The St. Charles Herald

Dorothy's Adventures in Loopland-Two Chapters

CHICAGO.--Little Dorothy Crosby, the wistful and the gazelle-eyed, eighteen years old, who up to that day, five weeks ago when she slicked back her hair, pinked her cheeks and lips, bought herself a wedding ring and a phony three-karat diamond ring and chose for herself a mythical dream-husband, had never told a fib in her life.

From that day on, she admits, with a languid droop of her eyelids, she has told little else.

The gay country called Loopland is a bright spot infested with cabarets and cocktails. All men are either rich woolen merchants, steel magnates, wealthy munition makers. Millionaires or judges-they all told her so themselves, and she believed them.

Adventure and romance spilled itself upon Dorothy's gentle head from the moment she seated herself upon the observation platform of the Overland Limited in San Francisco, where her mamma lives, and the wheels began to turn.

"Oh, oh!" she cried. "My suitcase! I left it on the platform."

A gallant bird hopped lightly over the brass railing, retrieved the careless suitcase, caught the train and Dorothy Moore, later Dorothy Crosby, was thereby initiated into the world. The young man was a "millionaire actor,"

and before they got to Chicago he had told her of a hotel where actor people could live cheaply.

But she sidestepped the lure. Dutifully she reported, she says, to the swell home of her aunt and uncle, the Spencer Crosbys, at Glencoe.

Two days of kids and two nights of kids and Dorothy went away.

Five weeks later she became a connoisseur of cabarets. The rabble in the courtroom listened aghast as she unrolled her stories of the "millionaires"

she had met.

The girl reporter presented herself at the place where Dorothy was staying, behind the bars. Judge Uhlir had said:

"Let her sleep tonight behind a window with bars.

Forget not that she tried to throw herself from a window."

And so it was.