The San Francisco call. [volume], September 05, 1913, Image 13

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

Image provided by: University of California, Riverside; Riverside, CA

                
Special Features of Interest to Women
The
Cure for
Jealousy
BEATRICE FAIRFAX
YOUR husband's sister is jealous
of you and wants to get him
away from you. does she, little
woman? You've been married two
years and every time you've quar
reled it's been about that sister or
something she tried to get your hus
band to do. She makes fun of you
and he can't see it. She gets you
. into false positions and he can't real
ize it. She makes you believe your
husband wishes he'd marry the girl
he was so sweet on before he met
you. and you cry and tell him you
Wish he'd married his old sweetheart,
*o there!
And then he's cross and won't speak
fpr a day and you wish you were
de-ad and she always happens in to
see you just at that time and gets
you to say things you don't mean
and, oh dear, what shall you do, and
was ever a human being so afflicted
"before?
There, there, little girl, don't cry.
It doesn't do a bit of good, the cry
ing. It does harm—lots of harm
that s why the jealous sister Is al
ways making you do it; she wants
to do you harm, poor, silly, small
minded thing, and you are playing
right into her foolish hands, you
funny little woman, you.
Turn right around in those tracks
of yours and turn today—this very
tour. She wants to make you quar
rel with your husband—well, don't
you do It. Be sweet to him, sweeter
than sugar ever dared to be. Tell
him how nice he is and how good to
look at. and how clever, and tell him
you are so sorry for the old sweet
heart. She must feel dreadfully at
having to give him up—and say you
don't blame her at all for loving him,
and tell him you think his sister is
sweet, and tell sister so, too.
Every time sister tries to hurt your
feelings, act as if you thought she
loved yo« sincerely and was trying to
help you and be. oh! so grateful and
so good and so loving. Tell sister
how much brother loves her. and how
you admire him for it. Tell sister how
you love brother and how anxious you
are for brother to love you. Tell
brother that you want sister to like
you—and never, never let her dream
that you think she is mean, or schem
ing, or jealous or anything that she
Should not be.
Don't understand, don't see, don't
realize—don't you know that a soft
brari wall Is the best thing in the
world to keep out a bullet? They've
found that out in the army. Don't
let a lot of fool tacticians know more
than you do. Be soft, be sweet, be
yielding — and she can't even touch
Fight back and she's got you
beaten before she begins. That's
what she wants—to make you fight.
Don't satisfy her. You won brother
from all the rest of the world full of
girls. He must have liked something
about you to make him do that.
Find out what that something is—
and practice It day and night and all
the time —sister couldn't keep him
away from you when he was just a
sweetheart. Why. she hasn't even a
cluince now that you are his wife.
Make bjs home the sweetest, pleas
antest place on earth for him. Let
her do all the quarreling, all the
fighting, all the disagreeable things.
Associate yourself in his mind with
all the pleasant things—a low voice,
a light laugh, a happy smile, a good
dinner, quiet peace; love and laugh
ter. Sister can never flght that com
bination in all the world. Try it and
pee—you'll be amazed to find how it
will work.
The
Superior
Sex
FRANCES L. GARSIDE
WHEN a man does a good
deed he lingers around it
long enough to put up a
signpost.
After a man has bought his
meat and groceries and sent his
enildren t-c the public schools for
an education he begins to talk of
what he has "done" for his town.
No man was ever sorry soon
enough.
Nb' ; man could ever tell the
truth and his side of the story at
the same time.
A man. while denying that his
wife Ts more patient than he is,
will get up and pass the baby to
Its mother when it cries.
There are so many men in the
world that all the meanness has
been thought of.
There is this much to say about
the faithfulness of man: Every
time he builds a castle in the air
he puts « different woman in it.
Having faith in a man sounds
I itlful in poetry which never
goes, into details.
When a man laughs 10 times
a day nine of the laughs were
inspired by. something he said
himself.
Any man "would prefer remain
ing in Ignorance to being enlight
ened by some one he dislikes.
It makes a man cross to make
a demand on either his purse or
his sympathy; therefore, women
who have to handle the brutes,
beware.
The best luck that happens any
man Is that the people don't have
time to investigate his state
ments.
s _ - —— ■*■
IN THE STONE AGE
. ♦
'Here are sign words, professor, on
the walls of this cave."
."So I see."
• They tell, no doubt, a tale of great
I'istorlcal value."
"Not exactly. This is just the lease
of the cave. Says the tenant must
pay 40 clam shells a month in ad
vance and isn't allowed to keep
dinosaurs, pterodactyls or saber
toothed tigers." .
S-? "My Ideal of Beauty Is Health," Says Blanche Ring; and Other
Valuable Hints
Beauty
•a
Beauty is
health.
Health does
not exist in
the haggard,
leathery
skinned
woman. Fat
is not pretty.
Those who
find it
threatening
them should
avoid
potatoes,
food prepared
in oils and
sugar
products.
Magnetism,
sweetness of
disposition
and
willingness to
work are all
aids to
beauty.
LILIAN LAUFERTY
OU would never dream of
T setting a diamond in paste.
~ would you?" said every
one's favorite — Blanche Ring.
And in the deep underlying phil
osophy of the magnetic comedi
enne's remark lies the secret of
the popularity and charm that
place the jewel of her beauty ln a
worthy setting.
'A theatrical star surrounded
by a group of poor players so that
her personality may be exploited
and may occupy the center of the
stage and of the attention is not
giving her public what it wants.
If she has real merit it will be
enhanced by the presence of clever
people about her — well. Miss
Beauty Editor, can't you apply
that rule to beauty all through
lifeT'
Indeed you can—for beauty that
arrests the eye and has no further
power to charm may exist In the
person of a slovenly ignorant, un
lovely creature, who has only the
picture qualities of a perfect ani
mal while true beauty must ap
peal to mind and heart as well as
to vision.
"You would never dream of set
ting a diamond in paste." I quoted
to the author of the remark.
"Now. Miss Ring, exactly what
is your ideal of beauty and your
Idea of setting therefor?"
"My idea of beauty is health."
answered Miss King with prompt
certainty. "And health does not
exist In the haggard, leathev
skinned woman who has dieted
herself into a state of near de
cline. The healthy woman Is at
her normal weight, whether that
be pleasing plumpness or sylph
like sllmness —and she has not
the nervous, heavy eyed look of
the woman who Hveß on a crack
er and an apple a day so she can
persuade a figure that might be
a healthy looking 38 to be a
shadowy poster that measures
about 30 inches about its greatest
girth.
"Of course, fat is not pretty —
and if a woman finds it threat
ening her she would do well to
avoid potatoes, bread, rich gra
vies, and food prepared in oils and
sugar products. But after a
woman reaches 30 the red blood
corpuscles go on a long holiday
and she had better not hasten
their demise by furiously banting
herself to a consumptive shadow
—or any strain through overexer
THE SAN FRANCISCO CALE, FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 1913.
Miss Blanche Ring
else. No, let her live out of doors
all she can—swimming, tennis
and gardening are the most de
lightful summer exercises, and a
simple, sane diet with this little
secret to help it along will do
wonders to bring on attractive
slenderness without painful
scrawniness.
"Here is the secret: One day
of every week live on this menu
for each of the three meals: For
breakfast, for luncheon and for
dinner eat a baked potatoe sea
soned with a bit of butter, some
skimmed milk .and "pepper and
salt to taste."
"Well," said the beautiful friend
of every one who has ever seen
her, "the world does not owe me
a living, but I owe the world a
great deal in return for all It has
done for me. So I try to give all
I can ln affection. In Interest and
in earnest effort to the world. I
think it would be a good plan for
girls to think less about what
they have a right to expect from
life, and to make sure that they
are giving life all it has a right
to expect from them: a happy,
amiable expression and a sun
shiny nature to account for it
are bound to result from that at
titude.
"But I started to tell you what
I think forms the most beautiful
setting for beauty—which Is
health. Magnetism, sweetness of
disposition and a joyous willing
ness to work. The last two one
can cultivate, but magnetism,
charm, the power that breaks
down walls of Indifference and of
possible misunderstanding be
tween human and human—that Is
the gift women long most to pos
sess—and it is the hardest thing
in all the world to analyze."
HOUSEHOLD HINTS
A soft piece of linen dipped in milk
$,nd bound round a rheumatic Joint
will often cure a most obstinate case
of rheumatism. The linen should be
covered with a piece of oiled silk and
dipped again in the milk when dry.
A bright, glossy head of hair, easily
kept in curl, may be obtained by dis
solving in a pint of boiling water a
small square of camphor and a table
spoonful of powdered borax. Into this
liquid the brush mutt be dipped sev
eral times whenever the hair Is
brushed.
♦
0
Think less
about what
you have a
right to
expect from
life, and make
sure you are
giving life all
that it has a
right to expect
from you.
Try to make
others happy.
That gives
you a proper
setting to
your beauty.
/""ar
Shopper—Do you keep unground
coffee beans here?
Assistant—No, ma'am; upstairs.
This is the ground floor.
The Country Girl
The Manicure
Lady
WILLIAM F. KIRK
ii\ C} UESS it's ail up with Wilfred,"
I said the Manicure Lady som
berly. "Ever since he gave up
everything else for poetry I have felt
the day would come when we would
see him being dragged away between
two keepers, to be put in some nice,
quiet place where everybody thinks
he is Julius Caesar or Wellington. It
ain't quite come to that yet, George,
but it is earning, I guess. Dear
brother won't be with our happy
household much longer."
"What makes you think he is going
crasy?" asked the Head Barber.
"Maybe it's just the hot weather."
J "No, it ain't the hot weather," ar
gued the Manicure Lady. "The poem
he wrote the other day and tried to
read to us was wrote on the coldest
day we have had this summer. He
has been reading a lot about the mys
teries of India and all of them old
mystics that believed a lot of Junk
about having two bodies, one here
and one goodness knows where.
Yogis, he calls them, or Bogis, or
something like that. Wilfred says
they set in front of their huts for
years, sometimes, never going away
and always thinking, thinking. I
guess it wouldn't do my brother any
harm if he could find a nice hut and
set in front of it long enough to do
a little thinking. Anyhow, get this
poem:
" 'My soul is now in India, beside
The soul of some grand Hindu long
since deed.
My soul holds converse with the soul
of him
And his soul smiles at mine as might
a seer
Smile at a toddling child. The
Hindu's soul
Knows more and senses more than
ten such souls
As my poor soul which dares to speak
to his.'
"That does sound kind of nutty,"
admitted the Head Barber. "I can't
make any sense out of it, anyway.
Of course, that ain't no sign your
brother is losing his mind, because
there is a lot of poetry that was
wrote by sane men and Is beyond me
Just the same."
"This ain't no real poem; this is
looney stuff," insisted the Manicure
Lady. "Kindly listen some more,
George:
" 'Yet I am living, as my soul well
deems,
And thus my soul is not within a
i ghost.
But in my living body, is the soul
Of one long dead as good a soul
As one like mine while I am still
alive?
The Hindu's soul stands baffled and
aghast
At this grim question, and it swal
lows hard.
If any soul can swallow. But it an
swers not.' "
"Lay off on that!" exclaimed the
Head Barber. "I don't ask you to
stop gabbing very often, kiddo; but
you have went too far today. The
next time you start reciting poetry to
me I am going to walk right away
from this head chair and get a Job
in some other shop. I suppose there
will be a manicure girl there without
no more sen.se than you; but maybe
she won't have a nut brother who
thinks he can write. Now stop, and
remember what I say goes!"
"(lee, T hope you do go!" snapped
| the Manicure Lady. "I like to see
I new faces once in a while, and I think
' that new barber which has went out
to lunch would fit in fine in your
place. I think he Is a interesting
talker, too. He talks so soulful and
has such fine teeth. There Is lots of
worse pests in the world than me,
George, and maybe after you have
went»you will often think of me with
unrevailing sighs."
PROFESSIONAL RIVALRY
Everything in the street was dim
and quiet, for the thoroughfare was
in a highly respectable neighborhood,
and the hour was 2 a. m. In fact,
save for a stray, wandering cat. and
a constable, now rounding a corner
ln the far distance, there were no
signs of life or animation anywhere.
William Sikes stepped out from the
■shadow of a friendly tree, glanced
furtively around him, and then as
sisted Tom Crooke. his bosom friend
and partner, to alight from the draw
ing room window of No. 63.
"Well, old pal, what luck?" he
whispered.
"No luck at all." growled Tom. "The
bloke that lives there is a lawyer."
William looked apprehensive.
"Then 'ow much 'aye you lost?" he
asked.
DREAMS
Their Married Life
MABEL HERBERT URNER
iL\ T ELEN! Helen! Helen Curtis!"
n Helen turned in almost
v frightened bewilderment. To
hear one's name called in a familiar
voice on a street in Paris!
Then through the crowd of hurry
ing Frenchmen rushed a young
woman, who caught her eagerly by
the arm.
"Oh, I knew it was you!" excitedly.
"Why—why, Marion Berkley!" stam
mered Helen.
The next few minutes were spent in
a breathless torrent of questions.
What are you doing in Paris? How
long have you been here? Where are
you staying?
"Well, we can't stand here in the
street," laughed Helen. "Let's go
somewhere for tea —where wte can
really talk."
"Come to my studio. I've gpt the
quaintest, dearest old studio in tha
Latin quarter. You must see it! Come,
that bus will take us."
The next moment they were on the
top of the bus, laughing /-n./ talking
with the eagerness and abandonment
of their boarding school days.
When they graduated Marion had
come to Paris to study art, but it had
never occurred to Helen that she
would be here still. It was w r onderful
to see her again.
"Have you forgotten about our old
ambition—how you were to write a
great novel and I was to illustrate it?
So you gave up your career to marry
Warren Curtis?"
"It wasn't much of a career,"
laughed Helen, "s|nce I hadn't written
anything but school essays."
"But they always took the prize, so
we thought you were destined to be a
great 'Lady Authoress.' Remember
how you used to write my essays
while I did your algebra?"
"Yes, and that awful examination
in which I failed because I couldn't
work a sign problem?"
"Here's where we get off." inter
rupted Marion, when they reached the
upper end of the Boulevard St.
Michel.
A REAL STUDIO
Around the corner Into a cobble
stoned back street, and Marion opened
a high boarded gate to a quaint old
garden. Helen followed her filled with
the joy of adventure. To see a real
studio in the Latin quarter—and.
above all, Marion's studio!
The garden was a charming tangle
of unkempt vines and shrubbery which
almost hid the broken statuary and
the moss grown basin of an old fount
ain.
A well worn path led back to a
rickety old mansion now given over
to studios. Up three flights of a dark
winding stairway, and Marion un
locked a door on which was tacked
her card.
H<>len gave an exclamation of de
light as they entered a big- barnlike
skylighted room. It was a real studio,
the kind one reads about ln the
novels of the Latin quarter. The
place was littered with unfinished
sketches, casts, curious bits of old
brass, pottery and armor.
"I suppose you'd like to get a dust
cloth and "tidy up," laughed Marion.
"But It's in the atmosphere over here
—you get so you can't work when
things are 'straight.' "
"Oh. but it's wonderful! And you
have some really fine old pieces."
stooping to examine an old carved
chest, for Helen was always interest
ed In antique furniture.
"Bought that in a little curio shop
for 5 francs. We students never have
any money, so we learn to pick up
things for almost nothing."
"Just look around —I'll be back in a
minute," as she caught up a small
pitcher and ran out bareheaded.
Left alone, Helen gazed wonder
ingly around the studio. It was
Plainly the living room, sleeping room
and workroom in one. An old leather
screen partitioned off one corner.
The heavy beams of the roof were
bare, and besides the skylight there
was only one window which looked
out on the tangled garden. In spite
of the dust and confusion Helen felt
the charm of the place. It was
strangely quiet and peaceful, for in
the shut in garden, down this little
back street, not a sound of the city
was heard.
Marlon came in now. breathless
from her run up the steps, with a
pitcher of cream and a bulging brown
paper bag. from some nearby shop.
"Remember our stolen midnight
suppers at school?" as she cleared the
table of paint brushes and drawings
HELEN MEETS AN OLD SCHOOL
FRIEND AND HAS TEA IN HER
LATIN QUARTER STUDIO
and brought out the tea cups and an
alcohol lamp.
A DELIGHTFUL TEA
The bag held some delicious French
pastry and a tiny pot of cream cheese.
Helen wondered if. since the nights
of the stolen suppers, she had ever
enjoyed anything as she did this im
promptu tea.
Marion told of her first three years
of study and the last four of work —
trying to make for herself a place in
the art world here.
"I suppose the chances of success
would be better anywhere else," mus
ingly, "for there' are so many workers
here—so many that are talented. But
I've grown to love this life. There've
been times when I've been hungry, yet
last winter I refused a good post as
art teacher in a girls' school In Bos
ton. I'd rather struggle along here
hoping for the big success," with a
wistful smile, "that may never come."
"But surely you're not dependent on
your work?" asked Helen anxiously.
"I thought your father left a great
deal of property."
"It was all mortgaged. After every
thing was paid off there was only a
few thousand dollars, and that's gone
long ago. For the last four years
I've lived on what I've made. Occa
sionally I sell a picture and for a
few weeks I live gloriously well. The
rest of the time I do without, but
that's the life of the Quarter."
"But don't you ever worry about
the future?"
Marion shrugged her shoulders.
"You learn not to worry over here.
You live for today—nobody thinks of
tomorrow. If you have money you
spend it—if you haven't, you borrow
from some fellow artist who has —
or do without. You see." whimsically,
"how it simplifies life."
"But when you grow older —when
you're not so strong and young and
hopeful? Shouldn't you try, Marion,
to save something now?"
"Nobody saves in the Latin quar
ter—you can't. When you've got a
few extra francs you lend them to
some poor devil to keep him In his
studio. Nobody thinks of getting old
—we only think of painting the great
picture of the year—winning the
academy prize. Most of us never will
—but we can all have the joy of
dreaming."
There was a moment's silence.
Then, as though to change to more
cheerful thoughts, Marion went on
hurriedly:
AN INVITATION
"I want to take you to dinner some
evening to Mme. Jouven's. a cheap
restaurant here in the Quarter. You'll
find it crowded with art students, and
you'll see what jolly, carefree Bo
hemians we are."
"Oh, I should love to go! I've heard
so much about those places."
"I'll give you the address now,"
scribbling on a slip torn from the
brown paper bag. "Come any even
ing that you and Warren feel in the
mood —you'll almost always find me
there. Mme. Jouven is a friend to all
the art students. When we have
money—we pay her. When we
haven't —she credits us on her friend
ly slate."
"I wish you were here in the winter
—the long winter evenings at Jou
ven's are so wonderful," musingly.
"We furnish our own cabaret —dance,
sing, recite, until almost midnight.
Then we all go to some one studio
and have supper. If any one has just
sold a picture or received a check
from horne —we have a feast. If not,
we have just as much fun on a green
salad and a few bottles of vin-or
dinaire. Wait. 11l show you a sketch
of a studio supper."
She drew out a canvas from a pile
leaning against the wall.
"There! It isn't finished —but you
can get the spirit. It's supposed to
be Craig Stilton's studio —a party we
had there last winter."
Helen was far from being an art
critic, but instantly she felt the at
mosphere of this picture. The great,
gloomy studio, the shadowy corners,
and the uncertain candle light which
lit up the faces of those gathered
around the midnight supper.
"Yes, it isn't bad," mused Marion,
in response to Helen's enthusiasm. "I
must finish that. But thero're so many
pictures of studio life—one of that
type has to be remarkable to get
any recognition. Do you like this?"
drawing out another —a street scene of
a push cart market. "It isn't finished
either, but I think the coloring's
good." •
She brought out more canvases—
most of them unfinished, but all with
a certain interest and atmosphere.
The City Girl
Helen was so absorbed that it was
almost 6 before she realized it. What
if Warren should get back to the
hotel first and be worried?
HELEN HURRIES
Marion, bareheaded, took her down
the street, made her promise to bring
Warren to Madame Jouven's some
' evening that week, put her on the
bus, and stood waving her a goodby
from the corner.
How young Marion seemed, was
Helen's strongest impression. How
carefree—how full of the sheer joy
of living. Although they were the
same age, Helen felt curiously older,
as though her life was Half lived;
while Marlon's seemed only beginning,
with the possibilities of a great suc
cess still before her.
There are times when every mar
ried woman, however much she may
love her husband, thinks of the pos
sibilities of some independent career
that might have been hers, had she
not married.
And now as Helen left the bus and
walked slowly toward the hotel, in
the background of her thoughts was
a stirring of vague dreams and am
bitions that had long lain dormant.
Advice to the
Lovelorn
Beatrice Fairfax
NOT THESE DAYS
DEAR MIS FAIRFAX:
I am 26 years old and have just
received a proposal of marriage
from a man one year my senior.
Do you think 26 is too old to get
married; In fact, I will be 27 be
fore we are married? Do you
think a woman of If. should
marry a man only one year her
senior? What I'm afraid of is
that we might outgrow one an
other. A man at 30 is young; a
woman at 30 is middle aged. I
love this man very much, but
after a few years I wouldn't like
to be laid aside for fairer and
younger faces. R. F.
I am confident you are worrying
yourself needlessly. You will not be
middle aged at 30 unless you continue
to think you are old and make your
self so.
Get married and don't let a gray
hair tomorrow spoil the happiness of
today. To me it seems that your ages
are Ideal.
NOT WORTH YOUR WORRY
DEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I am 18. and recently met a
young man about the same age.
He made quite an impression upon
me and we have met by appoint
ment a few times. Last week I
happened to misunderstand a date
the young man made tn hia letter,
and disappointed him. Now he is
angry, and although I tried to ex
plain the matter to him, he will
not believe my excuse. I am quite
heartbroken over it. RAY.
Your humble attitude doesn't do you
credit. You did no wrong and owed
neither apology nor explanation.
Please, for your own sake, let the mat
ter end here, and if he attempts to see
you, refuse.
THAT IS HER PRIVILEGE
DEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I am a foreigner, aged 21. and
deeply in love with an American
girl of 17 years. I call to see
her two or three times a week and
she seems to like it very much,
hut her parents wish me to come
over oftener than that and take
her out for good times and other
places of amusement. She says she
loves me, but tellß me of the good
times she has with other boys in
my absence. I told her to stop go
ing out with other boys, and she
promised me not to do so. Friends
have told me she still goes out
with other boys, and this is very
displeasing to me.
A WOOING LOVER.
She is not engaged to you, and there
fore not bound to obey you. I am
afraid, being only 17 and frivolous,
she loves a good time more than she
loves you. She will outgrow all that
ln time, and you must be patient.
THAT'S RIGHT
DEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I am in love with a young girl
usher in a local playhouse and
would like to meet her. I do not
know her name or any of her
friends. Tell me how I could meet
her without flirting, as I would
not care to meet her that way.
AMERICUS.
I am glad you have too much re
spect for yourself and for her to flirt,
with her. It speaks volumes for your
good sense.
Have you a sister who could con
trive to meet her? Or could you not
induce the manager to vouch for you
with an introduction? You deserve
her acquaintance because of the re
spect you show for her.
PERHAPS HE IS TOO SIRE
DEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I am a rather pretty girl of
18, and have been keeping sterulv
company with a young man two
years mv senior for quite a ionic
while. I feel sure that he loves
me, but he is too bashful to My
so, I fear. How can I bring
man around, for I love film
dearly. AN'Xlors
Sometimes a girl lets a man see the
state of her heart, and he makes no
avowal of love, knowing she Is al
ready won. Make him less sure of
you. Refuse to let him monopolize
you, and introduce another man on
the scene. A touch of uncertainty
will give zest to his pursuit and
wings to his feet.
DON'T BE HASTY IX JUDGMENT
DEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I am 19, and have been keeping
company steadily with a young
man two years my senior for the
last year and a half.
We are to be married neat
month.
Last week while visiting a
theater with my mother I met
this young man with my girl
friend.
Do you think I would live a
happy life marrying this man who
proved so untrue? ANXIOUS.
Have you given him a chance to
explain?
You owe him that much. But If,
afttr hearing his explanations, you
still doubt him, you must give him
up. There is no happy marriage
without faith.