December 1, 1926 <Tk Price 15 Cents C AG O A N toujowiAiMoi o^cfitdgg f?feue 11 ALWAYS MEn "BL-UE ORCHID11 CORDAY, PARir IMPORTED BY LIONEL , 320 FIFTH AVE , NEW YORK COPDAY LIPXTICKr— SUPERLATIVE/ .T $2.995 — tne ^rst enclosed Pierce- Arrow ever priced under $3000 — this two-door, five-passenger, custom-built coach is soundest economy. Built in its entirety in the Pierce- Arrow factory, the body is the masterly custom work of men whose whole life times have been devoted to producing the finest there is. Available in your choice of six charm- Body by Pierce- Arrow ing color combinations, exquisitely ap pointed, richly carpeted, and upholstered with softfinish wool, itismounted on the economical, wear-resisting Series 80 chas sis which means 14 to 17 miles per gallon of gasoline, 15,000 to 18,000 miles from tires, and years of dependable service. A demonstration should be of interest to every person with a love for the really fine thing in a motor car. A moderate payment now, balance to be distributed evenly over a period of months, will secure immediate delivery. PIERCE-ARROW SALES CORPORATIO N 2420-22 S. MICHIGAN AVENUE Telephone Calumet 5960 CHICAGO geries 80 Cjfive-cPassenger •» •« Two-T)oor Gustom -built COACH $2995 Other coach models with four doors, $3250 to $ 3450 All prices at Buffalo — Plus tax The Chicagoan, published semi-monthly by The Chicagoan Pub. Co., Inc., 4i7 Main Street, Wilmette, 111. Executive and editorial offices, 1S4 East Erie Street, Chicago, 111. Subscription $3.00, single copies 15c. Vol. 2, No. 6— December 1st, 1926. Entered as second class matter August 11, 1926, at the post office at Wilmette, 111., under Act of March 3, 1879. 9 TUECUfCAGOAN 0 o v mtl«t^t<tittttttt<M>rtlthit^^ THE CHICAGOANy ORT CBNT.OOI9 | FUNNIEST SHOW IN TOWN L ALL CHICAGO 1$ HOWLING t^ WITH LAUGHTER 4T WITH sKSfr "SENSWOHAL HIT" AMY LKSUM "GOOD SHOW ^COOD FUN" "One Man's Woman" Frankest Sex Drama Ever Staged! " — is all the advertisements indicate — is hot — almost burns a hole in the asbestos curtain" — Says Ashton Stevens, in Herald-Examiner Direct from 7 Months at 48th St. Theatre New York at the MINTURN CENTRAL The Theatre Cozy Van Buren at Michigan Eves, at 8:30— Mats. Wed. and Sat. Special Matiness Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years THE THEATRE Drama THE SIN OF SINS — Another sex story, the time centering exclusively about women. Sensational and daring. THE ADELPHI. ONE MAN'S. WOMAN — Disappointing to those expecting to see a hot tropical show. The only warm things about the production are the atmosphere of the lobby after the show and the pictures on the advertisements. THE CENTRAL. Comedy THE POOR NUT— A college play with Ohio State as the background and a track meet. With Elliott Nugent, Betty Gards, Larry Fletcher, and Eric Kahlkurst. THE CORT. THE BUTTER AND EGG MAN— Gregory Kelly as the "angel" from Chillicothe, Ohio. From the pen of George S. Kaufman. THE SELWYN. , THE SHELF— With Frances Starr and Arthur Byron. In teresting, to be sure, but — but possibly that's enough. THE LA SALLE. THE JAZZ SINGER— With George Jessel and a month's extension of engagement. THE HARRIS. FASHION, OR LIFE IN N. Y.— Revival of songs and things —Was considered good around 1845. THE GOODMAN. THE RUNAWAY STUDEBAKER. ROAD— Mrs. Samuel Insull. THE YOUNG WOODLEY— With Glenn Hunter and Helen Gahagen. The adolescent lover and his school-master's wife. THE BLAGKSTONE. THE OPEN DOOR— With Mable McCane. Underworld love by Walter Lawrence. THE PLAYHOUSE. Musical THE VAGABOND KING— Dennis King sings so well that the West Point Cadets have adopted it. Worth your while. THE GREAT NORTHERN. YES, YES, YVETTE — The latest musical comedy in town. Sounds like echoes from No, No, Nanette, doesn't it. At THE FOUR COHANS. MISS CALICO — A musical review featuring Miss Ethel Waters. Ethiopian in hue — but they always know music and rythm— THE PRINCESS. TI4Q CHICAGOAN 3 ^ o ^MhmttitainltMtiaif^^ CALENDAR. OP EVtNT/ Revues THE CO CO ANUTS— Another of the Sam H. Harris suc cesses in town. Starring the four Marx brothers with music by Irving Berlin. Is a sure cure for the blues. THE ERLANGER. THE GREAT TEMPTATIONS— One of these Shubert pro ductions — Lots of color, lots of girls — and of course Boys. THE APOLLO. Ballet BGLM BALLETT — Ruth Page. In a series of performances, EIGHTH STREET THEATRE. Vodvil PALACE— First class bills. STATE-LAKE — Next best bet. First run movies also. MAJESTIC — -Continuous from noon to 11 p. m. AFTER THEATRE BALLOON ROOM — A crystal revolving light which is dis turbing, but the food and Johnny Hamp's orchestra more than make up for it. THE CONGRESS HOTEL. BAL TABARIN — With mannekins in the walls and Jack Chapman's orchestra. The latter, however, is by far the more alluring. Drawing large crowds. THE SHERMAN HOUSE. (Use the Lake Street entrance or you'll never find the right place). CHEZ PIERRE — An unusual restaurant. Dinner, dancing, entertainment, and after theatre supper. Ontario Street and Fairbanks Court. DRAKE GRILL— Redecorated. Bobby Meeker and his orchestra. Saturday night crowd. But excellent through out the week. DRAKE HOTEL. L'AIGLON — Dining, dancing — emphasis on the dining. 824 North Michigan. MARINE DINING ROOM— Friday night is college night; Northwestern turns out entourage. Saturday is more — representative. Try Friday night. EDGEWATER BEACH HOTEL. POMPEIAN ROOM— Henri Gendron and his orchestra. Good food but little dancing. THE CONGRESS HOTEL. SAMOVAR — Russian surroundings, entertainment, and music, but not much space on whicn to dance. 624 South Michigan Boulevard. THE ALAMO — Lighted glass floor and Al Handler and his orchestra. 831 Wilson. VICTORIAN ROOM— Good food, pleasant surroundings, and Jules Herbuveaux' orchestra. Particularly attractive for a quiet after theatre supper. YE OLD HAY LOFTE— Dancing, dining, and the college boys. Evanston. ERLANGER (Clark near Randolph) NOW PLAYING Matinees Wednesday and Saturday SEATS NOW SELLING Sam H. Harris Presents the Marx Brothers -IN- The Cocoanuts Music and Lyrics by Irving Berlin Book by Geo. S. Kaufman WORLD'S GREATEST LAUGH RIOT for reservations Phone Ye ^^a _m Greenleaf Olde "° Haylofte 616 GROVE STREET CORNER OF SHERMAN EVANSTON, ILL. The only place of its kind in America Good Music Unusual Food DiSerent Surroundings - Special Attention Given to Private Parties — Clubs, etc. Under the direction of Frint Geor&e 4 TUCCI4ICAG0AN ^^Jou.whD s££k smaAt1±uu^s hi mmmmV .^ mmmmmm*. -^iJJJJJJJM "' III III III III III III III III III III III III "i MM^^ ¦ MM III *" 111 ^ -z. Ill ¦ ¦mvaai ¦ hi m m m hi m HI III III IH III jjj You are invited to a showing of imported models and original McAvoy desidns - * hi e J ° m " . „ « Day Dresses, Dinner and Evening Gowns, '" Suits, Hats, Wraps, Furs and Novelties - jj} ! ni hi 5 !! Whether made to order or ready to be m worn, McAvoy models give the joyous J hi satisfaction only smart things can give - - ¦ ' and you will find moderate prices - * - III . HI II "I I" hi !!! m HI HI 615 N Michigan Avenue c h i c a g o IH III ;:j ¦•¦.¦¦¦ hi !!! HI HI _.....¦-. TU-E TALK OF TI4E TOWN LAST week the boys from the two government academies arrived in town. They descended from their special pullmans in an orderly fashion. A few short, crisp orders cut the air, and the men formed in line of platoons to march their way through the swarms of admirers and photographers to their respective hotels. A few mo ments were allowed for unpacking, then the assembly call sounded the fighters into formation again. A luncheon, in their honor at Field's during which state and city notables assured them of our wel come, ended their march from the hotels. Thinking that they needed exercise, they were paraded down Michigan to Soldiers' Field where they centered in the Dedication Services. In face of a driving bliz zard, they completed their work to the satisfaction of the gaping mul titudes, only to be ordered back to the hotels to assume formal dress for a ball, at which unknown women were selected as their part ners, under very alert chaperonage. The special program at the Orien tal and Chicago theatres provided the one high light of the annual pilgrimage. For two hours the men were allowed to do exactly as they pleased, say what they pleased. And they did it. Next day, the day of the game, the old routine was again in force. The groups marched to the field, gave orderly cheers for their teams, were forbidden to voice their opin ion of the officials or of comments of the crowd. The game over, the men were marched to their trains and wheeled away back to drills, routine, and minutely-clean quar ters. It would be a real vacation for the boys to spend six months at Joliet or Sing Sing ! THE vaunted, over-publicized, dance of the Army-Navy foot ball game fizzled off as we knew it would. The over emphasized local stenographer proved, as we also knew, an also ran. Why does the neutral faced girl place herself in such positions? Neither West Point nor Annapolis accepts blind boys. But Chicago business young women have looked so long on that other face in the distorted mirror of their several idling, alias rest rooms and thanked God they were not as other girls, that they have doubtless arrived, as, must the hallucinated reporter of their really pitiful publicity, at the conclusion that dans le roy- aume des aveugles. Amending Our Constitution THE president of the Bathtub Trust was addressing the convention of the Master Builders of America: "You will recall, gentlemen, that at the convention last year, you asked me to submit plans for further reducing the size of bath tubs. You know from past experi ence that we always cooperate with 6 TI4ECUICAG0AN Martin, Our Mailman you in every way possible. We wil lingly reduced tubs to half and then to quarter size. Then, when one of our bright young designers, while watching a small boy sitting on the curb dangling his feet in the gutter, conceived the idea of the upright tub with two levels, one on which the bather sits and the other in which his feet hang down, we gave you the idea without charge. "But I regret to have to report that, after a year of intensive study by our most competent designers, we have found it utterly impossible to reduce the size of tubs any further." There was a murmur of disap pointment. The president raised his hand. "But, gentlemen", he went on, "I am happy to say that the bright young man who invented the sit ting-down tub, has hit upon an idea which will make a smaller tub ultimately possible." There was a tremendous out burst of ctfeering and applause, mixed with cries of "Let's have it", "What is it?" "Don't keep us in suspense", etc. The president once again raised his hand for silence. "Thank you, gentlemen, for the applau ..." "The plan !" "The plan !" "The plan is", the president re sumed, "to work for the passage of a constitutional amendment re quiring the parents of new-born babies to bind their bodies with heavy tape in order to check their growth. In — let me see — (here he consulted a table of statistics) fifty- three years we will have a race of Americans not more than two feet tall, so that a tub the size of the ordinary foot tub of today will be more than sufficient for bathing the entire body. "Gentlemen, we feel we have done our part. Future generations of tub builders must do theirs." —JOSEPH FULLING FISHMAN Did You Say Fog? THE other evening we happened to be sitting in the lobby of the Drake hotel glancing through papers and occasionally listening in on the conversation between two world travelers who were de bating the merits of the various places which they had visited. The talk ran along in smooth channels until one of them mentioned that London was undisputably the fog giest place in the world. The other, not to be outdone, said that he had been in a foggier place. The first speaker raised his eyes in wonderment and asked "Where was that?" To which the second man replied, "I don't know, it was so foggy." "Well, we were sitting there just philosophising, you know. We were a bit blotto, I admit, feeling high anyway. And Louie was mixing things on the arm of his chair. Well, finally he pours out a long one and says, -.'John, sink this one.' " "I bet he thought you were play ing basketball, huh ?" "No, no, he didn't at all. Well, I took off my glove and showed my hand, so. to speak and pushed it back and said, 'Whom do you think I am, Dewey?' But that didn't faze Louie at all. No, sir, not a bit. He says, "All right, then, I'm Dewey and I'm in my submarine and I'm going under. Whoopie !' And bingk If he didn't take it down. Well, I was somewhat taken aback." MARTIN, our mail man, is real ly a most excellent fellow. He comes from a very fine old family too, he tells me, — the Spiegel- bachans of Wichita, Kan. For gen erations, Martin says, the Spiegel- bachans have been a family of mail carries. The first Spiegelbachan who came over to this country from Bavaria was Homer R., one time mail man in Wintzt, Bavaria. Ho mer's father had been the town postman too, and so had his grand father for that matter. Homer got into a mess of trouble over a woman and had to leave Wintzt. That sounds pretty bad, of course, but it isn't. There was nothing to it at all., Homer was a good Christian boy and was merely the victim of circumstances. As the story goes, this woman — a Fraulein Orelse — didn't get her mail one day. The reason for this oversight, which wasn't really an oversight at all, was that there hadn't been any mail for her that day. Well, Fraulein Orelse was pretty angry about not getting any mail that day. Oh, boy, was she mad ! She had been banking on it, you see. So she told Mr. Spie gelbachan (Homer R.) just what she thought of him, which, let me tell you, was a plenty. She told him too, that she would get his job, which she did. So Fraulein Orelse became postman of that pretty little village of Wintzt, Bavaria, and Homer R. Spiegel bachan had to leave town fast, — like sixty. There were lots of other places he might have chosen, Martin went on to say, but he gave the matter but little consideration. Having heard there was an opening for a good reliable postman, (or mail man) in Wichita, Kansas, U. S. A. he betook himself and family to that place (Wichita, Kansas), ap plied for the position as mailman and got the job. Since that time all the postman of Wichita have been members of TUE CHICAGOAN the Spiegelbachan family; and that, Martin says, has been pretty nice. Martin says he is really the first blacksheep of the Spiegelbachan family and he is that because he ran away from Wichita at the age of three to join a circus. The cir cus didn't ever receive much mail, at least not enough to warrant the hiring of a special mailman. And, as Martin had too much family pride to want to be anything but a mailman he left the circus on Thursday and migrated to the me tropolis where he was at once hired as a full-fledged city postman, al though only three years old. At that time Martin was the youngest postman any municipality had ever had. Since that time, how ever, there has been one postman who started carrying mail at the age of two and one half years. That makes him just a half year younger than Martin Spiegelbac han. This other postman's name is Arshell (a family name) J. Cun ningham and he has his mail route in Detroit, Michigan. Now, of course, he has reached his majority and wants a vacation. It is quite a coincidence too, I think, that both these mailmen have been Boy Builders and still take an active part in their chapter-doings. Since his arrival in our city Martin has been carrying mail to and fro like anything and is very interested in his work. Did You Say Tradition ? It's nice to think complacently, we who inhabit the great open spaces of this wild and wilder west, that we are overtaking the East in everything. Why, we grow more corn and pigs than the East ever thought could be produced ; we have more Rotary and Lions clubs; our cities are growing more rap idly ; we have better football teams. Even our traditions multiply faster. One Thursday morning while we were thinking thusly after a hearty breakfast of wheat cakes and sausages (Western grown, mind you) we chanced to pass the Midway in the neighborhood of Mr. Stagg's University and saw a young man with a cane. We came closer and saw more canes carry ing young men. Surprised, we asked what it was all about, and learned that an infant tradition had been introduced whereby all Senior men carried canes to class every Thursday. And how they carried them. Some wore sheepskins, others were hatless, none of them wore gloves. The chief sport seemed to be a competition as to the number .of classmates that could be tripped per moment per Senior through the agency of the cane heads. 7 We passed on, but the chief arti cle of diet in our menu over the week-end consisted of Welsh rare bit, and then more Welsh rarebit. SOME thought that when North western more or less tied Mich igan for Conference honors, that arson and Northwestern would be synonymous. Fortunately there have been no important burnings to date. Now that it has been made known that the University of Chicago has dropped Northwestern from its 1927 schedule, it is possible that Mr. Stagg will be burned in effigy — in Evanston. OUT of all this talk of the arso- nic activities of the sopho- moric Northwesterners comes this following bit of dialogue. It was on top of a bus, and a youth dressed in the mode of the university man was most desirous of lighting his cigarette — it is possi ble that because he lacked matches he was that desirous. And being without matches he thought of his neighbor on the seat across the aisle. "I beg your pardon, sir, "said the youth, "may I borrow . a match?" , The neighbor, an elegant gentle man with grey temples (you know the kind) for an instant gave his utmost attention to the costume and mien of the young man. "Yes," he said finally, "if you're sure you're not from Northwest ern." 8 TI4ECI4ICAGOAN Anthologies WE have always maintained privately and often advanced publicly that an anthology (of tales) of boarding school girls should be compiled. A symposium would be more perfect, to be sure, but that might be too personal. Anyway, there are new stories popping up all the time — par ex ample : A young boarding school girl — boarding at home, maybe of Star- rett, possibly of Kenwood-Loring, perhaps of Ferry Hall — was out of an evening with a party and with parental permission. The hour at which she was expected to return home had passed and father and mother were beginning to worry. After a few hours or more or less anxious waiting, the telephone bell rang. Father answered it and found the early morning caller was daughter. "This is your little daughter, Father, " she said. "Now don't you and Mother worry about me. I'm quite all right. I'm in jail." On the same shelf with the sug gested anthology of boarding school girls' stories ought to be a compilation of Lon Chaney stories. At the Princess the other even ing where we were enjoying Louis Wolheim's performance we heard the latest addition to the Lon Chaney collection. "I tell you that's Louis Wolheim all right," said a person in back of us during intermission. "You can see for yourself by reading the pro gram." "Yes, but are you dead sure that's Louis Wolheim?" asked the com panion of the person in back of us, who, of course, was in back of us too. "Certainly," said the first speaker, "Also, you're silly. It says so in the program, out in front, in the paper, and anyway, I've seen him before." "Maybe you're right," responded the skeptic, "but at least admit the possibility that he's Lon Chaney." THEY were at the gate in the La Salle Street station. The girl with the gray traveling bag was evidently leaving for New York and for points further east as it came to light later. She was going to Paris — to study maybe, perhaps for New Year's Eve. More likely she was going at this season to avoid the herds of American trippers. At least she was Paris-bound. "Oh, you'll enjoy Paris," said her escort, "I know you'll have a great time there." "I'm sure I shall," replied the girl; "But Earl, I wonder if I shall really get anything out of Paris?" "Well, my dear," said the young man, "I should say just off-hand that you ought to get a golden apple at least." And we thought that was most gallant. I have learned from these Christ ians that a woman may be unkind, she may be vain, selfish, envious, even malicious, but if she possess one certain virtue she remains, in the language of respectability, a good woman, while her sister, lack ing this jewel, kind, unselfish, humble, inclined to charity and compassion though she be, may never aspire to that title. —HAROLD S. MCGUIRE "Radio Replaces Wire for Gov ernment Use." — Memphis Com mercial Appeal. Now if some bright young man will invent something for the Gov ernment to use to replace red tape, we will donate him three nice columns of ten point type on the front page. Two Semitic Butter and Egg gentlemen were in the Foyer of the Adelphi after the second act of "The Sin of Sins." For a long time they silently smoked and pon dered. Finally, just as the bell sum moned them back to their seats, one turned to the other and said: "I'm beginning to believe, Max, that perhaps that woman is in love with the girl." So hell has been officially wiped out. One by one the pillars of our faith are swept away until there is little solid ground left to stand on. Any day now we expect to see the last step taken. Every day we pick up our paper dreading to read that some Assemblage of Divines have solemnly decided that their ain't no Santa Claus. Colored Girl on State Street You are a delightful background for some passionate drama. Internecine stories haunt the sha dows of your brilliant hair. You are sleek with the sleekness of desired possessions under your showy clothes, You are a Christmas gift for some nigger or some white man. — LOUREINE ABER TI4E CHICAGOAN The Unpardonable Sin MY friends know the annoy ance that is mine when I am called to the telephone before eight o'clock. Therefore it happens rarely, so infrequent, in fact, that I am usually more astonished than displeased when it does. I was especially startled one morning when Jeoffery called me at that hour, — Jeoffery, my old friend who knows my idiosyn- cracies so well. His words fright ened me even more. "Hugh," he said, "Hugh, old man, I had to call you. Pardon it, please I just had to. A last good bye. I couldn't help it. We've been such friends. Farewell, Hugh, old friend." And the connection was broken by his hanging up of the receiver. I rushed into the street just as I was clothed. He lived in the next block. I burst in his door. There he stood, gun in hand. "Jeoffery!" I cried, "Jeoffery!" "Don't stop me, Hugh! I tell you!" "Jeoffery What does this mean ?" "Oh, Hugh," he sobbed. "It's all too terrible. I can't tell you. There's a note on the bed. Don't try to stop me. Leave at once, Hugh!" "Stop, Jeoff !" I cried as he raised the gun to his head with a shaking hand. "Stop! Tell me! Your old friend, Hugh!" "Oh, Hugh," he said weakly. "I've just shaved. With my new British razor, you know. And, Hugh ! Hugh ! I tell you I've used Wednesday's blade and here it is Tuesday !" "Jeoffery !" I said sternly. "Jeof fery! Give me that gun! You, I fear Jeoffery, are entirely too ner vous to use it successfully." — H. Y. p. Paul: "What'll we do, buy a quart of Scotch, or chuck the party?" Sadie: "Both." Farmer ! Desiring firm embraces of his God, He sought them in the black strength of the soil; By serving elements, by crumbling sod, He thought to change the lethargy of toil Into a warm and fervent ecstasy. The seasons whispered to him that each gust Of wind blue holy syllables, and he, Longing to understand, wished he were dust. And when, one day, the lightning's sudden fire Shot through the great shroud of the darkened sky And bolted to the earth in white desire, Torturing to crippled postures high And ancient trees, he stumbled to the ground, Struck silent by the formless truth he'd found. 10 TI4ECI4ICAGOAN TWECWICAGOAN n PER/ONAL PORTRAIT/ SPORTSMAN, hotel man, gen tleman. Mr. Eugene Byfield, is an unusual person, unique in fact, with a taste for the luxuries of life that places him in the ranks of the epicure ; and a thirst for the outdoors that keeps him sanely conscious of the very frailty of these luxuries : so, with the wisdom of his fore-fathers, he faces the matter squarely, curbs his tastes but satisfies his thirst, not in that Pierian spring that Pope bubbled over, but in the streams and lakes as nature made them out Barring- ton way. In that rolling country of large estates is one, known as Grasmere and it is at Grasmere that we see Mr. Byfield at his best. Here are his kennels of; prize chows, tawny brown and blue black. Here his. string of polo ponies build up speed that sooner or later puts to rout their swift opponents in this fast game. Only recently two pedi greed beauties have been added to the collection which places Mr. Byfield well to the top of the sport ing lists of those who are, in mod ern parlance, "in, the know". Yes he's a top hole fellow — Gene sticks to business during hours, yet knows when to knock off — a connoisseur of many things but less critical perhaps when his thoughts wander from the ponies. Why look at his job — can anything better attest to his business acu men than that prosperous hostelry the Sherman — with its countless conventions ; its conventional count of guests streaming past the upper hall Desks, room — ward bound (no moral turpitude here) ; with its multiple distributing points for food. One need never fear the pangs of hunger while putting in time at this hotel — in fact his ap petite is always at the point of ove" stimulation. The kitchen has He's Gone to the Dods over the gilded capital of Corin thian columns. . ¦ I, the scribe, saw these things and marveled. I did even more, I sank on a stool and ate, fairly caught in this maze of material repletion. And while I ate, my eye "roamed over the groups of guests "star scattered on the grass", in tercepting a look here, there, everywhere ! — the response was eloquent of the atmosphere — but ^TVoUtS V.<VE0EW^ seemingly surged through its bar riers and with infinite cunning sent its ripples over the lobby. At a strategic point looms a counter, where pyramids of lemon meringue pies fight for supremacy over a stack of limp eclairs — supine through their effort to compete. Next to these saccharine delights, the chronic sandwich holds its own — ham, cheese, tomatoes ; flanked on either side by its bottle of cat chup and mustard jar. The aroma of coffee mingles with the pall of tobacco smoke, hanging like a cloud with the philosophy of the Persian poet still ringing in my ears I com pleted the quatrain and "turned down each empty glance". So perhaps, Gene, there's a rea son for your pursuits — leave all this behind and beat it to Barrington, go to the dogs (literally) for there salvation lies — with the pups and the ponies ; good balance, both, for the pull of the loop. Is it because of all this pomp and circumstances that your sleeping and waking hours find you at the Ambassador Hotel where the surge of events 12 TI4ECWICAG0AN won't lap against your door and disturb those moments of tranquil ity so justly your due? Have you established a trust with the switch-board operators at these points to protect yourself against a clamoring public so that an inquiry at the Sherman is al ways answered "call Mr. Byfield at the Ambassador" and a connec tion finally made there, a voice croons "Mr. Byfield will be found at the Sherman". Now about this gentleman hangs an air of mystery deep and intrigu ing — he is a bachelor — by choice, but why? We have reason to be lieve he is not obstinately opposed to women. On the contrary; and he prefers blondes. I saw him when he did and what so ever he does is done thoroughly, and this was no exception. With a person ality so winning, a mind so broad and open, a similar bank account, how has he kept his balance — why hasn't he been sand-bagged and dragged to the altar by some de signing minx? Is it that the martial experiences of his friends have been sufficiently disastrous to give him pause and run him to cover at first glimpse of — the bright face of danger? LET'S scan the family tree. On the same limb with Eugene hangs Ernest, his brother, and busi ness associate. What is the ballast that makes this twin-screw propeller ride so successfully at anchor, or slip through the high seas without shipping water ? Ernst is dignified and steady — though married; the younger by a gentle margin of years. No country gentleman here; a type metropolitan from the tip of a pol ished boot to the correct flare of a collar. One seems to catch the sug gestion of things literary — he reads, perhaps profoundly, of the inter stellar spaces; of history, of philo sophy; but never "Helen of Troy" or "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes" (they belong to Gene). The ideal dispenser of hospitality to the crowds who pass through the doors of his hotel. Then comes the pro fessional branch with another bro ther Albert, a physician no longer in active practice; and a cousin, also a physician and one of the best general practioners in the city — refreshing in this era of over spec ialization. To those who know him "im patiently" he offers the full sweep of a brilliant mind; the under standing of a prophet ; the camara derie of a buddy — yet interming led with these at times, is a cer tain aloofness, inscrutable, baffling, that gives one the question of what he may have done to incur this sudden displeasure — something to conjure with; that always domi- nent note in the scale of character analysis. But what will you — the alchemy of friendship is not like that of music where harmony is so close to discord that only the over tones betray it to the practiced ear. All of which goes to prove that we have reached out, picked Eu gene Byfield from his family tree, painted his portrait and are about to hang it in the hall of fame along with those of other celebrities, whose outstanding characteristics, whether good or bad, have qualified them for this distinction. He may not like what we have done for him in this line — the artist's conception of a subject often proves disturb ing; the highlights bring out some feature best left in obscurity — the low lights are too lurid. In the world of the artist, however, if there be any force that is immut able, it is the force of truth ; towards this force he is drawn as naturally as is the moth to the flame. —LILLIAN THOMAS THE CHICAGOAN 13 Young Fellow, Listen! TO YOU young men who only last month were graduated from our various institutions of learning (laughter), I would bring a message, a message of warning and yet, at the same time, a mes sage of good cheer. Having been out in the world a whole month, it is high time that you learned some thing about the Facts of Life, some thing about how wonderfully Na ture takes care of the thousand and one things which go to make up what some people jokingly call our "sex" life. I hardly know how to begin. Perhaps "Dear Harry" would be as good a way as any. You all have doubtless seen, dur ing your walks in the country, how the butterflies and bees carry pollen from one flower to another? It is very dull and you should be very glad that you are not a bee or a butterfly, for where the fun comes in that I can't see. However, they think that they are having a good time, which is all that is necessary, I suppose. Some day a bee is go ing to get hold of a real book on the subject, and from then on there will be mighty little pollen-toting done or I don't know my bees. Well, anyway, if you have noticed carefully how the bees carry pollen from one flower to another (and there is no reason why you should have noticed care fully as there is nothing to see), you will have wondered what con nection there is between this pro cess and that of animal reproduc tion. I may as well tell you right now that there is no connection at all, and so your whole morning of bee-stalking has been wasted. THE next time you are at your grocer's buying gin, take a look at his eggs. They really are some hen's eggs, but they belong to the grocer now, as he has bought them and is entitled to sell them. So they really are his eggs, funny as it may sound to anyone who doesn't know. If you will look at these eggs, you will see that each one is almost round, but not quite. They are more of an "egg-shape." This may strike you as odd at first, until you learn that this is Nature's way of distinguishing eggs from large golf balls. You see, Mother Nature takes no chances. She used to, but she learned her lesson. And that is a lesson that all of you must learn as well. It is called Old Mother Nature's Lesson, and be gins on page 145. Now, these eggs have not always been like this. That stands to rea son. They once had something to do with a hen or they wouldn't be called hen's eggs. If they are called duck's eggs, that means that they had something to do with a duck. Who can tell me what it means if they are called "ostrich's eggs?". . . That's right. But the egg is not the only thing that had something to do with a hen. Who knows what else there was? . . . That's right. Now the rooster is an entirely different sort of bird from the hen. It is very proud and has a red crest on the top of his head. This red crest is put there by Nature so that the hen can see the rooster coming in a crowd and can hop into a taxi or make a previous engagement if she wants to. A favorite dodge of a lot of hens when they see the red crest of the rooster making in their direction across the barnyard is to work up a sick headache. One of the happiest and most contented roosters I ever saw was one who had his red crest chewed off in a fight with a dog. He also wore sneakers. BUT before we take up this phase of the question (for it is a question), let us go back to the fish kingdom. Fish are probably the worst example that you can find ; in the first place, because they 14 THE CHICAGOAN work under water, and in the second, because they don't know anything. You won't find one fish in a million that has enough sense to come in when it rains. They are just stupid, that's all, and nowhere is their stupidity more evident than in their sex life. Take, for example, the carp. The carp is one of the least promising of all the fish. He has practically no forehead and brings nothing at all to a conversation. Now the mother carp is swimming around some fine spring day when sud denly she decides that it would be nice to have some children. So she makes out adeposit slip and deposits a couple of million eggs on a rock (all this goes on under water> mind you, of all places). This done, she adjusts her hat, powders her nose, and swims away, a woman with a past. It is not until this is over and done with that papa enters the pic- ture, and then only in an official capacity. Papa's job is very cas ual. He swims over the couple of million eggs and takes a chance that by sheer force of personality he can induce half a dozen of them to hatch out. The remainder either go to waste or are blacked up to represent caviar. So you will see that sex life of a fish is nothing much to brag about. It never would present a problem in a fish community as it does in ours. No committees ever have to be formed to regulate it, and about A Woman with a Past the only way in which a fish can go wrong is through drink or steal ing. This makes a fish's life highly unattractive, you will agree, for, after a time, one would get very tired of drinking and stealing. We have now covered the vari ous agencies of: Nature for populat ing the earth with the lesser forms of life. We have purposely omitted any reference to the -reproduction of those unicellular organisms which reproduce by dividing them selves up into two, four, eight, etc., parts without any outside assis tance at all. This method is too silly even to discuss. WE now come to colors. You all know that if you mix. yellow with blue you get green. You also get green if you mix cherries and milk." (Just kidding. Don't pay any attention.) The derivation of one color from the mixture of two other colors is not generally considered a sexual phenomenon, but that is because the psycho-analysts haven't got around to it yet. By next season it won't be safe to admit that you like to paint, or you will be giving yourself away as an inhibited old uncle-lover and debauchee. The only thing that the sex-psycholo gists can't read a sexual signifi cance into is trap-shooting, and they are working on that now. All of which brings us to the point of wondering if it all isn't a gigantic hoax. If the specialists fall down on trap-shooting, they are going to begin to doubt the whole structure which they have erected, and before long there is going to be a reaction which will take the form of an absolute nega tion of sex. An Austrian scientist has already come out with the an nouncement that there is no such thing as a hundred per cent male or a hundred per cent female. This confirms the lay opinion, formed by observing women with brakemen's haircuts and men wearing tidies around their straw hats. It may result in the disappearance of the expression "One hundred per cent he-man," which in itself will be enough of a boon for July and the first part of August.- This Aus trian's announcement is really a big step forward. It is going to throw a lot of people out of work, but think of the money that will be saved! • . ¦¦¦ And so, young men, my message to you is this: Think the thing over very carefully and examine the evidence with fair-minded de tachment. And if you decide that, within the next ten years, sex is going out of style, make your plans accordingly. Why not be pioneers in the new movement? —ROBERT C. BENCHLEY "Her next return to life was oc casioned by the insistent buzz of the telephone in her ear."— Live Stories, New York. What a Funny Place for a Telephone ! THE CHICAGOAN 15 THERE we were, playing cro quet for all we were worth, — Eloise, Junior, Eloise's father, Her- shel Proody and I. Eloise had the red ball and mallet, Junior had the green pair, Father Proody had the blue and I couldn't help but have the black because ours is just a four ball set. Anyway I like black pretty well. We were playing for prizes too, gambling, as Father Proody said Mother Proody would call it. And my, what prizes they were to be ! If Eloise lost she was to treat the crowd (that's the word she used) to a strawberry soda apiece, be cause she Was playing with the red ball and mallet. Junior, if he lost, was to set us all up to a big mess of dandelion greens that he was to pick; he had the green pair, you see. Father Proody, because he had chosen the blue ball and mal let, was to take us all to the Blue Gingham Tea Room for dinner; that is, if he lost. Oh, he was go ing to "get hooked" right, as he said, unless he crashed through with a win. But if I lost, my God, if I lost, I would have to buy the family anew Lincoln coupe painted black and all because I had the black ball and mallet, the having of which I could not help, even though I do rather like black. I had suggested that, if I were to lose, I would pay the penalty by purchasing a bag of licorice drops, but there was too much dis sension.- My heavens, how the rest did howl when I offered that sug gestion. They even went so far as to say that I couldn't play at all unless I would promise to pay the price they demanded. And I wanted to play like anything, so I promised. Well, it was a great game while it lasted. And the best part of it came toward the end of the game. Junior was winning. He was sev eral arches' ahead of the rest of us. In fact, he had just three more arches to go under before he would be permitted to hit the stake. That would make him just in front of But Life Isn't All the northwest corner arch. (Our court runs east and west with the first or home stake at the west which, I think is a very nice place for it.) Father Proody and I were playing for the northeast corner arch and Eloise was just preparing to drive her ball under the second arch at the east end, that is, the second arch toward the west. Fi nally, after some deliberation she drove and, let me tell you, it was as pretty a second-arch drive as' I have ever seen outside of profes sional driving, of course. It went right through the second arch with out touching the sides and rolled up some two feet from my ball (the black one, you remember). Having accomplished the passing under of the second arch, Eloise had another stroke coming to her. Being, as she was, a mere two feet from my ball, she planned to hit my ball, thus giving her two more strokes which would indubitably enable her to get under the north east corner arch arid well up toward the middle arch before it would be necessary for her to sur render her turn. Eloise began to carry out her plan and drove her ball into mine with quite some force knocking both balls in front of the north east corner arch and very near Father Proody's ball. It was then that Eloise changed her original plan of attack. Instead of taking her two strokes, rightly hers be cause she had hit my ball fairly and squarely, she placed her foot on her ball and being next to mine (kissing it, as they say) drove my ball well out of bounds by hitting hers viciously. Then she took her second stroke and hit Father Proody's ball (the blue one). When she found both balls directly in front of the arch (the northeast corner arch) she repeated her last trick and drove Father Proody's ball out of bounds, thus leaving her one stroke which she used to pass under the northeast corner, arch. Having gone through the arch she had one more stroke which she took and which, having taken, left her ball in excellent position for going under the middle arch. It was my turn after Eloise's and I took it by bringing my ball (the black one) in bounds and driving it into position in front of the same old arch (the northeast corner one). Then it was Father Proody's turn. He did the same thing, but didn't get so nice a drive as I got and therefore found himself (his ball, really) a bit farther from the arch than mine was. Junior followed Father Proody. His ball was in great position in front of and to the side a bit of the northwest corner arch. He took a mighty drive and sent his ball under the arch and through the first arch of the set of two arches in front of the home stake. With his next stroke he drove his ball under the last arch not over eight inches from the stake. And on the following stroke he hit the stake triumphantly and won the game amid the throaty cheers of the crowd that had gathered on the sidewalk and under the grape arbor. Junior had been the favorite all along; and the betting odds were 2-1 on Junior. There were many who placed wagers on Eloise too, though most of them bet Eloise across the board. The odds on me were 10-1 and those on Father Proody were 15-1. Father Proody, of course, was more or less a dark horse, because no one had seen him 16 THE CHICAGOAN play croquet during the present •season, though many said they re membered his very worthy game of previous years when he had visited us. It was Eloise's turn next. She had a fine position for going under the middle arch which she did without much more ado. Her drive carried her ball in front of the northwest corner arch. Under this Eloise went very nicely and with her last stroke batted her ball into position before the set of two arches at the west end of the court; the home, or stake-arches. I went through the same old cor ner arch without much difficulty and very nearly made the next stroke good by passing under the middle arch too, but as things will happen, my ball hit the wire and came to a stand-still without going under. Father Proody didn't quite get through the old northeast cor ner arch. Eloise, on a pretty drive went through both end arches and hit the stake. She was pretty sore about hitting the stake, because she had wanted to play Rover, but she took it all as gracefully as pos sible after such a disappointment. Well, it was my turn next and I passed under the middle arch in great shape and rolled up into posi tion for going through the north west corner arch. This feat I ac complished easily, brilliantly, in fact, for when my old black ball stopped rolling its situation was immediately before the end arches. On my next shot I prepared to go through both arches and hit th< stake, thus coming in third anc making Father Proody lose the game and have to take us all out for dinner in the Blue Ginghan Tea Room, because he had the blue ball and mallet. I took careful aim and sent my ball spinning through the first arch. On it rolled through the second arch still going at a smart clip right in line for the stake. But lo and behold ! when it reached the point where it rightly should have hit the stake, it rolled right on and clear out of bounds a full mallet's length beyond the stake. Only the stake wasn't there. After my scin- tellating finish you can imagine my disappointment and chagrin when I noticed that the stake wasn't there and because of its absence my ball had rolled on and on till it finally came to rest out of bounds. The stake wasn't there. The hole where it had recently been was there. It had been there when Eloise had finished. Where could it be? I was greatly worried. Visions of a rapidly diminishing bank account were before me and of a big black Lincoln coupe. I had forgotten that Father Proody had not finished either. Soon, however, I was somewhat relieved. There was Junior high in the apple tree at the west end of the court with the red, blue, green and black stake in his little brown hand. (The other hand was grasping a limb of the tree as it should have been, of course.) I called to him to come down and bring the stake back so Papa- dilly could finish and then we would all go to dinner with and on Grandpa Proody. As usual Junior refused flatly to obey me. I ran about the yard looking for things to throw at him to bring him down. Perhaps, I thought, if I can but hit his tree-hand (that is, his hand by which he was holding to the tree) he would fall and I could grab the stake, put back in its old position, take my two shots, hit the stake and come in a good third anyway. As I was running around some what wildly, I must admit, I noticed the other stake at the east end of the court. Looking around to see that the others were not watching me too closely I pulled up the east stake and, walked slowly with it behind my back toward the west end pf the yard. Junior and Eloise thought I had found a club to hurj at Junior. Father Proody had lighted his pipe and lain on the ground beside his ball to await further developments, quite unconcerned about the whole affair. While Eloise was watching Junior and urging him to go higher so Papa couldn't catch him, I planted the east stake in the hole left by the removing of the west stake. Then I picked up my mal let and gave my ball a gentle tap sending it a foot and one half or so forward toward the new west stake. I had one more shot left, so I took deliberate aim and with a well-directed blow sent the ball (the black one, my ball) up to the home stake which it hit easily, thus coming in third after all and forc ing Father Proody into fourth place and consequently into losing the game. Junior, when he saw he h^d been decisively outwitted, came down from his perch with a sheepish grin on his face and said he was hungry, which, of course, was the signal for Father Proody to say, "Well, I lose, so let's go down to the Blue Gingham," which we sub- THE CHICAGOAN 17 «M. nelson-. Achmed - Ali - Alcadabra - Aron (the little one) : Who was that lady I seen you with last night. Harooun - Halma - Haytie - Ho- gan (the big one) : That wasn't no lady, that wuz my houri. 18 THE CHICAGOAN IT is not a pleasant thing, one has to admit to lie awake o' nights. There is apt to be considerable toss ing, mislaying of probable pillows and other discomfort, including, in cold weather, the loss of appar ently every warm cover that may- keep out the winter. Yet to lie awake, to hold that vigil the French have named a "white night," is not in itself be reft of joy for those who love to in dulge in relaxed thinking. In bed, in silence, in utter darkness one may reminisce, one may dream, (yet being awake), one may flout the face of the day with sharp thoughts. And in these magic hours of un resting rest, troop the events, whether actual or fictional, of the years. Here come forgotten char acters in books one laid aside years ago. Here troop the array of minor episodes, puerile, perhaps, but smile provoking, that made up a merry childhood. Here is enacted again any drama one may please to call up from one's consciousness. If one has happened to rejoice over the gilded pages of Horace Walpole, one can, recalling one's London, make a pretty good con jecture at what the reunions at the home of the Misses Berry must really have been. One can see the never ending game of politics played in ruffles, while the facile ladies poured a dish of tea. Or again, one can conjure the shade of Mrs. Dolly Madison, the only abso lutely apt hostess who ever graced the White House. One can ride On White Nights the little English hills with "Lorna Doone", conjecture as to just how long the menage of "Mrs. Rawdon Crawley" can continue on nothing a year, watch the progress in Re volutionary France of that most undiplomatic diplomat, Benjamin Franklin, or call up the specific ghosts of one's own environment. This, however, is possibly less de sirable if one wishes to sleep a little towards morning, just as a concession to custom. But the night itself is interest ing, especially in a city. The sounds are made more acute by the silences. The cessation of perpet ual street cars make perceptible a thousand vagrant noises impercep tible by day, and these are interest ing because their origin must re main forever conjectural. That metallic crash, for instance, may be an imperfection in the roofing. But it may be an expert gunman mak ing ready for what is really an ex- cedingly sordid but what he thinks is a spectacular shooting. Then the soft padding of cats may be heard distinctly, essaying the fire escapes. Cats that stroll without vocalising either forthcoming amour or fight, cats with beautiful sinuous bodies, climbing, and pos sibly remembering themselves, the place they once held in the credu lity of simpler or wiser peoples. And each section of the night holds its own broken silence. The earlier half, from eleven, say, until four, holds no sharp sounds unless one counts the dismal wailing and obtrusive bells of the fire depart ment. Almost every night this tears the fabric of the darkness, and frequently the alarm being false, one supposes, the parapher nalia apparently returns, its voices restrained, giving a curious im pression of disappointment, of pique. After four o'clock the milk cans rattle, there may be police whistles, there is a sense of awakening. By this time one has completely recon ciled oneself to lying awake, and is therefore exceedingly likely to fall asleep. It takes some time and care to become an adept at the enjoyable art of sleeplessness, but once ac quired it is an amusing sport, one possibly more adapted to summer months than to winter, because of that unhappy falling away of the bed covers. It might indeed be advisable for the habitual indulger in this unusual game to adopt a semi-arctic form of clothing. He could then cry scorn on all weathers and all bed covers. With tri umphantly warm feet sticking straight out he could-,; absorb such impressions of hidden hours as might eventually enable him to perpetrate that perennial night mare, the great American Novel. —LILLIAN MacDONALD THE CHICAGOAN 19 Ihe TU&ATRE Young Woodley A sort of "Tom Brown's School Days," with the hero undergoing all of the smarting defeats and overwhelming victories common to an English lad of seventeen who is slightly above the average in the development of a youngster's ten dencies, combined with Glenn Hunter's acting ability, — that is the attraction of "Young Woodley", which is completing its second suc cessful week at the Blackstone. The story is a series of experi ences such as you or I might have had while on the threshold of adol escence and before the achievement of a proper perspective upon life. The scenes are laid in England, but youth is the same the world over with its craving for affection, its shyness, its responsiveness, its wonderment, and its disillusions. The joys that accompany such an age are rather left out in the cold by John Van Druten, the "father" of the play, who rather emphasizes the pathos. In love with the wife of his schoolmaster, a woman of sup pressed sex desires, who leads young Woodley to believe that she is hopelessly in love with him, only to assure him later in no uncertain terms that she has been playing with him all the while, the school boy finds out for the first time that the way of love is not built of maca dam. The affair with Crawley's girl leads him to think that he is ruined for life. Too bashful to confide in his father, he carries the memories of himself and used poetry as the sole means of outlet for his sufferings. Glenn Hunter realistically lives the life of young Woodley during each performance. The "heart appeal," that so neces sary attribute of a successful play, reaches the emotions of the aud ience through his portrayal in a way that has a lasting effect. It brings shudders to simply imagine another actor in that role, and one may simply thank Heaven, or whatever may happen to be his or her Paradise, that Hunter and Van Druten came together. NOTHING need be said con cerning the success of this dramatization. Censored in London, it came into fame during a long run in New York, and now has arrived in Chicago. It is more than an even ing of entertainment, it makes one think. Fathers are reminded of their boyhood, mothers taught to better appreciate their sons' thoughts and deeds, and children are shown a good moral lesson. Everyone goes away feeling con fident that Young Woodley will be the better man for his sufferings. Sisters Chicago's theatrical world has been lucky, extremely lucky, dur ing this week by the addition of "Sisters" at the Olympic, "The Open Door" at the Playhouse, and "Yes, Yes, Yvette" at the Four Cohans to the list of after-dinner attractions at local playhouses. Of course, as time would not permit, all of them could not be reviewed, but they will be commented upon in this column at a later date. "Sisters", the third offering of Sam H. Harris in town at present, attempts to solve the question that is ever-present in the debutante's mind, as to which is preferably, to have marriage with poverty or freedom with wealth. TO add novelty to the offering, the villian is not the regular, suave, two-faced, cowardly, snivel ing moron. He is the typical college graduate, perhaps slightly over drawn as to type, but as usual, poor. In further contrast with the usual run of such things, the hero is a man's man, high principles 'neverything, wealthy, but married, very much married. POOR Ann who returns home from finishing school is courted by the two men and offered endless advise by. her two married sisters, one married to a poor, shiftless col lege grad, the other to a wealthy indifferent sort of person. The villian, so-called for need of a bet ter term, offers Ann marriage, coupled with financial embarrass ment with hopes of future;success. The hero, enacted by James Spotts- 20 THE CHICAGOAN wood, cannot offer marriage as his style "is hampered by a wife in Paris, but promises endless friend ship. Thus Ann finds herself in No Man's Land with trenches training fire upon her from all four sides. Mr. Willard, author of this production as well as of "The Cat and The Canary" lets her extricate herself in a natural and satisfac tory manner. ROBERTA ARNOLD as Ann gives a vivid portrayal of that role and makes a splendid come dienne, as is usual with Harris' offerings. The remainder of the cast are well adapted to their respective parts and the show offers an even ing of delightful entertainment. The Butter and Egg Man The humbuggery of the theater, the "low-down" about the difficul ties confronting a young producer in staging a play (and, since this play is for the public eye and there fore must end happily), how he overcame such bug-bears, with a love story thrown in for good mea sure, and there you have the es sence of "The Butter and Egg Man" now showing at the Selwyn theater. No one will deny, that there is the same old conventional plot, the HTie TI4EATRE conventional setting, the conven tional characters, and the conven tional ending, but the whole thing is so happily staged and directed that one forgets its very conven tionality. Besides, it does not direct its appeal to those of our literati who would immediately think of that criticism. The pro ducers are angling for a popular appeal and they have succeeded beyond doubt. THE plot hinges about a farmer's son who inherits some money and immediately starts for New York to find out if all of the tales he's been hearing about the im mense fortunes made in theatrical production are true. He encounters some of the regulation two-timers who of course, seek to separate him from his money. And, of course. he foils them and enlarges his for tunes beyond all imagination. At the same time he meets a wonder ful girl, and wins her love. And that is that. GREGORY KELLY as the en terprising yokel fulfills his part so well that advertisements, this time, do not do him justice. George S. Kaufman has provided him with some of the best lines that have hit the Windy City for some time, and Kelly puts them over with a bang. There is a laugh every minute, with a couple of snickers in between times. There is one thing about the play. The conventionists who simply must tell the folks back home about all the things they did and saw while in the Big City will find an education in itself from learning what a "butter and egg man" actually is and so can spring the phrase on their return with per fect equanimity while watching the open-mouthed surprise of their fellow Main-Streeters. What more can one ask of a play? A dip into the captivating field of theatrical producing, a car load of laughs to bear you along, and an explanation of a hazy term in the average American's vocabu lary. It's good, see it. — CLOBARUS THE CHICAGOAN 21 OUR very first stop was made in front of a pretty animal of the taurine sort named "James G. Blaine" that was a real Dutch Belted and had come all the way from Holland and there it was Tuesday. Next to "James G." was "Waldimar Dhu", a French Cuffed, I think, and right over near the door were the Bellingers who used to live above Cousin Mable when she lived on Eggleston avenue. Before long Junior noticed a crowd collecting and dragged us over to see the fight, only it wasn't a fight, and we really never did find out what the crowd was col lecting. In the middle of the group, however, was a prize winning ani mal named "Pike's-Peak-or-Bust". We could tell it had won a prize because it was wearing a blue rib bon; and just as we had secured a position from which we could see well, a camera man came up and asked us to move. Then a girl was escorted into the enclosure (or corral) and was asked to pose with one arm around the animal's neck. The next day we saw the photo graph in the paper and it was then that we found that the girl had been none other than Miss Ruby- Louise Rassmussen of Marshall- town, Iowa who had last summer visited the Jurgensons (direct de scendants of John and Priscilla Alden) who live in the next block north. And to think we hadn't recognized her. Just after the picture was taken the filling dropped out of one of Mrs. Purple's teeth, and she asked me what she should do about it. I really didn't know. Junior, who is always great in emergencies, suggested blandly enough that I ask the doorman what to do, be cause he looked like a smart man; and he did look like a smart man. I went up to the doorman and There we were at the Live Stock Show asked him nicely what he thought we should do, seeing as how Mrs. Dashly (I used the name Dashly, because I've always liked that name, and he wouldn't know it wasn't really my right name) had just lost the filling from one of her teeth. "Well," said the doorman, "there's a filling station just across the street and a block down." I thanked him and returned to my wife, Mrs. Purple, and told her how nice he had been and (to smooth over matters) that he had been a sergeant in the First Royal Irish Fusiliers. She said that was nice but she thought she would rather have a drink of lemonade than anything else she could think of right then. We walked about the amphi theatre for quite a while, but we couldn't find the lemonade stand, so I bought a cigar instead. It was just as well that I did buy a cigar (instead of lemonade) because just then a man stepped up and asked me for a light from my cigar; and if we had had lemonade I couldn't have given him a light, is I had used my last match for lighting my cigar. Of course, if we had had lemonade I mightn't have had a cigar and, in that case, I would have had my last match, but it might not have lighted for the gen tleman as it had for me, being, as it had been, my match. You know how some matches are. True enough, the gentleman mightn't have asked me for a light if I had been drinking lemonade. All in all, however, I think it was very fortunate that there hadn't been i any lemonade for sale and that I had bought a cigar instead of the lemonade. However, there wasn't any lemonade to be had, so I really didn't have much choice in the matter. After the lemonade-cigar epi sode, as I shall call it, we went over toward the north-east to look at the sheep. They were very nice, well-mannered sheep too. Junior thought the one named "Pack-Up- Your - Troubles - in - Your1- Old - Kit- Bag-and-Smile-Smile-Smile" looked a little like me. Then Mrs. Purple picked out her favorite sheep, and a pretty thing it was too ; all white and woolly as sheep are. It's name was "Violet", an appropriate name for sheep, Mrs. Purple thought. Junior had his favorite too, one called "One- of-Cleopatra's-Nights". I don't know whether it was the sheep or the name that attracted Junior's attention ; he has done a lot of read ing. I didn't exactly prefer any special animal; there were several 22 that I liked well enough, but they all looked much alike. One, "Corn- wallis' Surrender", was a pretty thing, unsophisticated and demure in appearance, but the keeper told me confidentially that she wasn't to be trusted, which goes to show that one never can tell about sheep. She hailed from Montana. Junior, who has read the Billy Whisker Series, wanted to see the goats at the other end of the aisle, so we looked at them from where we were. I remembered that there were horses at the show and that we hadn't seen them, and Junior re membered that there were Shetland ponies too and that we hadn't seen them. We hunted up the pony stalls. .We didn't stay very long at the pony stalls, because Junior wanted not only one but all of them ; and I suppose we did leave the amphi theatre too early, but there was nothing else to do. I couldn't buy Junior a pony, much less the whole d'rove, because, in the first place, they probably weren't for sale and anyway I didn't have too much money with me, and then too, there wasn't any place at home to keep ponies (for that matter, a pony). It happens that Junior likes to watch fires, but doesn't like to be in them (and who can blame him?), so I told him there was a fire in the building and that it would be com ing our way any minute, I was sure, and that we'd better go home. Just to make things seem more realistic, I ran up and down the aisle yelling, "Fire ! Fire ! Fire !" at the top (or nearly so) of my voice. Junior was taken in com pletely by my little hoax and in sisted on leaving for home immedi ately. On the way out I noticed there were a good many other peo ple who were leaving too, so may be it was the end of the show any way. We reached home safely. —DONALD PLANT ./MART RENDEZVOUJ Good morning, everybody ! Now let's give three big rousing cheers for the Night Clubs! Night Clubs ! Night Clubs ! Night Clubs ! That was just fine. Now, Johnny, where did you get your black eye last evening? Come, come, we know it wasn't the ice box door. Tell mother all about it. Well, where did you get yours, Orville? Why, this is frightful. We never That is just the difficulty with bright lighting in Chicago. You go every place you ever heard of. You spend your last red ten dol lar bill. You watch millions of little pink and white faces attached to satin slippers jiggle past you, but you don't know anybody. It's just horrible. Maybe the birds of last season have all landed their little mates and are home squeez ing orange juice and walking the offspring. Maybe they've all pro moted millionaires and are migrat ing to America Del Sur to start raising young millionairettes in the light of the copper mines. Or meb- be we are getting old and begin ning to take this business of enter taining ourselves too seriously. God wot. We don't know. But we're hop ing that if we pick out a nice, noisy place with a friendly orchestra leader, and don't throw too many gingerale bottles the first few months, we can get ourselves recognized. In the meantime, watch and pray. Specially the watching part. Nightowling at the Black Hawk If you have used DeMiracle and are out in search of Light and Music, pop into one of the revolv ing doors up on Wabash and Ran dolph. Don't be intimidated by the crowd gathered chumily at the door. You can probably get a table as soon as a few more suffocate or otherwise, and are carried out through the kitchen. Everybody goes there — at least, that's our gen- THE CHICAGOAN eral impression from the number of black and blue spots we have the morning after an evening spent in a corner from which we have not been able to extricate ourselves until daybreak. About that time, the rest of the crowd picks up the debris of the party and starts to ward the south side resorts. But, whether it is the lack of dancing floor, or the joi de voler of the proprietors, there is an. air of informality about the whole thing that is priceless (not that they don't charge for it). The music is wonderful. Coon-Sanders oh mama ! They're the best band in Chicago— beyond a doubt. And both Mr. Coons and Mr. Sanders have that naughty little twinkle in the eye that adds much to their harmonization of "Mary Lou" and "Little Red Riding Hood." Of course, people don't really be gin standing on chairs until twelve o'clock, and it takes half an hour or so before they make the tops of the table. But you can amuse your self, if you get there early, by mak ing center rushes to the dance floor and ordering various things from waiters, to see how many times you have to send to the kitchen be fore you can get anything besides gingerale. The Crillon — Reduced to $4.98 This once snooty little dive has set up its tents and sneaked silent ly back into our midst again ; silently, that is, with the exception of some blatant publicity about 60c luncheons. Which means that it it catering to a small but not so ex elusive clump of people who gc there in the vague, formless hope that they will see some of the people who used to go there last year. They are satisfied occasion ally, when some squirrel coat drifts in the door, smokes three cigaret tes, yawns, and vanishes. Really, though, if you can keep a free mind and a pleasant smile, you'll probably like it. You can't start thinking too much about the (Turn to Pa&e 24) THE CHICAGOAN 23 WORT/ REVI EW IT took wise money to do it. But it took courage and vision also. Courage for Suzanne, Vincent and the others to break thru the artifi cial wall that separates the so- called amateur tennis player from the professional ; the courage to take prizes in the shape of money instead of unnecessary travelling bags or useless cups and tea sets. Call "cash and carry" Pyle all the hard names you wish. We grant that a loose dollar has little an actor give his best to the public made every set cleanly contested. I could see no hippodroming. Mary Browne won her games by getting off to a flying start before Suzanne quite knew what is was all about and the minute the French player found herself she set out to win every possible point. No dancer not even the best breed of Russia could be more en trancing to watch than Suzanne. Her Jewish blood shows itself clearly in her nervous never-still body. Not once while she was on the court was she flat on her feet. She served on tip toes; while she waited to receive she stood on tip- Mr. Pyle was not the only one whose pocket was benefitted. Many of the more expensive seats were unsold and the ushers made a good evening's haul by selling the privi lege of sitting in them to those in the cheaper seats, for the Coliseum is not the ideal site for a tennis match. Suzanne is not as unattractive as her portraits would seem to show, she has the typical French figure, slim legs, small waist and large bust, while her face when she is in action glows with animation and is a great contrast from the hard set expression of Helen Wills. chance in the vicinity of his fingers but still it took vision for the owner of a minor Movie in a small town to see the 'financial possibili ties in the ball carrying ability of even Red Grange and still more vision and courage to beget pro fessional tennis. I admit that I went to the Col iseum dubiously. Without the lure of a title at stake, would the play ers become mere automatons? Would it become the mere me chanical machine like labor of pro fessional baseball? But no. Pyle was too wise. Besides their regu lar salary the weaker players had cash bonuses offered for winning more games than their ability war ranted, while the star's pride, to gether with the feeling that makes toes eternally shifting from spot to spot. The instant she had hit the ball she was off and waiting for the return. Her judgment was marvellous, seldom was she out of position. Her accuracy was uncanny, she put balls so near the alley line time and again that returns were impossible. Nor was hers the only brilliant performance of the evening. The men and Miss Browne played fully as well as they ever had as ama- tuers and with apparent keen en joyment to themselves as well as to the spectators. Of course, being America, there were a lot of people there because it was the thing to do. But the bulk of the audience knew every fine point of the game and ap plauded only at the right times. THE football season for 1926 has drawn to its close. In fact, it has closed. Now comes the selec tion of the All-Conference, .^U- Western, and Ail-American teams. We, too, could pick satisfactory my thical teams, but there is too. much competition. Having seen many teams in action, we are certain. that we have the ability, but we just don't want to. There is, however, a sort of "All" team that we'd like to choose. We think that we could form it prettily enough, and it would be great sport. Some time we shall. Yes, sometime we shall pick an All-Wet (excuse the revival) team. One of the most exciting mo ments of the entirely exciting Army-Navy game was the time 24 THE CHICAGOAN when Ramsden of the Navy fumb led and an Army man (who later was found to have been Daly, the center,) scooped up the ball and ran for his sliding, tieing touch down. No one in our section of the stands seemed to know whom the alert Army man was. We could not distinguish his numerals with out binoculars. And we had no binoculars. Everyone was asking his neighbor the identity of the man. No one knew; nor did his neighbor, and everyone wished to know. Finally the man at our left satis fied the desirous ones. "Well," said he, "I guess that's the Unknown Soldier." We have often thought we would never make a first rate football referee. We are too whimsical — to waggish. Football referees can not be whimsical nor can they be waggish. No, not football referees. They must be phlegmatic. Just the same if we were a football referee, we would allow our whims to run rampant and we should play the wag at will. That is why we would never make good as a foot ball referee. However, if we had refereed the Army-Navy football game, we most certainly should have called time and after we had found the place and then shouted (in an-on-the-marks-position) "Who won the war?" SMART RENDEZVOUS (Continued from page 22) dear dead days when you used to hock the family plate to have a limeade at the Crillon after the opera. You've got to approach it as you would any other young and striving night club that hasn't quite gotten together with its crowd — if you can call the smatter ing of paying guests by that title. It's nice and quiet — though it might be a little nicer if it weren't so quiet. But — without trying to be derogatory — if you like your night clubs that way, there you be ! We don't imagine that it will ever be overwhelmed by the very young, or the butter-and-eggish element, but if the out-for-an-even- ing-and-a-sandwich bunch get wise to this in time, and the music ac quired something akin to life, there may be still hope. Our personal, private suggestion to the men who run the place is — get a band and start advertising something be sides 60c luncheons. Because, if things go on as they seem to be — God help the sailors on a night like this ! While Up at the Opera Club It's at once an education and a depressant to put on the best-but- slightly-wilted formal and try to laugh it off at the Opera Club. That's the smoothest place we know of, in this man's city. It re minds you of Night Clubs in col lege stories — only you can never quite break into the picture. The party flows along nicely over your head, making you feel exactly like the country cousin. The clientelle all looks as if it had just jumped out of the per fumed bath water, grabbed the dia monds, and dashed over. Such clean, clean little white noses ! Such shin ing, well manicured young men! All the little debutantes glitter back and forth in their sweet, fringy dresses, and their gleaming black and white partners do marvellous things with their feet. They make you feel unaccountably old. And their white coiffed parents sitting along the wall ordering vast quan tities of food, make one feel no- accountably young. The only way to be happy is to shut your eyes tight and pretend that you are one of the floating little debs in spangles. And then you miss the style show. —ISABELLA TAVES Moeurs contemporaines a commu nication from the vanguard When one must combine in his own person the duties of physician, midwife, confessor, and god father to the american mind, the problem of writing intelligent criticism of the manifestations of that mind is likely to be confused by a per spective all too immediate. So the bookseller dispensing dream books by Sigmund Freud and the latest occult dervish religious treatises by the Most Reverend Bruce Bar ton and his Eminence George Ber nard Shaw, excellent et cetera, with the ampersand of dispair, err into occasional malice, he should in the charitable hearts of all de cent men find the sympathy which is his due. This has been a year most prolific in translations from the German, the BOOK OF MARRIAGE, THE DECLINE OF THE WEST, Power, Wasserman's Wedlock, to mention four of the most signifi cant, from the French an antho logy of Anatole France, THE GOLDEN TALES, the complete works of Stendhal, Moncrieff's translation, another Marcel Proust, Thais in the Pape illustrations, and the long awaited, Arthur Symons' translation of the complete poetry and prose poems of Baudelaire; England's major prophets have spoken once again Shaw with, TRANSLATIONS AND TOM FOOLERIES, Wells in a Summa Theologia THE WORLD OF WILLIAM CLISSOLD. Wynd- ham Lewis' TARR, out of print for several years has reprinted, Fir- banks VAINGLORY has been .brought out by Brentano's, and Macmillan has published the COMPLETE POEMS of James Stephens and reissued his MARY! MARY ! with the English title, THE CHARWOMAN'S DAUGH TER. May Sinclair has a new novel, FAR END. Elinor Wylie, Frances Newman, Van Vechten, Sherwood Anderson, e. e. cum mings and the anonymous but gifted author of LETTERS TO MY DAUGHTER to name but a very few have written with sur prising conviction and civilization new and valuable contributions to our nascent culture. All this is very hopeful but those hopes are seriously endangered by requests for Zane Grey, Bruce Bar ton, books on palmistry, astrology, and all the other and so forths of intellectual decay. —THE BED ROLL PHILOSOPHER THE CHICAGOAN 25 Ike LEVARDIER before, quiries. I stepped in to make in- UQ.OMETHING is happening O to the Boul. Mich." I said to myself sagely after I had tra versed by foot the entire stretch between the Drake and the Black- stone and was sadly in need of conversation to make me forget cold fingers. "And what is happening to the Boul. Mich.", myself answered back companionable, wriggling her thumbs to encourage circulation, "is also happening to Chicago." Carl Sandburg's "city of the big shoulders" — "with dust all over his mouth", "bragging and laughing like a young man laughs" is almost grown up now. He has washed the dust off his face with scented soap and powdered over its shining sur face; he has confined those mus cular shoulders in a smart waist coat. But what is more— he has stopped his bragging, and he has grown too critical to "laugh as a young man laughs." What are the signs of his grow ing pains ? Well, I saw some gor geous, colored, hand-made rugs in a decorator's window, with patterns of red and green and blue and orange, draped all over the win dow; and in my childish enthus iasm over color I ran impulsively into the shop. " "Oh, do tell me about those rugs!" I burst forth. "Are they the very latest fad — newer, even, than the little hooked rugs?" "Fad?" echoed the sleek, black- garbed one coldly. "We have noth ing to do with fads. What is good once is always good. WHAT IS GOOD ONCE IS ALWAYS GOOD. That is our principle." "But hand-made rugs — aren't they the rage this season ?" "Nothing is the rage with us. We live in the calm of good taste." she answered with the smoothness of marble. "If you want to know about the rugs — they're Spanish." "Spanish," I gasped. "Why, isn't Spanish stuff the rage this season?" But I realized that it was useless. As she led me to the door the sleek, black-garbed one flicked the dust from an eighteenth century fire-screen, and let it go at that. Again, I paused before a shoe display in which a pair of slunk (unborn calf) with cherry patent vamps lifted their toes above the others. Surely this shoe is "the thing they're wearing," I thought meaning by "they" the mythical host who are supposed to be re sponsible for our styles. But feel ing a little less sure of myself than "Oh, no," smiled the one in charge tolerantly, "No one shoe is 'the thing' any more, you know. We've passed that stage. A pair of shoes is bought because it goes with a gown or a suit. A new pair of shoes for every outfit. What gives our shoes distinction is the variety we are able to offer, especi ally in materials. Our customers buy from four to fourteen pairs in one order." Well, at least there'll be a Christmas best seller among the books at Kroch's, I mused consol ingly — some little gift volume not too hard to read that will be on every Christmas tree and later gather dust on every parlor table. The gentleman interrogated laughed with polite amusement at my ignorance. "Ten years ago we featured books like that," he reminisced, "little collections of rhymes and humor in green suede bindings with titles in gilt. Not any more. Peo ple buy a book to-day for its lib rary value. They expect to read it, and read it through. 26 THE CHICAGOAN I he Opera Club may be obtained, with or with out cuisine service, on after noons or evenings, for Private Dances, Teas and Banquets, with the exception of Wednes day and Saturday Nights. By reason of its ten years of service to many of Chicago's Smartest Social Functions the Opera Club is the accepted place for affairs necessitating excellence of service and ap pointments. 18 West Walton Place Tel. Superior 6907 ^a*o$ The Resort of Fashion and the Epicure 18 W. Walton Place Opera Club Building For Reservations Phone Delaware 2592 Luncheon Dinner "Every good book is a Christmas book. One of our very best sellers is 'The Story of Philosophy,' by Will Durant." The conservative judgement that comes with perspective including the decorative art of the centuries ; the highly specialized ; selective power brought by the development of individual taste in dress if it might be called extravagant— the solid merit of buying a book for the purpose of reading it, perhaps be fore you give it away, these are the signs that Chicago has stopped laughing"like a young man laughs" and has begun to take itself seri ously in aesthetic matters — even a bit too seriously. This ensemble craze, now, Oh, no, of course I didn't mean craze — has grown from an innocent femi nine whim of matching coat to dress to an absolute iron-clad necessity for all self-respecting citizens male or female. A man simply cannot buy a red tie, brown-striped shirt, green socks and a pair of yellow shoes to-day. The clerk won't sell them to him. Said the manager of an exclu sive haberdashery : "A man used to come in and pick out a good looking tie. Now that is not enough. He must pick out a tie that goes with a shirt that goes with a suit that goes with a pair of socks that goes with a silk hand kerchief. Naturally he takes three times as long in the transaction. Whereas a hat used to be a cover- for the old bald spot, now it must make him look as near like the Prince of Wales as possible, or his wife will come back with him to complain, a calamity to be avoided above all else." As mute evidence of what the Chicago male has become, at Dock- stader and Sandberg's a dressing- gown hangs in the window — hangs there for all to see, of orange cut velvet shading into mahogany and Beauty and Utility THE large measure of beauty and utility afforded by artistic lighting fixtures, tables, flower stands, chairs and floorlamps is far out of proportion to their moderate cost. If you will call at the Crafts man Shop we will show you how happily beauty and utility are com bined in our hand wrought fixtures and metal furniture pieces. Our distinctive fixtures are hand forged in our own shops by artis ans who take pride in reproducing and creating the best of designs. MASTERS of the METAL ART 152 East Erie Street DESIGNERS AND MANUFACTURERS You would do well to avail yourself of our service Phone us — at any time — We will be glad to send you a selection of books for your choice .... Our number is Superior 2601 and we are open until Midnight every day — including Sundays .... "Books for the Sophisticate" Open Until Midnight e% BOREAS BOOKSTO R E IOQ EAST CHICAGO AVE. THE CHICAGOAN back again, with a black satin lin ing and fringed sash, and black patent leather slippers lined with orange kid. Where, oh where, is the man of yester-year? With the advent of colored leather not only hand-bags but traveling bags and cases and even trunks have been drawn into the ensemble conception. Pearlie Pow ell shows a lavender leather travel ing case with moire lining and lav ender pearl fittings; the same com bination in red, blue, green and salmon pink. Hartman offers hand-bags of calf, alligator, and all colored leathers to be selected with regard to hat, shoes, and other ac cessories, thus imparting the final accent to the costume. But the Hartman wardrobe trunk, "just out", which is covered in duck-cloth in any shade desired — well, the Pullman company will certainly have to design a new berth to accomodate it. No woman would ever consign hers to the cruel impersonality of the baggage car, especially when she had gone to all the trouble of getting a com plete outfit to match. Did you think that stationery had been neglected in this universal color scheme and that you could just write to your friends on any thing as long as you were thought ful enough to write at all? You are mistaken. Hall's are showing a bewildering assortment of hand- bordered note-paper imported from Paris, in every color imaginable. My choice would be a heavy cream paper, with double, two- toned band of chanel red top and bottom, and a monogram breaking through the center of the top one. Another fetching variety is a sheet folded the wrong way 'to', comme il faut a Paris, and the crimson- lined corner turned back to reveal a facsimile of the writer's initials stamped in the same color on the opposite corner. The envelope, needless to say, is lined with the crimson. PARIS - CHEZ - VOUS Importer - Commissioner Bags Novelties Smoking Accessories Costume Jewlery HELEN HAFFENBERG 111 East Chicago Avenue NEW CPEAIIIOW^COIFIHDE 1-}oiJi$ iJieael. Studio* 6ooWoWA$>tH)0ki<Q}ir<Q>N <§TT PnL \ HAND DECORATED j WASTE BASKETS BOOK ENDS ETC. SOLO AT CHICAGCfS EXCLUSIVE GIFT SHOPS INCLU OINO MARSHALL FIELD fcCO. - CARSON P1PJE SCOTT and CO. THE ORIENT SHOPS LTD,- THE EDGEWATER B.H.GIFT SHOP. 28 THE CHICAGOAN SPECIAL [ESPONSIVE to a widespread and insistent demand among music lovers who cannot de vote a fixed day each week to Grand Opera, a plan has been devised whereby absolute and unqualified first choice of seats for all non-sub scription performances is offered with the privilege of selecting from the field the performances of your choice. A special Non-Subscription Performance Season Preferred Script Book gives these advantages, with the additional one of price concessions. These books are sold at two prices — $68.50 and $34.25; their face value is $72.00 and $36.00, respec tively. The script coupons are exchangeable at face value for seats at any price for any performance not included in the Subscription Series. The tentative schedule of thirty-one performances affords an average of two and a half performances each week from which to make a choice. Performances to be given Friday and Saturday evenings, Sunday, and possibly upon Wed nesday afternoons. First choice of seat locations is assured through the fact that these tickets are honored twenty-four hours before the public sale opens. For details call at the new Subscription Office, Wabash Avenue Entrance of Auditorium Theatre (433 S. Wabash Avenue), or write or 'phone for a representative to call on you. CHICAGO CIVIC OPERA COMPANY AUDITORIUM THEATRE Wabash Avenue at Congress Street Telephone: Harrison 1242 *f tOQ. /XllTvT /TlEzQ_ OP, *5T £7hrr wwky XtM^IvS £irT / a .506>5<SGIPTION TO i THE CHICAGOAN L -6r, ONfc. YErtffc. TWO YErdn.«S 312 6 ^2 s5^ND CHECK OP_ Iv5^4 Lt.CrP.iE: St MONtY ORDER. Chicago III. ?X1 Color, color, color, color, match ing, shading, harmonizing, con glomerating. It has been poured into the glass wear and the table china and even the linen, that was always so snowy white in the old days. At Brant's the beautiful sheen of a lavender linen table cloth catches the eye and holds it until the yellow cloth next it and the lavender next that have their turn of attention. Well, why not? Who said that table linen had to be white? Tatman is showing .service plates of powder red English bone china, with the Chelsea bird pattern in the center on a white ground, and red glass goblets. The impression of warmth they give as the guests enter the dining room is flattering to the hostess, especially at this time of year, Chicago weather being what it is and all. It is that first impression that determines the appetite, you know. If we can withdraw ourselves from color long enough to notice anything else, observation of the Spanish influence is interesting and often amusing. Here is the Celotex cottage, for instance, and Huyler's stone-flagged courtyard, with its sharply curving sky, brightly awninged windows and iron-trimmed doors that lead we know not where. Even the waitres ses wear shawls, and roses in their blond "bobs." The chocolate malted milks, we hope, are still American in flavor. Then there is Coral Gables; and "Stop and Shop" has its rough stucco walls and wrought iron trimmings that weave an old- world atmosphere about the moun tains of cold slaw and chicken salad, the frankfurters and mush rooms and glace fruits. Romance is not yet dead. Why, a beautiful Spanish desk at Tobey's has all the nicks in it and everything just like the fourteenth century original. And the Knabe Ampico reproduc ing piano is featured in a Spanish model. Why did Queen Marie dare THE CHICAGOAN 29 say Ave lacked appreciation for the art of the past? Yet the art of the present is even more intriguing — the art that has taken the old golden-oak sewing machine and made of it a thing of beauty and a joy forever like the Eldridge electric cabinet machine; that has dispensed with the chore of removing the tracks of the ice man, and made the preparation of a frozen dessert a pleasure. How can any house-wife who strolls the Avenue face Christmas without the prospect of one of these mar vels of modern refrigeration for her very own ? It would be an insult to call it an ice-box. The basement oil-heater that allows a man to awake naturally without the aid of an alarm clock, if he hasn't been out too late the night before, the electric dishwasher to be seen in the Tribune tower shop;; the self- regulating gas range — all these in their white enamel coats with nickel trimmings make as attrac tive window displays as many of the gowns and furs. But the king of its kind for humor is the hot water heater shown in one of the Gas company's windows. A hot water heater is a good friend on a cold morning, I'll admit — if you haven't got steam heat; but to give it the name of Lovekin, and let Santa Claus drape it in red tis sue paper, calling attention the while to parallel between it and nature's hot water heater, the Yellowstone hot water terrace as exhibited in a miniature model of this phenomenon — that is, I sug gest, laying it on a bit thick. —carol McMillan Moonshine Moons Make a poetic license For lovers. Moons also create illusions in staid bodies. It is, of course, com mercial shrewdness, if we disinte grate this moon and sell it over drug store counters to create illusions and poetic license. — LOUREINE ABER CHICAGO ALLIED ARTS, Inc presents BOLM BALLET DELAMARTER, ORCHESTRA Adolph Bolm Vera Mirova, Guest Dancer First Performance IN A SERIES OF PERFORMANCES Ruth Page, Premiere Dansuese SEATS $1 to $3, on sale at Office; Bertha Ott, 624 So. Michigan Ave., Box Offices Eighth Street Theatre and Lyon and Healy. NICOLAS REMISOFF, Scenic Director at the EIGHTH STREET THEATRE THE CHICAGOAN Five, Six and Seven*room Apartments jor Rent or Co-operative Sale /f NEW apartment building of elegance and refinement, operated G/jL on the semi-co-operative plan. The structure rises sixteen stories high and is of Italian Renaissance design. Apartments are of five, six and seven rooms, with one, two and three baths. Entrance is through a private foyer with both passenger and freight elevator service. 3300 Sheridan Road is the focal point of Chicago's exclusive resi dential section — removed from the grime and noise of the Loop, yet it is a convenient distance from the downtown business district. The building afiords an unobstructed view of the Yacht Harbor and Golf Links in Lincoln Park, as well as miles of the sweeping shore line and blue expanse of Lake Michigan. Of course, highest references will be required. All details will be furnished upon request to interested persons. KRENN & DATO, Inc. Exclusive Agent for Mrs. Rockefeller McCormick Properties 936 N. Michigan Ave. - - Phone Superior 7046 THE CHICAGOAN 31 ITie Bookshelf Galahad — By John Erskine. Neo teric dialogue with King Arthur's Camelot as the background. You remember "The Private Life of Helen of Troy" of course. Introduction to Sally — By "Eli zabeth". An amazingly beautiful blonde Cockney, a Cambridge youth, and a lot of fun. Hot Saturday — By Harvey Fer guson. Now if the girl's name had only been "Saturday" The Orphan Angel — By Elinor Wylie. The trans-America per egrinations of Shiloh (American for Shelley) and a Yankee seaman — and Shiloh's amours. Our Times — By Mark Sullivan. A \:vid, truthful panorama of America from 1900 to 1925. The Casuarnia Tree — By W. Somerset Maugham. Short stories of the outposts of the British Em pire, with the usual good, better, best classification. Mr. and Mrs. Haddock in Paris, France — By Donald Ogden Stew art. And little Mildred, too. Mr. Stewart's usual priceless, Dadaistic style, if you know what we mean. The Time of Man— By Elizabeth Madox Roberts. The "daughter- oi-the-soil" sort of thing. Yet it is so very well done that anticipa tion overpowered ennui. Really for the few. Chevrons — By Leonard Nason. The late war handled with vivid ness and veracity, but hardly •< a work of art. It deserves praise, but not laurels. The Sun Also Rises — By Ernest Hemingway. To say that he is author of "Torrents of Spring" is enough. That Last Infirmity — By Charles Brackett. Really amusing, quasi- farcical, truly satirical. A Man Could Stand Up— By Ford Madox Ford. Third and last of the "Some do not . . . ." line. THE DISTINCTIVE GIFT WITH A PERSONAL TOUCH DRAKE CAMERA PORTRAITS Cfie Diwkt Studio DRArxE HOTEL "SOCIETY'S Of FACIAL PHOTOGRAPHER" Preface To A Life — By Zara Gale. Small-town life done splend idly and a mildly insane small- townsman. Angel — By Du Bose Heyward. The people of the mountains of the Carolinas and a tedious wait for the end. By the author of "Porgy". THE CHICAGOAN \ ! i "fl Case of Good S^ Judgment y ^uy It Today TheBrew You Wanted Many of our old customers en thusiastically tell us that the New EDELWEISS is the finest brew ever to bear the name* In taste, color, full body and foam it is all that could be ex pected of any beverage today* The New EDELWEISS is a per fect brew, in spite of reservations in its manufacture* Buy a half- dozen bottles today and prove to yourself that it is just what you have always wanted* You can easily recognize the New EDELW EISS by the Red Cap on the bottle. Buy it from your grocer or delicatessen, or call CANal 2000— a case of the New EDELWEISS is al ways ready for you. QM?r/M«Ajt*s President, Schoenhofen Co. Visfli at the Xecond Annual m§ mm somr Chicago Riding Club >petQ ft© ftlhe P<yji>0o<s General Admission £/2J? ^Reserved seats on sale also at Lyon and Heaiy and Marsha! Field 6t Corry&any IHm^^^^^l^^icI Jo* r i MARMON announces a new series of custom-built motor cars by distingui shed body builders eading custom designers have been commissioned to build, upon the famous precision -made Marmon chassis, bodies of the most advanced and authoritative mode 4 from an exceptionally wide range of options, Marmon has left it entirely to you to express your own intimate desires and tastes in color harmonies and interior treatment -?* you will find these cars a distinct new achievement in beauty, grace and luxury also complete line of standard cars, $3195, and upward, f. o. h. Marmon Motor Car Company , Indianapolis