Jasper County Democrat, Volume 21, Number 91, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 February 1919 — Rationed [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Rationed

By DOROTHY DOUGLAS

(Copyright, I*U, by McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) Nan’* was the only studio in the old building down In Chelsea that pos-, sessed a balcony. And perhaps Nan was the only American among the tenants, all of whom earned their daily rations by means of one of the arts. Nan Moore herself was a writer and sent back stories to America and conducted a column on how to prepare food in war times. Nan’s small typewriter clicked at almost any hour of the day or night. For a few weeks past Nan’s alert eys had noticed the various quaint characters that came and went into tTie other studios in the building on the Thames. For the most part they lived alone, each pursuing his craft in his own way. “Do you know,” she said to Charlotte Manor, who at that moment was helping herself to a second cup of fragrant coffee from Nan’s percolator that stood always on the wicker tea cart, “this rationing business is the limit. All these poor artists who live alone, like me, can hardly get up a decent meal more than once a week. About twelve ounces of meat for a g<*od husky person Is not enough to stretch over seven days. I honestly think some of the.** men get their weekly rations and eat It nil up in one meal and go without the other six days. “It’s had enough to get a meal for two with such a tiny bit of joint,” add-

ed Charlotte, who had a husband; “we are so tired of beef, and that’s the only thing it pays get. I think we would get about a chop and a half if we took mutton. Fancy! But I manage to get up pretty fair meals.” “Oil, so do I!” exclaimed Nun, “but It’s these artists I feel sorry for. They all begin to look half fed. Artists alwnys do have a soul hunger radiating from them, but I just can't stand seeing them look really hungry.” Her big human eyes gazed down at a fellow artist who was even then making his way along the embankment carrying his violin. “Bold»y Deuce is positively white today,” she lamented. “I wish I could cook a great big steak jtnd pnions and invite the whole building In to share it.” Then an idea came to her so suddenly that with the expression of it she nearly dumped Charlotte, coffee and all, from the great hammock that swung across the balcony. “Charlotte!” she cried happily. “I am going to get every artist in the building to pool his rations and we can all have dandy meals. If there are twelve of us we shall be able to get a fine big joint of the best cut every week —perhaps about twelve pounds. And you know we could make that go so much further and taste so much better than twelve individual bits of meat cut from most any part of the cow. Isn’t It great?" She jumped up, wanting then and there to go to each studio door and unfold the plan which was secondarily developing in her fertile brain. Charlotte had a good many drops of cold water to pour on Nan’§ enthusiasm, but fortunately for Nan she knew what she wanted and went straight for it, water or no water. Her plan was unfolded ,at euch studio. ' Almost without exception it was met with joy. It had been difficult throughout the building, where so many lived alone, to get up appetizing meals. “This way,” ended Nan, “one of us who likes to do the buying can do it all, and i love to cook, ns it is in my line. We can. use that old room on the ground floor for our dining room and get a little char girl to wash our dishes. I think it will he a perfectly heavenly and sociable time.” So the Billy Wrights, Bobby Druce, Helen JVlcLeah, little Sammy, Twain and all the Chelsea building’s artists held a meeting in Nan’s studio to plan and pool ration cards. I.iul; f Sammy, who, though he was a poster artist, knew something about figures and weights and measures, .added up and made the grand discovery that, pooled their meat rations would allow of nearly 15 pounds of meat a week.

“Which will go beautifully through ■even days If Judiciously carved, and with flab to break the monotony," put In Nan. “Whoever can cut the thinnest slices of meat to look like/big ones will be the official carver." So the sugar and butter, bacon and meat ration cards were all handed over to Nan. Fortunately they, one and all, had taken out their cards with the nearest grocer and butcher, so that the trouble of various stores was done away with. Perhaps It was because Nan was American and one of Britain’s allies, or perhaps It was because she chatted with her trades people and asked about their babies and what they fed them and told them about America and the great army In khaki over there —anyway, whatever the reason. Nan always found the best or Joints, the finest of bacon and the best English butter for the artists. She was a splendid buyer. Their first family dinner was a great success. There had not been so pleasant an evening In Chelsea building since the last raid and there was no less excitement. On that night, arrayed In various quaint garbs hastily' put on, they had met In the big uttie where a splendid view of the air fight was possible, and when the raiders were driven off and the “all-clear” signal had sounded, Nan had Invited them all into her studio for u cup of coffee and apple pie. It was two o’clock In the morning, but that was a small mntter in studio life.. Conversation ran high and deep at that dinner table. Brains long used to sparkling thoughts, vivid bits of grim war ami the wonderful inspiring exchange of art talk tripped about the table and made everybody bless Nan for her big idea. The. cooking was a tremendous success and created much comment. It would seem from the abundant table that war was a thing of the past. Nan had cooked everything with the help of the girl artist. The caretaker’s little girl wasriyen four shillings a week to and wash dishes. Altogether the arrangement was splendid. Bobby Druce brought up his violin to Nan’s studio, where they all trailed for coffee In the fatnous percolator. Helen McLean’s music-mad fingers plunged up and down the keyboard and Little Sammy leut a grim visage while he recited a service poem or two. Nan did nothing but make coffee and look perfectly charming while she made every one comfortable with a cushion here and a footstool there, and many a womanly lure radiated from her as she moved about. > Bobby Pruce, but recently back from the tragedy of war and with still painful wounds, drank in her charm and wondered why he had not found her before. A slim wedge of moon filtered across the old Thames. Bobby was swinging slowly In Nan’s hamntock am) drawing in the odor of the sweet peas and pansies that she had planted In long boxes around her balcony. His long white fingers were caressing his violin and he wished It were Nan’s linlr they were touching. Bobby knew with artistic suddenness that Nan was some one whom he had been on the verge of looking for now that he was home from the war. And Nan, because she was Nan Moore, and seemed always to know just what her friends were wanting most, met his eyes fixed upon her and it needed not their silent appeal to make her go over to the slowly swinging hSmmoek and ensconce her lovely, happy self beside Bobby. He sighed so contentedly that Nan hoped the slim wedge of moon did not show him the dainty color In her cheeks. “Rations aren’t so bad when they are handled properly, are they?” “I don’t think I could have lived — had we not been rationed.” Bobby Druee told her.

Was a Great Success.