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