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About The monitor. (Omaha, Neb.) 1915-1928 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 23, 1920)
. I «©. 1&20. Western Newspaper Union.) There was something about ths young man who approached her In the suit and cloak department of the store where she had Jnst been employed, thut won the attention of Irene Daw son at once. This was her second week at earning a living, and not yet hud Interest In noticing and studying \ the various types of people who came along abated. Home and school had confined her girlhood to a narrow scope, and hustling business life fasci nated her with a presentation like to a constantly changing diorama. “I am to see the manager. If you please," spoke the young man, and his tones corresponded with Ills deli cate, refined face. “It lo-ahout-a coat," and he set down a suitcase he had carried, "Miss Lowe has gone to the stock room and will be here In a few min utes,” Irene apprised him, and Just then the lady In question npiieuring, Irene busied herself folding and sort ing some silk sweaters, and, as was her wont, mentally analyzing the call er, picturing him as an artist, or poet, or a' professional man of some sort. Judging him by his intellectual fea tures and trying to surmise the cause of a somewhat sad expression In his eyes. He and the lady manager were engrossed for some time In discussing a lady’s street coat which the suit case contained. She wrote him out a cashier's check, placed the returned garment aside, and was busy making a notation on a tab, when Irene pass ed to her side. “Walter Morse,” read Irene, and aq address. “1’oor man. Knther a peculiar case,” said Miss Lowe. "His mother pur chased the coat here n week ago and died three days later. From what he tells me she hail , taken charge of two children of u dead daughter, and now these are left to his care. Nothing Is at hand to provide for the little brood, and I fancy he is not himself possessed of any material surplus of income. Oh, my dear,” she called after Irene, as the latter moved away, "you told me you were thinking of a new winter coat.” “Yes, when winter conies nnd I have saved up enough to buy it," laughed Irene.' “Well, here is your chance,” an nounced Miss Lowe, and she held up the article Just returned. Irene inspected the garment eagerly. The low price was irresistible. “I will take it," she said, and that evening carried It home fully satisfied with a purchase that provided her with n cold-weather wrap at one-half Its real value. Irene’s mother approved the hnrgaln and was interested In Irene’s story of the Incident that hud led to Its acqui sition. The Dawsons had known com fort and plenty until the bend of the family died, and Irene was now the sole support of her aged mother. “I Will get at the coat tomorrow, dear,” said the latter. “It is quite long, and I think the best way to do would he to turn In the defaced edge.” So for the time being, the garment whs forgotten, but not s.. the Interest-' Ing young mnn who had brought it to the store Irene consulted the tele phone book. Yes, there it was: "Wal ter Morse, Ceramics.” “I felt sure ho followed some artistic culling,” Irene told herself, and then blushed con sciously. “Why,” she cheated herself Into saying, “one would think I was In love with him. What nonsense!” hut went to bed still thinking of Mr. Walter Morse. The following day was one of short working hours and Irene came home early. Her mother met her at the door in u great state of excitement. “I came near sending for you,” she fluttered. "I could hardly wait till you came home. Oil, Irene! the most wonderful thing! In an Inside pocket of the coat, sewed up, I found—but come and see for yourself.” Upon the dining-room table lay the coat and beside It was a small bank book. It was open and its first page recorded a recent entry of two thou sand dollars. Beside It vvns an en velope containing a certificate of de posit for a like amount and a dozen Liberty bonds. “Don’t you see, Irene?” said Mrs. Dawson, “the mother of the young man sewed that treasure into the pocket as a safe way to keep It and died before she could tell him about It" “We must get to him at once,” de clared Irene. “I know he was worry ing because nothing could be found to provide for the children,” and at once she Insisted on her mother accompany ing her to the address given by Mr. Walter Morse. The conjecture of Mrs. Dawson was correct and gladness, relief and grati tude showed In the face of Walt .’ Morse when his two unexpected call ers appeared. Irene fell In love with the cherubic orphans at first sight The young man asked outright If Mrs. Dawson would undertake their care until he made more permanent ar rangements, and the Dawson home was enlivened by the constant presence of the little tots. The "permanent arrangements’’ ma terialized, as they were bound to do where two young souls were mutually /Interested. They were ushered In by the love god. and Included the hous ing of the five, a happy and harmoni ous family under one and the same roof CADDY'S EVENING RY TALE ' Mary Graham Doiuver m THE BLUE BIRO. "Ah,” said the blue bird, “you’re a lucky dog, a very lucky dog, indeed.” “I am that,” said Peeky who was al so known as Miss Peek. Peeky was a small smooth ha I red black dog and his best friend waa a little hoy named Charles. "My real name, or rather 1 should say my first name of all was Pcek-a hoo,” said Peeky. “I’ve been called so many things since that I con sider each of them my real name. And Explain Something in a way each is my real name for by eacii. name am I called. “But the first name of all which I was ever named, so my master and my mistress tell me and so Charles tells me, too, was Peek-a-boo. It’s a name I haven’t heard for so long that I have almost forgotten it ns a name of mine.” “You look go happy,” said the blue bird as bo looked at Peeky who was sitting on the grass. The blue bird was perched on the branch of a tree. “Blue RTnl.” said Peeky, “I want to ask you n question. I>o you mind If I do?” he added politely. “Not in the least,” said the blue bird. “Well,” said Peeky, “1 have often heard you called the blue bird and I suppose Hint must be your name for you always answer to It. It is your name, Is It not?" “It Is,” said the blue bird. “Mr. Blue Bird Is my name.” “Then,” said Peeky, “you must sure ly explain something for tne, for It Is puzzling me greatly and I would like to have It explained.” "Gladly will I do so,” said the blue bird. “I have heard people speak of being blue.” said Peeky. “They have talked of being discouraged and sad and such things. They have looked sad and their voices have been without laugh ter for a while—for all of the time In fact that they said they were blue. Arid when they’ve been discouraged and sad and such tilings they've said they’ve been blue. "Now you are always blue and .vet you are not sad. You are a blue bird and still you sing. When people are blue they do .not sing, they say they feel like crying.” “You want me to explain why It is I sing though I am blue?” asked the blue bird. “That is easy for me to do. I will explain it to you at once.” “Good,” said Peeky. “You see,” said Hie blue bird, “that I nm blue In color. Now when people are sad and discouraged and wlien they say they are blue you will notice that they are not blue In color. Their feelings, their cheerfulness has he roine blue but not (heir faces and their feathers. I didn’t mean to say feath ers for, of course, they haven’t feath ers. “But they do not become blue them selves in their looks, only In their feelings. So as I am blue In my looks It doesn’t mean I must be In my feel ings any more than they must be blue In their looks bemuse they are blue In their feelings. *• "I’m a blue bird, that is my color. I like it and I am happy. I do not fee! “And you are happy then?" asked Peeky. “Tremei.do usly so,” said tlie blue bird. “Oh. bow-wow,” said Peeky. “There comes my break fast coffee and m.v lump of sugar for dessert." “What?” asked the blue bird. “Of course,” said Peeky, "I have a blue, and hetween looking blue and feeling blue there is a great differ- For Breakfast, ence.” small bowl at coffee wlHi milk and melted sugar every morn ing for breakfast. I may not take it quite so hot as most people but I do like coffee. I really, really do! I love It! Most dogs are differ ent. And then after Charles has had his breakfast he brings me a lump of sugar. He never, never forgets it. It Is always In ills pocket. I’m not blue in my feelings, or sad, not I,” ended Peeky. What the Problem Waa. Father—Young man, why were you so late coming home front school to night? Son—The teacher said she wanted me to stay about a problem. Father—What was the problem? Son—I was. Chance. ...Citizen Now that your liny Is out of college, are you going to give him a chance In your business? Merchant No; I'm not going to give him a chance—I’m going to take one. Sackville Street, Dublin. I1 T HAS been said that Dublin has more the character of a conti nental titan an English city; this I is true In a way, but It Is not the first thing that strikes tile visitor from across the Irish sea. The most striking thing about Dublin is that lp< architecture bears traces of being all of one time, says a writer in the Chris tian Science Journal. To us who are used to the extraordinary hotchpotch of London, deriving its characteris tics of brick and stoue from every conceivable century, there Is something peculiarly attractive about the street upon street of squnre Georgian houses. London always seems to he In a state of violent reaction against everything which Is ended “eighteenth century,” so that those parts of London which most resemble Dublin seem most for eign to our conception of London It self. Perhaps It Is because It Is Georg ian thut Bloomsbury attracts a par ticular type of Inhabitant, as often as not a cultured foreigner, not to be found In the urbanity of Mayfair, nor in the banality of Mnida Vale. And If you imagine a city where all the streets are like Great Ormond street and the squares like the Blooms bury squares, you have an honest con ception of Dublin. Nor does the eighteenth century ap pear In rhe houses alone; there are those In Dublin who carry on the tra dition of old world courtliness which has long become rare enough to be re markable even in Bloomsbury; It Is true that they are few In number even here, but they are sufficient to leave a certain fragrance of other days in drawing room and coffee house. Clad in Romance. Before getting on hoard the boat at Holyhead, Great Britain will leave memories of abject Anglesea In the traveler’s mind, and when the waste of sea reveals ahead of him the first contours of Ireland, the mountains rise up to greet him with a very dif ferent fnee from that of the flat and cheerless little Island he has JusF crossed. They are almost bla tantly green, so that he must per force murmur platitudes beneath his breath about the “emerald Isle.” Dubliners are forever conscious of those mountains near by; they escape to them as often as they can and endow them with a symbolical mean ing. The Dublin mountains seem to have got misplaced from the far west; they are that part of primeval Connacht which has set Itself at the door of Duhlln In order to turn the heart of the Gael west rather than east. In the Duhlln mountains there travel to und fro the old vagrants with whom lingers the memory of a Celtic poetry and from whom Synge and Yeats and the rest have gathered so much local color. In Dublin Itsptf this old culture lingers alongside of the modern and English Industrialism of the Llffey and the quaysides, and In the dirty streets on the north side one can still come aeross a ballad singer with a little group round him. Charles Lever, when he was at Trinity college, dressed as a ballad singer nnd earned 30 shillings In the Dublin streets, and another and ever more famous Trinity college studen earned a crown every now and thei for a street song. This young man was Oliver Goldsmith, whose statue now grapes the entrance to the uni versity, than whom no niun could he found more typical of the best i>erlod ef Dublin’s prosperity. The Bohemian Quarter. Today all the varied energies, po litical. literary, social, are concen trated Into a space hounded by Graf ton street, Stephen’s green, Trinity college railings and Merrlon square; within these limits there Is scarcely a house that does not conceal some enthusiasm. Not the least Interesting are the little shops where enthusiasts seek to turn business Into an art: the “Sod of Turf,” where you can talk and eat and drink In Gaelic, where the tire Is a real turf fire, and the waitress a real Kerry Gael; the “Crock of Gold,” where the genius which produced James Stephen*? masterpiece Is turned to the making of homespun Jumpers and the like, so that the streets of somber eight eenth century Dublin may blaze with color that would delight a post-lm (tresslonlst; then there Is the Irish -.4 bookshop which, like all the rest, has come into being through a wider enthusiasm than the mere desire to sell hooks. There is an Arts club of the most respectable type, so respec table, Indeed, that the bohemians who do not belong to it will tell you that it has only once had a real art ist within Its doors and he was ex pelled at the end of a week. Stephen's green is the great cen ter of the whole city; here, as he tells us in that most fabulous of histories, “Ave Atque Vale," Mr. George Moore lingered to meet Mr. Yeats on the occasion of their found ing the Irish dramatic movement; here live Mine. Gonne, the Irish Joan of Arc, and Mrs. John Richard Green, Ireland’s historian and many others of the best loved of Ireland’s children. And in those most tragic days of April, 191(1, Mine. Marcievies held Stephen’s green witli a troop of hoy scouts. A story is told which shows the amazing muddle of those days. Some English lady visitors had Just looked at the Shelburne hotel and. looking nut of the window, Ihey saw some hare-kneed, red-cheeked children digging trenches in the green. “We highly approve of the scont movement,” they said. “Let us take them some plates of bread and jam.” Judge of their surprise a quarter of an hour later to find them selves prisoners of war In the middle of the green. AMAZING FEATS OF STRENGTH Pole, Without Seemingly Remarkable Muscular Developments, Breaks Rec ord—Performer's Awful Fate. Visitors to a well-known London mu sic hall some years ago witnessed a remarkable sight. It was announced that a Pole, named Lettl, would perform some amazing feats of strength. There appeared upon the stage a lit tle man only five feet in height, and weighing about 140 pounds. Not young, either, for he was only three years off forty. The audience rubbed their eyes. Was this the much advertised strong tnnn? A huge anchor was brought in, and four men clung to It. This bur den, weighing no less than 1,500 pounds, was at once lifted by Lettl, who thus beat the record lift hy no less than nj0 pounds. He then stood between two eight horsepower cars, to which he at tached himself hy means of hooks, which he held In his hands. The cars were started simultaneously, hut, hy sheer finger strength, Lettl held them so that they could not move, although the engines were working at full power. This feat of holding two cars may perhaps be taken us pretty well the limit of human strength. That It Is a fearfully risky feat is proved by the horrible accident which recently befell the famous strong man known as Apollon. At Vichy, before a large audience, he essayed a similar feat, his arms be ing harnessed by chains to two cars which were driven in opposite direc tions. He accomplished the perform ance safely, and then, in answer to applause, tried It again. To the hor ror of the spectators, he was seen to lose Ills balance. Before the motors could he stopped, all the muscles of the right side of his chest were tom out. He died almost Instantly. The Colors on Santiago Walls. All Cuban cities offer a motley of tints, but Santiago outdoes them all In the chaotic Jumble of pigments. In a single block we found house walls of lavender, sap green, robin’s egg blue, maize yellow, sky gray, saffron deep imperial pink, old rose, light pink, yellow ocher, maroon, tan, vermilion and purple. This Jumble of colors with never two shades of the same de gree, gives the eliy a kaleidoscopic bril liancy under the tropical sun that Is equally entrancing and trying to fha eye.—Harry A. Fntnrk In the Century Magazine. Tobacco Seeds Are Almost Dust. The seeds of the tobacco plant are so minute that a thimbleful will fur nish enough plants for an acre of ground. FALL MODES AS SEEN IN PARIS Skirt and Sleeve Lengths Still Undetermined for the Ap proaching Season. CLING TO PRESENT STYLES Abbreviated Types Likely to Be Re tained for Autumn Wear Judging From Fashions Displayed at French Society Affairs. From Paris, the source of fashion Inspiration, there come at this sea son little tales filled with significance. They are pertinent signs, observes a Paris fashion correspondent, to be re garded with due attention and all seri --1 H | Evening gown showing manner in which lace is being used, Callot put ting her own particular stamp upon the design, ousness If one would know the gen eral fashion tendencies for the sea son to come. Now Is the psychological moment to think of gowns that will develop by the time cold weather sets In. The original scheme may be changed and Juggled, but In that way It becomes perfected and one’s wardrohe. Instead of being a matter of chance, becomes an Individual achievement. That Is the way to be really well dressed. The lessons to he learned from the French women In this respect are nu merous. A French woman regards primarily the lines of her own figure, the shape of her own head and the setup of her own personality. A cer tain line snits her figure. She looks upon that as a fixed point and around It revolves the building of the clothes of a new season. She does not see styles as things In themselves, she sees them only as possible adaptations to herself. And if she finds a new thing that fits In with her Ideas of herself she bites at It like a trout at a fly. She never buys a gown solely be cause It is beautiful. She never al lows herself to stay out of the picture long enough to consider the dress as a separate entity, and, what Is more, she accomplishes her end with clever ness and thought and usually with great artistic success. Importance of the Lines. The general lines are the first to be considered, nnd all signs point to cer tain changes In silhouette. For In stance, the fullness over the hips Is gradually declining. That seems to be a certainty, for all the reports from the English and French races say that the lines of the silhouette are straight and uncompromising. They say the chemise dress Is still In favor. For that fact many will give thnnks, for this dress has come to he greatly loved. So much can be done with It In the way of variations. It Is so vast ly becoming to many figures and Its possibilities of adaptation are too won derful to be lightly cast aside. Proof of Its desirability lies In the fact that It returns repeatedly to the fore ranks of fashion. There Is a heated discussion going on about the ever-vurlable length of sleeves and skirts. Last year at this time our skirts In America very near ly touched ihe ground and clung about the feet. Now they have sprung sky high, and everybody—even those who swore they could not do It—is pleased as can be over the change. Will the short skirt stay with us for another season? French and English society women predicted that skirts would lengthen, but, as a matter of facL they do not seem to be one whit long- | er. All the photograph* which are be ing *ent from the race* show skirt* that well nigh touch the knees by way of length, for the French always hare worn them much shorter than our*. American women, too, have become used to the more abbreviated skirt lengths, and common sense would lead one to suppose that the skirt would remain short for the coming season. However, the only fault In that heavy reasoning Is that common sense doea not always rule the ways of fashion, and for the actual decision one win have to wait until the fall style* have actually been created and Imported. All that can be said Is that skirts are still short. Not a long one has been seen upon the landscape. The Sleeve Length*. Sleeve lengths are almost as Impor tant In fact Just at this season they are really more important for sleeves have taken on such a tendency to fluc tuate that one scarcely knows what Is right and what Is wrong about them. Anything goes as long as It Is well done, and whether the long sleeve or the short sleeve or the three-quarter sleeve Is the most fashionable is a fact that Is hard to establish. Many of the latest Parisian reports tell of sleeves which are longer than they have been, but then, Parisian sleeve* have always been extremely short— shorter, in fact, than most of ours. They are showing and wearing sleeves of three-quarter length and sleeves that end below the elbow, having there a wide and flowing opening. There are some very chic new things, too, that show long and tightly fitting sleeves clasping snugly over the hands. They look beautiful, after so great a quantity of abbreviation as has been our portion during the last couple of years. But here, as with the skirts, there Is no telling what will be the wild popularity after the fall openings have actually been held and after the winter modes have been launched. Only, a change is due, and just how it will come or what form It will take Is hard td foretell exactly. At present any length of sleette Is a good length, and there is ample op portunity to adapt the length and the shape of the sleeve to the proportions of the Individual arm and figure. In playing with the lengths and the gen eral tightness much that Is beautiful can be and has been accomplished this last season. Also much that Is execra ble has been allowed to live because not enough conscientious thought and attention has been applied to the prob lem In hand. Plaits have had a wonderful run of popularity, but upon many of the new models plaits are seen revived in many ways. Evening unwio in Paris. The between-season evening gown* that are being created in Paris, mostly for the Parisian trade, are extremely simple in outline. Many of them, a report says, are made of heavy crepe* in solid colors. The skirts are draped and the bodices are made quite sim ply, with little or no sleeves about them. Since lace Is so extremely pop ular one finds additions of lace on oth erwise quite simple frocks—as an edg ing for an underskirt (this is an ex tremely good fashion) or as a trifling addition to a bodice. The whole lace gown is certainly popular. It Is seen 1" ...... I l 1 Between-season creation by Cheruit, illustrating afternoon gown of orange crepe de chine, with embroidery In silver threads. everywhere, and every day the lead ing designers are adding new lace frocks to their collections. At the fashionable evening gatherings In Paris many lace frocks are seen, many of them being of black Chantilly draped over cream-colored satin. One lace frock was made in chemise fashion and had a train square in shupe set on at the shoulders and allowed to sweep over the floor after the gown, which wus quite short as to skirt. This was of black lace over white, and the train was also built from the lace laid •ver the satin.