The Celina Record (Celina, Tex.), Vol. 36, No. 6, Ed. 1 Thursday, August 5, 1937 Page: 3 of 32
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THE CELINA (TEXAS) RECORD
SYNOPSIS By Emilie LlOnn^ the house, by the muted thunder cl
Irvin S. Cobb
CAN FRANCISCO, CALIF.—
Cj They have mighty fine hotels
in this town. I've stayed at
several of them and friends of
mine have been put out of some
of the others.
And once I enjoyed a fire scare
here when the alarm, at 3:30 a. m.,
brought to the lobby
a swarm of moving
picture actors with-
out any makeup on
and not much else.
This was in the era
of the silent films,
but you wouldn’t
have dreamed it to
hear the remarks of
an hysterical lady
star when she dis-
covered that her
chow had been for-
gotten. The current
husband also was temporarily miss-
ing but she was comparatively calm
about that. She probably figured a
husband could be picked up almost
any time whereas darling little Ming
Poo had a long pedigree and rep-
resented quite a financial invest-
ment and anyhow was a permanent
fixture in her life.
Through the strike here, the trav-
eling public seemed to make out.
Maybe visitors followed the old
southern custom—stop with kinfolks.
Think, though, how great would
have been the suffering had the
strike occurred during prohibition
days when transient guests might
have perished of thirst without
bright uniformed lads to bring them
first-aid packages in the handy hip-
pocket sizes! Bellhops qualified as
lifesavers those times.
• • •
Humans in the Raw.
A S I behold vast numbers of fel-
** low beings strolling the
beaches, yes, and the public thor-
oughfares too, while wearing as few
clothes as possible—and it seems to
be possible to wear very few in-
deed—I don’t know whether to ad-
mire them for their courage or sym-
pathize with them in their suffering
or deplore their inability to realize
that they’d be easier on the eye if
they’d quit vying to emulate the
raw oyster—which never has been
pretty to look upon and, generally
speaking, is an acquired taste any-
For a gentleman who ordinarily
bundles himself in heavy garments
clear up to his Adam’s apple, this
warm weather strip-act entails a lot
of preliminary torture. At first our
forked stalk of celery bleached out
in the cellar. Soon he is one large
red blot on the landscape, with fat
water blisters spangling his brow
until he looks as if he were wearing
a chaplet of Malaga grapes, In
the next stage he peels like the wall-
paper on an Ohio valley parlor after
• • •
Destructive Hired Help.
COMEBODY found a stained glass
^ window in an English church
dating back to G85 A. D., but still
intact. And from the ruins of a
Roman villa, they've dug out a mar-
ble figure of Apollo—the one the
mineral water was named after—in
a perfect state although 2,000 years
These discoveries are especially
interesting to this family as tending
to show that hired help isn’t what it
must have been in the ancient time.
We once had a maid of the real
old Viking stock who, with the best
intentions on earth, broke every-
thing she laid finger on. Moreover,
she could stand flatfooted in the
middle of a large room and cause
treasured articles of virtu, such as
souvenirs of the St. Louis World’s
fair and the china urn 1 won for
superior spelling back in 1904 at the
Elks’ carnival, to leap to the floor
and be smashed to atoms. She
didn’t have to touch them or even
go near them. I think she did it by
animal magnetism or capillary at-
traction or something of that nature.
The first time we saw the Winged
Victory, Mrs. Cobb and I decided it
must have been an ancestor of
Helsa who tried to dust it—with the
disastrous results familiar to all lov.
ers of classic statuary.
• • ♦
The Reaping Season.
OERTAIN crops may not have
done so well, due to weather
conditions, or, as some die-hard
Republicans would probably con-
tend, because of New Deal control.
But, on the other hand, hasn’t it
been a splendid ripening season for
sit-downs, walk-outs, shut-ups, lock-
outs and picket lines?
It makes me think of the little
story the late Myra Kelly used to
tell of the time when she was a pub-
lic school teacher on New York’s
East Side. She was questioning her
class of primary-grade pupils,
touching on the callings of their re-
spective parents. She came to one
tiny sad-eyed little girl, shabby and
thin and shy.
’’Rosie,” she asked, “at what does
your father work?”
“Mein poppa he don’t never work,
Teacher,” said Rosie.
“Doesn’t he do anything at all?”
“Well, what does he do?”
IRVIN S. COBB.
Brooke Reyburn visits the office of Jed
Btewart, a lawyer, to discuss the terms of
an estate she has Inherited from Mrs. Mary
Armanda Dane. Unwittingly she overhears
Led talking to Mark Trent, nephew of Mrs.
Dane wbo has been disinherited. Mrs. Dane
had lived at Lookout House, a huge struc-
ture by the sea. built by her father and
divided Into two. for her and Mark’s father.
Brooke had been a fashion expert, and Mrs.
Dane, a "shut-in.” hearing her on the
radio, had invited liar to call and developed
a deep affection for her. Mark discloses
that Mrs. Dane had threatened to disinherit
him If he married Lola, from whom he is
now divorced. He says he docs not trust
Henri and Clotilde Jacques, Mrs Dane’s
servants. He says he is not interested in an
offer of Brooke’s to share the estate with
him. Leaving her department store Job.
Brooke refuses an offer to "go stepping"
wilh Jerry Field, a carefree young man
who wants to marry her. At a family con-
ference she learns she must live at Lookout
House alone, since Lucet.te. her younger
sister who is taking her Job, her brother,
Sam, a young playwright, and her mother
plan to stay in the city. Jed and Mark are
astounded when they hear from Mrs. Greg-
ory, a family friend, that she had wit-
nessed a hitherto unknown will with Henri
and Clotilde two weeks before Mrs. Dane
died. Brooke had arrived Just as she was
leaving. Jed suggests that Mark open his
part of Lookout House, get friendly with
Brooke and try to find out about the will.
Jed agrees to ^ay witli him. Mark accepts
Brooke’s invitation for a family Thanks-
giving dinner at Lookout. Mrs. Reyburn
announces on Thanksgiving eve that she
has been invited to England. Sam and
Lueolte decide to move in with Brooke and
Sam plans to produce a new play locally.
After the Thanksgiving dinner Brooke tells
Mark that little of Mrs. Dane's silver col-
lection is left. Jerry Field and Ids sister
Daphne drop in and announce they will be
neighbors for ihe winter. Sam adds them to
the cast of his play. Later Inspector Har-
rison of the local police visits Mark and is
informed about the missing will and silver.
As Harrison leaves. Lola arrives. She an-
nounces that she and her new husband. Bert
Hunt, have started a neighborhood filling
station. Mark almost makes a break about
the missing will and Brooke is suspicious.
Returning home, she sees Lola talking cov-
ertly to Henri. "Mr. Micawber.” Mrs.
Dane's pet parrot, is missing. Henri is
ugly and warns Brooke she had better like
him and Ciotilde.
She reached the question and a
door at the same time. As Mark
Trent opened it, a slightly musty
smell, a blend of camphor and old
books and ancient furniture, stole
out. He motioned with the flash in
his hand. Brooke’s eyes followed
the light. She set her teeth hard in
her lips to keep back an exclama-
tion of astonishment. On a large
table, illumined by the spotlight,
surrounded by boxes and trunks and
storeroom litter, was a massive tea-
service and perhaps a dozen dishes
and pitchers of silver, tarnished to
a light copper color. A scrap of
paper drifted to the floor.
“It's a great hide-out, isn’t it?
She nodded in answer to the low,
“When did you discover it?”
“Thought I heard strange sounds
upstairs when Jed and I were wait-
ing for you in the living-room the
other afternoon. The Japs’ rooms
are in the L on the first floor, and
when I had this house opened I
told the caretaker not to touch the
third. After you and Mrs. Gregory
left, I investigated and found this
silver. I’ve been on the watch ever
since to discover who put it here.
This afternoon someone slipped a
cog, and left both keys; must have
been frightened off, or else they
were left purposely so that a sec-
ond party might have access to the
“Who put the loot, as you call it,
in that room?”
“That’s what you and I will find
That “you and I” was fuse to dy-
namite. Brooke leaned back against
“You will, you mean, you and
your sleuth Jed Stewart. You and
he are spies, aren’t you? Amateur
detectives. ‘Mark, to you,’ you say
to Sam, and all the time you are
spying on his sister and accusing
her of 'undue influence,' of hypno-
tizing an old woman into leaving
her a fortune. I ought to have
known what you thought of me when
you said that. I do now. Find out
who stole the silver. You’ve put
Inspector Harrison on the case,
haven’t you? I wish you luck.”
She jerked her wrist free and ran
down the stairs. She stopped at the
foot of them. A tirade like that she
had just delivered took one’s breath
for a minute. Why, why had she let
Mark the Magnificent know that she
suspected his reason for ^occupying
the house? She, who had prided her-
self on her self-control in business?
Why couldn’t she be diplomatic?
Her outrageous temper was the an-
swer. Thank Heaven she had had
sense enough not to tell him of Hen-
ri's threat that he could put her out
of Lookout House.
A sound! Someone had touched
the knob on the other side of tbe
door! Had the person remembered
that both keys had been left? Now—
row Mark and she would find out
who had taken the silver.
Stealthily she touched the button
and plunged the top floor into dark-
nes^ She raced up the stairs. Car-
omd0 into Mark Trent coming out
of the storeroom. She clutched his
“Shut the door! Quick! Someone
is fumbling at the hall key. Per-
haps he’ll come for this one.”
He held her by one arm as he
noiselessly closed the door. In the
dark he drew her into another room.
Side by side they waited. Brooke’s
heart shook her body. How could
the man so near her help hearing it
thump in the tomblike silence?
A spot of light. Creeping up!
Creeping up! Her breath caught in
* gasp. An arm slipped rounu her
© Emille Lorlng.
shoulders and held her so close that
the scent of the crushed gardenias
“Ssch! Mustn’t let him know we
are here!” Mark Trent whispered.
The spot of light illumined the
key in the door, illumined the black-
gloved hand which gently turned it
and as gently drew it out.
Mark Trent felt the hard beating
of the girl’s heart as his arm tight-
ened about her shoulders, the soft-
ness of her skin against his hand.
He didn’t dare release her for fear
she might make a sound and reveal
their presence to the unknown per-
son in the hall. What a good lit-
tle sport she was. She had followed
him into his house with no embar-
rassment, but with a modern girl’s
interpretation of propriety, her ig-
noring of outworn conventions. Just
the same, he wished fervently that
she was back in her own living-room,
in that chair before the fire, for
there was no dodging the fact that
black-gloved fingers had withdrawn
the key from the lock. To whom
had they belonged? The words on
the scrap of paper he had picked
up from the floor of the storeroom
and replaced on the table teased his
“Make X on cover when—”
That was all. What cover? Much
as he wanted to know, he couldn’t
let Brooke Reyburn get mixed up
in the mess. When he had dis-
covered the silver, his first thought
had been of her and the thrill she
would get from seeing it. If he
hadn’t brought her, he v/ould be on
the man’s neck by this time.
It seemed hours that he stood rig-
id, listening, with the only sound the
underground roar of a great city,
the faint wail of the distant siren,
and the girl’s unsteady breathing.
He strained his ears. Was a door
being closed cautiously, or was his
imagination playing tricks? He
must find out. He couldn’t stay
here forever. He put his mouth
close to Brooke’s ear. He felt the
softness of her hair against his face.
“Don’t move. Don’t speak. I'll
Whenever in after life he smelled
the fragrance of a gardenia, he
would remember this night, he told
He took a cautious step into the
hall. Listened. The house was so
quiet that he could hear ihe tick of
the old clock on the stairs. He tip-
toed to the door of the room in
which he had found the silver and
ran his fingers lightly over the krnSb.
The key was gone.
He felt his way down; he didn’t
dare use the flash. The lamp in the
lower hall provided a faint light.
Gently he turned the knob of the
connecting door. It was locked.
Someone had followed him down the
stairs! He felt a presence. Fool, not
to have suspected that an accom-
plice might be hidden in the dark.
He shouldn’t have left Brooke. He
must get back to her no matter
who was between them.
He wheeled with pantherlike agil-
ity. Raised his flashlight to bring it
crashing down on a head.
It was Brooke Reyburn’s voice,
her hand on his arm. The stiffen-
ing went out of his knees. Relief
was submerged in a mighty rush
of anger as he gripped her shoul-
“What do you mean by coming
down when I told you not to move?
What do you mean? I might have
“But you didn’t, Mark. I felt like
a quitter hiding in the dark while
you came down alone, so I crept
after you. What did you see?”
“Nothing here—hut the door is
“A black-gloved hand did pull the
key from the storeroom door, didn’t
it? I didn’t dream it, did I?”
“If you did, I was in the same
dream, Brooke. Wonder when they
intend to remove the stuff.”
“You think someone is planning
to take it away?”
“Why else should it be there? It
probably was moved from Lookout
House to this one, which has been
unoccupied for years, before I came
back here to live. After Aunt Mary
Amanda went, I was the only per-
son who would know about the sil-
ver, and I was far away in South
America. That's why Henri’s face
turned chalky when he saw me en-
ter your living-room on Thanksgiv-
“Then you noticed it too? I
thought it might be my imagina-
“He was white, all right. Come
on, we can't get back to Lookout
House through this door. We'd bet-
ter beat it downstairs and out that
way. Lucky I pocketed your key.”
“Hurry! Hurry! Suppose it was
Henri who left those keys in the
doors? Suppose he remembered that
he had left them and stole back
from the movies? I told him that
you and Jed Stewart would be with
us for supper after rehearsal. He
may be looking for me now to see if
I was telling the truth.”
In the lower hall, which was
slightly scented by the smoky aro-
ma of open fires, Mark laid a de-
taining hand on her shoulder.
The stillness of the high-ceilinged
rooms was accentuated by the low
moan of the wind at the corner of
the house, by the muted thunder c.f
the sea, by the sharp crackle of a
burning log; was haunted by the
weird wail of the distant siren, but
no human sound intruded.
“Coast's clear. Let’s go. Hold
onl” Mark Trent frowned at her
bare arms and throat, ivory tinted
above the lace of her frock. “You
need a wrap.”
“To go from one door to another!
Don’t be foolish. If we don’t hurry,
Henri may get there before us.”
In the green-walled living-room at
Lookout House, Mark Trent threw
a log on the smoldering fire and
poked it into flame.
“Come here and get warm,
Brooke. You are still shivering.”
“If I am, it is from excitement,
not cold.” She toasted her fingers
at the blaze. What do we do next?”
“Watchful waiting seems our
“You would say that.”
“I don’t like the implication, but
we’ll let that ride—for the present.
What move would you suggest?”
“I don’t know, but let’s do some-
thing. I hale sitting on the side-
lines. I hate waiting. First we must
find out who took the key from the
storeroom door. If you hadn't held
me, I would have dashed at him
and found out.”
“I had a hunch you would; that’s
why I grabbed you. Afraid I crushed
Brooke put her hand to her shoul-
der. “They’re gone! Where could 1
have lost them?”
“Don't make a tragedy of it. I’ll
get you another.”
Mark Trent had never seen brown
eyes so flamingly gold, cheeKs so
red as Brooke’s.
“I'm not making a tragedy of it,
and I don't want another gardenia.
For an amateur detective—amateur
is the word with a capital A—you
are dense, Mark Trent. Suppose the
person in the attic went back for
something and picked them up?
Wouldn’t he know at once that he
was being watched?”
“I thought of that so—I brought
this along.” He held a flower in the
palm of his hand. 'J’he once waxen
petals were brown at the edges, but
they had the feel of velvet in his
fingers. “You don’t want it now,
do you?” He slipped it back into
his pocket. "I'll keep it as a souver
nir of our late dive into the under-
“I do want it and the oilier too.”
“Because Field gave then to you?
I don't know where the other is;
didn't realize that there were two.
You dropped this as you came into
this house. Better let me keep it.
Would you want him to know that
it had been crushed out of shape
against my shoulder?”
“Just why should Jerry assume
that it was your shoulder against
which the gardenia was crushed?
You are not the only man in my
life, you know,” Brooke reminded
“I intend—to keep the flower.”
Mark Trent felt the color surge to
his hair and recede. He had caught
back “to be” in time.
“I haven’t had o chance, Brooke,
to tell you how ridiculous Mrs.
Hunt’s suggestion was that—that
I had any thought of trying to keep
Aunt Mary Amanda’s money in the
“Why stumble over it? Why tell
me again that you wouldn’t marry
me? This is the second time. First
in Jed Stewart’s office and now
here. To save a third attempt to
impress the fact on me, I'll tell you
that I wouldn't marry you if you
were the only man in the world.
Divorced men leave me cold. Some-
time perhaps I’ll have the privilege
of refusing to marry you.”
He knew now the sensation of a
knife being plunged into his heart.
He drew the gardenia from his
pocket and dropped it uito her lap.
“Here it is. Water may revive
She twirled the stem in her fin-
“It is past recovery.” She flung
it into the wastebasket. “I don’t
care for rejuvenated gardenias any
more than I care for warmed-over
love. That sounds like a car. Can
they have come so soon?”
“Better not speak of what we
discovered,” Mark suggested hasti
ly, as she started for the hall.
She left the room without answer-
ing. lie salvaged the flower and
thrust it into his pocket. He was
not keeping it for sentimental rea-
sons, he assured himself, but as a
reminder of how near he had come
to forgetting that all he had to
offer a girl was “warmed-over”
Sam Reyburn entered the living-
room and flung his blue covered
script to the table. He dropped into
the wing chair with a groan. Voices
in the hall tlvnned in the distance.
Mark Trent could distinguish Jerry
Field’s laugh, Lucette's rather high-
pilcned tone, Brooke's questioning
murmur, and Daphne’s drawl. He
looked at the dejected figure in the
chair, at the long legs outstretched.
“What's wrong, Sam? Aren’t you
“What’s wrong with you, you’re
white as a sheet?”
“I'm okay, it's these artistic lights
that play the dickens with one’s
color. Didn’t Stewart and the rest
of the cast come with you?”
(TO BE COyTIM ED)
Mista kes—E very body
“When any one tells me lie never
makes mistakes,” said Uncle Eben,
“he's makin’ one righ‘ there ii
thinkin’ I’s gineter believe hun.”
By REV. HAROLD L LUNDQUIST.
Dean of the Moody Bible Institute
® Western Newspaper Union.
Lesson for August 8
GOD FEEDS A PEOPLE.
LESSON TEXT—Exodus 16:11-20; 17:3-6.
GOLDEN TEXT—Every good gift and ev-
ery perfect gift Is from above, and comcth
Irom the Father. James k:17.
PRIMARY TOPIC—When God* People
JUNIOR TOPIC—God Feeding III* Peo-
INTERMEDIATE AND SENIOR TOPIC—
How God Provides for Our Needs.
YOUNG PEOPLE AND ADULT TOPIC—
God's Supply Adequate for a Nation's Need.
Israel, led by God, is on a jour-
ney to the promised land. But to
reach their goal they must pass
through the wilderness. Not only
are there weary miles to travel,
but there are privations to be en-
dured. Life is like that.
“People may be strong and hope-
ful at the beginning of a project,
and most effusively and devoutly
thankful at its close, but the diffi-
culty is to go manfully through the
process. Israel was in the desert,
and never were spoiled children
more peevish, suspicious, and al-
together ill-behaved. If they could
have stepped out of Egypt into Ca-
naan at once, probably they would
have been as pious as most of us;
but there was the weary interval,
the inhospitable wilderness! So il
is in our life. Accept it as a solemn
and instructive fact that life is a
process . . . more than a beginning
and an ending” (Joseph Parker).
Note how elemental are man’s
needs in the final analysis—bread
and water. The very things we take
almost for granted as we concern
ourselves with life’s weighty inter-
ests and profound problems become,
if lacking, the only things that have
any real meaning. And who is it
that can provide them? No one but
I. Bread from Heaven. (Exod.
Observe first of all that this was
a divine provision. There are re-
sponsibilities in life which we may
bear—and must bear, but in the
ultimate meeting of our real needs
we must look to God.
Secondly, we note that it was a
daily provision. What forehanded
folk many of us are, and no doubt
rightly so, for God puts no premium
on improvidence. But once again
we must recognize, as did Israel in
receiving the daily manna in the
wilderness that ours is indeed a
moment by moment existence. We
plan bravely for the next decade or
the next generation, but as a matter
of fact it con omy come to pass
“if the Lord will.” Read James
Finally, it was a limited pro-
vision—enough for the day and no
more, except for a double portion
on the sixth day, and none at all
on the Sabbath. These provisions
were made clear to Israel, and yet
there were those who attempted to
lay up for the morrow, and some
even went out to seek manna on the
We marvel at their stubborn ob-
tuseness, but are we not often just
like them. Some there are who are
always expecting that the laws of
both God and man should be set
aside for them, but, mark it well,
they ultimately come to grief. The
spiritual application is obvious, and
most serious. God has provided a
way of redemption, and has made
clear how man should and must
relate himself to it. Folly it is to
ignore God's plan.
II. A Rock in the Wilderness.
“And the people thirsted”—for the
daily manna was not enough—they
must have water. Needy, yes, con-
stantly needy are God’s children.
God always provides. There is
a rock in the wilderness. But what
pleasure does a murmuring people
find in a rock when they famish for
water? It is God's delightful custom
to meet our needs in unexpected
ways and by means which we do
not understand. Even our physical
necessities come from unthought of
III. The Bread and the Water o!
Let us make certain that we do
not miss the spiritual truth of our
lesson which is revealed by Scrip-
ture itself. Paul speaks in I Corinth-
ians 10:1-4 of this very incident in
the experience of Israel, and says
that they “did all eat the same
spiritual meat and did all drink
the same spiritual drink: for they
drank of that spiritual Rock that
followed them; and that Rock was
Christ.” See also John 4:14.
Hungry and thirsty soul, you who
are still unsatisfied after tasting all
that life apart from Christ has to
offer, will you not, just now, take
him who is the living bread, and
come to the Rock which flows with
How to Keep Quiet
Character is revealed by small
things; it is also hidden by small
things. Speech often hides it. and
again distorts it, for those who
brand themselves by the pettiness
of their conversation have some-
times unsuspected depths within;
but the surest revealer of character
is silence—intelligent silence.
No man who feels the worth and
solemnity of what is at stake will
be careless as to his progress.
g TODAY %
World'* Foremort Auihoniy
© Emily Post.
Belong to the Past
T~Y EAR Mrs. Post: Will you say a
word or two about the good, or
bad, taste of having photographs
hanging in one’s house? In my
mother’s house the chief wall orna-
ments were pictures of the various
relatives on both sides of the fami-
ly, but today, one sees so few pic-
tures of this type that I wondered
if it was no longer considered proper
to have any. And if not, what is one
supposed to do with all the pic-
tures given by relatives and
Answer. In Victorian days it was
the fashion, over here as well as
abroad, to fill one’s rooms with
hanging or marching photograph
frames on walls and across all
available table spaces. Old fash-
ioned people still like to have many
framed photographs about them.
But since the modern liking for
emptiness has • a great effect on
taste, the younger generation keep
most of their photographs in be-
tween the leaves of an album. This
album, by the way, he^ also no sug-
gestion of the Victorian one wherein
mounted photographs were slipped
into paper openings. Tiie modern
album is a large book bound either
in leather or brocade with plain
leaves like any other photograph al-
bum. But all people have a few
photographs either on the walls or
on the tables of their rooms.
Coed School Should
Educate in Courtesy
EAR Mrs. Post: This is a co-
educational college and in the
dining hall the girls and boys sit
together, an equal number at each
table. Do you think it would be a
good idea for the boys to seat the
girls? And what about when the
girls turn up for meals late?
Answer: Certainly the men should
seat the girls. After all, college
should be a training ground for
manners as well as for minds. The
girls should be on time, but when
being laie is unavoidable, a girl
should take her place as quickly as
possible so that she will not throw
her table into confusion by making
it necessary for all the men to rise.
• • •
Better Send Flmvers.
EAR Mrs. Post: When my sis-
ter died some friends of an-
other sister sent flowers to the fu-
neral. The flowers were very beau-
tiful and were addressed to Mother,
but neither she nor I know them
at all, and now someone in their
family has died. So will you kindly
tell me what, if anything, is Moth-
er’s obligation to these people?
Answer: I take it for granted that
your sister who is their friend will
go to see them and send flowers,
and unless she is away from home
there is no “obligation” that you
need meet. But it would be kind
certainly to send a note of sym-
pathy. or flowers to the funeral from
all of you.
• • •
Making It Official.
r\ EAR Mrs. Post: Soon I expect
* * to announce my engagement to
a man whom I have been expected
to marry for years, so the news
can not possibly surprise anyone.
Under these circumstances, don’t
you think it would be silly to in-
vite people without explaining at
the time that we are announcing our
engagement at this party? Please
tell me frankly what you would sug-
Answer: It would be best, I think,
to write or telephone invitations to
a party celebrating your engage-
ment, and also notify the papers the
evening before the party so that the
announcement will appear on that
• • •
Better Entertain Yourself.
r\ EAR Mrs. Post: I have received
a wedding invitation witl. re-
ception card included, und notice
that the former is taking place late
in the afternoon and the latter not
until eight o'clock in the e\rening.
If this lapse of time between the
two is proper, what are guests sup*
posed to do in the time between—
especially if they come from nearby
Answer: The only answer I know
is that they are expected to either go
home or have dinner somewhere
and then come back again. Con-
ventionally, of course, wedding re-
ceptions follow immediately after
• • •
/Vo "Informal" Ceremony.
P\ EAR Mrs. Post: I am e’ther go-
^ ing to wear a traveling suit or
an afternoon dress al my wedding,
but am asking a number of rela-
tives and friends to the church just
the same. The number is really suf-
ficient to have wedding invitations
engraved but mother seems to think
that formally worded engraved in-
vitations would be improper in my
Answer: Engraved invitations will
be proper, irrespective of the type
of clothes chosen by the bride. In
other words, it is impossible to have
an informal ceremony.
* WNU Service.
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The Celina Record (Celina, Tex.), Vol. 36, No. 6, Ed. 1 Thursday, August 5, 1937, newspaper, August 5, 1937; Celina, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth773486/m1/3/: accessed May 24, 2019), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Celina Area Historical Association.