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."
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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.