EXTRAVAGANT | By ANNA L. FINN. "Bob is always talking about the delicious pies and cakes his mother makes," Jean Winston confided to her mother, at the same time giving an admiring glance at the beautiful soli taire which adorned her third finger, "You see," she continued, "he wants me to know that I will have to be quite proficient in the culinary art to compete with her." Mrs. Winston smiled at her daugh ter's simplicity. "Well, why don't you show him what you can do, Jean?" she replied. "He doesn't know that you have been taking a course in do mestic science and are already quite proficient. Why not surprise him?" "That's a perfectly splendid idea, mumsie," Jean exclaimed. "Bob is coming to dinner tonight and I'll make the most elaborate cake Imaginable. It will surely rival anything which Mrs. Rogers ever made." So donning the largest apron avail able, Jean set about her task. True to her desire, the cake was Indeed an elaborate affair, for every known in gredient necessary to the making of a perfect cake was used by Jean. "There," she exclaimed, as she admir ingly put the finishing touches to the dainty pink and white frosting, "if that doesn't beat Bob's mother's cakes than I'm greatly mistaken." She was quite beside herself, for the cake was a grand success and one of which any girl might well be proud. She could picture Bob munching a piece of the toothsome dainty. "Won't he be sur prised and delighted," she thought. So the cake was put away for safe keep ing and Jean proceeded to busy her self about the house. The day passed very quickly and, glancing at the clock, she realized that she had just about an hour in which to dress for dinner. Donning her fa vorite blue frock, she was about to proceed down stairs when suddenly she became aware of the fact that something was missing. "Oh, my ring! Where could I have put it?" she ex claimed. After a very careful search of her favorite hiding places she failed to find any trace of the lost treasure. Soon she had the whole household transformed into a searching party, but all without avail. The ring could not be found. "Oh, what shall I do?" bemoaned Jean. "I can never tell Bob I have lost it; he would think it so careless of me. I'm sure I had it this morn ing," she continued. "But in my fool ish pride and excitement over that horrid cake I lost it. I just hate the old cake now!" All, of course, were in sympathy with her; but when one has lost her treasured engagement ring it is hard to be consoled. In due course of time Bob arrived, and to all outward appearances Jean was immensely happy. "What if he should miss it from my finger," she soliloquized. The thought caused her some concern, but she quietly dis missed it, hoping against hope that such a thing would not come to pass. The dinner progressed very favor ably, and finally the cake was brought forth. Bob was greatly impressed with its tempting appearance, and Jean promptly explained that she had made it especially for him and ex pressed the hope that he would like it. He was, of course, anxious to sample Jean's cooking and a very generous portion was served him. Jean was quite elated, and was waiting anxiously for the words of praise which she knew she was sure to receive. Great was her surprise, however, as she glanced up at Bob to see a distressed look on his face. "Why, what's the trouble? Is there anything the matter with the cake?" Jean anxiously inquired. All eyes were immediately on Bob. "Oh, no, not at all." he assured her. "Only I struck something rather hard," and presently he drew forth a portion of the cake in which was imbedded nothing less than Jean's cherished ring. Poor Bob; he looked both mys tified and embarrassed. But Jean at once cleared up the situation. "Oh, my precious ring!" she rapturously exclaimed. "Why, how did it ever get into that cake?" Instantly she re membered removing it from her finger before commencing to bake the cake, and concluded that in some mys terious way it must have dropped into the mixture. Great mirth followed and Jean joined the merriment, as she realized her ter rible blunder, despite her efforts to dis play her talents in the ail-important line. • "But it wasn't such a bad cake after all, was it, Bob?" she fondly inquired, after the merriment had subsided. "Well, I should say not," he replied; "it was a perfect jewel of a cake, but," he continued, "I'm afraid you will have to find a more economical recipe be fore we are married, because my sal ary would never warrant diamond flavored cakes." (Copyright, 1919, by the McClure News paper Syndicate.) Worm Turns. "Doctor, I don't quite understand this bill you sent me." "Well?" "You have one item here, 'Profes sional services. ss.' That's clear enough. But what's this other charge, •Reading matter, 35 cents?' Is that a war tax?" "No. That's to repay me for the magazine you carried off when you left pay office."—Birmingham Age-Herald. TRUE LOVE LAUGHS AT AGE Shafts of Father Time Powerless to Affect Those Biessed With Mutu al Affection. Ordinarily, we would cuss to the lim it a "peeper" or an eavesdropper. But we have a confession to make on the first count, and we would plead miti gating circumstances. Here is the story: On a drizzling, foggy night, our way | lay down a side street toward home. Several rods ahead there was a shaft of light and when we reached the spot we found a window with' the shade half-way up. Wickedly, but not mali ciously, we hesitated, stopped —and we peeped. * *' r " There sat an old man and his wife. Tliey must have been well up to the allotted three-score of years. He was smoking and she was knitting. Still we peeped. Then she looked up at him and smiled and said something. He laid down a book, struggled up from out of his comfortable seat and kind }f hobbled out of the room, shortly returning and carrying a glass of wa j ter, which he handed to her. And as she drank she held the wrinkled and bony hand of her lover. Then, as she finished drinking, she re leased his hand and the look she gave him and the look he gave her were like shafts of sunshine breaking through the murky clouds after days of rain. That picture has haunted us a long time. Somehow she seems beautiful in our eyes, and yet we did not get a "closeup" of her features. And he, why as we keep thinking of him, we hark back to the days when we once visited a fine old Southern gentleman who possessed the graces of a Chester field and the courtesy of a Don Juan. Then we recall the words of a poet which fits the case precisely: "Let Time reach out with his sickle as far as ever he can; although he can reach ruddy cheeks and ripe lips and flash ing eyes, he cannot quite reach love." When a man really loves a woman j she will never grow old, and when a : woman loves a man he' is neither de crepit nor bowed nor tremulous. She is the' same lass he wooed and he is ! always the same gallant young fellow who won her heart and her hand. They are absolutely equals, happy and free. These two lovers are traveling toward the City of Silence, but they are leaving behind a picture never to be forgotten. —Fremont Herald. Patriotic Kansan. I had looked forward to my first j glimpse of France with an almost fa natical eagerness. France —the land of dreams —1 had visioned it so often! But my first real sight of it, save for a few harbor lights, was not at all the thrilling experience that I had ex pected. As we steamed up the river to Bordeaux I stood, with a group of eager watchers, beside the rail, and looked at the fields stretching along the sides of the river. They were very green, even though it was winter time; and though I was almost breathless with the wonder of reaching a prom ised land, that vivid green was the only thing that I could quite compre hend. "1 nerfcr saw grass like that!" I ex claimed stupidly. One of the men —a newspaper man | from the middle West —answered me. "You ought to see the grass that we I grow in Kansas!" he said. —Margaret : E. Sangster in the Christian Herald. Dog Watches for Auto. Does evolution In the life of animals cause them to take in go ing across a street infested with au tos? Some folks says it does. Early in the auto age numerous dors were killed because they would run out to bark at an auto and. judging the speed by that of a horse-drawn vehicle, they often were run over. This fact can still be noticed in some country districts, where autos are not plentiful. Close students and lovers of dogs in the city sa.V they have often noticed dogs looking to the left and to the right before they start across a street. Of course, not all of them do, neither do all human beings, but the "thinking" dog does. Watch it for yourself. Future of "Tired" Nations. The recuperative powers of nations is great beyond belief, and hope Is ever present as long as the spark of vitality is left. The same superhuman effort that was put forward to repel the in vader will again be exerted to remedy the damage that has b'een done; only there must be a breathing space be tween effort, and in that space lies the greatest danger. This danger, how ever, is more imaginary than real, and whatever means are resorted to by the population to deaden the effect of this reactive period, it soon palls and the sober minds of the populace again at tain the ascendency.—Forbes Maga zine. Extravagance in Combs. The notice, "Ladies are requested to remove their combs," appears now on theater programs In London, be cause of the vogue of the huge Span ish comb among smart women. Some of the combs are of enormous size. The tortoise shell vogue is an expen sive one. A light tortoise shell dress ing set costs $l,OOO or more. Protected His Tonsils. John Lay denies the story that he had his tonsils sunburned by gazing skyward the other afternoon at the airplane that was cutting didos in the sky. He says the machine shifted its position often enough to keep him turning about, so that part of the time his mouth was in the shade. —Sikeston i Standard. FROM A CLEAR SKY j By AGNES C. BROGAN. I Rosalia walked beside the tangled hedges of roses in her garden and look ed wistfully up and down the road. "Reckon," she said, "we may as well give up looking for some one to come or something to happen Susan, we've been looking a good many years." The black cat who was the lone little woman's )only companion, answered by a sympathizing purr. "Seems," Rosalia went on, "that we ought to get over expecting. If anything new or pleasant had been coming our way, it would have come when the old house was fresh, when father tended the rose vines and kept them neat, when carriages drove past our door with happy folks coming to town for holiday, or stopping in to visit," Rosalia sank down upon a grassy mound and drew the cat into her lap, silent with her memories. "Carriages come no more down our Quiet lane," she told the cat, "it's autos now r , great whirring autos fly ing along the great white road." Rosalia rose to her feet smiling whim sically upward, "anything that will come our way these days, puss, must drop from out a clear sky." And as the woman stood gazing absently upward, a whirring sound coming not from the main road, rent the air. Then she saw It —the wonder thing with the out spread wings of a monster bird sweep ing the sky. And before Rosalja could catch her astonished breath, the won der thing circled, drooped, and still cir cling, came crashing toward her own neglected garden. Like a throbbing monster it lay In the wide space beyond the rose hedge; and Rosalia, trembling, rushed to a man who frantically beckoned from its side. He was a young man and dead ly white. "You'd better get someone," he gasp ed, "to help carry me inside. Nothing but a broken bone, I guess—awful jar, but made landing—in time." Then tbo man of the airplane fainted. When she returned with the assur ance that help would soon come, the young man turned upon the cushions she propped about him. "It's probably nothing to worry about," he said slowly, "but you nev er can tell. Might be internal injury. So I wondered —if you'd be kind enough—to write a sort of —message to a girl. You could mail it to her from me in case —" he smiled faintly. "Well, In either case," he said. So Rosalia brought her best note paper, and seated herself close to the great broken bird, which had soared toward the sky. "Yes," she prompted. "Begin it," the man said steadily. 'Dearest,' that includes everything." "Dearest," Rosalia wrote, and wait ed. "Today only, do I dare to tell you that which has long been in my heart, I love ydu. Always, I think I have loved you—" She still waited as he lay with closed eyes apparently think ing. Rosalia was thinking also. She had wished for something to happen. Something miraculous had happened, the 'something' had darted into her solitude from out a clear sky. Ro mance itself, was close to her. and she, as usual, but an onlooker. She thought of this dearest 'girl' far away, won dering if she had listened wearily for a step that never came back. Rut the 'Dearest girl' did not live, she was sure, in an old house set far back from the road, where briers and cares grew thick, to screen and choke young 15fe. The dearest girl's lover had not gone away years before. He was a young lover still. Neither had heart less parents sent him abroad to finish a medical education, killing romance— country romance they had called it, with one blow. And after twenty-five years the memory of that broken ro mance still had power to bring a mist to Rosalia's blue eyes. He had married —her own lover of long ago—a gay creature abroad, who had not lived long enough to return with her husband to his home. And when he had returned, taking up in later years his father's practice of medicine, Rosalia kept resolutely and proudly out of his way. As an auto rounded the curve, she jumped apprehensively to her feet and hurried into the house. It was the same step she remembered, which now crossed the porch, as the doctor car ried the aviator upon his own broad back. The same confident laugh which echoed back from her sitting room. Presently the doctor sought her out. "We shall need you," he said, but his eyes were upon her, as he talked with his patient. And later when Rosalia and her lov er of long ago stdod together beside the airplane in the garden, the doctor bent to pick up a piece of paper. "Dearest," he read, "today only, do I dare to tell you that which has long been in my heart, I love you. Always, I think, I have loved you." He turned, as he was leaving, to put the paper into Rosalia's hand. "I will come again this evening." he said. And as she would have continued the young lover's letter, she saw be neath her own handwriting a hastily added line: "This is my message to you. Rosalia, the message I, myself, would have written." And when the moon shone through the old house windows at evening, she found herself again listening for a step. (Copyright, 1919, Western Newspaper Union) THE MAY BASKET |j By GENEVA A. ELDREDGE. I Scent of apple blossoms filled Cyn thia Smith's living room, a clumsy bee tumbled up and down the outside of the screen door, and now and then a swallow darted across the sunshine, his blue wings glistening. Away down the street sounded the rat-tat of a drum, and Cynthia heard the patter of children's feet running toward the town square. Still she sat tense and upright in the old-fashioned rocking chair, her mouth drawn in a straight hard line, her eyes fixed upon the work In her hands. The screen door squeaked on its spring and a round-faced, brown-eyed little boy squeezed in, his eyes filled with surprise when he saw her sit ting there so stiff, her work in her hands, and he stammered a little as he said: "Wh-why, Aunt Cynth, ain't you going to meet the train and see the p-parade?" Soft and quick came her answer: "No, dear, not today." "But Aunt Cynth, they ain't goin' to be no more p-parade days, an' I got on my white suit, an' mother thought maybe you'd like to have a little boy what was all spic and span to go wiv you." / And his little face grew wistful and troubled. He had never seen an Aunt Cynth like this before, so straight and strange. He meant to know before he left just why she was staying home the day everyone else in town was going down to welcome the boys from France. So he crept up close and whispered: "Is it 'cause Joe ain't com- In\ auntie?" Tears sprang to her eyes as she gathered the little spic and span boy close. • "Yes, Teddie boy, that's just why auntie isn't goiqg. She can't bear it." Now that Teddie was sure he felt that he ought to say something to help make auntie happier, so he said as he stroked her face with his fat little hand: "Never mind, auntie; Fve got a secret and maybe tonight 'bout dark you'll know it. Maybe right 'fore supper, maybe right after, anyway, don't you come out doors right that time, will you?" And auntie promised to stay in the house. Then hearing his mother call ing he scampered away leaving Aunt Cynth alone with her thoughts. Slow ly she closed her eyes and in Imagina tion saw the town square filled with . people, the train pulling in filled with returning soldiers, the happy greet ings, and far jyid faint she heard the band and the cheering. The hot tears trickled slowly down her face as she whispered, "And mine reported missing; my boy, who was the pride of my heart!" And then Teddie's happy little fa'ce seemed tcr shine out, and she remembered what a comfort he had been all the weary months, "and now he is coming to hang me a May basket, bless his dear little heart, and I must cheer up for his sake. I think I will plan a little surprise myself." So she went into her dining room and set the pretty table, bringing in great bunches of apple blossoms to decorate it with until the room looked like fairyland in the pink and white dress. She frosted little round cakes and made an iced drink for the crystal glasses, and almost before she knew it, twilight came drifting down. The drums had ceased their rat-tat and happy voices called to one another in the street. "It's almost time for Ted die and his secret," she thought as she patted her hair into place. Then she heard steps tiptoeing up the board walk and a child's quick panting breath, and she smiled the old time glad smile that she used to greet the boy with who was missing tonight when he came to hang May baskets at the very same door. When two fat fists pounded hard on the screen dodr she waited only long enough for a small boy to hide before she opened the door, to find a dainty little basket, all fringed and festooned and fairly bursting with candy kisses, setting on the step. "Why, how surprised I am," she said. "Who could have left this beau tiful little basket here? Surely it's a mistake; some little boy must have thoughjt Susie Grimes lived here." Just then a small boy in white wrig gled out from behind the snowball bush and called breathlessly, "No, no, Aunt Cynth, 'tain't no 'stake, it's my secret and Some more of it is 'hind the catalpa tree. You come see." But Just then a khaki-clad figirre sprang out with wide-open arms, and then Ted's secret was out. "Oh, Joe," cried Aunt Cynth as she wept In his arms, "how you must have felt not to find me at the train to meet you." "That's all right, mother; I don't blame you under the circumstances. "When Ted told me his secret I thought I'd wait and surprise you. "Some May basket all around, hey? Say, Ted, it looks like frosted cakes and lemonade in the dining room; let's hurry for mess." And as mother and son wiped the tears of gladness from their eyes, a little voice shrilled out: "You won't never cry no more on p-parade day, will you. Aunt Cynth?" (Copyright, 1919, McClure Newspaper Syn dicate.) No Housework for Them. "Well, the soldiers learned to sweep, wash and cook." "Yep. the present crop of brides is going to have a perpetual cinch." 1 Next ' r ' ~ * 7 'j 'if''- ' J r ~ ' ' ,v ' | [ y,.Nv llf/fl rP </ ( •' . ■ n H /"" .<■' • -s m >[/ .< A I i £ WW .a / vfeW wWr ''/ M V/w '///ii\ I <► I FLORY | ♦ =================== o T By MILDRED WHITE. ill ( J "Silly twaddle!" remarked James Comstock, disgustedly, and laid the book aside. "Whose 'twaddle'" asked a sweet voice near him, "is it?" Janles glanced at the cover. "By Flory," he quoted contemptu ously. "Flory is exactly the sort of person one would expect to touch up on her subjects, like a butterfly among the flowers, with no substance or real ity to hold." "Haven't you." asked the girl at his side, "imbibed some of Flory's poetic phraseology? Now, I know a man who is enraptured over the little books, considers them the acme of art. Cer tainly they sell well." James Comstock turned to look into the piquant face upraised to his own. Like various other guests at Mrs. Van Houton's house party, he was exceed ingly curious concerning this new ar rival in their social midst. The rest of the crowd had been known to each other, either by name or reputation for years. Rhoda Kent was one of Mrs. Van Houton's discov eries. To use her son's expression, his mother had "sprung a new one," and she was delighted in her young friend's reserve. The most favored had been able to learn nothing of lihoda's past, present or future from her own lips. It was the unusual charm of her per sonality which caused deep interest upon all sides, and much conjecture. Her clothing, though in good taste, was so independently simple that many wondered if Mrs. Van Houton had taken on a protege. James Comstock, being acceptably the most interesting man in the set, was naturally her vis-a-vis. In fact, during the days of proximity in the fine old house his heart had known its first serious affection. James, the heretofore invulnerable, was, as Billy Van Houton said, "de cidedly hard hit." Never before, he gloomily admitted to himself, had face or voice of wom an haunted the nightly hours which should be devoted to healthful slum ber. So James was justified in pos sessing more than the usual share of curiosity concerning the real life of the winsome Rhoda. "Perhaps," he said in answer to her defense of the book discussed, "this 'Flory' may say more, in a light man ner, than I am clever enough to grasp. But, fancy, for instance, being mar ried to such a dreamer. Poor husband of Flory! With his wife always soar ing above the blue. She isn't so bad at rhyme, though, I'll admit; seems to have a number of little verses scat tered through here and there, with a bar of music to start them off. Helps to sell, I suppose. Makes the book look easy to read." Miss Kent nodded laughingly.. "But you would not want to be the suffering husband who must listen to his wife singing those things around the house," she said. "Heaven forbid!" James piously ejaculated. And the lovely girl at his side arose in response to Mrs. Van Houton's call. "Come here, Rhoda," cried that mer ry person. "Here are half a dozen bored people wishing to be entertained. My hope lies in you." James Comstock gazed after the graceful figure regretfully. The glance she threw back at him was strangely disquieting. For days he had been joyously secure in a consciousness of the girl's preference. Unaccountably discouragement came upon him. Rhoda's eyes had gazed at him re proachfully. her lips had closed firmly, as though In displeasure. Then pres ently he heard her voice in song, as 4he accompanied herself upon the piano. It was a little Scotch tune that the girl played and the words sounded vaguely familiar. Comstock leaning forward, listening attentively, found that voice and tune thrilled him with inexplicable tenderness. Where—had —he—heard—the words? — Idly his gaze fell upon the opened book of "Flory." Then he knew. It was one of the despised Flory's verses that his beloved was singing. And after a round of involuntary hand clapping he heard Mrs. Van Houton's triumphant announcement: "I_had not intended to. tell you for | awhile; we have nan Sucm fun keep ing our secret. But Rhoda Kent Is 'Flory,' as you have guessed, with those delightful books to her credit." Corastock sat staring dully at the volume in his hand long after silence proclaimed that lihoda's audience had departed. Bitterly he recalled his re cent condemning conversation, with its fervent "Heaven forbid!" that a wife such as she should be his own. Well, he had done for himself this time, he bitterly reflected, and this time was all that counted in the world. "If you please," asked Rhoda severe ly, "may I have that book of 'silly twaddle?'" Wretchedly he looked up Into the lovely face above his. "And —I was going to ask you to be my wife." "Heaven forbid!" murmured Rhoda. "A wife floating around in the blue." Her voice broke in soft uncontrollable laughter. Eagerly he caught at her hands. "1 will drop the name 'Flory.'" Rhoda sold later; "Mrs. James Coin stock will give to the book the proper dignity which it deserves." (Copyright, I »1 ' Western Newspaper Union) Flour From Beets. The sugar flour of northern France is made by pouring fresh beet pulp Into the top of a tower of warm air, where It passes through a series of gratings rotating one above another, and is delivered into air gradually in creasing in temperature up to about 250 degrees Fahrenheit. The product weighs about -5 per cent of the weight of the beets. World Record in Treaties. painstaking person has com piled a list of treaties from 1560 R. C. to 18G0 A. D. In those 84 centuries the world achieved B,<KX) treaties, and we are told that each of them on the average lasted a little longer than two years. It is as true now as it was 1,500 years before the Christian era that treaties are only kept when there is an honest intention among all par ties of keeping them. Everybody Can Take Milk. Tf a person tells me "1 cannot take milk" I always siiy: "You can If you will take it in a certain way." It is a question usually of taking it aright or of taking it like soup, w'th a spoon, with a bite of some carbohydrate sub stance, cracker or bread, between the sips. I do not think everybody must take milk, but I think everybody can. —Dr. R. C. Cabot, in "A Layman'* Handbook of Medicine." • Wouldn't Sit on a Bex. The man in the box office oLa Broad way theater is responsible for this. He asserts that a Brooklyn youth and his best girl stepped up to the box office window the other night and asked for two tickets for the show, which ,1s a musical comedy. Only box seats were available. Returning to the girl the youth said: "They have noth ing left but box seats." "Let's go home, then," she replied with a frown. "I won't sit on a box." MRS. RAYMOND ROBINS ij Mrs. Raymond Robins, president of the National Women's Trade Union League.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers