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Bellefonte, Pa., September 11, 1925.
SSE,
THE SMILE OF A LITTLE CHILD.
There is nothing more pure in heaven,
And nothing on earth more mild,
More full of the light that is divine
Than the smile of a little child.
The sinless lips, half parted
‘With breath as sweet as the air,
And the light that seems so glad to shine
In the gold of the sunny hair.
0, little one smile and bless me!
For somehow—I know not why—
I feel in my soul, when children smile,
That angels are passing by.
I feel that the gates of heaven
Are nearer than I knew,
That the light of hope of that sweet world,
Like the dawn is breaking through.
THE MAN THAT WAS IN HIM.
Four men smoked together on a
wide veranda in the glory of late
afternoon. The sunlight slanted down
over miles of wild lands stretching in
front, and shone gently into their
eyes. A wind brushed past, as always
at this country place. The four men
were very much at ease. :
‘Three of them were alike; but one,
the host, was set apart. Only at the
first glance would they have seemed
of a single breed. True, they were
dressed with the same nicety, the
same precision. They lolled with the
same poise in their big chairs. But
here the likeness stopped. Three were
young men with unlined faces; the
host was in late middle age, his hair
gray, his fine, firm face graven with
the trenches of a thousand battles.
His hands might have been marble,
for strength, yet the slim, long fingers
holding the cigar were those of an
idealist.
“You explain your success as a
railway builder by the fact that you
learned the business from the bottom
up, Austin?” one of the guests was
saying.
The host nodded.
“But what explains your fame as a
statesman, a sccial worker?”
“The same thing—that I got to
know men. I came to know how
staunch, how fine most men are. I've
never stopped studying them. It usu-
ally is a most refreshing thing to go
among them—not as a king goes
among his subjects, but as one of
them. I've often gone out unknown;
and that is the way I’ve kept in touch
with all departments of my railway
lines. And I defy any one to go where
I’ve gone, to do what I've done, and
still remain a snob.”
“It seems queer that you aren’t rec-
ognized when you go out among
them.”
Austin did not reply for a while.
His smoke cloud swirled off in the
wind and he idly watched the length-
ening, wavering shadows of the shak-
ing tree limbs. It was a peaceful,
lovely place, this country home of
Austin’s—acres of cool forest wound
about with enticing paths, wide gar-
dens, still fragrant in the dying sum-
mer, parked lawns and open meadows.
“Men in overalls look very much
alike,” he said at last. “Such expe-
ditions have been the biggest influ-
ence in my life. They taught me to
trust and respect our fellow men.”
He paused, for from somewhere in
the rear of the house there rippled up
to him the happy laughter of a child.
The joy it gave him was incompara-
ble with any worldly thing—John
Austin was old enough to have young
grand-children.
“Yes?” one of the others urged him.
“And I suppose you had some real ex-
periences.”
“One in particular that I thank God
for, Would you care to hear about
it?
I
A stretch of double track on a steep
grale, a length of road that faded in-
to gloom, a white cross like a famish-
ed ghost with outstretched arms, and
a giant warehouse, behind which all
the northern stars were hidden—this
was all. The world was lost in dark-
ness, and Ol’ Ezram, seated with two
companions in the lee of the ware-
house, was lost in dark broodings.
His name had not been Ol’ Ezram
always. No one would guess it to
look at him, but the old man had been
youthful once, in the long-ago, and
had not needed the prefix. Then he
had had a last name too but even he
had almost forgotten what it was. It
did not matter at best. And now he
was known the length and breadth of
the vagabond world as OI’ Ezram.
And the title fitted him. Sitting there
in the shadow of the warehouse, his
thin legs streté¢hed out, his white head
bent a little on his breast, he seemed
as some withered relic of a musty
past. Not that his years were so
many, but his life had been so hard.
Men that walk the trail of ties age
quickly, and the dice had never fallen
right for Ezram.
He seemed small beside his two
companions, perhaps because he was
trying to condense himself beneath his
tattered coat. The winds, shrieking
through a gap in the mountains,
touched his old bones with cold.
Then the man to his left struck a
match to light his pipe, and Ezram’s
face, in all its pathos, was revealed.
It was a kindly old face, beneath its
white stubble, but pinched and wrink-
led like a fallen leaf. A thousand lit-
tle lines about his eye-corners spelled
good humor, if there was any sort of
justification for it. But tonight, as
OI Ezram waited for a freight, his
long hard years were swinging back
to him, and his heart was heavy, in-
deed. Tonight his face was clouded,
and there was a hint. of desperation in
the somber glowings of his eyes.
His two companions did not notice
these things. They were looking out
into the night. And the flaring match
revealed their faces too. One was that
of a middle-aged man, lined by trial,
but strong in conquest. A stranger to
¥zram, he—not long on the road, per-
haps. Portland Pete was the negligi-
ble. His coarse face revealed nothing
but a coarse nature and a useless life.
The years were swinging back, and
in Ezram’s mind they had all been
wasted, The voices that had called
him and lured him to the rocks at last.
The joyous lands that he had always
thought lay just beyond had been but
fancies, after all, and the long road
had had no ena.
“Just beyond,” he said aloud. “And
it wasn’t there at all.” .
“Ay, what ye sayin’?” asked Port-
land Pete. :
The old man looked about and some-
thing of his dauntless spirit crept back
into his face. It was a kind of joke,
after all, a cruel one, but yet a joke.
So he cackled a little, in his funny old
way.
Great heaven!” exclaimed the
stranger. “What are you laughing
about?”
“Might as well laugh, stranger.
When ye get my age, ye laugh at
everything ye can find to laugh at. An’
ye drink—hard—to make ye laugh
easier. It’s a good ol’ joke, and I'm
the goat. :
“I thought I’d have a house by this
time, and grown-up sons, and grand-
sons. But the end of the road is as
far away as ever. Just like you, I
was al’ays goin’ to go some place, and
there wasn’t no place to go. I thought
by now I'd have a fire-place to toast
my shins at— Look!”
Ol’ Ezram pointed a stringy arm.
“I don’t see nothin’,” growled Pete.
“You see heaven, that’s what ye see.
A light, burstin’ from a window. You
know what that light’s from! It’s
from a house, a home, where there’s a
kind woman, and the noise of kiddies
goin’ to bed, and the fire's a-crackin’.
An ol’ man, that might ha’ been me,
with a grand-son asleep in his lap.
The col’ can’t get in there. No evil,
no harm can get in there. And here
am I—oh, God! here am I—sittin’
lonely and col’ in the dark.”
The gloom tightened about them,
and they heard each other’s heavy
breathing. Then the old man laughed
again.
“To think how I've been fooled! Just
to think.” And he sat there chuck-
ling, lost in his ons thoughts.
Trembling through the night came
the far-off wail of a freight. The dark
farms beside the warehouse stirred a
little, and turned their eyes down the
faintly-gleaming rails. It was almost
time to go.
And soon they could hear the en-
gine, panting up the steep grade fo-
ward them. The younger of Ezram’s
two companions rose and stretched his
legs. Still Ezram sat motionless. The
headlight flamed up the rails now, and
the other of the two stood up, yawn-
ing. Although he was middle-aged,
Ezram noticed that he had a youthful
vigor. And now the train was roar-
ing almost up to them, so with a final
chuckle the patriarch rose too.
The breaks squeaked, the train
slowed down and stopped. There was
switching to do here.
“Don’t like this pebbly track—aw-
ful on the skin,” observed Ol’ Ezram.
“Guess I'll ride atop.”
“And get booted off the first junc-
tion,” said Pete.
“What of it? We'll get to the next
town with any luck at all, and we're
goin’ to catch the Sunset Limited from
there, ain’t we?” The old man was
‘skinning up to the top of a great red
box car. The stranger followed him,
and after a moment’s hesitation Port-
land Pete brought up the rear. “No
brakie’s goin’ to wander down this far
between here and the first town up the
hill. Booted off nothin’!”
A brakeman’s lantern gleamed far
ahead; the engines snorted and puff-
ed; cars jolted and a conductor shout-
ed orders. Then the train moved on.
“Just switching?” asked the stran-
er.
“When she starts out like this, so
steady like, you know she’s pullin’
out,” explained Ezram. And soon the
warehouse, the length of road, and the
stretch of double track were far be-
hind them.
It was an unusually steep up-hill
grade they traversed, and the engines
groaned beneath the burden. The three
men rode in silence. Ezram lay with
his white face bathed in starlight, his |
tattered coat across his chest. The
night wind swished over him and like-
ly chilled him, but he gave no sign.
In a little while they drew into the
long, dark switchyards of a small city
—a place of flaring fireboxes and im-
penetrable walls of darkness, lights
like fireflies and shrieking engines and
nebulous clouds of smoke. The train
stopped with a grinding of brakes. A
brakeman approached with bobbing
lantern, and the three tramps hugged
the car top. Not that they cared if
they were ordered off now, but it was
always sport to fool the “brakies.”
But that official did not look up. He
walked down the length of the car,
and they heard the rattle of coupling
pins. A moment later the fore part
of the train was jerked forward, and
the three men saw that they were up-
on its rear car.
“Complicated switchin’ this,” ob-
served Ezram.
“Aw, this ain’t nothin’. We'd bet-
ter skin off and lay for the Sunset
Limited, or get kicked off.”
“I kindo’ like to get pulled ’round.
What's up now?”
The train, by sundry advances and
backings, and after much switching,
backed into a dark siding. A brake-
man approached and took out the
coupling pins just ahead. Then he
turned and walked back toward the
engines.
“Don’t quite figure this out,” said
Ezram.
“I do, you fool,” was Pete’s rejoin-
der. “This car’s goin’ to be left here,
and us with it.”
“I guess youre right.” The old
man sat up, and pawed his way into
his coat. “We can wait the Limited
right here.”
Then a sudden recoil shot him full
length into the car top. The train,
moving forward, then backing, had
struck the uncoupled car a shattering
blow. ;
“I just don’t quite get this,” mur-
mured Ezram. “Mixed up orders,
maybe. And where we goin?”
The three men sat bolt upright,
staring. There had been a mix-up of
orders; the train, instead of moving
steadily forward, had backed up again,
and the force of the blow had propel-
led the heavy box car along the track
a way. And, strangely, its speed was
steadily increasing.
“Don’t quite like this,” said Ez-
iram, “Can't say as I do!”
Then, in a flash, they understood.
The blow of the backing traim had
started the car—and now it was run-
ning away with them, back down the
grade. a
“We're on a siding—we’ll be wreck-
ed cure,” Portland Pete shrieked. He
stood up to jump, but OI’ Ezram, jerk-
ing at his coat tails, pulled him back.
“We're past it and on to the main
track already,” he shouted—then,
meditatively, “and goin’ lickety-
split!”
For a single moment they sat, dull,
stupefied, their strength ebbing at
their finger tips. The car moved like
lightning now. Then OI’ Ezram
scrambled to his feet.
“To the brakes,” he shouted. He
seized the hand brake of the car, and
the others leaped to help him. The
rusted shoes groaned; but slowly, in-
deed, their speed was checked. The
car, loaded with pig iron, had devel-
oped a terrific impetus.
“Pull, pull, you fool,” Pete begged.
His great shoulders writhed—and all
at once something pulled free. They
could turn the wheel quite easily now,
and for a moment Pete turned it round
and round like a child with a broken
toy. Faster and faster they plunged
into the night. In the strength of his
desperation Pete had broken the hand
brake.
“Now we've done it!” he cried. “Oh,
if we'd just jumped—if we’d just seen
and jumped in time. And now we're
goners, we're goners, sure as—"’
“Shut up and let me think!”
OI’ Ezram had released the brake,
and now he stood on the car top, ap-
parently unconscious of their swift
descent, the tip of a skinny finger at
his temple. He was a ridiculous old
figure, erect upon the car top. He
balanced himself on the rocking car
as unconsciously as a ship captain on
his storm-swept*deck.
“We're goners, sure,” Pete was say-
ing, as he fumbled with the useless
wheel. “We'll jump the track in a
minute. We better jump.”
“Shut up and let me think,” Ezram
commanded, louder than before. His
coat tails flapped in the wind, like a
scarecrow’s, but instinctively the oth-
ers turned hopeful eyes to him. “So
ye’ve busted the brake, have ye? But
thank God, this is the steepest part of
the grade.”
Luckily for them, OI’ Ezram spoke
the truth. If the grade had continued
thus for long the car would have been
derailed at the first curve in spite of
the steadying influence of its tons of
pig iron. As it was, they were hurl-
ing down the darkness at a stupend-
ous rate, faster than ever freight
trains move. The lights of farm-
houses streaked a second and were
gone. The click of the rails was al-
most continuous, and the white sign-
posts trailed by like a procession of
fleet- winged ghosts.
“Are we goners?” asked the stran-
ger. His voice trembled a little, oth-
erwise he seemed unmoved.
: OY’ Ezram turned toward him sharp-
y
“You're cool enough. No, you're
not. And now I've got it all thought
out.” :
And thereupon he sat himself down
on the car top.
“But how, how?” Portland Pete
was babbling. “We’re goin’ faster all
the time. We’ll run into somethin’—
some time, sure. Those fellows back
there didn’t see us go, and they won’t
send word ahead.”
“You’re right there, son. Like as
not they think we’re roostin’ back
there on the sidin’, quiet-like, instead
o’ floatin’ to hobo heaven. Leave it to
a brakie to be bone-headed—haven’t I
fooled ’em every day for the last for-
ty years? Besides, it was darker’n
pitch, and we didn’t make much noise
at first.”
“But, man! tell us what we can do.”
“Lot’s o’ time, lot’s o ’time. Ten
minutes, anyway, before we got to get
busy. Now, here’s the proposition.”
“Yes?” urged the stranger. His
voice was steadier now.
“There’s a place about ten mile
from here where you can get off.
There’s a little rise—and while we’ll
likely be goin’ fast enough that we’ll
go right over that rise, we'll sure slow
down enough that you and Pete there
can ‘op off.”
“Thank God!”
“Maybe you’ll sprain your ankle, or
somethin’, but with any luck at all you
can get off without any serious mis-
’ap.”
“But what will happen to this car?
This grade goes on for twenty miles,
doesn’t it?”
“The car—and I—"” The old man
chuckled. “We be goin to take the
chance of fortun’.”
“And you're not goin’ to get off
with us?” Pete asked blankly.
“No, Iisn’t. I don’t get such a
care-free ride as this often.”
“But man!” And the stranger seiz-
ed his shoulder. “It means death!”
“I got my reasons. And Ill tell you
’em if you want to know. Only thing
is, don’t object. This car is loaded
with somethin’ all-fired heavy, and if
we should bust into a train on this
grade—"
“But you're stayin’ on won’t help
any.”
“That shows ye got no foresight.”
He paused a breath, listening to the
clicking rails. “We go through a town
pretty quick; but at this hour o’ night
no one but the agent will likely be at
the station. It’s pretty dark there,
too. Comin’ through like a hell-bat,
no light and no whistle, nine chances
out o’ ten he won’t see us at all in the
dark; he’ll just think it’s a hand car.
If he does see us he won’t know what
to do quick enough if there ain’t no-
body to tell him, And as sure as sure,
if this runaway car isn’t wrecked be-
fore, we'll crash into the Sunset Lim-
ited just a little beyond the town. It
would be the worst wreck in the his-
tory of the road—just as sure as
God.”
The stranger sat up perfectly
straight. Pete leaned forward, breath-
ing hard. Ezram forked about in his
pocket until he found a match; then
he looked at his old silver watch. Fast-
er and faster sped the car, on into
the yawning darkness. They could
not see even the gleam of a rail.
“What can you do, man? How can
you save them?” asked the stranger
tensely.
“] stay on, and when we go hell-
‘bless you.”
bent through the town I'll pass ‘em |
the word to wreck us at the first de-
railin’ switch.”
“But it’s death—it’s death, I say.
You'll be killed when this car is
wrecked. You'll be killed if ye try to
It was Pete, a sob in his voice, that
pleaded.
“Don’t argy with me, boys, I've got !
my min’ all made up. The brakies !
didn’t see us go, and the agent won’t
see us come, and if I got off with you,
there’d be a wreck—sure. You might !
as well get ready to ’op off. We reach !
that hill in about five minutes, at this ,
rate.” . |
“You fool,” breathed Pete. “What |
do ye owe ’em? Bunch o’ plutes that
wouldn’t give ye a square meal if ye
was starvin’. Don’t be a fool. Get off
with us.”
“Women and kids on that triin— |
somebody’s women and somebody's
kids,” was the quiet reply. “Maybe
I can’t swing it, but I'm sure ready to
give this old life to try.”
“Maybe you're wastin’ your life.”
“Maybe I am, maybe so. But I'll’
take a chance.” :
For a flash no one spoke. The wind
roared in their ears; an auto light on
the highway gleamed and was gone.
“I'll help you, OI’ Ezram!” the
stranger cried.
The old man turned in amazement,
and they eyed each other in the dark.
“But I won’t” swore Pete. “I don’t
owe ’em nothin’. My life’s as good as
theirs.” The car swayed as it shot
about a curve.
“No,” Ezram replied, after a mo-
ment’s suspense. “It only needs one.
And you're fairly young yet—good
for several years. No use o’ any one
but me stayin’.”
“Do you think—do you suppose
that I'd shirk when there’s work like
this to do? The old men—and the
women and children—are always first |
off the sinking ship.”
“But it’s wrong. My days are over.
Don’t argy with me son. Get ready—
hardly three minutes more. You
can’t do no good by stayin’. Maybe
you’ve got chil’ren yourself.” Ezram
looked up hopefully.
“Yes, but they’re grown up and in-
dependent—"
“Don’t either of you stay,” shouted
Pete. “Plutes—that would kick ye
from their doors tomorrow! We didn’t
set the car loose. Let ’em take their
chance.”
“Hush!” The stranger turned to
him, his voice hardening. “Old man,
I'm with you—to the last ditch!”
“Don’t be a fool, stranger,” urged
Ezram. “I know you've got the nerve,
but it ain’t needed. I'd get off too, if
there was any other way of gettin’
word to the switchman. I'm an ol’
man, and my time’s almost over any-
how. Don’t be a fool.”
“I won’t leave you here!”
“Then I'll have to boot ye off.”
“You haven’t the strength. But I'll |
play the game with you—Ilet chance |
decide which of us iz to stay. Pete,
give me your deck of cards—quick.”
“1 won’t.”
The stranger leaped toward him
across the rocking car, and Pete, sud-
denly cowed, sullenly drew out his
soiled deck. :
“Oh, you fools,
fools!” he cursed.
And now the older men were face to
face again.
“Do you agree?” came the same
hard voice.
“Yes,” sighed the old man; “I agree.
The man with the low card stays.”
“Ace low?”
“Yes.”
“You in this, Pete?”
“No, I'm gettin’ off.”
“Then draw, old Ez. Quick!”
“T’ll draw—but if there’s any jus-
tice in this world, I'll get the low card.
No hurry—we’re almost a mile from
the hill yet.” .
The stranger struck a match, and it
flared an instant in the wind. Each
man drew a card. Then anothe:' match
was struck.
“Six spot,” said the stranger.
“Four,” shouted Ezram. “I stay.”
The other snatched the card from
the lean hand, and struck another
match.
“You'd lie—even in a game for
death,” he said, wonderingly. “Yours
is a jack. I stay, instead. And now
we're at the base of the hill.”
Indeed they were. Portland Pete
swung down the ladder, ready to drop
off. The heavy car was bounding up
the little grade now, and its wild pace
was slowly checked.
“You're a man, stranger,” said Ez-
ram. “Let no one doubt it!” Their
hands, fumbling in the dark, met and
clasped at last.
“And so are you, O’ Ezram. God
. i
you miserable .
And OI’ Ezram disappeared over
the side, his lean hands gripping the
ladder rungs. The wind roared no
more, and for a brief space the man
on top thought that the car would not
reach the crest of the hill. The chill
lifted from his heart. But he hoped
in vain, for slowly, steadily, the car
crept on. It reached the top—and al-
ost stopped. Portland Pete dropped
off.
But the momentum had been too
great; and the stranger became aware
that the car was speeding up again.
He heard one sound: the voice of Port-
land Pete, safe now upon the ground,
shrieked down to him.
“Oh, you fools,
fools!” he cried.
And for a moment the stranger felt
all alone and afraid, at the shadowed
exit of the world. Then a white head
suddenly appeared above the side of
the car, and some one laughed in the
gust. The stranger sobbed—just
once, as a child might,—and Ol’ Ez-
ram climbed back aboard.
“Fooled ye agin’, stranger,” he
cackled. “Fooled ye agin’.”
“Couldn’t you get off, man?”
“Easy enough. But do you think,
old scout, that I'd let you take this
last wild ride alone. We'll ride togeth-
er—and we'll jump together.”
“And if we die, we'll die together.”
“You said it. Besides, how do you
contrive to pass ’em word, down at the
station—goin’ fifty mile a hour.”
“I hadn't thought of that.”
“See, you ain’t got no foresight,
stranger. Give me a piece of paper.
Quick. Thanks. Now a pencil. And
while I'm writin’ kick off a shoe and
have it ready.”
(Concluded next week.)
you miserable
Formation of Habits
Makes for Lost Motion
One morning I happened to be up
early and went to a lunch counter res-
taurant for breakfast at about 8:40.
‘The place was so crowded I couldn't
get near the ceunter. But only 15
minutes later the rush was over and
there were seats to spare, Fred Kelly
writes in the Nation's Business Maga-
zine. Which made me think that one
of the silliest things about us human
beings is our habit of all trying to
be at the same place at the same time.
Why shouldn’t there be more scat-
teritg of hours of eating and hours
of labor? Why must so many reach
their offices at about 9 o'clock? Why
should not subway and street car rush
hours be more divided? Not jong ago
I walked at 2 a. m. along a famous
thoroughfare that a few hours earlier
was bedlam. The street was quiet and
delightful. I felt as if 1 should like
to sleep all day when everybody else
is getting in one another's way and do
my moving about at night when others
are asleep. Why not? Why couldn't
more work be done at night? Half the
men who go to offices at a certain hour
do so only because the boss hasn't
enough imagination to recognize tha*
it isn’t really necessary.
The chief statistician for a big in-
stitution tells me that when he occa-
! sionally takes a day off and works at
. his place in the country he is twice
as useful to his employers as if he
were at the office. Because he is in
. a quiet spot, free from interruption,
"he naturally accomplishes more work
and his employers get the benefit. But
if he were to ask for the privilege of
doing all his work at home he un-
doubtedly would be regarded as a
shirk. His employers like to know
that he is at a certain desk in the
main office. Because it is necessary
for a few people to do their work at
the office, the boss fails tp recognize
that it is not equally essential for
everybody.
What a lot of lost motion may be
traced to following rules and customs
—to doing what is generally consid-
ered the proper thing!
Honolulu
Honolulu this time was a revelation.
A magic wand had touched the place
and transformed it, even as Miami
and Los Angeles have been trans-
formed. It is now a flourishing city in
a setting of surpassing loveliness.
There is life and progress and enter-
prise on all sides. The down-town dis-
trict has become metropolitan and up-
to-date. The mountain sides are ter-
raced with beautiful houses to which
perfect roads, flower-lined, wind up-
ward under canopies of great spread-
ing trees. 3
One cannot be long in Honolulu
without observing the racial problems
whi® confront its administrators.
Over 42 per cent of the population is
Japanese, while only 8 per cent is
American, British and German. The
remainder is divided between Filipinos,
Chinese, Hawaiian, semi-Hamaiian
and Portuguese. I have seen a photo-
graph of 32 school girls, each of a
| different race or racial combination.—
i John T. McCutcheon, in Hearst's In-
ternational-Cosmopolitan.
Her Own Fault
The train was about to start when
the door of a compartment containing
a solitary commercial traveler was
flung open and a young woman entered
and dropped into a corner seat.
After a while the traveler said, po-
dtely: “Excuse me, miss, but—"
“If you speak or annoy me I'll pull
che communication cord,” snapped the
girl.
The train rolled on, and after a
engthy pause the young man made
another attempt to speak, but again
the girl threatened to give the alarm.
At last the train slowed up at a sta-
tion and the traveler rose to his feet.
“I don’t care whether you like it or
not,” he said, “but I want that bag of
strawberries you've been sitting on for
the last six miles.”
His Indifference
“Hey there! hey!” yelled a hillside
dweller to a bypasser in the big road.
“I’ve. just hearn terrible news!”
“Say you—p'tul—have?’ returned
Gap Johnson of Rumpus Ridge, who
was the bypasser.
“Yes! A feller come a-runnin’ over
che hill and told me another feller had
told him that he’s hearn they was a-
tellephonin’ out from town that the
world is comin’ to an end day atter
t'mor’ |”
%Aw, well, I hearn suth’'n’ of the
kind, but didn’t pay no pertickler 'ten-
tion to the talk; I'm goin’ down to
Shellback — p’tu! — county t'mor’.— |
Kansas City Star.
Small Girl’s Joy Ride
After climbing into a parked auto-
mobile and playfully releasing the
brakes, five-year-old Jennie Verino of
Providence, R. I, decided to see the
thing through. She clutched the steer-
ing wheel gamely and remained with
the machine while it ran wild down a
hill and into a fence. She made sev-
eral attempts at keeping the car in the
roadway, and at one point shouted to
a boy playmate to ‘get out of the
way.” She was unhurt, but the wheels
of the machine were broken.
Too Many Reindeer
A census taken this spring in Swe
den’s northernmost department dis-
closed that the nomadic Lapps pos-
sess 183,626 reindeer. The animals
have increased 57 per cent since 1921,
when the last census showed 116,979.
The present reindeer population Is
greater than Is consistent with the
amount of pasturage available,
w
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
DAILY THOUGHT.
“God sent His singers upon earth,
With songs of gladness and of mirth,
That they might touch the hearts of men,
And bring them back to heaven again.”
—Longfellow,
The dress of severe simplicity, the
one-piece slip on over the head model
and with little or no trimming, will
soon make its exit from milady’s
wardrobe. Yet this departure of a
long-time favorite mode, enforced as
it is, does not mean that actually
women are to be denied the comfort
and pleasure of wearing practical
frocks that have come to mean so
much to them. Rather, it is to be un-
derstood, has the dress of our choice
simply been made to take on some de-
sirable details that add interest to the
mode of the one-piece dress. The
embarrassment of plainness that had,
without doubt, become somewhat mo-
notonous is to be eliminated.
In a dress of fine wool a French de-
signer introduces box plaits at the
froat to provide the greater detail of
design and the skirt flare that makes
the straight-line, one-piece dress mod-
ish and acceptable for autumn wear;
but there are other examples at home
as well as from abroad where the back
flare or the side flare to the skirt, com-
bined with yoke and front fullness,
tucked pannels, cascades, interesting
collars and the application of trim-
ming, provides the details of enhance-
ment now demanded by fashion for
the long-time favorite, the one-piece
frock.
Bordered fabrics, both silk and wool
are decidedly in favor for autumn and
winter dresses, but, in keeping with
the style trend in design, the straight
line simplicity that prevailed in sum-
mer frocks of bordered material has
been forced to give way to more in-
teresting development of these deco-
rative fabrics.
The flare and greater skirt width
being so generally demanded, it might
seem to be impossible to provide these
by bordered materials along with the
practicability of the one-piece frock
of our present understanding, but de-
signers both here and abroad have
conceived wonderful results along
lines decreed by fashion, yet conform-
ing to the demands of busy feminini-
ty for ease of adjustment, youthful-
ness, comfort and good style.
However, though new dresses and
apparel generally are elaborated by
cut and ornamentation, millinery is
conservatively trimmed, and some
hats are noticeable chiefly because of
the scarcity of trimming employed.
Distinctive in the group-of untrim-
med hats are the turbans of velvet,
| where trimming is conspicuous by its
absence.
Where trimming is employed rib-
bon is extensively used, sometimes
flatly plaited and correspondingly flat-
ly applied, or is actually part of the
hat; as, for instance, where a wide
ribbon forms a high standing crown-
line for a small velvet shape or tri-
corne points to a round turban or
wing-shaped sections to a large brim-
med hat.
The vogue of painted doll faces as
ornamentation, seen on many acces-
sories of dress, is likewise exploited
as a hat trimming, the queer little
heads in many instances having flow-
ing locks or closely cropped hair con-
verted from ostrich in some form. :
Clipped ostrich is used as facing on
turn-back brims of medium small tur-
ban-shaped hats of velvet, and in fact
all the various forms of ostrich are
see1 in the autumn showing of new
hats—not an extravagant use of os-
trich as in the days of the willow
plume, but a discreet use of this love-
ly trimming that fits in beautifully
and most appropriately with fashion’s
ruling that there must be this com-
ing season more decorative details in
woman’s dress.
Greater detail in cut and in trim-
ming is the accepted vogue for au-
tumn, judging from the new clothes,
dresses and coats in particular already
exploited. Front, side, back and all-
around flares and fullness, long
sleeves with many types of wrist fin-
ish, higher necklines often finished by
a collar are outstanding details.
No definite or concentrated move-
ment in the raising of the waistline
is yet noted, but the varying position
of this important feature gives rise to
the prediction that the natural waist-
line will, before long, be rather gen-
erally stressed.
Already there are for evening wear
may lovely dance frocks with a de-
cidedly normal placement of the
waistline, but the examples of this
trend in day-time dresses are still few
and far between.
However, the fact that the waist-
line placement in day-time dresses var-
ies almost bewilderingly seems to sub-
stantiate the contention that a decid-
ed change in waistline placement is
not far off. In the meantime coat
dresses, bolero frocks and more fitted
effects in straight-line models add a
new interest to new dresses for au-
tumn and winter.
The coat suit is becoming more and
more popular, and it is predicted that
by spring this very smart and prac-
tical attire for street wear will be en-
joying some of its old-time populari-
Y Naturally the return to favor of the
coat suit means a renewed interest in
biouses and skirts, and the former are
already quite well represented by de-
cidedly tailored shirts of wash-silk
shirting in white, in stripes and in the
lovely blues, tans and grays that have
for some time been popular in men’s
negilgee or sport shirts.
Autumn apparently brings no
change in the vogue of scarfs unless it
be an increased interest and a wider
use of these lovely accessories. No-
ticeable among the new scarfs are
small neck scarfs of silk and of wool
in check plaid and multicolored de-
signs, and others that, quite the Te-
verse, are shawl-like in size, done in
crepe silk, embroidered and fringed
or decorated with multicolored ap-
pliques of crepe in cubist motifs on
painted backgrounds in two colors. 64
inch squares of glove silk deeply and
effectively bordered by designs done
in brocade effect are new shawl
squares, that, as an outcome of the
scarf as an evening wrap, are this
season introduced in evening shades
and for adjustment that makes them
literally evening wraps.—Philadelphia
Public Ledger. :