Motion Picture Magazine (Feb-Jul 1920)

TELLS /^ v^SPt > ' nfJ^WXHl^rtP mishit! AS discordant as a costume of pink and orange, or as a precious jewel set in a tarnished mounting, is a youth ful, piquant face framed In gray, faded hair. Inattention to this imporA tant detail of the toilette is\^ responsible for the failures of many women of otherwise impeccable appearance to win. recognition in societyor advancement in the professions or in business. Gray, mottled or streaked hair may not be any more readily con« doned than soiled linen or a shiny nose. To be well groomed the hair must be neatly coiffed and any gray spots or streaks must be tinted. BROWNATONE Absolutely harmless ana instant 3n its results is the BROWNATONE method for restoring to faded, gray hair all its pristine beauty and exact original color — any shade from golden to black. Send 11 cents fbrjria! J}oHle iEj and valuable booklet on $ the care of the hair. fW>$Mj,Nt;ji |;*j Two colors: "Light to Medium Brown" and "Dark, Brown to Black. " Two sizes: 35 cents and $1 .15. In Canada, 50 cents and $1 .50. MT< ^>*i.°S°« 49 4-COPPtN BLOG COVINGTON.KY. U.S.A. <B {96 1A££ Paris Green (Continued imitation of a good time he had ever seen. When, presently, several of the couples began to gyrate about the floor in the contortions of a dance invented since he had left for the war, he rose sneakily and departed into the moon-white summer evening. Along the familiar homeward path his feet discovered the way, leaving his brain free to its own dismal reflections. America again ! For two years he had hungered with all his hot, passionate young loyalty to be back, to smell the wild roses, and the hay fields and the scent of red clover steeped in the sun. He had hungered for his own tongue in his ears, his own people about him, friendly faces, familiar, home}'. And now. . . "I wonder what she's doing tonight — that little, laughing cute girl," Luther mused aloud. "She was a winner — honest ! I'd — I'd kind o' like to see her again." And as he said it he collided in the darkness with a soft, hurrying shape, and reaching out to catch it, he found himself holding the Girl of the Paris Boulevards in his arms. For a long moment they stared into one another's faces, then slowly, deliberately Luther released one hand and pinched himself without mercy. "Ouch," he shouted, "I'm not dreaming ! It's you then ! Gosh all fishhooks, where'd you come from ?" He had forgotten for a moment the painful bar of unlike languages that rose between them. But her reply reminded him of it. For she spoke in a voice like a strain of music, words which he did not understand, and which left him no wiser until, in desperation, she felt in her handbag and drew out the scrawled card that he had given her elderly companion that day two months ago. Ma and Pa Green were dozing peacefully on the porch when their son's voice roused them, and they sat up, staring dazedly at the astonishing picture before them. "Ma, this is Maddermerzelle Robinet," Luther said, trying to attain casualness as tho it were quite in the ordinary scheme of things that he should appear in mid-evening, holding the hand of a smiling and obviously foreign little person with a "heathenish" name. "When I was in Paris her father did me a good turn, and I told her if she was ever — if they were ever in America to look us up — " he halted lamery, conscious that his explanation lacked a certain lucidity. Pa Green frankly resigned the situation as beyond him. But Ma struggled for the right phrase. "Well I'm sure, Miss, that any friend of our Lutie's. . ." "It's no use, Ma," her son interrupted. "She dont understand you. I'll talk French to her — tomorrow." The next day, by aid of the French dictionary and much labor, Luther and the young lady — whose name was delightfully, and unpronounceably Mignon — established the following facts. Her father had died suddenly and she had come to America to find her uncle. But for some reason he had not met her ship, and — here, Mignon's English failed utterly, but she managed to convey by eloquent use of dark eyes and slender shoulders that something had frightened her, and had decided her to hunt up her one friend — "Vous etes mon ami, n'est-ce-pas, Monsieur Lu-theur?" she begged him, and Luther with quickened breathing, assured her in terrible French, but all honesty, that she could count on him. Between Ma and Mignon developed a delightful intimacy quite independent of language. Sleeves rolled up to white from page 72) elbows, Mignon made queer, spicy French cakes, churned the butter, and beat up feathery omelets; Ma and she discussed a thousand household matters, each using her own tongue, yet in perfect harmony of understanding. In three days Ma had adopted her. "As likely a gal as I ever see," she told Pa, "and it isn't her fault that she hasn't had advantages and has to talk that jargon. And between you and me, Pa, it looks as if our Lutie — " the rest was lost in a whisper for V"!z ear alone. "Wal, he might do a heap wuss," ' Pa nodded; cannily. He thought it as well net to confess that he had adored Mignon from the first moment he saw her. As for Luther, his share in the haying became purely nominal. He and the mysterious Mignon put in hours in the orchard learning a trifle of English, a smattering of French and a great deal of an older language than either, spoken by the glance of eyes, and the touch of fingers that held a common bock. And the summer ebbed, and the neighbors' tongues wagged over the "furrin gal that's stayin' down at the Greens' and makin' eyes at Lutie." One day Luther encountered a perturbed elderly gentleman in the lane. He greeted him with the faintest accent. "Meestair Green ? Ah ! tell me, is there a young lady staying at your house? A young French lady? My niece, Mignon Robinet. . . " On the way to the house, he related his frenzied search for the girl, whom an accident had prevented him from meeting, and the slender thread of clues that had led him at last to the New Jersey village. "I have worried ver' much," he sighed, "for it was tol' me that some men on the ship were ver' attentif to her and I imagine — " On the porch they were met by Ma Green, wiping reddened eyes, "Oh, Lutie," she greeted him, paying no heed to the stranger in her excitement, "th terriblest thing has happened. Mignon's uncle has just come and carried her off! The poor girl didn't want to go — she took on something awful, but he explained that he had to go without waitin' for you. He was as polite as Deacon Sawyer's first wife, but I thought he'd never get her off, she held on to me so, crying and jabbering in that queer way o' her'n. . ." "Her — uncle!" Luther and the stranger exclaimed the words in unison, then in unison they turned and ran down the lane, leaving Ma staring amazedly after. "Quick — the colt — in the hill pasture," panted Luther between leaps, "I c'n — ride him bareback — know a way to cut off miles — cross country — you get the sheriff and come on after. . ." Ndw a young love story cannot be permitted to end unhappily, and of course you know that Luther caught up with the pseudo uncle and his weeping prisoner at the cross roads, and dealt with that gentleman so effectively that by the time the real uncle arrived with the sheriff, it was a doctor who Avas urgently needed. You may be sure that the good old American arm of the law dealt him several more jolts before it was done with him, and we may safely leave him to its keeping. Likewise the real uncle is of no particular importance to us just now, nor even Ma Green, and Pa and the neighbors. In fact, there were — for a short space of time that August afternoon — but two people of the slightest account in the world. These two, with a jaded and totally bored colt ambling behind them, strolled (Coniinued on page 109)