
violent desire to shock him. 

She said: “Well, take our fashionable 
nakedness, for example. My generation has 
practically undressed itself. It’s agreeable, 
it’s sanitary, it’s graceful, it’s moral, it’s 
common sense. And we discuss whatever we 
please. Show me an historical parallel to 
match our frankness and common sense!” 

“There is nothing new in it,” he said tran¬ 
quilly. “Grand ladies and grisettes, during 
the French Revolution, went more naked 
than does your self-conscious generation. 
. . . And, as for plain language, good Queen 
Bess and her times furnished the world with 
specimens of linguistic liberty scarcely 
equaled by even Rabelaisian Europe.” 

Lady Grey-Spinner was ready to weep with 

“And I’ll tell you another thing,” she said 
with a slight break in her childish voice, “if 
we choose to live loosely—or what your con¬ 
temporaries call immorally—we do it!” 

“Do you, now?” he said politely. 

“Why not? Men have got away with that 
sort of thing, ever since there were any men.” 

“Men don’t bear children,” he remarked. 

“Neither do we when we don’t want to! 
And that’s another thing with which your 
squinting old world can credit us.” 

“Really, now?” 

“Yes. And trial marriages.” 

“Oh, lord,” said he, utterly bored, “it really 
isn’t what you youngsters think that disturbs 
us, but it’s the noise you make about it!” 

Surprise and anger left her speechless. Fi¬ 
nally she managed to say, “I wonder whether 
you are so damn immaculate yourself!” 

An imperceptible hesitation. “No,” said 
he, “I’m not immaculate.” 

“So I’ve heard,” said she sneeringly. 

There was another silence. Neither stirred. 

Finally: “Well, what have you heard?” he 
asked in a colorless voice. 

“Are you asking for it?” 

Another pause. 

“Yes,” he said, “I’m asking for it.” 

A pause that seemed interminable followed. 
Then the girl murmured: “I don’t care 
whether it’s true . . . Only, stop preaching 

He said quietly: “There’s no authority like 
a damned man’s. He knows whereof he 
preaches.” 

The girl’s wide eyes were watching his fire- 
lit features which had become strangely al¬ 
tered—strangely young and white and bat¬ 
tered looking. It scared her to sec the 
contours of haggard youth emerge from the 
worn features of early middle age. 

She spoke in a frightened voice, striving to 
steady it: “I didn’t mean to hurt you. 
It doesn’t make any difference to me—what 
may have happened-” 

“Yes,” said he quietly, “it makes a differ¬ 
ence. That’s the tragedy of it.” 

“But I tell you I don’t care-” 

Presently he opened tired eyes and stared 
at the fire. He was thirty-seven years old, 
and he knew he was already done for. 

Lady Grey-Spinner, furtively wistful as a 
guilty child, again requested forgiveness in a 
small, distressed voice. 

He looked at her absently. 

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” he said. 

He stood up straight, strong, muscular, the 
blood tingeing his firm, weathered face again. 

She sat up in her chair, then rose, straight 
and firm as he, and softly supple in her cling¬ 
ing laces. 

She said: “If we’ve both made a mess of 
it, there’s a way out, isn’t there?” 

“For you—if you choose.” 

“For you, too.” 

He offered his hand. She took it. He bade 
her good night. But she retained his hand. 

“I understand some things about you, 
now,” she said. 

He looked at her narrowly, trying to pene¬ 
trate her exact meaning; uncertain as to how 
much she knew. Then the hot blood swept 


his face. And Ursula, also, blushed scarlet. 

The violent color burning her face and 
throat distressed her and she covered her 
eyes with both hands. He put his arms 
around her very firmly. 

“Look here,” he said, “what the deuce do 
you think is the matter with me, anyway?” 

“Nothing—now—I hope,” she said in a 
stifled voice, resting her face against him. 

Light died in his eyes; the old shadow 
grayed his visage. 

In the lengthening silence the girl in his 
arms looked up into his care-worn face. No 
manhood; no man’s vanity, could withstand 
the challenge. They kissed—she breathless 
and bewildered by her first flash of passion. 
And felt the response of his powerful heart 
heavy against hers. 

He kissed her again—himself under control 
-—deliberately provoking her. 

He thought to himself, “Lovely youngster, 
what a beautiful little animal you are!” But 
he said, “What did Connie Quaire tell you?” 

“What?” she stammered. 

“Whatever you heard concerning me must 
have come from Connie Quaire,” he said. “Or 
from that poisonous whelp she married. No¬ 
body else knows—except my brother.” 

“Yes—Connie,” she whispered. 

“What did she tell you, Ursula?” 

“That you were badly hurt—in the war. 
And that it has—has ruined you.” 

“How?” 

“Well—you had to—to take something to 
kill the pain-” 

“I see,” he said. 

She ventured to lift her eyes. “Tell me,” 
she murmured. 

He said: “Like a few thousand others, I 
was hurt. They kept me drugged as much as 
possible . . . Afterward I was in the Walter 
Reed hospital. And then—came home . . . 
Always in pain . . . That was the trouble.” 

“I don’t understand,” she said drearily. 

“Well, you will understand this, then: if 
any gossip concerning my health should come 
to the ears of those with whom I hope to do 
business, it probably would ruin any business 
enterprises and hopes of mine.” 

Perplexed and alarmed she dared not utter 
the question trembling on her lips. 

He said: “There’s no point in going further 
into the matter with you, Ursula. We’ll not 
see each other much longer. You’ll do your 
bit here, go East, and live out what’s ahead 

“And you?” she breathed. 

FOR one trembling instant the darkness of 
death itself seemed to drown his eyes; then 
it passed, leaving them blankly smiling at her. 

“Let’s hope on,” said he, “and try to face 
facts with clearer, cooler minds.” 

“I wish we might keep in touch with each 
other,” she ventured. 

“I’m of no value to you.” 

“I might—be—to you. I’d like to be-” 

He glanced absently at her, then beyond 
her, as though gazing at something remote 
and sad. 

She ventured another word or two—some¬ 
thing about “a helping hand.” 

Slowly his detached gaze reverted to her 
with vague hostility. 

“Thanks—” the pale ghost of humor 
peered at her from his tired eyes—“but, even 
in my pre-war and sentimental era, the 
‘influence’ of ‘the good woman’ and her 
‘helping hand’ were out of date.” 

He did not mean to hurt her, yet the rebuff 
made her wince to the verge of tears. 

Suddenly an odd, inexplicable surge of 
loneliness swept her. She felt as though she 
were sinking; instinctively laid one hand on 
a chair to steady and balance herself. 

“I wish you’d keep in touch with me any¬ 
way,” she said with a forced smile. “Will you?” 

He replied that he would, in pleasant, com¬ 
monplace words which meant he wouldn’t be 
bothered with her. 

“Because,” she said, “I’m not very hard- 
boiled, really. And I’m willing to admit I 
don’t know what it’s all about.” 

“Do you suppose I do?” he asked. 

“Do you?” 

“All I know is that life’s a rather dirty 
ditch. There’s a way through it—” he looked 
somberly at her—“there’s a way out of it . . . 
Here! I have no business to talk such stuff 

“Oh,” said she, “I wouldn’t mind bumping 


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OCTOBER, 1932 



S OME day a close friend or relative may 
lose a dear one, and look to you for help 
in the hour of sorrow. Do you know what to 
do? Can you assume charge of everything 
without hesitation — do the proper thing— 
prevent confusion—and thus relieve the strain? 
This booklet, called “My Duty,” tells you 
how. It marks each step. With it as your 
guide you can be the help you would want to 
be. Today the need may seem remote. Even 
so, a copy of “My Duty” should be in your 
possession —filed against the unexpected need. 
We offer this very important work as an addi¬ 
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through others, to those who “carry on.” 
The opening message will help to make many 
an otherwise dark hour more cheerful—just 
as the immaculate guardianship of a clark 
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who carry on. “My Duty” is free. A 
letter or postal card will bring your copy. 
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myself off if there were nothing more to see 
and do. Really I don’t care whether I live 
or die as long as I have a good time while I’m 

She said: “1 want you to stay to dinner.” 

“What’s the use of increasing our in- 

“We’ll find out, I hope,” she replied lightly. 

She laughed and raised both arms; the 
lace fell away from them to the arm-pits as 
they settled delicately around his neck. 

Then he became aware of his own arms still 
loosely encircling her body. He drew her close 
and kissed her; she responded with all the 


their self-respect with their bread, through 

Even Mr. Hoover’s fun is a mechanic’s duty 
to his machine. Each morning he forces him¬ 
self to play a half-hour game of “medicine 
ball” with uncomfortable high officials. 

He never likes to be alone. Guests are with 
him in the White House at every non-work¬ 
ing hour. Sometimes they find him a de¬ 
lightful story-teller. Other times a moody, 
silent host, with his tired eyes focused on his 
plate, his nervous right hand endlessly rub¬ 
bing the chair arm. Either mood is in har¬ 
mony with the informality of the White 
House. He has banished the traditional rites 
for intimate parties and often serves the 
guests himself at the Sunday night buffet 
suppers. No longer do the forbidding velvet 
ropes separate the distinguished few in the 
Blue Room from the unculled in the East 
Room and lobby at the great state receptions. 
House guests and aides move about gracious¬ 
ly, making the most insignificant feel at home. 

Although Mr. Hoover has not the obvious 
human touch, he most certainly has the 
humanitarian feeling. This we know because 
he said, long before he became President: “I 
believe the attitude of a nation toward chil¬ 
dren will soon become the test of its civili¬ 
zation.” He crystallized this conviction in the 
White House Conference on Child Health 
and Protection—the most important event 
of its kind—which evolved the significant 
Children’s Charter. We know further that he 
not merely initiated this twenty-five-year pro¬ 
gram but has followed its progress to this day. 

The loyal and devoted friends of the Presi¬ 
dent find something pathetic in his rootless 
youth. His yearning for permanence they 
see expressed in his Home Planning Confer¬ 
ence. The irony is that there is no security 
for him in the noblest house in the land. 

In further consideration of retaining Dr. 
Hoover on the case, we must ask whether he 
will be honest and whether he is courageous 
enough to tell what he knows—namely, that 
a major operation on the core of the depres¬ 
sion is imperative. Lying there are the 
malignant growths of tariff and intergovern¬ 
mental debts. 

THE Republican platform, presumably 
dictated at the White House, re-affirms the 
traditional high protective tariff policy. Yet 
Mr. Hoover of all men knows we cannot sell 
if we do not buy; that we must sell if the fur¬ 
naces in our factories are to be fired again. 
Will he be honest enough to admit this after 
election day? I am inclined to have faith in 
his post-election judgment. 

Will he have the courage to tell us what he 
knows about our foreign trade and about 
foreign debts to the United States? Will he 
admit that Europe cannot pay, at present, 
and that we cannot afford to let our best 
customers lose their credit with our indus¬ 
tries? At least his platform, unlike Roose¬ 
velt’s, does not tie him to an anti-revision 
policy. He is free to take the long view. 

Will he continue his sincere and highly 
commendable efforts to secure reduction in 
armaments the world around, as his plat¬ 
form promises, and then befog the situation 
by trying to trade arms slashes for debt cuts? 

Will he continue to tell us such half-truths 
as “our foreign trade is only about ten per 
cent of our total commerce”? Will he go on 
to explain that this ten per cent is not a mere 


fire and unskilled ardor of newly awakened 
youth. He kissed her mouth again, then, with 
leisurely experience, her eyes, her throat, and 
each lip separately. Then he crushed her to 
him passionately, bruising lip and body. 

“Here,” he said, brutally, “is a hell of a 
situation!” 

“It’s rather heavenly, too,” she gasped . .. 
“Do you remember how they abolished God 
in the French Revolution?” 

He nodded: “They simply decreed there 
wasn’t any God.” 

“I wonder,” she said, “what wise-cracking 
guy of my crazy generation abolished love—” 


ten per cent of each industry, from raw ma¬ 
terials to finished products, but in reality 
constitutes sometimes from twenty-five to 
sixty per cent of our basic industries, upon 
which not only our prosperity but our very 
existence depends? 

Will Mr. Hoover competently sterilize his 
surgical instruments of leadership and de¬ 
cision, and perform the operation upon our 
unhealthy foreign policies which have been 
spreading like cancer throughout the entire 
world? He promises the preservation of the 
protective tariff in one plank. In another he 
pledges the “facilitation of world intercourse, 
the freeing of commerce from unnecessary 
impediments and the settlement of inter¬ 
national difficulties by conciliation and the 
methods of law.” 

Platforms of course are made to please as 
many voters as possible. This is usual and 
expedient, if not admirable. On which planks 
will Mr. Hoover stand? 

Let not the prohibition plank blanket the 
main issues. If we do, it is our own fault— 
the fault of the women of the country. 
Temperance and liquor legislation have al¬ 
ways constituted the greatest problem to 
women. The Republican repeal plank, which 
seems to me a statesmanlike handling of a 
difficult situation, was secured primarily by 
feminine pressure. Mrs. Charles Sabin and 
her repeal organization made objection to the 
Eighteenth Amendment respectable—even 
fashionable. The Republican Party, there¬ 
fore, promises to repeal the existing law by 
a substitute amendment, which, instead of 
leaving liquor control entirely to the states, 
will agree that states which want to may be 
wet; and that states which stay dry will be 
protected by Federal control against invasion. 

The party offers, in this plank, as in all the 
others, a strong central government. It is in 
direct contrast to the Democratic Party’s de¬ 
centralized, states’ rights principle. 

Vice-President Curtis, a Dry from Kansas, 
has not fought this wet plank. That is be¬ 
cause he is a gradually flattening rubber 
stamp. Mind you, he is not Hoover’s stamp. 
Curtis is the last in high office of the Old 
Guard which never wanted Hoover. His is 
the ancient party motto, “Be regular.” 

He is honest, consistent, but first of all, 
regular. He fought Hoover’s nomination in 
1928. But the day after the gavel fell, party 
won over prejudice and Curtis set out un¬ 
happily to intone the virtues of Hoover. They 
permitted themselves to be teamed together, 
as friendly as an elephant and an ox. 

That vacuum known as the Vice-Presi¬ 
dency has spoiled an agreeable personality. 
Mr. Curtis has even changed sartorially. 
The drooping scraggly whiskers have been 
replaced by a smartly clipped moustache. 
His easy sacks gave way to impeccable 
formal garb. A top hat has come to mean 
something to his soul. He could not change 
his soft, sagging bronze cheeks and chin, but 
he pushes them higher with, his tall starched 
collars. His Solomon’s raiment is supple¬ 
mented by an unnatural reserve of manner 
and speech. The words which once held the 
earthy warmth of a Kansas cornfield are 
now synthetically Harvard. As Vice-Presi¬ 
dent he has lost the important place in the 
party councils he had held as floor leader. 

Perhaps he never forgets that a Vice- 
President is only waiting to fill a dead man’s 
shoes and that he must {Turn to page 82) 


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But John Vyning, Ursula feels, doesn't really care for her and, 
desperate, she plunges into the gaieties of fhe divorce colony— 
with what disastrous results next month's instalment reveals 

THE REPUBLICANS 

Continued from page 22 
























DELINEATOR 


82 


GMtome/i/ of\33 

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THE REPUBLICANS 


Continued from page 81 


continually train for office. Curtis does this 
by being the Capital’s most determined 
diner-out. 

Mrs. Dolly Gann has been his staunchest aid 
in this metamorphosis. She came to Wash¬ 
ington—the bouncing MM-Westerner who 
entertained the Capital smarties by her tilt 
with Alice Longworth. She remained to be¬ 
come the Republican Party’s strongest 
political asset. 

Dolly’s entire performance is seen now not 
as that of a shallow social climber but as a 
devoted sister. She doggedly refused to 
countenance the discarding of her brother 
after his many years of faithfully partisan 
sendee. She was not thinking of the people 
or the party; she was thinking of her septua¬ 
genarian Brother Charlie. This was no new 
r61e. She is a woman bom to serve. First she 
was his secretary-; then she nursed his in¬ 
valid wife; and finally became a second 
mother to his children. She was entitled to 
any little reward he could get her in the place 
of honor at official functions. 

Dolly loves Washington. Brilliant parties 
fascinate her. She sacrificed the gayest part 
of last season, however, to secure her brother’s 
renomination in spite of the Administra¬ 
tion’s notion that a younger, more colorful 
man would make a better tail to the ticket. 
She grimly packed her bags and went de¬ 
terminedly on a nationwide speechmaking 
tour. In this she was as “regular” as her 
brother. She lauded Hoover, and made three 
Administration friends where none grew be¬ 
fore. She gave a magnificent demonstration 
of loyalty and good sportsmanship the day 
before the balloting in Chicago when, de¬ 
feat leering at her, she made a strong “work 
for the party” plea before assembled femi¬ 
nine delegates. 

She never gave up hope. Hers was the 
Marshal Foch theory—“Victory goes to’the 
one who can hold out the last quarter of an 
hour.” It was not remarkable that, after all 
the strain, success made her bitter for a tact¬ 
less moment with members of the press. 
While journalists criticized her she marched 
off, campaign plans bubbling in her compe¬ 
tent head. Her sincerity wins by a length. 

The two head nurses on duty for the Re¬ 
publican Party are skilful and experienced. 
Everett Sanders, now chairman of the Na¬ 
tional Committee, and Mrs. Alvin T. Hert, 
a ’.-ice-chairman, are Coolidge-trained and 

Sanders proved his political acumen first in 
Congress, then as secretary to President 
Coolidge. He has tact, discretion, discern¬ 
ment. He can reconcile warring factions until 
they really believe they are all a one-mind 
family. His is another story of a poor Hoosier 
boy who worked his way through college and 
engaged in law practise so lucrative that now 
at fifty, he is wealthy as well as powerful. 

“Miss Sally” Hert is the leader of the 
distaff portion of the party. Under her deft 
hand women stampeded to vote under the 
Eagle four years ago. Hers is the difficult 
task of prevailing upon them to repeat. 

The women of the party have confidence 
in her. If her penetration into the science 
of government is not scholarly, her practical 
partisan operation is superior. 

Secretary of War and Mrs. Hurley add the 
love interest to the campaign. They’re al¬ 
ways together. Ruth hangs on Pat’s words 
as if she had never heard his speech before. 
They epitomize the American ideal of the 
happy young couple: handsome and rich. 

To sum up the qualities of Dr. Hoover and 
his Republican remedies: 

The platform is not as definite nor on the 
whole as liberal as that offered by the Dem¬ 
ocratic Party. But —and this to my mind is 
of paramount importance- 

Dr. Hoover has had a far more comprehen¬ 
sive life than Governor Roosevelt. 

Intellectually he has shown more breadth 
and wisdom. 

He has had four years’ experience with the 
hardest job in the world. And- 

Should he be re-elected in November he 
will not thereafter be hampered, as a new 
President would be, with the need to act with 
side-glances toward re-election rather than a 
straight look to the best good of the people. 

Perhaps after all the old doctor knows best. 

Photog, 

and Mi ---- 

Sanders,!row. Mofett-Russell 


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No Other Suds WolD Do 


by (AS/oig/U-. 



UNPOPULAR MRS. R 


^7/ '"'a ' 0 f 


I WAS CLEANING FOR MRS.R.. 
THE OTHER DAY. SHE'S PRETTY 
LONESOME. SEEMS AS IF SHE 
CANT GET TO KNOW THE 
LADIES 'ROUND HERE . 


CHILDREN TOUCH AND HANDLE SO MANY THINGS 
BOBBY'S IN BED WITH A COLD THAT CARRY GERMS. NO WONDER SICKNESS SPREADS. 
AGAIN. IT'S ONE AILMENT WHY NOT HAVE BOBBY WASH HIS HANDS 
•R ANOTHER , OFTEN WITH LIFEBUOY HEALTH SOAP? IT 

GETS GERMS OFF AS WELL AS DIRT 



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Luckies “make no bones” 
about this vital question 


K EEP that under your hat,” said 
. the cigarette trade when first 
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subject. Lucky Strike makes its po¬ 
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smoker. 

For everybody inhales — whether 
they realize it or not... every smoker 


breathes in some part of the smoke 
he or she draws out of a cigarette. 

Do you inhale? Lucky Strike 
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“It’s toasted” 

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