} — By Peggy Shane Copyright by Peggy Shane. WNU Bervice CHAPTER I w— The world was black, Then red clr- cles poured In. They were swallowed by purple rings. She was lost. Vast hallways opened. She was going into a strange world. She was riding. She was going somewhere, “You fainted, dearest, much for you.” She was burning hot. She was full of something like fear, but It was worse than fear, It flamed and crack- led up as if she stood in the midst of a fire. She gasped as If smoke choked her. “Poor darling.” She kept her eyes closed. She felt a motion of something ander her, car- rying her, “Open your eyes, dear.” But she did not, She did not want to see the person who spoke to her, She knew she was in a vehicle of some kind, going somewhere. Cautiously, she clutched at the seat beneath her, running her fingers over cool leather, She half opened her eyes, A taxicab. She was riding in a taxicab. She shivered and closed her eyes again, “You're all right, sweet.” It was a man's volce. She hated It She turned her head away from its presence. Beneath lifted lids she saw the streets of New York. A large firm hand closed over hers. “I'm afraid it's been a shock” She kept her head averted. “Poor sweet,” “1 don't—" “Don’t talk, darling.” She turned and looked at the man beside her. Dark earnest eyes plumbed hers anxiously. His tanned face was flushed. brow was damp. “You don’t what, sweet?” His thin mouth was twitching. stared at It blankly. “You don’t what?" “I don't know.” sigh and closed It's been too His She She gave a long her eyes. Waves swept over her. She was losing some. thing, or was it already lost? Her fa- milinr self was fleeing. She opened her eyes. She straightened her hat. “Feeling better?” She searched his face. Every curve was strange. Who was he? [le spoke as if he knew her well, Yet she conld not remember him. “All right now?” Who was he? His smile was terri fying. She could not remember him. How had she got there? Where had she been before? Who was he? Who was anyhody? She did not even re member her own name. She sat straight and tense, her eyes wide open and frightened. The loss of her identity did not matter. If only she could get away from this horri- ble man, His fingers were on hers again. Her eyes took him In furtively. He was young, yes, young, well-dressed and in a way good looking. “You need something to drink.” “No, no. I'm all right" “I'm going to get you a bromide.” “I'l! take nothing.” He set his jaw, There was a drug store In the next block, She thought: [ must get away from him. She thought it so strongly there was no room for her to wonder even about the loss of memory. He was rapping on the glass win dow of the cab. “You'll feel better as soon as you've swallowed something soothing.” “Please don't bother” The driver turned a roughly shaved face toward them, “Stop at that drug store ahead.” She shook her head. “1 won't take anything.” The ead was slowing down, “Yes yon will” His smile was wan and anxious. “I'll get them to mix something to make you feel better. It's the h—1 of a Jam. No wonder you fainted.” She did not ask what the jam was, She was filled with dread. But her eyes were determined. She would take nothing. from him. The eab was stopped. The driver leaned toward them. “Can't get right up In front of the place™ “This will do." The young man's hand was already on the latch. “Come «on. But no, you better wait here. I'll bring It out to you" He was forcing a smile. He was suffering, She saw that. But she did not pity him, He went down the street, turned into the drug store, As she saw the last of him through the swinging doors, she was flooded with rellef. She sat paralyzed. He was gone. She leaned forward, steadying herself against the glass be. hind the driver. “Drive on.” she said. “Drive on.” The man turned his head slowly, looked at her stupidly, “Prive on,” she repeated. His heavy jaw dropped. me to drive on? “Yea. Go on” Fle bent to his gears, “Straight ahead” She relaxed, trembling. With a screeching of the gears, the cnr crawled into traffic. She watched the door of the drug store with terror. They passed it safely, He might come out Mat any moment. He might run after the ¢ab, waving and shouting. “Turn at the next corner. defr.” “No left turn, Miss.” “Then turn right. Only, turn, And ¥ v “Go on.” “You want “Where to?" Turn then go on and I'll tell you when to stop.” Her fear was receding. She was weak with rellef and a curious sense of triumph, The cab had turned. She drew a long breath, The alr was soft and springlike. The avenue was full of brightly painted new cars, She was feeling better. A clock In the street told her that it was half-past four. Her own watch verified the hour. “Through the park, Miss?” “Yes.” Where was she going? Where was her home? Perhaps in a few minutes it would all come back to her. She composed herself, sat tensely in the cab, trying to be calm, trying to be rational, trying to remember. Who was her mother? Who was her father? “Look here,” she whispered, “you must know somebody, even {if you're an orphan, Just think of some one per- son that you know. Anybody at all will do, Picture somebody's face!" Thus commanded, across her vision floated the pleture of the tax! driver, Then the face of the man she had left in the drug store emerged clearly In her mind's eye. And that was all She began straining her eyes at every one in the streets. Surely some one or something would give her a clue as to who she was, where she ought to go. She seemed to know New York, she thought with a feeling of gratitude. She could go to a hotel at least. “Around the park again?” man questioned, “No, Take me to the Biltmore. She spoke with decision. She did not know why she sald the Biltmore. jut she was glad that her wits seemed to be returning. But what she would do after she got to the hotel she could not say. It dawned on her then that the young man she had left in the drug store was her single link with her past, She drew her fox neckplece closely about her chin. Where had she got the fur? Her clothes were very new. She racked her brains In order to think where she had put them on. She could not remember where she had dressed that morning. “lI wonder what my face is like,” she thought suddenly, “perhaps I'm an old woman!™ With anxious fingers she opened her bag and found a little mirror. Her eyes, young and (frightened, looked The cab ¥it ” entrance to the Biltmore. The uni formed hotel doorman was opening the door, She took hold of her purse firmly and prepared to get out, “How much?" “Dollar-sixty. bags.” Her bags! Don't forget your She was startled, self. It was loaded down with smart-looking luggage. “Wouldn't do to go very off and naturedly, “No- of course not.” She was con sounds of cabs honking. waiting for his money, and the helpful attendant both bothered her, because carefully, Surely when she read her own Initials they would remind her of her name, and her past, them to the driver. As he let his car move Into the traffic she turned and walk before the hotel, ters: D. V, At last she that would lead her back or the person she had been. herself, A bellboy to tipped the doorman generously, and followed the bellboy. As she mounted the stalrs <he felt sure that she would remember every thing in a moment, Her name was D, V. Miss Drusilla Vance, or— Miss Dor. othy Vane say— or-- or Miss Deborah Valentine. It was absurd and annoying Just the right name didn't come drew on her glove, half nervously, and her finger struck against her wedding ring. [Instantly all her bravery fled Miss Drusilla Vance! Miss Dorothy Vane! Why, she was margied was Mrs. Somebody, Mrs. D. V. And then her Imagination traveled straight back to the man she had left In drug store, Sweet, he had called her, ng! So that was her husband Her husband was a man she feared and hated. She shivered. “No wonder | lost my mind,” she sald to herself half.cheel. fully, “Perhaps he's saved the mort- gage on my had to marry him out that and Dar- of gratitude: been living with him: so now some kind fate has made me lose my mem. back at her. There was not a wrinkle to be seen in the soft contours of her white face. She was glad she was still young. She hadn't felt old. She could not tell much about her face though she spent some time (n- specting it. Then she turned her at. tention to her hand bag. She drew out a handkerchief, It was of sheer white linen with the initial D embroidered in one corner. “DD.” she thought, “stands for Dorothy—or Daisy. 1 wonder if one of those names could be mine? Or Delia? Or Drusilla? It was bewildering to be able to think of so many names. It was ex. asperating. She did not believe that any of those names belonged to her. She returned to the exploration of her bag, and drew out a black en ameled compact. This seemed to have her monogram on it in raised gold let. ters, but so elaborate was the design that she could not puzzle out what the letters were. The D was clear enpugh but whether the other two let. ters were N and M, or V and W she could not decide. There was no card; nothing else but a bill.fold and a coin purse. She saw with relief that she had plenty of money with her. “At least” she thought, “1 won't starve until 1 find out who I am and where I'm supposed to go.” On her hands were some chamols skin gloves. Now she striped them off and looked down at her slim fingers, On the third finger of her teft hand was a platinum band set with ting dia. monds, “I'm married” This was un real. It was unexpected as a blow be tween the eyes. She stared at the ring wonderingly and whispered to herself unbelievingly. “I'm married I” The eab stopped with a jerk. She looked up. She was at the Vanderldh ory, so I won't have any conscience about leaving him.“ Then, “Perhaps, after all, he isn't my husband" The slow minor strains of the string orchestra came from the tea room. Something gripped her heart. Perhaps she was going to remember. She knew the song. The words sald themselves to her in a long, sinister drawl, Oh give me something To remember you by! When you are far away from me. She was walking slowly in rhythm to its tedious beat as she repeated the words, But they brought no farther recollections. Strange that a song should remain when nothing else did. She moved along obscurely, but with an inner defiance. She was not a phantom and the silly dream would have to end. Hadn't she showed that she was no phantom by leaving her husband? Some girls wouldn't have been as daring. She hoped she wouldn't meet him, “Register? asked the clerk. The bellboy carrying her luggage had led her to the desk, She flushed. What should she put down? Mrs. Drusilla Vance? But she couldn't. She hesitated. “Not-—not yet." She turned to the bellboy. “Tale care of my bags for a few moments.” she sald, handing him a dollar, “I'D! be right back.” in the ladies’ room. Surely one geod look at her face and figure would bring back something Important, ful, Wasn't there something uncon. sciously directing her? Even if she had no positive recollections, wasn't she coming here at the bidding of some hidden memory? She fervently hoped so, . (TC BE CONTINUED.) W oun NT love to own several those smart, attractive and very practieal mercerized-cot-, ton hand-crocket blouses which L88 specialty shops ing this season, car with the DOW -80-vOREU linen (par, ticularly black linen) or! pique suits? why not | happy possessor of just such? Are 80 easy {when home good-looking! As to hand-crochet ! now, Chie Par z | It, wearing blouses their best-looking and gloves, the cunningest affairs you with flare cuffs, the whole thing done i Ina dainty lacy stitch, Belts, too, and | pocketbooks and all while their frocks are trimmed with | designful insets and entire | yokes and edgings and such. The group of clever blouses in the picture eannot but prove an inspira tion 0 those who feel the urge to crochet. The important thing shout using cotton for these blouses is that it washes so per. fectly no matter how colorful it be, Of course you are going to have a hard time deciding which of the blouses pictured to copy. We think the model on the standing figure Is particularly good-looking. It's “darling” when made in a‘pastel shade to mateh the skirt, although It is Just as effective in contrast—pale blue cotton crochet blonse with a pink pique or flannel skirt, or, If you like monotones, a pink crochet blouse topping a pink linen you Just one or of cool, for high-«l are show to w be the They to make and Inexpensive crocheied) and are they the rage just nply dote on of crochet with suils ever saw, hats of crochet, crochet vastly mercerized skirt, a matching linen swagger coat completing this most intriguing three- Oh, there Is no end to the staging of effects which can be done with these hand-crochet blouses. It is some, CHILDREN 8 By ANGELO PATRI DON’T LAUGH HILDREN take themselves and their ways seriously, A lot of thought and effort zo into their work and play. The results of their efforts look good to them. The lopsided box, the crooked sheet of paper, the primi- tive sketches are perfect in their eyes When you point to them with the fin. ger of scorn, when you laugh at them, yon hurt the creator of these works ¢o the heart. He put all he had Inte them and you poke fun at IL All artists, all craftsmen, work ta vision, Before ever a tool touches the material the idea is com- plete. The worker sees only that vi- sion. Not until his hands are lifted and the work set apart does he realize the that lies between his vision and work. Graduaily as his fervor cnols the realization of imperfection gpon him. Another is it started If his spirit is not It will not be started if ridi- kills the creative spirit. Teachers and parents often fail to this point of view which is the vision be Parents feel the efforts of thelr chii- dren Keenly. They struggle along and them, It Is to hide their and thelr pain that they so often belittle a child's effort Don't do that. Appreciate the work of the chlid's mind and hand. Go be- hind the clumsy effort to the vision the child cherished. So long as his You cam child So long as the ’ also the tricky picot (crochet) finish ing at the neckline, The eyesatisfying little sweater with its pert cap sleeves on the seated figure is crocheted in blue and white cotton, Intermingled so as to give it a sort of tweedy effect The fashionable high neck of the striped-yoke blouse shown to the right below, also its wee puff sleeves, make this model a smart item in anyone's wardrobe, The buttons at the belt are a happy thought, avoids streteh ing when you slip the blouse over the bead. shoulders above the group are pictured, is very much in crochet attire crocheted In the popular Slet stiteh, bright orange with white. The white ton has the soft, easily draped brim which Is becoming to all types of faces. A band of mesh stitch suggests new height for the crown ©. 1921, Western Newspaper Union. DOTS IN THE MODE By CHERIE NICHOLAS It Is surprising how persistently dotted effects keep in the mode. To day, polka dots, from medium to tre mendous coin dots, are, if possible, wore fashionable than ever, Paris de signers especially exploit the dotted theme. To be sure, the costume pie tured is rather extreme from an Amer. lean standpoint, yet it goes to show how French eouturiers are placing emphasis on dots. Another fashion which loses not In favor is that of black and white. As the season pro gresses It is apparent that black with white Is ms much In the limelight as velvet Jacket and the self-fabric gloves are the high spots of this costume Jacket Ensembles The Jacket frock is developed In all the fabrics of the moment--summer sheer crepes, printed crepes, chiffons, linens, pique, eyelet embroidery and ONE BLACK DRESS IS FOUND ENOUGH Blessed are ye who have one good black silk dress and half a dozen sets of collars and cuffs, six hatbands, two hats, three pairs of shoes and two pairs of gloves with detached cuffs. With a rounded or V-peck for the dress, any number of diversified coliars—size, shape and color-—-may be applied, being careful to choose the correct hatband, gloves, cuffs, shoes and purse, With the hats, shoes and gloves black and white, or perhaps one set in a brown, beige or a madium green, you ean do wonders with constructing a wardrobe suitable for all occasions, One evening gown, with two or three different jackets, sccomplishes mira- cles and makes one realize that orig- Inality and ingenuity are having a big inning. A——— New Fall Coats Are Rich in Elaborate Fur Trim The new coats shown In early fall displays are richly trimmed with far, many of them having both collars and upper sleeve accents of silver, stone or blue fox, astrakhan or Persian iamb. Their silhouettes are generally almost straight, while their hemlines are from 7 to 11 inches from the ground, The frocks shown with them are designed of soft wools or pebbled crepes with simple bodices, natural waistlines and slender skirts, Black, red, brown and deep green are the favorite hues for early fall Summer Corsets of Soft Rubber Bid for Favor It lan’t fair to Keep talking about the top layer of fashion and extolling its virtues while taking the more ob- scure items for granted. And right now there is considerable news next to the skin fashion's favor. It I8 wade of soft rubber—no stays or things to cramp your style--and instead of being cut #0 long all the way down to give that sleek line over the hipg and upper part of the thighs, sections are clipped out neatly back and Cront and the legs slip through rings like gerters, makiog a perfect fit. attain it he can be encouraged and praised. Screen his onseasoned spirit from biting sarcas:n and the bitterness of ridicule. It is cruel to wound ® child through his work. This Is true of very little chiidren as well as older ones. When a child clearly, it isn't funny. It 1s as great 8 disappointment to him as a bad In- vestent is for you and you know how welcome the sarcasms of your friends on that point Unless you can stand beside the unless you can see what he sees and feel as he feels, unless you can understand his impulse and appreci- ate his effort to create and to express, you cannot belp him. Then at least Laughter can & caress, . 0» “THEY MADE ME" I: THERE is any one thing more than another that makes me long to be Merlin and have the power to change children into other forms and persons, it is the cry, “He made me do The Instant a child saye that, he his weakness, that pitiful weakness that makes him a tool for all who care to use him, It is useless to scold and fume about it. He says that because he is that kind of a child. We have to seek for other sort of child; the one who says, “Not me. You can't fool me Go chase yourself.” I am always beartened when a child's mischief or mistakes are posi- tive, When he says, “1 did that. | wanted to see what Olid Man Willis would say if I put a brick through his garage window. Anyway, he's too gay. thers on us all the time” I don't feel discouraged even when the offense is worse than that. When Roland ran away and hitch biked for a week and then wired home, “Send me ticket. I'm tired biking. 1 got a sore fool.” He got the ticket and a calin reception. His “Aw, | was tired of hearing her telling me | was left back because 1 dkin't know this or Sure | remem I knew 1 bad no right to use the money for the groceries for myself, but | needed some, and so 1 just took I can manage all that because It is direct and positive. There was some thought behind it. But when he says, “1 was coming home and | met him and he says to me, ‘You gotta come along. I'm going to beat it on the 1 said 1 didn’t want to go but he made me™ | feel sick. I know | bave to get out the magic wand and the incantations and the blue powder and make a magic that will change this child into a real one with a mind and a purpose and a will First, I call in the chile specialist, child must have In him somewhere something of strength on which we can build. Then | want to feed him right. 1 want something of the quality of the Next, 1 want him to live with peo who are close lo what | want him Goodness Is catching. Man pers and morals are infectious. You can do a lot to change the negative child Into a positive one If you work hard at the job and have a ot of faith in bim and in yourself, Faith goes before work always, © Pell Ayndicate,« WNU Servien
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers