One Girlie's Secret

PATRICIA COLLINGE

Written in the Manner of the Advertisements now so Popular in the Women's Fashion Magazines

NO one knows with what trepidation I watched the first of April approach, for was it not to be the night of nights—the longed-for night—upon which I was to meet my hero—John De Fish. My hero of the playing fields, whose prowess through college I had watched, ever since I was a tiny girl.

I shall never forget one day when I was, oh, so young—I couldn't have been more than twenty-five—when my nurse brought me to see him play football with the Yale crew. Oh, what a day that was! How I loved and lived every moment of it with him! With what awe I watched him when, at a critical moment, they passed him the ball, and—he dropped it. Never will I forget the excitement, when one of the opposing crew seized the football and scored a home run, winning the game in the last few moments of play. I can never, never forget the beautiful immobility of John's countenance at that moment; his head, so nobly held, suggesting, somehow, a statue of ivory. And, to my dying day, I will remember the cries of those dear, impulsive Yale boys, as they chased him around and around the field, yelling, "Kill him!" and showing other evidences of their great feeling for him. And oh, how I cried when they carried him off the field in an ambulance. That was a great day for me.

From that day on, although he gave up outdoor sports (mostly through the influence of the coach, who told him he was fitted for higher things), and devoted the rest of his college life to solitaire, he still remained the hero of my childhood days. So, who can wonder at my deep rejoicing when my dear friend, Mamie, told me that she was giving a dance—an intimate dance—for only two or three hundred of her most intimate friends, and that—joy of joys—my John—my Jack—(for, in the secrecy of my heart, I had coined for him that nickname)—my John De Fish was being invited especially to meet me.

My girlish fancies soared high. I thought about it for weeks—the great moment when we were to meet: what should I say to him, and, the great question: what should I wear.

Fatherless and Poor

NOW, I must confess to you a little about myself. My father died when I was quite young; I can't have been a day over thirty—a mere slip of a girl. Father had sunk his fortune in the stock market, some private stock, I think Mother said it was. We were left practically penniless. Of course, we had the town house and the country place and our little camp in the Adirondacks and the Florida bungalow, and Mother disposed of some of father's stock to our Congressman. But poor Mother had only her own little income—not more than fifty thousand or so a year, while I—I had nothing—a paltry ten thousand to pay my little debts, give ,my little parties and dress my little body.

But we were very brave, Mother and I, and very proud. And, although practically homeless, we kept up a brave front and struggled along. Now perhaps you can understand why I was so worried about my dress—the dress that should mean so much to me in my great moment.

Mother and I went to my wardrobe and looked over my things. What to do, what to do! First, we discussed my French frocks. There was the last one from Paquin; that was too long: and one from Cheruit; that was too short. The Lanvin model—not short enough! And my American models—they were all in this year's style, and I knew that every girl at the dance would wear a next year's creation. At last I picked out a silver lace dress and after careful study of two copies of The Girlie's Boon Companion, Mother and I changed and cut, particularly cut, the costume till finally we achieved something that we felt might pass muster if I were very careful and kept out of strong lights.

After the last day of March came the first of April, the night of the ball that was to mean so much to me. At seven of that eventful evening, I started to do my face and by nine I was ready to dress. I stepped into my poor little frock and tried not to worry about the result. At any rate, I thought, I have my pearls; they will cover much. So I went to the party.

Never, never will I forget the scene as I entered the ballroom. There he was—my hero —looking every inch of his five feet threeand-a-half, not a bit changed except for a slight baldness. My hostess presented us, and we met. But before I could speak to him, other girls crowded up—girls in the most exquisite frocks all of them, as I had feared, models of 1923. I wandered away disconsolate, but again my hostess found me and once more presented my hero, and once more he was swept from me. We were introduced four times before supper and twice afterwards, and still I made no impression on him. In desperation I seized what seemed to be my last opportunity, and, as he danced past me in the arms of the largest lady on the floor, I let my girlish impulses sway me and with a gentle and modest smile cut in on him. We danced on and on till suddenly, hopelessly, I realized the truth: he hadn't noticed the change of partners. With a sob I tore myself from his arms and fled from the hall.

A week later, when I was convalescent, I was reading an old magazine—little dreaming that in its pages I was to find the solution of my troubles. Suddenly, as I scanned it listlessly, something caught my eye. I paused! It caught my other eye! Using both eyes, I read, and read again. I jumped from my bed and called to Mother's secretary: "Miss Leadbeatter, send out invitations at once for a ball to be given two weeks from today in honor of Mr. John De Fish."

Then, for two weeks, I denied myself to all callers. It was given out that I was resting, but wait, and you shall hear how I rested. The article that had brought new hope into my life was an advertisement from The Girlie's Boon Companion. It was called "Simple Lessons in Home Dressmaking". I sent for instructions; I sent for patterns. Then, how I sewed! Till at last, after many trials, my dress was complete.

I made it very simply out of old oilcloth— out of Mother's last year's rubbers I made an exquisite head-dress. I concocted a girdle out of a rubber sponge that I had once discarded as of little or no further use,—little did I know what the Home Dressmaking lessons were to teach me. The waist I fashioned from old blotting paper and garnished with parsley. Around my neck I hung a necklace of Father's old razor-blades. Mother sobbed when she saw the blades and joined with me in a tearful prayer of thankfulness to The Girlie's Boon Companion.

The night of the ball came. My guests arrived. I was ready to greet them—no longer doubtful about myself or about my dress, I took a last look at myself in the mirror, and, as I turned to leave my little room, I smiled at the glass and the glass smiled back.

The Secret Disclosed

SLOWLY I descended the stairs and stood in the doorway of the ballroom, smiling, serene, toying carelessly with my razor-blades. I was conscious of a great hush. The music stopped. The dancing stopped. The clock stopped. And then John De Fish came to greet me. He pulled his invitation out of his pocket and, glancing quickly at it, took my hand in his and said, "How-do-you-do, Miss Smith?"

He had remembered me. I had made an impression at last.

Later, as we sat in a parked limousine, he asked me how I had achieved such a transformation. "My first thought as you entered the ballroom," he said, "was that you might possibly be advertising something."

Oh, dear reader, can you guess how happy I was, and how in after years when, as Mrs. De Fish, I gathered all the little Fishes 'round me, I blessed the article that had opened the doors of happiness to me. And although John has fast risen to wealth, becoming one of the most prominent bootleggers in our town, and I want for nothing, I am not idle; I make all my own clothes, all the kiddies' clothes, and some of the chauffeur's uniforms. Sometimes we have a little trouble keeping chauffeurs, but otherwise my life is one glad, sweet song. I study the lessons by day and read them aloud to the kidlets in the evenings.

This is the end of my little story, and my one hope is that many girls like myself will read and learn that they too can find wonderful joy in the Home Dressmaking Lessons of The Girlie's Boon Companion.