111 "1
SYNOPSIS
Victoria Herrendeen, a vivacious little
girl, had been too young to feel the
shock that came when her father, Keith
Herrendeen, lost his fortune. He is a
gentle, unobtrusive soul. His wife.
Magda, cannot adjust herself to the
change. She is a beautiful woman, fond
of pleasure and a magnet for men's
attention. Magda and Victoria have
been down at a summer resort and Keith
Joins them for the week-end. Magda
leaves for a bridge party, excusing her
self for being such a "runaway." The
Herrendeens return to their small San
Francisco apartment. Keith does not
approve of Magda’s mad social life and
they quarrel frequently. Magda re
ceives flowers from a wealthy man from
Argentina whom she had met less than
a week before. Manners arrives a few
hours later. Magda takes Victoria to
Nevada to visit a woman friend who has
a daughter named Catherine. There she
tells her she is going to get a divorce.
Victoria soon is in boarding school with
her friend Catherine. Magda mar
ries Manners and they spend two years
In Argentina. Victoria has studied in
Europe and at eighteen she visits her
mother when Ferdy rents a beautiful
home. Magda is unhappy over Ferdy's
drinking and attentions to other women.
Vic dislikes him. When her mother and
stepfather return to South America. Vic
toria refuses to go with them. Magda
returns and tells Vic she and Ferdy have
separated. Meanwhile Keith has remar
ried. Victoria is now a student nurse.
Magda has fallen in love with Lucius
Farmer, a married artist. While she
and Vic prepare for a trip to Europe.
Ferdy takes a suite in their hotel.
The night before Magda and Vic are’to
sail. Magda elopes with Lucius Farmer.
While nursing the children of Dr. and
Mrs. Keats. Vic meets Dr. Quentin Har
dlsty. a brilliant physician, much sought
after by women, who is a widower with
a crippled daughter. In a tete-a-tete at
the Keats home, he kisses Vic. Several
days later he invites her with other
guests to spend a week-end at his cabin.
Vic is enchanted with the cabin. Next
morning she and Quentin go hiking and
return ravenous. The party is disrupt
ed Sunday afternoon by the arrival of
Marian Pool, a divorced woman. Vic is
Jealous of Mrs. Pool and a few days
later tells Mrs. Keats she is going to
Honolulu. In his office, Quentin ques
tions Vic about leaving. He proposes
to her. She accepts him and they are
married. Vic and Quentin are idyllicly
happy in their home. During six years
Victoria has four children. The Har
day supper, when Victoria’s mother sud
denly arrives from Europe, her romance
with Farmer ended, a bit disillusioned,
looking older and practically penniless.
She goes to live with the Hordistys. who
now have five children. At the opera the
Hardistys first see Serena Morrison, an
exotic and striking looking beauty.
Quentin appears interested, but they do
not meet. Magda gives Vic some ad
vice in how to hold a husband, warning
her of sirens who are on the outlook for
men.
CHAPTER VII—Continued
—9—
‘‘Some men never would," Magda
conceded. "But some men are after
women—smart women and beauti
ful women — all the time! The
world’s full of them now—women
who have comfortable big alimonies
or settlements, and who are on the
loose hunting for someone like
Quentin—someone to love!"
"There are lots of men handsomer
than Quentin for them to go after,”
Victoria observed with a laugh.
"But it isn’t looks that count, Vic.
That hard-faced, deep-voiced, dark
headed square sort of man is—well.
I tell you,” Mrs. Herrendeen said,
shrugging lightly, looking away, "I
tell you that if I were ten years
younger I'd give that lad of yours
a run for his money!”
For once Vicky was not amused;
she was secretly affronted by her
mother’s words. Magda broke the
silence.
“Marriage isn’t what it used to
be, Vic. In the old days if a man
wanted io wander there were places
he could go that his wife never
heard about. Women suspected what
was going on, but they were having
their ten or a dozen children and
feeding chickens and making soap
and putting up preserves, and they
didn’t have much to say. It’s dif
ferent now. The women they can
buy are of their own class, and
they’re not all after presents and
trips and alimony. They want love
—they’ve got money! They're after
the love part! There’s a sex war on,
Vic—women don’t want one expe
rience, they want twenty, now!
"Well, I hate the word ‘sex,’ and
I hate so much talk about it, and
I hate th^ idea that it's the most
important thing in the world!” Vic
presently said, with feeling.
"But it is the most important
thing in the world,” her mother
assured her seriously.
Victoria shook her head, frown
ing. She fell into thought, and her
mother, idling in her favorite fash
ion on a couch beside the Are, was
silent, too. Later that evening Vic
toria asked Quentin if he thought sex
was so important.
“Sex?” he echoed in surprise.
Vicky laid a hand on his.
“I don’t mean in youth, when flirt
ing is natural and right. But after
ward—does it have to go all through
life, men tempting women and wom
en tempting men to throw every
thing else over, decency and home
and honor and obligation?”
“Often,” the doctor said slowly,
"it is that way. They tell me about
it,” he added.
“How do you mean, ‘it is that
way’?”
“I mean that a man who really
loves his wife and kids, who is per
fectly satisfied with his home life—”
“Perfectly satisfied!” The tame
phrase affronted her, anu she
laughed.
"Well, perhaps what 1 mean is
that his new affair has nothing to do
with his—his organized life. He
meets some woman who appeals to
him tremendously—irresistibly—”
"Physically!” Vic put in, scorn
fully, as he hesitated for a word.
He accepted it simply, unsuspicious
ly.
"Oh, yes, primarily that. Pri
marily that. She has some trick of
using her eyes—some note in her
voice—something that sets him on
fire just as definitely as if a fuse
were lighted.”
There was a pause. Victoria was
studying his face attentively.
“Yes, but suppose all that," she
presently said. "Grant all that! Is
he then to tear up his whole life,
kick his wife out, deprive his chil
dren of their father—”
"It’s usually the wife who does
that, Vicky."
“A man might expect his wife to
forgive him,” Vicky said, after
thought. "But then how would she
know that it mightn’t happen
again?”
"She wouldn’t,” Quentin said,
mildly, unsmilingly.
■ "Ha!” Vicky exclaimed, out of
deep thought. Quentin laughed.
“It would seem that it takes you
by surprise,” he observed.
“Well, it does. I’ve always felt—
I’ve always hoped—that a man liked
a woman for other things—her being
sweet-tempered, and a good sport,
and making him a comfortable
home, and loving him — ” She
stopped short in her catalogue so
much in earnest that tears were
near her eyes.
"He does, Vic. A man who has a
wife like that is lucky, and he knows
it. But that doesn’t mean that—oh,
well, that the look some woman
gives him over her shoulder as she
goes out of his office won’t—won’t
stay with him for days.”
"Oh, Quentin!” Victoria ex
claimed in surprise and dismay.
And irresistibly she added, “Does
that happen to you?”
“Sometimes!” The doctor admit
ted, laughing.
“But—but there’s no sense to it!
Look what it leads to. Look at
Mother, and so many others—the
mess they make of it! In the end—
in the end—”
"In the end it’s the Vickys who
show them what fools they were,”
Quentin said, teasingly.
“Quentin, have you—since we
were married, I mean—ever had
that feeling about any other wom
an?”
"I’d tell you if I had, would I?”
“I think you would.”
“Well, I don’t know but that I
would! I believe you’d be very un
derstanding about it. You'd pity the
sinner and forgive the sin. But a
man with five kids, another coming,
a new stove to put in, bills unpaid,
and an operation at eight tomor
row morning has a swell chance at
that sort of thing!” Quentin yawned.
“I'd be afraid of your mother, any
way,” he laughed.
CHAPTER VIII
Serena, wife of Spencer Ashley
George Morrison, was by birth part
English and part Dane; she had
been married to this, her third hus
band, for only a few years, and was
in her early thirties when the Mor
risons came to California in search
of sunshine and health. Not that
Serena herself was not glorious in
health and strength, and her child,
Gita, seven years old, as strong as
a little bullock, but her husband
had been seriously injured in a hunt
ing accident and would never be
whole and well again.
There was a good income some
where. The little family could af
ford to choose what place and what
climate it preferred. Menlo Park
some eighteen to twenty miles
down the peninsula from San Fran
cisco—finally had seemed to be the
ideal place, and they had bought
the Tracy house, right next door to
Dr. Quentin Hardisty’s big place, in
the week when Madeleine Hardisty
was a year old.
The Hardistys’ old-fashioned place
was spacious, plain, comfortable.
But the Morrisons’ residence was
quite new, and .ovely in plastered
Spanish patios, tiled oddments of
sloping roof, oaks, peppers, roses,
flagged paths. Little Gita Stewart,
Serena's daughter, lnnelv nrd curi
ous and bold, had ’ • , > in
creeping through the evergreen
hedge that separated the two gar
dens, crossing the Hardistys’ old
tennis court and, skirting the berry
patch, threading her way under the
oaks and over the lawn, and finally
discovering what she later had de
scribed to her nurse as the most
fascinating family she had ever
met: a mother who was fixing the
puppy’s hurt head with rags and
water and medicines, and boys
named Kenty and Dicky and Bobs,
and girls named Gwen and Sue, and
a baby that could walk.
The adult members of the family
did not meet so simply. It was at
a country-club lunch that Victoria
first noticed the straw-haired woman
and identified her as the beauty
Quentin had noticed more than a
year earlier. Everyone was notic
ing Serena that day and asking
about her; it was her first social
appearance since the long-ago night
at the opera, although she had been
in her new house for almost a
month.
Quentin and some of the other
men had been playing golf since
breakfast time; Victoria had come
later to the club to carry her hus
band home for lunch. With Gwen
and her two older children she was
watching the tennis when she saw
Mrs. Morrison for the first time;
presently Phyllis Tichnor came up
with the newcomer in tow.
“Vic, you know Mrs. Morrison?”
“I don’t,” Vic said, smiling. "I’m
so glad to! I remember seeing Mrs.
Morrison at the opera last year,
and I think our children know each
other?"
"Our children?” echoed the beau
tiful Mrs. Morrison, raising the del
icate dark line of her eyebrows.
"Isn’t your small girl Gita Stew
art?”
‘You ought to know each other,”
said Phyllis. "You live right near.
Is there a place between you and
the Tracy house or aren’t you right
next door?”
"Oh, of course we are,” Serena
said slowly, with no change of ex
pression beyond a hint of languid
curiosity. "It’s your children Gita
talks to Amah about?”
"I am not a very formal person.
You can’t be, when you have six
children,” Vicky explained, when
they were comfortably seated,
watching the tennis. "But I do
mean to come and see you one of
these days!”
"You have six children?” The
beautiful voice could not be said to
“You Have Six Children?”
have even a trace of Norse ac
cent, and yet there was a charm
ing little halt in Serena’s words
now and then, a slight clinging and
lingering that marked her as not
all English-born.
“She always tells everyone that
instantly,” Phyllis said.
“I have. And they make it hard
for me ever to get away.”
“But do come and see me. Ex
cept for Phyllis here,” Serena said,
completely expressionless in voice
and face, “I am quite strange in
California.”
“We were in school in Paris to
gether, “Serena and I, but I didn’t
j know they were here until last
j week!” Phyllis explained.
“If you know Phyllis you know
everybody; she’s the special min
ister between Europe and Amer
ica,” Victoria said. "We were in
; the ‘Assomption’ in Rome together,
too, but we had known each other
i before that.”
“You were at the ‘Assomption’?
How I hated it!” Serena said, in
her calm, emotionless way.
“Gallo coming to take us driving
on Sundays,” Phyllis put in, and
the three laughed together. Then
Phyllis went away, and Victoria
could study at her ease the extraor
dinary beauty of the flower-like face
in the clear shadow of the parasol.
Exquisite womanhood; those were
the two words that Serena suggest
ed.
There was a silence filled with
faint distant sounds and the click of
balls. The club gardens blazed with
flowers; there were stretches of
green lawn beneath the trees; the
sun shone warmly.
“There, who’s that?” Serena sud
denly asked, with the first sign of
animation in voice and manner that
Vicky had seen her.
“Which one?”
“The brown man—the square one,
in white. With that other man.”
“That’s my husband—Dr. Hardis
ty,” Vicky said, pleased at her in
terest. “Run get him, Gwen—yes,
go along, Susan, you can go!”
“Your husband?” Serena asked,
not moving her eyes from the dis
tant figures of the men.
“Yes.—Well, trot along with them,
Kenty,” Vicky said bracingly.
“Don’t cry because they’re ahead
of you. Quent,” she added welcom
ingly, as he came up with the chil
dren hanging on his hands, “we’re
all ready to go—we ll be just In
time!”
Quentin and Mrs. Morrison were
looking at each other, smiling.
“You’ll have to introduce me,
Vicky.”
“Oh, T do beg your pardon I I
always think that everyone knows
everyone else. Mrs. Morrison, my
husband, Dr. Hardisty. Quentin, do
you remember who this is?”
“I do,” Quentin said, smiling
down at Serena, his white teeth and
white clothes in almost startling
contrast to the Indian brown of his
face and skin. Serena looked up
from the lavender shadows of the
white parasol that was slowly turn
ing behind her golden braided head.
“You were on your way to China?”
“It was before my husband's ac
cident—yes, we had a wonderful
trip!” the woman said, smiling laz
ily with sea-blue eyes, raising heavy
dark gold lashes.
“And they’re neighbors,” Vicky
told him. "They are the people in
the Tracy place!”
“Next door?” Quentin’s face
broke again into his own pleasant
smile.
"You remember Gita, Quentin,
who plays with the children? Mrs.
Morrison is Gita’s mother.”
"Oh, I thought the name was
Stewart?”
"Gita's father is dead,” Serena
explained it. She continued to look
up at Quentin, and Quentin to look
down at her. “You’ve all been such
angels to the child ” she said.
"She's Deen horribly lonely all her
life, alone with her amah. I brought
her amah with her, from China.”
Vicky was baffled by the other
woman’s sleepy manner, by the
vague words that seemed to have
some meaning beyond their obvious
meaning, for Quentin at least, for
his face was absolutely radiant as
he continued to hold Serena’s hand
and to look down at her.
“She’s had you, hasn’t she?”
Vicky said sensibly. And she
touched Quentin’s arm with that
wifely signal that says, "The chil
dren are ravenous. Let's get home
and have lunch!"
Serena was paying no attention
to Vicky; she looked only at Quen
tin.
"I can’t be much with my little
girl. You see my husband’s an in
valid,” she said, in a child’s flat
tone.
“Ah, that’s too bad!”
"They said he was slated for a
brilliant career. But he was thrown
from a horse, and dragged, about
four months ago. It's his back, and
he lost his eye."
There was something extraordi
narily incongruous between her un
ruffled flawless beauty and the ter
rible thing she said; the white hand,
the white skin, the gold hair and
innocent blue eyes under the para
sol were apparently unaffected.
“Tough luck!” Quentin said. Vic
toria pressed his arm again.
"Will you come and see him, Dr.
Hardisty?”
"I’d like to.”
"I wish you would!” Mrs. Mor
rison said. "We’re always there in
the late afternoons.” The frills of
her parasol tumbled slowly as she
twirled it.
"Daddy, I'm hun-n-ngry!” Kenty
shouted. Quentin accompanied his
family to the waiting car, after a
cordial good-by from them all to
the new neighbor. Mildly, as he
took his place in the driver’s seat,
the doctor observed to his wife that
he wished that the children would
not be rude.
"He’s terribly hungry, Daddy, and
we’re late."
“I know,” Quentin said. “I know.
But she was telling us of her hus
band; I don’t imagine she often gets
to talking of her troubles.”
Victoria glanced at his profile in
surprise, ready to laugh. But he
was quite serious.
“But did you ever know anyone
to talk of dreadful—of ghastly
things, so calmly? That poor hus
band of hers—imagine being cut off
in the very beginning of your ca
reer, blinded."
Quentin, turning into their own,
made no comment, and Kenty said
animatedly:
“Why din’ Gita go to the club,
Mummy?”
"She stays with her amah!" Su
san supplied.
“You speak of the man’s misfor
tune,” Quentin began unexpectedly,
at lunch. “I was thinking of hers.”
Victoria raised interrogative eye
brows. She had been cutting chick
en into tiny pieces on Susan’s plate,
murmuring to the waitress, mur
muring to her mother.
“I was thinking,” Quentin ex
panded it, "that it must be a pretty
dull life for her. planted down here
in a country house with an invalid
and a child!”
“They have our rabbits, too,
Dad,” Susan contributed animated
ly. "They have the two rabbits we
gived Gita.”
(TO HE CONTINUED)
Name Changed
There have been famous Crom
wells in English history, but at the
restoration the name of Cromwell
became odious and many bearers
of the name made some change so
as to disguise it. Mr. Vincent Crum
mels, in whose company Nicholas
Nickleby acted Romeo, was how one
man changed an illustrious name.
Peiping Merchants Balt, Poles With Toys.
Prepared by National Geographic Society,
Washington, I). C.—WNu Service.
WITHIN the Imperial City of
Peiping, on the exact cen
ter of all, oriented to the
cardinal points of the com
pass, is the Forbidden City, the
Violet Town, which was the resi
dence of the Dragon emperors. It
is an inclosure a little longer than
broad, and lies behind a wide moat
and a double wall. The moat, in
the summer time, is full of flower
ing lotus, and white cranes stalk
thoughtfully among the rose-pink
blooms.
Each corner of the wall has its
tower, small, but very richly orna
mented. There are four gates, one
to each face of the wall, and their
names are notable: East Gate Glori
ous; West Gate Glorious; Gate of
Divine Military Progress, which is
the Shen Wu Men, the North Gate,
wherefrom in 1644 the last Ming
emperor went sorrowfully to
strangle himself on Coal Hill across
the way, while the triumphant rebel
soldiers were breaking into the Im
perial City outside. Through it fled
the Empress Dowager when the In
ternational Column battered down
the southern gates in 1900. On the
south is the Wu Men, the Meridian
Gate, the great gate of ceremonies,
not opened since the fall of the
empire.
Only from Coal Hill immediately
to the north, or from the White
Dagoba in the Pei Hai to the north
west, can you bring the Forbidden
City within the eye at once. From
either height, you see the simple
outline of its plan. Down the center
line the great pavilions march,
one behind another, their roofs tiled
with imperial yellow, since all this
was of the throne.
They are audience halls, council
halls devoted to this phase or that
of ancestral veneration, and im
perial living quarters. Smaller build
ings lie along the wall to east and
west; houses for the concubines and
eunuchs, and space for stores. Each
pavilion has its courtyard and its
formal approach. The courts are
threaded by little conventional
moats with white marble balus
trades; the terraces are balustrad
ed, as are the ceremonial flights of
steps.
In the north end are the pavilions
and gardens that the Empress
Dowager used. They are small and
intimate, landscaped, shaded by cy
press and cedar, and traversed by
narrow walks among flower beds
and fountains, for the old lady loved
such things.
Decoration Is Colorful.
Some of the buildings are used as
museums, displaying much unusual
treasure, although, at the time of
the disturbances in 1932 and 1933,
most of the exhibits were boxed
and shipped south, to the great in
dignation of Peiping.
The Forbidden City displays the
Chinese decorative scheme at its
most extravagant and royal. It is
done in reds and yellows and blues
and greens, all most violent. A little
money is spent on its upkeep, and
perhaps the close-set walls save it
from the grinding of the wind-blown
dust that dulls the colors and the
gilding of places in the open.
The proportions of the buildings
are majestic without being vast, for
the Chinese architect knew how to
create his effects without relying
on mere size. The clear sky and
the brilliant sun enter into all con
ceptions; the secret of their excel
lence lies between the air and light
and a just balance in line and mass.
Yet, as for size, there is a court
yard in the south section of the
Forbidden City where, at a vic
tory celebration in 1918, some 15,
000 troops were arrayed, with a
large number of civilian officials
and spectators, and it is related
that the courtyard seemed in no
sense crowded.
What now is seen in these palaces
and courts is a setting only, a stage
from which the players have de
parted, with their bright robes, their
banners, and their stately proces
sionals.
About the public buildings of Pei
ping, the shrines, the halls, the
pavilions, and the palaces, there are
many books written. German and
Russian and British savants have
measured, dissected and surveyed,
French scholars have breathed
much life into the dry bones of
architecture, dwelling with ardor,
also, upon the pavilions of pleasure,
and the marble-capped wells in
which were filed, head downward,
discarded favorites, male and fe
male, of not-too-immaculate sover
eigns.
Many of the structures are jerry
built and flimsy. The Chinese lac
quer with which the surfaces are
faced is cheap stuff, prone ti flake
off before it attains age. The fine
pai-lous that arch the streets and
define the approaches to important
places are frail things which must
be propped from every side while
they are yet new. The stone, so in
tricately and beautifully carved, is
soft and subject to quick erosion.
Many Lovely Things.
Many of the most imposing edi
fices, such as the White Dagoba
that dominates the Pei Hai, one of
the “Three Seas,” are of brick rthd
rubble, surfaced with plaster which,
unless renewed every season,
sloughs away in patches. Distant
view's are impressive, and close in
spection disappointing.
Yet there are many things that
are beautiful with an ageless
beauty: corners of the Forbidden
City, as delicate and fine as jewel
filigree; the elaborate and cunning
ornamentation under the eaves of
the pavilions; the porcelain screens
and arches; the timeless splendor
of the tiled roofs, that persists in
spite of the weeds and shrubs which
spring from accumulations of dust
in the cracks between the tiles. The
patterns and designs are frozen in
convention, but trees and water, air
and light, are integral parts of every
arrangement.
After you have dutifully followed
the guidebooks through a score of
temples and palaces, your impres
sions will tend to telescope upon
themselves. But there are two
things that you will never forget:
the Temple of Confucius and the
Temple of Heaven.
The Temple of Confucius is in the
North City (the northern section
of the Tatar City), between the
Lama Temple and the old Hall of
Classics. You come to it through
noisome alleys that swarm with
scavenger dogs and naked children.
A passage leads under murmurous
dragon cypresses, between ranks of
tall memorial tablets commemorat
ing the visits and the patronages of
emperors and princes. The passage
opens upon a low terrace from
which you descend to the central
court by marble steps that flank a
spirit stairway — Dragon eternally
contending for the Pearl, between
sculptured masses of sea and cloud.
From it you face the temple, look
ing along an avenue of ancient trees
so thickly set that their interlaced
branches cast a cool greenish gloom,
very grateful in the summer time.
Flanking it are low buildings that
serve as storehouses and sleeping
quarters for the priests.
The sun strikes through the trees
and burns upon the old red walls of
the pavilions, and the freshly paint
ed patterns under the overhanging
eaves glow richly in reflected light:
turquoise blues and emerald greens,
purples, and reds, and yellows.
There are small golden roofed
kiosks, and sacrificial burners of a
bronze no longer cast. The noises of
the city do not enter here.
A gentle, courteous old priest with
hairless, ascetic face material
from the shadows to attend you;
he is unobtrusive and detached in
robes of gray and black. There is
no statue in the shrine: it is the
High Place of an idea. Tablets, rich
ly engraved, hang above the altar,
publishing the virtues of the Sage,
and the gray ash of joss sticks in
the incense burner testifies to the
devotion of many worshipers.
The thing is wholly of the spirit.
You need know nothing of Confu
cius, nothing of China, to realize
that here is peace made visible;
here is tranquillity; here are a bal
ance and a symmetry removed from
striving; the conception of minds
that have, after mature thought,
settled their problems.
The Temple of Heaven.
Very different is the Temple of
Heaven, out to the south in the
Chinese City. It stands most fiercely
in the sun, its walls enclosing a park
larger than the Forbidden City. You
go up from the highway along a
broad avenue, mounting by a ramp
to the center of a terraced line of
pavilions. To the north is the round
Hall of the Happy Year, its brilliant
blue tiles and triple-roofed silhouette
one of the distinctive things on the
Peiping skyline.
Turning your back upon it, you
walk south, through open pavilions
and successive archways, to a stark
altar of white carved marble, ap
proached between winged columns.
The altar consists of three round
terraces, set one upon another, the
top one smallest. The steps that
ascend to it are in groups of nine,
the mystical number; and the flag
stones of the pavement are laid in
concentric patterns in multiples of
nine. And the roof of that altar is
the vault of heaven.
Here the Emperor came to offer
the Great Sacrifice on the day of the
winter solstice, to render his Im
perial Ancestors an account of his
stewardship, and to solicit their
guidance for his people through the
succeeding year.
Filet Chair Set
With an Initial
Pattern 1399
Grand, isn’t it—that big, stun
ning initial adding that definitely
personal touch to a chair-set of
string! Select your initial from
the alphabet that comes with the
pattern, paste it in place on the
chart, and crochet it right in with
the design (it’s as easy as thatl).
You can, of course, crochet the
initials separately as insets on lin
ens, too. Pattern 1399 contains
charts and directions for making
a chair back 12 by 15 inches, two
arm rests 6 by 12 inches and a
complete alphabet, the initials
measuring 3Mi by 4 inches; ma
terial requirements; an illustra
tion of all stitches used.
Send 15 cents in stamps or coins
(coins referred) for this pattern
to The Sewing Circle Needlecraft
Dept., 82 Eighth Ave., New York,
N. Y.
Please write your name, pattern
number and address plainly.
m
Genuine O-Cedar spray is quick, cer
tain death to moths, flies and insects.
Guards your health, protects your
clothing, rids home of annoying house
hold pests. Has a clean, fresh odor, will
not stain. Full satisfaction guaranteed
tetfr — it’B an O-Cedar product.
Architecture’s Aim
Architecture aims at eternity;
and therefore is the only thing in
capable of modes and fashions in
its principles. — Sir Christopher
Wren.
Ants are hard to kill, but Peterman’s Ant
Food is made especially to get them and get
them fast. Destroys red ants, black ants,
others—kills young and eggs, too. Sprinkle
along windows, doors, any place where ante
come and go. Safe. Effective 24 hours a day.
25^, 35^ and 60/ at your druggist’s.
WNU—U _21—37
Friendship
True friendships are very rare
ly found in those who are occupied
in the pursuit of honors and pub
lic affairs.—Cicero.
Stomach Gas
So Bad Seems
\ To Hurt Heart
"The gas on my stomach was so bad
I could not eat or sleep. Even my
heart seemed to hurt. A friend sug
gested Adlerika. The first dose I took
brought me relief. Now I eat as I
wish, sleep fine and never felt better."
! —Mrs. Jas. Filler.
Adlerika acts on BOTH upper and
lower bowels while ordinary laxatives
act on the lower bowel only. Adlerika
gives your system a thorough cleans
ing. bringing out old, poisonous matter
that you would not believe was in your
system and that has been causing gas
pains, sour stomach, nervousness and
headaches for months.
Dr. H. t. Sboub, Neur York, report* t
"In addition to intestinal cleansing, Adlerika
greatly reducer bacteria and colon bacilli,”
Qive your bowels a REAL cleansing
with Adlerika and see how good you
feel. Just one spoonful relieves GAS
and stubborn constipation. At all
Leading Druggists.
THE CHEERFUL CHERUB
mmmm—mmmmmmmmmmmKm—m—mmmmammimmm
When l am poor with
path beset
Dy bill collectors
.stealthy
1 read the quarter
magazines —
They make me feel
.30 wealthy. /?