| evitable set-to began and other girls what you will, you can't save them.
. | were demonstra charm in every Now, is that little pink doodad
| possible key for his benefit. Mrs. yours?” ke
Mansfield faced every day with a “My daughter's.” Mrs. Mansfield
ee | gick dread that Lutie would spoil it, was thinking over what she had
Bellefonte, Pa., August 14, 1981. and went to bed every night with a said. “How do you mean—save
————— welling relief that Lutie hadn't. them?”
Mrs. Macalarney straightened a
tired back. “Well, Ey Mary got
herself engaged to as nice a young
feller as ever stepped; hard-
‘and earning good money and kind
to his folks and liking a joke—my,
he was a lovely feller. And he come
to ask if he could have her. And
I told him the truth.”
with
Was she at last really in love and
MY STAR. had it made a woman of her? Or was
I have a star |she only supremely clever?
All of my own, Her mother did not press the ques-
Hung in the night ition. As much as she could, she
So all alone, | avoided it.
| But Lutie was no different when
God put it there. |they were alone. She never talked
He gave it Light with her mother, and Mrs. Mans-
Ever to shine | field's attempts at conversation were Mrs. Mansfield was listening
From Heaven's height. yawned at or snubbed. Lutie con- troubled eyes. “The truth?”
| sidered her “small town,” and per- “I says to him, ‘Bob, she's got a
‘haps she was, for her civic interests handsome face, and that's all she's
| —creches and hospital and communi- got. She's not been any comfort
|ty chest—made the world at large in her home. She's never done a
One little star—
I tell it all.
It understands,
It will not fall! ‘seem very dull beside home. day's honest work or lifted her hand
When-1 am tired | “But I am a real person,” shear- to help. She's vain and wasteful,
Of Falsity, gued, alone in the dark. “My hus- and that lazy she'd fall apart if it
band found me worth talking with,
Lutie. How have I so failed with
wasn't for me. She's got an ele-
There is My Star gant silk crepe dress rolled up un-
Winking at me.
Mary Philips. You?” That was the question that der the bed this minute for want of
she could never get answered. Lutie, a bit of mending. Now, you're a
—————————— a nice-erough young girl, rather fine boy and I'd like nothing better
YIMMY YOHNSON lumpy and clumsy and silent, had than to have you for my son-in-law.
been sent away to boarding school
to save her from the sad years of
her father's slow dying; she had
come back suddenly and overwhelm-
ingly a beauty, with a scornful
refusal of all the home had to offer.
“I can't be bored with that,” was
her answer to every human obliga-
tion. Her Aunt Martha, who lived
with them, put it with a terrible
bluntness: “Lou, I can't see a re-
deem trait in that girl.”
Mrs. eld had resented it hot-
ly, but in silence. An obscure sense
of being to blame had taken all the
fight out of her.
Binks scratched at her door and
whimpered. He wanted her to go
down and tell Lutie that it was time
she came up to bed. His paw was
well again, but he had squirrel in-
validish habits. She escorted him
to his bed in Lutie's room, tucked
him in and made his restlessness an
excuse for staying there until Lutie
finally came up. She was so happy
she had to talk a little.
“Binks has been weeping for you,”
she explained her presence.
Lutie looked at her unseeingly
from a long way off. “He'll be all
right now,” she said.
It was dismissal, but because she
had felt so warm and open, Mrs.
Mansfield tried not to see that.
Take her if you must, but don't you
never say I deceived you.”
Mrs. Mansfield's hand was shield-
ing her face. “What happened?”
she murmured.
Mrs Macalarney stooped for the
sheets. “Just what you'd expect. He
says I'm hard on her and he mar-
ries her. I couldn't save him.”
“But girls often improve,” Mrs.
Mansfield urged. “They grow up.
Love and children can work won-
Didn't you have to give her
her chance?”
“Well, her three kids didn't work
no wonders. Bob and his mother
are bringing them up, and Mary's
home with me—There's a tear in
that pillowcase, ma'am; it ought to
be attended to.”
afer the laundress had
gone, Mrs. Mansfield sat ponderi
behind her hand. The i nag
moved her unbearably. Something
small town and conscientious in her
was awed by its impersonal vision
and Brutus justice. To be bigger
than the family circle! What Nor.
man would do for Lutie had so fill-
ed her sight that she had not even
considered what Lutie might do to
Norman. A lovely fellow—kind to
his folks and liking a joke—that was
Norman too. And Lutie? “Lou, I
can't see a redeeming trait in that
Mrs. Mansfield paused at the foot
of the steps to look back through
the open front door. Strong mid-
summer moonlight turned the beach
to gold and the cedars to ebony, and
laid a dancing track of diamonds
across the ocean, but that was noth-
ing to what it did to Lutie Mans-
field, who was sitting on the top
step with her fair head tipped back
against a pillar and a mist of white
chiffon overlaying her young limbs.
James Norman Johns sat on the
bottom step, his back to all the
other loveliness, his face a dark disk
lifted wholly to Lutie.
How right Lutie had been! Mrs.
Mansfield, closing her door, felt an
ache of apology for how she had op-
pose taking the cottage, talking
about what they could afford and
trying to buy Lutie off with a trip.
Lutie had got her own way by
the simple process of her-
self impossible to live with on any
terms. And now—Her heart sang
deep hymns of ving
Norman was of a different breed
from the young men who were al-
wa, taking impudent stock of
Lutie’s beauty. He was a person,
a power. He took his wealth ser-
iously, making a career of it; he was
decent; he was sweet with children
“Have you had a nice time?” she girl.” What would Lutie make of
and dogs; he read books; he had a ggyed. y big power, when she had been so
fine body and a lean, New England «yery" Lutie disappeared into spoiled by the little power of her
sort of face that inspired trust. He
had usually taken his holidays ex-
ploring wild corners of the earth,
and he had never seen very much of
girls—perhaps intentionally. He
must early have found them more
than ready to him.
Neither Mrs. Mansfield nor Lutie
had dreamed who he was when he
rescued a runaway parasol on the
beach, and so fell into talk with
them. They had understood his
name was Johnson, He had come
home with them and tinkered with
the family car, getting himself very
hot and dirty, while Lutie sat by
and cheered him on. He was re-
warded with a casual lunch, and
Mrs. Mansfield worried because he
had got a smear of black on his
white-flannel trousers. She insisted
that he take cleaning fluid to it
while it was fresh, so he did, look-
ing amused, and contributing a pun.
gent odor to the dining room for
some time afterward. And Lutie
had been so nice with him, so hu-
man someway. Mrs. Mansfield had
not once wished that she wouldn't.
The next morning he was there
again, and Mrs. Mansfield had seen
with relief that he owned a second
pair of white-flannel trousers. Binks,
the Scottie, had cut his paw, and
Johnson bathed and bound it, show-
ing Lutie how. Lutie really want-
ed to know. In moments of bitter-
ness Mrs. Mansfield had told herself
that Binks was the only living crea-
ture for whom Lutie felt a spark of
affection. Johnson had b t his
bathing suit, and he actually got
Lutie into the water. Lutie’'s bath-
ing suit always made Mrs. Mans.
field wince. e had heard a yo
fellow urge Lutie to go in.
want to see what will be left if it
shrinks,” he had said. But young
Johnson had simply looked at her as
though this were the loveliest picture
he had seen yet, and made her swim
boldly out to sea.
“I will see that you get back,” he
promised.
She swam in with a hand on his
shoulder. “I like you, Mr. Johnson,”
she observed as they dripped into
the house. “And it's funny, for you
are not at all my kind.”
“Tell me what your kind is and
I'll try to be it,” he proposed.
“But perhaps I shall like your
kind best,” she said, going off to her
bathroom. “If I knew what your
first name was, I would consider
u it.
“Jim,” he called after her.
And so she had called him Yimmy
Yohnson at lunch, and sent him off
because she was going to have her
wave set.
By that afternoon everyone knew
that the Johns yacht was in the
harbor, but many lesser craft were
there, and even when Yimmy Yohn-
son invited them to lunch on his
boat, Mrs. Mansfield did not sus-
pect. She thought that he meant
sandwiches and ginger ale on some
litle catboat, and was surprised to
see that Lutie had put on her fresh-
est, most dis sport clothes.
“Wouldn't some old skirt be saf-
er?” Mrs. Mansfield ventured, braced
for having her head taken off. Lutie
only smiled There was a new color
the dress she was pulling off. When
she emerged she seemed surprised at
finding her mother still there. “It's
late,” she said. “I am dead myself.”
She looked very far from dead.
Life shone out of her, her body
moved with a suppressed exultation.
“I have been alone all day,” Mrs.
Mansfield said impulsively. She
never said things like that, and she
tried to sound humorous about it.
“The only human speech I have had
was with Mrs. Macalarney, when
she came for the laundry. Couldn't
you sit down and visit with me for
beauty? Norman was simply good
and generous and solid—in a way,
he was small town too. Wouldn't
Lutie despise and snub him for it
when the glamour was off ?
“Don't you never say I deceived
you.” Oh, the robust honesty that
| 80 Smply ignored gain or loss. One
could not do it oneself, but one could
reverence ft.
All day Mrs. Mansfield carried an
in her breast for that clear
sight of what Lutie might do to
Norman's life. As they went silent-
ly to dinner, Lutie had not spoken
a few minutes?” to her since morning, she found her-
, “If you would go to the beach and self hoping that Mrs. Johns t
‘the casino, you would have plenty of be a very
woman, so th
conversation,” Lutie said impatient- Norman would not go into it wholly
ly. “You have met loads of nice unwarned. She would have found
people. Sticking here in the cot-
the meeting formidable but for this
tage, of course you are going to be intense preoccupation.
bored.” She went into her bath- Norman was waiting at the rail.
room, turning on a flood of water The open happiness in his face made
that drowned out speech. Bet, smile at Lutie, a beseeching
Mrs. Mansfield was shocked at her SMIe¢ that said, “Oh, my dear, be
own anger. She did not feel pa- 5°0d—be good, and save us all from
tient, or to blame, or any of her
paint Le ow only the other
usual excusing moods; she was so "hother, w by the lo
sharply angry that if it had not Shisira and deck tables to receive
been for the rushing water she “om-
would have quarreled loudly with
her daughter, called her names.
Something was breaking in her long
restraint. She shut her door with
emphasis, and for several days made
not one of her usual fri y over-
tures. Lutie was too absorbed to
notice.
It was Lutie who started things.
She came into her mother's room
one morning, early for her, quite
unconscious of the fact that she
‘was not greeted. Mrs. Mansfield
had barely glanced up from the let-
ter she was writing.
“Yimmy's mother is coming here,”
pected a big, powerful woman to
accord with so big a fortune,
Mrs. Johns was small and frail, with
smiling, dark eyes and a sensitive
| mouth, and she walked with a cane.
'Lutie, at the introduction, was sud-
denly shy, helpless; it was her moth-
er who gave the moment ease. Two |
older women talked together while
Lutie bit her lips and stared at
‘the sky, and Norman looked on in
"happy confidence.
Lutie recovered somewhat during
dinner, but she was not quite her-
self —not the nice, human self that
Lutie announced, and stood frown- She had been Norman. Her
ing out of the window. Not even OWE lack of ease infuriated her and
little combs across her hair could Sweet, smiling, listening, that gave
mar the grace of Lutie's body or her every chance, made that a fail.
the beauty of her face. jure too. A look at her mother said
“She is!" Mrs. Mansfield felt a Secretly, bitterly, “If you hadn't in-
clutch of fright. sisted on ocming—" but Mrs. Mans-
“I suppose that Yimmy has men. field's heart was too heavy with big-
tioned me alarmingly often in his ger trouble to mind reproaches. She |
letters, and she wants to look me found it fortunate that she was
over,” Lutie went on. “Anyway, he there to carry the talk. Mrs. Johns
has asked us both to dine with her might have been small town, too;
tonight on the boat. Would you she was so informed about creches
mind being taken ill at the last mo- and small hospitals and all Mrs.
ment and staying home?” | Mansfield's home interests. She
Mrs. Mansfield carefully wiped her really cared about each other under
pen and laid it down. She needed happier circumstances.
a moment to get her shock master- After coffee, Lutie saw to it that
‘ed. “Why, Lutie?” | Norman took her out on deck. Two |
“I think I can pull off a better mothers stayed in the salon and a
impression alone.” | silence fell like an 2ntr’ acte. Then
Mrs. Mansfield managed a faint Mrs. Johns talked of Norman—of
smile. “Don't I do you credit?” | his devotion and sweetness with her
“You're all right,” was the short invalidism, of his manfulness under
answer, “I feel freer by my- the heavy load of his father's for- |
self, thats all” | tune, his humorous avoidance of its
Something broke. Mrs. Mansfield pitfalls.
‘was suddenly speaking as she felt: ‘Mothers always talk like this,”
| “Then you will have to feel a little she interrupted herself. “Only with
‘less free. I shall certainly go. The Norman it is true.”
impression you are going to make “Yes, I have felt it,” Mrs. Mans- |
|depends on what you are, not on field said, and heard again “a love-
whether I stay home. The worst ly feller” echoing in her heavy heart.
of you isn't your mother.” | “Yes, he is lovely.”
Lutie stared astonishment. “Oh, the open door they heard |
if you are Joing to talk like Aunt Norman's laugh. Evidently Lutie
Martha—" said,
and stalked out was in form again.
in her face that had nothing to do of the room. “Now tell me about your girl,”
with rouge. The smartly manned, Mrs. Macalarney was just coming Mrs. Johns said. “All I know yet
boat that came for them took them in with the clean clothes. She is that she is a beauty.”
past all the smaller craft, out tothe looked after Lutie, a shrewd smile Mrs. Mansfield's pulses were beat. |
stately Kasidah before Mrs. Mans- on her battered face, then set down ing so thickly that words would not
field had fully caught her breath. the basket and began lifting out come. :
The owner-on board flag was flying, layers of slik and linen. | _ “Has it spoiled her a little?” Mrs. |
and Norman Johns stood waitingto “I can tell when got beaus; Johns asked, tempering the question
receive them in still another pair of they have so much wash,” she ob- with her deep smile.
white trousers. | served. | Some outside power took over
“Well, Yimmy, nice little boat you Mrs. Mansfield was used to ignor- Mrs. Mansfield’s “Yes, it
have,” Lutie sald casually. “My ing her own hurts, putting them by has spoiled her ,” she heard it
mother wanted me to wear an old to be dealt wtih later. | sa ’
skirt, but I don't believe I shall dam- “Yes, they want to be very fine,” | Mrs Johns kindled, warmed to her.
" “Do you want to tell me how?”
age this |
pave tlie Shaw Ju | The voice went on: “She is im- |
she sald.
And that was the way she had | “And the
continued to treat him, even the in- Mrs. Macalarney on. “Say patient and selfish and
lo
Mrs. Mansfield had vaguely ex. 4
' stand.”
home. She can't be
nothing for human
never helps. The
mine, yet I have tri
has brains and force,
good for
the voice faltered,
was gone. She was
nized mother who had betra
child. “Oh, how could I?”
breathed.
She felt her hand taken in a del-
jcate clasp. “You had to,” Mrs.
Johns told her. “Oh, I like you—
You can meet a big in a big
way.” She talked on with a gentle
intimacy, drawing away from their
two children, but Mrs. Mansfield
could not listen, could not see any-
thing but what she had done and
and the battle ahead. Presently
Lutie was told that her mother had
a headache and they went home.
Once in their house Lutie's angry
silence broke. “I hope you are sat.
isfied,” she said, stalking ahead up
the stairs “I couldn't do a thing.
Mrs. Johns must think me an idiot.
If I had been alone I could have
worked out of it, but you would
go—"
The attack was just what Mrs.
Mansfield needed. It gave her back
the courage of what she had done.
“Yes, I would,” she said strongly.
Lutie stopped in the upper hall.
looked an amazed question. This
was something new.
“What's the idea?” she demand-
ed. “You will have plenty of
chances later.”
Mrs. Mansfield passed on into her
own room. “I am not so sure”
she said, sinking into a chair.
Only her knees were weak;
spirit was mighty.
Lutie followed her. “What do you
her
mean? What did she say about
me?”
“She said that you had beauty
and asked me if it had spoiled you.”
“What did you say?”
“That it had, badly.”
Lutie stared, too astonished yet
for anger. “What possessed you?"
“The truth possessed me.” That
was the very word for it; she had
been possessed. “Lutie, Norman is
too good to have his life marred by
Your selfishness and scorn and bore-
om."
Now there was a flash of anger:
“But Norman doesn't bore me!”
“Naturally, now!” Mrs. Mansfield
could raise her voice too. “But he
is a faithful man rather than a
clever one; he has all the small-
town virtues that you so scorn. He
can be prosy-—I have seen it. When
the glamour is off, if you snub and
yawn at him, you will break his
heart.”
Lutie leaned against the wall, her
chest ricing and falling stormily.
“And you told his mother all this?”
“All this and more. I told her
all there is to tell: and you are no
fool, Lutie; you know what there is
to tell about you at home.”
Lutie could not believe her ears.
“You ran me down-—to Norman's
mother! Why-—why?"”
“Because I am honest! And be-
cause Norman is worth saving!
Don’t you suppose I have wanted
this mar as much as you have?
More, for I thought you might love
him and it might yet make a geal
woman of you.”
Lutie was crying, “I do love him!"
“Yes, but it hasn't changed you;
it hasn't made you a shade kinder or
less selfish. That kind of love
doesn't work wonders. If this goes
on, at least they can't say that I
have deceived them.”
Lutie turned to the door, looking
young and bewildered and beaten.
“I thought your mother was on your
side, no matter what,” she mutter-
“Yes, so did I", Mrs. Mansfield's
voice sagged into desolation, “And
I thought that daughters loved their
mothers, We have believed a lot
of things that weren't true.”
Lutie went, | her door.
Through the thin wall her. mother
while
she lay very still, not wanting to be
heard. When morning came she
still stayed in bed, too sick at heart
to face the day. She did not wish
that she had acted differently, but
she did wish poignantly that she
had died when her husband went.
Suddenly Lutie came in, an open
note in her hand.
“The Kasidah has gone,” she said,
going to the east windows. “There
was a note under the front door; he
says he is running his mother home
and will come back later.” She
looked ravaged, but she was curious-
ly free of hostility. Mrs. Mansfield,
expecting hate and scorn, found this
temperate, matter-of-fact tone so
merciful that her eyes filled.
a is coming back,” she repeat-
“He might come back,” Lutie ad-
mitted, her on the sunny space
where the had been. “But
I don’t believe it. Well, there is
one I want you to under-
he sat in a deep chair, her
pajamaed leg swung over its arm.
“I've only just really understood it
myself It has taken me all night.
you see, I was such an ugly duck-
ling; IT hated myself so. And I!
thought that everyone would hate
the way I looked, always. And
then, suddenly, I couldn't believe it.
It was too marvelous to be true.
But the girls saw it, and any boys
I met, and people on the street—
oh, it was like crowned queen
of the world! And I went home with
it, but you-—oh, of course, it couldn't
have mattered to you, with father.
I know that. But didn’t notice
it, didn't care that I had turned out
a swan. And Aunt Martha was
only snubby. So I was and
started in to show you. I've been
angry and showing you all these
years. It is a description of me,
no doubt. But you do see, don't
you aw
Mrs. Mansfield's wrist was across
her wet eyes. “Yes, I see, Lutie.
It was hard on you.”
“Well, that’s all.” And Lutie
Lutie
went away.
A long week dragged by.
was going from morning till night
and stirring, sighing, from night till |
| nome, bu. the old hostility was gone. |
Her mother even felt that she gave
comfort just by being there and un-
derstanding and saying nothing.
That Lutie was not angry at her,
now that she had every reason to be,
was perhaps one of those wonders
that love works. She grew almost
as thin as Luti» did, brooding over
what she had said to Norman's
mother.
She tried to ease her pain by
talking with Mrs. Macalarney. She
needed to hear the tale again, to
stiffen her own crumbling sense ot
having done right. Mrs. Macalar-
ney was rather dry about it.
“Oh, yes, I give Bob fair warn.
ing,” she admitted, her fist in the
hinge of her back as she straighten-
ed up from the basket. “And when
he brought Mary back to me, Bob
says, ‘Mother Macalarney, you said
it!’ And now here last Sunday
didn't he turn up, sick with worry
and all, and Mary, she's gone back
with him.”
Mrs. Mansfield was all at sea.
“Perhaps she has learned,” she ven-
tured.
“They ain't neither of them learn-
ed one thing,” was the emphatic
answer. “Talk won't save a man
and talk don't change a girl. We're
as God made us. Me too, For
all she was no help to me, I kind of
miss her.” And she went heavily
away.
There was’ a shred of comfort:
“Talk won't save a man.” Looking
at the deepening hollows in Lutie's
face, the droop of pain about her
mouth, Mrs. Mansfield sent up a
wild prayer that talk should not
save Norman Johns. What she had
done vas right, but she was dying
of it.
The week's’ end did not bring Nor-
man, and hope very faint as
the second week began its laborious
course. By the tenth day she had
almost ceased to watch the sea
from her east windows. She stood
there for the full moon, looking
sadly at the ebonied cedars and the
gilded beach, when a call and 4 fly-
ing step set her heart to drum-
beating.
“Mother! The Kasidah!”
There she was, the proud beauty,
towering over the lesser craft, glid-
ing to her place. They heard Lhe
anchor chains, they saw a boar s'ip
over her white side and take to the
water.
“Hard to believe, isn't it?"
said in a choked voice.
“My darling!” Her mother had not
used that tone for years, but it
seemed right and natural now. They
stood pressed together, watching,
waiting. At last there was a figure
on the beach, and Lutie ran down.
Half the night passed before she
came back. rs. Mansfield still sat
by the window, dark t the
moonlight. The very hands on her
knee expressed peace and thankful-
ness.
Lutie dropped to the floor beside
her, arms on the window sill. They
could see the light of the yacht's
boat slipping between the other
boats
“Well, Yimmy Yohnson had a bad!
time too,” she said, her voice held
down to bald narrative. “Very bad.
Then he told his mother he had to
come back, and she said all right,
I was your daughter, and that gave
her faith. 80 he came. And
I told him that everything you had
said was true, and then some, but
that if ever I began acting like
that with him, he had only to give
me a swift clout on the side of the
head, for that was evidently the
way to treat me. And he promised
he would.”
The boat had reached the yacht; |
her eyes followed a moving shadow
up its white side. Then her voice
broke loose: ‘Mother, I loved him
from the first minute. You remem-
ber the second day, when I went to
get my hair done? I had to go; I
loved 80 that I couldn't hide it.
And then I heard who he was—But
he didn't have to have a bean. He
was my Yimmy. Oh, don't you
think, loving him like this, that I'll
turn out a decent sort?”
Kissing her wet cheek, her moth-
er silently answered Mrs. Macalar-
ney: “Talk does change a girl;
love can work wonders.” By Juliet
Wilbur Tompkins in the Saturday
Evening Post.
A ———————
OLD HOTEL SITE
Lutie
i
MAY BE CAMP SITE
What was at one time the site of
of |
the Old Foust hotel on the top
the Seven Mountains, the midway
stopping point for stage coaches be-
tween Lewistown and Bellefonte,
will in all probability become the
site of a religious summer training
camp for the young people of the |
Pennsylvania Conference of the Con: |
gregational church.
Leo. F. Treaster, of Milroy, pre-|
sented 316 acres of the land sur-
rounding the site of the Foust hotel |
i
i
i
to the conference. Officials of the TF3&:
Congregational Young People's Fed-
eration of Pennsylvania together |
with other church leaders recently
visited this site and were enthusi-
astic about its possibilities and im- |
mediate development.
Among the prominent laymen and
youth leaders in the State giving
the project their whole-hearted sup-
port and who attended the confer-
ence were: Mrs. A. D. Upton, Scran-
to; Mrs. James R. Clinton, Philadel-
hia; William Pierce, Plains, presi.
dent of the Wyoming Valley Young
People’s Federation; Joseph H Dav-
ies. Mahanoy City, president of the
Central Pennsylvania Federation;
Mrs. H. L. Deiss, of Milroy, and the
officers of many individual church
societies. .
The officers of the Pennsylvania
i
Congregational Church Young Peo- |
ple’s Federation, which is prominent- |
ly taking a part in the inter-church
movement to establish the religious
center for young people's work, are
as follows:
President, Joseph H. Davies; re-
cording secretary, Miss Ed-
wards; vice president, Harold O'Don- |
nell; treasurer, Miss Ruth Eagan.
|
{
—Watchman advertisers always |
unkind at morning. She was very silent at|get good results.
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
DAILY THOUGHT
Have you noticed the old, gnarled tree
that lost half of its limbs in a storm?
It is trying to live on the rest.
—Atlantic City: Along the ver
anda's edge and beside the garder
wall, everywhere at this season of
the year hydrangeas are blooming ir
brilliant luxuriance. Thriving or
the damp salt air and sandy soi
these hardy flowers are well adaptec
to the climate of Atlantic City
Until a few years ago they wert
not used extensively in resort gar
dens, but after it was found tha
they grew so well here resident:
hastened to cultivate them.
Visitors from inland cities marve
at the size and colors of the hy
drangeas for in other places the
do not grow so large and thei
colors are not always solovely. Ii
some gardens the plants are fron
six to eight feet high and are cov
ered with blossoms. New color
have been discovered in recent year
and there are delicate pinks, laven
ders and blues ranging from a pal
shade to an unusual deep colo
Gardeners produce these blues b
using alum in the soil at the root
of the plants. The pinks are prc
duced by the use of oyster shells o
steel shavings.
—Barbers and beauty specialist
are largely responsible for the im
proved health of American wome:
according to Frederick L. Collins i
Harper's Bazar.
The barber lifted a wad of 350
tons of hair from 14,000,000 women
heads. That made them feel s
much younger they wanted to loo
the part in other respects and prc
ceeded to patronize about 30,00
beauty shops. As a result of the:
bobbed hair and bottled complexio
women began to look so health
and youthful from the neck up the
just naturally set to work on tt
Just of their anatomy. Says Co
ns:
“Grand dames who had never li
tened tothe family doctor were qui
willing to listen to the beauty docto
They realized that there was no us
sticking young heads on old bodie
and that is where the health mov.
ment began.”
That American women have mac
marked gains in health during ti
past ten years is not a matter fi
argument. The proof is to be four
in the cold figures of insurance con
panies.
—Too late to buy a sports jacket
Don't you believe it! You can cow
on jackets being worn right throug
fall--and not only for sports, eithe
but for regular, everyday wear.
A flannel or lightweight cre)
wool jacket would be the best choi
if you want to wear it in the a
tumn. You can even get a ne
flannel or crepy wool skirt to mat
it when cooler weather comes,
you like. Though these smart se
arate jackets can be worn wi
dresses or with skirts that dor
match, too.
In fact, one of the smartest wa
to wear them this summer is wi
skirts or dresses that don't matc
A blue or brown jacket with a whi
skirt or dress. A white one witt
dark costume, as well as with whi
ones.
And in the fall this same bl
{acket could be combined with
ue tweed or flannel skirt andt
brown with a beige or brown fla
nel, or a lovely soft brown twe
mixture to make a smart suit.
Flannel and light wools are Jt
as good for now, too. Unlin
they're not too warm. But
course, silk or cotton would be ev
cooler and just as fashionable {
seicHy Sumner use.
t double-breasted, slightly 1
ted kind of jacket is one ig
fashionable this summer. And st
will be in the fall.
With brass buttons it has a ne
tical look—somet Hke a Ibe
officer's jacket—and looks
well at the seashore or on be
trips.
With ordinary buttons it's suita
to wear anywhere. And it's one
the most generally becoming of
the smart sports jackets. 1
done in flannel, angora or slik cre
Another jacket—equally fashic
|able and equally sporting looking
is the one that fastens straight
the front with buttons or the
metal clips that Schiaparelli int
duced.
It has a loose, careless, comfo
able look-—makes a fine golfing
hiking jacket—and goes particul
ly well with tweedy thingsor th
smart knitted dresses you're seei
This jacket is sometimes made
washable chamois or suede. Sor
times of suede cloth or flannel.
If you want a dressier look
jacket, one good one is the type w
wide, loose, uarter len;
lan or kimono sleeves. It fast
either diagonally at the left or do
the center and is belted. But sor
times it fastens just at the ne
line, hanging open below the sin
button.
These jackets you'll find in lin
flannel, silk crepe, pique. The)
quite youthful and jaunty look
and are particularly smart in d:
or bright colors worn with wl
dresses.
~—Uncooked Sour Cream Dressi
Press 2 hard cooked eggs throu
fruit press or potato ricer. Bea
cup sour cream until stiff. To
eggs add 1 teaspoon salt, 2 tal
spoons lemon juice, 4 teaspoon
basco sauce, 1 teaspoon sugar,
tablespoons chili sauce and 1 tal
spoon finely chopped green pep)
Combine with beaten cream. Se
with chilled green salads.
Bakeries now make colo
bread for fancy canapes or sa
wiches. Thin slices of yellow, gr
and white make attractive and o
looking ribbon sandwiches.
—Creamed dishes in summer t
should use vegetables instead
toast as a base. par-boil
spinach and using it under crear
fish.