————— |
| “A stroll,” he snorted, floating be-
. | side her. “You'd be yipping for
'help in a minute. Why isn't therea
~~ | boat with you?” |
EE {| “I'm allowed out alone!"
| “I'm Dave Davidson,” he explain-
‘ed, “visiting Walt Wilson. I—" i
| “And I'm Patricia Benson, always
‘known as Pat, sister of the lovely
Loris. I know all about you. You've
‘been heralded for weeks.”
and to know you've He looked quickly at her.
‘are you bound for?"
“I'm going back now.” Slowly
she turned around. She wouldn't
tell him about the Rocks. They
were her private property. “I just
came out to see how the fishes were
coming along out here.”
Hours later Pat was slowly dress-
ing for Walt's dinner-dance. It
didn't much matter what she wore.
She put on a cool green chiffon with
soft, iong flounces and not much
bodice: She had nice arms and
shoulders, anyway! But it wouldn't
matter. She'd be stuck beside that
impossible Ted Reacher, with his
inane laugh, or maybe Walt's father,
stupid old fellow with his boring
stories.
And she found herself between the
two. Dave, distinguished in his
white flannels, was between Loris
and Betty.
After dinner they were all driving
over to Stanley to’ another summer
colony to dance. Pat was going
with Ted in his car. While the
others were loitering she ran out
and got in the car, then peered out
as the brush crackled under a light,
quick step, the car door opened and
a man, not Ted, slid in beside her
with a laugh.
“Let's go.”
with a jerk.
“But—I'm not Loris—I'm Pat,"
she put a quick hand on Dave's arm.
“Did you think I didn't know?
Which way?”
“To the right.” Pat's heart turned
over quickly with a thud. But in-
stantly she remembered he didn't
like girls. He was running away
from them. She didn't count, even,
as one of them. ‘‘What's the big
idea?” she demanded.
“Where's this place we're going?"
he demanded at last.
“Stanley's,” she answered briefly,
watching the lamps pick out the!
dark ruts in the road.
“You want to hurry-—-and dance?”
he demanded.
“Yes.” She didn't, but what could
she say? Could she say, “You
know I'd rather drive with you than
anything in this world?” Of course,
she couldn't. She said, “It's really
very nice at Stanley.”
Pat danced with Ted, with all of
them-—once. With Walt's father
twice. Waltzed with him. Not
with Dave. The girls, Pat saw with
smoldering anger, were mad about
him. Well, no more than she!
She retreated to the porch. There,
from a porch swing, in a dark cor-
ned she could watch the dance floor.
She saw Dave dancing with Loris.
He was a wonderful dancer. And
Loris was laughing up into his face.
He was smiling down at her the way
men always smiied at Loris. What
was he saying to her? No man
ever said things to Pat!
Harold Van de Water was plainly
sulking. Loris, Pat saw, was pur-
posely ignoring him. He had nev-
er really proposed, Pat knew. And
It is better to lose with a conscience clean
Than win by a trick unfair;
It's better to fall
been,
Whatever the prize was, square,
Than to claim the joy of a far-off goal
And the cheer of the standers-by,
And to know deep down in your inmost
soul
A cheat you must live and die.
Whe win by trick may take the prize,
And at first he may think it sweet,
But many a day in the future lies
When he'll wish he had met defeat.
For the one who lost will be glad at
heart
And walk with his head up high,
While his conqueror knows he must play
the part
Of a cheat and a living lie.
“Where
The prize seems fair when the fight 1s on,
But save it is truly won
You will hate the things when the crowd
is gone,
For it stands for a false deed done.
And it's better you never should reach
your goal
Thar ever success to buy
At the price of knowing down in your
soul
That your glory is all a lie.
—BEdgar A, Guest.
SQUARE PEGS
Pat Benson's dark eyes glared back
at her from the long triple mirror in
her pretty bedroom.
“It's bad enough,” she said furi-
ously to the reflection, “it's bad
enough to have—not gorgeous red
hair, but rusty colored.” She rump-
led it all over her head with one ir-
ritated hand. “But you had to
have freckles, big ones. Most girls
take a gorgeous, even suntan. Do
you? You blister, peel, burn!” She
let her blue kimono slip from her
shoulders to a shimmery silk heap
at her feet. ‘You've got a nice
body—straight, slim, yes-—pretty,”
she grudgingly admitted, and added
scornfully, “Nice straight back for
fancy diving.”
To be the younger sister of Loris
would have been a trying position
for almost any girl. Loris, with
her big, lazy dark eyes with their
incredibly long curling lashes, her
smooth dark hair with its two big
soft waves, her small, dainty fea-
tures, her lure for all men, from col-
lege cubs to gray-mustached old fel-
lows who held her hand and called
her “my dear,” Loris was the Prin-
cess in the fairy tale. To be arun-
ner-up to Loris would have been a
distinction. But Pat was no runner-
up. She wasn't even in the game!
Every one liked Pat. No one at
the Tall Pines could dive, could golf,
could jump a hunter like Pat. She,
was athletic. And hated it. Pas-
sionately she longed to dress in
trailing, clinging, soft things. She
dreamed of reclining on a red chaise-
longue, playing with a scarlet feath-
er fan while some man-—dark, pas-
sionate, eager-—made love to her.
Pat could hear Loris now in the
He started the car
next room. Loris was humming, she knew that Loris intended to
“Could I?" That meant there was marry him and his millions. And
a new man in the offing. Pat that she was furious because he
smoldered. She knew who be was. hadn't asked her to.
He was Dave Davidson, Walt Wil-
sons’ guest. A woman-hater. Pat
had seen him not two hours ago as
he stepped out of Walt's yellow
roadster as they came from the
station. She had heard about him
for weeks. He was wealthly, he
had just come from =a long canoe
trip in Northern Minnesota; before
that he had been in Africa, hunting some one else. She moved to get
big game. A great athlete, he was y
big, tall, with light hair. Pat had
Pw allowed hard when she had seen
m.
Usually Pat didn't let men mat-
ter. Men were all alike. They
buzzed about the prettiest girls,
then, with cool appraisal, sorted “I gee.” His voice was cold. “And
them, took their pick, went off with whoever he is has gone to get you
the one they wanted. Not with Pat. some punch.”
Oh, they danced with her—once' Pat smiled to herself. Was non-
each evening. They made her teach committal. No use advertising her-
them fancy diving. They engaged self as unpopular.
her weeks ahead for their partner “Come on and dance.
in the golf tournaments. They told favorite now.”
her their best stories. She was their He pulled her to her feet, and they
The evening dragged on and on.
Te music screamed, wailed, sobbed.
The couples shifted, changed, danc-
ed, danced. Pat could not see Dave
anywhere now. He and Loris were
gone!
Pat, suddenly heartsick, decided
she'd go home. She would take
Ted's car. He could go home with
Pp.
“Well, here you are!” Dave stood
before her, looming tall in the shad-
ows. ‘I've hunted and hunted for
you. Where have you been?”
“Out here. It's too nice to be in
that hot room.”
There's my
pal, “a darned good lil’ cI’ sport.” danced into the big room. He was
Pat suddenly decided that she wonderful. It was as if they were
would, afterall, go swimming. Quick- one person, swaying,
ly she slipped into her old blue rhythm lo the sensuous music of
swimming suit. No one would be the violins, the exciting throb of the
down on the beach yet. She would Arums. His arm tightened about
swim out to her Rocks, stay there her.
till all the others had come in from “Say, Pat,” he said as the final
swimming. ‘encore stopped. “D'you mind my
The Rocks were her own private calling you Pat? —let's ditch this’
property. A mile and a half away, and go on home. I'm fed up.
across one corner of the lake, they What d'you say? You remember my
jutted out into the lake, below a recent pneumonia—"
high bluff. The sand on the shore She laughed, nodded and together
was fine, warm, soft. The shore they ran out, got into Ted's car and
dropped sharply away, so Pat could headed out into the main road.
stand on the topmost point of rock “I'm dog tired. Can't drive fast
and dive off into the emerald clear when I'm tired.” He slumped down
water. behind the wheel. ““This reminds |
There, with her arms over her me of a night up in the Northern)
eyes, she lay for hours, while she Minnesota woods. I was canoeing |
lived her amazing romances. —shall I tell you about it?”
She slipped quietly downstairs, ran He told it graphically. He made
down to the lake the back way, out Pat see the tall, piny islands, made '
on the springboard, dived into the her smell the tang of the balsam
water, was off with her swift, easy firs, made her feel the palpitating
crawl. ‘romance of that canoe trip.
On and on she swam. Presently was a poet and idealist, g and |
she turned over to float and rest. and loving the romance of that wild,
And saw, not far behind, another utiful country. Able to tell it]
swimmer. Who was that? ‘This so that Pat thrilled to the wildness,
swimmer—a man-—had a slow, pow-| the adventure, the sheer beauty of
erful crawl. He was overtaking it.
her. Pat smiled to see him come. “How many were
Then her heart stuttered in that asked.
queer way. It was Dave Davidson! “Oh, just the guide. I always go
He swam up to her. His eyes, places alone.”
keen, blue, were severe and cold.| “Stop here a minute, will you?”
“Say,” he called, “what do you think | she asked suddenly.
you're trying to do? What's the| They were passing her Rocks, and
big idea of a kid like you swimming | the view here on a moonlight night
across a twenty-five-mile lake? was superb. She would rival his
Heh?" Minnesota lake here. “Swing the
Pat grinned. He thought her a |car—guick—that's right—up under
kid! “I'm not swimming way this great oak. There!”
across,” she impudently answered. ‘Well, I'll be darned!” he ejacu-
“Just out for a stroll.” lated softly. They had drawn up
moving in
i
along?” she |
‘anything decent to take
‘at the house party.
' She knew before she left how
—
directly above
moon was low
to slip into
them. “Isn't this great
-
he? He did. But not in the pos-
sessive, masterful way Pat had
hoped. It was a tentative ,have-to
she said “I
know. Every one does. I don't.
I know you're bored stiff. Let's go.”
“I'm not.” He took his arm away.
“I'd rather be here than back there.
Somehow I thought you would, too.
I thought—you were different.”
“Different! I am! Life is sucha
mess, isn't it?” she demanded ve-
hemently. “Oh, it's all right,” she
shook sudden tears furiously from
her eyes. “It's well for most peo-
ple. Not for a square peg.”
“Are you a square peg, too?”
“ "T'oo'
“I'm awfully square,’ he admitted
slowly, “and my life has always been
a round hole that I just don't fill—
at all. I hate it! I should have
been born two centuries ago. I'd
have liked that.”
“And I—not at all!” She an-
swered vehemently. “I love music,
poetry, all the beautiful things, the
most fabulous of fairy stories—and
I've got carroty hair, freckles. And
I'm athletic.”
“And you don't like athleitc
things?"
“Loathe them!"
“So do I,” he admitted slowly,
wonderingly. “I'm really a horrible
fraud. All my life I've pretended.
I happened, in my freshman year at
college, to get two world’s records.
That apparently set my life pat-
tern. I never got away from them.
I sneak forth to concerts and grand
opera. And in my spare time—
don't laugh—I plan houses. Bunga-
lows, alcoves, big fireplaces, wide
awnings, wrought-iron stairways,
climbing roses over pergolas.”
“We're two square pegs then.”
“You're going to Barbara King's
week-end party ?"” he demanded. “The
bunch is leaving here tomorrow af-
ternoon and staying till Tuesday,
when it seems we're scheduled to
rush back to a mask ball here. But
up there there'll be dancing on a
barge down the river, they tell me;
canoeing, full moon—and what have
you? Sounded an awful bore, but
if you're going—"
“Oh, yes, I'm going.” Pat's heart
sank. Dave liked her. They were
two square pegs. They spoke the
same language. It was exciting.
Amazing. And tomorrow they were
going to Barbara's house party.
Who could say what would be the
result of that?
Pat, her reserve of years melted,
was herself. Dave was himself.
They had a wonderful two hours
talking, laughing, learning about the
fraud each had been, glowing with
the joy of being with some one who
understood. Pat, when she finally
got to bed, buried a flushed, excited
face in her pillow. He liked her.
In the morning Loris, pale, wan,
came into Pat's room before she was
up.
“Oh, Patsy, dear,” she began. She
always began that way when she
wanted something. “Pat, darling,
should you care a lot if you didn't
go to Barbara's? You don't care a
fig about that sort of thing, any-
way. You can be getting up a
peach of a costume for the mask
ball Tuesday night when we all get
back.”
“Not go?" Why not?"
Loris smiled wanly. “Well, I'll
tell you. You and I wear the same
size things. And I wish you'd let
me take your new sport things and
your two new evening dresses along.
And—if I do, you wouldn't have
yourself.
Pat, darling, you see, I want to
make Dave Da ”
“Dave Davidson,” Pat cried sharp-
ly, “I thought you were crazy about
Harold.”
“Did you, dear?” Loris’ great dark
eyes slowly filled. “Did you, dear?”
e swiftly bent to kiss Pat, then
ran out of the room.
Pat slid down on her pillows, her
eyes wide and frightened. Loris was
in love with Dave. It wasn't Har-
old at all. And she didn't want the
dresses. She just didn't want Pat
She saw that
Dave had liked her little sister and
She wanted him herself. She loved
m.
Pat's heart almost stopped. Didn't
she know that awful, tearing,
less feeling? Didn"t it almost
you to pieces? Loris loved Dave.
All that morning Pat fought the
thing to a finish. She
went for a long ride on Midnight.
it
would end, but she had to fight it
out, anyway.
At noon she was miles from home.
She stopped at a farmhouse, tele-
phoned Loris to take the dresses she
wanted. To tell Barbara and the
bush anything that seemed reason-
able.
And on that long ride home in the
noon heat Pat decided that she
would go back to town before the
bunch got home from Barbara
King’s. She hadn't the slightest
bear to face it—to see—just yet.
The week-end dragged endlessly.
She would leave Tuesday noon, she
decided. In the morning she de-
cided to swim over to her Rocks for
one last wonderful hour on those
white sands. A few more dives
from the peak of that rock.
She ran around behind the next
cottages and as she came into the
path she heard a car honking.
Loris jumped out in front of the
cottage, calling “Patsy-—oh, Patsy!”
Pat ran to the water's edge, dash-
ed headlong into it, swam swiftly
away. That “Patsy—Patsy,” with
its thrilled note of happiness, had
told more than Loris could have
told in a week. Loris was happy—
radiantly, gloriously happy.
panting. She was dead tired. The
sand under her was warm, the shade
was deep. She had scarcely closed
her eyes these last three nights.
Pat slept.
It seemed only a minute later
that her eyes opened, closed, open-
ed. There was a definite feeling of
something awful having happened.
What was it? Then came full real-
jzation, that hard lump in her throat,
that weight on her heart. Lorisand
Dave! Dave and Loris!
A voice on the other side of her
Rock. A voice—deep, pleasant. A
man's voice. Pat listened sharply.
Who else knew this place? Vague-
ly familiar were the words he was
saying. He was reading. Or re-
membering. It was one of Edna St.
Vincent Millay's lovely things.
Soundlessly, Pat's lips moved. She
said it with him. It was one of
the beautiful, passionate love poems.
The voice was still. Was there
some one with him? Again he read.
Or remembered. Pat glowed. She
repeated that, too, soundlessly. Who
knew her favorites like that?
It was Dave! Was Loris there,
too? Had they canoed over? Hard-
ly moving, she peered beyond the
rock. No canoe. Loris couldn't
swim so far.
Now he was reading something
Pat didn't know. She heard a page
turn. She listened.
“*“The night of the mask ball,
Marguerite went as an Egyptian
Princess. Her dress, of palest pink
chiffons, was girdled with brilliants.
Her bare feet were sandaled. On
her head a quaint wide band of wov-
en pearls, and from it a little half-
veil, covering her face in front, ran
back into a sweeping train behind.
She was grace personified. Beside
the half-naked nymphs, the Apaches,
the Peter Pans, each one seeming to
try to outdo the other in daring,
Marguerite stood out unique, mys-
terious.” God, yes,” the ejaculation
was fervent. “Sylphs, Apaches,
Peter Pans-——that's what'll be there
tonight. But no Marguerites!”
She stirred as she heard him crash
up the bank toward the top of the
bluff. Then a car started. He
had come alone, by car!
Pat had an idea. Forlorn, but in-
teresting. It was, she thought sad-
ly, like a swan song. Aagain she
slipped into the water, swam back
to the Tall Pines, landed far from
the cottages and went cautiously
around, then in the back door. She
saw no one.
She wrote a note to Loris, saying
she'd run on home. To tell the
bunch that maybe she'd be back
Saturday night. Then she had Tim
drive her to the station. All the
way into town, she planned. Inthe
city she shopped, then loaded her
purchases into a taxi and hurried
home to the pretty town house,
where she learned that her father
and mother were away for a few
days.
For hours, with the second maid
helping, Pat sewed, fitted, tried on.
It was the last evening train back
to the lake that she caught.
It took a little persuasion at the
lake station to make the station man
drive her to the Pines, and when Pat
finally reached the cottage it was
deserted.
Splendid! Swiftly she ran upstairs
to her room, slipped out of her
clothes, stood under the stingingly
cold shower, then, more deliberately
than she had ever done it in her
life, and more carefully, she put on
rouge, powder, darkened her eye-
lashes, which were long, and curling
back sharply. It did make a dif-
ference! She stared back at herself.
She was—well, certainly not bad-
looking!
Then in a few minutes she stood
there—the tian Princess. Soft,
clinging pink chiffons, girdled with
brilliants. Bare feet in soft sandals,
a close little cap covering her hair,
then the wide band of pearls and
the veil, then the tiny mask.
Pat smiled sadly. No one—not a
soul-—would know her. She wouldn't
know herself!
Tim drove her quickly to the Inn,
where the dance was. For a min-
ute Pat quailed. Had it been worth
while ?
Just as a dance ended, Pat walk-
ed slowly into the room. Dave had
been right. Nymphs, Peter Pans, |
bathing beauties were everywhere—
the men as red Indians, Charlie
Chaplins, Harold Lloyds, dandies
with spats and canes.
“Jove!” one Chaplin cried as Pat
‘moved past him. There was a sud-
den, subdued murmur as she delib-
erately walked the length of the
‘room, “Who's the Princess?” “Say,
isn't she a knockout?” “Oh, boy,
I'm going to get the next dance
with that baby.”
| Instantly Pat saw him. He was
‘a Wild West cowboy. Even with his |
sweeping mustaches and his mask,
he didn't deceive Pat one instant.
| She walked straight over to him
land stopped beside him, close enough
to hear the quick intake of his
He doubt of Loris’ success and couldn't | breath, and his, “It's my Egyptian
| Prius, come to life.
| As the music started, a Romeo
| dashed up. “May I have this one—
| Cleopatra ?” .
| “This is our dance!” the cowboy
(instantly replied, as he stepped in
front of the Romeo and took Pat in
(his arms.
| Pat caught up her long train, and
they floated out on to the floor. She
did not speak. She could not. She
wished she hadn't dome it. This
pain of being in his arms was too
poignant.
“Where did you come from?” he
| demanded tensely. ‘T've been mis-
erable, not knowing where you were
or why. TIve called up. I've wired.
T've hunted. No one knew. You
I swear it!
|
ditched the house party after prom-
| ising me—"
“Who do you think I am?” she
demanded with a little gasp of
amazement.
“Don’t be funny.” His arm tight-
ened. Now that I've got you—"
“I'm not Loris,” she protested.
“I should say you're not.” His
voice was cross now. “You're Prin.
cess Patricia, who disappeared like
air, no one knows where, who re-
ap with a wave of her wand,
the prettiest thing in this room. And
you thought for one second I
wouldn't know you? Patsy, Patsy,”
he pleaded, “let's get out of here. If
I let you go a second every man in
this place will grab you. They are
watching you now—waiting to
pounce. And you might float out
ihe Sh
“Yes, I think I shall.”
“Come on-—please.”
“No,” she protested, but as they
reached a doorway he half lifted her
out, then swept her quickly toward
a line of cars.
“This one.” He put her in, ran
around and was beside her and
starting the car before she could do
a thing. Not that she wanted to.
She was dizzy with the adventure,
with his nearness, with the things
he was saying.
He rushed the car out to the
road, faster, faster. His mouth was
grim. He did not once speak until
he had swung the car up under the
great spreading tree over Pat's
Rocks.
“There.” He turned deliberately
to her. “Did you know I'd stand
there, studying each girl, each cos-
tume, as she came in the door?
Could you know that each one, more
revealing than the last, I discarded?
Did you konw that I longed for my
Princess to come trailing, graceful,
lively, and walk straight across to
me with that proud little independ-
ent way that she did finally come
through that door and straight to
me? I thought I was seeing things.”
His hand closed over hers.
“But—" Pat's voice was choked.
“But, Loris—"
“Why the devil do you keep talk-
ing about Loris?” he demanded with
a laugh. “She's a bathing beauty
and her fiance is a Robin Hood.”
“Her fiance? Surely—"
“Harold Van de Water. But you
knew? They got engaged up at
King's.”
“But I thought—I thought—it was
you.”
“I was used as bait to land him.”
“Oh!” Pat's word was a gasp.
“Oh."
Loris had pretended to her. And
she —-Pat-—had agonized, had given
up the coveted trip, had almost
broken her heart, trying to be loyal
to Loris.
water as all the pain, all the agony
and renunciation of these past days
flooded over her.
Dave was staring down at Pat.
Then with gentle fingers he unfas.
tened her mask, put aside the veil
and, with one arm about her, tipp-
ed her face up to his, looking down
into her eyes. “So?” he demanded
gravely, gently. “That was it?"
He drew a long breath. “And 1
thought I was an idiot to dream that
there was-—-somewhere in this world
—a girl like you. It may take me
a long time—but you're going to be
mine. You may think I'm funny.
Me, a big-game hunter, supposedly
an athlete—but not really that at
all, but—"
“But with the soul of a poet,” she
said softly.
knight.
like mustaches.”
audaciously.
“Curious, that engagement,” gasp-
ed the colony at the Tall Pines.
“Yet, of course, like seeks like, and
two such athletes couldn't be found.
There they go now, swimming again
“And the heart of a
She laughed up
over to that great black pile of
rocks across the lake. What do you
suppose they find to talk about?
Yes, of course, bogies, elephant guns,
canoe-patching, polo ponies, swan
dives. But, my dear, shouldn't you
think that a lifetime of holding a
stopwatch on that sort of thing
would be fearfully boring ?"—Copy-
right by Public Ledger.
RULES CHANGED
IN MOTOR CODE
The Pennsylvania motorists were
asked to observe three revised rules
in the motor code of the State be-
ginning January first.
The most important is the change
in the status of a parked car. Any
‘car will be considered a parked car
if it is stopped along the street or
highway, whether occupied or not.
This does not apply to cars loading
or unloading, or cars stopped by
traftic lights. Previously, if the
‘driver or an occupant were in the
car, it was not considered
parked,
but this clause has been eliminated.
Official headlight and brake ad-
justing stations were abolished
with the advent of the new year.
Work done by such stations and the
work during the compulsory inspec-
handled by
permanent official inspection stations
which will remain open all year and
will issue the official certficate
stickers for headlights, brakes, and 5",
other inspections.
Busses operated under contract
with or owned by any school
trict in the State and used for the
transportaion of school children are
included in the new definition of a
commercial motor vehicle in the Mo-
tor Code. In the past such vehicles
| were registered according to their
| seating capacity.
If these vehicles
are not operated exclusively for the
transportation of school children, the
owner will have to take out motor
omnibus registration, instead of com-
mercial vehicle registration.
The revised rules were approved
by the Legislaure in the regular
1931 session.
Housewife: “But, my good man
your story has such a hollow
Tramp: “Yes, ma'am, that's what
comes from speaking on an empty
stomach.”
She stared out over the
My knight. And I don't.
Hl err ——r——rerrrrrrmemar aerate eee Se
|
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
i DAILY THOUGHT
Courage begun with deliberate con-
stancy, and continued without change,
doth seldom fail.—Appias.
—Slop. Splash. Jump that puddle!
Whiz-z-z goes a gay-minded car and
“Darn it! Look at my stockings,”
somebody exclaims.
What! Didn't you konw that stock-
ing protectors are in fashion?
‘They're just toe-less legs of feath-
erweight, thin, transparent rubber
that you slip on over your stockings.
They fit like a stocking and extend
to just below the knees.
If you've had the sad experience
of finding your brand new gloves
spotted with rain or snow—and
what woman hasn't!-—you'll appre-
ciate the practical as well as smart
side of the new patent leather rain
gloves.
Nobody has to be told of the
warmth and protectivn of galoshes.
But did you know that newest ones
are cut higher in the back? This
serves two purposes. It keeps the
back of your stockings cleaner, and
it makes a neater looking front.
When the wind blows—or if the
weather is changeable so you need
an umbrella one minute and the
next you don't-—-you want an um-
brella that's easy to carry.
The new umbrella handle, such as
the one sketched, is convenient to
grasp or hang over your arm.
We've shown a striped umbrella—
but don’t imagine those stripes in
different colors. They're blending
shades of the same color. For um-
brellas are among the few fashions
which haven't taken up color con-
trast in a big way.
—Going somewherg? Doing some-
thing? It's a great Cor for being
active—for getting into sport cos-
tumes and enjoying yourself.
You don't have to go far to do
it, either, though lots of folks are
' traveling—north for winter sports,
south for winter swims—on boats
and on trains.
There are plenty of places to go
and things to do wearing sports
clothes right in your own home town
this winter.
Whether you're going or staying
the type of costume remains the
same. And the same whether your
climate is warm or cold. The ma-
terials change, of course. If you're
outfiting for real winter, you'll want
warm materials.
Knitted suits are both smart and
practical—for sporting events or for
Sueh simple goings wnout as shop-
ping.
The half-and-half costume is anoth-
er that's being active this winter.
A wool skirt with blouse and jacket
contrasting in color and fabric.
For instance, if you're going—or
staying—where it's warm this cos-
tume might be a meshy wool skirt,
a tailored sleeveless over-blouse of
shantung or rough silk and a long-
sleeved box jacket of the same ma-
terial as the blouse.
But ir you want a half-and-half
costume for northern wear, a wool
skirt combined with jersey blouse
and one of the horizontally striped
jackets of the type Chanel makes
would make you right in fashion.
Ribbed materials are some of the
most fashionable of all for these
semi.sports costumes. Ribbed cot-
tons and silks for the South. Rib-
‘bed wools for the North.
The polo coat is one that looks
fine over such costumes. Single or
double-breasted with military look-
ing reveres and button trimming.
—Palm Beach.—In a way it's the
older men who are the best dress-
ers down there. Walk along the
Breakers Boardwalk any at
promenading time and count the
number of nattily attired men. The
ones you notice are apt to be the
older ones.
There's a preference for soft worst-
eds this year, fine flannels, tweeds.
Gray is a popular color for older
‘men. But there are almost as many
grays as there are men. The col-
or ranges from very light, delicate
‘shades to practical dark stripes.
Double-breasted coats, with slight.
ly nipped-in waistlines, tapering
sleeves with a couple or three but-
tons at the wrists, notched lapels
and sometimes something fancy in
| pockets are the usual run. There's
a flare back to the Norfolk coat,
‘with its jaunty back belt and slight
flared fullness below.
Hats, shoes and ties are where a
man's fancy has its fling.
| Brown and white shoes are very
| popular, with winged tips, saddles
and other brown touches heavily
| stitched and perforated onto the
‘white. Hats are as varied as the
number ¢® men who wear them.
Frederick Gould looks fine in gray
‘and wears it a lot. He prefers a
‘plain straw hat, banded in black,
‘and wears black and white sports
shoes often. One day he wore an
‘out-of-the-ordinary slate blue worst-
ed suit, with single-breasted coat
with two buttons fastening. Ithad
‘widely notched lapels and flap pock-
ets. He wore a dark gray brocad-
led tie, held by a handsome pear!
‘necktie pin and a lighter
y vest.
A smart dresser who knows how
‘to wear his clothes is Kostia Vlasto
| of Paris. Walking along the Break-
dis- ors Boardwalk one day with Jules
Bache, New York lawyer, Vlasto
wore a very smart double-breasted
‘suit of dark gray worsted pin strip-
ed in lighter gray. His pearl gray
hat was banded in black, his shoes
| were black and white and he wore
a white silk shirt with soft collar
and a rich tie in dark gray and sil-
yer brocaded stripe.
| —If doughnuts crack in frying try
|less baking power in the recipe.
| A piece of adhesive plaster put
| under a cut in a piece of table oil-
| cloth will prevent the tear becoming
larger.
—To clean a light felt hat rub it
| gently with a block of magnesia,
then brush against the nap with a
| soft brush.