Evening star., 1935-11-03
HOlbrOOk
Continued From Fifth Page.)

you reach the Blue Front Pool Room
you will be praying to your fairy
godmother for a cloak of invisibility.
The same thing is true of spats.
On the map of the United States
degrees of longitude are no more
clearly defined than degrees of spat-
titude. fasteners take Spats in their
stride. They wear them with as little
self-consciousness as the roast turkey
wears its frilled paper cuffs on
Thanksgiving day. Pearl gray, ivory,
dove, fawn, mauve, and even puce-
colored anklets twinkle on Fifth ave-
nue. and nobody gives them second
glance.
QUT once you cross the Hudson,
spats become fewer if not farther
between.
Chicago breaks out in a mild erup-
ton of spats along the Boul' Mich,
but from Chicago on you are unlikely
to see a single spat until you reach
California, where the Hollywood COL
ony is valiantly trying to pretend that
Forty-second street is just around the
corner. On the broad prairies of the
Far West the closest approximation
to spats are the fetlocks on a Perch
eron stallion.
Some men of the Jimmy Walker
type can wear spatS as If they were
born with them. But these fortunates
are usually careful not to roam too
far afield. They seldom venture into
unspatted territory. They do not
know what it is to be pariahs, So
cially and sartorially, in their own
bailiwicks. They have never walked
past the corner drug store in their
old home town as dozens jeer-for
their old home town is New York, and
the corner drug store is a combina-
ton restaurant, subway station, ticket
agency, flower shop and penny ar
cade filled with a milling mob that
has no time for jeering.
Mr.. Otway is typical New Yorker.
He was born in the Middle West, and
on his first visit to New York IL
years ago he said: II wouldn't live
here if they gave me the place!" No.
W give tllC
and he is still living there.
But every Winter Mr.. Otway makes
q pilgrimage out to Iggamoo, Nebr.,
to spend Christmas with his rela-
tives. Like o. O. Mcintyre and
Owen D. Young and other boys who
have made good in the big city, he
has a sentimental affection for the
old home town. Every Christmas he
goes out to Iggamoo, Nebr:, with
nostalgia in his heart and comes back
with neuralgia in his joints. Nebraska
weather is not as mild as Manhat.
tan's: there is no steam heat in Igga-
moo, and Mr.. Otway, of course. wears
low shoes. His ankles are as vul-
nerable as the heel of Achilles.
Last Winter when Mr.. Otway came
back with temperature of 10l and a
Wagnerian cough, he summoned his
doctor "Your resistance is low," said
the doctor, particularly around the
ankles. prescribe spats."
Mr.. Otway followed the doctors adj
vice, but with reluctance. His Mid
western conscience told him that spat.
wearers were up to no good; they were
fops OF the first water-mincing, af-
fected and afraid Of draughts. But
he dutifully put on spats. They felt
comfortable and attracted no atten-
ton, and he soon became quite at
tached to them. In the back Of his
mind, however. there was always the
question, What would the folks in
1ggamoo say?"
This Fall, with the holidays draw
ing nearer, the question has grown
more urgent. Mr.. Otway, already
confirmed spat addict, has been faced
with the alternative Of going back to
his home town unspatted and risking
pneumonia or going back spatted and
enduring the ridicule of the entire
community. It was difficult deci-
sion. For q time he considered giving
up the trip altogether.
But one day last week he bounded
into my office jubilantly and an
nounced that everything was settled.
He was leaving for Nebraska next
month.
with or without spats?" asked.
"With!". he replied. "But no one
will even suspect it. Look" Trium-
phantly he displayed his ankles. I
could see no spats, and said SO.
"of course you can't" Mr.. Otway
axulted. They're made Of cello