Picture-Play Magazine (Sep 1919 - Feb 1920)

98 I 'icture-Play Magazine— Advertising Skction of wearing or preen nr. a genuine Dia* mond in an investment■worth money to any man. Don't et the lack of a little ready ca_. obyouoiit. We will tntst you — If you meet your obligations as * agreed. HAVE A CHARGE ACCOUNT Let all ip yo.i ono of our \ diously beautiful Kcnuii Mtonea, prepaid, for /■>«■<■ />■ iv.itx.on. Compare it: ility and Price with any ' 'ii. in th j market. Rcirn. if you wish, at our pense. Or keep it. am' y monthly or weekly you like. lOOi al ,-ed forea h BUY FOR CHRIST MAS EARLY! " void the rush! he post is ilow; delay meana dis-. MONTHS The Little Gem— and Jim Continued from page 51 The secret of a youthful facewillbe sent to any woman whose appearance shows that time or illness or any other cause is stealing from her the charm of ^irlhooc beauty. It will show how without cosmetics, creams, massage, masks, plasters, straps, vibrators, "beauty" treatments or other artificial means, she can remove the traces of age from her countenance. Every woman, young or middle aged, who has a single facial defect should know about the remarkable Beauty Exercises which remove lines and "crow's feet" and wrinkles; fill up hollows; give roundness to scrawny necks; lift up sagging corners of the mouth; and clear up muddy or sallow skins. It will show how five minutes daily with Kathryn Murray'ssimple facial exercises will work wonders. This information is free to all who ask for it. Results Guaranteed Write for this Free Book which tells just what to do to bring back the firmness to the facial muscles and tissues and smoothness and beauty to the skin. Write todav. KATHRYN MURRAY, Inc. Suite 1259 Garland Bldg. Chicago Illinois is a fascinating booklet. It tells how a man accumulated $10,000 in ten years on a total investment of $3,000, putting in an average of $25 monthly. "Playing the Game" was originally sold at S1.00 per copy, but is now reprinted and we send it free to anyone ambitious to achieve financial independence. It contains nothing for the man who wants to rret rich in a hurry, but will be helpful to all who wish to save from $5 to S100 monthly and invest by a safe method. KR1CBCI/ 6c CO. INCORPORATED Investment BanKers 143G South La Salle St., Chicago twenty-six, w ith a husband and two children, is playing with fire. One morning we had a real quarrel across the breakfast table. It began with a trifle, it ended with Jim's saying — well, Jim and I have agreed to forget what we said then. All the forenoon, I went about my housework feeling myself the most abused girl in the world. In the movies, a wife misunderstood, neglected, as I was, would have found some way out, I thought. I could see no way — I would have to live on in a town that bored me, with a husband who no longer loved me, I dropped great tears of self-pity on my duster. That afternoon Beth and I went to the movies as usual. I do not remember the name of the play we saw that afternoon, but I do remember every detail of it. In the beginning there was a wife, misunderstood, whose husband did exactly the kind of things Jim did, ate onions, went to sleep in his chair, forgot her wedding anniversary — committed every one of Jim's sins of commission and omission. And she left him and married the other man. Before the end of the play, she was more than glad to go back to her first husband. I left the theater and walked homeward, thoughtful. I wondered if that would be my case, too; if, perhaps, these things that worried me so much were not the little things, after all. I fancied myself leaving this town where I had grown up, where all my friends lived. When it came right to the question, would I be any more eager to do so than Jim ? I thought of myself as married to some other man Suddenly, I remembered the night that little Jim was born — the doctor had laughingly declared that it was harder for Jim than for me. Disconnected visions flickered before my eyes, bits of our life together, the time that Nancy had had the croup when we had fought together for our baby, our first dinner in the new house. There are a few bits of stark reality in every life that cannot be touched by mawkish sentimentality. Jim was not at home when I got there. I remembered that he had gone over to the next town to see about buying some lumber. I went about the tasks of getting dinner, my old common sense slowlv coming back. The living room would look nice with a fireplace; I might have reminded Jim that the next day was my birthday, I decided. When it was seven o'clock and Jim had not come, 1 began to be a little worried — what was keeping him ? At half past, I gave the children their supper and put them to bed. Then I walked down to the gate to watch for him. The minutes dragged along and no Jim. The memory of our morning's quarrel came back to me — suppose something had happened to Jim, with that between us. Suppose something had happened to Jim ! The sudden fear came over me like a chill. I found myself straining my eyes trying to see his familiar figure coming down the dusky road, swallowing over a lump in my throat. I could see him sprinkling the sweet peas, mending a leaky faucet in the kitchen, going down to look at the furnace on a cold morning. I thought of life without Jim, never to see him comin? home arain ! In the desolation that swept into my heart, every bit of mawkish sentimentality vanished. Suddenly, in the distance, I heard footsteps. -It was almost dark, but as I hurried down the road I could just recognize the familiar figure. "Oh Jim !" He was explaining what had kept him — T did not hear the words. The sound of his voice; the warm comfort of tucking my arm in his ! "You — you aren't mad at me yet, are you?" I asked. "Lord, no. I " Jim hesitated — nice speeches were not in his line — "I'm not mad at you, old girl." "Old girl !" Suddenly all the romance in the world was in those two words. Let the movie lovers clothe theirs in fine speeches — theirs was pretense — mine was real. We still go to the movies. Jim still says, "Wake me up when they start the comedy !" Beth Porter and I often go in the afternoon and have a wonderful time crying over the persecuted heroine. But there is no more sentimentality. I decide how I can copy the star's dress in thirtynine-cent voile, I dry my eyes and powder my nose. And I go out, thanking Heaven that I've got Jim to go home and get dinner for.