ILLUSTRATIONS
BY CLARK AGNEW.
Copyright by
Doubleday, Page & Co.
WNU Bervice,
! (Continued from last week.)
—Introducing “So Big”
SYNOPSIS
in his infancy. And his
OT Dajon
rk DeJon
DeJong, daughter of
Big ther, Selina
meon Peake, gambler and gentleman
f fortune. Her life, to young woman-
00d in Chicago in 1888, has been un-
oonventional, somewhat seamy, but
generally enjoyable. At school her
chum is Julie’ Hempel, daughter of
fugu .Hempel, butcher. Simeon is
lled in a quarrel that is not his own.
and Belina, nineteen years old and
Faoiicaily destitute, becomes a school-
hy er. :
CHAPTER II—Selina secures a posi-
gion as teacher at the High Prairie
pohool, in the outskirts of Chicago,
{ving at the home of a truck farmer,
laas Pool. In Roelf, twelve years
ld, son of Klaas, Selina perceives a
finared spirit, a lover of beauty, like
reelf. :
CHAPTER I11.—The monotonous life
of a country school-teacher at that
ime, is Selina’s, brightened somewhat
y the companionship ot the sensitive,
artistic boy Roelf.
- CHAPTER IV.—Selina hears gossip
ncerning the affection of the “Widow
saflenberg rich and good-looking,
for Pervus DeJong, poor truck farmer,
who is insensible to the widow's at-
ractions. For a community “sociable”
elina prepares a lunch basket, dainty,
ut not of ample proportions, which is
“auctioned,” according to custom. The
smallness of the lunch box excites deri-
ion, and in a sense of fun the bidding
ecomes spirited, DeJong finally secur-
ng it for $10, a ridiculously high price.
Over their lunch basket, whic eling
end DeJong share together, the school-
teacher arranges to instruct the good-
atured farmer, whose education has
en neglected.
CHAPTER V.—Propinquity, in their
gitione of ‘teacher’ and “pupil,” and
Belina’s loneliness in her uncongenial
urroundings, lead to mutual affection.
ervus DeJong wins Selina’'s consent
to be his wife.
CHAPTER VI.—Selina becomes Mrs.
eJong, a ‘farmer's wife,” with all the
hardships unavoidable at that time.
irk is born. Selina (of Vermont
stock, businesslike and shrewd) har
plane for building up the farm, which
re ridiculed by her husband. Maartje
ool, Klaas’ wife, dies, and after the
requisite decent interval Klaas marries
the “Widow Paarlenberg.” The boy
oelf, sixteen years old now, leaves
i¢ home, to make his way to France
and study, his ambition being to be-
@ome a sculptor.
CHAPTER VIL-—Dirk is eight years
old when his father dies. Selina, faced
with the necessity of making a living
for her boy and herself. rises to the
occasion, and, with Dirk, takes a truck-
oad of vegetables to the Chicego mar-
ot. A woman selling in the market
place is an innovation frowned upon.
CHAPTER VIII.—As a disposer of
the vegetables from her truck Selina is
a flat failure, buyers being shy of
dealing with her. To a commission
dealer she sells part of her stock. On
the way home she peddles from door
to door, with indifferent success. A
oliceman demands her license. She
as none, and during the ensuing alter-
cation Selina's girlhood chum, Julie
Jismpel, now Julie Arnold, recognizes
‘her.
CHAPTER IX.—August Hempel, risen
to prominence and wealth in the busi-
ress world, arranges to assist Selina
in making the farm something more of
a paving proposition. Selina grate-
fully accepte his help, for Dirk's sake.
Dirk could laugh at that picture.
But he protested, too. “Bat there's
no native architecture, so what's to
be done! {You wouldn't call those
smoke-blackened old stone and brick
plles with their iron fences and their
conservatories and cupolas and ginger-
bread exactly native, would you?”
“No,” Selina admitted, “but those
Italian villas and French chateaux in
north Chicago suburbs are a good deal
like a lace evening gown in the Ari-
zona desert. It wouldn't keep you
cool in the daytime, and it wouldn't.
be warm enough ut night. I suppose
a native architecture is evolved from
bullding for the local climate and the
needs of the community, keeping beau-
ty in mind as you go. We doen't need
turrets and towers any more than we
need draw-bridges and moats. It's all
right to keep them, I suppose, where
they grew up, in a country where the
feudal system meant that any day
your next-door neighbor might take it
into his head to call his gang around
him and sneak up to steal your wife
and tapestries and gold drinking cups.”
Dirk was interested and amused.
Talks with his mother were likely to
affect him thus. “What's your idea of
a real Chicago house, mother?”
Selina answered quickly, as if she
had thought often about it; as if she
would have liked just such a dwelling
on the site of the old DeJong farm-
house in which they now were seated
so comfortably. “Well, it would need
big porches for the hot days and
nights so’'s to catch the prevailing
southwest winds from the prairies in
the summer—a porch that would be
swung clear around to the east, too—
or a terrace or another porch east so
that if the precious old lake breeze
should come up just when you think
you're dying of the heat, as it some-
times does, you could catch that, too.
It ought to be bullt—the house, I
mean—rather squarish and tight and
solid against our cold winters and
northeasters. Then sleeping porches,
of course. There's a grand American
institution ‘for you! England may
have its afternoon tea on the terrace,
and Spain may have its patio, and
France its courtyard, and Italy its
pergola, vine-covered; but America’s
got the sleeping porch—the screened-
and 1
sleeping
i shouldn’t wonder if the man who first
‘ thought of that would get precedence.
! on Judgment day, over the men who
invented the airplane, the talking ma-
in open-air porch,
| chine, and the telephone. After all.
{ he had nothing in mind but the health
| of the human race.” After which
grand period Selina grinned at Dirk.
and Dirk grinned at Selina and the
two giggled together there hy the fire-
place, companionably.
“Mother, you're simply wonderful !—
only your native Chicago dwelling
seems to be mostly porch.”
Selina waved such carping criticism
away with a careless hand. “Oh, well,
! any house that has enough porches,
and ‘two or three bathrooms and at
least eight closets can be lived in com-
| fortably, no matter what else it has or
! hasn't got.”
Next day they were nore serious
The eastern college and the architec-
tural career seemed to be settled
things. Selina was content, happy.
Dirk was troubled about the expense.
He spoke of it at breakfast next morn-
ing (Dirk's breakfast; his mother had
had hers hours before and now as he
drank his coiTee, was sitting with him
a moment and glancing at the paper
that had come in the rural mail deliv-
ery). She had been out in the fields
overseeing the transplanting of young
tomato seedlings from hotbed to field.
She wore an old gray sweater buttoned
up tight, for the air was still sharp.
On her head was a battered black fekt
soft hat (an old one of Dirk's) much
like the one she had worn to the Hay-
market that day ten years ago.
“I've been thinking,” he began. “the
expense—" 2
“I’ve been wanting to put them in for
three or four years. It's August
Hempel’s idea. Hogs. 1 should have
said.”
He echoed, “Hogs!” rather faintly.
“High-bred hogs. They're worth
their weight in silver this minute. and
will be for years to come.
in for them extensively. Jusi enough
to make :n architect out of fr. Dirk
DeJong.” Then, at the expression in
his face: “Don’t look so pained, son.
There's nothing revolting about a hog
—he's a handsome, impressive-looking
animal, the hog, when he isn’t treated
like ope.”
Ye looked dejected. “Td rather not
go to school on—hogs.”
She took off the felt hat and tossed
it over to the old couch by the win-
dow ; smoothed her hair back with the
flat of her palm. You saw that the
soft dark hair was liberally sprinkled
with gray now, but the eyes were
bright and clear as ever.
“You know, Sobig, this is what they
call a paying farm—as vegetable farms
go. We're out of debt, the land's in
good shape, the crop promises well if
we don’t have another rainy cold
| spring like last year’s. I'm having a
grand time. When I see the asparagus
plantation actualy yielding, that I
planted ten years ago, I'm as happy as
if I'd stumbled on a gold mine. I
think, sometimes, of the way your fa-
ther objected to my planting the first
one. April, like this, in the country,
with everything coming up green and
new in the rich black loam—I can't
tell you. And when I know that it goes
to market as food—the best kind of
food, that keeps people’s bodies clean
and clear and flexible and strong! I
like to think of babies’ mothers say-
ing: ‘Now eat your spinach, every
scrap, or you can’t have any dessert!
Carrots make your eyes bright.
Finish your potato. Potatoes
make you strong!”
Selina laughed, flushed a little.
“Yes, but how about hogs? Do you
feel that way about hogs?”
“Certainly,” said Selina, briskly. She
pushed toward him a little blue-and-
white platter that lay on the white
cloth near her elbow. “Have a bit
more bacon, Dirk. One of these nice
curly slivers that #ve so crisp.”
“I've finished my breakfast, Moth-
er.” He rose.
The following autumn saw him a
student of architecture at Cornell. He
worked hard, studied even during his
vacation.
He would come home to the heat
and humidity of the Illinois summers
and spend hours each day in his own
room that he had fitted up with a
long work-table and a drawing board.
His T-square was at hand; two trian-
gles—a 45 and a 60; his compass; a
pair of dividers. Selina sometimes
stood behind him watching him as he
carefully worked on the tracing paper.
His contempt for the local architec-
ture was now complete. Especially
did he hold forth on the subject of the
apartment houses that were mush-
rooming on every street in Chicago
from Hyde Park on the south to
Evanston on the north. Chicago was
very elegant in speaking of these;
never called them “flats”; always
“Pigs’ll do it,” Selina said, calmiy.
I won't go |
: apartments... In front of each of these
(there were usually six to a building)
was stuck a little glass-enclosed cubi-
cle known as a sun-parlor. In these
(sometimes you heard them spoken of,
grandly, as solariums) Chicago dwell-
ers took refuge from the leaden skies,
the heavy lake atmosphere, the gray
mist and fog and smoke that so fre-
quently swathed the city in gloom,
They were done in yellow" or rose cre-
tonnes. Silk lampshades glowed there-
in, sand flower-laden boxes. In these
frank little boxes Chicago read its pa-
per, sewed, played bridge, even ate
its breakfast. It never pulled dewr
the shades. :
.“Terrible!” Dirk fumed. “Not only
are they hideous in themselves, stuck
on the front of those houses like three
pairs of spectacles; but the lack of
decent privacy! They do everything
but bathe in 'em. Have they never
heard the advice given people who live
in glass houses!”
By his junior year he was talking
in a large way about .the Beaux Arts,
But Selina did not laugh at this. “Per-
haps.” she thought. “Who can tell!
After a year or two in an office here,
why not another year of study in Paris
if he needs it.”
Though it was her busiest time on
the farm Selina went to Ithaca for his
graduaticn in 1913. He was twenty-
two and, she was calmly sure, the bhest-
looking man in his class. Undeniably
Le was a figure to please the eye;
tall, well-built, as his father had heen,
for his eyes. These were brown—not
so dark as Selina’s, but with some of
the soft liquid quality of her glance.
gave him an ardent look of which he
was not conscious. Women, feeling
the ardor of that dark glance turned
upon them, were likely to credit him
with feelings toward themselves of
{ which he was quite innocent. They
dil not know that the glance and its
| effect were mere matters of pigmenta-
tion and eye-conformation.
always more effective than that of one
who is loquacious.
Selina, in her black silk dress, and
her plain black hat, and her sensible
shoes, was rather a quaint little figure
among ull those vivacious, bevoiled,
and heribboned mammas. But a dis-
tinctive little figure, too. Dirk need
not be wshamed of her. She eyed the
rather paunchy, prosperous, middle-
aged fathers and thought, with a pang,
how mvch handsomer Pervus would
have been than any of these, if only
he couid have lived to see this day.
Then, involuntarily, she wondered if
this day would ever have occurred.
had Pervug lived. Chided herself for
thinking thus.
When he returned to Chicago, Dirk
They sirengthened his face, somehow;
" sourse. in the couch-swing,
and blond, too, like his father, except '
Then, too, |
the gaze of a man who talks little is |
" went into the office of Hollis &
Spracue, architects. But his work |
! there was little more than that of
Udranchtsman, and his weekly stipend
eould hardly be dignified br the térm
of sajary. But he had large ideas |
wbous architecture and he found ex-!
pressicn for his suppressed feelings on
his ween ends spent with Selina at the
farm.
“Baroque” was the word with which
Ie dismissed the new Beachside ho-
tel, norch. He said the new Lincoln
park handstand looked like an ixleo
He seid that the ¢ity council ought to
erder the I'otter Palmer mansion de
stroyed as a blot on the landscape,
and waxed profane on the subject of
the east face of the Public Library
building, downtown.
“Nevef mind,” Selina assured him,
happily. “It was all thrown up so
hastily. Remember that just yester-
day, or the day before, Chicago was
an Indian fort, with tepees where tow~
ers are new, and mud wallows in
place of asphalt. Beauty needs time
to perfect it. Perhaps we've heen
waiting all these years for just such
youngsters as you. And maybe some
day I'llbe driving down Michigan bou-
levard with a distinguished visitor—
Roelf Pool, perhaps. Why not? Let's
say Roe!f Pool, the famous sculptor.
And he'll say, ‘Who designed that
building—the one that is so strong
and yet so reticent!” And I'll say, ‘Oh,
that! That's one of the earlier efforts
of my son, Dirk DeJong.”
But Dirk pulled at his pipe mood-
ily; shook his head. “Oh, you don’t
know, mother. It's so d—d slow.
First thing you know I'll’ be thirty.
And what am I! An office boy—or
little more than that—at Hollis.”
During his university years Dirk had
seen much of the Arnolds, Eugene and
Paula, but it sometimes seemed to
Selina that he avoided these meetings—
these parties and week-ends. She was
content that this should be so, for she
guessed that the matter of money held
him back. She thought it was well that
he should realize the difference now.
Eugene had his own car—one of five
in the Arnold garage. Paula, too, had
hers. Her fascination for Dirk was
strong. Selina knew that, too. In the
last year or two he had talked very
little of Paula and that, Sellna knew,
meant that he was hard hit.
out to the farm. Eugene would appear
in rakish cap, loose London knickers,
queer brogans with an English look
ebout them, a carefully careless loose-
ness about the hang and fit of his
jacket. Paula did not affect sports
clothes for herself, She was not the
type, she said. Slim, dark, vivacious,
she wore slinky e&lothes—crepes, chif-
fons. Her eyes were languorous,
lovely. She worshiped luxury and
said so. : *
“I'll have to marry money,” she de-
clared. “Now that they've finished
calling poor grandpa a beef-baron and
taken I don’t know how many millions
away from him, we're practically on
the streets.”
“You look it!” from Dirk; and there
and yet so light? So gay and graceful |
was: bitterness beneath his light tone.
“Well, it’s true. All this silly muck-
raking in the past ten years or more.
Poor father! Of course, granddad
was pur-ty rough, let me tell you. I
read some of thre accounts of that lasr
indictment—t¥e 1910 one—and I must
say I gathered that dear old Aug made
Jesse James look like a philanthropist.
1 should think, at his age, he'd be a
little scared. After all, when you're
over seventy you're likely to have
some doubts and fears about punish-
ment in the next world, But not a
grand old pirate like grandfather.
He'll sack and burn and plunder until
he goes down with the ship. And it
Jooks to me as if the old boat had a
pretty strong list to starboard right
now. Father says himself that unless
a war breaks, or something, which
isn’t at all likely, the packing industry
is going to spring a leak.”
“Elaborate figure of speech,” mur-
mured Eugene. The four of them—
Paula, Dirk, Eugene and Selina—were
sitting on the wide screened porch that
Selina had had built at the southwest
corner of the house. Paula was, of
Oceasion-
ally she touched one slim languid foot
to the floor and gave indolent impetus
to the couch,
“It is. rather, isn’t jt? Might as
well finish it, then. Darling Aug's been
the grand old captain right through |
the viage. Dad's never heen more
than a pretty bum second mate. And
as for vou, Gene my love, cabin boy
would be, y'understand. me, big.”
Eugene had gone into the business a
vear before,
“What can you expect,” retorted
Eugene, “of a lad that hates salt pork?
And every other kind of pig meat?”
He despised the yards and all that
aent with it.
Selina got up and walked to the
snd of the porch. “There's Adam
*oming in with she last load for the
jay. He'll be driving into town now.
Dornelius started an hour ago.” She
went down the steps on her way to
yversee the loading of Adam Bras’
wagon. At the bottom of the steps
she turned. “Why can’t you two stay
to supper? You can quarrel com-
fortably right through the meal and
jrive home in the cool of the eve-
aing.”
“I'll stay,” said Paula, “thanks. If
you'll have all kinds of vegetables,
~ocked and uncooked. ‘And let me
70 out into the fields and pick 'em
nyself like Maud Muller o~ Marie An-
:oinette or any of those make-believe
-ustic gals.” -
In her French-heeled slippers and
jer filmy silk stockings she went out
‘nto the rich black furrows of the
jelds, Dirk carrying the basket.
“Asparagus,” she ordered first
hen. “But where is it? Is that it!”
“You dig for it, idiot,” said Dirk
stooping, and taking from his basket
the queerly curved sharp knife or
spud. used for. cutting the, asparagus
shoots. “Cut the shoots three or four
inches below the surface.”
“Oh, let me do it!” She was down
on her silken knees in the dirt, ruined
tender
n goodly patch of the fine,
shoots, gave it up and sat watching
Dirk's expert manipulation of
knife. “Let's have radishes, and corn.
and tomatoes and lettuce and peas
and artichokes and—"
“Artichokes grow in California, not
Liinois.”
He was more than usually uncom
mdnicative, and noticeably moody.
Paula remarked it. “Why the
Othello brow?”
“You didn’t mean that rot, did you?
about marrying a rich man. You were
Joking, weren't you?’
“I wasn’t. I'd hate being poor, or
even just moderately rich. I'm used
to money—Iloads of it. I'm twenty-
four. And I'm looking around.”
He kicked an innocent beet-top with
his boot. “You like me better thar
any man you know.”
“Of course I do. Just my luck.”
“Well, then!”
“Well, then, let's take these weg- |
gibles in.” him nnk
She made a pretense of lifting the
heavy basket. Dirk snatched it rough-
ly out of her hand so that she gave
. a little ery and looked ruefully down
Sometimes Paula and Eugene drove"
“You Like Me Better Than Any Man
You Know.”
at the red mark on her palm. He
caught her by the shoulder—even
shook her a little. “Look here, Paula.
Do you mean to tell me you'd marry
a man simply because he happened to
have a lot of money!”
(Continued next week.)
the!
PLEASANT GAP PHILOSOPHY.
By Levi A. Miller.
Pure zir is essential to the health
of well persons.
The laws of life and health are in-
flexible; they are as fixed and certain,
and as plain as any other laws of na-
ture.
Parents must give good example,
and be reverent in deportment in the
presence of their children.
Blessed is that person who is en-
dowad with a pleasing utterance.
Out of a kind heart comes, natur-
ally, kind feelings.
The mind is fashioned and furnish-
ed principally at school, but the char-
acter of the affections is derived chief-
ly from home influences.
Parents, in making choice of schools
should select those presided over by
teachers who know their duty better
than to flog dull children for not
learning.
Every person ought to have phys-
iical exercise in the open air, that will
! occupy several hours every day.
| - Benevolence, friendship, love, =a
good conscience, with tender, refined
and elevated thoughts, are never-fail-
ing sources of delight and health.
W hereas, pride, envy, jealousy, covet-
ousness, anger, and all the rassions,
habitually indulged in to excess, have
a tendency to sap the foundations of
health and shorten cur existence.
Saul went out in search of his fath-
er’s asses, and found himself a King.
, The selfish politician goes out in
search of the. crown and throne and
scepter of office, to which he is not en-
titled; and the people find a fraud
: who need not envy the donkey its re-
dundancy of ear. Solomon speaks of
braying a fool in a mortar, yet will
not his folly depart from him. The
political adventurer, when beaten in
i that mortar, the ballot-box, will con-
tinue to bray and show his ears.
i There is no eagle’s nest so lofly
that the cock-sparrow will not at-
tempt to reach it. He fiits from house
ito house, and under the eaves listens
for the sentiments of his neighbors.
You may see him about election time
hopping here and there to pick up
"crumbs of consolation and soft things
| with which to feather his nest; and
| there is nothing that flies that can
compare with him in putting in a bill,
. although he is nothing but a common
i Fome sparrow, and cannot soar above
i the clouds to the lofty mountain crag
, where the eagle builds its eyrie of
i sticks and clay. Adam and Eve were
"our ancestors, hence we all have roy-
lal blood running in our veins; but we
| have violated the physical laws, de-
| ranged our systems, making the blood
thin and scrofulous; and in a thous-
and ways have been enfeebling and
| deforming the body. However, there
{are some respeetable politicians, but
many there are who require watch-
ing; otherwise the public will be vie-
timized. It is to be hoped that the
time will come when truth and veraci-
ty shall thunder all around the hosi-
zon, and the lightning of law strike
and paralyze the protane hand that
touches with fraud that ark of tie
covenant, the ballot-boxy
Wa.
Manage Flock Well to Get Summer
Eggs.
Th: two outstanding causes of low
| egg production in many fiocks in Cen-
tre county during the summer months
are lack of culling and improper mai-
agement. Housing is one of the
| points in summer management that
| needs attention.
In too many cases
the laying flock is shut up at night in
houses that are hot, poorly ventilated,
dirty and overrun with mites. Under
such housing conditions the birds, no
{ matter what they are fed, cannot lay
many eggs. All laying houses which
have not received a spring cleaning
should be cleaned before hot weather
arrives. Any good disinfectant will
answer the purpose in spraying. Use
plenty of it so it will reach all the
cracks and crevices. A spray pump
will force the spray into all the cor-
ners. It is a good plan to use white-
wash on the interior of the house as
it makes the house much lighter.
After a thorough cleansing open the
house as much as possible so as to af-
ford plenty of ventilation.
Feeding is another important fac-
tor of summer management for the
laying flock. Mash is recommended as
the great egg producer at this time of
the year and the birds should consume
more of this than grain. Feeding
grain very lightly in the morning will
accomplish this. If properly fed each
bird should consume about four pounds
of mash and two pounds of grain dur-
ing the month. Along with the feed-
ing of mash and grain give each bird
plenty of succulent green feed and be
sure to have a good supply of clear
fresh cool water available at all
times.
Dairy Cow is Market.
The dairy cow is the dairy farm-
er’s market, or rather, his channel to
market. His crops move to market
through his dairy cattle. No dairy-
man can hope to prosper unless he re-
ceives a good price for the hay, grain,
and other crops he raises on his farm.
The price he receives is dependent up-
on the working ability of his dairy
cows. High or low prices will be re-
alized just according to his cows
whether they have the ability to re-
turn large amounts of milk for feed
consumed.
Whether the dairy cow is a friend
or an enemy is a question every farm-
er should ask regarding every cow in
his herd, and then find the facts. If
she yields him a good price for hay
and other feeds consumed she is a
helper or a friend; otherwise she is a
robber and an enemy. When the facts
are learned, in many cases the cow
should be labeled with a sign reading
' something like this: “I ~m a market
' for your hay and pay $2.50 per ton
for it"
Uther cows in the herd might carry
lake.s showing $5.00 per ton or $6.00
and +0 on up or down the line. Good
cows will return $20.00 or more per
ton. No man can thrive on a dairy
farm unless he gets good prices for
the crops consumed. Every herd
should be carefully checked over and
each poor cow weeded out. No man
can afford to sell hay at $5.00 per ton.
RRR
—
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
DAILY THOUGHT.
Hard things are’ pit-inidgur way not to
stop, ‘but to call out our @ourage and our
strength.—Anon. : ;
1. What is a smart woman?
One who chooses the right sort of
dress for every occasion and knows
how to put on what she chooses.
Chic is not really a question of
spending great amounts of money on
clothes, of having a great qua.tity of
dresses hanging in closets, or of in-
dulging a taste for every luxury. The
rich woman is not, by any means, al-
ways the well-dressed woman. It is,
perhaps, hard for Americans—easy
spenders that we are—to realize this.
We like to buy lavishly. The French
or the international well-dressed woin-
an buys only what she needs. The
loss in every fortune after the war,
and the increasing price of everything
since, has forced her to economy, and
that attitude on her part has had some
influence upon the mode.
2. What is still required of the
smart woman?
To have a distinct style of her own.
This is very important, as a substi-
tute, perhaps, for the luxury of the
past. It is the artist’s touch of today.
‘The woman with strong personality
unconsciously develops a style in her
appearance. The word type could be
substituted here for personality. But
how many women have the rare char-
acteristic of recognizing type, or per-
sonality, and making . capital of it?
Every woman has, however, the
«chance to do so, and any woman who
has not a strongly developed person-
ality must at least study her type and
find out what is most becoming to it.
Beautiful, as well as plain or ugly
women should study this, because, to
be really smart, each one must thor-
oughly understand the sort of looks
she possesses. Sometimes, by accen-
tuating her most prominent fault of
face—such as a large mouth—with
her make-up, a woman can give her-
self such character as to lend to her
ugliness a certain interest and fasecin-
ation. Then, by bringing out her good
points—a fine figure, for instance—
and wearing the kind of dresses which
flatter both face and figure, she may
acquire a very definite personality
that makes her stand out as an .indi-
vidual instead of remaining just the
plain woman she is. The American
woman seems to have very little un-
derstanding of this; she fears to look
different trom her friends and feels
self-conscious about doing anything
which would make her, as she thinks,
conspicuous. That is why we say that
to find out and dress one’s type re-
quires courage, as well as taste and
intelligence.
3. How can economy be shown in
choosing a smart wardrobe ?
By buying only what is necessary
and letting it be of the best.
_ Cheap ciothes are expensive. The
initial cost ‘of ‘good things may be
high, but their wearing power is high
also. It is not necessary to buy ex-
travagantly. A smart woman never
exaggerates the mode, and she does
not buy what is sold to. and worn by
the great public at the moment, but
selects a mode that will be of the fu-
ture. She will have whav might be
called the “advance fashion sense.”
This has its advantages, for the gar-
ments selected will be as good the sec-
ond year as the first. Dresses should
last two years. If one wants to know
just what kind of things will be worn,
one need only look in Vogue. From
an economic point of view, it is of
great importance to plan out . the
wardrobe from year to year and never
deviate from the plan. Dresses should
be bought twice a year—spring and
summer outfits in March v: April,
winter models in September and Oc-
tober. This saves time and money.
The different collections should be
carefully looked over and carefully
thought over before making a selec-
tion. Buying in a hurry is a mistake.
it is well to select a colour (a becom-
ing colour, and a practical colour) and
wear only tones of this one shade,
since whatever goes with one costume
will then go with all. White, black,
and dark blue should be represented in
every wardrobe, but, beside these, the
single colour, adopted and adhered to,
will be found an economy. There are,
however, certain parts of the ward-
robe on which it would be a mistake to
economize. Coats should always be of
the best, as should furs, tailleurs, win-
ter evening gowns, and shoes of all
sorts.
4. What are the occasions which a
smart woman must consider?
Those upon which she must show
her good taste by dressing appropri-
ately, such as:
Traveling; shopping; lunching (at
home or at restaurants); going to
weddings, receptions, garden-parties;
attending races, polo, or outdoor
amusements; taking up any kind of
sport; having afternoon tea at home;
dining, formally or informally, at
home cor abroad; dining at a restau-
rant and going to the theatre; going
to the opera; going to balls.
For all such occasions, a woman
who has any pretensions to chic will
have a suitable outfit, and, as long as
it is suitable and smart; she will not
mind wearing it often. The real ele-
gante of any nationality does not at-
tach much importance to having a
great many of the same s..t of gar-
ment, nor care if she is seen in one
gown day after day, so long as it fits
her and is admirzbie of its kind. She
knows that si.c must dress more plain-
ly in pubiic than in private places,
that to travel in a black velvet dre. >
with a fountain of aigrettes on !l.cr
hat, or to dine at an ordinary resta.-
rant in a siiver ball-dress with a deep
decolletage, would be absurdly out of
place. When in doubt as to wlich of
several costumes will better fit her
aeeds, she will invariably chouse the
plainer. To be overdressed is aways
wrong; while to be simply dressed is
seldom a mistake.
For lemon sauce for fich, squeeze
and strain the juice from a large lem-
on into a saucepan, then add to it one-
quarter pound butter, one-half sait-
spoonful of salt and a saltspoonful of
pepper. Beat over the fire until thick
and hot, but do not let it boil. When
done, mix with the beaten yolks of
two eggs and serve at once.