| Bull-Dog
Drummond
The Adventures of a
Demobilized Officer Who
; Found Peace Dull
§ by CYRIL McNEILE
“SAPPER'
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
IRWIN MYERS
Copyright by Geo. H. Doran Co.
(Continued from last week.)
SYNOPSIS.
PROLOGUE.—In December, 1918, four
men gathered fu a hotel in Berne and
heard one of the quartet outline a plan
to paralyze Great Britain and at the
same time seize world power. The other
three, Hocking, American, and Stelneman
and Von Gratz, Germans, all millionaires,
agree to the scheme, providing another
man, Hiram Potts, an American, is taken
in. The instigator of the plot gives his
name as Comte de Guy, but when he
leaves for England with his daughter he
decides to use the name Carl Peterson.
CHAPTER I. — Capt. Hugh (Bulldog)
Drummond, a retired officer, advertises
for work that will give him excitement,
elgning “X10.” As a result he meets
Phyllis Benton, a young woman who an-
swered his ad. She tells him of strange
murders and robberies of which she sus-
pects a band headed by Carl Peterson and
Henry Lakington of being the leaders.
CHAPTER IL—Drummond decides to
go to The Larches, Miss Benton's home.
An attempt is made on the road to wreck
his machine when another, occupied by
Peterson, Lakington and a strange man,
blocks the road. While dining with Phyl-
Hs Benton and her father Drummond
hears a terrible shriek at The Elms. Dur-
ing the night Drummond leaves The
Larches and explores The Elms. He dis-
covers Lakington and Peterson using a
thumbscrew on an American who signs
& paper. Drummond rescues the Ameri-
can after a struggle and takes him to
his home. The man is Hiram C. Potts.
CHAPTER IIL—Peterson visits Drum-
mond the next day, departing with a
threat to return later and recover Potts
and also a torn paper which Drummond
seized the night of the fight. With the
ald of Peter Darrel, an old army friend,
Drummond arranges to hide Potts, and
substitute in his place one Mullings, a de-
mobilized soldier, who is seized by Peter-
son and his gang and taken to The Elms,
along with Drummond.
CHAPTER IV. — When Peterson dis-
covers the hoax Drummond is escorted
by Irma to a room where he is to stay
for the night. During the night Drum-
mond is exploring the house when he gets
in ‘a strange room in which is a cobra.
He escapes, but on the stairs has a fight
in the dark.
His opponent was strong above the
average, but after a minute he was
like a child in Hugh's grasp. He
choked once or twice and muttered
something; then Hugh slipped his
right hand gently onto the man’s
throat. His fingers moved slowly
round, his thumb adjusted itself lov-
ingly, and the man felt his head bein.
forced back irresistibly. He gave one
strangled cry, and then the pressure
relaxed. . . .
“One half-inch more, my gentle hu-
morist,” Hugh whispered in his ear,
“and your neck would have been
broken. As it is, it will be very stiff
for some days. Another time—don’t
laugh. It’s dangerous.”
Then, like a ghost, he vanished
along the passage in the direction of
his own room.
THREE.
At eight o'clock the next morning a
burly looking ruffian brought in some
hot water and a cup of tea. As he
pulled up the blinds the light fell full
on his battered, rugged face, and sud-
denly Hugh sat up ir bed and stared
at him.
“Good Lordi” he cried, “aren’t you
Jem Smith?”
The man swurg round like a flash
and glared at the bed.
“Wot the ’ell ’as that got to do wiv
you?’ he snarled, and then his face
changed. “Why, strike me pink, if it
ain't young Drummord.”
Hugh grinned.
“Right ir one, Jem. What In the
name of fortune are you doing in this
outfit? Given up the game?”
“It give me up, when that cross-eyed
son of a gun Young Baxter fought that
cross down at 'Oxton. Gawd! if I could
get the swine—just once again—
s’'welp me. I'd—" Words failed the ex-
bruiser; he could only mutter.
Hugh smiled. “By the way, has any-
one got a stiff neck in the house this
morning?”
“Stiff neck!” echoed the man.
“Strike me pink if that ain’t funny—
your asking, I mean. The bloke’s sit-
ting up in ’is bed swearing awful
Can’t move ’is ’ead at all.”
“And who, might I ask, is the
bloke?” said Drummond.
“Why, Peterson, 0’ course. ’Oo else?
Breakfast at nine.”
The door closed behind him, and
Hugh lit a cigarette thoughtfully.
Most assuredly he was starting in
style: Lakington’s jaw one night, Pet-
erson’s neck the second, seemed a suffi-
ciently energetic opening to the game
for the veriest glutten. Then that
cheerful optimism which was the en-
vy of his friends asserted itself.
“Supposin’ I'd killed 'em,” he mur-
mured, aghast. “Just supposin’. Why,
the bally show would have been over,
snd I'd have had to advertise again.”
Only Peterson was in the dining-
room when Hugh came down. He had
examined the stairs on his way, but
he could see nothing unusual which
would account for the thing which had
whizzed past his head and ¢langed sul-
Jenly against the wall. Nor was there
any sign of the cobra by the curtained
door; merely Peterson standing in a
sunny room behind a bubbling coffee-
machine.
He turned politely toward his host,
and paused in dismay. “Good heavens,
Mr. Peterson, is your neck hurting
you?” -
“1t is,” answered Peterson grimly.
“A nuisance, having a stiff neck.
Makes every one laugh, and one gets
no sympathy. Bad thing—laughter.
. . At times, anyway.”
“Curiosity is a great deal worse,
Captain Drummond. It was touch and
go whether I killed you last night.”
“I think I might say the same,” re-
turned Drummond.
“Yes and no,” said Peterson, “From
the moment you left the bottom of the
stairs, I had your life in the palm of
my hand. Had I chosen to take it,
my young: friend, I should not’ have
had this stiff neck.”
Hugh returned to his breakfast un-
concernedly.
“Granted, laddie, granted. But had
I not been of such a kindly and for-
bearing nature, you wouldn't have
had it, either.”
son critically. “I'm inclined to think
it’s a great pity I didn’t break your
neck while I was about it.” Hugh
sighed and drank some coffee.
ing itself against the bars of a cage.
“They've got it,” muttered Jem.
“You seem to have a nice little
crowd of pets about the house,” re-
marked Drummond. putting a hand on
the man’s arm as he was about to
move off. “What was that docile
creature we've just heard calling to
tts young?”
The ex-pugilist looked at him sul-
lenly.
“Never you mind, sir; it ain’t no
business of yours. An’ if I was you,
I wouldn't make it your business to
find out.”
A moment later he had disappeared
into the bushes, and Drummond was
left alone. Assuredly a cheerful
heusehold, he reflected; just the spot
for a rest-cure. Then he saw a figure
on the lawn of the next house which
banished everything else from his
mind ; and opening the gate, he walked
eagerly toward Phyllis Benton.
FOUR.
“I heard you were down here,” she
said gravely, holding out her hand to
He looked at Peter- '
“1 see
that I shall have to do it some day,
and probably Lakington’s as well. . ..
By the way, how is our Henry? 1
trust his jaw is not unduly incon- '
veniencing him,”
Peterson, with his coffee cup in his
hand, was staring down the drive.
“Your car is a little early, Captain '
Drummond,” he said at length. “How-
ever, perhaps it can wait two or three
minutes while we get matters perfect-
ly clear. I should dislike you not
knowing where you stand.” He turned
round aad faced the soldier. “You
have deliberately, against my &dvice,
elected to fight me and the interests
I represent. So be it. From now on
the gloves are off. You embarked on
this course from a spirit of adventure,
at the instigation of the girl pext
door,
cerned over that drunken waster—her
father. She asked you to help her—
you agreed, and, amazing though it
may seem, up to now you have scored
a certain measure of success. I ad-
mit it, and I admire you for it. I
apologize now for having played the
fool with you last night; you're the
type of man whom one should kill out.
right—or leave alone.”
He set down his coffee cup and care-
fully snipped the end off a cigar.
“You are also the type of man who
will continue on the path he has start
ed. You are completely in the dark;
you have no idea whatever what you
sre up against,” He smiled grimly,
and turned abruptly on Hugh. “You
fool—you stupid young fool. Do you
really imagine that you can beat me?”
The soldier rose and stood in front
or him.
“I have a few remarks of my own to
nmiake,” he answered, “and then we
might consider the interview closed. 1
ask nothing better than that the gloves
should be off—though with your filthy
methods of fighting, anything you
touch will get very dirty. As you
say, I am completely in the dark as to
your plans; but I have a pretty shrewd
idea what I'm up against. Men who
can employ a thumbscrew on a poor
defenseless brute seem to me to be
several degrees worse than an aborigi-
nal cannibal, and therefore if I put
! you down as one of the lowest types
of degraded criminal I shall not be
very wide of the mark. There's no
She, poor little fool, is cou-
' is the American now?”
good you snarling at me, you swine; .
it does everybody good to hear some '
home truths—and don’t forget it was
you who pulled off the gloves.”
Drummond lit a cigarette; then his
merciless eyes fixed themselves again
on Peterson.
“There is only one thing more,” he
continued. “You have kindly warned
me of my danger; let me give you a
word of advice in my turn. I'm going
to fight you; if I can, I'm going to
beat vou. Anything that may happen
to me is part cf the game.
anytking happens to Miss Benton dur-
ing the course cf operations, then, as
surely as there is a God above, Peter-
son, I'll get at you somehow and mur-
der you with my own hands.”
For a few moments there was si-
lence, and then with a short laugh
Drummond turned away. “Shall we
meet again soon?’ He paused at the
door and looked back.
Peterson was still standing by the
table, his face expressionless. “Very
soon, indeed, young man,” he said
quietly. “Very soon indeed. . hd
Hugh stepped out into the warm
sunshine and spoke to his chauffeur.
“ake her out into the main road,
Jenkins,” he said, “and wait for me
outside the entrance to the next house.
I shan’t be long.”
Then he strolled through the gar-
den toward the little wicket-gate
that led to The Larches. Phyllis!
The thought of her was singing in his .
heart to the exclusion of everything-
else. Just a few minutes with her;
just the touch of her hand, the faint
smell of the scent she used—and then
back to the game,
He had almost reached the gate,
when, with a sudden crashing in the
undergrowth, Jem Smith blundered out
into the path. His naturally ruddy
face was white, and he stared round
fearfully.
“Gawd! sir,” he cried, “mind out.
Ave yer seen it?”
“Seen what, Jem?” asked Drum-
mond.
“That there brute.
and if ’e meets a stranger—"
left the sentence unfinished, and
stood listening, From somewhere
behind the house came a deep
throated, sparling roar; then the
clang of a padlock shooting home in
‘B's escaped;
metal, followed by a series of heavy.
thuds as if gome big animal was lurl-
But if
He.
him. “I've been sick with anxiety
ever since father told me he'd seen
you.”
Hugh imprisoned the little hand in
his own huge ones, and smiled reas- |
suringly.
“Don’t worry, little girl,” he said.
“Years ago I was told by an old gypsy
that I should die in my bed of old
age and excessive consumption of In-
valid port. As a matter of
fact, the cause of my visit was rather
humorous. They abducted me in the
middle of the night, with an ex-sol-
dier of my old battalion, who was, I
regret to state, sleeping off the effects
of much indifferent liquor, in my
reoms. They thought he was your
Americas millionaire cove, and the
wretched Mullings was too drunk te
deny it. In fact, I don’t think they
ever asked his opinion at all,” Hugh
gripned reminiscently. “A [eathetic
spectacle.”
“Gh! bad splendid,” cried te girl a
dttle breathlessly. “Tell me, where
“Many miles out of London,” an-
swered Hugh. “I think we'll leave
it at that. The less you know, Miss
Benton, at the moment—the better.”
“Have you found out anything?” she
demanded eagerly.
Hugh shook his head.
“Not a thing. Except that your
neighbors are as pretty a bunch of
“Oh! but Splendid,” Cried the Girl a
Little Breathlessly.
scoundrels as 1 ever want to meet.”
“But you'll let me know if you do.”
She laid a hand beseechingly on his
arm. “You know what's at stake for
me, don’t you? Father, and—oh! but
you know.”
“I know,” he answered gravely. “I
know, old thing. I promise I'll let
you know anything I find cut, And
in the meantime I want you to keep
an eye fixed on what goes on next
door, and let me know anything of
importance by letter to the Junior
Sperts club.” He lit a cigarette
thoughtfully. “I have an idea that
they feel so absolutely confident in
their own power that they are going to
make the fatal mistake of underrating
their opponents. We shall see,” He
turned to her with a twinkle in his eye.
“Anyway, our Mr. Lakington will see
that you don’t come to any harm.”
“The brute!” she cried, very low.
“How I hate him!” Then with a
sudden change of tone she looked up
at Drummond. “I don’t know whether
it's worth mentioning,” she sald
slowly, “but yesterday afternoon four
men came at different times to The
Elms. They were the sort of type
one sees tub-thumping in Hyde Park,
all except one, who looked like a re-
spectable workingman.”
Hugh shook his head.
“Don’t seem to help much, does it?
Still, one never knows. Let me know
anything like that in future at the
club.”
“Good morning, Miss Benton.”
Peterson's voice behind them made
Orummond swing round with a smoth-
ered curse. “Our inestimable friend,
Captajn Drummond, brought such a
nice young fellow to see me last night,
and then left him lying about the
house this morning. I have sent him
along to your. car,” .confinued Peter
son suavely, “which I trust was the
correct procedure. Or did you want
to give him to me as 8 pet?”
“From a rapid survey, Mr. Peterson, -
1 should think you have quite enough
already,” said Hugh. “I trust you
paid him the money you owe him.”
“I will allot it to him in my will,”
remarked Peterson. “If you do the
same in yours, doubtless he will get
it from one of us sooner or later. In
the meantime, Miss Benton, is your
father up?” :
The girl frowned.
“No—not yet.”
“Then I will go and see him in bed.
For the present, au revoir.” He
walked toward the house, and they
watched him go in silence. And it
was as he opened the drawing-roora
window that Hugh called after him:
“Do you like the horse Elliman’s
or the ordinary brand?’ he asked.
“I'll send you a bottle for that stiff
neck of yours.”
Very deliberately Peterson turned
round.
“Don’t trouble, thank you, Captain
Drummond. I have my own reme-
dies, which are far more efficacious.”
CHAPTER FIVE.
in Which There Is Trouble at Goring.
ONE.
The car slowed up before the post-
office and Hugh got out. There were
one or two things he proposed to do
in London before going to Goring, and
{t struck him that a wire to Peter
Darrell might allay that gentleman's
uneas’ness if he was late in getting
down. So new was he to the tortuous
ways of crime, that the foolishness
of the proceeding never entered his
head; up to date in his life, if he
had wished to send a wire he had
sent one. And so it may be deemed a
sheer fluke on his part, that a man
dawdling by the counter aroused his
suspicions. He was a perfectiy or-
dinary man, chatting casually with
the girl on the other side; but it
chanced that, just as Hugh was hold-
ing tle posteflice pencil up, and gaz-
ing at itz so-called point with an air
ef resigned anguish, the perfectly or-
dinary man ceased chatting and
looked at him. Hugh caught his eye
for a fleeting second; then the con-
versation continued. And as he turned
to pull out the pad of forms, it struck
him that the man had looked away
i Just a trifle too quickly. . . .
A grin spread slowly over his face,
and after a moment’s hesitation he
proceeded to compose a short wire.
He wrote it in black letters for addi-
tional clearness; he also pressed his
hardest, as befitting a blunt pencil.
Then with the form in his hand he ad-
vanced to the counter,
“How long will it take to deliver
in London?” he asked the girl.
The girl was.not helpful. It de-
nended, he gathered, on a variety of
circumstances, of which not the least '
was the perfectly ordinary man who
talked so charmingly.
“1 don't think I'l bother, then,” '
he said, thrusting the ‘wire into his
pocket. “Good morning. . . J
He walked to the door, and shortly
afterward his car rolled down the
street.
With what the girl considered pecu-
liar abruptness, the perfectly ordinary
man concluded his conversation with
her, and decided that he too would
send a wire. And then, after a long
and thoughtful pause at the writing-
bench, she distinctly heard an unmis-
takable “D—n.” Then he walked out,
and she saw him no more.
Moreover, it is to be regretted that
the perfectly ordinary mun told a lie |
a little later in the day, when giving
his report to some one whose neck ap-
‘parently inconvenienced him greatly.
But then a lie is frequently more
tactful than the truth, and to have
announced that the sole result of his
morning's labors had been to decipher
a wire addressed to The Elms, which
contained the cryptic remark, “Stung
again, stiff neck, stung again,” would
pot have been tactful. So he lied,
as has been stated, thereby showing
: his wisdom. . . .
But though Drummond chuckled to
himself as the car rushed through the
fresh morning air, once or twice a
gleam that was not altogether amuse-
i ment shone in his eyes. For four
years he had played one game where
, 00 mistakes were allowed; the little
{ incident of the postoffice had helped
to bring to his mind the certainty
i that he had now embarked on another
where the conditions were much the
same, That he had scored up to date
was luck rather than good manage-
ment, and he was far too shrewd not
to realize it. Now he was marked,
jand luck with a marked man cannot
jhe tempted too far.
Alone and practically unguarded he
had challenged a gang of international
criminals; a gang not only utterly un-
scrupulous, but controlled by a mas-
i ter mind. Of its power as yet he had
no clear idea; of its size and imme-
: diate object he had even less. Per-
haps it was as well. Had he realized
even dimly the immensity of the is-
sues he was up against, had he had
but an inkling of the magnitude of
the plot conceived in the sinister brain
of his host of the previous evening,
then, cheery optimist though he was,
even Hugh Drummond might have
wavered. But he had no such inkling,
and so the gleam in his eyes was but
transitory, the chuckle that succeeded
11t more whole-hearted than before.
Was it not sport in a land flowing
with strikes and profiteers; sport such
as his soul loved? :
“I am afraid, Mullings,” he said
18 his car stopped in front of his
club, “that the kindly gentleman with
whom we spent last night has re-
Judiated his obligations. He refuses
to meet the bill I gave him for your
services. Just wait here a moment.”
He went inside, returning in a few
moments with a folded check.
“Round the corner, Mullings, and
an obliging fellah in a black coat will
1
, shovel you out the necessary Brad-
burys.”
The man glanced at the check.
“Fifty pounds, sir!” he gasped.
“Why—it’s too much, sir. . . .
1...
“The laborer, Mullings, is worthy
of his hire. You have been of the
very greatest assistance to me; and
, Incidentally, it is more than likely that
I may want you again. Now, where
can I get hold of you?”
“13 Green Street, ’Oxton, sir, ll al-
‘ways find me. And any time, sir, as
vou wants me, I'd like to come just
for the sport of the thing.”
Hugh grinned.
“Good lad. And it may be sooner
than you think.”
TWO.
| Inside the Junior Sports club, Hugh
Drummond was burying his nose in «
large tankard of the ale for which
that cheery pot-house was still fam-
ous. A waiter was arranging ‘the
first editions of the evening papers
,on a table, and Hugh beckoned to
“him to bring one. Cricket, racing, the
latest divorce case, and the latest
,strike—all the usual headings were
there. And he was just putting down
the paper, to again concentrate on his
problem, when a paragraph caught
bis eye.
“STRANGE MURDER IN BELFAST
“The man whose body was discov-
ered in such peculiar circumstances
near the docks has been identified a=
Mr. James Granger, the confidential
secretary to Mr. Hiram Potts, the
American multi-millionaire, at present
In this country. The unfortunate
victim of this dastardly outrage—his
head, as we yeported in our last
night's issue, was nearly severed from
his body—had apparently been sent
over on business by Mr. Potts, and
had arrived the preceding day. What
“he was doing in the locality in whieh
he was found is a mystery.
«ya understand that Mr Puts, who
has recently been indisposed, has 1.
turned to the Carlton, and is greauv.
upset at the sudden tragedy,
“The police are confident that the
will shortly obtain a clue, though th
rough element in ‘the locality whe
the murder was cormmitted presents
great difficulties. It seems clear that
the motive was robbery, as all tl.
murdered man’s pockets were rifled
But the most peculiar thing about th
case is the extraordinary care taken hy
the murderer to prevent the identifi
cation of the body. Every article of
clothing, even down to the murdered
man’s socks, had had the name torn
cut, and it was only through the crim-
inal overlooking the tailor’s tab ins'de
the inner breast-pocket of Mr. Grang:
er's coat that the police were enabled
to identify the body.”
Drummond slid down the paper on
lis knees. and stared a little dazedly
at the club’s immortal founder.
“Holy smoke! Iladdie.” he mur
mured, “that man Peterson ought to
te on the commiitee here. Verily, 1
l:elieve. he could galvanize the staff
into some semblance of activity.”
“Did you order anything. sir?”
waiter paused beside him.
“No,” murmured Drummond, “but
I will rectify the omission. Another
large tankard of ale.”
The waiter departed,
picked up the paper again.
“We understand.” he murmured
‘gently to himself. “that Mr. Potts,
who has recently been indisposed, has
returned to. the Carlton.
‘Now that’s very interesting. . . .
i
|
|
1
A
‘He lit a cigarette and lay back |
(his chair. “I was under the impres-
sion that Mr. Potts was safely tucked
up in bed, consuming semolina pvel-
ding, at Goring. Tt requires elucida-
tion.”
“1 beg your pardon, sir,” remarked
the waiter, placing the beer on the
(tztile beside him.
“You needn't,” returned Hugh. “Up
to date you have justified my fondest
expectations. And as a further yroof
of my good will, I would like you to
get me a trunk call—2 X Goring.”
A few minutes later he was in the
telephone box.
“Peter, I have seldom been so glad
te hear your voice. Is all well? Good.
Don’t mention any names. Our guest
is there, is he? Gone on strike against
more milk puddings, you say. Coax
him, Peter.
sturgeon, and he’ll think i's caviare.
Have you seen the papers? There are
interesting doings iu Belfast, which
concern us rather intimately, T11 be
down later, and we'll have a pow-
wow.”
He hung up the receiver
stepped out of the box.
“If, Algy,” he remarked to a man
who was looking at the tape machine
outside, “the paper says a blighter’s
somewhere and you know le’s some-
where else—what would you do?”
“Up to date in such cases I have al-
ways shot the editor.” murmured Algy
Longworth, *Come and feed.”
“You're so helpful, Algy.
fect rock of strength.
R job?”
“What sort of a job?” demanded the
nther suspiciously.
“Oh! not work, dear old boy. D—n
}, man—you know me better than
that, surely!”
“People are so funny nowadays,”
returned Longworth gloomily. “What
Ig this job?”
(To be Continued..)
and
A per-
Do you want
Fifteen Millions for Roads.
The State of Pennsylvania will bor-
row $15,000,000 under the $50,000,000
road loan this summer, asking bids
about July 1, and borrow $11,200,000
in 1922, according to a letter sent to
the Legislature by Governor Sproul.
The communication was under requie-
ment of the bond act of 1919, which
calls for a report to the General As-
sembly. The State has already issued
$23,800,000 in two series, one at 41
and the other at 4% per cent, interest.
and Hugh :
Make a noise like a |
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
DAILY THOUGHT.
The present is the living sum-total of
the past.—Carlyle,
. The Well Dressed Man.—True fash-
ion came in when the fop went out,
and took his waspish waist and mine-
ing ways with him. The gilded idler
who has nothing particularly to do,
except particularly nothing, is a rare
type in this country. Clothes are not
the most important thing in life. Due
attention to them refine a man and his
manners, but to make a mountain out
of the curve of a coat or the swerve of
a lapel is witless. The old-time
“beau,” if there be one left, is merely
a minor person with a major opinion
of himself. All that the average man
needs is a sensible attitude toward
dress—that it should be extreme only
in its extremely good quality and its
extremely good fit. So-called “ex-
treme fashions” are usually no fash-
ions at all, but merely fads, which ap-
pear only to disappear.
It may be a bit of a contradiction
to show an over garment for summer,
yet the long, loose coat of camel’s
hair or polo cloth has become the ac-
cepted wrap for traveling for chilly
nights and for wear at many sports,
particularly tennis, while resting and
when one wishes to cool off without
catching cold. This coat is often call-
ed a “wait coat.” Tt is of a soft, deep-
pile tan material with great patch
pockets, smoked pearl buttons, an all-
round belt, wide lapels and a low col-
lar-gorge. The especial advantage of
such a coat is that it is astonishingly
light, yet gives abundant warmth
when needed.
Nowadays, a man’s belt is much
more than just a circlet of leather. It
| is both practical and prepossessing.
The sport belt is narrower than the or-
{ dinary affair, measuring five-eighths
{ of an inch as against the usual one
inch. The sport belt is the preference
of athletic and university men. Leath-
ers out of which belts are made are
limited to these five—sheepskin, cow-
hide, goatskin, hogskin, calfskin and
sealskin, plain or embossed.
Some tennis and golf players do not
fancy the leather belt because it is not
elastic and whipsaws the waist. They
choose the brightly striped belt. This
belt, two and one-half inches wide and
of English inspiration, hooks in front
with a buckle molded in the semblance
of a snake; hence its name—the snake
belt. It is an uncommon and pictur-
esque article of which more should be
worn, particularly since it is procur-
able, upon special order, in club or
“blazer” colors—vivid reds, blues, or-
anges, purples and the like.
There are so many fashions in sport
shoes that no one fashion may be
termed the thing. It is a matter of
preference, rather than propriety.
For “ye guid auld game” one sees
chamois gloves with leather-taped
wrists with golf sticks embroidered on
the backs. Sometimes they have per-
forated knuckles and the palm of the
left glove is re-enforced with cape-
| skin. Other golf gloves are fingerless
' and buttonless and have soft, creased
| wrists. Angora wool and leather are
, smartly combined in a new golf waist-
coat.
| It is curious that few really new
, things are woven into the tapestry of
| fashion. One of the oldest patterns
in men’s scarfs is the polka-dot. Like
good breeding, it survives every seec-
, saw and somersault of style and de-
notes an understanding of what is
‘sound and worth while in dress. Pol-
ka-dot scarfings are notably smart
this summer; they were last summer
' —they will be next summer.
When the Prince of Wales visited
the United States year before last he
frequently wore a very low starched
"collar. Youngsters, quick to discern
this trend, adopted the style here and
_ there, until it has now become quite
general among collegians. The ex-
, tremely narrow four-in-hand which
accompanies this type of collar is
‘drawn up right-and-tight against the
' neckband. Such a cravat may be of
i flat silk or it may be knitted in pat-
terns like cross or bias stripes, heath-
' er mixtures and so on.
| To be sure, a line of demarcation
“must be drawn between fashions con-
| fessedly for men in their teens and
twenties and those for the staider
thirties, forties and fifties.
A Hobby Party for Dad.—Many
women forget that their fathers,
brother’s or husband’s friends should
be entertained once in a while, just as
, well as their own. So instead of fore-
"ing him to entertain expensively at a
hotel or his club, plan a stag supper
| or dinner party for him. You are sure
, to make it a success if you provide
plenty and good food, and hubby
brings out his best smokes.
To give it a partyish touch, and help
these big boys to start their fun, play
up the hobby idea, for every man has
' one, no matter how he may try to hide
it. For the centre of the table you
' could have a small hobby horse stand-
ing on a bed of ferns and those rich,
red carnations that men like so much.
On his back could be strapped the box-
es of smokes, with reins of leather
colored ribbon or tape extending to
each place and attached to a package
of three cigars or cigarettes for each
man.
The fun will come in making the
hobby place cards in which the man of
the house will have to help. For the
' golf fiend a real golf ball on a tee of
' putty will mark the card. The fisher-
man will have a toy fish, and written
‘under it: “The one that got away.”
| The autoist’s place can be marked by
a license number, or a sign “Trap
ahead.” The man with the camera
‘will find his place designated by a
' snapshot of himself, and the slogan,
| “I develop anything.” There will be
' a movie maniac among them, and for
“him you might have a card with just
, Charlie Chaplin's feet drawn on Jit.
The man with a talkin machine
' might have a small record of black
| cardboard with “I Hear You Calling
| Me” on it, and slipped in a brown pa-
' per case. The man with a dog might
be given a dog b.scuit, the walker a
' pedometer, and so on.
| © Serve the best dinner menu on your
list. A planked steak, and home-
' made cake or pie, with the ice cream.
Or, if it is supper, arrange two plat-
ters with cold cuts of meat, potato sal-
' ad, celery stuffed with pimento cheese,
' mixed with cream or butter; rings of
' peppers stuffed with cream cheese, hot
Piscuit, coffee, doughnuts and ice
cream.
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