By
MARTHA
OSTENSO
MARTHA OSTENSO—WNU SERVICE
THE STORY THUS FAR
Lovely. Independent Autumn Dean, returning home to British Columbia from
abroad without her father's knowledge, stops at the home of Hector Cardigan,
an old family friend. He tells her that she should not have come home, that
things have changed. Arriving home at the "Castle of the Norns,” she is greeted
lovingly by her father, Jarvis Dean, who gives her to understand that she is wel
come—for a short visit. Her mother, former belle named Mlllicent Odell, has
been dead for years. Autumn cannot understand her father's attitude, though
gives him to understand that she Is home for good. She has grown tired of life In
England, where she lived with an aunt. Her father gives a welcoming dance at the
castle. Autumn meets Florlan Parr, dashing, well-educated young man of the
countryside. Late in the evening Autumn leaves the dance, rides horseback to the
neighboring ranch where she meets Bruce Landor, friend and champion of her
childhood days. He takes her to see his mother, an invalid. His father is dead,
thought to have killed himself. As soon as his mother sees Autumn she com
mands Bruce to take her away, that death follows in the wake of the Odells. Autumn
Is both saddened and perplexed. Bruce, apologetic, can offer no reason for his
mother's attitude. Autumn calls again on Hector Cardigan—this time to find out
the reason for Mrs. Landor's outburst. From hts conversation she Inferred that
Geoffrey Landor killed himself because he loved Millicent Dean, her mother. Mean
while, Bruce Landor rides to the spot where his father's body was found years be
fore. There he meets Autumn, who, leaving Hector, was searching for a lost child.
I Bruce had found the child, and there Autumn and he talk of their families. They
' agree that her mother and his father loved each other deeply—and that their love
is the cause of present antagonism. Florlan Parr, at the Castle for dinner, proposes
to Autumn. She refuses him. The next day Autumn rides toward the Landor ranch.
She meets Bruce In a herder's cabin.
CHAPTER IV—Continued
Bruce rose abruptly, strode to the
open door and stood looking out. A
thin, misty rain had begun to falL
He tossed his cigarette out into the
wet darkness and kept his eyes upon
the spark until it died. He turned
where he stood and looked at her.
“Autumn,” he said simply, "you
have been living in a world where
men who were skilled in the art have
made love to you. I know very little
about that sort of thing. When I
tell you that I’ve thought of nothing
but you since that first night—I
mean just that.”
She looked at him gravely. “I
rode over here tonight because I
have thought of no one but you,”
she said softly. “But it hasn’t fright
ened me.”
“I’ve been thinking of one other
* thing, perhaps.”
“I know, Bruce.”
“Of course you do. We have
talked about that. We will never
know whether it was love that
caused that tragedy twenty years
ago. Perhaps no one knows.”
“We do know they loved each oth
er, Bruce.”
“And we must settle between our
selves, once and for all, what bear
ing that has on our own lives. I
have settled it for myself.”
He moved back into the room and
leaned against the table looking
down at her. She returned his gaze
for many moments without speak
ing. At last she got up impetuously
and began to pace to and fro, her
hands deep in the pockets of her
coat. Bruce looked at her, and his
muscles seemed to ripple all over
his body. Her lithe, tempestuous
motion back and forth across the
room was like that of some beauti
ful, caged animal.
Presently she turned on him. “You
and I have our own lives to live,”
she said vehemently. “It’s absurd
to think that we should be ruled by
something that befell two people
whom we can scarcely remember.
They lived their lives as they wished
—I shall live mine, in my own way.”
He lifted one of her hands and
kissed its soft palm. Then he took
hold of her shoulders and turned her
about so that she faced him. She
let her head fall back and met his
eyes solemnly.
"Autumn,” he said. “My darling
Autiarin!”
Autumn slipped forward and was
in his arms, and Bruce was kissing
her in a glowing dimness which
seemed to have caught them both
up from the surrounding shadows.
The rain drifted in gently over the
still depth of their kiss. It was a
rain that left a light, glistening web
over their hair, their eyes, a young
rain that spun them into one indis
tinguishable passion.
"I love you, Bruce." Her voice
was a stumbling whisper. "Terri
bly—so terribly.”
Her lips moved softly over his
eyes, over the line of his brown
cheek where a hollow came when
he smiled, and over his lips and
throat. Presently Bruce placed his
hands strongly upon her shoulders
and studied her face.
"Enough to stand by me against
them all?” he demanded gravely.
"It will not be easy, darling—at
first.”
•‘I’m strong enough for anything—
with you, Bruce,” she replied.
CHAPTER V
The Laird was still up, though it
was already an hour past his usual
bedtime. He had come back from
town and had gone to his study to
’ wait for Autumn’s return. When he
finally heard the door open down
stairs, he was startled. The dead
stillness of the house and the sleepy
patter of light rain had drugged his
senses so that any sudden sound
would have disquieted him. But as
he got up and went to the door of
the study, his heart throbbed so that
he pressed his hand to his side and
caught his breath.
In a moment Autumn was at the
head of the stairs.
“Why, Da!” she exclaimed. “I
thought you would have gone to bed
long ago. You haven’t been worried
about me, have you?”
"It’s late,” he said. “I had be
gun to wonder what had happened.”
"Oh, I’m sorry, darling,” she said,
coming into the study and throwing
off her jacket. "But I’m glad you’re
ud. The fire feels good.”
She went and stood before it, ruf*
fling her hair with her hands.
“You’d better get out of those
clothes,” her father advised her.
“They’re wet.”
“Not really,” she protested. “I’ll
dry out here in a minute. I don’t
want to hurry away to bed just yet.
It’s so cozy here.”
Jarvis seated himself before the
Are. “Where have you been?" he
asked.
“I’ve covered half the country
side,” she said, smiling at him. “I
started out early and rode up the
valley for a look at the sheep. It’s
the first time I’ve seen them like
that in nearly ten years, Daddy, and
it was lovely—in the sunset and—”
“You had a lot to do,” Jarvis
said, disgruntled.
“Now, darling, you’re not going to
be cross with me for that,” she
coaxed. “I’m in no mood for a
scolding.”
“A lot of good it would do you
anyhow,” the Laird replied.
“Not a bit, dear.” She laughed at
him, then went and kissed him light
ly on the cheek. “But I don’t want
you to worry about me one bit. I
don’t want to do anything to make
you unhappy—and you know it.”
Jarvis stirred uneasily in his
chair. "You’re going to drive down
to Kelowna tomorrow—to the Parrs’,
aren’t you?” he said, by way of
changing the subject.
“Aren’t you coming, too?” she
asked him.
“There’s too much to do here,”
he told her. “Besides, what would
I do spending two nights away from
home when there’s no call for it?
I like my own bed best.”
“I may not stay over Sunday,
then,” Autumn replied. “I’m not
sure that I won't be bored with it
all—if the rest of them are like
Florian.”
Jarvis smiled. “You don’t care
much for the boy?”
“He’s all right, darling—for what
he is. I’ve seen so much of his
kind during the past few years that
I’m not particularly thrilled any
more by the species.”
“I can’t say I’m sorry for that,”
the Laird observed. “They don’t
amount to much."
Autumn turned and gazed into the
fire for a moment. She kicked a
half-burned stick into place and
watched the sparks go trooping up
the flue.
“The fact is. Da, she saia at
last, “I came back to you to get
away from all that. It doesn't mean
a thing to anyone except those who
are cut out for it. And I wasn't cut
on that pattern, darling. I never
realized it so much as I did tonight
when I stood and watched the sheep
moving up the valley. It made me
lonely as the devil.”
“And so you stayed out all hours
in the rain just to cure yourself of
a fit of the blues,” he retorted.
"No,” Autumn replied softly. “1
didn’t do that exactly. 1 knew you
wouldn’t be home, so 1 rode on over
to the Landor place and talked with
Bruce for a while.”
She glanced at her father’s face
to see what effect her words would
have upon him. He gave no out
ward sign of having heard her ex
cept that his frame seemed to have
become rigid and one corner of his
mouth twitched nervously.
He spoke to her at last, his eyes
gazing steadily into the fire. “I hope
you are not going to make a habit of
that.” he said.
“Of what, Daddy?”
“You know what I mean, my girl.
I don’t want you going around with
Bruce Landor.”
"Have you anything against
Bruce?” she asked abruptly.
"Damn it all,” Jarvis burst forth,
“must I be cross-questioned by my
own daughter? Or isn’t it enough
that I should give my opinion and
look to have it respected?” He
leaned forward in his chair and
placed his hands heavily upon the
arms, preparing to rise. “It’s time
we were in bed. Let’s have no
ntore of this tonight.”
Autumn did not move. She stared
at her father, aware that she was
becoming angry. She clenched her
fingers and strove to control her
voice.
"Da,” she said, "I am not trying
to cross-question you—and I respect
your opinion more than the opinion
of any other man alive. But when
I ask you what you have against
Bruce, I naturally want to know.”
When he lifted his face after what
seemed to h"- — ‘niprable inter
val, It was the face of a man grown
incredibly old and worn. He passed
his hand across his brows, and she
could see that he was making an
heroic attempt to speak.
Jarvis subsided into his chair. "I
have nothing against the boy,” he
said at last "But you know as well
as I do that there are reasons why
I do not want you to go around with
him.”
"I know what you have in mind,
Da,” Autumn replied. “I have
thought about it, too — and I’ve
talked to Bruce about it. Bruce can
not be held responsible for the fact
that his father took his own life—
and I think it a little unfair that
any stigma should—”
"Will you stop this talk!" her fa
ther commanded suddenly.
All Autumn's resoluteness surged
up within her. "If you insist, Da,”
she said levelly. "I should prefer
to talk everything over with you, but
if I must order my life without com
ing to you—”
"Do you know that your mother
and Geoffrey Landor were in love
with each other?” His face was
blanched as marble, and even his
eyes seemed to have gone white
with fury.
"I do, Daddy,” she said in an even
tone. “And I know that Geoffrey
Landor probably shot himself be
"Must I be cross-questioned by
my own daughter?”
cause of the hopelessness of that
love. Bruce and I talked about it
tonight.”
“You talked with him—about
that?”
“We had to, Da,” she told him
simply. “Bruce and I are in love.
I’m going to marry him.”
The Laird had risen slowly from
his chair, like some tremendous ice
berg lifting its appalling shoulders
above the frozen waters of the sea.
“God in heaven!” he muttered, and
then, completely and without warn
ing. he crumpled back into his chair,
his chin fallen forward on his breast,
his gaunt frame heaving convulsive
ly.
Autumn flew to him. Kneeling on
the floor, she threw her arms about
him.
“Da—for pity’s sake, what is it?”
she pleaded, clinging to him.
He lifted one hand and placed it
tremblingly upon her hair. His
lips shook as he tried to speak, but
the words would not come.
"Tell me, darling,” Autumn
urged. “What is it?”
He swallowed as though he would
strangle, and shook his head. “You
—you can’t marry him,” he said
thickly, and then his voice sank al
most to a whisper. “Geoffrey Lan
dor—did not take his own life.”
Autumn fell away from him. but
her eyes were fixed upon him still
as though in some terrible enchant
ment. Realization came upon her in
agony.
“Da—tell me—did you—do you
mean that you killed Geoffrey Lan
dor?”
Her voice had been the merest
whisper, coming remotely from her
stiff lips.
The old man’s eyes became terri
bly revealed, as though some power
had gone beyond his body and mur
dered his very soul. They were sud
denly stark and desolate beyond any
need of words.
The brief interval that passed be
fore Autumn heard her father’s
voice again seemed to encompass
an aeon of torture. She sat facing
him, her hands tightly clenched, sat
waiting against eternity, hoping
against hope, for words from him
that would dispel the horror that had
descended upon her. She saw his
lips drawn back in a livid grimace
against his teeth, as though the
thing he must tell were too cruel for
utterance, too cruel to be transmit
ted from his own mind into the aw
ful silence of that room.
Summoning her last reserve of
courage, she leaned toward him and
took his hands gently into her own.
“Tell me about it. Da," she said,
scarcely above a whisper.
Her touch seemed to restore the
life that had all but ebbed from his
gaunt frame. She saw him make
an heroic effort to draw himself up
right in his chair; she saw his hands
pass across his eyes as though to
clear his vision, and then the rigid
lips moved in barely audible words.
“You’re getting me, Geoffrey." he
said softly at last. "After all these
years, you’re getting me!"
Autumn turned from him, her
limbs unsteady beneath her, and
hurried to the small cupboard in the
comer. Her hands trembled as she
poured a drink into her father's
glass and returned with it To her
surprise, he was sitting erect and
staring before him with brilliant al
most fierce, eyes, and color lay
along each rugged cheekbone like a
bright leaf. He ignored the prof
fered glass at first and Autumn seat
ed herself on a chair in front of him
and waited for him to speak while
the silence seemed a grostesque din
of the throbbing of her own heart.
When she could wait no longer,
she placed the glass at her father’s
lips, and spoke softly. “Da—take
this, darling.”
Mechanically he took the glass
into his own hand, and without re
moving his eyes from their gaze
upon vacancy, he drained the liquor
to the last drop. Autumn took the
glass from him and saw that his
clenched hand relaxed upon the
arm of the chair.
“Thank you. my dear, thank you.”
he said.
“Let us talk quietly—and slowly.
Da,” Autumn said. “I shall under
stand.”
She heard herself speaking, as
though the words were coming
through her from someone else,
someone who had fortitude beyond
fortitude, a stoicism she had never
known.
His eyes rested upon her in a
brooding gentleness. He seemed to
be contemplating her, she thought
with a qualm, from beyond death.
She rose quickly, took a cushion
which she placed on the floor at his
feet, and seated herself with her
head against his knees. So they sat,
looking into the flames that licked
at the great logs of the fireplace,
while Jarvis unfolded the tragic
past, sometimes stroking Autumn’s
hair, sometimes letting his hand
fall in absent idleness upon her
shoulder, as though he were com
muning with himself and had quite
forgotten her presence.
She did not interrupt him while
he talked, but sat gazing fixedly
into the Are. It seemed to her as
if each detail of his story were fan
tastically visible there.
•‘Your mother was a siren and an
angel. Autumn," he said, ‘‘—as her
mother had been in her time. Your
grandmother’s hunt breakfasts were
the talk of the Okanagan—she had
sent to England in the early days
for hounds and hunters and brought
them all the way ‘round the Horn.
Her daughter, Millicent, was even
more lovely than she was. You
must know this if you are to under
stand what I am to tell you about
your mother—and if you are to judge
her kindly."
He paused, and into the monotony
of his voice came a break.
“Every man who met your moth
er, Autumn, fell in love with her,”
he went on. “It was so before our
marriage—and it was so after our
marriage. I never found that hard
to understand—I had fallen in love
with her myself. Nor was it hard
for me to understand how she came
to fall back somewhat into her ways
of coquetry after we had been mar
ried for a few years. Men would
not leave her alone. They could
not, it seemed. She loved me—I
have never doubted that. But I was
many years older than she and she
loved life and youth and gayety. I
was too set in my ways, perhaps.”
He sighed, and Autumn patted his
knee affectionataly without speak
ing.
"There was nothing serfous in any
of these — these ‘affairs,’ as she
called them—and she always tired
of her admirers as soon as the nov
elty wore off, and as soon as they
began to grow serious. It was an
innocent sort of vanity with her,
which she indulged quite openly.
She loved the admiration of men,
but she loved even more to let the
world about her see that she was
being admired. She would have
found no pleasure in any sneaking
love affair that was carried on
where others might not see.”
He paused while the clock on the
mantel struck the hour. It was
midnight.
“Not long after you were born,”
he continued. “Geoffrey Landor
came here from the Old Country and
bought the ranch that lay next to
mine. We had been boys together
in England. He was younger than
I—a sort of ne’er-do-well who had
married a woman of his own age
who thought she might make some
thing of him, I think. She had writ
ten to me and it was on my advice
that they left England and came
here to settle. I was as anxious to
bring him around as if I’d been his
brother.”
One of the ureat logs broke softly
in two, the sharks cascading into
the glowing embers.
"Geoffrey was restless and reck
less and full of charm. Millicent
fell in love with him—and he with
her. It was a new kind of love for
her, but I mistook it for another of
her brief infatuations. I knew it was
different when it dawned on me
that she never made anything of
him when they were in public to
gether. Discretion—that was new in
Millicent. And then one day she
told me—confessed that Geoffrey
had won her heart.”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
WHO’S
NEWS
THIS
WEEK
By LEMUEL F. PARTON
NEW YORK.—Admiral Emory S.
Land, chairman of the mari
time commission, says the proposed
safety belt around our shores is a
n «c «.» 7 "nice ldea "
Our Sub Zone but seems to
/* *Nice Idea/ concede noth
Say* Adm. Land ™re'
wonders what
will happen when “somebody sticks
his nose inside the zone.”
Admiral Land's opinion is that of
a technician and expert on ob
trusive noses, particularly those of
submarines, and, to be more ex
plicit, German submarines. He got
the Navy cross for his work in de
signing and building submarines in
the World war. in which he served
as commander of the construction
corps, and, in 1919, he turned in a
searching technical study of what
German submarines had done and
what they might do in the next war.
The spirited little admiral, a
cousin of Charles Lindbergh, has
most important business on
hand just now, with something
like $400,000,000 staked out for
building a merchant marine.
This business of new ships, and
how good a risk they may be on
sub-infested seas, is decidedly in
his department.
He is a native of Canon City, Colo.,
born in 1879. After his graduation
from Annapolis, he did postgraduate
work in naval architecture. Football
has engrossed him almost as much
as the navy. He was the garrison
finish star of that famous “crap
game” match between the Army
and Navy in 1900, a gridiron hero,
and thereafter a successful concili
ator in the long-drawn-out army
and navy athletics row.
His suavity and persuasive
ness arc always effective, as
when he invited some C. I. O
pickets of the maritime commis
sion into his office and talked
them into good humor. He suc
ceeded Joseph P. Kennedy as
chairman of the commission in
February, 1938. He’s in a crit
ical goal-keeper’s spot just now,
and everybody is satisfied.
-«
WORD comes from Paris of the
demobilization of Lucien Le
Long, the famous dressmaker. The
government puts him back on the
. job designing
Lucien Le Long gowns. "Grace
Back to *Grace, swirl and free
Swirl, Freedom’ dom” haa been
’ his rallying
cry as a designer. This isn't that
kind of war, and perhaps the French
think they are wasting his talents
as a soldier.
However, soldiering is one of
the best things that M. Le Long
does. In the last war, a shell
blew him out of a treneh Into
the dressmaking business. Se
verely wounded, his hearing im
paired, he borrowed $3,500, em
ployed 50 midinettes and seam
stresses, married the cousin of
the late Czar Nicholas of Russia,
and ran his business up to a
daily gross intake of 1,000,000
francs, employing more than
1,000 women. He took with him
into the business a Croix de
Guerre and two citations. He
had been a liaison officer with
Allenby in Palestine.
Brisk and businesslike, although
still boyish-looking, he says the hap
piest day of his life was when he
freed women from tubular gowns.
He has visited this country frequent
ly and is widely known and popular
here. His is one of the most inter
j esting of all "between war" careers.
-♦
THIS department gets word from
a Washington ringsider that Dr.
William M. Leiserson, summoned by
the President several months ago
. to unscramble
Dr. Leiserson the National
Loosening Knots Labor Rela
In Labor Tieup ‘io"s board’
has been mak
ing swift progress and that, just as
a matter of war preparedness, the
outlook for labor-employer peace is
much better. Previously a member
of the national mediation board,
he was appointed to the labor board
to succeed Donald Wakefield Smith,
center of bitter controversy. He is
said to have greatly clarified and
expedited procedure under the Wag
ner act.
He is one of millions of Amer
ican citizens who in late years
have seen their native countries
taken prisoner. Born in Estonia,
he was brought to this country
when he was a small child. At
the University of Wisconsin, he
was schooled in economics. He
obtained his doctorate at Colum
bia in 1911 and made his career
in Wisconsin in various state in
dustrial, employment, labor and
workmen’s compensation posts.
He personalizes and particularizes
each case and sees no hope in
"legalistic” solutions of labor prob
lems.
(Consolidated Features—WNU Service.)
Farm
Topics ||
WARS SELDOM
HELP FARMER
Expert Advises Adherence
To Crop Schedule.
By Dr. V. R. WERTZ
Regardless of whether or not the
armies of the world decide on step
ping up the pace of war, many
American farmers are willing to try
a gamble which appears to be a
losing proposition unless economic
laws are repealed by mass hysteria
of the world’s inhabitants. This
would seem apparent from facts
available to the rural economics de
partment of Ohio State university.
It may be possible that mathemat
ics are blown out the window when
wars occur but it is a matter of
historical record that numerals
have their old values when wars
end. The farmers who are betting
their judgment against statistics are
the farmers who are abandoning
their planned crop schedules to plant
an unusual amount of wheat this
fall and coming spring.
These farmers give two reasons
for believing that extra acres of
wheat will be profitable; first, rapid
increases in grain prices occurred
immediately after this war began;
and second, wheat prices started up
ward in 1916 and continued to rise
until pegged at a bonanza figure.
Such increases as may occur in
grain prices are no more than the
farmer deserves, but it is doubtful if
the planting of a markedly in
creased acreage of wheat is the
proper method to add dollars to
the 1940 farm income. Several
reasons present themselves for
doubting that unusually large wheat
harvest next year will be profitable
for its producers.
The chief reason is that the gran
aries of the world already are burst
ing with the largest stocks of wheat
that have been known since records
were kept. The world price of
wheat in Liverpool last July was
the lowest on record since Queen
Elizabeth ruled England.
A second reason for doubting the
advisability of increasing wheat
acreages in the United States is
that consumption of wheat does not
increase in time of war although
prices may rise if supplies fall to
normal or below. Any unwarrant
ed rise in wheat and flour prices in
the United Spates is certain to be
met by resistance from consum
ers.
Local Seeds Best
Seeds from trees in the backyard
or along a neighbor’s fence are like
ly to produce better.trees than those
from distant places, says R. W.
Graeber, forester of the North Caro
lina State college extension service.
The reason for this, Graeber ex
plained, is that trees must be thor
oughly adapted to the climate of the
planting site. Seed of even the same
species gathered at great distances
from the planting location cannot
compete with the home-grown prod
uct.
Sooner or later, the State college
forester said, a variation occurs in
the size of the seedling trees and
in their survival, Visually in favor
of the home-area seedlings. Local
seed are considered to be those ob
tained within a hundred miles of
the planting site and with a differ
ence in elevation of not more than
1,000 feet.
Soil-Erosion Is Now
Nation-Wide Problem
Although “man-made" soil ero
sion increased year by year in
this country as settlers moved
west, it was not until 1933 that
the problem was attacked on a
nationwide scale. In that year
the soil erosion service, now the
soil conservation service, was or
ganized.
During the past six years, 175
demonstration areas have been
established in 45 states and Puer
to Rico, the service says in a
current statement. Erosion con
trol work is going forward under
technical supervision of the serv
ice near more than 350 CCC
camps. Hundreds of individual
farms are being replanned for
soil conservation in co-operation
with state extension services.
Over the country as a whole the
soil conservation service demon
stration program includes co-op
erative agreements with nearly
70,000 iand-holders and covers
more than 12 million acres of
privately owned land.
Deer Problem
In a number of eastern states,
the excess high population of white
tail deer is proving to be a serious
problem to the farmer. Pennsyl
vania has erected many miles of
deer-proof fences. Michigan is now
experimenting with electric fences
to keep deer from damaging crops,
the National Wildlife federation re
ports. One Michigan farmer, given
permission to kill trespassing deer,
shot 14 in one field, then quit in dis
gust with the deer still coming.
New and Important
Easy-to-Do Fashions
IF YOU take a large size, then
* 1835 is a pattern you’ll thor
oughly enjoy, and make up time
and again. Excellent for house
work, with darted, unconfining
waistline and deep armholes, it is
so neatly tailored and smart look
ing that you can receive your sup
per guests in it, too, and wear it
for shopping and runabout For
home wear, make it of gingham
I
1—/HV Him) U
or percale. For street wear,
choose thin wool or flat crepe,
and omit the pockets.
Pleats Are Smart.
If you spend most of your hours
in an office or at college, then a
dress like 1814 is a joyful neces
sity. It’s blithe, tailored, becom
ing and youthful, with box-pleated
skirt and button-front bodice, fin
ished with a crisp little collar to
keep it always fresh and new-look
ing. Make it up in plaid wool or
in bright-colored jersey—or in
both. It’s too good a design to
make up only once!
The Patterns.
No. 1835 is designed for siz& 36,
38, 40, 42, 44, 46, 48, 50 and 52. Size
38 requires 4*4 yards of 39-inch
material; % yard of contrast; 2\4
yards bias fold or braid.
No. 1814 is designed for sizes
12, 14, 16, 18 and 20. Size 14 re
quires 3% yards of 54-inch ma
terial; Vi yard contrast.
New Fall Pattern Book.
Send today for your new Fall
Pattern Book with a stunning se
lection of a hundred perfect pat
terns for all shapes and sizes.
Save money and know the keen
satisfaction of personally planned,
prefectly fitted garments by mak
ing your own frocks with these
smart, carefully cut designs. You
can’t go wrong—every pattern in
cludes a step-by-step sew chart to
guide beginners. Price of Pattern
Book, 15 cents.
Send your order to The Sewing
Circle Pattern Dept., Room 1324,
211 W. Wacker Dr., Chicago, 111.
Price of patterns, 15 cents (in
coins) each.
(Bell Syndicate—WNU Service.)
Quick
UOTES
Sftwinrt Frmmra
FAITH
•*T'HE present world situation la
* bhowing us that men cannot leave
God nut of account and retain their
faith in the dignity of human personal
ity and the sacredness of human liberty
and human life.”—Bishop William T.
lUanning.
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Ufi+lsnirt DieL get a 25c box of NR from your
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If not delighted, return the box to us. We will
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WNU—U 43—39
Officious Charity
I trust no rich man who is offi
ciously kind to a poor man.—Plau
tus.
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