HH EE mmm——
There, little girl, don’t cry;
They have broken your slate, I know;
And your tea set blue
And your play house, too,
Are things of the long ago;
But childish trouble will soon pass by,
There, little girl, don't cry;
There, little girl, don't cry;
They have broken your slate, 1 know;
And the wild glad ways
Of your school-girl days
Are things of the long ago:
But life and love will soon come by:
There, little girl, don’t cry.
There, little girl don’t cry;
They have broken your heart, I know;
And the rainbow gleams
Of your youthful dreams
Are things of long ago;
But Heaven holds all for which you sigh;
There, little girl, don't cry.
James Whitcomb Riley
GREEN ORCHIDS
You noticed her eyes first. Green
eyes resembling the impatient sea.
ou noticed her hands next Little
hands with long, slim fingers that
painted sleek ladies for magazine
covers and drew broad-shouldered
heroes for magazine stories. Then
you became conscious of her name—
Dorine—an odd name, but one that
suited her slim person.
You heard talk about her, laugh-
ing talk.
“She has no inhibitions,” people
would say of Dorine.
They said that when they found
her telling the world, “I'm in love
1" or “I've just met a man
who positively is breaking my heart!”
Hannah smiled at these outbursts.
Hannah, a kind, loving sister, with
her protruding teeth, her unattrac-
tive figure, and her great heart. It
was she who pettee and worshipped
and spoiled Dorine because she con-
sidered her pretty and popular and
a genius, Because Dorine enjoyed
life and liked being admired.
“When you're really in love”
Hannah said, “you won't talk about
it”
Then Dorine would smile. Smile
charitably, What did Hannah know
about love? Hannah who had been
adored by only one beau, an indus-
trious young doctor whom she mar-
ried. For that matter, what did any
one know about love? privately
estioned Dorine. She, who had
ry herself in that state dozens
of times, but secretly wondered if
there was such a thing. The real
thing. The thrilling, heart-to-heart
ideal, soul-mate romance you read
about and wished you could believe
from the time you first envied Cin-
derella and her Prince, until, per-
haps, the day you died.
urely somewhere, somehow, she
would meet him. The genuine him.
She used to think that, feeling
foolish, when she was alone. Other
women must have the same sort
of thoughts she reasoned, or why
Hr mr rere
competent, slender, fascinating fin-
gers over black and white piano
keys.
They were introduced in a noisy
song-publishing house, while the
racuous voices of vaudeville sopranos
conflicted with the tin-panny selec-
tions being in the various
small booths that lined the place.
The manager had sent for her to de-
a dozen song covers.
. “Dorine, of course you've met
Scott Mason,” some one said,
She dimpled. “No, I haven't.”
Scott laughed, that roaring laugh
of his. And they both thought it
was fate. For had he not, only the
previous season, composed the score
for “Don’t, Don’t Dorine,” the in-
ternational musical comedy success!
“You're the first authentic Dorine
I've ever met,” he said. “Most girls
claim that's their name because
they want me to play my Dorine
tunes.”
Right then and there he sat down
at the piano.
“Do you remember this?" he ask-
ed, as those fleet fingers of his
traveled swiftly over the keyboard.
“Don't, don’t, Dorine
That's what they say,
Tum—tum—tum —tum—"
A final, quick smashing chord,
then he suddenly swirled around on
the piano stool and impulsively
clasped both her hands within his
own
is my lucky
“It earned me
“You see, Dorine
name,” he explained.
a million dollars.”
Next, in his characteristic fashion,
he changed the subject. ‘Come on,
let's get away from this bedlam!"
And she had gone. Gone out with
this self-centered boy. A boy so
young, so talented, so impetuous, so
—-so—like herself.
He helped her into his car. They
sped up the Drive. It was spring.
The trees were commencing to bud,
and the grass to show green on the
dark brown soil. The very air seem-
ed happy.
They talked about things. Peo-
ple and life. Books and music. But
of themselves mostly.
They laughed a gread deal and the
time flew by as if on wings. One
hour. They were in the country
now. Two hours. The sun went
down. They took no notice. Three.
The stars came out. The moon was
bright,
Dorine's heart sang, and her eyes
shone with a soft, glad light. She
knew now. There was such a thing
as love.
So it began. Their wonderful,
too- good- to-be-true companionship.
broadcast
This time Dorine did not
would they sing such songs? There
was one now, one of Gershwin's.
Ironic, that it may have epitomized
every girl's dream, when
most effectually by a hard-
boiled night-club hostess.
“Some day he'll come along,
e and strong,
The man I love.” ne
In the meanwhile there was her
work, her absorbing work,
She had watched her friends.
Leatrice, who married for money.
Leatrice, who proffered advice in
her smug, self-satisfied way, as she
sat in her smug, over-decorated, too
new apartment.
after
“Love comes
Leatrice had said.
Dorine did not believe this. May-
be it never came at all, but it did
not, it could not, come that way.
Be like Leatrice. Marry a man for
support. Marry a man because he
had a bank account. a man
for the sake of getting married. A
man not repulsive, not attractive,
just negative.
The very thought made Dorine
cringe.
There was Evelyn, To Dorine her
case appeared worst of all. Evelyn
who had everything. Looks and
brains and money and youth. Evelyn
who, like Dorine, always obtained
exactly what she wanted, so when
she wanted Henry Patterson she
simply went out and got him.
“It's love, real love,” she had told
Dorine.
It seemed like love. Hel pos-
sessed eyes for no gir! Be i
and Evelyn was unable to see a man
outside of her Henry. Thus they
were married. Dorine had been
bridesmaid. Everybody said it was
a love match. Now, two short years
after their wedding, ple saw
Evelyn going places with various
young men, and there was talk of
Henry making love to another girl.
“Sooner or later one or the other
gets bored,” Evelyn explained to
Dorine.
Then Dorine had dinner with them
~Evelyn and Henry, They fought.
Hurled nasty words at each other
in the presence of strangers. It
was disgusting. Their semi-public
quarrel made rine vow that if she
ever did find romance she would
keep it intact and not let it dis-
solve into just a series of meant-to
hurt retorts.
Probably there was no such thing
as romance anyway.
think that.
have uttered those words, and in ker
right mind, too. “Just imaginative
glamour.”
thing like the
hostess sang about, except that he
was not big and strong. He was
thin and rather white, and the
lamps in his spacious studio em-
it was
marriage,” ©
i
i
to a
|
| had
But of course she said Thames. Across the Tiber. Across
those things only because she met | the Rhine.
him. For he had come along, some- Delaware. The
man the night-club | sissippi.
phasized the golden glints of his’
curly brown hair, as he sat, running |
the fact that she was in love.
with happiness.
Her feelings for Scott were too
sacred for other people's ears. Hours
spent with him seemed perfect in
themselves;
moments that must not be
by description to others.
They dreamed aloud. Always.
At 0] Dorine, snug-
gling the soft, flattering fur of
her white ermine wisp. Glad little,
proud little, very-much-in-love little
rine. Her small head held high.
So happy, so content, just to be
close at Scott's side; wearing his
flowers and smiling into-his face.
Green orchids. He frequently sent
them to her.
“To match your eyes,” he said.
In restaurants. Those funny, man-
nish restaurants he selected. How
She detested the
he loved steak!
heavy food, but ordered it, too. Not
knowing, not caring.
chanically swallowing the meat, con-
scious only of Scott's expressive
bomb.
'Dorine’s woman intuition sensed the
| beginning of the end.
She |
kept silent, and her face glowed
little, private, joyful
marred
Mechanically
putting the fork to her mouth, me-
noise like an aero would |
obediently jump forward. It could
go one hundred and forty miles an
hour. But not here in America,
where the roads would never hold
and the policemen were on
H had done it ,though, in Germany.
Or was it Austria? Like a kid he
told her about that, proudly repeat-
ing the story many times. No speed
limits over there. Three hours. He
had passed very well, was a born
mechanic anyway, The roads were
3 You wore
goggles, rode so fast.
ay Ln his dimly-lit studia
on the nineteenth floor of a sky-
scraper. High above humanity, lis-
tening to his melodies; soft, sweet
songs composed to her. Songs that
were intended to form the backbone
of the new operetta.
In the beginning he asked her to
him. Over and over again.
She settled that. “No,” she finally
answered. “Then, if this romance
peters out, there'll be a tiresome,
unpleasant divorce trial. It would
be different if I were just an aver-
age woman, dependent on a man
for my board and lodging. But I
can earn my own living and a darn
one!
“Don’t you see?” she continued.
“It's ali so perfect mow. It would
kill me if we grew to belike Evelyn
and Henry. Let's keep this ideal
romance and quit when it first starts
to fade, not after it rots!”
“When it first starts to fade.”
The sentence rang in their heads.
“Word of honor,” he had said.
“Word of honor,” she had echoed.
Then, just a few weeks later, he-
’
cause they were both young an
impulsive and prided themselves up-
on being honorable, their °~ heaven-
on-earth was disrupted by a minute
A mere fire-cracker. But
She had not been altogether in
the right. She admitted that to
herself. But even if he was dis-
turbed, there was no excuse for
Scott to have acted the way he did,
and in front of people, too. Like
Like Evelyn's Henry.
After it was over, she sat silent,
alone in her room, The whole in-
cident came back. It ran itself off,
a little motion picture whirling in-
side her brain. Scott, working in
his study. She, entering the outer
hall with two friends. They were
gay, and their voices carried. She
had laughed. Too I . Her last :
laugh, so it seemed. r hilarity
was cruelly struck from her lips,
from her entire being, as she heard
Scott's voice bellowing down the cor-
ridor.
“Can that hyena laugh of yours,
will you!” I'm trying to work!”
Hyena laugh! Only two months
| before he had likened it to a water-
fall, to the tinkling of musical bells.
And now laugh. The words
stung. They lashed her, They
hurt.
No doubt it would have passed over,
But the next occasion when he said
something mean, Dorine knew she
could mot curb her temper and
would be sure to cross an-
a
swer at him. In bo. 0 they wire
bound to become like Evelyn and 8Y
Henry. Like any number of dis-
agreeable couples. This is what she
dreaded. This is what she felt would
happen. She could not see her ro-
mance degenerate into cheap battles.
‘Rather leave it now, before it was
too late.
So Dorine quietly walked into his
study, trembling a little, as she stood |
close to Scott's desk.
He looked up. “Well what is it?”
he asked, in the querulous tones of
a naughty small boy who is asham-
himself,
eyes, his delicately modeled hands the ed of
schoolboyish way his hair curled,
and the lovely things he said.
At parties. Gay, laughing, every-
body there parties. She had heard
things. Remarks
back. Loud whispers.
nes.
“Y'know who that is, don’t you?
Yeah, you wouldn't think she made
so much money. Such a cute little
girl. Doesn't look a bit like an
artist. Not messy or dirty or Green-
wich Villagey or anything. Yes,
they're seen together all the time.
He? My dear, you must have sung
his songs.
show of his, ‘Don’t, Don't, Dorine?’
They say he named it after her.
Yeah. Dorine is the inspiration for
all his music. He's got a musical
comedy on now, about a read-headed
sinner. No, her hair's not red. But
I guess he wouldn't
He's working on his new operetta.
A friend of a friend of mine heard
some of the music. Says it's a wow!”
Other times, in his car. Sitting
close beside him. Cheeks aglow.
Loving the feel of the fresh air
roughly brushing across her face.
Adoring the easy, eompetent way
he drove the , low, gun-metal
colored car with body that cost
I-don’t know-how-much, and the en-
gine imported from Europe.
“There they go. Aren't they a
cute couple! So young!”
Being pointed out, admired, as
they by. Up the road or down
on Long Island to some place for
dinner, stealing precious hours from
the rehearsals of his operetta.
“This is my one read recreation,”
he used to say, pulling that boyish
cap of his over the bright eyes she poin
loved, as he stepped on the aa, |
“Whenever I can't com
need to do is ride in this little ol’
bus for a couple of hours, and the
brain starts to work overtime!”
He would pat the car lovingly.
And she would be jealous. Jealous
of a powerful, man-made chariot
that ran when you bore down upon
pedal and shifted gears. Jealous
because it had spent so many en-
Taken him
through all those places. Once he
counted the rivers. Across the
They would sit for hours, silent.
Never talking. Just listening to the
busy whir of the life they :
the soft drone of the engine. Oc-
ocasionally he pressed a mysterious
something, and the car, making a
flung behind her
Flattering
D'y remember that old
have dared!
siders already
Across the Seine. The sip Oh and discove
Hudson, The Mis- Sitnaoyi
Her eyes smiled. A sad, uuder-
standing sort of smile. She longed
tc throw her arms around his neck.
To kiss him. To break down and
sob on his shoulder. But no, she
could do none of those things. She
was an i t woman. She
had made bargain, and she
would stick to it.
“After today we're quits, Scott,”
was what she said. i
“All right” was what he had
answered
“All right.” Just like that. His
eyes seemed sorry, His mouth look- |
ed hurt. But he did take her up so
quickly. “All right.” Of course, he
used to brag that he never broke his
word, still he could have protested—
just a little.
She shivered now, as she remem-
bered how he prided himself upon al-
ways keeping his promises. It was
not going to be easy— carrying on
At these thoughts Dorine cuddled
deeper into the big arm chair, and
reached for the newspaper that had
shocked her so. The paper contain- |
that sentence which proved out-
knew.
“Phifft!” How the sizzling little
word had unexpected]
from the printed
her face. A stinging slap. It boxed
her ears. It struck hard. The blow
smarted,
“Phifft!” The latest Broadway
term invented by the latest Broad-
way bard. Why, only a few short
weeks ago, when they first heard
it, Scott and she, how they laugh-
“What an expression!” Scott had |
Sliianly exclaimed, his sharp, YP
ears always attuned to
rhythm. “Like the sputtering out of
I a cande. Phifft!” He had said it
between his teeth. He had fairly
whistled it.
And almost immediately he had
entered it in that ever-present note-
book of his. Keen Scott never |
missing a bit of every day life.
| Alert Scott, who loved sounds SO.
| Who molded them, and with |
But it was not like the sputtering |
out of a candle. Not now. Not
when it applied
| when read it in a
tha
t
ters were real and people knew.
Prying, never their own |
business people, who must have |
| missed seeing them together.
guard. brain. It sang a song.
The world went on.
“Steeplejack.”
| said Hannah's husband.
to yourself, Not
popular gos- | down her cheeks. She rushed from
t the | the room,
u privately dreaded
Y hapmened; thet mat |
!
Dorine stared down at the paper, |
|and her nervous hands ran impatient-
ly through the rumpled, brown bob.
Green eyes dilated slightly, breath
came in short, panicky gasps, as she
read the annoying sentence over and
over again. It buzzed around her
It hummed
a2 hymn. of acute pain. It repeated
itself before her. Black and white
printed words; jumping up and
down; dancing a taunting jig; searing
themselves into her flesh. Mean
black-and-white words because they
were true.
“The Scott Mason- Dorine Parker
romance has phifft!”
Like the sputtering out of a can-
dle, nothing, It was an elephants
hoof tramping upon her heart.
clutched her. Suffocated her soul.
That word. Phifft!
She could not cry. Her eyelids
felt as if they were made of steel.
She prayed that the walis would give
way. She wanted to cry until her ph
face became a blotchy mass of red
skin. She wanted to cry until the
throbbing in her heart lessened, and
the burning sensation that seared her
throat disappeared. It was difficult,
almost impossible, to be brave; to
anticipate a future without Scott.
The days that followed seemed
endless. Days when Dorine went
about, smiling at other men and not
letting any one see into her soul. To
outward appearances she was just
an exceedingly hard-working and
popular artist.
The nights were by far the worst.
They seemed so long, when she
tossed and turned, while her head
ached from the effort of trying to
forget. If she did sleep, she would
wake in the morning with a start;
d with the feeling that something
dreadful had happened.
would remember.
with Scott.
Twice she thought she saw him
on the street, and twice she had
been mistaken. Once she glimpsed
his car, parked and empty, in front
of a theatre, She never wanted to
walk past the skyscraper that hous-
ed his studio, but somehow her feet
persisted upon carrying her by, and
Then she
She had parted
she would always look up to see if
there were lights in the windows of |
his suite on the nineteenth floor,
Probably he was inside, working on
his operetta. “My operetta,” she
thought, for the melodies had been
played to her so many times.
It opened in New York. It wasa
hit. She could not go. She felt she
would die if she listened to that
music. Always Dorine braced her-
self against the time she would hear
Scott's new songs, H-r songs.
The first time she heard the
familiar, heart-rending music was in
a night club. Dorine was dancing.
Suddenly the orchestra
the melody Scott had composed ona
certain moonlight night. The couples
went on
kept moving. Dancing. Dancing.
Keeping time to bars made from her
own heart-beats. And still she could
not ery. But the lump that had
been in her throat since
than
ever.
She heard more of his music.
Right in her own home. They sat
in the living room. There were
ests. Hannah's in-laws.
husband was the type of man who
insisted upon turning on the radio
whether people talked or not,
of the horn came another one of
Scott's songs. Her love song. But)
Dorine found herself discussing the
fattening qualities of rice pudding.
Not a
came to her eyes.
“Maybe, in my heart of hearts, I
have been too selfish for love,” she
thought. Certainly she wanted to
cry; to cry buckets of tears, and
she could not weep one. However,
her throat continued to barn horri-
bly.
She possessed no much to
remember him by. Nothing tangible
to cherish. A book. Huneker’s
He had sent thatto
her on the day she said she want-
ed to know more about music. U
on the fly-leaf was written in his
dear, scrawly writing.
“Dorine, I hope you enjoy this
book as much as I did, Scott.”
He had also given her “My Musi-
cal Life,’ by Rimsky-Korsakoff.
“A composer's, life by himself.
Gee, 1 got a kick out of it!" he had
exclaimed.
But he never wrote in that.
She had nothing else except a
scrap of paper on which he
once scribbled his private telephone
numbers.
“Po show you what I think of
you,” he had said.
There was the particular one on
his desk that nobody ever answered
except
himself.
Sometimes she looked over her
'little hoard of treasures. But they
could not make her cry,
Then it happened. At dinner.
The evening of Hannah's fifth wed-
A box from the
| ding anniversary.
| florist’'s arrived. The maid brought
it to the table, and Hannah's ex-
‘cited hands broke the s
trings. The
lid fell off, and inside the glazed
paper lay the perfect blossoms.
“Green orchids for you, dear,"
“You al-
ways used to admire the ones Dorine
w ”
Suiting with delight, Hannah held
up the flowers. “Aren't they love-
ly!” she exclaimed.
Dorine grew white. Suddenly it
all came back so vividly. The very
pain of it took her breath away,
Music could not do it. His own
handwriting could not do it. But
orchids—green orchids.
“To match your eyes,” Scott had
She could hear him now.
every word.
Hear
His face rose before
| them, and made them do wonderful | her | His hair that curled so rebel. Krader, tract in Haines Twp.; $150.
0
“It's just imaginative glamour!” joyable hours with him. Known him | th
Later she wondered how she could long before she did.
Dorine screamed.
child's scream.
hysterical sobs.
A frightened
She burst into
The tears ran
Hannah's astonished
voice followed her down the hall.
“Well, did you ever! I know
what's the matter with her! She's
run down, that's what! Too much
worry! The idea! Why, she hasn't
had a real beau call here in a long
while. She shouldn't work so hard!
I haven't heard Dorine say she’s in
struck up!
whirling, Dorine's feet
the day!
‘they quarreled burned deeper
Her
Out |
tear
et
love for months now! That's what,
she should fall in love again—be
0 i"
y This from Hannah. Hannah who
once said, “When you're really in
love, you won't talk about it"
Her words echoed in Dorine’s
ears. “Fall in love—be young.”
Why, it was silly. Love made you
old. Old and wise. Dorine slamm-
ed her bedroom door. No longer
could she hear Hannah's shrill voice.
The tears fell readily now. She
felt she could not bear the intense
longing to see Scott again; to hear
him speak.
Suddenly she knew she had been
wrong, all wrong, She was & cow-
ard, afraid that her romance woul
fade. Afraid of life. Real love
could face the disappearance of
glamour; could face anything.
Miserably, she crept to the tele-
one. She called a number. One
that had been written on the little
scrap of paper. Written in Scott's
own hand. It was in the Murray
Hill district.
He answered.
She trembled.
“Hello,” he said.
“Scott,” she whispered, “I see it
all now, And I'll marry you if you
still want me!"
“Want you!" he echoed.
you, Dorine darling! TI be
over!”
Later he asked questions. “What
brought you to your senses? What
sent you back to me? Was it my
love song? I purposely had it broad-
“Want
right
cast every night.”
Dorine smiled. She was wise
now. She had learned that it is
part of love's business
romance.
“Yes, dear,” her lips answered.
was your love song.”
But her heart knew it had been
the green orchids. -—Hearst's Inter-
national Cosmopolitian.
to preserve
It
INFLUENZA RAGES
EVERY THREE YEARS.
With striking regularity deaths
from influenza in this country have
soared to a peak every third year
since 1920, a survey of the duath-
rate from this disease among the
more than nineteen million Indus-
trial policyholders of the Metro-
politan Life Insurance Company has
revealed. If the same trend is con-
‘tinued and the record of the cur-
rent year indicates that it may be,
the next maximum deathrate from
influenza may be expected in 1932,
according to the statisticians of the
| insurance company.
“The Seat 1920,” says the Metro-
politan Statistical Bulletin, “was an
exceptionally bad influenza year, the
worst in the series, with the death
rate mounting to more than 440 per
100,000 in the seevnth week of the
year. Next, in 1923, the deathrate
from influenza rose to 121 per 100,-
{000 per annum in the ninth week of
that year. Again in 1926, the
deathrate from influenza rose to 115
per 100,000 per annum in that year's
thirteenth week and lastly, in 1929
the deathrate from influenza rose harmoni
to 266 per 100,000 in the third week.
“These are the only years in the
series when the deathrate, from in-
fluenza in any week exceeded 100
per 100,000 per annum, and the not-
able fact is that tuey are system-
| atically spaced three years apart.
Such are the main and outstanding
features of the analysis of the death-
rates in this series of years.”
The article in the Bulletin points
out that there is decided similarity
ed the low points, and these
also occurred every third year dur-
ing the decade.
In reporting on this survey the
Bulletin says: “Not only do the in-
| dividual waves of three cycles bear
'a marked resemblance to each other,
but the general form of the three
waves in each cycle, taken as a
p- whole, is charactemstic: a wave of
maximum height, with deathrates
invariably for the worst week, is
followed by the markedly smaller
wave, and then in turn by a some-
what larger wave, but neither of
these two latter waves ever reaches a
figure of 100 per 100,000 per annum.
|So far as the series of observations
reported upon here is concerned, this
rule is without exception.
"Citiosity may naturally be felt
as
‘might fall into line with this series.
(It is to be noted that it came more
than one year later than might be
expected from the three-year cycle,
| But the 1918 epidemic was some-
| what abnormal in several respects;
(in particular, it fell at an unusual
| time of the year. all crests of the
waves in the series 1920 to 1930 fell
in the winter and early spring
months, usually February or March.
|The epidemic of 1913, it will be re-
| membered, began with a sudden ex-
' plosion in September. It ran high
| during the whole of the rest of the
| year, and had not entirely subsided
{until April or May of 1919. The
| great epidemic of 1918, both as to
(its character and its time of occur-
‘rence, is thus essentially out of line
| with this series, and makes us slow
to draw conclusions relative to fu-
| ture occurrences.”
ESTATE TRANSFER.
William Weber, Exec., to William
(E Kessinger, tract in Liberty Twp.;
F. P. Barker, et ux, to Charles A,
Barker, tract in Haines Twp.; $100.
T. B. Everet, etal, to W. C. Krad-
er tract in Penn Twp.; $1.
W C. Krader, Adm. to Della
C.
| C. P. Long to Clayton S. Snyder,
|et ux, tract in Gregg Twp. $1.
| Susanna J. Woodring, et bar, to
David Mains, tract in Port Matilda;
| Mary Delaney, et al, to Mary De-
|laney, tract in Marion Twp.; $1.
Jacob N_ Royer, Trustee, to Evan-
gelical Lutheran church of Madison-
burg, tract in Miles Twp.; $1.
Preston A. Frost, et ux, to Or-
|landa W. Houts, tract in State Col-
lege; $1.
is this: She
how the epidemic of 1918
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
Daily Thought.
Let us have faith that right means
might, and in that faith let us dare to
do our duty us we understand it—Lin-
coln.
~-Fashions are the things that the
most people like best--to wear, to
to use, to eat. to enjoy.—For
instance—there are fashions in books,
in newspapers, in plays, in autos, in
ideas—as well as in clothes.
Certain kinds of these things are
in fashion, just as are—small, close-
fitting hats—envelope handbags—
coats with large comfortable fur
collars—plain slip on gloves—femi-
nine, yet not fussy dresses—stock-
ings a little darker—heels a little
lower.
Then let's resolve that the best
measuring stick in the choice of
fashions is whether they fit your
type. Whether a costume is right
for your figure and coloring. Wheth-
er a book is right for your ideas.
Whether a food fits your taste.
Most of all whether you like them
--and like to wear or use or read
or eat them.
Then there are some fashion reso-
lutions that can't help but make the
fashionable woman better dressed
than she's ever been before, Pro-
vided she makes these resolutions
and keeps them. And she can keep
them if she watches the little de-
tails of her costume and makes sure
that those details are exactly right
And the first resolution she's go-
ing to make is this:
Resolved: that my 1931 costumes
shall be appropriate for my type.
And that means that every costume
is going to look as though it were
made especially for her—and for
her alone.
She's going to express her indi-
viduality-—in the colors that are
most becoming—in the fashions that
suit her figure best.
The second resolution the fashion
knowing woman is going to make
is this:
Resolved: that my 1831 costumes
shall be appropriate to the time and
place where they're worn.
And she's going to watch these
costumes carefully and make sure
they're formal or informal, just as
the event is formal, semi-formal or
informal.
She'll watch them for their ma-
‘terials and for the way they're
made. And especially for their
length—choosing middle calf for
general wear, upper calf for infor-
mal or sports wear, lower calf for
formal daytime wear, ankle length
for formal late afternoon and informal
evening, and toe length for formal
evening wear.
The third resolution the fashion-
able woman is making today is just
about the most important fashion
resolution anybody can make in
1931. Here it is:
Resolved: that I will dress inen-
semble fashion—meaning that eve
part of my costume shall go with
| every other part to make a smart,
ous, costume.
she plans to do this
of her coat first
and plans her complete costume
around the coat.
She chooses a hat that matches
the color of this coat. And a dress
that matches this coat,
Sometimes—especially at this time
| of year—a bright colored dress is
chosen, but one whose color looks
well with the color of the coat. And
And the wa,
years that match or closely blend with the
coat, too, She selects gloves and
stockings that match each other as
nearly as possible, and that, too,
of a color that blends with the
coat and dress.
And in her jewelry she looks for
'a color that goes with some other
color note in the costume. The or-
'pament on the handbag, for in-
stance, or the on the dress.
And in addition to these points
fashion wise women make sure that
all these parts of their costumes
harmonize in texture as well =&s
color. And in degree of formality
or informality.
Ha these resolutions—
and kept them—the fashionable wo-
man knows she's never been better
dressed in all her fashion life!
—Pimentos can be kept indefinite-
ly if, when a can of them is open-
| ed for use, those left over are put
in a container and covered with
salad oil.
Keep a small flashlight in a
| drawer in your sewing machine. It
saves time and temper when you
want to thread the needle, for the
‘light can be thrown directly into
| the needle’s eye.
Cranberry jelly and tiny balls
of cream cheese covered with nuts
‘make a delicious salad when served
with mayonnaise.
—Used brooms can be made stiff
and clean by dipping them in a pail
of boiling soda water and drying
them in the sun.
i
—When putting clean papers on
closet or cupboard shelves or cabi-
net drawers cut several at one time,
When soiled remove the top sheet
only.
Baked Ham and Pineapple —Have
a slice of ham cut in one and one-
half to two pound piece. Lay the
ham on a flat pan and sprinkle
with one teaspoon ground cloves and
| coat thickly with brown sugar. Ar-
‘range six slices pineapple around
and over the ham, and pour two-
thirds cup of pienapple juice over
it. Cover and bake for thirty min-
| utes. Uncover the pan and allow
to bake for fifteen minutes longer.
—On your spice shelf keep =a
| glass shaker containing a mixture
|of one teaspoon of cinnamon to a
| half cup of sugar, It can be sprink-
|led evenly and easily on cinnamon
rolls or toast, over rice or any food
for which you want such a com-
bination.