We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
m
A
£j Culinary Chat With Wanda
^3^
Photograph by Hartsook, L. A.
Wanda Hawley says she was brought up the good oldfashioned way, learning cooking and home management. All of which helps, now that Wanda is married. Imagine a wifey with Wanda's blonde cuteness who can actually cook !
w
"HEN I opened the door of the Hawley bungalow in response to a summons from somewhere within, I was greeted only by the sound of footsteps in the room overhead, and a great clamor of pots and pans in the kitchenette. I pictured the steps above as belonging to Wanda, who was doubtless getting into some charming frock in honor of my presence at dinner, and I was about to .go on up, this privilege being mine by right of having known Wanda for many years, when the tumult in the kitchen ceased suddenly, and from the open door there emerged not the Chinese cook or colored maid that I had imagined, but Wanda herself, flushed of face, disheveled of hair, wearing a dress torn in several places, flecked with flour and spotted with grease. (f\ "Oh, Emmy," she greeted me hastily, "you will excuse
iAfi£
the way I look, wont you ? You know, I cook my own dinners "
"You do?" I demanded, incredulously. "I was told by a press agent that you did, but I didn't think it possible!"
Wanda laughed, and her dimples appeared automatically. "Why, of course it's possible," she assured me. "I always cook dinner unless I'm working awfully late, and in that case we go out to a cafe. You must remember that I was brought up in the good oldfashioned way, and my mother taught me how to cook. Why, Burton and I" — Burton is friend husband, and he belonged to the footsteps in the room above — "we'd much rather eat here in our own little bungalow than at a hotel or restaurant. Sit down, Emmy ; dinner will be ready in just a minute. Burton darling, wont you please hurry!" She paused to call up the stairway, then flitted into the kitchenette again, where the clamor of pots and pans began again with a vengeance.
Wanda, it might be remarked, in passing, is not the type of person that one would take to be domestic ; one can as easily imagine a bird o' paradise in a hen-coop. Yet, when it comes to that, she is a deceiving little person in many ways. She is just a wee bit of fluff with pale gold hair, sky-blue eyes and a cream-and-rose complexion that is light-proof and time-defying. She looks like a Dresden doll — and has the mind of a Portia ; she can quote Latin until your head swims, and she plays the Rachmaninoff prelude with the bold, powerful technique of a maestro. One would imagine, to look at her, that her chief delight would be dining at a fashionable cafe, with pink lights and a decollete gown to enhance her charms. Yet here she was, in a soiled blue house-dress, entirely happy and unashamed, flitting from kitchenette to diningroom, laughing and chatting and sending occasional calls to the room above for Burton to please hurry, like a regular housewife whose only knowledge of the movies is