The Best Cellar By Hanish McLaurin • Ixjvo often spurs women to do surprising things—on impulse. The c:,-ies in which it gives them the *fc< urage to carry out a plan re quiring time and patience and hard work are not so numerous. No one who knew Dione Carver at the time she fell in love with Hardy Irving woidd have said she had enough will power to do the thing she did. It was hardly to be ex pected of any woman, so far as that govs, for what Dione did was vthls: she changed the shape of her •e outh. She thought Hardy disliked ™ac so she changed it. And she did It all by herself. The thing at which fate must have smiled behind her veil was tho fact that Hardy had no great interest in Diene's mouth, one way or the , other. To him she was just one of several little girls in tho old home town who s. erned with each of his recurring visits, to have graduated apruptly from the roller skate stage into the stage ut which their most valued posst -slun was somebody's high school fraternity pin, and. from that, in turn, to the status wherein they had aWainod-lo the undisputed ownership of guld lipsticks and Jingling vanity boxes. There never seemed to lie any gradual transition from one of these categories to the next abo\ u it. Kach time that Hardy laid aside his palette—turned the key in h»s studio door, and journeyed home ward he found the same thr-ee groups in evidence, the only differ ence being that the high school gig glers of his previous visit would have become devastating debu ^ uintes, tho roller skaters would be in high school, and tho baby car riages or the kindergarten or some thing had yielded a fresh erop of squealing femininity on rollers. He had been vaguely aware of Dione as she passed through all these stages, and she had been •ware, a trifle more acutely, of him. Ry the time he hail made the world of art reckon him as among the most promising youngsters in the field of portraiture she had been - "out” two full seasons, and *t was1 hen that their acquaintance really began. Hardy spe nt two months at home that summer, and. more by chaino than by any intention on his part, ho was paired off with Dione at most of tho picnics, yachting par* tles and dinner dances with which the young folks amused themselves. Hardy had no idea of falling in love with Dlon*\ nor with anyone else, and had he been able to foresee lmw completely ho was to capture tie poor girl's affections, it is qui'e probable that he w«*uld have taken Steps to avoid doing so. There was a girl in N^w Turk in wdiorn 1st* was Interested at the tlmo; fTm to tho point of distraction, but just enough to render him much hss susceptb ble to Dione s chajjns than sh w; to his. Dione never had tfhy doubt about her feelings toward Hardy. hho wanted him from the first, and him did everything within the bo untie of maidenly self-respect to get him. To her way of thinking, ho w * e Charming him-elf, good look mg. tali lit- d, riady fspe and in a fair way to be high ly successful. He came from it world she longed to inhabit, and she never tired of listening to his verbal snapshots of life in the studios of New York and Paris. 8he w is mis erable beyond words when the time came for him to go east m?aln and it became clear that her best efforts had not stirred within him the do sire to be anything more to her than a friendly, entertaining com panion. The usual Saturday night dance took place at the country dub on the last night previous to Hardy's departure .and it was there that Dion© discovered what she thought h to be the reason for her idol’s indif ference. On© of h©r young admir ers had persuaded her to sit out a dance with him in his roadster, which was parked in the shadow »f the trees that bordered the club house. The* top of the roadster was up. and at it few paces distant It was uuite lmpo--IMe to any whether it was empty or occupied. As she sat there, al stractedly replying to her partner’s chatter, she heard Hardy’s voice close at hand. He was strolling along the path with •Terry Ikiyliss. smoking a cigaretnnd ijoying a brief ©s©ape from the beat of the ballroom. “No, she doesn’t interest me.” he was saying. “Ood pity th© man who marries a girl with a mouth like that.” ^ has marvelous ©yes" .Terry rermnd©d him, as they reached the end of the path and paus©d a mo ment lx*for© returning. “Quit© over pow©rlng to those who aren’t used to them.’’ “I know she has, but the month discounts them entirely,” asserted Hardy. “Mid you ev- r study physi ognomy”’ . “Nop© T v© looked at th© ads f«»t the character reading courses, but that's as far as I ever got.” “Well, one has to in my business, you know. It’s part of the train ing,” explained the painter. "And I tell you that mouth of hers is a dead give away. It spells wilful ness; it spells selfishness; it spells bitterness; and, taken with other signs on the forehead, I think it. means temper, as well.” They passed out of hearing with that, but Dione had caught enough to set her thinking so furiously that she almost permitted the young man in the roadster to put both arms around her before she realized what the magazine advertisements that I've begun to believe it might be worth while looking into.” Pleased at this commendable de sire on Dione's part to add a little to her knowledge of human nature, Hardy made a note of the commis sion and promised to execute it as soon as he got back to work. Dione and her hand mirror had a long and serious conference that night. Though there was something about her mouth which many peo ple call "cute," yet the young lady was obliged to admit to herself that if she had seen those particular curves on the lips of 'somebody else Rut when it came to the bitterness she found herself resentful. he was doing. That evening, while she was dressing for the dance, she had spoken to her little sister wiilt considerable asperity concerning seme trifling mischief the child was lip to, and the youngster had retali ated by calling her ‘ an old pouty mouth.” The phrase had amused her mildly at the moment, but now' under this new interpretation, it came buck to her with a chill that struck deep. She was too genuinely hurt to speak to Hardy about it, but even before It came time for him to es cort her home that night a nebulous plan had begun to form In her mind. "Didn't you tell mo once tliat you had made quite a study of eluiracter reading?" she asked him. on the way home. She felt that she was treading on Imggy ground—Hardy ini. lit have spli d her In that road ster—but, no matter at what cost, she could not have resisted the temptation to remind her compan ion thus Indirectly of Ills conversa tion with -Jerry anil to watch his fact, intently a-- he recalled w hat he had said. She was rorctMi to admire me com plete unconcern with which he re plied, “Ye*. It’* much more of a study than most folk* Imagine. 1 actually think that what little *ur ce*H I’ve hud has l»e* n due largely to my ability to obeerffe and to put on canvas the salient points which make the character of the Bitter shine out through the face.'* “How did you learn to do It, to reoogniEe those point* when you saw them. I ro« in?" "My first Instruc tor in Paris was ii Iniy on the subject anil, once hav Iny Interested tnyself, 1 bought books about It and read them." t "It must be perfectly fascinating." observed his gentle cross examiner. "Are there any book* of that kind published In this country?" "Why, certainly; some of tho best." "I’d like to read them sometime." "Iteally, would you? I’ll send you two or three from N«*w York, If you like. I’d Is* delighted to. It * not often I find a glii who’* Inter ested in that sort of thing." "I never was, tnyself, until—un til lately," Dion* informed lilm, “but you sc* so much about it In h» might hnvo attributed them to petulance. i:he thought she could detect the willfulness of which Hardy It ml spoken; of the selfish ness she was not so sure "Rather hard to Judge that on ones own face," she said to herself. Hilt wh-n it came to the bitterness she found herself resentful. "That wn nit quite fair of him," she pro tested. "I'm not bitter aliout things. Disappointed, maybe, hut not hitter." IKone's disappointment was of the ■ it nhi«li comes to thousands of gu ts whose fathers are aide to keep them on an eqtial footin'? w.1 h their childhood associates up to a certain .lee. but wins cannot maintain there after the pace set by the daughters of nun who have been more suc cessful In the matter of rolling up a fortune, ifer childhood had been a happy one and she had gone away to boarding school In th. cast wltli out ever being conscious of the In evitable class distinctions that are brought about by wealth. It was only when she came home and Iw gan taking part lu the activities of the younger social set that she real iz. <1 how far In r tastes had l«een cultivated lifyond the means now ut hand to gratify them. The clearer the realisation be came, the morn surely did the marks of discontent appear upon her face. There was a hint of It I let ween her hrows and more than a hint In the way her mouth began to turn down at the corners. She was too pretty a girl for those dan ger signals to make much difference to the casual observer. Some peo ple thought they were the signs of a spirited temperament. To others they meant merely n tendency toward seriousness. Nevertheless, when 1 Hone Iwl snred herself against her compan ions In the matter of clothes. Jewelry, motor cars, and the llko— finding everything In their furor and nothing in her own—she was Inwardly so miserable thst In her unguarded moments of facial re po ,- the unhappiness shone through quite dearly. When llio books on physiognomy arrived from New York. Dione stud ied them with an attentiveness which nothing but her love for liar d> ever could have produced In her. It was not easy reading, in the be ginning. yet as she went on she became fascinated with the skill with which certain amazingly anal ytical observers had traced the quirks of the human countenance back to the thoughts which produce them. She found that it was not merely facial expression she was studying, hut human nature Itself. She learned of the qualities that lead one man to he a philanthropist and another to be a thug, and she taught herself to identify, in the faces of those she met, numerous signs which showed a tendency In the one direction or the other. "It's all a matter of the way the brain is working.'’ commented Har dy in one of the many letters they exchanged on the subject. "A sneer ing thought contracts the muscles of the lips into a sneering expres sion, and if the mind gets Into the habit of sneering continually the lips will become set In a sneer that doesn't go away. Hepetl ion Is what does the trick. If a man finds a great deal in life that amuses him he will smile so often that the con tracting of the muscles around' the eyes will begin to leave marks In the skin and we will notice that he has these little 'laughing wrinkles' that make many a face prepossessing which otherwise might bo only or dinary. Kindly thoughts produce kindly faces and hateful thoughts 1 roduce evil ones. You don't need any book to tell you that." "And I seem to notice that a blank mind results simply In a blank face," obeserved Lhone In her reply. "It's rather dreadful to think that in time one's features will pub lish one's thoughts to the world Is there no escape?" “Nun* whatever, ” declared Har dy's next letter. "Our onb’ hope is to make the public proclamation of our features a-i attractive as possi ble by living in soma such fashion as wfl! cause our thoughts to be pleasant ones." In that last sentence Dlone found the secret for »h h she was search ing. It rather dismayed her when she first faced it. In her state of t of living she . imagine ,ls en gendering consistently happy thoughts was one in which llarJy Irving w .tjld have an equal share, and of that there seemed to Ik* no present hope. Itin letters to her had been a Joy. and she bb.-^ed the impulse which had prompted her to simulate a curiosity concerning character study. None of the other girls was corresponding with Hardy, so far as she could find out, and In deed the [winter seemed to be tak ing a keener and more serious in terest In her, now that they were half a continent apart, than heever had when they were together. In one of his letters he expressed him self us looking forward to the time wT.en he would see her again. Dlone's heart, which set up a terri ble commotion In her bosom as her eyes fell iif»on this statement, came quickly liack to normal when the next paragraph w> nt on to tell of the writer s plans for a vacation abroad the following summer. "That means he probably won't lw out here again before summer after next.” she despaired, 1 ut. on second thought she was glad of It. •'You'll need that much time,” she reminded herself, "before you'll lie riady to have him see that 'will ful. selfish mouth’ again. You'll need every hit of it,' and thereupon she resolutely approached the task she had set In rself. "To live in some such fashion that our thoughts will be pleasant ones," Hardy had said- Easy etfougti to say, but not so easy to do. To I'lone it meant the necessity for splitting off from the activities of the younger social set to a great ex tent and finding something more purposeful to occupy her time. Try ing to vie w.th other girls whose means wen' so much greater than her own could never produce enough pleasant thoughts to bring about the result she was nfter. With that Intense preoccupation common to £oung people In love, where the matter In hand concerns their rein tions with the loved one. she now devoted many earnest days to look ing ala'u t her, seriously weighing her own talents, considering hi wr to take advantage of her lengthy list of acquaintances, trying to discover what the town lacked that a girl of her limited training could supply. One ofternoon at the country club she heard a group of women b« rnonnlng the difficulty of obtaining fiction of the lietter sort at the local bookstore a. Not many evening* thereafter Mr. Carver was agreeably surprised by having hi* comely daughter penetrate the asclualon of h a re treat In the ltlirary, sidle gently oil to ht* lap, and put her arm* about III* neek. Respertlng the conven tion which had grown up between them upon such occasion*, he made a great show of reaching for hi* check In'ok, sighing proudfully and assuming an air of weary resigna tion, hut Dione cut the pantomime short with an earnest, "No, daddy, it isn't that." and when her father looked at her in surprise she added, "At least not until wo'-ve talked something over first.” She pressed her lips to his temple for a moment while she tried to find the words she wanted, and then she resumed with great seriousness: "Daddy, I'ln sick of tease and bridgt-%nd jazz and dress ing up every blessed day and all that. I want to do something a little worth while for a change." Mr. Carver essayed to look ex tremely knowing. “Of course the departure from our midst of a cer tain well known young painter has nothing to do with this sudden at tack of ennui." "Now. if you're going to tease me I won't te]| you what I came in here for.” Dione warned hiru. "and . you'd better listen, because 1 think you're going to like it. You may be surprised " "If It involves no drain upon the the exchequer I most certainly shall,’ agreed Mr. Carver. Dione suddenly noticed that he had "laughing wrinkles" around his eyes—quite a/i array of then. It stryck her as odd that she never had observed them before. His other features also measure up quite well to the standard- set by the text books, she noticed. She was pleased at this discovery', and she gave her father another pre liminary hug b-fore coming to the matter In hand. "You know that ol dhouse on Fourth street that those Handi. raft folks have taken?” “The Saddler place? Wh.it about u it?" 1 Well, they don’t need the b.g front room of the basement—htc one that faces on the street—and I could rent It for nltm-st nothing." Mr. Carver's express,on was that of one who prays for light. "It's right on the way to the business section, you know Every one going downtown would have to pass it." said Dione, with an air of explaining everything quite clearly, but for some reason her father still remained uuenltghtcu ed. "Tie* basement of the old Sad tiler place"’ lie puzzled. "Has til* younger set gone in f**r mushroom culture or is tills to l*e * polite bootlegging par! r. or what '” 'The '.'Stingtt set' h:s r .thing to do sv th this I want that base ment for a bookshop. I've got the name al picked out ami everything I’m going to call it ’The Best Cellar.' ’’ Mr. Carver had no bee) to put his asonlshnient Into words His was eloquent *'But, my darling child,'’ he began, cautiously, "what makes you think-" “I know what you're g"ing to ■ say.” Interposed Dione "Vou think I haven’t sense enough to go Into business for myself, but if there's one thing I do know something about. It's books. Any time a book comes up for d.s. us slon tko girls always say. Ask Dione: she's probably read It.".and most of the time I have. Thor** isn t an up to-date booksho pin this town The department stores tab whatever the publishers' salesmen tell them to. The clerks In charge of the book departments make no effort to keep up on what's new In literature; they don't follow th** literarv magaz nes: half the time they don't even know what they lmvc In stock 01*1 Mr. Hanker has plenty of risk! standard stuff in his little sh-p but he's so cautious about his buying that unless it's some tremendous success that h** knows every one In town w ill want to read, you have to watt 10 days Oi two weeks while he orders your hook from the publisher. Besides that, he's so busy selling phono graph records and kod.ik films and stationery and toys and t>iw?wrltc' supplies that lie Cstn't take the trouble to keep his boc»k.shrlvrs abreast of the times ” Dione was over the first hurdl now, and was taking the others with a rush. "This isn't a village any more, you Know, daddy. It's quite a city, and there are swarms of pe.> pie living here who have been to college or to the stato university, or some place, and they'd be tickled to bits if there was a shop her* where they could buy the kind of booiy* their education entitle* them to. Hut do you thik they can find a translation from any of the Hus sian writers In this town—or the Danish—or the Chinese?" "Chinese!" gasped Mr Carver "Great Brief JX>e* anybody read translations from the Chinese?" "Certainly, There's quite a vogue for Chinese philosophy, and some of their verse is lovely. And there's all sorts ot other verse that pccpK In this town would read if they had the chance. They won't bother t, send away for It, but if they ptiXc, tt up In my shop they'd buy It (toMilf*11 «n P»|f