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SALES APPEAL IN NEEDLEWORK
by Miriam Peake
Formerly, Needlework Editor, Today's Woman

There are two ways to make a living with needlework: producing and creating.

1. Producing
You should be able to do one or two things supremely well and be willing to keep on doing the same thing over and over again. To be a success, a product should be either something in great demand (baby clothes, simple coarse place mats, mittens) or extremely attractive and unusual. It must also be priced so that it is within reach of the public for which it is intended . . . handmade items are better for the luxury trade because people who buy luxury items expect to pay more than those who buy utility merchandise.

Warning: Leave off the gingerbread, the lazy-daisy embroidery, the ruffles, the extra crocheted edges. These cheapen the appearance of the article and cost you time and effort to put on. Thread crochet does not sell. There are two reasons for this: it takes a long time to do and therefore costs too much; people who like pineapple doilies usually like them because they enjoy making them, but they would never buy them. If thread crochet is all you know how to do, concentrate on simple gloves or lace-edged handkerchiefs.

Places to sell. The closer home, the better, to begin. If there is no woman's exchange, try placing your designs with a gift shop on consignment, until you test whether they will sell. Get a small specialty store, florist, hairdresser, to show your wares and offer them for sale. You pay them about 20 per cent commission on anything they sell. This is good experience. If you feel you have something that will really go over, look at national magazines for ads and shopping columns about gift specialty shops in other communities. Department stores should be last on your list. By the time you approach them you should know how much profit you can make, how low you can price your goods, and how much your materials will cost. From them you will get only 55 per cent of the retail price.

You must also know how many items you can produce in a certain length of time. You may get an order for seven dozen in assorted colors or sizes to be delivered in three weeks. You don't want to go through all the suspense of showing your merchandise to a buyer and having it accepted only to have to turn down the order. I once designed three beautiful figured men's sweaters. Each one took three weeks to knit. I offered them to a smart men's furnishing shop. The buyer liked them. He wanted to order six dozen for delivery in six weeks. That stumped me and I slunk out of the shop, feeling all kinds of a fool. You must also use the small-shop sales to develop a dependable technique . . . every item must be identical with its mates, each one perfect. You will build a reputation for dependability, which will stand you in good stead if you want to give references later on.

Pricing your product. Your prices must align with similar handmade articles on the market. If your community does not have stores with similar items, write to any large department store or specialty shop in a large city and ask them to quote you prices on their goods. You will have to pretend to be a possible customer. You might even invest in one of their reasonable items so that you can use it for comparison: is the material as good as yours, or better, in workmanship, size, fit, style?

2. Designing
This is one-of-a-kind work; you must be able to think up new ideas; good ideas. Strangely enough, if you have the flair for designing you need not worry about running out of ideas. Creativeness is a trade that develops as you use it.

First of all, any ideas you sell must definitely have been created by you. A neighbor will show you a doily her great-grandmother made; you think, here is something really different, and sell it. Later it shows up in an old edition of a crochet book and you will be in plenty of hot water. You will have to sell these items to people who write instruction books or patterns, so keep them basic and simple. The originality must be in some different use of a familiar thing.

For instance, instead of Argyle socks, make Argyle dog-sweaters. Put a sweater pocket on a sleeve, knit a design into the lapel of a cardigan (here I am, giving away ideas I haven't used). This is a fertile field for thread crochet; a different use for pineapple or filet would be snapped up. Cable-knitting is as old as the hills, but one well-known designer created a sensation when a heavy red cable divided the yoke of the sweater from the body; white above the cable, navy blue below—stunning effect. Another designer made a raglan sweater; the decreases ran on the shoulder line and front and back, instead of along the armhole—terrific.

Places to sell. For sewing ideas, try pattern companies. For embroidery, knitting, crochet, and so on, try yard goods and thread companies and needlework magazines. Buy instruction books, write for the name of the head designer. Submit swatches and sketches (trace from fashion magazines if you can't draw or take photographs). If you are afraid your design will be stolen—although I've never heard of it being done—make a duplicate swatch and sketch, enclose a copy of your letter, and mail it to yourself by registered mail. Save the envelope unopened and in case of, piracy, you have proof (as long as the envelope is sealed) that you offered the design on a given date. Prices for your design vary with its excellence, the amount of work involved, and so forth. Today, a woman's sweater design, finished model, and instructions, sells for about fifty dollars. The price may be as low as thirty-five, as high as sixty-five. You should try to buy your supplies at a discount or wholesale if you are going into this business on a large scale.

The woman who wants to sell needlework today¹ is going to meet a lot of competition. The greatest competition will be against machine-made goods. Manufacturers are turning out everything under the sun and trying to do it better and more cheaply than the other fellow. If they advertise, they have to back up their advertisements with a guarantee of quality. Anything that falls below the company's standards is rejected. Suppose a manufacturer turns out a batch of dresses that don't fit. The store that buys them can't sell them. He will never get another order from that store. He has lost a customer, and one of his competitors moves in.

For this reason, the smart business man goes to a lot of trouble developing his product and keeping it up to standard. He spends a lot of time and money before he offers anything to his customers.

You won't have to spend a lot of money, but you will have to spend a lot of time.

Let us assume you want to make and sell hand-knit sweaters. First of all, they must be technically perfect. There can never be a dropped stitch or the tiniest imperfection anywhere. They must fit properly. The sleeves must be just the right length; the neckband has to slide over the head. If you aren't sure how big to make something, find out.

The Bureau of Standards in Washington will supply you with standard measurements. There are standard measurements for everything. Pillowcases have to fit pillows, bedspreads have to fit beds, sweaters have to fit people.

Occasionally somebody comes up with a new and more convenient size: a pillowcase that will hold two pillows instead of one, or a place mat that is large enough to hold an entire place setting. But there has to be a definite reason for ignoring measurements—it must never be done by mistake.

Your product must also be finished perfectly, no matter how much extra time it takes. Finishing touches make the difference between amateur and professional appearance.

So far, we have been considering the excellence of your product. Now let us consider the style.

As you know, styles seem to change overnight. Styles change not only in clothing, but in toys, household accessories, colors, everything. Some things change more slowly because some goods are more durable. People are less likely to discard last year's sofa than last year's hat. If you want to make fashion items, you have to make them in advance of the market. There are ways of doing this. Fashions do not spring up like weeds. They develop in logical sequence. First, a top-notch designer brings out a new hemline or puts a bow at the back of a hat. The manufacturer watches these designers. He considers whether the new idea is practical, whether he can adapt it to his public. Then he brings out a few to see how they catch on, usually in the high-price range. After the high-price range sells, the fashion appears in the cheaper fields. When the cheaper fields have been flooded, the fashion is on its way out.

You have to watch what the top-notch designers are doing in the Sunday papers, the movies, the fashion magazines. Eventually, some trick of line, cut, or trimming will influence the style trend, and you can learn to recognize the styles that are being born.

You may be an inspired designer yourself, find new uses for material, try out unusual color combinations, invent new stitches. If so, you will find inspiration everywhere.

Besides technical perfection and style, there is a general quality of "appeal." I am referring to that vague something that makes children love puppy-dogs and baby chickens; that makes one coat a favorite, so that you wear it for years; that makes everybody want to sit in one particular chair in the living room.

Let's break down this "appeal" into concrete ingredients. Children like puppy-dogs and baby chickens because they are small and can be picked up easily. So convenient size is one ingredient.

Another reason they like them is because, of their texture. Most people like soft things: angora mittens, silky furs, downy comforters. People also love smooth, crisp, cool textures; but they usually prefer these in warm weather. There is a texture-appeal and a seasonal appeal. Fluffy, warm, soft for winter; cool, smooth, crisp for summer. Certain textures are generally offensive-harsh, scratchy, bulky—so use these carefully.

Proportion is another ingredient. Look at the success Walt Disney's characters have enjoyed. They are certainly not copies of real animals. Their heads and their feet are too big. Their ears are tremendous. Walt Disney has noticed the proportions that make puppies more appealing than grown dogs and has exaggerated them. Just try to make your own appealing by applying the same principles.

Detail has a place in this vague "something" we are talking about. Sometimes detail is merely the fine, crisp line of a collar, the well-made buttonhole. If merchandise is supposed to be tailored and simple, then keep it simple. Don't clutter it up with meaningless decoration and trimming. But if it is supposed to be ornate, then plan your decoration as carefully as a picture and work it out painstakingly to the last fine stitch.

Colors also have definite appeal. What does a color remind you of? A stained-glass window, the edge of a sunset cloud? Fine. Then it's a good color. But if it reminds you of the time you had jaundice, or of an underdone steak, then it's bad. Choose and mix colors with infinite pains.

Other "appeal" ingredients are: comfort, usefulness, durability, and price. More people buy cardigans than evening sweaters, long-lasting tweeds than velvets, ten-cent handkerchiefs than dollar ones. Sometimes a practical item, like a dark linen place mat that can be used several times without laundering, will sell very well.

Next, consider the subject of cost and labor. Your profits must make the project worth while. Figure out how much the materials will cost for any item and how many you can make in a day, or a week, or a year. Could you make something else in the same length of time that would sell for twice as much?

Suppose you can knit a beautiful bedspread. It takes months to finish one. Few people can afford to pay over a hundred dollars for a bedspread. A store does not want to buy something that may stay on the shelves for years before the right customer comes along. Couldn't you knit a few squares with wool and large needles for a lovely baby blanket or small squares of straw for table mats? Adapt your specialty so that you will get a proper return for your effort. A baby sweater brings more than a pair of socks and takes about the same time to make.

Find labor-saving devices to speed up production. In factories, workers feed one piece after another into the sewing machine so they won't waste time lifting up the foot, breaking the thread, and starting a new seam. Work is arranged in sequence and one operation will continue until all the collars or pockets have been sewn on. Plan your work the same way. Labor-saving devices will help to keep down costs, and that is important in competing with factory-made goods.

Labor is the most important investment in your product, but raw materials have to be considered, too. Handmade goods mean high-class goods, so never waste time working on cheap material. Only the best materials come in the right colors and have the right texture. It is better to use fine cotton than cheap silk. But get the most out of your material; don't waste an inch.

To sum up, your handwork must be technically perfect and properly planned. It must have style, right color, texture, proportion, and detail. It must be priced right. It must also be planned with a seasonal market in mind. Christmas gifts won't sell at Easter, just as Easter gifts won't sell on the Fourth of July. Keep the season in mind at all times and make the most of all our holidays, months in advance.

Mrs. Salak, as a part-time hobby, has been crocheting since she was eight. She is self-taught, never received any formal instruction, and for years has created many of her own designs and patterns. On numerous occasions, manufacturers of various types of crochet thread have benefited by her suggestions. For the past six years she has been specializing in making original flowered potholders as gifts to friends or as prizes for bunco parties and bazaars.

About one year ago, the proprietor of a neighborhood gift shop, hearing about her hobby, approached her and suggested she display some of her creations in the window of his establishment. Attracted more by the personal attention and the compliment than the desire for financial returns, Mrs. Salak complied. And then for the first time in the existence of her hobby, profitable returns deluged her without any special effort on her part.

The results of her display of lace edgings, chair backs, and radio mats amazed not only her but the owner of the gift shop, who reported that his sales in merchandise increased 85 per cent during the month of December alone. The dealer attributed the increase in sales to the display of fancywork and offered Mrs. Salak the opportunity to work for him on a full-time basis.

"For the Christmas rush the demand was so great and repeat orders so constant," Mrs. Salak relates, "that every moment of my spare time was occupied and I found myself forgetting lunch, being so intensely interested in filling orders. I crocheted over one hundred and fifty potholders during that period alone."

She used 4,800 yards of ecru, four-ply washfast crochet cotton; 2,000 yards of red and 200 yards of number thirty, green mercerized-cotton thread to fill the orders for the holidays.

The approximate cost to make the one hundred and fifty potholders was less than six dollars. They were sold for cash to the gift shops for sixty cents each and retailed quickly at one dollar, with a successive stream of repeat orders.

Mrs. Salak's most popular potholder is one with a red rose, three petals deep, with twelve green leaves attached to the rose for the center of the piece, and the remainder of the potholder finished in ecru. The size is 7 x 7 inches. Sizes, of course, can vary according to the crocheter's wishes. Some potholders are star-shaped, some round, others monogrammed "His & Hers," and some in miniature pants and panties sets. Others are in the shape, of a teapot, animal figures, and some are prepared for special occasions in the shape of valentines, red hatchets, and so on. She pointed out that, in Manhattan, Altman's department store advertised sequinned potholders at five dollars.

There is an enthusiastic account of one woman's way with her crochet needle, and if you must crochet, do so. But if you have a choice of ideas, do something else and leave crocheting to the shut-ins. Crocheting is one thing that even the most advanced of cripples is able to handle. It is easier for many bed-bound people to do than is knitting because it does not use so many muscles.

One woman supports herself by her crocheting, although she is able to move only one hand. Her husband, who takes care of her, puts the hook into her hand and she turns out hundreds of tiny white bunnies, and grosses of bookmarks in the form of white crosses edged with red and green. Her work is found in gift shops throughout her state and she is the perfect example of a woman who, although unable to take any care of herself, is yet able to support herself.

Felt jackets are their largest item and going by the registered trade-marks of Hubba-Hubba Jackets, they are widely sold to teenagers, with a more conservative design finding favor with men.

Mrs. Borzick first designs the jackets; an artist friend, Kitty O'Hern, draws up the motifs; and then the home workshop starts to whirl. Teen-agers like dogs, jitterbug couples, musical notes, and anything to individualize their jacket appliqued on the back. The jackets come in all colors—red, orange, maroon, blue, purples, and bright yellows.

The children's jackets are cut in pastel colors with their motifs chosen from the nursery books, and Red Riding Hood and Mary's little white lamb have been used over and over again to please those of preschool age.

Women prefer a more mature jacket style, and Mrs. Borzick's western jackets sport appliqued bucking broncos, lariats, and anything indicative of the western scene; or, if the jacket is made to order, it will sport any design that the customer wishes stitched on the back.

The jackets are sold either at the house or through gift shops at from five to ten dollars apiece. Since teen-agers all like to look alike, Mrs. Borzick's twin daughters have hardly to wear anew felt garment before the orders start pouring in.

For one grandchild she designed a tiny cowboy outfit, which he wore to a rodeo. The hat, bolero jacket, and chaps were all of felt and now the workshop regularly turns out Johnnie Bucko suits. This name is registered along with the Hubba-Hubba jackets.

Anything made of felt may be ordered from the Borzick home workshop, and just recently Mrs. Borzick completed an order for five-hundred-dollars worth of pillows with fringed felt covers with the names of the national parks cut out in felt, and potholders, pincushions, and felt dolls, all designed to carry out the western motif to intrigue the tourists.

Not everyone could work so successfully in felt. In the first place, Mrs. Borzick has an eye for the unusual; she doesn't just decide to make a felt jacket and make it. She first decides how it can be different from anything else sold, and then sees that her finished garment is made only of the best felt and workmanship.

One sewer makes a twofold doll. There are two heads, four arms, two torsos, but no legs; for when the doll is head up one way it is a lovely blonde doll; when the skirt is turned over and the other head comes into appearance, it is a charming pickaninny.

In 1945, Miss DeJournette sold her patent on a royalty basis but stayed on with the business as official designer and office consultant.

Miss DeJournette found that women working at home would glue the hair on carefully and this job was farmed out to women who wished to make pin money.

A Gingham Doll and the Young Designer are two recent numbers now manufactured by the DeJournette Enterprises, and they are sold in gift and department stores; about a quarter of a million are sold each year. The Gingham Doll does not have real hair; she is a sturdy cardboard doll with a slot at the neck and another at the waist, which allows a child, simply by inserting a piece of cloth, to clothe the doll! The box housing the doll, which wears a gingham dress (just a piece of cloth pulled through the slots), contains five pieces of crepe paper for dresses and two sheets of drawings of collars and cuffs, belts, pockets, buttons, and aprons, which the child cuts out and pastes on the dresses. A very simple idea, but new. Children adore a paper doll that is different.

Miss DeJournette calls upon her young public for new ideas. Each box contains the printed words, "If you design anything new or unusual, write me and you may receive a Certificate of Merit in costume design." All in all, Miss DeJournette is a very clever gal who makes money from very simple ideas.

Another, realizing the monetary possibilities in dolls, created one with a magnetized hand, which securely holds another tiny metal doll.

Now that you realize how many different kind of dolls there are you can read about sewers who, with less original ideas, have made money creating dolls with their needles.

For the body material of her doll, Mrs. Wootton settled on permatex, a plastic-coated cotton, in a delicate flesh shade. It looked like skin and it felt like skin after it was made up—and it was washable.

"I lost no time in making Arabelle," Mrs. Wootton relates. "She was twenty-six inches tall and consumed more cotton than I had dreamed was possible, but she was more than I'd ever hoped for,"

Arabelle was too large, however, to be duplicated many times, so Mrs. Wootton cut down the pattern to eighteen inches, then to twelve inches and eight inches. These three sizes have proved quite popular, and Mrs. Wootton has never been without an order since her dolls began finding homes in the community. Three department stores have her work on display, and private orders come from many sources.

Each doll is made from five basic pieces—torso and head, two arms, and two legs, cut in duplicate, stitched, stuffed with cotton, and attached. In making the hands, Mrs. Wootton stitches down the finger divisions on the wrong side, turns the material and stuffs each finger with cotton, using a dowel or orange stick.

When the five pieces have been stuffed and sewed together, the faces are painted on, each with its own pert expression, and then covered with a coat of colorless nail polish. Thus the entire doll can be bathed with a soft cloth, soap, and water.

The hair is made of yarn, dyed in several colors and sewed securely to the head, braided into pigtails for the girls, and clipped close for the boys.

Each doll goes to its owner fully dressed in pinafore or playsuit, panties, socks, and hat. Girl dolls get a purse, besides. Another outfit, including dress or playsuit, hat, panties, socks, shoes, purse, and dress hangers, goes along as a wardrobe. For the twelve-inch size, the total cost is $6.50.

Though each of her dolls is an individual creation when completed, marked by beautiful detail and workmanship, Mrs. Wootton has borrowed mass-production methods to save time and to perfect techniques. Body pieces are traced in quantity, and a number of dolls are made up, ready for dressing on order. Shoe pieces are cut in quantity. An eyeleteer and a nailhead set enable her to make quickly and in quantity such details as eyeleted belts, nailhead bags and dresses, and tie shoes. In an upstairs workroom there are yards of pinafore skirting, neatly hemmed and finished at the waistline, ready to be cut off as needed. Only the side hems and tops are needed to complete the garment. To vary the trim on such mass-produced pieces, Mrs. Wootton uses press-on tape cutouts and monogram patterns.

Mrs. Wootton's sewing skill and love for detail show up in panties with elastic tops, dresses with finished seams and hems, bias tape at necklines, hand-turned buttonholes, snap openings that are easy for awkward little fingers to manage, buckled belts, matched belt and purse sets.

Among the luxury items is a pair of satin pajamas with bedroom scuffs to match, held tightly to the doll's feet by elastic bands the same color as the scuffs. One little girl ordered, and received, a pair of fur-trimmed boots, and this clever sewer has created on order a bride's wedding gown and a drum majorette's costume for a little girl who had seen a high-school band marching. Coats and three-piece suits come in many patterns and materials, in style with current junior fashions, each garment with finished hems and seams. For the larger china dolls, Mrs. Wootton makes gloves that actually slip on over the individual fingers. Tiny clothes hangers for the doll wardrobes are made of stovepipe wire turned on a board pattern designed by Mrs. Wootton's able and interested husband.

Leatherette or oil cloth, it has been found, is the best material for shoes. With only one seam, at the heel, the top is ready. The sole, cut from gummed craft paper, is attached, and the finishing touches are added by eyeleting the straps and running ribbons or shoestrings through.

From material for men's undershirts, quantities of doll socks are made up and dyed in quantity. A rainbow array of colors, in both shoes and socks, helps to keep the individual wardrobes pleasantly varied.

A big table, forty inches high, gives plenty of working space and there is a tiny ironing board, complete with sleeve board, made by Mr. Wootton.

Mrs. Wootton is never going to make a fortune from her dolls; if she specialized and stuck to just one model, putting it out in quantity, she would make a great deal more money. But Mrs. Wootton prefers to limit her output, and enjoys working on every doll that she designs.

Mrs. Braxling lists these steps in making one of the dolls. Use one man's sock for each doll. Then (1) cut off toe of sock three inches back. Cut this toe in two lengthwise, making two arms. These arms may be stuffed and sewed on any time after completion of step 5. (2) The rest of the sock makes the body: (a) slit three inches along fold on bottom of sock to base of heel; (b) make a similar slit three inches along fold on top of foot. (3) Turn sock wrong side out. By this time the heel of the sock has magically become the doll's seat. The end of slits becomes the crotch, thus making the legs. Sew inside of legs as in making pair of trousers. (4) Turn right side out. Stuff with cotton up to beginning of ribbed top of sock. Tie string firmly around this part, which is now the top of the head. (5) Use bright-colored yarn and tie around leg of sock about three inches down. This is the neck. (6) Pull ribbed section at top of sock down over head and turn up in two folds to form beret. (7) Finishing touches: embroidered face and bright-colored pompons may be left to the dollmaker's ingenuity.

Edith Braxling sells her dolls in gift and baby shops as well as in nine Portland department stores.

A slip cover a day is about the usual professional sewer's capacity, and any man or woman could become a professional in a month's time. A month for a home business that would bring in easily ten dollars a day isn't much time to spend, and ten dollars is a fair price for a slip cover. Many of the women's magazines, as well as the extension services in twenty-six colleges throughout the United States, put out bulletins on how to make slip covers. Books on slip-cover making are in every library. The month's apprentice training should be spent with scissors and a bolt of cheap cotton that can be cut and pin-fitted to chairs until one has the knack. Different tricks will be found in different books and bulletins, and it would be well to study more than one. Or paid lessons from a professional slip-cover maker might be the easiest way to learn the trade.

Many slip coverers do nothing but institutional work. They pin, fit, and take measurements of the chairs at hotels and clubs, and do the work at home. Doctors are good repeat business and often have complete "re-do's" once a year.

Some women prefer to work through stores only. A store will offer this service to anyone buying the cloth there, and the slip coverer goes to the customer's home and pin-fits the material. Part of the profits here go back to the store.

Although I have mentioned ten dollars as the right price for the labor, the maker of slip covers would have to check with local stores to see what they charge, and then set her prices accordingly. The ten dollars would not include any material, of course, but would be your fee for the time involved in making the covers.

If your high school or extension service does not offer a course in making slip covers, send ten cents to the Superintendent of Documents, United States Government Printing Office, Washington 25, D.C., and ask for their bulletin, "Slip Covers for Furniture," number 1873. This twenty-six page leaflet will tell you how to model a slip cover, why you should use a pattern, how to make French, corded, piped, and bound seams, and so on. With it you could, as I have already said, master slip covers in a month. Don't consider your learning time a waste. Make at least two absolutely perfect slip covers before you let it be known that you are ready for business. Charge for all zippers, rope, for bindings, and the like. The home careerist too often undercharges in her fear of competing with the stores. A perfect slip cover is a perfect slip cover, whether you make it or the best custom-made slip coverer in the world makes it.

You can run this service by having the chairs delivered to your home, and later, when you are very proficient and less nervous at working while someone watches you, you can measure chairs, do the work at home, and then put on the finishing touches and fit the chair in the customer's home.

Many home upholsterers have sample swatches of materials that are ordered direct from the factory, and on this yard goods they receive a discount. An upholstering business can be built up either through individual orders or through furniture stores.

One of the best bulletins, "Be Your Own Upholsterer," by Florence E. Wright, may be ordered for ten cents from Cornell University Extension Service, Ithaca, N.Y.; ask for Bulletin 648. Bulletins often go out of print quickly, so I can't guarantee that you'll be able to get this one.

In order to get practice, you can buy run-down upholstered chairs in second-hand shops for almost nothing. Rejuvenate these and sell them back to the shop from which you bought them. Each one will be a little bit better than the one you tackled before, and finally the day will come when you know that you have mastered the art of upholstering and are ready to set up shop on your own.

The Cornell bulletin is especially good since it shows how you can take worn, castoff, ugly, and antiquated pieces such as Morris chairs, the old spring rocker, and the old-fashioned raised-end couch, and transform them into attractive and useful furnishings by new contour lines, springs, padding, and careful homework. The upholsterer could spend his entire time at a profit picking up secondhand castoffs and restoring them or changing their period styles to bring them up to date. Advertisements in the paper would sell as many of these completed chairs and couches as any one man or woman could handle.

Samples worked from the standard patterns, showing initials in sizes suitable for sheets, pillow cases, handkerchiefs, towels, and so on, arranged neatly on linen squares would be displayed at the stores offering your personalized monogramming service. Few stores, except in the larger cities, offer this service simply because there has been no one available to do it; they should be as happy to find you and take orders for you as you will be to have them show your samples.

Handkerchiefs may be personalized with both the first and last names. One young invalid does nothing but "write" names in running stitch on handkerchiefs. She charges only a quarter per handkerchief, as the work is simple and she can do seven an hour. Many profitable ideas can be worked out for all types of linens. For instance, a complete monogramming service could be offered to brides for their hope chest linens. Carefully prorate your time at whatever you believe it is worth an hour before you set your prices. And never undersell your retail outlets, even though your profits are naturally larger on direct sales.

You'll need not only nimble fingers but good eyesight, and anyone who turns to sewing knowing that it may harm her eyes is foolhardy; there is always certain to be another home career coming right around that well-known corner!

A business of this kind is carried on lucratively by a New Orleans woman who grew impatient at seeing fine knit goods discarded because their wearer was incapable of mending a run or moth hole. She decided to do something about it. Any good knitter can learn to repair stocking runs or knit goods. Government Bulletin 575, put out by the Department of Agriculture, gives the ins and outs of all the problems of mending knitted goods. It tells how to dye yarn in order to have the right color wool to mend with, and how to mend holes either by knitting in a patch or by filling in the space with a "knit-stitch mend" done with a darning needle.

Yours would not be a darning service, but a repair service, and work would be done so perfectly that it would be very difficult to find the repair in the finished work.

There are many households in which there are unfinished sweaters. In addition to repairing hosiery and knit goods, you could also offer a service in finishing half-knit sweaters, socks, scarves, and mittens that had been started in enthusiasm and then left uncompleted when the knitters found the going dull. One woman who agreed to finish knit garments found that she was asked to complete a fireside bench cover in needlepoint. This gave her the impetus to offer a complete "Finishing Service." If she is unable to complete the job, she finds the right craftsman to do so, and her files show that she has finished such varied articles as doll houses, dance frocks, and model ships.

For any of these services your fee per hour will run higher than that for a less specialized service. A dollar should be the minimum fee for knit goods repairs, thirty-five cents on short hosiery runs, and up to a dollar for long ones in very fine stockings. You should prorate your time at about a dollar an hour on "finishing" orders.

The first quilt that Mrs. Newton made was stitched up as a very special gift for a four-year-old nephew; it depicted scenes and incidents from the Bible. The child was so thrilled with his present that Mrs. Newton began to wonder if other children might like similar quilts. Today, she works full time in her apartment trying to keep up with orders for her unusual handiwork. With the aid of her assistants, already over a thousand quilts have gone out to cover both children's and adult's beds.

Each quilt is different from the others. One for a well-known polo player shows the history of polo, while another for Clarence Day's daughter has scenes from the illustrations in his books. The quilts have told the story of Alice in Wonderland, of Treasure Island, of the history of baseball, of a fox hunt, and many others.

First, Mrs. Newton draws the design. Often this requires many hours of research at the library, for she wants each quilt to be authentic and to tell a definite story. The next step is cutting out the pieces, and this is where her assistants come in. These pieces of fine combed cotton are then sent, with a drawing, to skilled sewers in many states. When these completed squares are returned, they are sewed together, and the final step is the quilting of the entire spread.

Of course, quilts as fine as these could not be created by the average needlewoman; Mrs. Newton was already established as an illustrator before she made the first intricate drawings. But even with this talent, had she put her skill into a less practical item, she would not be the success she is today. A bedspread is a necessity, and I cannot repeat too often the practicability of using your needle for something for which there is a widespread demand. The woman who insists upon making dainty tea aprons is doomed. She should be more realistic and adapt herself to the modern market by choosing a garment or household necessity for which there is a wider sale.

Quilts similar to, though not so intricate as Mrs. Newton's should have a wide sale in women's exchanges or through local stores. For the woman who is skilled in applique work it would be a simple matter to find patterns in many children's books. Animals, always a favorite with youngsters, are illustrated in profusion in simple line crayon coloring books to be found in any five-and-dime store.

The possibilities for these quilts are endless. One of the pitfalls in making such merchandise is the possibility that you will not figure your time correctly. It is easier for the sewer to fall down here than for almost any other craftsman. All time involved must be taken into consideration, and once you have decided upon the value of your time, figure it on each article that you work on.

I believe that if I were seriously interested in emulating Mrs. Newton's quiltmaking, I would work with at least two other women. The long, tedious processes of designing, cutting, sewing and quilting will go more quickly and more quilts can be turned out if three work at one time. All three would not have to work together; the applique process, especially, could be done at any time, as it is small enough to carry.

Only the best of cotton cloth should be used. I have seen quilts with hours of work in them made of cheap unbleached cotton. This is similar to choosing a thirty-nine cent roll of wallpaper and then paying a paper hanger ten dollars to put it on; the saving is not worth it. Think of your handiwork in terms of future heirlooms and you will soon realize that the pennies you save in using cheap yard goods are a poor saving indeed.

Before making quilts, study a colorscope showing which colors blend with each other. Children as well as adults like colors that don't clash, and mothers will buy quilts that blend with their color schemes. A quilt telling a story in several shades of blue will sell much more quickly than one made up of all the colors of the rainbow.

A small investment in zippers, snaps, and hooks and eyes would be necessary, plus good working shears and some type of skirt hanger. The woman who does mending is certain to be asked to lengthen or shorten skirts and perform other simple tasks. Since the profits are greater on mending than on make-overs, the mender can stick to her last and refuse to complete or make any garments that involve much time.

Many women would consider mending a menial job, but there is a satisfying beauty in a well-darned sock and in worn trouser cuffs that have been patched and reinforced. You can charge by the garment or by the hour, but have a minimum charge or else you will find men bringing you one button to be put on. It takes about as long to replace buttons on one shirt as it does on three, once you have your thread and needles out and ready. One ingenious sewer started the Bachelor's Service with a twenty-four-hour service for socks and shirts. She charges seventy cents an hour for her time and gives an honest hour's work. No packages are picked up or delivered, thus cutting down on her running expenses.

Grandma was one of those people who believe that everyone has plenty of money except herself; but when it was pointed out to her that parents thought three times before they paid three dollars for a sitter, she decided to do something about it without lowering her price. The next time she had a call she informed the parent that for the three dollars she wished to do mending in addition to sitting with the baby. Now grandma's phone rings often and she averages five nights a week as a pseudo mother. She has a complete sewing box that she always carries, for she knows that young mothers seldom have buttons, tape, snaps, and elastic at hand when needed.

Grandma learned what it takes a lot of women a long time to recognize—that a woman who can hold a needle need never starve.

"The idea started some years ago when my mother brought home several pairs of hand-knit mittens (really two mittens for each hand except for the wrist band) for our children, from Norway. I was fascinated with the designs and took the patterns off on graph paper. Then I worked up some patterns of my own and asked a half-dozen ladies in the village, who I knew could knit, to make a few pairs. When they had one hundred pairs made I had a sale at our hotel and sold all of them and took orders for more.

"The next year we had ten knitters and sold our things at local gift shops, and the third year one of the buyers of R. H. Stearns (Boston) saw our things and ordered ten dozen pairs of mittens. At that time it seemed a huge order and we were thrilled. Each year our little industry has grown until now we have forty women knitting to turn out over 5,500 items a year. We have new patterns each year and make all kinds of caps, hoods, socks, and mittens, both the Norwegian double variety and the fancy stitch with wool embroidery.

"The women meet one afternoon a week, turn in their work for inspection, and get paid for what they have done. Then they are given yarn and directions for the following week. This getting together once a week is essential, for it not only spurs the ladies on to finish their work, but they see each other's and take pride in not having any 'seconds.' The women just love to knit and also love the few extra dollars they can earn knitting three or four pairs of mittens a week while they listen to the radio during the long winter evenings. Some women knit as many as five to seven pair of double mittens a week. All of these women are unemployable, for they are housewives and mothers.

"I buy the yarn in large quantities to finance the industry. Our delivery date to Stearns is in the fall, but we work the year around. I do not take any profit from the business, and the money paid the knitter, plus the yarn, is the price at which we sell the goods to Stearns.

"Our prices are low and so we compete with the imports. Also we specialize in having good proportions so that the mittens fit well. We make them in sizes from the two-year-old baby size up to size seven glove.

"The women work mostly for fun and just in spare evenings. They make about four to five dollars a week; several women who knit some daytimes also make ten to twelve dollars but they all have homes and children and none is able to work full time at her knitting.

"To start an industry, it takes a good idea first, someone who can watch style trends, a little capital to back it and a lot of tact and patience with women! My payment for my work is the pleasure in watching my designs materialize and getting to know well so many of the village women."

Since Mrs. Dodge doesn't make any profit herself, the knitting business does not come under the state minimum wage laws. Check with your state Department of Labor and they will tell you whether or not you could start a business by giving out piecework such as knitting or sewing. I cannot understand why more women with business ability but without the patience to sew do not go out and find women who need pin-money and put them to work as Mrs. Dodge has done. It would take only a very small profit on each finished article for the entrepreneur to make a decent week's salary. She would, of course, not only stimulate the women to do their best work, but would take charge of the packing, selling, and billing as well.

It would probably be called a women's exchange but men should certainly be solicited and asked to display their talents. In fact, there isn't any reason why a man couldn't start a women's exchange.

Any man or woman entering this project should have good taste and be willing to take the time to show those offering their wares how they can improve their products. The manager of the exchange could charge a commission of 20 to 30 per cent of the retail price of each article sold.

If the one who starts this shop sends out a few mimeographed letters asking for goods and explaining in detail just how the exchange is to operate, he will be pleasantly surprised at the response. Many people have skills that no one has heard about, but with a little encouragement and a place to sell their wares they will go into production.

Take Christmas stockings. Every child hangs up his stocking, so one woman thought of making felt stockings. She cuts them out with pinking shears, and they are so unique that buyers snap them up, hanging them up year after year until eventually they will be heirlooms.

The stockings were sometimes cut from white felt, sometimes from green or blue or red, and each pinked felt front was backed with the same shade of flannel. The stockings averaged twenty-three inches long and had an ankle large enough to permit an orange to slide down into the toe. Each stocking was decorated. On one there was a tiny felt Christmas tree with sequins sewed on for the tree ornaments. There was a Humpty Dumpty wearing a purple coat and green trousers sitting on a brown wall that had been embroidered on in a heavy silk floss. Deer, owls, rabbits, kittens, dogs, lambs, and other animals were often cut out of old felt hats that had been washed and pressed. These hats can be picked up in any second-hand shop. Wherever possible, this woman used the correct color of felt for the animal. The animals were not distorted, but more or less true to scale and were copied from children's coloring books.

Anyone going into this stocking business in earnest would find that it wouldn't be long before she would be hiring an assistant to sew along with her. This is an excellent idea for the woman who has imagination and who could create original stockings. If she did not care to do the sewing she could buy the materials, market the finished products, and let the actual handiwork out on a piecework basis. Many individual products may be handled in this manner, with the owner of the business acting as entrepreneur. Of course before any work is sent out, the labor costs must be carefully tabulated.

Tiny plastic articles such as drums, bugles, and carts cost practically nothing when bought by the gross, and would make colorful decorations on the stockings. Don't decorate in any stereotyped pattern, but have the colorful trimmings scattered over the stockings.

A bead store would supply a fund of materials. Long silver beads would make candles topped with tiny red sequins for the flame. Mother Goose characters would be the inspiration for many a charming motif. The stocking tops could be bound either with fur or with heavy binding, and of course have a loop with which to hang them up. Gift shops and department stores would take orders for names to be added to the stockings until around December tenth of each year. The names would be embroidered either in wool or in sequins. The original designer of these stockings sometimes made a plastic covering to protect them.

Large lots would be handled through wholesale houses that deal only in gross lots, but stockings may be sold by the dozen to department stores and gift shops. The price charged would depend upon the labor and cost of materials.

Of course, if everyone started making stockings, the market would soon be glutted, and this is not to advise every sewer to stitch up Christmas stockings but rather to encourage her to find a seasonal article that can be made the year around.

Double waxed thread is always used for the sewing, and the stitches are concealed. This woman claims it takes about three months to make a nine-by-twelve braided rug in her spare time; women have been known to make a nine-by-twelve in five weeks, working about seven hours a day. Of course, all workers have a different rate of speed for this handwork. Woolen mills sell shorts or seconds by the pound; new material should always be used in rugs made for sale. Rugs may easily be sold through department stores, but I found no woman who made these rugs having any trouble in selling them direct.

Some braiders find it quicker to use the new three-way metal gadget that takes three pieces of wool at once, while others prefer the older method of holding the three strands in their hands.

The Craft of Hand Made Rugs by Amy Mali Hicks² (published by Empire State Book Co., N.Y.) fully covers all the fine points of braiding rugs as well as making knitted, crocheted, and hooked rugs.

Having fondled and cuddled kittens as pets at home on the farm, Mrs. Pederson was familiar with baby feline appearance, habits, and expressions. Assembling needle, yarn, and scissors, she experimented with one idea and then another as they came to her. Finally she settled upon a method of procedure that brought pleasing results. Here is the plan Mrs. Pederson follows in making yarn kittens:

First, take a piece of cotton twill tape, 9 inches long and ¼ inch wide. Now wind into a ball half of a 2-ounce skein of 4-ply, all wool knitting yarn. From the half-skein left, cut 6 or 7 swatches 3¼ inches long (this is for the body of the kitten), and 6 swatches 1¼ inches long (to be used for the tail). "Swatches" are small bundles of yarn obtained by cutting at desired lengths or intervals directly through the skein.

On the sewing machine sew ½ inch down the center of one end of the tape to make a firm beginning. Then place the 3¼-inch swatches of yarn under the tape, so that by sewing down the center of the tape you can sew through the middle of each strip of cut yarn. Fill in as much yarn as possible under the tape, holding the tape very lightly and adding more yarn as the sewing is done, until you have used up the 3¼ inch lengths and about half of the tape. Then proceed along the tape with 1¼ inch lengths. This finishes the foundation—body and tail—of the kitten.

The first kitten made will not be as finished looking as the ones that follow. Persistence and practice will improve this needlecraft as they will any other work. Mrs. Pederson suggests that every time you place new swatches under the tape, you should lift the pressure foot of the sewing machine, making the addition of the yarn easier. Then, dropping the pressure foot, proceed with the sewing.

The yarn is now combed so that it looks like fur. Using a hair comb with very fine teeth, comb and fluff the yarn from both sides of the tape, finishing so that no seam or tape shows.

Cut a cardboard three-quarters of an inch wide and three inches long. Lay a string of yarn eight inches long over the length of the cardboard. (This piece will be used for tying.) Wind some more yarn around the width of the cardboard ninety-five times. Then gather, tie tightly, and cut yarn from the cardboard on the opposite side from the tied place. Make three more of these yarn tassels in the same way. Comb them out and shape for the kitten's feet. For the head, use the same procedure as in making the feet, but wind the yarn around the cardboard one hundred and ten times.

Fasten the head onto the body at the end of the tape. Next sew on the front feet just below the head. Then sew the hind feet in place, a little farther apart than the front paws.

Now the head is ready for trimming and shaping. Having a picture or a real kitten to go by will make the work easier and the finished toy more lifelike.

Cut two curved pieces, pointed at the ends, of white flannel and two of pink, for the ears. Cement the pink pieces on the white, and then fasten the ears in place on the kitten's head.

For eyes use two white pearl buttons painted with luminous paint, and sew them in place on the head with heavy black thread.

Sew in a very small amount of pale yarn for the nose and comb in slightly with the white yarn.

For whiskers, use white hair from a horse's tail. Fasten with a dab of airplane cement. Finish the kitten with a bow of ribbon at the neck.

Instead of using all white yarn, if you wish to make a spotted kitten or one with a few interesting markings, work in a little dark or colored yarn. Gray and white, black and white, brown and white are interesting, lifelike color combinations. Pastel solid colors also are pretty, although not so realistic.

Mrs. Pederson's yarn kittens are all different. No two are exactly alike. Even their expressions vary. They look as though they might meow or let out a tiny "s-sptt" as they appear to climb out of the sewing basket or nestle in among the bed pillows.

After she had made a few yarn kittens and was pleased with the results, Mrs. Pederson began filling orders from friends who dropped in to call and who admired these kittens so cleverly made. She sells them as gifts for all occasions, as cuddly toys for tots, and for boudoir and nursery decoration.

Many an old felt hat (they come in from all directions from women who have heard of the Haas business) has gone down into the Haas cellar to be ripped and dipped up and down in clean, warm, mild suds.

Miss Haas says it takes two good-sized felt hats or three medium ones to make a pair of slippers that sell for two dollars. One store wished to take all that she could make, but an order of 125 pairs showed her that her strength would not permit her to work under pressure. Long months in the hospital, and many of these stretches in the last thirty-two years, do not permit Miss Haas to work too intensely. Since she easily gets two dollars a pair for her slippers, and because there is little expense involved in their making, she believes a person could make a very lucrative business of it.

At first Miss Haas used a slipper pattern, but it wasn't long before she had improved upon it. This year, her slipper is an open-toe, heelless model. If possible, Miss Haas likes to have a drawing of the foot to be slippered. She then cuts the bottom of the slipper from corrugated cardboard, which anyone can obtain free from a grocery store. This is padded with cotton batting, which is about Miss Haas's only expense. Then the felt sole is cut from some dark color—two layers of this for strength and one for the top. These are strongly and firmly stitched to the corrugated paper sole lining. The toe piece comes next, also sewed on firmly, and then yarns in different colors from the felt are buttonholed around the slipper. Flowers cut from felt or other ornaments are tacked onto the toe of the slipper. It takes about an hour to make a pair of slippers, and orders come in from friends and by mail from people all over the country who have heard of this interesting pin-money hobby.

¹This part of Mrs. Peake's advice was given as a speech at Career Clinics, presented by the Woman's Program of the New York State Department of Commerce.