The San Francisco call. [volume], September 05, 1913, Page 12, Image 12

About The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913

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12
The Call's Magazine and Fiction Pages
The Signs of Love
BEATRICE FAIRFAX
jfr-i-iHE moods of love are like
j the wind;
And none know whence
Or why they rise."
—Coventry Fatmore.
<tf IOW," writes some lover every
IT day in the week, "can I tell if
ahe loves me?"
"He is very nice to me and wants
to be with me every evening, but he
never says a word about lo\'e," writes
aome distressed little girl. "How
can I tell if he loves me? What are
the signs of love?"
They are as varied and interesting
and uncertain as the signs of a storm
or a fair day, and no one can de
scribe the symptoms in one man's
case that will apply to the symptoms
in another.
Love is not like the measles.
"Love." rhymes Pakenham Beatty,
"comes to some with smiling eyes
and comes with tears to some; for
some Love sings, for some Love sighs,
for some Love's lips are dumb."
Two persons will stand before a
wonderful scene. One will burst Into
exclamations of pleasure and ad
miration, exhausting his vocabulary
and growing almost maudlin in his
attempt to express his delight. The
other will stand dumb With awe at
the miracle, yet no one may say that
his admiration is less than his noisy
neighbor's.
some nan
It is the same with love. Some
laugh from morning till night and
pass into dreamland with' smiles on
their faces, and others seem almost
paralysed through awe of this great
wonder that life has brought them.
And there are others who will agree
■■rfth John P. Brown, who wrote: "The
sign of those who are tormented by
love's passion is tears; above all, of
that rbver who finds none to sympa
thize with him."
If there are any who imagine that
the dimensions and capacity of the
heart may be measured as one meas
ures th° capacity and dimensions of
a cistern, let him learn to the con
trary form as great an authority on
love as Marie Corelli:
"Facts and figures," she writes,
"can to a certain extent be relied on.
but the fluctuating humors and va
garies of a man and woman In love
with each other are beyond the most
preoise calculations of the skilled
mathematician. For it often happens'
that when they seem to be coldest,
they are warmest —and cases have
be>n known where they have taken
the greatest pains to avoid each other
at a time when they have most deep
ly longed to be together."
THE PERVERSE IMP
Sometimes with the perversity of
♦he human heart, which no one can
explain or account for, girls and boys
assume their worst behavior, and are
in their most unattractive moods,
w-hen in the presence of those they
long to attract. It is as if they put
on a garment the seamy side nut
when the occasion calls for the finest
The girl who knows the man she
loves abominates slang will use more
when he is present than on any other
occasion. Men are rudest when gen
tleness is the trait their lady loves
admire most. Loudest when silence
is more appealing and pugnacious
when the little girl whose favor they
seek is a lover of peace.
So one may not define this tender
passion as if it were as tangible as a
spring hat or a rock wall, nor at
tempt to describe it. The glorious
rharacteristic of love and its univer
sal trait is that somewhere, some
how, it finds expression at last. It
may be strangely dumb in the begin
ning, so dumb the little heart that
waits for its avowal begins to ache,
but the dumbest love breaks silence
at last, and when the time comes the
Joy more than compensates for the
waiting.
To be sure that it is Love, the Love
for life, and not the little imp which
masquerades as Love, and which has
its origin more in a fervid Imagina
tlo» than in the heart, apply to the
sentiment that is crowding every
other emotion out of your being, this
test poem by Elizabeth Barrett
Browning:
"X'nless you can think, when the song
is done.
No other ie soft in the rhythm:
Unless you can feel, when left by
One,
That all men else go with him:
Unless you can know, when upraised
by his breath.
That your beauty itself wants
proving;
Unless you can swear, 'For life, or
death!' —
O, fear to call it loving."'
T~ TROUBLE IN GARDEN }
*M -*-
An elderly gentleman walking
thorough his garden one day stopped
before a fig tree on which were two
tigs just ripening. His favorites were
figs, and summer often came and
went without the fruit coming to
maturity.
Shortly after he met his gardener,
who, assuring him the figs were quite
ripe, was requested to send them to
the summer house, where his master
was about to rest.
Picking the figs, the gardener sent
his little boy of 7 with the basket.
On the way the little fellow stopped,
and, removing the leaves, gazed upon
the tempting fruit.
The attraction was too great; he
ate one. Covering (he other with the
leaves, he proceeded upon his errand.
On being asked if the gardener had
not sent two figs the boy. after a
moment's silence, answered: "I ate
one."
"You- ate one? How?" exclaimed
the old gentleman, angrily. "How did
you come to do that?"
Dropping his eyes to the basket.
•'I took it like this," said the child,
taking the remaining fig, "and I ate
it like this."
And. suiting the action to the word,
he consumed the second fig before
the astonished eyes of the old gen
tleman.
UP TO DATE JOKES
■•—
The other morning Mrs. Blower
went to see her neighbor, Mrs. Smith.
It was obvious that she was greatly
upset about something.
TJi have to get rid of Fido," she
burst out. ''He broke into the larder
yesterday."
"Dea.r me!" said Mrs. Smith, sym
' pathetically. "Did he eat much?"
Mrs. Blower tried hard to speak
calmly, while her eyes blazed with
righteous and burning indignation, as
she replied:
"Every singie thing except the dog
biscuits."
» ,
FINE AIR
4. — ~e
"Y<Ju never know how a patient is
going to follow your advice."
' What's gone wrong now, doc?"
"I told a man to go to some se
cluded spot daily and practice deep
breathing. What spot do you sup
pose he picked out?"
"T give it up."
"A place back of the fas house."
The Three of 'EM—Betty and Danny and Billy
HERE they are—the three of 'em.
They sing through all my days.
Nobody seemb' ever to get tired
of the* sentimental tale of a Man and
a Girl and Love!
Sometimes I think I do—when I'm
stumped for an idea and I lean my
head on my hand and my brain goes
round and round—yet always comes
back to the three that seem to flicker
behind all my days—a Betty, a Billy
and Danny.
I appeal for an idea to my mother,
or the Gentle Cynic. My mother
smiles and puts her brown head to
one side. "Why, make a picture of
To Make a Hit with Women
DOROTHY DIX
A LOVELORN youth writes me a
pathetic letter, saying that he
is persona non grata with the
fair sex; that girls do not care for
his society, and the ungrateful minxes
turn their backs upon him and talk
to other men in the very instant they
are devouring the candy he brought
j them, and wearing the violets on
! which he squandered his good money.
This state of affairs greatly distresses
him, and he wants to know why he
isn't popular, and how he may be
come a winner with women.
Let us see if we can help him.
Women differ from men in this re
spect, that looks do not count. It
does not matter whether a man is
handsome or not. Indeed, very few
women care for beauty in the oppo
site sex. It is poaching on their
j own preserves fhat they resent. Also
jit requires them «to become flatterers
! instead of the flattered, for the vanity
!of the vainest woman that ever lived
■Is as water unto wine compared to
: the vanity of a man who Is a living
j picture, and who knows it—and ex-
I pects to be told of it.
It is worth bearing in mind that al-
I most without exception the men who
' were the great heart smashers of his
tory were not only plain of face, but
some of them grotesquely hideous. So
no man need despair on account of
his lack of pulchritude when he wants
to taka a hand at the game of hearts.
HE SHOULD SHAVE
But while mere regularity of fea
ture ln a man counts for little ln at
tracting a woman's fancy, a man
should pay much attention to his
clothes and his grooming. Nothing
on earth, but the grace of God
keeps a woman In love with
a man with a two days' stub
ble of dirty beard on his face.
Married women stand this because
they can't help themselves; but no
girl wants a slovenly, untidy man.
who looks as if he needed to be run
through the laundry, hanging about
her. All the knocking about the
word "dude" comes from masculine
Hps. No woman joins in that chorus.
On the contrary, she feels that the
man who comes into her presence ill
clothed, dirty, neglected looking, not
only shows disrespect for her, but in
dicates that he lacks judgment, in
dustry and progressiveness. For that
is exactly what being 111-dressed now
means.
Another thing that women like, and
it is an attraction that any man can
acquire, is a certain savoir faire that
makes him equal to any situation. A
woman likes a man to know how to
offer her a chair, to help her on with
her wraps, to order a little dinner.
And she hates, with unspeakable
THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 5. 1913.
a Man. a Girl—and Love!"
And she ends up triumphantly as
though she had thought of something
new.
And the Cynic gives me an amused
look from the bachelor face of him
and suys, "Oh, make a picture of a
Man, Love —and a Girl!" He thinks
he HASN'T thought of anything new.
And they're both right. It's new,
and it's old. And there I go—making
a picture that holds the darling three
of them —Betty and Billy and Danny
—whatever the Idea.
Here they are—with no idea behind
—Just the three actors, making their
loathing, the fellow who is always
making scenes in public, who gets In
rows with a theater usher over a
mistake about the seats, or the street
car conductor about the change, or
who sits up like a graven image of
wrath every time anybody drops in
while he is calling.
"Chump," says the girl to herself;
"he hasn't got enough sense to know
only the ignorant have to fight to get
their rights."
Women like generous men, but even
girls have a contempt for men who
spend more than they can afford. It
is not the youths who waste all their
substance on bonbons, and theater
tickets, and violets, who are the most
popular with the fair sex. Every
girl has what she calls her "candy
l>euu," out she seldom marries him.
The best way to touch a girl's heart
is not by upsetting her digestion.
An important point to .remember
here is that the man who would curry
favor by means of gifts must give
discreetly. A woman would rather
have a present that cost five cents if
it represented some especial taste or
fancy of hers, than one that cost $50
If it was something that had no
personal significance.
DON'T BE A CLAM
In conversation, cultivate a happy
medium. Be neither a continuous
monologue performer, nor yet a clam.
Before you take the floor and devote
hours to expatiating on how you can
keep books, or play ping pong, or
take snapshots, be sure the girl is
really interested ln you. After a
woman is ln love she can sit en
tranced for days listening to a man
tell about the kind of collar button
he wears, but if she isn't in love, a
steady stream of personal reminls
censes gets on her nerves, and she
wants a change. Besides she desires
to talk about herself.
For pity sake, though, help out with
the conversation. From the time a
girl Is old enough to understand any
thing she is taught that her chief end
in life is to entertain man, and every
where you go you can see her con
scientiously at work trying to do It.
Every mother's daughter of us knows
what it is to labor, and perspire, and
toll, trying to make conversation with
some man, who is Just as unresponsive
a<s a store dummy and as silent as the
Sphinx. It isn't a fair division of
labor, and if a man wants to see true
gratitude let him chip ln and help roll
the conversation ball along.
"Be bold, be bold, but not too bold."
Women hate a timid man, and they
despise the one who takes it for
granted that he has only to throw the
handkerchief to have every girl
scramble for it.
— Nell Brinkley Says:
little bow. She is sometimes blonde,
sometimes gypsy dark. Always her
mouth is full and luring. She walks
with the grace of the wind in the
grasses. There are always little lines
that make her fairy like on her high
Instepped feet. And she Is always in
love.
Danny is a "wistful," warm bodied
slip of a boy—sometimes called
cherub. He has a slow and melting
eye and a taking way with him. He
is greedy of hearts. He Is the big
actor in the drama—and even when
he is in only a moving picture—where
hill never hear their praise—the
:-: Little Bobbie's Pa :-:
T stayed up late with Ma last nite
beekaus Pa went to a lodge bankwet
& Ma sed she wud feel lonesum up in
the country if I dident stay up & keep
her cumpany. I guess Ma was kind
of scared, beekaus wen we are in the
city thare is always the poleece to
call up & up in the country thare
isent any poleece. So I stayed up.
Pa was awful good, for him. He
knew Ma & me was up waiting for
him, so he dident stay vary long at
the bankwet. He was home at 11
o'clock, but he brought a man with
him <fc the man had drank too much
champane & Pa had enuff, too.
Mister Hathaway, sed Pa, here is
my fleet, waiting for me. Wife, sed
Pa, this is Mister Hathaway of Call
forny. Bobbie, this Is Mister Hath
away of the Golden West. He is a
skoller & a gentleman. It does my
hart good to run into a westerner
eggenn, sed Pa, & I was telling Mis
ter Hathaway he wud ha\*e to stay
here tonite insted of going to a hotel.
You have a wonderful fambly, sed
Mister Hathaway, wen he was taking
off his overcoat, a wonderful fambly.
He hadent saw us at all. he was look
ing on the floor for a peg on wlch to
hang his overcoat on.
Yes. I think they are wonderful,
sed Pa.
It is a wonderful thing to have a
wonderful fambly, sed Mister Hath
away. I used to have a wonderful
fambly too, a wife & son, butt that
was long ago. They are sleeping
thare last sleep now, out ware the
blue Pacific rolls endlessly in upon
the golden strand. Then Mister Hath
away began to cry.
Thare, thare, sed Ma, doant feel bo
badly. Let me hang up your coat &
talk this chare.
Don't quote sentimental poetry to a
girl. It always makes her want to
giggle.
Don't give in too much to a woman.
If she has good sense she won't want
you to sacrifice your taste or prin
ciples, and, if she Is unreasonable,
she will respect you for mastering
her.
Finally, beloved—and if you for
get all the rest, remember this—
don't stay too long when you go to
call. More men queer themselves
right here than they do anywhere
else. No living human being is en
tertaining for more than 30 minutes
at a time, or endurable for more than
two hours at a stretch. In that time
every man can say everything he has
got to say worth hearing, and if he
lingers along until the clock begins
to yawn in his face he is simply de
fying fate and inviting disaster.
Many a good impression ia spoiled by.
people clap and whistle. And if
you've once had his rose-leaf, steel
strong hand around your heart,
you'll remember It, I swear! He looks
a jolly outlaw.
Billy is—why, he's the man.
ol men don't like him—but the girls
all do. I wonder what that means.
A blonde* man wondered to me, rough -
ing up his Viking, goldy mop. "Why.
you make his hair forever black!"
Maybe I have a tender spot for
black hair because my own is blonde.
But that isn't the whole reason —the
why of it is the most practical and
earthly—l make it black because 1
These teers are unmanly, sed Mister
Hathaway, but wen I think how
happy I once was. & see how happy
yure husband is now, I must weep.
The workings of Fate are inskru
tabel, Me sed. Then he tried to set
down on the back of the chair & Ma
helped him into his sect.
Tell me all about the bankwet, sed
Ma. Did you have a nice time?
How cud I have a nice time, sed
Mister Hathaway. The guests were
smiling & the wine was sparkling,
but I cuddent touch it. It wud have
choked me, he sed, beekaus my hart
was away out ln the West, ware the
blue Pacific thunders aggense the Seal
Rocks. Then he began to cry sum
moar.
I was out thare three years ago
with my husband sed Ma. & we saw
all tha seals on the rocks. Thay was
very cunning, I thought, they played
around so happy.
Of course thay played around
happy, sed Mister Hathaway. Why
shuddent they be happy. Did them
seals have any wonderful farnbly ly
ing under the green sod of my native
state? No, thay did not. Who dares
to say that thay did? he hollered.
Nobody, my deer Mister Hathaway,
sed Ma. Pleese calm yure self. You
shud at leest have siped sum of the
wine, sed Ma. It wud have cheered
you up.
The wine, the sparkling, mocking
wine, sed Mister Hathaway. Take it
away from me! Why shud I drink
wine? What is wino to me? I scorn
It, sed Mister Hathaway. Then he
went to sleep in the chair & Ma
wiped the teers off his cheeks & sed
Poor man, I haven't the hart to skold
now. Ma is a deer Ma.
Then Pa put his friend to bed.
—WILLIAM F. KIRK.
too much of It.
And when you get up to go, go as
if you were fired out of a gun. Don't
linger for tender farewells and last
words. Most girls wear shoes three
sizes too small for them, and when
a man keeps one standing on the
doorstep while he makes his adieus
she isn't saying, like Juliet: "I could
say goodby. g-oodby, till it be morn
ing." On the contrary she is regret
ting that all the stories about papa's
boot and the swift waft out are fic
tion instead of fact, and she would
be willing to pay out good money to
anybody who wo-uld accelerate Ro
meo's descent of the steps.
Of course, no general rules can be
laid down for winning the fancy of
the fair sex. What has been said
pretends to be no more than the most
elementary facts, but a guarantee
goes with each suggestion that it
will work. _ ,
need a black spot In the picture so
many times—and his head often Is
the only place for It.
And when the picture cries aloud
for BLACK, why Billy's blonde head
must go.
lie is the actor with the yearning
eyes, the eagle nose, the tender
month. And he follows Betty with
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NELL BRINKLEY
wide arms the world around, cry
ing, "Come to me. picture girl—lift
up your lips to me!"
He's always in love, too/
It's a mutual admiration, affair—
"arms all 'round!"
Here they are, the three of them—
the pawns that 1 move about in dif
ferent figures day by day.
DAYSEY MAYME
AND HER FOLKS
THERE never was a man who did
not think he could throw elo
quence into his voice as readily as
a woman throws salt into a stew.
This is such a pronounced weakness
that to the two rule* for catching a
husband. "Feed the Brute" and
"Laugh at His Jokes." there should
be this addition, "Ask Him to Read
Out Loud."
The sound of hia voice is music L-i
his ear* when employed in ordinary
conversation, and infinitely more like
unto a grand, sweet song* when en
gaged in reading the heroic senti
ments of others.
Daysey Mayme Appleton had tucked
11 soft cushions back of her caller,
every cushion being an additional
proof of his eligibility. She had fed
him. she had laughed at his jokes.
Getting a book from the table, she at
tacked his third vulnerable spot.
It was titled "The Hunger of Her
Soul,"' and Daysey Mayme had bought
it that day.
"Read to me,'* she pleaded. "Tour
voice vibrates like the strings of a
heavenly harp."
He had never heard a heavenly
harp, but that made no difference. No
man ever inspects the compliments
paid him. This man didn't, and. open
ing the book at random, he began:
"The silence, so often intense it
fairly pulsated, was broken by a sigh.
Then his lips met hers. Warm, soft
and fragrant as the dew, his Hp" lin
gered and lingered till their two souls
were as one."
The young man blushed. He felt as
If he were approaching nearer and
nearer a consuming Are.
"Read on," murmured Daysey
Mayme.
"He gathered her closer to him; his
nostrils were filled with the cloying
sweetness of her hair; he "
The young man reached for a fan.
"Read on," murmured Daysey Mayme.
"He " The young man got up
and threw open a window. Then he
began again.
"He felt her warm breath on his
neck. He could resist, he would re
sist no longer "
The young man took a piece of lee
out of a lemonade glass and pressed
it to his brow.
"He "
The young man locked doubtfully at
Daysey Mayme. He was country bred
and had been brought up by a mother
who wouldn't wear anytiiing peek-a
boo, not even a porous plaster.
"Read on," murmured Day«ey
Mayme.
"He lifted "
There was a sudden flash of flame,
an odor of burning fledh and bones
and woolen, and Daysey Mayme wan
alone!
The country bred young man's
blushes had consumed him.
FRANCES L. OARSIDE.
DID VICAR STOP?
It was too much. Every Sunday old
Adams, who blew the organ, would
continue Mowing after the music had
stopped, thereby producing most un
desirable sounds.
Time and again had the organist
taken him to task for it.
"Right, mister," had been old
Adams' invariable reply; "I forgits.
you know."
One Sunday the organist could
stand it no longer.
The congregation had been set tit
tering by the old man's forgetfulness.
and during the sermon the organist
seized the opportunity to write him
a note on the matter, and handed it
to a choir boy to deliver.
Misunderstanding the whispered
directions, the lad handed the note
straight up to the vicar, who astound
edly read the following:
"Will you stop when I tell you to?
People come here to listen to my
music, not to your horrible noise."