Yarns Without Threads 

Since I make my own assignments, I said to myself one hot summer day, "Wilson, you should interview a nude model."

Then I replied to myself with characteristic verve, "Wilson," I exclaimed, "that is the best idea, not to mention the only one, you have had in months. Because I like you, I will grapple with this delicate subject with great zest."

Not long after that I could be seen panting up the curling stairs of the Art Students League, looking this way and that, endeavoring to see a girl stark naked.

And then I saw her - "Miss Celeste Harrison."

She was standing there, a broad-buttocked, low-busted brunette, and as she posed, with one hand on her ample hip and the other trailing outward, I could see at one glance, although I took five or six, that Miss Harrison didn't have a thing on her mind, or anywhere else.

I was shocked at first, for although I've seen lots of dames practically nude in the night clubs, this one wore no brassière, no G-string; she didn't even wear lipstick.

June Havoc reports that when she tried to buy a farm at Wetabuck, New York, the man selling the farm disapproved of her because he thought the sun suit she wore was a trifle scanty.

"And was it scanty?" I asked her.

"Scanty!" she echoed. "No. It was Sunday. I had a lot of guests and was cooking. I was running around in my sun suit and bare feet when the man came to see me. I don't know what was wrong."

"Gee," she suddenly remembered, "maybe I should have worn a top on that sun suit."