OCR Interpretation

The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, April 25, 1917, LAST EDITION, Image 18

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1917-04-25/ed-2/seq-18/

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By Florence L.,Henderson
(Copyright, 1917, W. G. Chapman.)
Miss Eunice Chandler languidly
nodded approval as she critically re
garded the young lady whom Tilson
& Co. had sent to exhibit the latest
thing in dress.
Ora Valette, the cloak model of the
establishment, had robed herself at
the behest of this wealthy patroness.
Her graceful figure added a great
deal to the general effect
"That dress you may leave," di
rected the lady of fashion and exclu
siveness. "Thanks for your trouble."
And then she forgot Ora and re
turned to a perusal of her novel.
Ora could not help glancing at her
self in a long mirror as she stepped
into the next room. Her color height
ened with pleasure, for she was con
scious of the fact that the elegant
outfit she had donned quite became
her. She was not a whit covetous or
envious, but she really would h'ave
liked to possess one-tenth of what
Miss Chandler wasted monthly. Vis
its to, stately mansions to exhibit the
wares of the store were common to
Ora. Outside of her grace she had
a sweetness of voice, face and man
ner that soothed the exclusive
About to remove the attire In
which she looked the princess com
plete, Ora started, bent her ear, and
a quick token of alarm assailed her
The word rang out from below.
There was a growing babel of voices,
a swiftly increasing taint of smoke
pervaded the air. Ora ran back into
the other room. It was to face a
belching volume of smoke that
blurred her sight
A scream, then a moan, then a fall
Miss Chandler had arisen in alarm
and had sank prostrated with terror.
Ora comprehended the peril of the
moment She seized her helpless ,
patroness and half-carried, hair
dragged her into the hallway. She
managed to reach the head of the
stairs, slipped, slid their length some
how. A frenzied servant stood at
the next landing, wringing her hands
in frantic distress. ,
"My young mistress, Mjss Chan
dler!" she wailed.
"Take her," ordered Ora, and ran
upstairs again. Miss Chandler might
care little for the destruction of her
Struck the Thick Class Panr
easily acquired wardrobe, but to Ora
her one street suit was much. She
regained the room from whence she
had just rescued its mistress. It and
the adjoining one were now filled
with smoke. Ora, confused, groped
her way back to the hall. A bright
glare shot up where the stairway
was. Ora continued to retreat; hop
ing to discover some other avenue
leading to the floors below. The dead-

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