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Newspaper Page Text
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THE CONFESSIONS OF A WIFE
HUNTING A HAT
.jpyright, 1914, by -the Newspaper
Talk about tlie joys of the chase,
11 wager that no man. ever had as
nuch fun with a gun in a well-stocked
game preserve as a woman does
when she is stalking a hatat a spring
Mollie and I went shopping for our
spring hats yesterday. I had made up
my mind that I would give Mollie
just the best time possible and in
clude the hat.
Father Waverly is well enough to
be downtown, and I had Dick bring
his mother over here to spend the
Jay with Aunt Mary, and Mollie and
I started on a regular hat "jag,"
which was to be made up of looking
for hats, luncheon, buying hats, tea
and then home to my rooms where
Dick was going to bring his father",
and Mollie and I would Jinish the day
by showing our hats and having din
ner. "Where shall we go first?" I asked
Mollie as we took the car downtown.
"Let's go to that awfully expensive
new French hat shop," said Mollie.
"We can't afford any of the hats,"
I said decidedly.
"I know it," acquiesced Mollie, "but
we can get an idea of all the exclusive
jnodes and ideas, and then if we see
the other we will know how nearly
they come up to tle standard."
The pretty Irish girl, who spoke
French with a brogue diplomatically
and called us both madamoiselle,
soon had Mollie seated in front of a
mirror; her charming face wreathed
in smiles of satisfaction as she saw
that each hat looked better on her
than the one before.
"Don't you think I had better have
a black hat, Margie?" she asked..
"You can wear a black hat with
any gown, Mollie."
The young woman obligingly
brought forth a"T)lack hat which she
called a "petite chapeau" and volun
teered the price as twenty-five dol
lars. Mollie looked heart-broken, for
the hat was very becoming, but she
knew that she could not pay tha't for
We had hard work to get away
from the girl, and not until we told
her that ten dollars was the most we
would pay did she lose interest in us.
While Mollie was trying hats in onfe
alcove I stood where I could see a
woman who was surely over forty
trying on hats right across from us.
, "Don't sh9w me a black hat I can't
wear them," I heard her say, and then
saw her try on hats that were years
too young for her.
One of baby blue which showed' up
every wrinkle and aging defect in her
face she seemed to think particularly
"My, do you suppose that woman
is going to buy that hat?" asked Mol
lie in consternation as she caught
sight of her.
"I sm afraid she is," I answered.
"Some one ought to tell her it looks
terrible on her," whispered Mollie.
"All right, you do it," I said, and
then we both giggled so loudly that
the woman glanced over to us.
I caught a sight of Tier envious face
as she caught sight of Mollie's joyous
countenance alight with youth and
laughter, and all of a sudden I knew I
was looking upon a tragedy a wo
man who was still vainly trying to
find her lost youth; whose heart was
still young. She was trying on hats
that were becoming to her young
heart, not .her old head.
Many people have said to me:
"Margie, your heart will never grow
old," thinking they were paying me
a compliment, but I do hope they are
I don't want my face to wrinkle,
my form to shrink while my heart
stays young. It's tragic to want to
wear pretty, youthful clothes, to lon&