DOROTHY GWALTNEY Business Manager VIRGINIA BECK • Assistant Editor ELIZABETH GILL Assistant Editor JOHNNIE ADAMS
LUTHER WELLS • Staff Artist
Editor-in-Chief Business Manager Assistant Editor Assistant Editor
THE MESSENGER is published every month from October to Jme by the students of the University of Richmond. Contributions are welcomed from all members of the st'!dent bod_y and from the alumni. Man'!'cripts not fc:>un~available for publication will be returned. Subscription ra tes are Two Dollars per year; smgle copies Thirty-five Cents. All bus111esscommumcattons should be addressed to the Business Managers. Entered as second-class matter in the postofficc at the University of Richmond Members Intercollegiate Press Association of 1'irginia
EDITORIALS
IIINALLY, drawing long streamy fingers through the strands of a sumptuous black moustachio and twirling the said appendage in reflective circles, we whisper "ah" and prepare to render what might in all seriousness be called a valedictory.
This present staff is glad to get it over with-you have here the tangible expression of their final effort, but it will take them a long, long time to forget-ah yes, to forget, and proverbially to forgive. That THE MESSENGERhas appeared at all this season is at least one of the facts which must duly be recorded in that great book of wonders. We must proffer our thanks to those staunch patriots who have brave_lycontributed to these columns throughout the year. Despite the meagerness of material, there have been some opuses of quality-these few have been gratifying.
But at the beginning of the year we made no promises, we set no goal for ourselves, so we feel that we have failed
DHE past year has seen no little progress in what has been termed the extra-curricular activities of the University. Following the widely advanced theory that there can be no standing still, the student bodies of Richmond and Westhampton Colleges have chosen to go forward rather than to be shelved as hopelessly futile back numbers.
Now that we are on our feet and have learned to manipulate those awkward members, our delight with ourselves and our new found capacities should be stimulus enough for further endeavors.
Already the college year has come to a close. Much praise is due those leaders who, together w!th a not-toogenerous following, have put forth a consc10~s and ~o~scientious effort to bring emphasis upon vanous art1st1c and literary lines, but it is to be hoped that there will be even stronger leaders and even more disciples to the cause in nothing except in the misca:riage of those hopes we privately entertained.
And so we now politely make our exit, leaving at this stage the incoming staff to carry on the high ideals of this great fireside journal. This said staff is one of complete capability and deserves to be placed in the position of editing a college periodical of worth and quality. Submergence-and gurgle gurgle. -L. N. B.
TABLE of CONTENTS
Sonnet, Bruce Archer Morrissette • She Didn't Smell Drunk, Evelyn Duncan .
Mabelle Moore, H. R. Neathery
Two Poems, J. Battiato
Hole in the Fence, Valerie Le Masurier • Arbres sous la pluie, Ruth Hale . Behind the Window-Glass, M. L. Dinwiddie
To a White Iris, M. L. Dinwiddie
Oriental Justice, E. Douglas Gunter
One Born Every Minute, Shoyd Pt·etty
Moon Magic, Elizabeth Gill
during the next year and all the other years. Those who are on the inside are too well aware that we have not yet come safely out of chaos, and that unless more impetus is given toward arousing interest, ambition, and a wholesome wrath, all that has been done will be quite efficiently undone, and the various enterprises will presently culminate in nothing less than tragedy - or should we say
farce? -D. J. G.
Sonnet
Love tints the Florentine cheeks too delicately; The Botticelli lips, too soft in sighs, Too languid tears in the Venice of her eyes, Enflower love when love unflorally Would shun all gardens, leaving gaiety U nshadowed by any flowers ; love denies Grief in this scented brightness: yet love dies Among the petals of satiety.
This love finds too much anguish in the flowers Of love, excess of perfume to the heart: Remembrance lifts too many flowers apart, And brings vague roses from its shadowy hours. No flower offers, while remote birds sing, Forgetfulness,-amid derisive spring.
-Bruce Archer Morrissette.
She Didn't Smell Drunk
By EVELYN DUNCAN
LLEN, soddenly, coldly and completely wet, stood on the rain-drenched corner waiting for a street car, while little streams of water trickled from her hat brim down her neck and from her slicker into the tops of her inefficient galoshes. Screaming hordes of traffic slithered profanely by, and the whole city looked and smelled like a dirty door mat covered with grotesque, bright-eyed, noisy and evil smelling bugs.
At last the proper car came by and Ellen exchanged her dismal stand on the corner for a lurching, closepacked and airless stand jammed between a colored laborer from a fertilizer factory and a fat over-polished salesman with lilac barber's lotion on his hair. She stood the twenty-seven blocks to her boarding house contemplating the pleasure of a hot bath and hot food, as she mechanically adjusted herself to the bumps and jerks of the car.
She was a calm and cheerful sort of person, not philosophic, because she never thought particularly of anything, but accepted what happened as natural-like sunlight or getting burned if she touched something hot. She liked what she was used to and disliked almost nothing but fat people, rain and being shut up in a city. This last dislike had led her into her main extravagance, a room far uptown, a room which had two large windows overlooking a backyard with a tree and a flower border. This room took ten of her eighteen dollars a week, but country girl that she was, the tree alone seemed worth the price. She liked pretty, comfortable things, and so her room boasted two of the least gaudy pictures she could find in a second-hand store, a whole shelf of unread books left over from high school and embellished with bright paper covers, and curtains, bed spread and bureau cover to match.
!nto this room she now dragged her tired body, and havmg flung her wet clothes on a chair tossed herself backwards on the bed with a heart-felt "Whoopee." For five or ten minutes she lay back listening for the end of another boarder's bath and thinking of her Dick because she was in love. In love with a man so noble and jealous of her comfort that he would not snatch her from her present luxury until he was making thirty-five dollars a week; a paragon of masculine perfection though his ears stuck out d h ' an t ere was always a gap between the bottom
of his vest and the t f h. h op o 1s trousers; e wore number ten shoes and smoked a pipe.
Not for long did she tarry thus, dreaming bright dreams of two rooms, kitchen and bath in a real suburb for suppertime was drawing near and the stopper had been drawn out of the bath tub. She stood at her own door waiting for the bath room door to open and then jumped swiftly across the hall for a quick bath. In record time she was dressed and ready for food and Dick in the order named, but as she dressed a feeling of futilit; and gloom entirely alien to her cheerful disposition stole over her. She felt listless and completely uninterested in the fish she smelt frying down stairs. Ordinarily this familiar smell would have reminded her of the fact that this was Friday, tomorrow was payday and any number of pleasant things. But tonight was just one of those nights and she spent quite a while quarreling and fuming with herself.
"I sure am dumb," she decided, "here I stand and yawp with nothing to yawp about, but I sure would like to bawl and kick for about two hours and then do anything but go to the movies as ususal. Everything's so dog-gone usual! I reckon I'm just tired and hungry. How usual."
Food did not soothe her, nor did the friendly darkne~s of the movie afterwards, with Dick by her side, assuage completely the growing discontent. Dick was sympathetic; he held her hand in the movie and kissed her in the hall and called her a variety of sweet and flattering names, but her spirits sunk lower and lower, until at last he left bewildered and a little disgusti<l at her unreasonable snappishness.
Left alone, Ellen climbed once more the three flights of stairs to her little room, almos~ in tears. "Now what do you reckon's the matter?" she inquired of the picture of her mother on her dresser, "maybe I'm turning into one of those girls that must have diamonds and bright lights, like the one in the movies tonight." This image of herself was too much for her sense of humor even in the midst of the blues. She went to bed with a chuckle and chuckling fell asleep.
She slept, and as she slept she dreamt a peculiarly vivid dream. She dreamt that she was standing in a little room that she remembered at home in the country. It
was a dark little room, and when she was a child all the lamps were set there every morning to be filled. Dick was with her, it seemed, and all the lamps were lighted, only there were a great many more than she remembered. Dick began to speak in a solemn sort of way and said, "That lamp in a corner that is not burning is your grandmother. She is dead so the lamp of her life is out. The wick is consumed, the oil is gone. Her light is out forever. There are your parents and everybody you love. There is my lamp and there is your own. Let's put them together on this shelf, so that they will blend and make a brighte-r light than all the rest."
"Don't touch them," she said, "they are close enough as it is, and you might drop one."
But he picked them both up and strained to put them on a high shelf together. He was smiling and his face seemed to glow. He sat the lamp that was her life safely down, but as he stretched to put his own beside it he slipped and fell and his light crashed to the ground. His upturned face was ghastly pale and was tinged blue by the light of her lamp which had a shrunken, quivering, pallid flare. "The light of his light has gone out forever," a sad voice coming from the darkness said in measured tones, and a long low wail began to rise from the other lamps, growing louder as they shrunk and wavered until they looked like pale, cold, glittering eyes of animals in the dark or the delusive glow of phosphorous in a swamp.
She woke with terror. Her hair prickled along her scalp and her mouth felt hot and dry. She was wet with cold sweat and too weak and horror struck to move. She felt that she had actually seen Dick lying dead and the joy of life fading like the lamps in that dark room. The wail was still ringing in her ears. She was desperately, unreasoningly afraid. She must do something.
She finally got out of bed and stumbling in the darkness of the hall, found her way downstairs to the phone and called Dick's familiar number. A sleepy masculine voice answered the seventh long ring and Ellen's trembling voice asked, "Is Mr. Hall there?"
"I'll see," the voice answered with a disgusted snort.
"No, he ain't in, girlie," said the voice more widely awake, and inclined to be facetious, after the interval of looking for Dick. "How long ago did he leave you; maybe he hasn't had time to get here."
"Oh, yes, he's been gone hours. Hours. He's dead. Something terrible has happened. He must be dead," she cried frantically, now that her worst fears had fresh food to feed upon. D ·I .
"Keep your shirt on, keep your shirt on," the voice advised, "did you have a fight? Spit it out, dearie."
"No, no, we didn't. We never fought. I want my Dick. I'm all alone and the lights went away when he fell. He's dead. He's been killed." She was crying now.
"Aw, go to bed and sleep it off. Take a Bromo Seltzer and sleep it off. G'bye."
The receiver clicked, and as the connection was broken it seemed to Ellen's excited mind that the last link of the bond between Dick and her had been broken. She huddled down between the stairs and the phone, too overcome to move or cry or do anything but stare straight ahead into the darkness. How long she sat there before the milk wagon rattled by and the first light of morning came into the hall, she could not say, but it seemed an eternity. The landlady, ghastly in a long flannel wrapper, almost stumbled over her on the way to the front steps for the milk.
"Well, Lord have a little pity! What's all this?" she demanded, bending over Ellen's crouching figure.
Ellen responded in the flat monotone of despair, "My Dick is dead. I know he's dead, but I can't find him."
The landlady retreated a little. You don't look for the dead bodies of your "boy friends" in the front hall of your boarding house, unless you are crazy or drunk and Ellen did not smell drunk.
"Now, now dearie," she said timidly, "you come on back to bed. You must be awful cold. I'll get it for you. Yes indeed, you shall have it."
"Then you know. You saw him too," Ellen said almost eagerly.
"There, there, there. Never mind," the landlady responded, convinced of Ellen's madness.
Just then the doorbell rang long and insistently and when the landlady hesitated to turn her back on a crazy woman to open the door, the ringing was supplemented with such a banging and rattling at the door that she opened it hastily. A wild-eyed young man burst past her calling the name of her crazy boarder, but catching sight of that young lady now standing by the stairs, grabbed her with both hands and began to shake her back and forth with a violence seemingly calculated to break her neck.
"What have you been doing? Where have you been? You aren't drunk!" he exclaimed. "What's the matter with you? Can't I go out and play poker once a year ( Continued on Page 24)
Mabelle Moore
or, To Be Her Enemy Was Suicide
By H. R. NEATHERY
was during the Madri Gras celebration that I caught my first glimpse of that renowned night club owner and entertainer, Miss Mabelle Moore. Some men had said that she was the typical American girl, others claimed she had a lot of It, and in my own estimation she was in a class all by herself and surpassed by none.
She was more of the type movie producers have tried to monopolize for pictures, and she had more than one contract offered to her that she had turned down on the claims that movie life was. tame, artificial and unrealistic. She loved her business and she frolicked in her one dreamland, The Yellow Cat Night Club, in Memphis.
I have seen many women night club owners and entertainers, but none of them compare to Mabelle. Never shall I forget her as she was that evening.
All I saw at first was a golden haired girl in a flaming scarlet evening gown, breezing through crowds in the lobby. At the table where I sat I watched every movement she made during the evening. I was tantalized by her agility. She was a few inches over five feet tall and could not have tipped the scales at more than a hundred pounds, but those few pounds were moulded into so neat a form that both Mother Eve and Venus would have turned green with envy had they seen her.
Her close fitting scarlet evening gown, cut low to the waist in back, and rather low in front at the neck, displayed two well formed, but small, breasts and a perfect white skin back. From beneath the folds of her gown two dainty feet tucked into tiny, red, high heel slippers could be seen supported by two of the most perfect ankles my eyes have ever seen, and as Flo Siegfeld said, "the nearest to perfection in the universe." Small, white hands, the fingers adorned with diamond and ruby set rings gleamed in the mellow lights of the night club as she walked. Her head was crowned with a golden mass of loosely hanging curls that reached to her shoulders, giving her the appearance of a school girl in her early teens. Her face was one any artist would have wished to paint, white cheeks with a rosy splurge in the center of each, two blue eyes resembling large amythests set in ivory surrounded by long eye-lashes, a small turned-up nose,
turned-up just enough to demand attention, small, well curved, ruby lips, that seemed to say to you, "Daddy, won't you please come home?" over which a bewitching smile played ever so often, disclosing a perfect set of snow white teeth, reminding one to buy Pepsodent tooth paste, two small dimples, one in each cheek, noticeable every time she bestowed a smile upon one of her patrons, all making her irrisistible.
At intervals she would croon out love songs in the most alluring fashion as the orchestra beat out melodious strains of melody. Her crooning would make Rudy Vallee give up in disgust. She was all that seemed sweet and innocent.
But all of this was a camouflage. Beneath her winning smile she held her friends, from whom she extracted sums of money for her own benefit. She had a manner about her that tore at the hearts of men and their pocketbooks flowed freely into her hands, hard earned money. Inwardly she hated all men in their desire for lust. To be her friend was a credit to any man, tOIbe her enemy was suicide. She had killed two or three and had sent a number of others to hospitals for trifling with her affections, to be under her witchery, one was like a mouse waiting for a cat to spring upon it, always on the alert for self defense. Mabelle could not be bullied into any matter, when hindered or imposed upon, her whole person reacted like a bantam rooster fighting in defense of its mate. She was not to be trifled with.
She had a clear knowledge of society and also of the gangland, being able to move equally as well in either. She tried to give the public what they wanted in the form of entertainment and as far as I could make out she had completed her task well. She claimed to have read a good deal of psychology and tried to make use of it all in her business.
Her real age was only thirty-five, a veteran in the night club business for ten years, and owner to a court record that extended into volumes. So much for the renowned manager of The Yellow Cat Night Club, Miss Mabelle Moore.
The next time that I saw Mabelle was two years later. Her body was lying in state in the Memphis morgue. Thousands of friends and curious people viewed the remains, all struck with her undying beauty, which
remained upon her face even after life had ceased. She appeared to be sleeping in .peace as she lay there in her silver casket, her face disclosing no long suffering and her lips uttering no tale of her death. It is said that she designed and supervised the making of her own casket. It was of solid silver with flowers and grotesque figures engraved in the sides and on the top.
Her death was sudden. She, in the glory of good health, at the head of a thriving business, falling to her death from an attempted parachute jump three thousand feet in the air. She had gone up with a friend of hers and the two had met their death as the plane went into a tailspin, Mabelle's companion failing to jump as she should have done.
Mabelle had been in the smuggling racket for years. The police knew of her smuggling, but were unable to get any evidence on her in order to send her to the penitentiary. Not only was she credited with smuggling, but with robberies, murders, hi-jacking and blackmail. The Yellow Cat Night Club was her rendezvous. From here she directed her business. Her lieutenants came to the club as patrons, paid their bills, enjoying themselves, receiving no partiality and acting human. The police were thrown off guard by this action, for they expected to find some one who would draw Mabelle's undivided attention and thereby get hold of information so they could close the club and put its manager in jail. The police found nothing. Mabelle knew many more tricks than the police gave her credit! for knowing.
Two members of the ring were in close assoc1at10n with Mabelle. One was her brother who travelled all over the world and brought precious stones and metals back into the country through the channels of smuggling. Many have said that he was the real leader of the gang, but if he was, he said nothing to the contrary of his sister's management. No one had seen him and knew nothing of him, except his sister and the police, but all that the police knew was that he was one in a hundred of those men that travel the oceans making a living smuggling contraband goods and precious stones into countries. The other was a girl, Ruth Chase by name, twenty-four years of age, dark haired, attractive but not beautiful, slim and tall.
It was by accident that Ruth had become a member of the ring. One night on the way from work shei happened to stop in front of a jewelry store that was being robbed. In a hurry to call the police she attracted the attention of
the robbers and they overtook her, taking her to the offices of the club, where Mabelle through flattery secured her silence by bribing her. Ruth Chase was a department store clerk and not wanting her friends to know that she was mixed up with the underworld she kept on with her work. It was a good blind and it kept her busy. Frequently she would visit the club at night with a gentleman friend and enjoy herself. Mabelle seeing the necessity of having a girl around at times found that Ruth being easily bribed might as well work for the money she received. By either going into the department store or sending a note to Ruth to come to the offices Mabelle was able to get hold of Ruth almost anytime she desired. There were few words between them. Too much time from the floor would raise suspicion and so Mabelle had orders written out and left on the desk of her office for Ruth. When Ruth came to the club on orders she would be treated as any other guest. She would not act too familiar, but would watch her chance, excuse herself from the table, go to the ladies' parlor and from there to the offices of Mabelle, through a secret passageway. She would be gone but a minute and caused no unnecessary delay in returning to the table. She never read her orders until she was home alone, then she would burn them.
Luck had turned against the Cats, as The Yellow Club members were called. Every big haul was a flop. They would get their plans all laid out, everything working fine and then just as they would begin to feel at ease after they had eluded the police they would be held up by some of Roxie's men, a rival faction that bothered Mabelle in all that she attempted to do. Roxie's men would get the spoils without much labor and Mabelle's men would suffer ridicule. Only the jobs that Mabelle supervised seemed to go through as they should. It seemed that information leaked out somewhere, and how to stop it was another mystery. Only the small jobs went by unapprehended, the big ones were a flop.
One night as Mabelle's men had looted the First National Bank vaults and escaped with the money, Ruth and her friend Joe Alesei, a member of the Cats, were riding along the main street when a speeding sedan pulled along side and one of the occupants threw a small satchel into the car. A voice called out, "Back trail, Joe. Cops following. Guns and money in satchel." Joe turned at the next corner and drove back along the street. Ruth asked for an explanation, but all she received was, "Shut up." After driving a few blocks Joe turned off into an alley. Three men stepped out in front of the car and
demanded the driver to stop. Joe stopped. The car was searched and the small satchel was removed from the car. "Nice work, Joe," said one of the three and handed Joe a small roll of bills.
"Say, who is the jane ?" asked the same voice.
"Oh, yeah, she is Ruth Chase; she won't squeal," said Joe.
"You sure? Well then here is a little for you then." Handing a few large denomination notes to Ruth. Ruth was amazed. Before she could pull herself together to thank the giver for the money, Joe had driven out of the alley.
"What's it all about, Joe?" asked Ruth.
"Say, are you dumb? Listen, they were not our bunch. They were Roxie's men and I am a member of the gang. You see I'm spying on Mabelle and getting more by letting Roxie step in after all the dirty work is done and claim the goods. It's easy. You know Mabelle will frame you if you tell her that you received money from that bunch. Now listen to me. You are in good with Mabelle and have gotten in on several of the big ones lately. Now if you can get the dope and pass it to me and I can pass it to Roxie. Mabelle isn't going to suspect you, and then you were forced into joining the gang as it was. You see. ."
A sudden crash of steel and wood, splintering glass and the unconsciousness. Ruth woke up the following morning in the hospital. Joe was just outside of the door to the ward and upon seeing Ruth rally had entered. "What do you say to the proposition, kid?"
"Oh, let me think alone, will you?" replied Ruth hatefully.
"Just a minute. If Mabelle or any of the gang come in tell them that we were forced into the tree by someone trying to cut in front of us. You know nothing more, see," said Joe hurriedly.
"All at one time. Please go, Joe, and let me rest," was all that Ruth would say.
Joe left. Soon after his departure Mabelle came to see Ruth and tried to find out who it was that caused the accident.
"Tell me, honey, how did it happen?" inquired Mabelle as she came near to the bedside.
"All I know is that the satchel was thrown in the car by some of the gang and that soon after we were forced off the road and that is all I remember. Did you get the satchel?" was Ruth's reply.
"No, someone else got it. Take good care of yourself,
dear; I'm sorry this had to happen, but I will pay you well," and Mabelle left the room.
A few days later Ruth left the hospital and that night went to the club. Here she received orders of a raid. She did not take part in it because she said she did not feel fit to do so.
A few weeks later two of the Cat gang were sent to New Orleans to meet a smuggler who was to bring in some valuable pearls from Asia. The smuggler was Mabelle's brother. He refused to leave the boat after it had docked. The two deputies from The Yellow Cat were shot down near the dock and the pearls taken. The news made Mabelle and her brother furious. This was going too far. One hundred thousand in pearls lost after six months of careful handling, in order, not to be suspected, made the smuggler call up his sister from Dallas and tell her that the next bunch she would have to come to 'Frisco for.
Mabelle knew that inside there was a spy, but who it was she could not say. All of them had bad luck. Only one big job completed successfully in six months.
A woman has little confidence in another and so it was that Mabelle linked Ruth with the ill luck that had dogged them so lately. First she gave Ruth fake orders of big jobs. She seemed willing to take part in them all.
Mabelle took no chances, but a few hours before the job was to be pulled she would call off the deal. Her men were sent in order to see if they could locate some of Roxie's men. The report would come in that Roxie's men were seen cruising up and down streets within the limits where the deal was to be pulled. More suspicion in Mabelle's mind about Ruth.
Then came the day when Joe was seen talking to one of the Roxie gang. He did not know that he was seen as he slunk into an alley of a backstreet. A few nights later he was killed on his way from the club. Days of fruitful toil followed for the Cats, but Mabelle had Ruth watched as well, for Joe had been a close friend of Ruth, and Joe had not been informed of all the jobs that Ruth had, but he had acquired it somehow.
A net work was placed about Ruth. Men she did not know shadowed her as she went to and from work, one of the young members obtained work on the same floor of the department store and watched her all day long. Her apartment house was watched. Mail was opened and resealed, telephone lines were cut in on, all in an effort to find out if she was in with the St. Louis rivals.
(Continued on Page 22)
Two Poems
By J. BATTIATO
Poor Yorik
The river washed away the sand And left a skull, Bared to the sky. Until I found it In my wandering.
I tapped it gently with a stick And heard a lyre's strain Coming from the other shore. The strains grew stronger
The sun was blotted from my visionDown down into the darkness Where light or mortal had never been. Meanwhile I walked amid the gloom Until th~ strange music ceased, And there I stood in a high Throne room made darker By the radiance of a woman Seated there.
Her coal black hair Fell over ivory shoulders. She bade me welcome To her legions province For I had died.
Nigger
Dark skinMellow speech
Of a dead race. Loud laughterMaudlin nights-Frenzy silence Tension of the morrow, Hard roads and shackles Burdens and cursesPanting in the hot sun, "Keep movin' feet, Don' yo tire, Keep moving hands 'Cause we ain't got long." Yet-
Songs that make White men's blood leap. Lazy love of lifeCrashes of song and laughter Yet ... only ... nigger.
Hole in the Fence
By VALERIE LE MASURIER
E had meant to come in quietly, so quietly that his coming would be unnoticed. But habit was so strong that he had slammed the front door without realizing it, in just the manner that he had always banked it ever since he had been a small boy. The sound of the rattling glass must have reached his mind slowly, because he had his foot planted on the first step before he stopped. Perhaps he wasn't even conscious of the slamming of the door; it was the noise that made him pause.
"Dave," the voice called from the direction of the kitchen. It was a statement, not a question.
He removed his foot from the first step.
"You're there, Dave." His mother now appeared m the kitchen doorway, a damp dish cloth in her hands.
"I'm glad you're home, son. Lily 'n' me waited lunch for you awhile, but she had to help decorate for the social tonight down church, so we went on an' ate. But I've put a bite aside for you. Come on back and eat; you need some skin on your bones, anyway. You must be hungry."
"No," he said, "I'm not hungry."
"But there's apple pie, your fav'rite." She turned and he followed her automatically into the kitchen.
He sat down at the table. It' was beside the window and covered with bright blue oil cloth, that reflected the clearness of the Saturday afternoon.
His mother set the little meal before him. He hadn't thought he was hungry, but he had never seen anything so delicious looking as the apple pie.
His mother moved back and forth about the room. Her shadow swung forward and then back on the shafts of light that spread across the floor. She chatted continually.
He continued to eat, saything nothing and looking out into the backyard where his mother's flowers stretched in lines of color against the fence. Several chickens had made their way from the lower yard among the blooms. There must be a hole in the fence. That would annoy his mother. Perhaps he would fix it tomorrow butSuddenly his mother seemed to note his silence. Her smooth forehead crinkled up worriedly. "There wasn't anything wrong at the office was there, Davey?"
He seemed to consider a second or two before he answered. "Oh, no." The sun was glaring. He shifted his chair so that he could not see it and now fixed his eyes on the geometric figures in the linoleum. And the only thing he could hear was the dull echo of Mr. Dann's voice when he had stood over his desk this morning. That voice had been the beginning of all this horrible jumble in his mind. He couldn't get away from the echo. He didn't hear a word his mother was saying untill he heard Cissy's name.
"What did you say?" he asked.
"I said, I saw Cissy down town today buying pretty things. I guess maybe she's filling up her hope chest." This last of course was a broad hint that she was anxious for him to tell her about himself and Cissy. The situation was ironical, he thought. Everybody thought he would marry Cissy; even Cissy thought so, and only he knew that he couldn't. He had known this since eleven o'clock that morning.
"You 'n' Cissy going down church tonight, aren't you?" She did not wait for an answer, seeming to take it for granted that they were going.
But why shouldn't she, he thought. Any other time they would have gone. They went everywhere together. If things had been different, tonight he would dress very carefully, paying particular attention to his tie. Cissy always noticed his ties. He would wear the one she had given him for his birthday. Then he would walk west to Lane Street. Her house was the second from the corner. Cissy wouldn't be ready on time; she never was. And he would sit and talk to her mother about the weather, and taxes, and have to sympathize with her because of her rheumatism. Then Cissy would at last come down. Cissy in some fluttery thing, perhaps the pink organdie dress! She would say very casually and familiarly, "Hello, Dave," and then they would look at each other understandingly. Her mother would sit a little longer and, at last, leav{1them. They would sit there and after awhile drift out on the porch or into the darkness of the treeshadowed street, arm in arm.
But he couldn't go to Lane Street tonight. He couldn't ever see Cissy again. When he tried to picture her in his mind she would not stay. He would hardly
have her there-her pale, yellow mass of hair, her kind, gray eyes, her smiling mouth-before she was gone. Everything that he cared for was gone.
"Will you just look," exclaimed his mother, "there those awful chickens are, up in my flower beds again." She pushed past him and out in the yard where she began to put the chickens to flight by flapping her apron violently.
He got up and stood at the screen door, looking down into the yard. From where he stood he could see the hole in the fence. The fowls were scuttling through it on to the other side where they would be safe from his mother's onrushing vengeance.
As if he had recalled something he had momentarily forgotten, he started up the back steps. Once in his room he locked the door and rummaging among the medley of things in his top bureau drawer, secured two sheets of writing paper and a pen. He sat down at his table and wrote on one piece of paper, "Dearest Mother," and on the other, "Cissy, darling," and then sat staring at the two salutations. This was the conventional thing to do. One always wrote a letter or letters explaining. And afterwards when they were found, people would say he hadn't been in his right mind. But he believed himself to be a perfectly sane individual. This just seemed the easiest, simplest way out, a hole to cra,wl through.
There was a large picture of Cissy on the table ; it was so life-like that it seemed to be talking to him, begging
him not to write anymore. Yet there was no visible movement, no sound. Her lips remained set in the same photographic smile. He supposed she would be sorry, very sorry. He hated to think that he was going to cause her pain.
Then he supposed his mother would be sorry. He knew that she really loved him a great deal, though she was a woman who, in busying herself with meals and flowers and chickens, seemed to take abstract things for granted. She would miss him. And his sister, Lily, would be sorry, but in a negative way. She would be in her element, swathed in black and making a great show of her grief. Cissy, too, would wear black. He somehow couldn't imagine her in black. She was meant to wear pinks and blues and greens. He didn't want Cissy to wear black.
He wondered if she would consider him a coward. This was going to be so much easier to do than he had thought it would be. If he weren't such a failure, yes, such a blaster coward he would-
His mother was coming up the steps. He rose hurriedly and again thrust his hand into the back of the top drawer. This thing must be done without anymore delay.
His mother was rattling his knob. He drew his hand out, fisted. She called, "Dave, what on earth are you doing?"
He unclenched his fist and held his hand out. He held a number of small nails. "I think I'll fix that hole in the fence, Mother," he called.
A rbres sous la pluie
If I were out in the rain
I would throw back my head like the trees, And laugh at the wetness and chill That come so threateningly down. I would stand with my feet wide apart And hold out my arms to the wind, And quiver and rock as it blew. But here in the room I am stillAs still as the chimney I see.
-Ruth Hale.
B ehind the Window-Glass
You are always there
Waiting behind the window-glass, Waiting to wave your hand Or whisper to me as I pass.
In morning, sunlight paints your face, Or you smile on a gray dawn. At evening, from the lamplight 'to the darkness I see you after I have gone.
Why should I pass without, And you within? I do not know! Only this-I shall see yot1ithere Smiling behind the window.
-M. L. Dinwiddie.
To a White Iris
I saw the softness of the clouds Upon some fairy petals fair, Close-bended in aesthetic grace, As if to hide some treasure there.
I dared to touch their subtle lace, Peering within the hidden fold. I saw the iris' rainbow heart, And smeared my fingers in its gold.
-M. L. Dinwiddie.
Oriental Justice
By E. DOUGLASGUNTER
ARL BLACKLYclosed his bachelor apartments for the summer and sailed for the Orient. Oakland was no place for the vacation period, its plodding citizens were too mercenary all during the rest of the year to be endured during the naturally intolerable summer months. Old Man Tyler was irritable enough anyway, and the heat and rush of the seasonal nature of his business would make him unapproachable about that mortgage. He was always buying in some new stock and needed the money; couldn't Blackly wait until next year? The same tale had been given for the last two years. Not that Carl needed the money, but it was a nuisance to have your assets strung all about town and not able to get them just because some one takes advantage of your good nature. Doing business with the heart instead of with the head had been the premature downfall of more than one otherwise good business man, and Carl promised him self that upon his return he would corner Old Man Tyler and make him pay up regardless of the usual excuse.
Carl had enough money to indulge an inherited mania for collecting rare and beautiful furniture. His mother left him all of her collection of mahogany and walnut furniture of peculiar design, and he had picked up several museum pieces. That Sheraton sideboard was worth two thousand. He expected to further satisfy his taste for such if not to actually satiate it. Several pieces of teak wood furniture would add variety, if not harmony, to the already over furnished apartment. But Carl didn't care about the cramped luxuriancy, as long as his collection would excite the curiosity of his numerous friends and frequent guests Every time some new find arrived, Aunt Lizzy, the ancient family servant, would mutter and complain about having more "mess and fummadidles to dust up. Effen 'twas his mammy's 'twould be diffent, but naw, he got to go out and git de stuff dat nobody else wouldn't have and pile it in here to sacralidge dis stuff his mammy done already give him. But Lawd, 'taint no use fo' me to complain, his house aint it, and his money. He wouldn' lissen nohow." Some of Carl's friends thought the same, but he didn't care.
Carl didn't realize just how exhausted he was until
he relaxed in the comfortable, blanket covered deck chair on the Queen of India bound for Hawaii and the Orient. The breeze from the west whipped the surf into minature volcanoes and mountain ridges, and blew his blond hair over his forehead. He stretched , his long legs out on the foot rest and relaxed completely to the easy motion of the ship. This was the life, not a care in the world, no one dependent on you, the whole summer in which to play and enjoy the strange wonders of a foreign continent, and business affairs in such fine order that they could be neglected indefinitely. What could be sweeter?
All that summer Carl Blackly knocked about the Japanese Islands with an occasional trip to the, mainland. But things were too unsettled there and it was infinitely more peaceful on the friendly Japanese Islands. Snowcapped Fu gia ma always served to calm any qualms whatever, and the pretty little Japanese girls were a never ending source of easily won pleasure. Little Nada had stayed with him for a week and had wept passionately when he finally had to tear himself away to avoid an unpleasant interview with her almond-eyed father. Oh, well, why worry? She had nothing to be anxious about; he had been careful.
When winter began to set in, Carl left Shanghai for Bombay. Addison had said in his last letter that things were in apple pie order at the office and not to hurry home. Carl buried his chagrin that things were running so smoothly in spite of his prolonged absence, and committtd himself to the charm of Mysterious India, the sink hole of all the precious metals that entered.
He registered at the Lord Dunsworth, and set out for the shops. He hadn't forgotten those teak wood pieces. Down on a side street, away from the usually frequented centers of trade, he found an old man about to close shop for the night. Little more than a hole in the wall thi s ' store housed a very rare line of teak wood furniture and curioes and it was half an hour before Carl had finished admiring and pricing the stock. The old proprietor patiently followed Carl from one object to another, his eyes glittering at the prospect of a large sale. Finally when Carl left without purchasing anything, the old dealer shook his head wisely. Perhaps this rich foreigner would be surprised at the amount of furniture he had bought.
Next morning when Carl started to leave the hotel
for the daily game of tennis with one of the English civil servants, the clerk handed him a long bill containing various entries for furniture from the store which he had visited the evening before.
"Why, you must be mistaken," he said to the clerk, "I didn't buy any furniture from that untidy devil."
"Perhaps," said the clerk. "But he came in this morning and put that lot of furniture at the side entrance and said he would come later in the day to collect. He is a pretty crafty old dog and stands in well with the local officials. Several tourists have left here with furniture they never dreamed of buying."
"Well, he is not going to wish any of his junk off on me without a fight. Aren't there any lawyers in this dirty hole? There should be some way for an innocent tourist to protect himself. What must I do? Don't you know of a good lawyer?"
"Yes," the clerk admitted, and reached into his pocket to hand Carl a small, white card. "Take this card to the addre ss on there and tell Mr. Smythe that I sent you. He ha s been here about six. months and is pretty well up on the tricks of some of these cut throats."
Carl thanked him, handed him a cigar and went to keep his tennis engagement. Time enough to attend to thin gs later. Time was nothing to these people on this craz y continent.
When he returned to the hotel after lunch at the tennis club, Carl saw the dirty, old furniture dealer waiting for him. Well here was where the old clown was goin g to get an ear full. What did he mean anyway, trying to force a lot of worthless junk on him?
"Your honor, Mr. Blackly," said the dealer, bowing low, "I have come to collect for the furniture you so g raciously bought from my humble shop last night. It is always . . ."
"Wait a minute you black half-wit," interrupted Carl angrily, "you know damned well I didn't buy any of your lousy furniture, and I'm not going to sit here and listen to any of your assinine babble about my having bou ght it. If you are willing to take it on back to your dump and call it quits, it's all right with me; we'll call it a big joke on me if you like, but I'm not going to pay for the stuff. And don't stand there gaping at me like you were seeing your l\,fohamet or something. Beat it; I'm tired of looking at your dirty hide."
Quite an assemblage had gathered to watch the fun, half expecting a fight to ensue. Carl glared around at
them and they moved back a pace or two, fearing a blow from Carl's clenched fists.
The hotel clerk came through the door smiling amusedly at the noise and invited the two contenders to step inside to adjust their trouble.
The Hindoo merely shook his head wearily and said, "No, my lawyer shall handle the case. He is very efficient, and u sually wins in such affairs."
"Yeah, that suits me fine," said Carl, "my lawyer is no mean adjuster himself, and he'll fix things up."
A week later Carl received a summons to appear in court at nine o'clock next morning. He wasn't in the habit of rising before nine-thirty, and forgot to set the alarm clock. When he arrived in court at ten fifteen, next morning, all the witnesses had been sworn in, including the witnesses for his case. There were eight witnesses for the old shop keeper! ·where had they come from? Carl was certain there was no one in the shop on that particular ni ght, but here were eight ragged, dirty ruffians to swear that he had contracted to buy the furniture. Well, he would sit back and see how things worked out. If this lawyer knew his business there would be nothing to worry about.
Each witness for the plaintiff came up as he was called and nodded violently to every question put by the old Indian's lawyer. Yes, he was there during the whole time and heard the rich American order the furniture sent to the hotel. No, he had not objected to the price in any instance, but had merely passed on to the next piece. Carl looked at his lawyer and was astounded to see him nodding in approval as each of the dirty devils h ? swore great lies. What sort of a lawyer was t 1s anyway. Had his own lawyer turned against him? Carl started to question the man about his tactics, but he was waved aside with a gesture of impatience.
Finally, when all the witnesses for the plaintiff had given their testimony, Carl's lawyer rose slowly to his full six feet three inches. He glared darkly at the old keeper's lawyer.
"My honorable opponent," he said, "has failed miserably in coaching his witnesses. It is generally the best practice to refresh the witnesses' memories to the fullest extent in a case like the present one. This my most worthy opponent has failed to do, and it shall be ~y duty to _show that my colleague's memories are full of 1m~o-rtant'.n!ormation which will entirely, reverse the preva1lm~ opm10n, and cause our most wise and benevolent magistrate to enter judgment for my client."
( Continued on Page 21)
One Born Every Minute
By SHOYD PRETTY
A Y the first, and only a few more weeks of school for Joe Sadler. Tonight everything seemed rosy except for that pile of bills that confronted him. He had had everything that he had wanted for three years, money, love and happiness, even sorrow had come into his life when his father had passed away the first month of his Senior year in college. He had fallen in love with Mabliss Venton a year ago and most of these bills were for her comfort. The bills could stay as they were a year ago, but now, that father was no longer the one to send to, Joe took over his own responsibility and found that a mere allowance of twenty dollars a week, out of the estate, was not sufficient to take care of all of these accounts he; had acquired.
Party at Jerome's, $75.00; corsage from Miller's, $12.50; that suit from Talmer's, $47.00; cleaning and pressing, $8.00; food for night luncheons in his room from the delicatessen, $19.00; the monthly installment on the roadster, $25.00; ties and shirts, $9.75; and also the rent and telephone bill for $35.00; a grand total over $231.00 and only a check of twenty dollars to go after it all with. It had been easy to say, "Charge it," but now with several of the accounts overdue he was being threatened with bill collectors everywhere he turned. He could not let this news get to the Dean, for if he did then it would all be over for Joe. Of course, it was only a tradition, but then it stood before the eyes of the Dean as well as the student body, that if a man went into debt and found himself unable to get out in a reasonable time, unless it was for necessities, it was understood that this student would hand in his resignation at once and leave school. Leave school? This question stood before Joe's eyes as he glanced first at the · bills and then at the photos of his mother and dad. It would be breaking his promise to his dad if he did not finish schooli and it would almost kill his mother. He knew that, but he also knew he was on the verge of being compelled to leave if his creditors went to the office of the Dean with their bills.
Becoming somewhat frantic, Joe picked up the bills and tore them into small pieces, throwing them to all sides of his room and in the same moment cussing himself as
well as his creditors for getting into debt. It had been all too easy and all because he had listened to that frizzled blonde, Mabliss. Twenty dollars and no way of borrowing ahead on his allowance from the estate. Even if he did borrow ahead he would have to starve during the time, for the twenty dollars was barely enough' to live on and he had to depend on his mother to get pocket money. What could he do to raise a little cash? He couldn't work, for if he did, then everyone would know that he was in debt and it was not the proper thing for one as popular as he was on the campus to work while he was in school, and then what could he do? He had never worked a day in his life. Dad had been liberal with him up until he had died and then to put him on a measily allowance. Why all the boys were laughing at him now, because he had told them exactly what he was going to do with his dad's estate when he received control of it, but no, it had been put into the hands of his Uncle Bob, and Uncle was too tight to even give a sparrow a place to roost for the night in summer, and to ask him for a loan would be bringing only harder feelings between the two of them.
The ten days' grace allowed on the bills was diminishing gradually, only three more days remained and then Joe knew he would have to be exposed to the Dean for acquiring debts and not paying them.
The diamond did not hold the attraction now, that it had a few days before. The coach had noticed that Joe was not playing his regular game at second base, and after asking for an explanation for his change in attitude Joe only replied that he could not keep his mind on the game any more. It had caused the coach to bring Joe to the bench and to allow Jim Terrell to hold down the old sack on second. The Bridgepoint game was a memory and only by a miracle had Tulane won by a score of 11-10. On the following Wednesday Tulane was to play Concord. Concord, the old rival of many years back, and always Tulane had seemed to come out the victor in most of the struggles in which the two schools had taken part in. But not only would the victory give either school a mark against the other, but also the state championship. Both teams had been successful all season, not losing a game and the game was the tell-tale game of all. It was true that Concord had the strongest team in years
and was respected · in every way as to the brilliant showing that they had displayed all season on the diamond. Other colleges had tried to break the winning streak Concord had displayed. Was Tulane going to follow the others and lose to Concord, or was Wednesday to be a glorious day of victory for the old school? The coach had promised Joe that he was to start the game regardless of his attitude he held at present, for his batting ability was one thing that Concord feared more than any other thing.
On Monday, Joe had received a call on the telephone asking him if he was busy that night. Joe replied that he was in training and could not leave his room after eight. The caller persisted on seeing him and would not come to the campus, but had stressed that it would be important to both of them if he could arrange a meeting.
"How about dinner at six?" came the voice over the phone.
"I guess I can make it OK," said Joe.
"Meet me at Jerome's then at six," followed by a click.
The time from the phone call until six put Joe into a frenzied mind, for he knew of no one who would call him incognito.
Six o'clock found Sadler in front of Jerome's. He had one of those queer feelings all over him, one that a person has when he is not certain of what is going to happen.
Presently a man stepped up to him and spoke his name, "Hello, Sadler, how are you?"
"Fine, thank you," returned Joe, gazing at his speaker.
"What say to a bite to eat? You are a little hungry I know, for one who practices ball all evening certainly gets a good appetite," continued the newcomer.
Joe looked at his man. About five foot six, thin, rather nervous, and with the face of a gambler. He wore a light grey suit, a double breasted top coat and a derby. By all appearances he seemed to be a fellow along in the thirties, though he may have been more. He smoked consistently and his eyes, though grey, seemed to pierce one to the marrow.
The two entered the cafe and the newcomer ordered a table for two, off to the side. They were shown to a table far from the center of the hall and where the lights were dim. Anyone looking about could not easily identify one where they were. The meal was ordered and the waiter left, and doing so gave Joe a questioning look. Joe said nothing. The newcomer opened the conversation, "Sadler, I know that you are in a pickle, so to speak, with
finances. A friend of mine told me and I have come to offer you a little plan which you can make enough to cover all of your expenses and a little more besides. It is nothing at all, simply a little work on your part with the money before h a nd and we take your word for it, see? Very easy, now wait one moment, no one but myself and a few other fellows will know of this and you can depend on me. It will not be news that will scatter, only thing is, will you take it?"
"What is the proposition?"
"Very easy. You see the coach of Concord has not lost a game this year and to win from Tulane would put him on the who's who in baseball, and as you know only a little encouragement can help that bunch. We want to get the signals from the catcher for the batter so we can knock Tulane's pitchers out one after the other, and break the moral of the team so that it will be an easy win."
"One minute, big boy, " said Joe rising from his chair, "what kind of a fish do you think I am?"
The little fellow continued, "Sit down, do you want me to let these men you owe money to come in on you. Think a minute and then you will see that it is not a hard proposition that I am offering you after all. All you have to do is to watch the signals from the catcher and then signal them to the coach of Concord who will signal the batter. You see you are in a position on second where you can see the catcher and with ease and not being noticed by anyone else, and can give us exactly whar the catcher calls for. Now no one will know of this except you and me, and of course, the Concord coach. The players will know nothing."
"Now listen, I'm not to be bribed," replied Joe.
The other looked at Joe and said, "O. K., Sadler, it is your choice. I only aimed to keep you out of jail and to keep the wolf from the door, but if you can'.t come to terms then I'm going to let the collectors come m on yo~. Now look at this," taking a roll of greenbacks from his pocket and starting to count them, "here is three hundre~ k h h will put you on your feet once more, smac ers, w 1c h 1 h Joe's hand "and furthermore all you ave p acmg t em m , to do is very simple, just signal the coach."
What went through the mind of Joe in the next f_ew to be equaled. A chance to save him- mmutes was never . h If from leaving college for debts. A little thmg t at se d · h oper manner reall could not be noticed if one m t e pr and ~o one would hear about it. He could pray t~at ~; wouldn't have to start the game, but the~ the coac ~::e that he would and coach generally kept his word. T
hundred ' dollars in cool cash. Enough to pay all his bills and to have a little to put on a party with. It would be easy.
"I'll take it, but promise that no one will know of it," said Joe as he started to roll up the money in his hands.
"O. K., now for a strike, you know a straight ball, you will stand up and put your right hand in your belt, just hook your thumb so we can see your hand, then for a curve you can raise your hand to your cap. And for an in, just raise your arm whichever way it is supposed to be. You see it is simple, very simple."
"Yes," Joe concluded, "very simple."
With this the two aro se from the table and left the cafe. Outside the two said goodnight to each other. A few minutes later Joe returned inside and asked for the manager. When he appeared Joe peeled off a few of the bills and asked for a receipt for payment of his bill. He received it and with a smile upon his face left for his room on the campus.
The next morning found Joe in many places, where he paid up all his accounts and then took in a show and a good meal that night. The early hours for the team caused him to break from his solitary enjoyment.
The game of the season was to be played and the two rival schools displayed brilliant rallies the night before, on their respective campuses. Joe l was one in deep thinking. He was unable to join the rest of the team in going to the rally. After the others had gone he went to bed trying to think over the treason he had planned to do on the morrow. Sleep would not come to this unfortunate one. He tossed and turned all night. The next morning Joe was up early. He made a round of all his creditors and paid them what he owed. There was surprise in most of their faces, but they accepted the money and asked no questions. During the remainder of the morning Joe stayed away from the campus. He had a guilty feeling and was trying to think of some reason and way he could be late to the dressing room and thereby be kept from the game on account of tardiness, which the coach disliked more than any other misdemeanor that may be tried by the boys. Joe hiked off through the woods that surrounded the town and kept on walking unconscious where he was headed toward or why. He wanted to be left alone. Unknowingly Joe had walked in a circle and just before game time he raised his head from looking at the ground and found that he was almost in front of the gym and saw the coach looking at him.
"What the devil. Where have you been, Sadler?" questioned the coach as Joe came to a surprised halt.
"Just walking," was the reply.
"You haven't' time to eat now , game will start in ten minutes. Now hurry up and get into your uniform and get out there on the field."
Joe ran into the gym more to hide from the coach than to dress. Could not he g et out of playin g ? He, Joe Sadler, had sold his team a nd school for a mea sely sum of money. Was he not another Judas only in another role? He dressed slowly and saunter ed out to the field. Ar the gate to the stadium a man approached him and said, "Thought you ditched u s, kiddo. Well show your stuff now. We are depending on you."
Joe looked around and swaying back on his heels in surpri se saw the man who had g iven him the money the night before. A slow and sickly grin came upon the man's face; Joe turned and hurried into the stadium. He wanted to go to the coach and t ell him what he had done, but somehow he could not mu ster up the coura g e to do so. Words would fail him if he tried to ex plain how it all happened. He only went to the bench and sat down. Many of the student s were, giving him an applause a s he same to sit with the sub s on the bench. The g ame had started and Concord was batting. Joe had no desire to play. Suddenly it came to Joe that he had not promi sed to refuse to bat as he had, just give away the pitcher. The game was not interesting to Joe as he ga zed absent-mindedly out on the field. He came out of his state of coma when one of his teammates cam e up to him and slapped him on the shoulder and welcomed him.
"Sadler," came a voice at the other end of the bench.
"Yes, sir, coach," and hurrying to the other end of the bench Joe was told that he would take his regular position in the line-up and would go in the game to play. Joe looked up and his eyes met those of the man who had bribed him. He stood a moment and then went over to the bat boy and selected a couple of bats to warm up with.
The first Tulane man at bat fanned out on the first three balls pitched to him. The crowds roared. The next man singled into center field and the third walked. Joe was clean-up man and he went to the plate with a desire to hit the ball to the farthest corner of the field, if he could. As he stood at the plate waiting for the pitcher to take his box, a few minutes lapsed. These few were enough to give new thought to this game. He had it. He would do his best to hit and he would then pull a bluff hurt by sliding into one of the bases and refusing to get
up. Hot tears came into Joe's eyes as he thought over the crime he had committed and the shame that would be his if his team lost.
The pitcher took his place on the mound, and seeing Sadler at the plate, grinned. Did he know of the deal? Joe became angry, and hot tears rolled on his cheeks. Damn 'em, he would show them!
The pitcher wound up, Joe placed his feet well and held his bat tight. The ball came toward Joe, straight as an arrow. Whang!! The crash of leather on wood resounded into the stands. The ball went low and fast between second and first base. Joe ran. He touched first, heard the cheers of his friends in the stands as the two men crossed the home plate, second base loomed before him. He heard the coach at first call, "Slide!" Joe slid. Snap! A sickening feeling came over Joe and he rolled over, touching second. That pain that shot through his body kept him from getting up. The roaring of the crowd subsided. The sound of hurrying feet approaching him, seemed almost unaudible. It was the coach. "What's the trouble, Joe?"
"I'm through, coach," choked Joe as he lay with his foot clinging to second base. Safe, but out of the game.
"Oh, Doc, come here," called the coach as he turned toward the bench. The doctor ran onto the field and to Joe's side. One touch of his hand to his ankle made Joe give moaning comments of, "Leave it alone." The coach stood for a minute as the doctor examined the ankle.
"No use, coach. The ankle is broke. Joe Sadler will
Murphy,s Hotel Billiard Parlor
Eighth
Fraternity, College and Class Jewelry Commencement Announcements and Invitations
Jewelet' to the Senior Classes of the University of Richmond and Westhampton College
M anu/acturing Jewelers and Stationers Attleboro, Mass.
WALTER B. ANDERSON, '21, District Manager Ninth Street at Marshall, Richmond, Va. B. Brauer'
s Sons
Subscription Price $2.50. It stands in the old paths, but does not stand still it also walks therein.
play no more ball this season," said the doctor as he arose from Joe's side. "Have him brought to the dressing room at once," and with this the doctor left the field.
A dream had come to be a reality and Joe smiled through his painwrought face as some of his teammates came to carry him from the field. He made them stop at the bench, just to get one more glance at the field that had saved him from disgrace. He wondered if Lady Luck had been sent to him that day. In the dressing room Joe lay patiently as the doctor set his ankle and allowed him to dress, so that he could go to the hospital. Joe hated to go, but he knew it would be best to have the ankle set right at first and then he could be walking soon with hi s old friends. None of them knew what he suffered inwardly for his crime.
Joe refused to leave the dressing room until the game was over. He mu st know of the outcome. Time seemed to drag into ages as he waited to hear his teammates returning to the rooms. At la st. They were all coming in, but why were they so quiet. They entered the room. Joe could not face them. Had they heard of his dealings. Yes, they had stopped in the doorway. Joe looked up from where he was la ying on the rubbing table.
"We won." One of the boys came forward to Joe and took him by the hand. "We beat them three to one, old man. Your hit in the first was what won the game for us." They knew nothing of the deal. Joe thanked God they did not.
A smile creeped upon Joe's face and strugg ling for something to say finally uttered, "I don't deserve the credit you give me. Let's go, Doc."
Four of the boys picked up Joe and carried him to the doctor's automobile outside of the dressing quarters. The y put him down gently onto the seat of the roadster and with a merry, "We'll be to see you tonight," turned from him and went back to the showers.
As the doctor was starting the motor a stranger ap-
Agents for Schrafft's Chocolates
proached the car and looking at Joe in a queer, mean way said, "How about our money back, you crook."
Sadler turned. His friend of the night before. Laughingly he replied, "There is a sucker born every minute, big boy," and turning away he said to the doctor, "let's get out of here; my leg hurts."
ORIENTAL JUSTICE
(Continued from Page 15)
Here he turned to the leader of his twelve witnesses, and instructed them to take places along the side of the row of benches on which sat the curious mass of interested spectators. Some of the self-conscious ones grinned broadly at friends in the audience, others could not look up, but h ung their heads in embarrassment. But they were getting fifteen cents for this few minutes work and that would buy bread for the next week.
Each in turn nodded or shook their heads in accordance with the signal from the lawyer. "Yes, the American had bought the Indian's furniture, and we all saw him give the dealer a large roll of money in payment thereof." Thus swore the twelve witnesses of Carl's lawyer. Carl nearly fell from his chair as the judge solemnly rose to count first the witnesses for the shop keeper, then Carl's witnesses, and pronounce that the furniture went to the American for payment thereof.
Carl shook with laughter as he pumped the tall Englishman's hand in hearty congratulation for his keen knowledge of the local ethics and the superb way in which he had handled the situation. He reached for his check book to pay the fellow for his services, but the Englishman smiled and said, "No, I'll take the furniture."
Moon Magic
Down in the garden a white nymph stands, Frozen into marble by an April spell; Vainly she lifts her imploring handsNight's old magic has worked too well.
Poised for going, she may not go, Though Pan is playing a sweet, wild tuneAround her is piled the spirea's snow And upon the grass is the frost of the moon.
-Elizabeth Gill.
MABELLE MOORE
(Continued from Page 9)
Weeks went by and no information came. Mabelle had resumed her trust in Ruth, although she never expressed her sympathy for Joe. Another trip to New Orleans to obtain pearls was on docket and Ruth was told that she and Mabelle would fly to Orleans and save time. There would be no suspicion aroused if two women flew from one city to another, and besides Mabelle was a competent pilot. The date was set for the flying. It would be the morning the boat was to arrive in New Orleans. Scouts werei sent to St. Louis and New Orleans to see if Roxie had obtained news of the shipment. Days went byno news arrived at the club telling of the notice given to the Roxie mob. Mabelle and Ruth were close friends again. They arrived at the airport dressed in flying togs ready to take the air. Mabelle's ship was brought out. A small blue monoplane, purchased a year ago and although Mabelle had used it considerably in learning to fly, it was in good condition. The motor was warmed up. Ruth entered the cabin of the plane ahead of Mabelle, who waited to receive final instructions on weather conditions.
From one of the hangars a messenger boy ran. Mabelle caught sight of him as he approached; she waited. A telegram for her. What were its contents? She walked around behind the plane where she was out of sight of Ruth and opened the wire. Her face whitened, her eyes narrowed, lips formed words that were never uttered. She retained her former self and entered the cabin of the plane. She turned to Ruth, a bright smile upon her face, "How do you feel, dear?"
"Wonderful, I love to fly," replied Ruth.
A roar settled upon the air as Mabelle opened the motor, dust rose in clouds as the blocks were pulled from under the wheels and the plane soared into the air. Neither of the women spoke. Ruth watching the ground below and Mabelle the path ahead as she circled the field. Ruth watched the field below as Mabelle circled it. Why did she continue to circle and not fly out from the field? For a minute she hesitated and then she asked, "Haven't you enough altitude?"
"It's my way of flying, my dear. I get my altitude before I fly far," Mabelle answered.
The men on the ground noticed the ship's circling about and thought that perhaps Mabelle sensed something wrong with the motor and would return to earth. But no; she was climbing higher. They continued to watch.
When the altometer read five thousand feet Mabelle
PAGE TWENTY-THREE
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turned to Ruth. "My dear," she said, "I have something to ask you." Ruth looked amazed at the questioning gaze that was fixed on Mabelle's face.
"What is it?" asked Ruth.
The plane continued to circle m wide circles, and Mabelle glanced at the altometer. It was now at five thousand three hundred. She would go a little lower. • She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a yellow envelope which she handed to Ruth. Ruth took it. It was a telegram to Mabelle.
"Re a d it , " came the sharp voice, of Mabelle. Ruth tore open the telegram and re ad the contents.
MISS MABELLE MOORE
YELLOW CAT CLUB MEMPHIS TENN ROXIE FLEW IN THIS MORNING DRINKING SAYS HE WILL GET PEARLS SAYS THAT JOES GIRL GAVE HIM TIP STOP ASK RUTH ABOUT THIS I BELIEVE SHE DID IT
BIBBY
"You gave Roxie that tip," bellowed Mabelle as she looked into the changing face of Ruth.
"I did not," cried Ruth, "it's a lie."
"Listen, you skunk , " yelled Mabelle so Ruth could hear her over the drone of the motor, "I've had you watched and I know you have given out dope, cause you are the only one that had it and didn't know it was fake. Now tell me you didn't."
"What are you going to do with me?" Ruth asked in a trembling voice, watching Mabelle.
"Kill you," came the reply. Ruth shuddered.. Mabelle choked the motor of the plane. Sput-sput-sputbrrrrrrrrrr-sput-sput-sput-pop-pop. The engine continued to miss and finally stopped. The men on the
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ground around the airdrone noticed the failing motor and stood in awe wondering if Mabelle could bring the ship to earth. The ship slid to a little over three thousand feet and Mabelle took her belt from her flying jacket and tied the controls. Ruth stood amazed in the small cabin. "What are we going to do?" she screamed and fainted, falling in a heap on the cabin floor. Mabelle opened the door to the monoplane. The men below spoke in one word, "Golly."
Mabelle gave one sneering look at Ruth. The rush of air coming into the small cabin jerked the plane to one side, Mabelle jerked the releasing ring of her parachute and jumped. As she jumped the plane started to go into a tailspin, catching part of Mabelle's parachute on one of the wing supports. Mabelle yanked at the strings of her parachute in order to release it from the position. The plane soared with the currents of air in a jagged trail earthward. Mabelle became frantic and with one mighty iast effort pulled at the parachute. She released it, but in doing so tore away a large portion of the canvas which hung on the support. Mabelle fell to the earth. The parachute never opened for effect, for the hole in it did not hold the weight of the falling body. The rolling of the plane caused the body of Ruth to roll to the open door and fall through a thousand feet of space to the earth below. The plane crashed and burned. Mabelle fell to the ground with a resounding thud. Attendants rushed to the two women, but to no avail. Death had claimed them and the plane was but a smoldering mass of steel framework. Mabelle's last crime had failed.
SHE DIDN'T SMELL DRUNK
( Continued from Page 6) without your calling my boarding house at four o'clock and carrying on like a crazy woman ?"
"Oh, Dick, I thought you were dead."
"Dead? vVhat reason have I got to be dead?"
"But I dreamt" and Ellen launched forth on her account of the dream, while Dick and the landlady listened absorbedly.
"Well of all the fools," Dick began.
"I was so scared," Ellen interrupted with the most heart rending sob Dick had ever heard.
"Well, young man," the landlady said, after a very short while, "if you think you can sit on my front stairs indefinitely with that brazen hussy in her nightgown on your lap, you are very much mistaken. This is a respectable boarding house and I'll have you to know I'm a lady!"
