Democratic watchman. (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1855-1940, June 22, 1923, Image 2

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    RY RAY
(Continued from last week).
CHAPTER I1-—Arriving at the lonely
tle railroad station of El Cajon, New
co, Madeline Hammond, New York
], finds no one to meet her. While in
e waiting rocm a drunken cowboy en-
asks she is married, and departs,
ving her terrified, He returns with a
est, who goes through some sort of
remony, and the cowboy forces her to
say “SL” Asking her name and learning
her identity the cowboy seems dazed. In
shooting scrape outside the room a
xican is killed. The cowboy lets a
1, “Bonita,” take his horse and escape,
en conducts Madeline to Florence
ey, friend of her brother.
CHAPTER II.—Florence welcomes her,
rns her story, and dismisses the cow-
y, Gene Stewart, Next day Alfred
mmond, Madeline's brother, takes
Slowant to task. Madeline exonerates
of any wrong intent.
CHAPTER IIl.—Alired, scion of a
Foalthy family, had been dismissed from
8 home because of his dissipation.
Madeline sees that the West has re-
deemed him. She meets Stillwell, Al's
employer, typical western ranchman.
Madeline learns Stewart has gone over
the border.
CHAPTER IV.—Danny Mains, one of
Btillwell’'s cowboys, has disappeared,
with some of Stillwell’'s money. His
Jtienas link his name with the girl Bo-
CHAPTER V.—Madeline gets a glimpse
of life on a western ranch,
CHAPTER VI.—Stewart’s horse comes
to the ranch with a note on the saddle
asking Madeline to accept the beautiful
animal. With her brother’s consent she
does s0, naming him ‘‘Majesty,” her own
pet nickname. Madeline, independently
rich, arranges to buy Stillwell’s ranch
nd that of Don Carlos, a Mexican neigh-
CHAPTER VII.—Madeline feels she
bas found her right place, under the light
of the western stars.
CHAPTER VII1.—Learning Stewart had
been hurt in a brawl at Chiricahua, and
knowing her brother's fondness for him,
Madeline visits him and persuades him to
come to the ranch as the boss of her
CHAPTER IX.—Jim Nels, Nick Steele,
and ‘“‘“Monty” Price are Madeline's chief
riders. They have a feud with Don Car-
los’ vaqueros, who are really guerrillas.
Madeline pledges Stewart to see that
peace is kept
CHAPTER X.—Madeline and Florence,
returning home from Alfred’s ranch, run
into an ambush of vaqueros. Florence,
knowing the Mexicans are after Made-
line, decoys them away, and Madeline
gets home safely but alone.
CHAPTER XI.—A raiding guerrilla
band carries off Madeline, Stewart fol-
lows alone. The leader is a man with
whom Stewart had served in Mexico. He
releases the girl, arranging for ransom.
Returning home with Stewart, Madeline
finds herself strangely stirred.
CHAPTER XII. — Madeline’s sister
Helen, with a party of eastern friends,
arrives at the ranch, craving excitement.
CHAPTER XIII.—For the guests’ enter-
talnment a game of golf is arranged.
Stewart interrupts the game, insisting
the whole party return at once to the
house. He tells Madeline her guests are
not safe while the Mexican revolution is
going on, and urges them to go up to
the mountains out of danger. They de-
cide to do so.
He sald good-night and turned.
Madeline wonderingly watched him go
down the path with his hand on the
black horse’s neck.
She went in to rest a little before
dressing for dinner and, being fatigued
from the day’s riding and excitement,
ghe fell asleep. When she awoke it
was twilight. She wondered why her
Mexican maid had not come to her,
and she rang the bell. The maid did
not put in an appearance, nor was
there any answer to the ring. The
house seemed unusually quiet. It was
a brooding silence, which presently
broke to the sound of footsteps on the
porch. Madeline recognized Stillwell’s
tread, though it appeared to be light
for him. Then she heard him call
softly in at the open door of her of-
fice. The suggestion of caution in his
voice suited the strangeness of his
walk. With a boding sense of trouble
she hurried through the rooms. He
was standing outside her office door.
“Stillwell!” she exclaimed.
“Please come out on the porch.”
She complied and, once out, was en-
abled to see him. His grave face, paler
than she had ever beheld it, caused
her to stretch an appealing hand to- |
wary him. Stillwell intercepted it and
held it in his own.
“Miss Majesty, I'm amazin’ sorry to
tell worrisome news. But it can’t be
avoided. The fact is we're in a bad
fix. If your guests ain’t scared out
of their skins it'll be owin’ to your
nerve an’ how you carry out Stewart's
“You can rely upon me,” replied
Madeline, firmly, though sh® trembled,
“Wal. what we're up against is this:
that gang of bandits Pat Hawe was
chasin’—they’re hidin’ in the house!”
“In the house?’ echoed Mndeline,
“Miss Majesty, it’s the amazin’ truth,
an’ shamed indeed am I to admit it.
Stewart—why, he's wild with rage to
think it could hev happened. You see,
it couldn’t hev happened if I hedn’t
sloped the boys off to the gol-lof links,
an’ if Stewart hedn’t rid out on the
mesa after us. It's my fault. But now
we've got to face it—to figger. Now,
listen. When Stewart left you an hour
or so ago he foliered me direct to
where me an’ the boys was tryin’ to
keep Pat Hawe from tearin’ the ranch
to pieces. At that we was helpin’ Pat
all we could to find them bandits. But
when Stewart got there he made a dif-
ference. Pat was nasty before, but
Stewart made him wuss. 1
reckon Gene to I'at is the same as
red to a Greaser bull. Anyway, when
the sheriff set fire to an old adobe hut
Stewart called him an’ called him hard.
Pat Hawe hed six fellers with him, an’
from all appearances bandit-huntin’
was some fiesta. There was a row, an’
it looked bad fer a little. But Gene
was cool, an’ he controlled the boys.
Then Pat an’ his tough de-pooties went
on huntin’. That huntin’, Miss Majesty,
petered out into what was only a farce,
Pat Hawe wasn't lookin’ hard fer any
bandits; he wasn't daid set huntin’
anythin’, unless it was trouble fer
Stewart. Finally, when Pat's men
made fer our storehuse, where we
keep ammunition, grub, liquors, an’
sich, then Gene called a halt. An’ he
ordered Pat Hawe off the ranch. It
was hyar Hawe an’ Stewart locked
horns. An’ hyar the truth come out.
There was a gang of bandits hid some-
wheres, an’ at fust Pat Hawe hed been
powerful active an’ earnest in his hunt-
“ln the House?” Echoed Madeline,
in’. But suddenlike he'd fetched a po
coolier change of heart. He had been
some flustered with Stewart’s eyes a-
pryin’ into his moves, an’ then, mebbe
to hide somethin’, mebbe jest nat'rul,
he got mad. He hollered law. He
pulled down off the shelf his old stock
grudge on Stewart, accusin’ him over
again of that Greaser murder last fall,
Stewart made him look like a fool—
showed him up as bein’ scared of the
bandits or hevin' some reason fer
stopin’ off the trail. Anyway, the row
started all right, an’ it might hev
amounted to a fight. In the thick of
it, when Stewart was drivin’ Pat an’
his crowd off the place, one of them
de-pooties lost his head an’ went fer
his gun. Nels throwed his gun an’ crip-
pled the feller’s arm. Monty jumped
then an’ throwed two forty-fives, an’
fer a second or so it looked ticklish.
But the bandit-hunters crawled, an’
then lit out.”
Stillwell paused in the rapid deliv-
ery of his narrative; he still retained
Madeline’s hand, as if by that he might
comfort her.
“After Pat left we put our haids to-
gether,” began the old cattleman, with
a long respiration. ‘We rounded up a
lad who had seen a dozen or so fellers
—he wouldn’t say they was Greasers—
breakin’ through the shrubbery to the
back of the house. That was while
Stewart was ridin’ out to the mesa.
Then this lad seen your servants all
runnin’ down the hill toward the vil
lage. Now, heah’s the way Gene fig-
gers. There sure was some deviltry
down along the railroad, an’ Pat Hawe
trailed bandits up to the ranch. He
hunts hard an’ then all to onct he quits,
Stewart says Pat Hawe wasn’t scared,
but he discovered signs of somethin’, or
got wind in some strange way that
there was in the gang of bandits some
fellers he didn't want to ketch. Sabe?
Then Gene, quicker'n a flash, springs
his plan on me. He'd go down to
Padre Marcos an’ hev him help to find
out all possible from your Mexican
servants. I was to hurry up hyar an’
tell you—give you orders, Miss Majes-
ty. Ain’t that amazin strange? Wal,
you're to assemble all your guests in
the kitchen.
pretend, as your help has left, that it'll
be great fun fer your guests to cook
dinner. The kitchen is the safest room
in the heuse. While you're joshin’ your
party along, makin’ a kind of picnie
out of it, I'll place cowboys in the long
corridor, an’ also ofitside in the corner
where the kitchen joins on to the main
house. It’s pretty sure the bandits
think no one's wise to where they're
hid. Stewart says they're in that emd
room where the alfalfa is, an’ they'll
slope in the night. Of course, with me
an’ the boye# watchin’, you-all will be
safe to go to bed. An’ we're to rouse
your guests early before daylight, to
Se ee
Make a grand bluff an’ |.
hit the trail up into the mountains.
Tell them to pack outfits before goin’
to bed. Say as your servants hev
sloped, you might as well go campin’
with the cowboys. That's all. If we
hev. any luck your friends’ll never
know they've been sittin’ on a powder-
mine. Now, Miss Majesty, I've used up
a lot of time explainin’. You'll sure
keep your nerve?”
“Yes,” Madeline replied, and was
surprised at herself.
“Better tell Florence.
power of comfort to you.
now to fetch up the boys.”
Instead of returning to her room
Madeline went through the office into
the long corridor. It was almost as
dark as night. She fancied she saw a
slow-gliding figure darker than the sur-
rounding gloom; and she entered upon
the fulfillment of her part of the plan
in something like trepidation. Her
footsteps were noiseless. Finding the
door to the kitchen, and going in, she
struck lights. Upon passing out again
she made certain she discerned a dark
shape, now motionless, crouching along
the wall. But she mistrusted her vivid
imagination, It took all her boldness
to enable her unconcernedly and natur-
a'ly to strike the corridor light. Then
she went on through her own rooms
and thence into the patio.
Eer guests laughingly and gladly en-
teed into the spirit of the occasion.
They trooped merrily into the kitchen.
Madeline, delaying at the door, took a
sharp but unobtrusive glance down the
great, barnlike hall. She saw nothing
but blank dark space. Suddenly from
one side, not a rod distant, protruded
a pale, gleaming face breaking the
even blackness. Instantly it flashed
back out of sight. Yet that time was
long enough for Madeline to see a pair
of glittering eyes, and to recognize
them as Don Carlos’.
Without betraying either hurry er
alarm. she closed the door. It had a
heavy bolt which she slowly, noiseless-
ly shot. Then the cold amaze that had
all but stunned her into inaction
throbbed into wrath. How dared that
Mexican steal into her home! What
did he mean? Was he one of the ban-
dits supposed to be hidden in her
house? She was thinking herself into
<reater anger and excitement, and
probably would have betrayed herself
had not Florence, who had evidently
seen her bolt the door and now read
her thoughts, come toward her with a
hright, intent, questioning look. Made-
line caught herself in time.
Thereupon she gave each of her
guests a duty to perform. Leading
Florence into the pantry, she unbur-
dened herself of the secret in one brief
whisper. Florence's reply was to point
out of the little open window, passing
She’ll be a
I'm goin’
which was a file of stealthily moving
~owboys. Then Madeline lost both |
anger and fear, retaining only the glow |
of excitement,
The miscellaneous collection of
iiishes so confusingly contrived made
1p a dinner which they all heartily en-
fovad. Madeline enjoyed it herself.
even with the feeling of a sword hang-
ing suspended over her.
The bour was late when she rose
ram the table and told her guests to
#0 to their rooms, don their riding-
clotl:es, pack what they needed for the
long and adventurous camping trip
that she hoped would be the climax of
their western experience, and to snatch !
a little sleep before the cowboys roused |
them for the early start.
Madeline went immediately to her |
room, and was getting out her camping |
apparel when a knock interrupted her. |
“Who's there?” she questioned.
“Stewart,” came the reply.
She opened the door. He stood on
the threshold.
“May I speak to you?” he asked.
“Certainly.” She hesitated a mo-
ment, then asked him in and closed the
door. “Is—is everything all right?”
“No. These bandits stick to cover
pretty close. They must have found
out we're on the watch. But I'm sure
we'll get you and your friends away
before anything starts.”
“Do you have any idea who is hig-
ing in the house?”
“I was worried some at first. Pat
Hawe acted queer. I imagined he'd
discovered he was trailing bandits who
might turn out to be smuggling guer-
rilla cronies. But talking with your
servants, finding a bunch of horses
hidden down In the mesquite behind
the pond—several things have changed
my mind. My idea is that a cowardly
handful of riffraff outcasts from the
border have hidden in your house,
more by accident than design. We'll
let them go—get rid of them without
even a shot. If I didn’t think so—well,
I'd be considerably worried. It would
make a different state of affairs.”
“Stewart, you are wrong. I saw one
of these bandits. I distinctly recog-
nized him.”
One long step brought him close to
“Who was he?” demanded Stewart,
“Don Carlos.”
He muttered low and deep, then
said, “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. I saw his figure twice
In the hall, then his face in the light.
I could never mistake his eyes.”
Madeline was tremblingly conscious
that Stewart underwent a transforma-
tion. She saw as well as felt the leap-
Ing passion that changed him.
“Call your friends—get them in
here!” he ordered, tersely, and wheeled
toward the door.
“Stewart, wait!” she sald.
He turned. His white face, his burn-
Ing eyes, his presence now charged
with definite, fearful meaning, influ-
enced her strangely, weakened her.
“What will you do?” she asked.
“That needn't concern you. Get your
party in here. Bar the windows and
lock tke doors. You'll be safe.”
“Stewart! Tell me what you intend
i without your permission.”
to do.”
“I won’t tell you,” he replied, and
turned away again.
“But I will know,” she said. With a
hand on his arm she detained him. She
saw how he halted—felt the shock in
him as she touched him. “Oh, I do
know. You mean to fight!”
“Well, Miss Hammond, isn’t it about
time?” he asked. There was weari-
ness, dignity, even reproof in his ques-
tion. “The fact of that Mexican’s pres-
ence here in your house ought to prove
to you the nature of the case. These
vaqueros, these guerrillas, have found
out you won't stand for any fighting
on the part of your men. Don Carlos
is a sneak, a coward, yet he’s not
afraid to hide in your own house. He
has learned you won't let your cow-
boys hurt anybody. He's taking ad-
vantage of it. He'll rob, burn, and
make off with you. He'll murder, too
‘Stewart, | Forbid You to Fight, Un-
less in Self-Defense.”
If it falls his way. These Greasers
use knives in the dark. So I ask—isn’t
It about time we stop him?”
“Stewart, I forbid you to fight, un-
less in self-defense. I forbid you.”
“What I mean to do is self-defense.
Haven't I tried to explain to you that
just now we've wild times along this
stretch of border? Must I tell you
again that Don Carlos is hand and
glove with the revolution? The rebels
are crazy to stir up the United States.
You are a woman of prominence. Don
Carlos would make off with you. If
he got you, what little matter to cross
the border with you! Well, where
would the hue and ery go? Through
the troops along the border! To New
York! To Washington! Why, It
| would mean what the rebels are work-
ing for—United States intervention. In
other words, war!”
“Oh, surely you exaggerate!” she
“Maybe so. But I''h beginning to see
the Don’s game. And, Miss Hammond.
it’s awful for me to think what you'd
suffer if Don Carlos got you over the
Une, I know these low-caste Mexicans.
I've been. among the peons—the
“Stewart, don't let Don Carlos get
me.” replied Madeline, in sweet direct:
She saw him shake, saw his throat
swell as he swallowed hard, saw the
hard fierceness return to his face.
“I won't. That's why I’m going after
“But I forbade you to start a fight
“Then I'll go ahead and start one
He shook
off her hand and strode forward.
“Please, don’t go!” she called, be-
seechingly. But he kept on. “Stew-
She ran ahead of him, intercepted
him, faced him with her back against
the door. He swept out a long arm as
if to brush her aside. But it wavered
and fell. Haggard, troubled, with
working face, he stood before her.
“It’s for your sake,” he expostulated.
“Let me out, Miss Hammond. I'm
going to take the boys and go after
these guerrillas.”
“Good Heavens!” exclaimed Stew-
art. “Why not let me go? It's the
thing to do. I'm sorry to distress you
and your guests. Why not put an end
to Don Carlos’ badgering? Is it be-
cause you're afraid a rumpus will spoil
your friends’ visit?’
“It isn’t—not this time.”
“Then it’s the idea of a little
ing at these Greasers?”
“No.” 3
“You're sick to think of a little
Greaser blood staining the halls of
your home?”
“Well, then, why keep me from do-
ing what I know is best?”
“Stewart, I—I—" she faltered, In
growing agitation. “I'm frightened—
confused. All this is too—too much
for me. I'm not a coward. If you
have to fight you'll see I'm not a cow-
ard. But your way seems so reckless
—that hall is so dark—the guerrillas
would shoot from behind doors. You're
so wild, so daring, you'd rush right in-
to peril. Is that necessary? I think—
I mean—I don’t know just why I feel
so—so about you doing it. But I be-
leve it's because I'm afraid you—you
might be hurt.”
“You're afraid I—I might be hurt?”
he echoed, wonderingly, the hard
whiteness of his face warming, flush-
ing, glowing.
The single word, with all it might
mean, with all it might not mean,
softened him as if by magic, made him
gentle, amazed, shy as a boy, stifling
under a torrent of emotions.
Madeline theught she had persuaded
him—worked her wil, with him. Then
another of his startlingly sudden
moves told her that she had reckoned
too quickly. This move was to put
her firmly aside so he could pass; and
Madeline, seeing he would not hesi-
tate to lift her out of the way, surren-
dered the door. He turned on the
threshold. His face was still working,
but the flame-pointed gleam of his eves
indicated the return of that cowboy
“I'm going to drive Don Carlos and
his gang out of the house,” declared
Stewart. “I think I may promise you
to do it without a fight. But if it takes
a fight, off he goes!”
The Mountain Trail,
As Stewart departed from one door
Florence knocked upon another; and
Madeline, far shaken out of her usual
serenity, admitted the cool western
girl with more than gladness. Just to
have her near helped Madeline to get
back her balance. She was conscious
of Florence's sharp scrutiny, then of
a sweet, deliberate change of manner.
Florence might have heen burning
with curiosity to know more about the
bandits hidden in the house, the plang
of the cowboys, the reason for Made-
line’s suppressed emotion; but instead
of asking Madeline questions she in-
troduced the important subject of
what to take on the camping trip. For
an hour they discussed the need of
this and that article, selected those
things most needful, and then packed
them in Madeline’s duffle-bags.
That done, they decided to lie down.
fully dressed as they were in riding-
costume, and sleep, or at least rest,
the little remaining time left before
the call to saddle. Madeline turned
out the light and, peeping through her
window, saw dark forms standing sen-
tinel-like in the gloom. When she lay
down she heard soft steps on the path.
This fidelity to her swelled her heart,
while the need of it presaged that
fearful something which, since Stew-
art’s passionate appeal to her, haunt-
ed her as inevitable.
Madeline did not expect to sleep,
vet she did sleep, and it seemed to
have been only a moment until Flor-
ence called her. She followed Florence
outside. She could discern saddled
horses being held by cowbuys. There
was an air of hurry and mystery about
the departure. Helen, who came tip-
toeing out with Madeline’s other
guests, whispered that it was like an
escape. She was delighted. The others
were amused. To Madeline it was In-
deed an escape. She heard low voices,
the champing of bits and thumping of
hoofs, and she recognized Stewart
when he led up Majesty for her to
mount. Then came a pattering of soft
feet and the whining of dogs. Cold
noses touched her hands, and she saw
the long, gray, shaggy shapes of her
pack of Russian wolf-hounds. That
Stewart meant to let them go with her
was indicative of how he studied Lier
pleasure. She loved to be out with
the hounds and her horse.
Stewart led Majesty out into the
darkness past a line of mounted
“Guess we're ready,” he said. “I'll
make the count.” He went back slong
the ifne, and on the return hadenue
heard him say several times, “Now,
everybody ride close to the horse mn
front, and keep quiet till daylight.”
Then the snorting and pounding of the
big black horse in front of her told
Madeline that Stewart had mounted.
“All right, we're off,” he called.
Madeline lifted Majesty's bridle and
let the roan go. The trail led in a
roundabout way through shallow gul-
lies full of stone and brush washed
down by floods. At every turn now
Madeline expected to come upon wa-
ter and the waiting pack-train. But
time passed, and miles of climbing,
and no water or horses were met. Ex-
_pectation in Madeline gave place to
desire; she was hungry.
Stewart kept on. It was eight o'clock
by Madeline’s watch when, upon turn-
ing into a wide hollow, she saw horses
grazing on spare grass, a great pile of
canvas-covered bundles, and a fire
round which cowboys and two Mexi-
can women were busy.
Madeline sat her horse and reviewed
her followers as they rode up single
file. Her guests were in merry mood,
and they all talked at once.
“Breakfast — and rustle,”
out Stewart, without ceremony.
For that matter, Madeline observed
Helen did not show any marked con-
trast to the others. The hurry order
did not interfere with the meal being
somewhat in the nature of a picnic.
As soon as the pack-train was in
readiness Stewart started it off in the
lead to break trail. A heavy growth
of shrub interspersed with rock and
cactus covered the slopes; and now all
the trail appeared to be uphill, The
pack-train forged ahead, and the trail-
ing couples grew farther apart. At
noon they got out of the foothills to
face the real ascent of the mountains.
Stewart waited for Madeline, and
as she came up he sald: “We're going
to have a storm. Shall I call a halt
and make camp?”
“Here? Oh no! What do you think
“Well, if we have a good healthy
thunderstorm it will be something new
for your friends. I think we'd be wise
to keep on the go. There's no place
to make a good camp. If it rains, let
it rain. The pack outfit Is well cov-
ered. We will have to get wet.”
“Surely,” replied Madeline; and she
smiled at his inference. She knew
what a storm was in that country, and
her guests had yet to experience one.
“If it rains, let it rain.”
(To be continued).
—~Subscribe for the “Watchman.”
The manly part is to do with might and
main what you can do.——Emerson.
Backs didn’t used to matter very
Fashion books showed expansive
and intricate front views, with the
printed comment, “For back view see
page 569.” And on page 569 there
were miniature figures showing all
the backs in the book. Generally they
looked very much alike.
To the Victorian generations backs,
like feet and ears, were necessary
evils. The less you showed them the
more genteel you were. Women lived
in a sort of two-dimension world, like
paper dolls.
A few weeks ago a young woman
bought an evening gown in haste, she
did not try it on. The color suited
her, and the workmanship was guar-
anteed by the name of the dressmaker.
She needed the gown to wear to a din-
ner that night and she did not put it
on until a half hour before the dinner
hour. She put it on one way and then
she put it on the other, and either way
she had it it looked as if it had gone
on backward.
Frantically she called a family
council, appeared first with the dress
on one way and then the other, and
asked for a vote. The result was a
tie. Grandmother and father and the
house-keeper formed one party, and
mother and a younger sister and a
thoroughly up-to-date maid were on
the opposition. She wore the dress as
the opposition insisted, not because it
fitted her any better that way, but be-
cause, as she said, it looked as if it
! was on backward and the tendency, as
' this young woman’ knew, nowadays is
| for backward effects.
One such gown is of rose-colored
satin, bound with almond green and
| fastened at the waist with a large
pearl ornament. You might make a
whole fashion book of the present
clothes, composed of distinctive and
interesting back views, and you might
put all the front views on a page
somewhere in the back as being quite
unimportant and insignificant.
Some young women craving novelty,
desiring possibly to shock their elders,
fasten their neckties in the back. All
sorts of smart fichus and collars are
meant to fasten in the back. Only
berthas, which have conventionally
fastened in the back, seem now to go
on frontwise.
And English girls, they say, are
having their hair cut very short in
the back and long in front. It is the
compromise with the vanishing bob.
The long front hair is rolled or curled,
and disposed of over the ears or loop-
ed up under the back hang.
Little mats of interlaced ribbons
make patches for the dress of the
young girl. Those patches are not to
cover soiled or torn places, but have
been created for the newest and sheer-
est of frocks. However, if a pretty
frock has bean torn or stained the rib-
bon mat may be used to cover the
There are numerous ways of mak-
ing these patches. After interlacing
the ribbons the ends are allowed to fly
out and are not fastened down to the
material. Another patch is made of
the scallop-edge ribbon, which has a
draw string along the straight edge.
By pulling the string the ribbon may
be gathered and turned into almost
any shape of flowers, circles, ete.
These may be applied at odd places on
the dress of dotted swiss, organdy or
light silks.
Still another patch is made of nar-
row ribbon, according to the Walls of
Troy design and applied to the dress
wherever the feminine instinet says it
should be.
“Oh, look, my beautiful blouse is
all ruined!” Have you not often said
that, when you removed your coat or
suit and found that the color of the
lining had come off on your waist?
. If you had remembered when buy-
ing the suit-coat to take along a clean,
white cotton handkerchief and rub it
briskly over the lining you might have
saved yourself this disappointment. If
any of the color comes off on the hand-
kevchief, the fabric is not fast to fric-
Do you know how Uncle Sam some-
times tells how a piece of military
cloth is fast to perspiration or not?
By placing small samples in the shoes
of marching soldiers, or under the
saddles of those on horseback. A few
days’ test in this way will prove be-
yond a doubt the degree of fastness.
So if you are buying material for
lining, underwear, or a dress or
blouse, the best way to test it is by
wearing a sample next to the skin for
a few days.
Another test you can easily make
for fastness to perspiration is to steep
a sample in acetic acid for a few min-
utes. If the color does not fade then,
you will be safe in making the pur-
If you want to tell whether any
goods are proof against “spotting,”
sprinkle a sample with water, and
then dry before brushing off. If there
is any change in either the color or
luster, do not buy it for a suit or
dress, as it will never be practical for
street wear or general outdoor use.
The only way to tell whether goods
are fast to washing is to actually
wash a sample in hot soap suds, and
then compare it with the original ma-
terial. Sometimes in buying a col-
ored fabric to make up in combina-
tion with a white piece of goods, you
want to know if the colored material
will “bleed.” Braid a strip of the
white with a strip of the dyed, and
wash together. If the colors are not
absolutely fast, they will “run” into
the white. :
In order to tell how fast a material
may be to light and air, expose a sam-
ple in a sunny window for several
days. This takes time, but you may
save yourself many a disappointing
purchase in this way.
Narrow bead bracelets are just the
thing to carry the gay little chiffon
handkerchiefs that are so popular at
Cheese Sandwiches, Hot.—Spread
large slices of white bread, cut thin,
butter, then with a layer of grated
cheese add a little French mustard,
cover with a top slice, press down
well, cut in long strips and toast.
Serve hot.