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NORTH SHORE BREEZE 
AND REMINDER 
Vol. XIII 
Manchester, Mass., Friday, July 16 
No. 29 
The Terpsichorean Call 
By HELEN CHRISTENE HOERLE 
YLVIA KNOX carefully selected another chocolate 
from the box at her elbow, punched the pillow behind 
her head into a comfortable angle and resumed her 
reading. 
Mrs. Japreth Knox sat in the big bay window busily 
sorting silks for a new pillow top. ‘Neither mother nor 
daughter spoke and the silence was broken only. by the 
occasional honk of a motor car and the roaring of the 
ocean considerably dimmed by the distance. 
Suddenly the girl threw the aaa with an ex- 
ciamation of dismay as the clock chimed three. Then 
she looked up hastily to see if her all too evident agitation 
had been noticed by her mother. Mrs. Knox placidly 
continued to sort the silks, glancing out the window from 
time to time to watch the stream of automobiles gliding by. 
“T declare, Sylvia,” she said querulously, a nervous 
frown appearing between her eyes, “all the people here 
seem to think of is pleasure, eating, drinking and danc- 
ing, ’specially dancing. Why, where are you, Sylvia? 
“Here, I’m dressing. Do you mind if I wander along 
the beach for a little while?” the girl asked, appearing in 
the doorway and slipping her dress over her head. 
— “T don’t like to have you strolling around alone, 
continually,” Mrs. Knox began; then continued eagerly, as 
if remembering something: “Yes, go on,. dear, a walk in 
the sun will do you good. ” 
With a light laugh Sylvia disappeared, only to reap- 
pear in a second with her hat on. 
“Mother,” she asked abruptly, “are we going home 
soon ?” ‘ ‘ 
“Home,” her mother gasped in dismay, “do you want 
to go home? Don’t you like it here?” 
The girl shrugged her shoulders. “I like it well 
enough, but I don’t see how you can expect me to enjoy 
myself when you won’t let me know anyone or learn to 
dance. ‘At home in the summer I used to have a bully 
time with the girls and boys, but here——” 
“Promiscuous acquaintances and dancing are works 
of the devil,” Mrs. Knox quoted with tightening lips, “and 
no daughter of mine é 
“T know all that,’ Sylvia Mehed “T’ll be back 
time to dress for dinner. Good-bye, dear.” 
As the door closed on the daintily clad figure of her 
twenty-one-year-old daughter, Mrs. Knox sank back in 
her chair, hands clasped ic lly in her lap and a troubled 
frown between her eyes. 
Four months before she and Sylvia had come from 
their Western home to spend the spring in New York, 
and as she then foolishly thought, she acknowledged it 
foolish, electrify that city. Assuredly they vould gain 
entrée into the best circles with their money and Sylvia’s 
beauty; of that she was confident. Perhaps Sylvia had 
known better, perhaps not; anyway, they had cove. 
Mrs. Knox sighed. Now Sylvia spoke of going 
home, and they were no further, socially, than when thev 
came. Presently Mrs. Knox rose, and as she gathered 
up her multi-colored silks her piercing eyes fell on the 
magazine left open by her daughter. She snatched it up 
with a snort, for the good lady strongly disapproved of 
frivolous literature. 
Slowly she dropped into a chair, her eyes glued on 
the printed sheet and a guilty flush creeping into her 
sallow cheeks, as she read on and on. Finally she jumped 
to her feet, and quickly dropping her kimona, took her 
newest gown from the closet and slipped into it. Then 
she jabbed a hat pin through the crown of the elegant 
black straw, perched on one side of her gray hair. 
“T think [ll tell Sylvia to smile at that girl who sits 
near the door in the dining room,” she mused. ‘She 
seems to be quite nice. I’m sure Parson Blacker couldn’t 
disapprove of that.” 
She smiled approvingly at the 
i1 the mirror. “I wonder if Sylvia has 
iwwuch slimmer I am since we left home.” 
In the meantime Miss Sylvia had sped along the 
brick walk in the direction of the Casino. Five minutes 
later the same Miss Sylvia, in the arms of a tall, blond 
young man, was going through the gliding, picturesque 
steps of the Hesitation, to the melodious strains of Nights 
o° Gladness, wafted forth from a hundred dollar, more 
or less, presumably less, victrola. 
“Miss Sylvia’s breath came in soft gasps through her 
slightly parted lips and her brown hair fell in rebellious 
little ringlets from under the wide brim of her correct 
afternoon hat, as at the end of the dance she dropped into 
a big chair and fanned herself with a diminutive handker- 
chief. 
“You danced the hesitation perfectly that time.” The 
suave blond instructor praised more warmly than was his 
wont with less attractive pupils. 
“Really,” Miss Knox’s eyes sparkled with 
“Let's try the fox trot again when I get my breath.” 
“Will you excuse me a moment?” the young maa 
begged. “TIl be right back.” 
— Sylvia nodded, and strolling over to the window 
watched the bevies of men and girls wandering about 
the lawn. How many of them were doing what she was 
doing, disobeying. Sylvia wondered. The door opened 
quickly; Sylvia turned. 
“Oh, Mr. Anson,” she cried, a bright flush mantling 
her cheeks. “I thought it was Mr. Williams.” 
“l’m sorry if I have disappointed you,’ Mr. Anson 
laughed easily, as he took the little hand between his own. 
“Won’t you cut the lesson today and take a spin in the 
It’s an ideal day.” 
“T’d love it,” Miss Knox breathed. “I left mother 
at the hotel, so I guess I’m safe. She would disapprove 
of you entirely,’ she laughed; “you are a promiscuous 
accuaintance 
A few minutes later the great maroon car was gliding 
along an unfrequented road. Sylvia leaned back luxuri- 
ously among the cushions and sighed aesthetically. The 
voung man watched her with unfeigned Ma Ha Sud- 
denly without any warning he clasped her hand and drew 
nearer to her. 
“Sylvia, dear,” 
reflected 
noticed how 
stylish figure 
delight 
Cal, 
he murmured, his face close to hers, 
