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Graeve, Oscar (ed.) / Delineator
Vol. 119, No. 1 (July, 1931)

[Continued articles and works],   pp. 46-71 PDF (15.7 MB)

Page 56

Let me tell you
of this better way
to remove hair
Removing u,'. supertluous hair-
swiftly - easily - from the under-
arms*, fore-arms and legs is a prob-
lem many women find hard to solve
... I, myself, had just about given up
hope when I discovered DEL-A-
TONE Cream.
You can imagine my delight in
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hair more quickly and more thorough-
ly than anything I had ever used.
Creamy white-DEL-A-TONE re-
moves hair in 3 minutes or less.
Faintly fragrant-it is just as easy to
use as cold cream and leaves your
The White Cream lair-remover
-now comes in two sizes
50c New . . . . . . . . Larger $1
Soon   as you try DEL-A-TONE
you'll understand why, after using,
women say,
"Now.. . . I can stand
the public gaze"
Del-a-tone has attained wide pop-
ularity on real merit alone. No ex-
travagant, exaggerated advertising
claims have ever been made. Superior
quality is the reason for asking you to
try it and to guarantee that your
money will be cheerfully refunded if
you are not satisfied.
Here's the triple-proof of
Del-a-tone's superiority:
ene 00u can wa how
Your ""orse wsHtl you, for
Del-a-trne hasn't any of
that over-powering. offen-
sive odor of ord-nary dpl
2Your "' '"ntell
Y' OU (after r,~ have
rinsed of     Del-a-
tone and along with
it, the  ugly  fuzz) for
it wll have an allunng pets~moothness.
Del-a-one Cream. 50c and SI (also Del-a-cone
Powder, $1 size only) at drug and departnent stores.
Or sent prepaid in U. S. in plain 'rapper. Money back
if desired. (Tral tube. l0c--use coupon below.) Write
Ms Mildred Hadley. The Delatone Co 'E, 1908)
The Delarone Bldg.. Dep. 67. 133 East OmtaI S!ree.
'C ' u. IllRno0-.
Continued from page 54
very nice to Binks when he stopped them to
inquire, but no one had seen Pat O'Reilly,
and they were all very busy about their own
affairs, except one bustling, stout lady angel,
who put down a huge harp to straighten his
tie and smooth back his hair.
"It's funny," he hazarded a little breath-
lessly, "but I don't see any dogs around here."
"Well, I wouldn't worry my head about
that if I were you, dearie," said the stout
lady angel. She felt his forehead and changed
the subject with suspicious abruptness.
"Dear me, you must have been playing too
hard. Mark my words, you'll have a tempera-
ture if you aren't careful. Now wouldn't you
like to come with me and have a nice glass of
milk and a nap?"
"Oh, no, thank you," he said, and went
along very quickly, looking for Pat O'Reilly
and asking more questions.
SUDDENLY he stood still. If he could
only tind God, of course He would know
all about Pat O'Reilly.
Binks hurried back to the pearly gates.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" murmured Saint
Peter. "I began to think you were lost."
"I b'lieve," observed Binks, "if you'll tell
me where God's house is, I'll go talk to Him.
I bet He knows where Pat O'Reilly is."
Saint Peter looked up again in a dazed
way, as if he had already forgotten Binks'
existence. Then he put his pen behind his
ear and looked at Binks over his glasses.
"God," he said very gravely, "is every-
"Oh," said Binks, and looked hopefully
about him.
"But," went on Saint Peter, "no one of us
has ever seen Him. His radiance would
be too much even for our eyes. We know
that He is here, and that is enough."
Never had God seemed quite so mysteri-
ous and inaccessible and Binks, himself, so
very' small and unimportant. He glanced at
saint Peter's bowed head and cleared his
"I don't proberly s'pose," he began, "that
di have any idea why Pat O'Reilly hasn't
cme vet?"
" Well, no. I haven't," said Saint Peter.
"I've been wondering," Binks began again
,f ter a long silence, during which he was busy
with many thoughts, "how you get your
robes off over your wings." A little general
conversation might help to engage Saint
Peter's attention.
But Saint Peter seemed not to hear this
at all, and again Binks was thrown back upon
his own thoughts.
"I was just wondering," said Binks in a
small, small voice, "it isn't-it isn't true,
is it-that God doesn't want dogs in
"Upon my word," said Saint Peter, "you
ask more questions than any little boy I ever
knew. As you ought to see, I am very busy,
and! there are more souls coming now. You-"
"Oh, all right," said Hinks hastily, "but
can I stay here and see if Pat O'Reilly comes?"
"You may stay," answered Saint Peter
very, very patiently, "if you won't ask any
more questions for ten minutes."
"Oh, all right," said Binks again. There
was a bank of flowers just inside the gates;
he sat down on it and clasped his hands about
his knees. Presently he coughed deprecat-
ingly. "There's-there's just one   more
thing," he almost whispered. "How am I
going to know when it's ten minutes?"
Saint Peter sighed and passed a hand
wearily over his brow.
"I will tell you," he said.
It was a very long ten minutes. Binks must
have drowsed. Awakening to a murmur of
voices, he lay listening sleepily with his eyes
"THERE'S that noise outside again,"
breathed one voice. It was a very soft
voice. You knew at once that it belonged
to a golden-haired lady angel with a lovely
smile. "What can it be?"
"It sounds-why, it really sounds like a
dog, doesn't it?" said another voice, a brisk,
business-like voice.
"I believe in my soul it is!" That sounded
like the stout lady angel who had talked
about milk and naps. "Why, it can't be-oh,
poor creature! He must have crawled all
the way up here on those broken hind legs."
"Oh, I hadn't heard. Was the dog struck.
too?" asked the soft voice pitifully.
"They found him in a ditch, hours after
the-the accident." The stout lady angul
choked and blew her nose. "We did what w
could for him; then we put him in the sheltei
down by the side entrance. It doesn't seem
"Well, he'll have to go right back there, if
I'm to be responsible for this child." That
crisp voice, Hinks decided, must belong to
his truant guardian angel.
"But that would be a little cruel, wouldn t
it?" objected the soft-voiced angel. "Aftei
he's dragged himself all the way here?"
"And this poor lamb crying out for him
every few minutes for the past three hours,
protested the stout lady angel.
Hinks could hear the sounds now, outside
somewhere; a feeble scratching and a series of
faint whines, mounting to a shrill crescendo
of yelps. It was Pat O'Reilly. It was Pat
O'Reilly! It was Pat O'Reillv!
"Well, it does seem hard," agreed the
guardian angel. "But you see my position.
I shouldn't dare let him stay. There! You
see-" Binks was struggling to speak and
open his eyes, but all his members were held
in nightmare bonds-"you see? He's stirrino
now, and he should have perfect rest for
The yelps outside grew more insistent.
"Will you call someone to take that dou
away, or must I do it myself?" demanded thc
guardian angel.
"What is all this noise? We can't have this,
you know." That was Saint Peter coming up
in a great hurry. "Bless my soul! It must be
that dog he's been talking about all after-
"I've been trying to tell them that he must
be sent away or we can't be responsible for
the consequences," said Binks' guardian
angel hastily.
"Well, mark my words, you send that dog
away now, and the poor creature'll die of a
broken heart. And I-" the stout lady angel
seemed to be breathing hard-"I wouldn't
like to be responsible for the consequences
of that when this poor lamb misses him."
The frantic scratching and barking con-
"Well, I must confess," said Saint Peter,
"in all my experience this is one emergency
I've never been called upon to deal with. I
must insist-" But another voice broke
in. It was not a loud voice, yet it seemed to
Binks to fill all Heaven with its authority,
with its ring of understanding and compas-
"Of course Pat O'Reilly must come in,"
said the voice.
Binks got his eyes half open, only to have
to shut them against the blinding radiance all
about him. He stopped struggling to open his
eyes and listened. Now Saint Peter was
talking again.
"I didn't tell you before," he said, "but
this child is with us only by a miracle. There
was a time this afternoon when I was sure we
had lost him. Now the least excitement . . ."
"WE'LL lose him if anything happens to
Pat O'Reilly. You don't understand.
Nothing in Heaven or earth matters quite
so much to the boy as this dog. Bring Pat
O'Reilly in at once."
Something warm was by Binks' side, some-
thing whimpering and quivering with eager-
ness. A cool nose and a wet tongue touched
his arm. Then again everything was still.
"You see," said the compassionate voice,
"he knows he must be quiet, don't you,
Pat, old man?"
When Binks finally was able to open his
eyes, the blinding radiance had subsided.
Why-God must have gone! Saint Peter
was gone, too. Heaven was gone. But beside
him lay Pat O'Reilly, his wise, bright little
eyes never leaving his master's face. Binks
was back on the couch in his father's library
as if he had never been away. Over by the
window his father was talking to a uniformed
nurse, and by his side Mrs. Olmsted's golden
head gleamed above a white gown.
"That's funny," said Binks drowsily. He
considered, frowning. "Well, anyhow, you
can tell Lilian Anne she's all wrong-about
God I mean. He's not-like that."
"Of course He's not," said Lilian Anne's
This summer,
keep the family
together by
"Now lift Betsy up to the tele-
phone, dear. . . . Hello, honey.
Dad's sort of lonely for you. . . .
Well, just keep on splashing and
you'll learn to swim I"
f f 0
SUMMER often scatters the fam-
ily far and wide. Junior's away
at a boy's camp. Mother and the
twins are at seashore or lakeside.
Dad holds the fort at home and
slips away week-ends.
But all of the family are likely
to miss each other sometimes.
Then there's nothing so satisfying
as a telephone call. Today, you
can talk as easily and clearly across
the country as across the street.
It's inexpensive too.
To most places 25 miles away,
the station-to-station day rate is
about 25 cents; 40 miles away,
35 cents; 75 miles, 50 cents; 150
miles, 80 cents. Many rates are
even lower during evening and
night periods.

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