Nebraska Newspapers

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BY
JOHNBRECKENEIDGE ELLIS
SYNOPSIS.
Fran arrives at Hamilton Gregory’s
home in Ljttleburg, but finds him absent
conducting the choir at a camp meeting.
She repairs thither in search of him.^
laughs during the service and is asked to*
leave. Abbott Ashton, superintendent of
schools, escorts Fran from the tent. He
tells her Gregory is a wealthy man,
deeply interested in charity work, and a
plilar of the church. Ashton becomes
greatly interested in Fran and while tak
ing leave of her, holds her hand and is
seen by Sapphira Clinton, sister of Rob
ert Clinton, chairman of the school board.
Fran tells Gregory she wants a home
with him.'•Grace Noir, Gregory’s private
secretary, takes a violent dislike to Fran
and advises her to go away at once.
Fran hints at a .twenty-year-old secret,
and Gregory in agitation asks Grace to
leave the room. Fran relates the story
of how Gregory married a young girl at
Springfield while attending college and
then deserted her. Fran is the child of
that marriage. Gregory had married his
present wife three years before the death
of Fran’s mother. Fran takes a liking to
Mrs. Gregory. Gregory explains that
Fran is the daughter of a very dear friend
who is dead. Fran agrees to the story.
Mrs. Gregory insists on her making her
home with them and takes her to her
arms. Fran declares the secretary must
go. Grace begins nagging tactics in an
effort to drive Fran from the Gregory
home. Abbott, while taking a walk alone
at midnight, finds Fran on a bridge tell
ing her fortune by cards. She tells Ab
bott that she is the famous lion tamer.
Fran Nonpareil. She tired of circus life
and sought a home. Grace decides to ask
Bob Clinton to go to Springfield to inves
tigate Fran’s story. Fran offers her
•ervlces to Gregory as secretary during
•he temporary absence of Grace. The lat
ter. hearing of Fran’s purpose, returns
and interrupts a touching scene between
father and daughter. Grace tells Gregory
she intends to marry Clinton and quit his
service. He declares that he cannot con
tinue his work without her. Carried away
by passion, he takes her in his arms.
Fran walks in on them, and declares that
Grace must leave the house at once. To
Gregory’s consternation he learns of
Clinton’s mission to Springfield. Clinton
returns from Springfield and, at Fran’s
request. Abbott urges him not to discuss
what h*> has learned. On Abbott’s assur
ance that Grace w'ill leave Gregory at
once. Clinton agrees to keep silent. Driv
en into a corner by the threat of ex
posure, Gregory is forced to dismiss
Grace. Grace is offered the job of book
keeper in Clinton’s grocery store. Greg
ory’s infatuation leads him to seek Grace
at the grocery. He finds her alone and
tells her the story of his past. Grace
points out that as he married the pres
ent Mrs.* Gregory before the death of
Fran’s mother, he is not now legally mar
ried. They decide to flee at once. They
attempt to escape during the excitement
of a street fair and are forced to enter
the lion tent to avoid Clinton. Abbott
wanders into the lion tent to pass the
time A young woman wearing a mask
Ik taking the place of the regular trainer.
One of the lions rebels and the trainer re
moves her mask revealing the features of
Fran. She finally overcomes the brute.
Gregory’s eyes are opened to the real na
ture of Grace as he sees murder in her
eves during Fran’s contest with the lion.
He tells her all is over between them.
CHAPTER XXIII.—Continued.
He met her eyes unfalteringly. "It’s
already nine o'clock,” he said with sin
gular composure. "Don’t forget nine
thirty.”
Then he disappeared in the crowd.
Then, to her amazement, she beheld
Hamilton Gregory stumbling toward
her, looking neither to right nor left,
■eelng none but her—Hamilton Greg
ory at a show! Hamilton Gregory
here, of all places, his eyes wide, his
head thrown back as If to bare his
face to her startled gaze.
“Fran!” cried Gregory, thrusting
forth his arms to take her hands.
"Fran! Even now, the bars divide us.
But oh, 1 am so glad, so glad—and
God answered my prayer and saved
you. Fran—my daughter!”
CHAPTER XXIV.
_ v I
Near the Sky.
It was half-past nine when Abbott
met Fran, according to appointment,
before the Snake Den. From her hands
she had removed the color of Italy,
and from her body, the glittering rai
ment of La Gonizetti.
Fran came up to the young man
from out the crowded street, all quiv
ering excitement. In contrast with
the pulsing life that ceaselessly
changed her face, as from reflections
of dancing light-points, his composure
showed almost grotesque.
“Here I am.” she panted, shooting a
quizzical glance at his face, "are you
ready for me? Come on, then, and
I’ll show you the very place for us.”
Abbott inquired serenely: "Down
there in the Den ?”
"No,” she returned, "not in the Den.
You’re no Daniel, if I am a Charmer.
No dens for lfs.”
"Nor lion cages?” inquired Abbott,
still inscrutable; "never again?”
■ "Never again,” came her response.
* Fran stopped before the Ferris
Wheel.
"Let’s take a ride,” she said, a little
tremulously. “Won’t need tickets. Bill,
•top the wheel; I want to go rig'aMip.
This is a friend of mine—Mr. Ashton.
And Abbott, this is an older friend
than you—Mr. Bill Smookins.”
Mr. Bill Smookins was an exceed
ingly hard-fea'ured man. of no recog
nizable age. Externally, he was blue
overalls and greasy tar.
Abbott grasped Bill's hand, and in
quired about business.
“Awful pore, sense Fran lef the
show,” was the ans#er, accompanied
by a grin that 'threatened to cut the
weather-beaten face wide open.
Fran beamed. “Mr. Smookins knew
my mother—didn’t you, Bill? He was
awful good to me when I was a kid.
Mr. Smookins was a Human Nymph in
those days, and he smoked and talked,
he did, right down under the water—
remember. Bill? That was sure-enough
water—oh. he’s a sure-enough Bill, let
me tell you!”
Bill intimated, as he slowed down
the engine, that the rheumatism he
had acquired under the water, was
sure-enough rheumatism—hence his
change of occupation. "I was strong
enough to be a Human Nymph,” he
explained, “but not endurable. Nobody
can’t last many years as a Human
Nymph.”
Abbott indicated his companion—
"Here’s one that’ll last my time.”
The wheel stopped. He and Fran
were barred into#a seat.
“And now,” Fran exclaimed, “it’s all
ups and downs, just like a moving pic
ture of life. Why don’t you say some
thing, Mr. Ashton? But no, you can
keep still—I'm excited to death, and
wouldn’t hear you anyway. I want to
do all the talking—I always do, after
I've been in the cage. My brain is
filled with air—so this is the time to
be soaring up into the sky, isn't it!
What is your brain filled with?—but
never mind. We’ll be just two bal
loons—my! aren’t you glad we haven’t
any strings on us—suppose some peo
ple had hold!—I, for one, would be
willing never to go down again. Where
are the clouds?—Wish we could meet
a few. See how I’m trembling—al
ways do, after the lions. Now, Abbott,
I’ll leave a small opening for just one
word—”
“I'll steady you,” said Abbott, brief
ly. and he took her hand. She did not
appear conscious of his protecting
clasp.
"I never see the moon so big.” she
went on, breathlessly, "without think
ing of that night when it rolled along
the pasture as if it wanted to knock
us off the foot-bridge for being where
we oughtn’t. I never could understand
why you should stay on that bridge
with a perfect stranger, when your
duty was to be usher at the camp-ineet
ln^! You weren’t ushering me, you
know, you were holding my hand—I
mean, I was holding your hand, as
Miss Sapphira says I shouldn't. What
a poor helpless man—as I’m holding
you now, I presume! But I laughed in
meeting. People ought to go outdoors
to smile, and keep their religion in a
house, I guess. I’m going to tell you
why I laughed, for you’ve never
guessed, and you’ve always been
afraid to ask—” ~
“Afraid of you, Fran?”
“Awfully, I'm going to show you—
let go, so I can show you. No, I’m in
earnest—you can have me, afterwards.
. . . Remember that evangelist?
There he stood, waving his hands—as
I’m doing now—moving his arms with
his eyes fastened upon the congrega
tion—this way—look. Abbott.”
“Fran! As If I were not already
looking.”
"Look—just so; not saying a word—
only waving this way and that . . .
And it made me thing of our hypno
tizer—the man that waves people into
our biggest tent—he seems to pick ’em
up bodily and carry them in his arms.
Well! And if the people are to be
waved into a church, it won’t take
much of a breeze to blow them out.
I don’t believe in soul-waving. But
that doesn’t mean that I don’t believe
in the church—does it?—do you
think?”
“You believe in convictions, Fran.
And since you’ve come into the church,
you don't have to say that you believe
In it.” •
“Y'es—there’s nothing on the out
side, 'and oh, sometimes there’s so
little, so little under the roof—what
do you think of me, Abbott?"
“Fran, I think you are the most—”
“But do you!" she interposed, still
insteadily. "In the superlative? 1 I
ion’t see how you can, after that exhi- |
3ition behind the bars. Anyway, I
vant you to talk about yourself. What
made you go away from town? But
:hat's not the worst; what made you
stay away? And what were you doing
iff there wherever it wag. while.poor
little girls were wondering themselves
sick about you? But wait!—the
wheel’s going down—down—down.
. . Good thing I have you to hold
to—poor Miss Sapphira, she can’t
come now! Listen at all the street
criers, getting closer, and the whistle
sounds—I wish we had whistles; the
squawky kind. See my element, Ab
bott, the air I’ve breathed all my life—
the carnival. Here we are, just above
the clouds of confetti. . . . Now
we’re riding through . . . pretty
damp, these clouds are, don’t you
think! Those ribbons of electric
lights have been the real world to me.
Abbott—they were home. . . . No,
Bill, we don't want to get out. We in
tend to ride until you take this wheel
to pieces. And oh, by the way. Bill—
just stop this wheel, every once in a
while, will you ?—when we’re up at the
very tiptop. All right—good-by."
And Abbott called gaily, “Good-by,
Mr. Smookins!”
“I'm glad you did that, Abbott. Tou
think you’re somebody, when some
body else thinks so, too. Now we’re
rising in the world.” Fran was so ex
cited that she could not keep her body
from quivering. In spite of this, she
fastened her eyes upon Abbott to
ask, suddenly: “’Most’—what?”
"Most adorable," Abbott answered,
as if he had been waiting for the
prompting. "Most precious. Most be
witchingly sweet. Most unanswerably
and eternally—Fran!”
“And you—” she whispered.
“And I,” he told her, “am nothing
but most wanting-to-be-loved.”
“It’s so queer," Fran said, plaintive
ly. “You know, Abbott, how long
you’ve fought against me. You know
it, and I don’t blame you, not in the
least. There’s nothing about me to
make people. . . . But even now,
how can you think you understand me,
when I don’t understand myself?”
“I don’t,” he said, prompt'y. 'T’ve
\\
"Up, Samson, Up I”
given up trying to understand you.
Since then, I’ve just loved. That’s
easy.”
“What will people think of a super
intendent of public schools caring for
a show-girl, even if she iB Fran Non
pareil. How would it affect your ca
reer?”
"But you have promised never again
to engage in a show, so you are not a
show-girl.”
"What about my mother who lived
and died as a lion-tamer? What will
you do about my life-history? I’d nev
er speak to a mail who could feel
ashamed of my mother. What about
my father who has never publicly
acknowledged me? I’d not want to
have anything to do with a man who
—who could be proud of him.”
“As to the past, Fran, I have only
this to say: Whatever hardships it
contained, whatever wrongs or wretch
(COPYQIGHT 1912
f BOBBS - MEPP ILL CO.)
edness—it evolved you. you, the Fran
of today—the Fran of this living
hour. And it’s the Fran of this living
hour that I want to marry?”
Fran covered her face with her
hands. For a while there was silence,
then she said:
“Father was there, tonight.”
“At the lion-show? Impossible! Mr.
Gregory go to a—a—to—a—’’
"Yes, it is possible for him even to
go to a show But to do him justice,
he was forced under the tent, he had
no intention of doing anything so
wicked as that, he only meant to do
some little thing like running away—
But no. I can’t speak of him with bit
terness, now. Abbott, he seems all
changed.”
Abbott murmured, as if stupefied:
“Mr. Gregory at a show!”
“Yes, and a lion-show. When it was
over he came to me—he was so ex
cited—”
“So was I,” spoke up the other—
“rather!”
“You didn't show it. 1 thought
maybe you wouldn’t care if I bad been
eaten up. . . . No, no, listen. He
wanted to claim me—he called me
‘daughter’ right there before the peo
ple, but they thought it was just a sort
of—of church name. But he was won
derfully moved. I left the tent with
him, and we had a long talk—I came
from him to you. I never saw any
body so changed.”
"But why?”
“You see, he thought I was going to
be killed right there before his eyes,
fnd seeing it with his very own eyes
made him feel responsible. He told
me, afterwards, that when he found
out who it was in the cage, he thought
of mother in a different way—he saw
how his desertion had driven her to
earning her living with showmen, so I
could be supported. All in all, he is a
changed man.”
"Then will he acknowledge yon?—
but no. no . . .”
“You see? He can’t, on account of
Mrs. Gregory. There’s no future for
him, or for her, except to go on living
as man and wife—without the secre
tary. He imagines it would be a sort
of reparation to present me to the
world as his daughter, he thinks it
would give him happiness—but it can’t
be. Grace N'oir has found it all out—”
“Then she will tell!” Abbott ex
claimed, in dismay.
“She would have told but for one
thing. She doesn’t dare, and it’s on
her own account—of course. She has
been terribly—well, indiscreet. You
can’t think of what lengths she was
willing to go—not from coldly making
up her mind, but because she lost grip
on herself, from always thinking Bhe
couldn’t. So she went away with Bob
Clinton—she’ll marry him, and they’ll
go to Chicago, out of Littleburg his
tory—poor Bob! Remember the night
he was trying to get religion? I’m
afraid he’ll conclude that religion
isn't what he thought it was, living so
close to it from now on.”
“All this interests me greatly, dear,
because it interests you. Still, it
doesn’t bear upon the main question.”
"Abbott, you don’t know why I went
to that show to act. You thought I
was caring for a sick friend. What do
you think of such deceptions?”
”1 think I understand. Simon Jef
ferson told me of a girl falling from a
trapeze; It was .possibly La Gonizettl’s
daughter. Mrs. JefTerson told me that
Mrs. Gregory is nursing some one.
The same one, I imagine. And La Gon
izetti was a friend of yours, and you
took her place, so the mother could
stay with the injured daughter.”
“You’re a wonder, yourself!” Fran
declared, dropping her handB to stare
at him. “Yes, that’s it. All these
show-people are friends of mine.
When the mayor was trying to decide
what carnival company they’d have
for the street fair, I told him about
this show, and that’s why it’s here.
Poor La Goifizetti needs the money
dreadfully—for they spend it as fast
as it’s paid in. The little darling will
have to go to a hospital, and there’s
nothing laid by. The boys all threw
in, but they didn’t have much, them
Belves. Nobody has. Everybody’s pool
in this old world—except you and me
I’ve taken La Gonizetti’s place in the
cage all day to keep her from losing
out; and if this wasn't the last day,
I don’t know whether I’d have piom
ised you or not. . . . Samson was
pretty good, but that mask annoyed
him. So you see—but honestly, Ab
bott, doesn’t all this make'you feel just
a wee bit different about me?”
"It makes me want to kiss you,
Fran.”
"It makes you”—she gasped—“want
to do—that? Why, Abbott! Nothing
can save you.”
“I’m afraid not,” he agreed.
The car was swinging at the highest
reach of the wheel. The engine
stopped.
She opened her eyes very wide. "I’d
think you’d be afraid of such a world
famous lion-trainer,” she declared,
drawing back. "Some have been, I
assure you.”
“I’m not afraid,” Abbott declared,
drawing her toward him. He would
have kissed her, but she covered her
face with her hands and bent her head
instinctively.
“Up!” cried Abbott. “Up, Samson,
up!”
Fran laughed hilariously, and lifted
her head. She looked at him through
her lingers. Her face was a garden of
blush-roses. She pretended to roar
but the result was not terrifying; then
she obediently held up her mouth.
“After all,” said Fran, speaking
somewhat indistinctly, “you haven't
told why you ran away to leave poor
Fran guessing where you’d gone. Do
you know how I love you. Abbott?"
“I think I know.”
It was a good while later that Ab
bott said: "As to why I left Little
burg: Bob knew of a private school
that has just been incorporated as a
college. A teacher's needed, one with
ideas of the new education—the edu
cation that teaches us how to make
books useful to life, and not life to
books—the education that teaches
happiness as well as words ihd fig
ures; just the kind that you didn't find
at my school, little rebel! Bob was an
old chum of the man who owns the
property so he recommended me, and
I went. It's a great chance, a magnifi
cent opening. The man was so pleased
with the way I talked—he’s new to the
business, so that must be his excuse
—that I am to be the president.”
Fran’s voice came rather faintly—
“Hurrah! But you are to be far, far
above my reach, just as I prophesied
Don’t you remember what I said to
you during our drive through Sure
Enough Country?" .
“And that isn’t all,” said Abbott,
looking straight before him, and pre
tending that he had not heard. "In
j that town—Tahlelah, Okla.,—I discov
ered, out in the suburbs, a cottage—•
the dearest little thing—as dear as
. . . as Mr. Smookins; just big
enough for a girl like FVan. I rented
it at once—of course, it oughn't to be
standing there idle—there's such a
j fragrant flower garden—I spent some
time arranging the grounds as I think
you’ll like them„ I didn’t furnish the
cottage, though. Women always like
to select their own cfcrpets and things,
and—”
Fran's face was a dimpled sea of
pink and crimson waves, with starry
lights in her black eyes for signal
lights. "Oh, you king of hearts!” she
exclaimed. “And shall we have a
church wedding, and just kill ’em?” •
Abbott laughed boyishly. "No—yon
must remember that your connection
with show-life is at an end.”
"But—and then—and so,” cried
Fran rapturously, “I’m to have a home
after all, with flower gardens and
carpets and things—a sure-enough
home—Abbott, a home with you!
Don’t you know, it’s been the dream of
my life to—to—"
Abbott was inexpressibly touched.
"Yes, I was just thinking of what 1
heard you say, once—to belong to
somebody.”
Fran slipped her arms about hia
neck. "And what a somebody! To be
long to you. And to know that my
home is our home. . . .”
Abbott, with a sober sense of his
unworthiness, embraced her silently.
From far below came a sudden
sound, making its way through the
continuity of the street-uproar. It wai
the chugging of the engine.
The wheel began to revolve.
Down they came—down—down—
Fran looked up a? the moon. “Good
by," she called, gaily. “The world it
good enough for me!”
(*THE END.)
LEGEND OF GARDEN OF EDEN
Oriental Christiana Believe Banana
Tree Was the Source of Good
and Evil.
There exists a legend relative to the
Christian inhabitants of the east that
they believe'the banana to be the tree
of the source of good and evil, in a
bunch of the fruit of which the ser
vant that tempted Eve hid itself, and
they add that when Adam and Eve be
came ashamed of their nakedness,
they covered themselves with the
leaves of this plant
' The origin of the banana is given as
India, at the foot of the Himalayas,
■ where it has been cultivated since re
motest antiquity, says the National
Geographic Magazine. Its origin in
the new world is as doubtful as the
origin of the American Indian. Na
tural to Asia and Africa, where more
twenty distinct species of the
genus are known, it is said to have
been brought first to America from
a^tw early in the sixteenth century,
andplanted in the Island of Santo
Domingo, whence Its spread was rapid
through the surrounding islands and
the main land. This has never been
authentically established, however,
and some authorities include the ban
ana among the articles that formed
the base of food supply of the Incas
and the Aztecs before the arrival of
the Spaniards. '
Certain it is that throughout the
whole meridional America there is a
strong tradition that at least two spe
cies of the plantain were cultivated
long before the coming of the Euro
peans. Furthermore, it is singular
that in all the languages Indigenous
to the region where the banana ap
pears, the plant has a special name,
not proceeding from the conquerors,
as was the case with the names of
many other plants, animals and vari
ous articles introduced into America
after its discovery.
Grown over the entire extent of the
meridian of the earth, the fruit of the
banana today forms in large part the
principal food of a majority of the
peoples living under the tropical zone.
The dead are soon forgotten—and
so are a tot of us who axe alto* ,
...a?. / \
; > . - - > .y; >
MlllMiliiiHliKfliM
Little Lesson in Efficiency.
A woman who has been studying the
science of household efficiency com
ments that the obvious things that
every woman ought to know about con
serving time and energy in the doing
of the daily household tasks are the
ones that seem to make no impression
upon the average household. For in
stance, she says, always have the
draining pan when washing dishes
upon the left of the dishpan. Ton
naturally wash the dishes with the
right and hold them in the left. Then
set them down on the left without
using energy to reach across the right
Sounds sensible, doesn’t it?
Out of the Dictograph. ,
To think before you speak will help
some, but it's better yet to hustle
around and verify your facts.
The man with a hand full of trumps
never developed a suspicion that the
deal isn’t square.
Birdie Frizzles feels terribly dis
graced because her mother, as a girl,
had to learn to play "Monartery Bells"
and “Silver Waves" instead cd rag
time
VALUE QUEER RELICS HIGHLY
Large Sums Have Frequently Been
Paid for Articles That Many
Would Call Grewsome.
It is not every man. not every hero
worshiper, who would esteem the
tooth of his hero of more value than
diamonds. There is a ring belonging
to an English nobleman, in which the
place of honor, formerly occupied by
a diamond, is given to a tooth that
once did duty In a human Jaw.
This tooth cost no less than three
thousand six hundred and fifty dol
lars; but it was the tooth of Sir Isaac
Newton. A relic collector sold it at
auction in 1846, and the nobleman
who bought it gave it the place of a
diamond in bis favorite ring.
Another tooth, which so far excites
the veneration of hero worshipers as
to be able to hold a dburt of its own
and to draw from long distances a
small host of followers, is one that
was originally hidden behind the lips
of Victor Hugo. It is kept at his
former residence in a glass case bear
ing the Inscription, "Tooth drawn from
the Jaw of Victor Hugo by the dentist
on Wednesday. August 11, 1871, in the
gardens attached to the house oi
Madame Koch, at three o’clock in the
afternoon.’’
The wig of a literary man appears
to have been even more sought after
than his teeth. That which Sterne
wore while writing “Tristram Shandy"
was sold soon after the writer’s death
for ten thousand dollars; and ttje
favorite chair of Alexander Pope
brought five thousand dollars.
The most extravagant instance oi
literary hero worship 1s that of a well
known Englishman, who constantly
wears a small locket attached to a
chain round his neck a part of the
charred skull of Shelley.—The Sunday
Magazine.
The Gallant.
Judge—The lady from whom you
stole a kiss declares herself ready to
waive her demand for punishment 11
you will ask her pardon and express
your regret for what has happened.
Gentlemen (to the offended lady)—
Tes, 1 am willing to beg your pardon.
But to regret that I gave you the Us#
deer madam, that l cannot!
Most Popular Fur-Trimmed Finery
Everything is trimmed with fur
and already furriers are making
up in what are called “millinery furs”
imitations of martin, ermine, skunk,
leopard, moleskin, mink and sealskin.
These furs are used in bands and are
used for trimming. muffs, turbans,
neckpieces and dresses. They border
gowns at the hem, and sleeves at the
wrist. Occasionally a high-necked
blouse shows a narrow band of fur
hugging the throat.
But it is in millinery and muffs
(which are made of velvet or other
fabrics) that fur bands appear as an
indispensible part of the composition.
Round, close-fitting turbans. Oriental
turbans, small hats, a few of the larg
er ones that are beginning to emerge
from tbeir eclipse, are all taking to
themselves the luxury and suggestion
of warmth and comfort which is lent
them by the fur band.
Millinery furs are called by the
names of the furs they imitate, as
“sealskin,” "fox,'’ “martin,” "mole,”
"leopard,” "ermine.” It is more than
likely that Molly Cottontail provides
many of the skins which are trans
formed by furriers into almost any
thing they wish to imitate. The op
possum, the skunk, the muskrat, the
coyote and others have and help out
in providing furs for trimming, be
cause there is a tremendous and in
creasing demand for them. The skins
of these people of the wild are so dis
guised by the dyeings and markings
and piecings and clippings of fur
riers that their masquerading is ac
cepted easily. No qualifying "imita
tion” prefixes their borrowed names.
They are used in the handsomest of
millinery and garments, and they
make it possible for "the many” as
well as "the few,” to indulge in good
looking furs.
The hats on which fur bands and
collars are used are small and close
fitting as a rule. Mostly velvet tur
bans, although plush and satin figure
in the making of a good number of
models. The combination of fur and
velvet, or fur and satin, is more effec
tive than that of fur and plush, in
millinery. When long-haired furs are
used they are cut in narrow bands.
| but short-haired furs, not so bulky,
are invariably this season cut either
: narrow or wide.
In passing, it may be mentioned
that furs must not be cut with scis
: sors. The home milliner or dress
| maker may cut them satisfactorily by
: marking a line with tailor’s chalk on
the skin side of the pelt and cutting
along this line with a razor blade. In
sewing seams two edges are held to
gether and overcast. Furriers use a
triangular needle, and it is far easier
to sew skins with than the round
needle. All three edges are cutting
! edges.
It will be seen from the picture that
I the muffs and hats are made to
i match, while the neckpieces are odd—
I of another kind of fur or plush. Thi9
I is only a fancy not an established
fashion. The vogue of plain skirts
with plush jackets to match in color
i does away with the need of a neck
piece other than a band of fur around
the collar. With such a suit a hat
and muff to match, trimmed with fur
like that on the collar, is delightfully
chic and also delightfully comfortable.
One can face any degree of cold with
them.
The materials used for the muffs
and turbans are many, velvets,
plushes, brocaded silks, brocaded
crepes, wide heavy brocaded ribbons,
satins and chiffon all contribute to
the making up of these smart acces
sories.
Muffs are flat and soft. Lace is
used for their trimming, and a touch
of lace on the turban corresponds
with that on the muff. As is usual
when furs are much in fashion (they
are never out) metallic laces have
reappeared and are sparingly used as
a decoration on fancy muffs and neck
wear, and in touches of gold and sil
ver oh millinery.
Some of the muffs and turbans
shown may be attempted by the home
dressmaker with good chances of suc
cess. Before attempting them, how
ever, she should examine a set made
by professionals. There are many
small items which if overlooked spell
failure.
JULIA BOTTOMLEY.
FILMY LINGERIE
FASHION’S EDICT
FOR THIS SEASON
—
CUMBERSOME clothes are things of
the past. Soft and fine, the under
garments of today do not confine
themselves alone to sheer muslins, but
call lace and even chiffon into their
fragile make-up. The latter is used
for flounces and frills on garments
which are seldom worn or that can be,
dry-cleaned. But the filmiest laces are
woven to withstand careful launder
ing and garments employing them are
practical. Some of these laces—as
German val and cluny—are very
strong and will wear as long as nain
sook or muslin.
Here is a corset cover which will
please every woman who loves dainty
finery. And is there one who does
not? This pretty little furbelow is
meant to fce worn under sheer waists.
Whether it shows through or not, it
is elegant, and will make a Christmas
gift that will delight the heart of its
fortunate recipient
From one and a quarter to one and
a half yards of all-over lace will make
two of these without any seams. Lace
18 Inches wide Is cut in two length
wise and the straight strip forms the
little bodice. Beading and lace edging
trim the top and form the straps over
the shoulder. A wider beading of line
Swiss embroidery is made to the waist
measure.
Baby ribbon is run in the beading
at the top of the garment and tied in
a full bow at the front. It Is run in
the shoulder straps, which are made
of beading with lace edging whipped
to each side. A narrow hem finishes
each side of the front. Wider ribbon
is run through the beading at the
waist and tied in a bow at the front.
By way of adding the most frivolous
and dainty of finishing touches tiny
chiffon roses in pink, blue and white,
with little ribbon rose foliage, is ap
plied (in a short festoon) over the
bust at each side. They are basted
on, to be removed when the corset
cover is washed.
The sewing on such garments is to
be done by hand, but there is so little
of It that only a short time is needed
Considering its beauty and inexpen
siveness this corset cover is to be rec
ommended as among the choicest of
gifts. It is good enough for a million
aire, costs little, but, bought in the
shops, sells for a high price.
JULIA BOTTOMLEY.
Cretonne Slips. ,
Cretonne slip/ to put over frocks
that are hanging in the closet or ward
robe are convenient. They are made
of two pieces of cretonne, cut in semi
circular outline, a little bigger than a
dress hanger. They are seamed to
gether about the curved edge with a
little opening left for the neck of the
hanger.
To the straight edge two long
straight sections of cretonne are gath*
ered, long enough to come to the bot
tom of the frock. These straight
pieces can be seamed together or fast
ened with tapes or socket fasteners.
Modes for Children.
Fine crepes are being used for the
lingerie dresses of children In the Rus
sian tunic and empress styles. When
in the Russian style the underskirt is
generally of plain white crepe while
the tunic or smock Is of white creDe
embroidered or printed In daintv
posies, and the long sleeves are of fine
batiste finished with narrow Valen
ciennes lace. .
The simplicity of the empire style
permits the use of fancy crepes un
adorned, except for a narrow ribbon
that defines the high waistline.
Novel Paris Bag.
Bags continue to be popular, and &
new one which haa come from Paris
is made of Bilk, either striped or of
all black, and Is daintily fitted with,
card case, minor and a watch.