Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1920)

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104 rtlUlUI'I^Ar iVlAUA^.IlMi i-VL»>Cnil01i>U Oi:.l..lH.*iN *.--/ Your Hair Needs "Danderine jj Save your hair and double its beauty. You can have lots of long, thick, strong, lustrous hair. Don't let it stay lifeless, thin, scraggly or fading. Bring back its color, vigor and vitality. Get a 35-cent bottle of delightful "Danderine" at any drug or toilet counter to freshen your scalp; check dandruff and falHng hair. Your hair needs stimulating, beautifying " Danderine'* to restore its life, color, brightness, abundance. Hurry, Girlsl O/iFACE POWDER <&^ JUadchj, L.T PlVGR.%w^a««. Fraqrant in ^"^"^ ■ . <^ , . , VEGETAL lis breetmg ToiLcrwArm Lingering in """"" its Farewell 15 cents brinqs a dainfy. BEAUTY BOX m^ mr»rmt» «««i»U >rA2UREAli»ft»4« 5M.k«t (Vwdar tM KUvrrtf CHA5.BAEZ So\tKc,mf*^.S.<,ndConoi9 . E 1Atati2ta.i\t*t\ NawYsrIiCtx mmr^ "^ -^afla&tirriffg58hBBT;ffS?saaa^ You too can learn to play your favorite instrument Wonderful home study music lessons under great American and European teachers. Endorsed by Paderewski. Master teachers guide and coach you. Lesaons a marvel of simplicity and completeness. The only recognized Conservatory of Music giving lessons by the UNIVERSITY EXTENSION METHOD. The ideal of a genuine Conservatory of Music for home study based upon lessons containing the cream of the life's teaching experienceof Master Musicians, reinforced by the individual instruction of specialistB, is now attained. The instruction of a master — the individual touch of an accomplished teacher — is yours to command from, the very moment you enroll. TheUniversityExtensionConservatory, by adopting the Personal Instruction Method, has placed home music study beyond question as to results. Anyone can learn at home. Anv InsfnimAnf Write, telling us course you are ^-Vliy IllMrUIIieni. mterestedln— piano, Harmony, Voice, Public School Music, Violin, Comet, Mandolin , Guitar, Banjo, or Reed Organ— and we will send our Free Catalog with details of course you want. Send now. UNIVERSITY EXTENSION CONSERVATORY ii^Si Siegei>ivlyers Building Chicago, Illinois The Girl on the Cover (Continued from page 58) took to give herself a comic trip to Europe. Her house is splendidly furnished, but it is not, as many of her ardent devotees probably believe, the upholstered answer to a dizzy outpour of gold. She has a marvelous sideboard which would grace any home — yet she drove a bargain for it at an auction — an old estate. A dealer hunted many months for her wonderful set of old China. Her glass service, some of which is of rock-crystal comparable only to the displays in the Metropolitan Museum, was the chance treasure of a dusty auction-room. Her books, many of them rare volumes and first editions, she has picked up in the same way in this country and abroad. I wonder how far most women, or even most men, would have gotten in acquiring the fine things of mere living had they been given Pearl White's money carte blanche? But it was not in a recounting of bargains, a resume of property or a look through a pile of world-gathered mail that I was particularly interested. It was in the psychology of a woman who has garnered, before thirty, more fame than a queen, and more actual adventure with life than the wildest of her serial heroines. What next? What, of interest, can be next? The answer I found in Miss White's healhty, red-blooded interest in life just as — life. How much she has done that other successful young women have not done, or have neglected to do ! In the first place she is, I suppose, in about as good physical condition as Mr. Dempsey when he entered the Toledo ring. She eats sparingly. She lives quietly. She has many acquaintances, but her circle of real friends is limited to very few. The jazz of metropolitan existence does not appeal to her at all. About once a week she stays in town to see a new play, merely to keep up with the times. Two or three evenings a week friends in the neighborhood come in to play bridge. She sleeps seven hours every night. She is always on hand, at her studio, early in the morning. Sometimes it is the chauffeur and her Rolls-Royce, at the Bayside door at eight a. m. Other times she drives her Stutz into town, herself— for the girl who saved her pennies under an old jug in a Missouri cellar until she had fifty of them against the possible arrival of a circus can now, without any cheap ostentation or vulgar extravagance, select her car of a morning as many an envious and infinitely less worthy woman selects her dress. For one thing, her literary career did not end, as it began, with "Just Me." I think I am telling, for the first time, that she is half through a novel! What it's about she doesn't want to say. In fact, she doesn't want to say anything about it at all, for the literary works of non-professional writers are wisely not counted in the incubator. But she has made a great friend — a pal, almost — of a man who has written several worthy things, and who, if properly encouraged, should be a credit to his community and his home paper. This man is Vicente Blasco Ibanez, and, during several visits paid her at her place, they talked, as Miss White says: "In gestures, his Sp:inish, my bum French, and my eight words of Italian." But this is not doing justice to her French, which would carry her anywhere that the international language of courtliness is used. One of Ibanez' most amusing stories, which he told on numerous occasions during his New York visit, was of seeing people, during an air-raid in Paris, running wildly to a theatre. TSiinking it an unusually safe place, probably, the portly author ran the (Concluded on page 105) Every adVLitisemciit in PHOTOPI-.W MA(!.\ZINE Is giiaranteed.