The Photo-Play Journal (Jul 1919-Feb 1921)

12 EB PHOTO-PLAY JOURNAL July, lgig iratennewmg Retime s>i®iniejni©iin§ i==5^==^== By ADELE WHITELY FLETCHER unawares UTHIE Stonehouse is just the nicest sort of person imaginable. She's the sort of girl you would choose for a pal at boardingschool or college — that's why she's remained a favorite of the fickle public for such a very long time. Remember, it was back in the Essanay days that she first appeared and she's been with us ever since, always pleasing. An afternoon spent with her is a jolly afternoon always. There's innocent gossip, delicious chocolates, a bit of deep conversation which shows just how far into facts Ruth does delve, and last, but not least, an inspection of her spacious wardrobe, which always offers delights anew. "Ruthie" takes every bit as much pleasure in displaying her new treasures as one takes in seeing them. On this particular afternoon, I called upon her in her dainty and very Frenchy pink suite of rooms, which are most beautiful. Her tiny self was curled up on the lounge as she read the scenario of the serial, "The Masked Rider," on which she was then working. When I made my presence known, the manuscript was thrown aside and in another minute I was ensconsed in the most comfortable chair, my wraps whisked away to goodness knows where, while Ruthie stood before me gazing scornfully down on her very beautiful pink and orchid silk negligee, and explaining that she had meant to dress Ruth Stonehouse in Her Squirrel Cape and Silver Fox Collar before I came, but had lost track of the time. "One minute to change," she pleaded and darted into another room with a dress, snatched from the closet, over her arm. In almost the minute she returned a bit more formal in appearance in a pretty afternoon frock of grey silk with fluted ruffles about the oval neck and wing sleeves of pink chiffon. "Remember," she said, "you have come to visit, not to ask a thousand questions and then write everything I say in the magazine." I looked guilty, I'm sure, but Ruthie didn't seem to notice and we were soon exchanging bits of news and visiting to our hearts' content. Finally I managed to ask casually : "Any new frocks?" The plunge had been made — I knew I would get a fashion story after all, for she was on the way to the huge closet with nary a thought in her pretty head that I wanted to see the frocks in order to write about them. "Here's a little walking dress I had made for shopping and such things," she exclaimed, bringing forth a dark blue suede cloth fashioned with wide, gathered tucks in the back, a girdle of the crushed material, and otherwise quite plain and equally smart. "It looks great with my fur and I bought this queer little chapeau to go with it," exhibiting a small shaped hat, almost poke, which was of dark georgette crepe with a silver cloth cocky bow and faced in silver as well. "Like it?" she questioned, holding it from her and examining it. Of course I liked it! One couldn't have done otherwise and she replaced it upon the pink silk hanger and brought forth the most beautiful squirrel cape I've ever seen. It had a wide collar of silver fox and fell below her hips. "I love this," she explained, burying her face in the soft fur, "and it looks so pretty with my black satin dress, the one with all the fringe, you know. It's soft, don't you think?" Again I agreed with her — where Ruthie Stonehouse finds the things she finds, I'm sure I don't know. Her clothes are always beautiful, and so like her dainty self that one wonders if she hasn't a bunk like we used to have in our kiddie days for four-leaf clovers. "Now comes a dinner dress," her face radiant, as she brought forth a creation in dull blue satin embroidered lavishly in old gold. The underskirt had a tiny band of gold lace about the bottom and the bands holding a dull blue chiffon cape over the shoulders were of gold cloth, while a heavy gold tassel hung from either side of the overskirt. With this she explained that she wears dull blue stockings and gold cloth slippers, and carries a huge fan of pale blue feathers. One could picture the tiny lady, with her big brown eyes and fair hair, in this frock, and hoped for an opportunity to see her thus. Placing that back on a hanger of orchid satin, she brought forth another gown, a guilty look upon her expressive face. "This is my very grown-up dress, and it makes me look delightfully tall," she hastened to say, for she had a feeling I would scold her for getting a dress with such lines. She is such a child that it did seem a pity until she tried it on to prove her point. She won the day for she did look charming in the gown of silver cloth, with its empire waist fashioned of silver spangles, a band of them Miss Stonehouse in a Dinner Gown of Dull Blue Satin Embroidered in Gold over one arm. The other shoulder had a band of crushed black net, which fell into a long tight sleeve and extended over the back in a full cape, bordered in silver spangles. "With this," Ruthie explained, jubiliant now that she had proved her point, "I wear silver slippers." While she was changing again into the little silk frock, her maid wheeled in a cream wicker tea wagon with the tea things of a delicate pink china, a pink vase in the center of the plates with their delicacies, holding orchids and lilies of the valley. Presiding over the tea things, Ruth chattered brightly and I left, feeling very guilty when I thought of how I was going to write the whole thing — but I know Ruthie'll forgive me, she's such an adorable, forgiving little thing. And I just had to do it, for with all her sweetness, Ruthie has a strong will of her own and the interview just had to be written.