1 ALL WOUND UP AND READY TO GO. That's John I. Wagner enjoying a Camel cigarette as he climbs into the cockpit of a shining new Vultee plane. He makes about 40 test flights per month, puts the new models through their paces.
A big job, yes. But perhaps the hard work and adventure make the enjoyment of life's pleasures all the keener-for he certainly admires Camels! John Wagner says: " After a test flight, it ' s swell to let up - light up a good-tasting Camel."
2 HERE HE GOES! Below, the snow• capped Sierras of California. A flier must be sure of his nerves. And Wagner, like Lee Gehlbach, Col. Roscoe Turner, and other famous pilots, prefers to smoke mild, good-tasting Camels.
3 THE CLASSIC TEST of planes and men-the power-dive The start: 20,000 feet up nose down motor wide open the pull-out the dive is over. How would you like to do that 40 times a month or once?
4 BACK ON terra firma, and it tastes good to let up-light up a Camel again. "I changed to Camels and found a new smoking delight," Wagner says. "Camels are milder, non-irritating, packed with full, round flavor "
5 "CAMEL'S MILDNESS has meant a lot to me," he goes on, "because I'm a steady smoker and Camel is one cigarette that never tires my taste - just keeps on giving me smoking pleasure at its best." Camels will appeal to you too!
,<::::>-<:-,,-<:-,,-<:-,,-<::-:,-<::-:,-<::-:,..<::,..<::,..<::,..<::,..<::,..<::,..<::,-<::,-<::-:,~-<::-:,-<::::>-<::::>-<::::>-<::::>~~~ GEORGE SCHEER, Editor-in-Chief; PAUL SAUNIER, JR., Richmond College Editor; LENORE DINNEEN, Westhampton Editor; Assistant Editors, PHYLLIS ANNE COGHILL,
JEAN NEASMITH, HELEN HILL , MABEL LEIGH ROOKE , N. T. BABCOCK, ROYALL BRANDIS, :t OWEN TATE, PHILIP CooKE, F. MERRILL O'CONNOR, G. BEN McCLURE, JR., CARL :t1 WoosT, WALTER E. BASS; JOHNS HARRIS, B11sinessManager; T. STANFORD TUTWILER, :t ;t1 MARY KATHERINE CURLEY, Assistant Bminess Managers. :t
Shawn began to catch his breath. His bags had just been packed, and now he was waiting to depart for another world. Stepping out on the front porch, he slumped into a familiar seat and relaxed.
"Here, Bender, here, here!" He whistled t() a brindled setter, which quickly heeded and paced a bee-line up from the road along the hedge walk. "Jump, boy, jump." And Bender, his bushy white tail wagging delightedly, his drippy tongue hanging sideways from a panting grin, placed his head upon Shawn's knees.
At this point, however, the youth and his canine companion were momentarily disconcerted by an unusually lengthy lowing near the road. They looked up and saw old Maize staring blankly at them; just then Shawn remembered it was past milking time.
"Watch out for her, Bender," he pointed. " 'til I'm back It's extra duty you've gotwatching out for that new set of bantams." Shawn beckoned toward the ghostly bare bole of a tall sycamore. In its shadow nestled a coopy little structure from which sounded the cackles of the brood.
Bender eyed his master knowingly, just as though he were receiving orders before Shawn made one of his customary visits to the neighboring village. "And keep that fox out of the garden; but one more thing, Bender, mind you, don't go shirking off at night to those hounds at the Hookers'." With this last direction the animal received a teasing cuff on the ear.
These biddings had been delivered in a soft voice and almost coaxingly feminine tone. Shawn, however, was a tall, lubberly-looking fell ow with large hands, long, sinewy fingers.
These fingers constantly played with themselves. Shawn's suit of military khaki ill-beseemed him. Obviously he was more a young farmer than a soldier. His face was smooth, not very round, and rosy. Hiding much of his shaggy blond hair, a neat shako tilted comically over his high forehead.
As Bender slipped down, Shawn reared back and loosened his collar. A quiet Borean gust soothed past his cheeks, leaving a mingled scent of lilac and honeysuckle. Shawn drew in one more deep breath of it.
Above the fresh green meadow sloping away to a thin, sandy beach, broken, purplishblue clouds were furling and skidding. Far off over the smooth, wide river, delicately crimsoned streaks topped the horizon. It was an evening in 1918 and a place where all creation seemed rapt in pantheistic peace
Presently there came from the well house at the rear of the cottage a slender figure in a green apron. Hastily she scurried around some dogwood blooms, past a wysteria covered willow, and up to the front porch .
"Are you ready now?" Her words were frail and slow.
"Hello, Linda. Yes, I'm ready. It's mighty tired you are. Sit now, please. There that's it, the way you'll rest easy. And, Linda, let you not always be scrubbing or bothering about things when there's a view like this." Shawn kissed her tenderly.
For a few moments Melinda said nothing, then asked in a whisper: "Shawn, do you have to go?"
"Pardon my don'ts, Linda, but don't look like that. After all, I didn't enlist. I was drafted."
"But what difference does that make? You'll [ 3}
be away." Melinda's voice fell chokingly to a fret.
To this Shawn made no answer. After a long pause, he spoke excitedly, "Over there, look! See? That bit of blue and gold off the shore. It's reflection! Linda, look!"
Shawn gazed at heaven and earth enraptured. Exultantly he watched a fish hawk's dive into a distant whitecap and followed its ecstatic soar, as though it were his own experience. That the world was too wonderful for any bit of sadness, Shawn was sensing with every fiber. Not merely was it the resilient surge of spring nor merely his ignorance of what the future held in store, nor even entirely his love for Melinda that filled his heart.
"How can you be lonely with all that? Oh, Linda, melancholy's a cheap luxury. Why should the likes of you be crying? I'm coming back, surely as you frown at me-and, and it won't; it can't last much longer."
Again he pressed his lips to her wet face and regarded wonderously her hair, which tumbled over her half nude shoulders like a flag of winter-blooming jessamine. A wave of scarlet sluced Melinda's cheeks.
The youth released Melinda from his embrace, as a sharp Klaxon's blare sounded at the gate.
"There, they've come," he said. "God be with you, Linda, and remember it won't be long."
An army lorry, crowded with khaki-clothed men, rumbled to a stop just long enough for another country lad to jump aboard, then started again. Above the staccato laughs and shouts, one voice rang out cheerily: ''I'll be back, 'fore long, Linda." Then the crowded lorry rocked on until it vanished around the woods.
IIDusk had superseded twilight, and a few stars were shining. In the meadow a cricket
chirped as though celebrating a victory over all the world. Melinda arose from the gate steps and straggled wearily up the walk. Twice she glanced back over her shoulders; she thought she still saw dimly the tread of the rubber wheels along the road. Suddenly a mad impulse rushed upon her to persue that last vestige even into nocturnal obscurity. Then Bender's barking checked her.
When she finally entered the cottage, the faint glow of lamplight revealed an old, bespeckled man sitting comfortably near the blazeless fireplace. He had a wrinkled, crabapple face, and wore faded blue overalls. At Melinda's entrance, he started confusedly, then stammered in a husky slur:
"'Scuse me fur not waitin', Melinda. Didn't know but I wuz near to nappin'."
"Good evening, Mr. Hooker, I'm glad you came." She spoke absently, almost disguising a sigh.
"I got good news, Melinda." Mr. Hooker's eyes screwed into twinkles. "Yo' husband mout not go overseas after all, or ef he does, I don't speck he'll do much fightin'."
Melinda became electrically alert and, with round-eyed concentration, searched the old man's face. "What? How do you know?"
"Cause folks in town all talk as like we won a great victory. Some say th' fightin's gonna done by June and others they make out like as our boys has plum licked d' devils a'ready." Mr. Hooker beamed broadly. For several minutes he relieved himself of many encouraging details and bits of hearsay on the situation of the other world. Then he took leave of his fair young neighbor promising to return soon. The next morning Melinda awoke feeling a little surprised that she had slept so soundly. Another beautiful day it was. Gradually she became reassured that all was not so dark or dreary as she had thought, and throughout the [4]
forenoon she went about her duties more hopefully.
One evening-maybe a month after Mr. Hooker's interrupted doze-Melinda found in the mail box a brief note marked "censored." Breathlessly, she tore open the envelope and read:
Dearest Linda:
We are now nearing a front line. Thousands of things have happened that I will tell you of, but not here. We are kept awfully busy with our routines and right now it is confused we are. You will hear more soon, but remember, we will see each other before so very long, I am certain of it. Believe me, Linda You are my guiding starSHAWN.
Slowly the odd disappointment and perplexity that she felt because of Shawn's briefness were overcome in gratitude. " He is safe ." Once more the words were counted and studied; she had read them correctly III
The cherry tree in the garden had blossomed twice since Shawn's departure Some of the younger village heroes who had returned triumphantly from noble service to the nation, were now quietly settled. They had homes of their own. For many , a new life had begun and new generations were coming on.
It was Saturday afternoon and the village was crowded, especially with fisherfolk. The stores looked bright and busy; sea food and garden produce were on sale everywhere. At the post office, where the immortal courthouse loafers had convened, Mr. Hooker ruled supreme His eyesight had weakened but not his knack for gathering and dispensing opinion . Presently, a solitary figure squeezed her way to the clerk ' s desk .
"Has there been any more notice?" she asked earnestly.
s]
"Hello, Mrs Reilly. The state office wrote us again . I'm sorry, but there're no more reports. Every known casualty had been listed. I hope you understand, but er- you see, I- I don't know what else I can do for you."
Listlessly the inquirer walked away. As she strolled up the river in view of a white cottage , stains of tear trails shown on her face. No more did her cheeks flush with their wonted radiance of interfused tan and pink, for now her face had an etiolate look of dullness. And her lips, once fresh and mobile were grimly drawn and cracked. The gradient motions of her slim figure were limp with resignation. One aspect of her appearance was ironically inconsistent; it was the hair, abandonly billowing in bright careless curls. That alone seemed happy.
" Shawn," she cried. Her voice was possessed of an anguished quiver. "Why, why did they kill you? Oh, if only we could have stayed together, or I could have gone with you!"
She had convinced herself that wishes were not real, were not true, that all the ideals of devotion were a vacuous dream. Yet, despite the scars of suspense, despite hopelessness, Melinda trudged onward, determined to endure.
After supper, she mused awhile on the porch. A veil of mist was shifting over the river, but the sky was cloudless, and a sickle moon had risen. Melinda wistfully counted the first four stars, checking in vain her fancy
Some moments passed, and she commenced humming an old air. An odd fact it is that of ten sad melodies, even the very saddest, are the most comforting. Whisperingly she hummed. Without her trying to recall them, the words suddenly came to her lips
''Y estereen I saw the new moon With the old moon in her arms, And I am faint and sore afraid That my love has come to harms ."
Startled by her own voice, Melinda tightened her coat and went in to bed.
IV
Perhaps it was after midnight that a weird distant hooting recurred, as though it were coming nearer. Melinda blinked flusterly, rolling to the edge of her bed. Of late she had developed a dislike for locomotive whistles, especially in the dead of night. Drowsily shuddering, she turned her moist pillow and got up in a chronic motion to lower the window.
Above the mystical dimness of the river, she saw the meadow, a sward-like solitude, faintly bounded by a spectral silhouette of the forest. In the yard, as well as in the meadow, all the mists had lifted, but several massive shadows towered and sprawled in motionless secrecy. A rustle, like the susurrous of a June breeze, tinctured the stillness, and through the feathery leaves palest pools of moonlight were seepmg.
Melinda stumbled near the lamp. As she struck a match, she heard frantic barking, and looking up she glimpsed the white of Bender's body racing toward the road. She fancied a
coon had been treed and walked into the living room. Simultaneously, a scrooping noise came from the porch, the front door opened.
"Linda," an intimate voice full of tenderness implored. "Linda, Linda." With paralytic transfixion, Melinda's eyes died upon a ragged, mud-smeared soldier. At first, she had started to rush forward, but suddenly hesitated; for even in the lamplight she saw clearly. A river of wild thoughts froze within her. Those hands, arms, that face-why weren't they like the voice?
For an infinitesimal interval, Shawn's pallid cheeks glowed with strange elation. Then his eyes and lips, omnisciently child-like, smiled together.
"Leave off your weeping, Linda, or my wounds will not heal."
In perfect hush, the door closed, and the ragged soldier disappeared. Outside, Bender's barking had ceased and only the echoing silence of night remained.
AUTHOR'SNoTE: This story is developed from an Irish folk tale.
RE: APRIL, 1939, SHORT STORY COMPETITION
The prize award for the best fiction submitted in the short story competition for the April MESSENGERwas made to Otto Whittaker for his story, THE WISE BENEVENTE.
By OTTO WHITTAKER
I understand there is a punk working out at Gymn every time Sammy puts the gloves on, the South Side Athletic Club which looks and after I have observed her a few times I pretty good. I am going down and look this see she is a all right doll like Joey tells me. punk over, a thing which I will absolutely not This Sammy is getting to be like a ox, being do unless I have it on good authority the punk able to stand up to them till they wear out and I am looking over has got no use for the dolls . then walk over and push them down. I see this I am not able to see the dolls since the affair Ida is having a good inspiration on Sammy. of Joey Wilkins. I have got no gripe coming the way things I am managing this Joey Wilkins back in progress for a while. Joey kayoes the Tulsa ' thirty-seven, and I have got great hopes for Kid in the fourth at Philly, and decisions him. He is blessed with a right that is rapid Jimmy Jackson at Miami, which I do not gripe murder, and his left is the sweetest thing I about, this Jimmy Jackson being no pushover. have ever saw, being a left which does not However, when a set of big-hearted judges have to back up to get a start. in Pensacola gives him a wobbly decision over I have got him working out at Mullarkey's the Madrid Mauler, which is not from MaGymn when Bum Harris brings in a punk drid but from a place called Greenup, Kenwhich goes by the name of Sammy Kilpinsky. tucky, I begin to eat my fingernails. I note Joey and this Sammy hit it off pretty good, that something is wrong with Joey, him not and pretty soon they are bosom buddies. having the old pep I am accustomed to see
Well, they are going along on grease, and him have, but dragging around like he is the newspaper boys are beginning to demon- seized by sleeping sickness with complications strate their affections, when this Sammy takes of spring fever. After the fight I give the wink the count for a blonde doll which works in a to the rubber so I can talk private with Joey restaurant. Joey tells me she is a all right doll, "Joey," I say to him, "I note that something and not the type of a doll which would usually is eating you. I have been noting it since the tie up with a cheap punk, although I am not Madrid Mauler laid that haymaker on you disposed to put much faith in what he is tell- in the third." ing me. He tells me this doll is an inspiration So the kid breaks down and tells me he is to Sammy, which can use a little inspiration, suffering from being in love with this blonde him not being blessed with a left or a right doll, Ida, which is a impossible set-up, her like Joey. being Sammy's doll and Sammy being his This blonde doll, which I find out, goes by bosom buddy. He says he has got a hunch this the name of Ida, is hanging out at Mullarkey ' s Ida can go for him too, but he has not got it
in his heart to put the double-x on his bosom buddy.
We talk it over and in the end we decide it is best to remain away from Sammy and Ida till Joey gets over being in love with his best friend's doll. He says he has heard that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I assure him there is nothing to that crack, and we work our way West. By the time we hit El Paso, Joey recovers his pep enough to kayo Simmy Simms in the seventh, and he is so _ recovered by the time we make Salt Lake City that he takes Larry Lewis in the second. We beat it on to Sacramento, which seems like a good place to settle down for a while. We are in the dough now, and I rent a place in the sticks where Sammy can work out.
We are in Sacramento about a month when we read in the newspapers that Sammy and Ida have got hitched. It seems that Sammy has not been doing so bad with his fists either, so that he is also in the dough, and on the upgrade.
This news does not have a good effect on Joey at first, but he forgets about it in time to decision Benny the Biffer in L. A. the next week. I take him up to Seattle, in which town he laces Al Davis one night and kayoes Freddie White the next. He is in fine shape, and I am getting the query from promoters all over the country, and they are not offering chicken feed.
We put the bug on Buggy Albert in the fourth at Saint Paul, and move on east to meet the Santa Fe Slugger at Saint Looey. The Slugger is a has-been, but he is acquainted with all the tricks, so it is the best Joey can do to decision him, which he does.
It is as we are in Saint Looey that Joey also takes the count for a blonde doll. This doll is a maid in the hotel where we are registered, and she has got a face and a shape, besides which I size her up to be on the level, just
like this doll Ida.
Joey does not like the idea of being away from her just now, so we turn down two fights in Detroit and one in Philly, preferring to remain in Saint Looey. I am burned, but I say nothing, thinking it will blow over before long. I have seen punks take the count for dolls before. They are seeing quite a bit of each other, but I do not mind, this doll being the right type of a doll.
After they have finished seeing quite a bit of each other for about a month, and I am thinking it is time for us to move along, Joey tells me he is in love with this doll, whose name it develops is Ruth, and says he thinks he will marry her if I have got no objections. He says he has got it in mind to buy a littie cottage in the suburbs which they have been looking at, so this Ruth can stay there while we are fighting elsewhere. It seems he already talks it over with Ruth, and she is understanding and agreeable to let him be away from home while he is fighting. I see it is either a case of me or a case of Ruth, and I am not prone to let a good thing like Joey slip out of my fingers so early in the game, so I say I can detect no harm in his proposal, and they are hitched. I am the best man.
After they are hitched they go to Mexico on a honeymoon, and when they come back I have got a match with Bert Maynard in New York. When I advise Joey of this, his doll, which I will call Mrs. Wilkins for personal reasons, clouds up and begins to weep. She says can she go with us this once as she has never been to New York and anyway it is not fair to take her spouse away from her so soon after their honeymoon. Joey puts his arm around her and I see he is agreeable to her. I am smart enough not to let Mrs. Wilkins come between me and Joey, having saw other guys have wife trouble with their punks, although Joey by this time is a graduate of the [ 8]
punk class. Besides, lam weakened somewhat by the tears coming from her pretty face. It is not a easy matter to say no to this doll. So I say yes, I guess she can go with us, figuring that it will not be long before she gets tired of running around the United States.
Well, when we get to New York we find out this Sammy Kilpinsky is also fighting there this week, and Joey calls him up at his hotel. Sammy is delighted to hear his old bosom buddy's voice over the telephone, and him and Mrs. Kilpinsky beat it over to our hotel.
Sammy is looking better than I have ever saw him, and I am thinking that Bum Harris has not tied himself onto a bad thing at all. He has got a arm on him like a locomotive piston and his jaw looks like 11Deuce's. I note that Joey is not omitting to notice how Mrs. Kilpinsky is looking prettier than he has ever saw her, too. She has got her hair rolled up on top of her head this new way, and she looks pretty neat.
The two dolls get along fine. Right off they are calling each other Ida and Ruth, and you would think they are old bosom buddies like their spouses, they way they carry on.
Joey says he could go for a big steak with mushrooms, and Mrs. Kilpinsky jumps up from where she is setting and turns those big blue lamps of hers on him and chirps, "Oh, Joey! I think that is a marvelous suggestion!" and Joey goes around the rest of the night like he is the guy which suggested the Panama Canal.
The next night Sammy fights Jimmy Beverley, and we go to the Garden to see him perform. He moves around slow for nine rounds, shaking his head and permitting this Beverley to hit him wherever he want to as well as whenever he wants to. It looks like the guy is one which cannot be hurt. In the tenth he walks over and kayoes Beverley, which by this time is so weak trying to kayo Sammy he can-
not hardly stay on his pins. We are very happy Sammy gets this kayo as it sets him up for a crack at the Champ.
Friday night Joey is matched against this Bert Maynard, and kayoes him without difficulty in the third. This gives the newspaper boys the thought that this kayo also sets Joey up for a crack at the Champ, this Maynard being as big a punk as Beverley. Pretty soon they are rumoring it that it is a good thing if Joey and Sammy are matched before either one of them gets a crack at the Champ.
I talk this thought over with Bum Harris, which says he thinks I have not got a bad idea, and he has been thinking the same thing all along. Joey and Sammy think it over and arrive at the conclusion it is not a bad idea, although Joey says Sammy will beat him and Sammy says he has not got a chance against his old bosom buddy. Joey says, "You will push me over just like you did that other guy," and Sammy says, "Oh, no. You will take me with ease." I have never saw two punks act so foolish about each other. We sign the papers, and the match is scheduled for the tenth of next month, which puts it three weeks away.
land Bum Harris rent a camp up in Connecticut where we figure Joey and Sammy can work out. It is very economic that way. We fix it up with separate training quarters, figuring it is best they should not see each other in action. I give Bum Harris strict orders he is to stay on his side of the camp, as I have had the acquaintance of him for some years and I do not feel he is too good to make a few notes about Joey in action. It seems he feels the same way about me, but I do not understand why.
The newspaper boys are calling Joey and Sammy Damon and Pythias, and the Friendly Enemies. One guy runs a cartoon of Joey and Sammy in the ring dressed like them guys Alphonse and Gaston, in which Joey depicts as saying "You hit me first, Sammy," and Sam[9)
my depicts as bowing and saying, "After you, my dear Joseph."
In the meantime I note that Joey is very gradually beginning to lose the old pep like in Pensacola the time the Madrid Mauler almost puts the bug on him. I am fearing the worst.
The second day we are at camp we decide to hike it up to Bald Knob, which is a knob on the top of a very steep mountain. I and Bum Harris are not in favor of this proposition? but it seems that Joey and Mrs. Wilkins and Samand Mrs. Kilpinsky persuade us to be good sports, and we go along. We are walking along in a bunch when suddenly it develops that Joey and Mrs. Kilpinsky sort of pair off and lead the way. This leaves it up to Sammy to pair off with Mrs. Wilkins, which he does. I and Bum Harris bring up the rear.
It gets so they a~e taking the climb every day. One day Sammy and Mrs. Wilkins come strolling in and report that it seems they have lost Joey and Mrs. Kilpinsky on the mountain, but not to worry as they will be along shortly. It is three a.m. that night when Joey and Mrs. Kilpinsky come in, but they are not detected by anybody but I.
One night I am at the boathouse trying to find out where Bum Harris is hiding his Scotch when I come up on Joey and Mrs. Kilpinsky setting in a boat. They do not detect me, they are so interested in each other, so I come up behind them.
Mrs. Kilpinsky is talking. "Oh Joey," she says, "I do want to come with you but I am afraid it is impossible to do so."
Joey is not pleased with what he hears, I can tell by his voice. "You informed me last night you would as soon as the fight is over," he tells her.
"I know it," says Mrs. Kilpinsky, "and I love you Joey, but somehow it would be very hard for me to do this thing."
"If you love me," says Joey, "love will find a way."
"Well, at least give me a little longer to debate with myself," says Mrs. Kilpinsky. "It is not a thing I can decide at once. Sammy is so good to me. Why, only yesterday he put five thousand dollars in the bank in the event anything unexpected should happen to him."
"Pooh," says Joey, "I daresay I have got ten thousand dollars in the bank."
"Well," says Mrs. Kilpinsky, "I will have to think about it more."
Then they get up and I beat it.
The next day Joey is training hard, but I note that he has not got the old pep. It is the same old story the next two weeks, with him setting around with love in his eyes. I do not have to ask him what is the matter this time. Bum Harris is prodding me to put up a small wager that his Sammy will win by a decision, but I tell him I have gave up wagering.
But this Bum Harris has put a bee in my hat, and the more I see Joey dragging around like he is a corpse in trunks the more I think about this bee. I think about it so much that before I know it I have drawn all of Joey's dough and all of my dough out of the bank and have looked up a certain Timmy Tuck in New York, which I know is always willing ·to put up a small wager if the odds are right. I get 5-4 on Sammy. Perhaps I am a traitor on Joey but I have been noting that he has not got the old pep and it is in his interest that I am led to wager on Sammy.
The night before the fight I am feeling nervous, so I take a walk for myself through the orchard with which our camp is accommodated. I am meandering along, wondering what have I done, when I hear voices. It develops that these voices are coming from Joey and Mrs. Kilpinsky. It is my duty to know what Joey is cooking up, so I come up behind them, like down at the boathouse.
[ 10]
"Well, I cannot see why you feel that way," I hear one voice say, which I recognize as Joey.
"Oh, I cannot help it!" says Mrs. Kilpinsky. "I love you, Joey, but I have some feeling to Sammy, too. He has been awfully good to me. He is just a big overgrown boy and he needs me. I mean everything to him."
"Well, if that is definite-" says Joey. "Yes," says Mrs. Kilpinsky, "it is definite. " * * * * *
The next day is the day of the fight, so I take Joey into town and register us at a hotel. He reads the papers all morning, and in the afternoon he goes to sleep. I wake him up about five p.m. and the rubber comes up and gives him a workover. He is looking terrible and I am glad I have got our dough on Sammy.
The guys have turned out big to see Damon and Pythias fight. I do not think I have ever saw the pleasure of so many people. I am estimating our cut of the take when Bum Harris come rushing into our dressing room.
I see Bum Harris is excited by the fact he is repeatedly biting little pieces out of his straw hat. He is so excited it is all I can do to find out the details of his excitement, which I finally do by pinning him up against the wall until he is calm enough to relate to me.
It develops he is excited because he cannot find Sammy high nor low. It seems Sammy takes a rest that afternoon also, but undoubtedly he does not sleep long for when Bum looks in on him at four p.m. he is not there to be looked in on. So Bum beats it back to camp, but Sammy is not there.
This is a situation. We debate what is best to do and we are just preparing to send out a police alarm when a Western Union boy pushes open the door and says which one of us is Joey Wilkins.
Joey grabs the telegram. I and Bum stand around as he opens it, nothing being personal at a moment such as this one. I see the telegram is from Wilkes-Barre. It says:
DEAR JOEY: THISISTHEONLYWAY I COULD TELL YOU I AM IN LOVE WITH SAMMY STOP BREAK THE NEWS TO IDA STOP SAMMY SAYS SHE CAN GET ALONG ON THE FIVE THOUSAND HE GAVE HER STOP I CAN'T HELP IT JOEY I LOVE HIM STOP HE IS JUST A BIG OEVRGROWN BOY AND HE NEEDS ME STOP HE CANNOT DO WITHOUT ME STOP LOVE RUTH.
Immediately I read this telegram I am sick. I am getting sick in the corner as I hear Bum Harris moan, and when I look up at him he is collapsing to the floor.
I do not remember anything for the next few minutes. The first thing I remember is I am trying to get out the door and this Timmy Tuck walks in. This Timmy Tuck can be a very tough character when he wants to. He seizes me by the neck and says, "I guess it is obvious to you I win the bet, is it not?"
" What bet?" Says Joey. So then this Timmy Tuck tells him how I have wagered our dough on Sammy.
Joey picks up the telegram and reads it again. "Five thousand bucks," he says. Then he walks over to me. I do not know he is going to hit me because as I have said he is blessed with a left that does not have to back up to get a start. Which is all I remember.
And which is why I am not going to have anything to do with this punk down at the South Side Athletic Club unless I have it on good authority he has got no use for the dolls. I am not able to see the dolls since the affair of Joey Wilkins. [ 11]
1fieClean-Up
By F. LAFOON
The brilliant sunshine glanced in all directions from the bevelled edges of little Dr. Moffet' s thick spectacles as he stood at the long window of his laboratory watching three spoiled children squabble over the possession of some toy. The oblong of sunlight enhanced the extreme cleanliness of the room behind him.
Everyone liked little Dr. Moffet, although no one knew what kind of doctor he was nor what he did with the machines and shiny instruments he had in his laboratory. If he was developing some cure or struggling for some scientific discovery, it would never amount to much. Great scientists were always fanatics, intense, never mild and sweet as was little Dr. Moffet. Besides, science and his constant study and talk of great reformers didn't relate. But even if he seemed a little "teched" to the town people, he took care of Charlie.
Charlie was an orphan, the village dullard. He was a big boy, with an inhuman, silent strength. But if it hadn't been for Dr. Moffet, Charlie would have been a public charge, and public charges are public charges, even if they are big useful boys, all good. Dr. Moffet let Charlie live with him; fed and clothed him and let him watch him in the lab. He loved the little doctor and was his obedient slave. At present, Charlie sat in one of Dr. Moffet's clean white chairs while he was smiling on the noisy children.
The largest boy ran to the big machine in the center of the room. It was a pole about ten feet high with four big steel tubes, open at the top, fixed with hinges to the upper end of the pole. "Hey, Doc, is this the merry-go-round you said we could ride?"
"Why, yes, Bobby. Come here and I'll show you how it works."
One by one Dr. Moffet took the children up a ladder and showed them the inside of the tubes. "You see," he said to each, "there's a seat in the middle with straps to hold you in. It's just like the aeroplanes you ride at the carnival, except that it goes faster and doesn ' t take as long to get started."
The children were doubtful at first but after a little coaxing they all got in and took a ride. When moving the "thing" looked like a greatly enlarged model of a set of ultra-centrifugal force tubes. The children enjoyed their ride a great deal and they thanked Dr. Moffet dizzily but sweetly when he took them down. When Charlie held out the truck they had been tussling over, Bobby and Jimmy, the largest, said, "That's Tommy ' s."
Tommy said, " Yeah, it's mine, but Bobby and Jimmy can have it."
Charlie looked a little puzzled when the two biggest boys said again, "Nope, it's Tommy's." Dr. Moffet smiled. Finally Charlie put it gently into Tommy's hands. Tommy thanked Charlie for the toy and then all three thanked Dr. Moffet again for the ride and skipped out of the laboratory. Dr. Moffet went back to the window, chuckling and rubbing his hands together in satisfaction. He watched the children play peacefully and finally give the little truck to a filthy urchin who came by to spit on them.
Finally Dr. Moffet went out of the room. Charlie turned to the window and in a few minutes he could see him talking to the children. They were laughing and jumping up and down and then they followed Dr. Moff et. In a few minutes they were in the laboratory making a horrible noise.
The strangest thing was that Bobby, Tom[ 12 ]
my, and Jimmy forgot all about their ride. If they hadn't, their mothers would certainly have come running to the laboratory to find out in what horrible instrument of torture Dr. Moffet had put their babies.
* * * * *
The men of the village joked about Dr. Moffet over their beer and the women mildly at the circle meeting, but when it became known that he and Charlie had gone to Europe, the town buzzed loudly for a week. No one could imagine why the little doctor and poor Charlie should go to Europe.
At the beginning of the next week, national events were too exciting for anyone to bother about the doctor and his village idiot.
Monday Herr Hitler disappeared.
Wednesday, from Spain came the news that General Franco had disappeared and on Friday, Mussolini could not be found in Rome.
Four days later Stalin vanished from Russia and by the end of the second week the Emperor of Japan was gone. The world was at a standstill. Mr. Roosevelt sent telegrams here and there, and Prime Minister Chamberlain jumped around Europe.
Then one rainy day five bedraggled figures, babbling in five different languages wandered into a New York steamship office. A rather startled clerk recognized the well known figures and called an interpreter and newspaper reporters before he fainted.
None of them explained how they got in New York. They just smiled sweetly and talked to themselves. Hitler just stood twirling that front lock of hair and saying, "The Jews are such awfully nice people. I think I'll invite them to come to Germany. I wonder if the Czechoslovakians and Austrians would like to have Czechoslavokia and Austria as presents. You know I've come to the conclusion that camp life is bad for the German
people." The interpreter also said that General Franco and the Emperor of Japan kept repeating, "Peace, peace at any price," and that 11 Duce was mumbling something about giving back Ethiopia. Stalin seemed to say less than anyone. He just stood at the window, staring at the cathedral across the street, crossing himself.
Finally, when the various leaders were back in their various countries and people were becoming used to the fact that wars and persecutions had ceased, the people in Dr. Moffet's village realized that sometime between the kidnappings and the incident in New York, he and Charlie had returned. They never stayed home for any length of time any more, but for the next ten years no one noticed their comings and goings. People were much too busy being puzzled by the strange transition going on in the world. Rich people gave away their money or spent it all replacing slums with beautiful apartment houses; public enemies, numbers one through one-hundred, preached the virtues of virtue through the streets. On November 11, 1939, by Mr. Roosevelt's request (he had also disappeared for about a week) , there was a big celebration and all over the world the munitions factories were blown up. Everywhere people kept disappearing for a while and then coming back, changed.
At first, it was always the big peoplegovernment, religious, industrial and labor leaders of whom everyone had heard. Then it was the small politicians and others of smalltime fame. Evil was fast disappearing. Children were good because their parents were good; their parents were good because their leaders were so saintlike that they became inspired. There was no war, no quarrels, no murder, no selfishness, greed, or slander. Even that pleasant little evil, mischief, vanished.
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By 1949 little Dr. Moffet was getting old. He had been jumping around the world quite a bit these last ten years and he was tired, but Charlie was still as smiling and healthy and idiotic as ever. Again the little doctor stood at the window of his laboratory, the bright sunlight glancing from his spectacles made even thinner for his fast-dimming eyes. He left the laboratory and this time Charlie followed. They walked up the hill that led away from the village. Dr. Moffet began to talk, punctuating his sentences with chuckling and panting.
"Well, Charlie. What do you think of the old world now? It's sort of gummy, isn't it? But then, you wouldn't think so. You're just like everyone else. Before that thing little Bobby called a "merry-go-round" started whirling, you were the only person I had ever seen who was all good. Funny, his calling it a "merrygo-round." That's just what it is and I feel like a little child who was too scared to get on
This one, the last of two years of by-line columns, has the dubious distinction of being unequivocally the most haphazardly conceived and nonchalantly executed of them all. It is once more a midnight before an exam, and there is a hole to be filled in the book. What could be more appropriate, we supposed, than a last fling at doing the old column which has afforded us most of our editorial fun and has been crowded out lately by more weighty student contributions.
So on a kitchen table, at the close of an evening spent in delightful chatting of books and people and summer trips and other trivia with milk and lemon wafers as catalyst (the consumption of the milk strengthening our faith in our own inherent good), we once more turn to the contents page.
DAN GRINNAN is new to the book and a senior.
when he had his only chance for a ride. Perhaps if I had been a big man with lots of guards, you'd have slipped through in your strong, uncannily silent way and carried me off like you did the rest. God only knows how you ever got through. And then I'd have been put in one of these tubes and had the good in me sent to my head and the bad to my feet. Then I would have been a part of this world of noble minds and fallen arches. But I don't belong anymore, Charlie. I made the machine and did the work but I didn't change. I've reformed the world and now I'm out. This saccharine attitude bores me. I want mischief and excitement. I'm going on, Charlie. You go back to your good, dull world.
But Charlie just smiled and dogged little Dr. Moffet's footsteps right on over the edge of the cliff above the sea, for everyone was helpful now and they couldn't appreciate Charlie. Maybe he could help the little doctor down there.
After reading " Shawn·s Return ," with its niceties of phrase and smoothness of rhythm , we are convinced that his loss to THE MESSENGERis to be greatly regretted . Two more newcomers are seniors, THOMAS W. ISBELL and HERMINE HOEN, and we would like to have made their literary acquaintance earlier. SAMUEL COHEN turns to prose for the first time in his last MESSENGERwork, "Hunkie," and builds good, substantial atmosphere. . . . F. LAFOON illustrated the last word on Women and produced the short story, "The Clean-Up." . . . PAUL SAUNIER, JR. and WALTER E. BASS are consistent contributors and wellknown. . . . But finally we want to say that the most gratifying warmth that ever flooded our editorial heart came as a result of seeing OTTO WHITT AKER get off one light story before departing our sacred halls - which is just an okay piece about a couple of punks which makes plenty light reading.
Not an auspicious column, is it? Nor even very good? Nor the way to terminate two years? But we are very , very sleepy
[ 14]
• ,n a qummet Camp
By PAUL SAUNIER, JR.
I felt someone shaking my knee convulsively, and I sat bolt upright in bed, sensing something more than the ordinary midnight awakening in a boys' camp. In the dim halflight I could see a blond head at the side of my bunk. I heard Joe Bailey ' s voice, hushed and vibrant.
"L)isten," he said. "Something's wrong . There ' s a kid crying out there somewhere. "
I instinctively reached for my flashlight, which I kept on the little shelf beside my bunk, and 1 felt for my rifle on the rafters just above me. Joe was standing on the bunk under me, still holding the covers over my knee.
Then I heard it. Far off, echoing against distant trees and hollows, it was the pitiful cry of a terror-stricken child. It began as a quavering scream, then died away as if the child had changed to sobbing. It was so far away Joe and I could not hear the gasping we knew would follow such a racking cry
"Where is it?" I asked, rifle and flashlight in hand, as I climbed down from my bunk. Sleeping boys stirred as I hit the floor.
"Don't know," said Joe. "It woke me up, so I came over to get you."
"Are any of our kids missing?" I questioned as I groped under the bunk for my sneakers
"All mine are in, and so are yours. Probably from down at the far end of camp. May be just a nightmare . " This last came as a sudden, hopeful stab.
"Can't be," I answered quickly, fumbling for the cabin door. "His counselor would have woke him up by now Some kid lost out there. May be one of ours, might have strayed from
some farm. Listen again."
As we stood on the cabin steps the chill of the night became more apparent. Clad only in pajamas, Joe and I instinctively stood close to each other. No distinct sound could be heard for a moment, except some distant whipporwill's plaintive note and the howling of some far-off farm dogs in the still, dark night. Then it began again. This time it was shorter, fainter, possibly farther away, but unmistakably the wail of a terrified child, sounding above the faint confusion of woodland night sounds.
Following the direction of the cry as best we could, Joe and I struck out down the cabin line. As we neared each cabin, it would loom out of the darkness with a suddenness that was frightening. No sound came from any of them for a moment, then a subdued grunt from some restless sleeper made itself heard. About two hundred yards from our starting-place we stopped, in front of the end cabin.
Standing there, shivering with the chill , still rubbing sleep from our eyes, we waited. From back of the cabin line it finally came again, from back in the woods behind one of the cabins we had passed. Louder now, it quavered up the scale to a sudden sharp ending, till once again the distant howling took preeminence over the murmuring of the night. "Damn," said Joe. "Missed him. Make it fast."
We hurried about three cabins back, then struck straight into the woods, the flashlight playing ahead of us. The unsteady circle of light showed us only the ghastly green of the underside of leaves and the weird duskiness
[ 1 S]
of oak trunks. We pushed on through the brush, expecting something behind each fourfoot dumb of oak scrub, but we saw nothing.
We stopped again.
No sound came for a long time. We waited, the chill of the night emphasized by occasional eerie_stirrings in the leaves above us, caused by little gusts of night wind.
Suddenly Joe gripped my arm. "I heard a sob, right close on the left!" I swung around.
The circle of revealing light played on the base of a white oak of about a foot diameter. Two small arms belonging to someone on the other side of the tree were convulsively clutching the bark on our side, about a foot above the ground. We heard a grunt, a sob, and the hands moved about two feet up the tree, as if pulling a body up. Then the pitiful scream reverberated through the woods, echoing
down the long lanes, against tree trunks and hollows. It died away in a gasp, and the arms slid down to the ground.
Joe and I ran to the other side, and there saw the white pajamas of little Glenn Merriss, huddled against the tree, clutching it, tearstained face pressed tight against it, eyes wide in horror.
"Glenn," I said to him softly, "it's Paul. Everything's all right now. We'll go back to camp. You're all right now."
I handed Joe the rifle and flashlight, and swung the quivering little body up on my back.
"I was scared," sobbed Glenn, "and I had to hold to something."
Joe and I put him safely in bed and walked quietly back to our own cabins. We never said a word.
By THOMAS W. ISBELL
best, and thereupon make effective preparations for interesting the first maiden of that type wandering your way. You'll be able to recognize the different types as you encounter them and plan your attack or retreat accordingly.
Girls are seldom of one type. Many combine two or three, or even five or six. That's just to make it hard.
As the observant your1g male has doubtless Let's take a look at the "clinging vine" learned, there are women-and more women. 'type. You can recognize her by her coy Bad women, good women, sensible women, gestures and thoroughly feminine manners. stupid women, and the luscious lovelies usu- You must seek a very proper introduction to ally found only in the rotogravure section of such a girl. She never, never talks to strange the Sunday paper. men on trains.
Some women will pat you on the head, re- The "clinging vine," above all else, yearns marking sweetly how tall you have grown to be taken care of by a big, strong, ruthless since the last time they patted you on the head male creature. She is chronically fragile and or whacked you elsewhere. Some will say helpless. She is afraid of all small animals you're a nice boy, merely letting you know which creep or run, with the exception of they're aware of your existence. Still others puppies and kittens which she adores. will fall in love with you. Another group will When you talk to her of your exploits, she cooly ignore you. And perhaps some perverse will watch you with big, round, innocent eyes member of the opposite sex will actually hate of wonder, and your brave masculine heart you. will beat like mad. Usually she likes to wear
Unfortunately, or fortunately, because it ribbons, bows, and other hang-overs from all depends on how you look at the matter, childhood in her hair. She avoids sophistiyou will probably fall hard for damsels who cated clothes and actions. ignore you or merely admit you're a nice boy. You must treat her with utmost chivalry; And probably you will not want to be seen in Hollywood fashion. All the little attentions public with the girls who adore you. Don't ask · will put you over in great style. Give her why this is, it's just one of those things. Human flowers and candy for presents at every opbeings seem strangely attracted to members portunity . But never take her to hockey games, of the opposite sex who snub them, hurt them, prize fights, revues, or wrestling matches. Alor frankly have no use for them. ways help her with coat, boost her gently over
All this is just an easy, gentle way of letting curbstones, and reassure her when entering a you know that you can't win all the time. Cer- dark house. Compliment her excellent taste tain girls will appeal to you and, if you're in dress, and look soulfully into her eyes when extremely lucky, you may appeal to them . A you talk about HER. number of different types will be listed in The usual romantic technique will serve very this discussion, and sometimes there will be well. Do not fail to be nice to the girl's mother. a word of advice about care and feeding. Take little presents for the small fry in the Perhaps you can identify the type you like household. This will arouse the maternal in [ 17}
her, likewise setting you in solid with the surd: because she causes a stir wherever she grammar school element-always a nice ad- goes, because she knows how to play at love vantage. without getting her fingers burnt; because her
You may tell her about your athletic ex- highly synthetic, fragile air makes young men plaits (if any) with the right amount of mod- feel strong and omnipotent. You can best est reticence, and let her feel your make an impression on her ( if you muscle. Play the dominant he-man. must) away from the dance floor, Take her to church. Emulate her because her idea of a successful father, but don't tell her off-color dance is not taking more than five stories or explain the meaning of successive steps with the same partsome cartoon she saw in the New ner. She knows her colleges and Yorker or Esquire. fraternities and will dazzle you with
The "prom princess" is the op- stories about the men she knows posite of the "clinging vine." Often at the well-known schools. She is she has too much money, or likes a professional week-end and house to give the impression she has. party guest. She reads the Usually other girls hate the sight smart magazines and disof her. She makes them want to plays them prominently, scratch.
as do business men who
She is the girl who can take only ~- read their trade papers. a few steps with one partner before .) She is never seen in a another sheep cuts in. She thrives Pullman Club car withon large stag lines. She is either ~~\l'f«: out a copy of the New beautiful, wealthy, or a heavy Yorker. necker. Sometimes she is all three. At basketball games she Always she is a good dancer. _____ ,.,.,?' is always too hot; at footShe is hard and experienced. She ball games she is always knows all the answers and hears too cold and invariably most of the questions. Her red mouth sulks hogs the blanket. Always she is bored. She and smiles, alternately, with the regulation of never, under any circumstances smokes your a flashing electric sign. When she walks or brand of cigarettes. dances, she is imperious, her carriage cool, In high school, the prom princess was alsure, and lazily arrogant. She wears gowns ways the girl with the "gimmie" eyes, the girl that worship the lines of her body. Her mind who threw over the high school gang when operates like a cash register. You can almost the college men were around at Christmas hear the little bell ring and see the dollar sign time and in the summer. pop up when you're introduced to her. She She is usually the girl demanding the most likes to talk about her money and spend yours. expensive dates, and the hardest to please if Her conversation is hard-boiled, element- and when you do wrangle a date. She doesn't ary, and filled with stock phrases designed to mind yawning in your face if you bore her. save her mental wear and tear. She calls each She expects you to do all the entertaining, partner "Honey" or "Darling." Young men demanding a good time as a right, but refuses fall for her for several reasons, mostly ab- to meet you half-way when you try to provide
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one. A "line" means everything to her.
If you must make a hit with a prom princess , match her indifference. Only an exceptionally popular, wealthy, or handsome young man can get away with that. And spend money on her! Spend money like water. If you haven't any money, you might as well throw in the towel before the big bout begins.
If you do succeed in making a hit with the prom princess, be prepared to take the air the moment someone more fascinating and reckless with cash comes along.
You don't win prom princesses. You buy them-like show horses.
The "popular girl " has all the popularity of the "prom princess "- a far more genuine and lasting popularityand she is well-liked by women as well as men. Young men, and older men, too, like her because she meets them half-way. Other girls like her because she plays fair. She knows all about the care and feeding of the male ego. Usually she is pretty and a good dancer. She knows how to wear clothes. She isn ' t reckless with other people's money and belongings. The really popular girl knows how to make men feel important and at ease. She shows her appreciation, whether her "date" of the evening has spent a dime or ten dollars. When she receives flowers, she doesn ' t accept them as a matter of course. She tells the sender how beautiful they are, and how sweet it was of him to send them. Usually she uses her popularity as an armor against too much interest in any one young man. Mothers like her, and she makes fathers wish they were young again. Long after the romantic attach-
ment has passed, her young men remain as good friends. She' ll have at least ten propos als before she is twenty-one. Ten-to-one she' ll marry the right man, making him a Class A wife - and she'll stay married to him.
The " home girl" may be a "clinging vine " or a " popular girl, " but she can hardly be a "prom princess." She lives at home and helps her mother, or goes in for charity. She usuall y is interested in simple domestic things.
Little attentions, like flowers, will mean a lot to her. Let her cook for you. Help her with the dishes on Sunday night. (If she asks you for supper). Work up a big interest in the downtrodden, and in dear, sweet, little babies , even if the thought of being a father some day may make you feel distinctly queer.
Now for the pest; "the girl your mother wants you to date." Her mother is your mother ' s best friend, or a member of the local bridge club. Often but not always, she is a complete dud and can't wangel dates on her own. Without quite realizing why, older women feel sorry for her and do their best to inflict her on their sons. Usually she does not know how to wear clothes. She always goes to the movies with other girls . She eats lunch with a dozen other girls of the same type, and giggles.
If under concerted pressure, you do date her, she will tell her mother everything you did and said. All this will be the topic of conversation at the next bridge club meeting Therefore, plan your date carefully, and guard your tongue.
Let's look at the " working girl. " Often this one is an independent soul, especially if she is going in for a career. She' ll probably enjoy
long, serious talks in dimly lit restaurants. Also, she'll like dancing parties and night clubs and the comradely atmosphere of give and take conversation. Let your first present be a good book.
Show her that you admire her independence. Let her drive your car, and take her to football games and prize fights. Above all don ' t try to assume a protective air.
If you' re still in school, ask her advice on your more trivial problems. This will please and flatter her greatly. Don't be disturbed if she wins an occasional game of golf or tennis from you. Avoid sentimentalizing. Avoid patronage, and look for opportunities to let her take the initiative.
Don't fall for the "Sports Girl" type unless you can stand up against the competition of the sport kings. This type is naturally aggressive. She makes a religion of sport. She wears a shiny nose like a badge of honor. She'll play a fast set of tennis on a blistering hot day and actually be proud of her sweating body, straggling hair, and red face.
The sports girl invariably falls under the spell of brawny life guards and handsome polo players. This girl will probably give you the air the moment some muscle bound darling with a better physique and a fatter book of sport-page clippings appears on the scene. If you ' re a football player, she' ll adore you in November and trade you in on a basketball player in December.
Also, in this general classification comes the "Horsey girl" who spends her spare time around the stables. She seldom talks about anything but horses. Sometimes she has fallen off so many that her brains seem to be scrambled. She is a pushover for any handsome polo player. If 0 Mother Nature didn't give you a build of a young Greek god, don't appear before her in a rented bathing suit. It will be better if you don't appear in a bathing suit-any bathing suit at all.
If you' re good at sports, you have a natural advantage with this type of girl. If you're a poor player, talk about sports as intelligently and as furiously as you can, inventing some mysterious ailment which keeps you off the field of battle
The " Puritan" type is of ten known as the cold sister or ice-box Irene. When riding in your car, she sits on the far side of the seat, maintaining an aloof, if not actually hostile silence. Often she does this just to see what you ' ll do about it. This is the "Fake" Puritan. The real Puritan will resist any amorous advances you make, no matter how many times you have dated her. Or perhaps she'll condescend to peck lightly at your cheek as a goodnight gesture.
She resists tight clinches at dances, won't let you hold her hand, avoids dark corners, and opens the door the moment the car stops before her house after an evening date .
[ 20]
If you let her have her own way, you had the dress which another girl is wearing to the better resign yourself to kissless dates. My party is three years old. She has no tact, and suggestion is this, if you must have more than exhibits little social poise. The things she says a super-platonic friendship, grab her and are usually the result of an inferiority complant one of your best on her startled lips. plex, and there may be some hope for her. See what happens and govern future actions If you' re dating a catty girl, pretend that accordingly. It might be a smart idea to get you think her very clever. Give the impression your guard up. This precaution may save you that you're amused by her cutting remarks . a black eye or a sore jaw. You can always This may :flatter her, raising you in her estiquickly transfer your arms to the girl if she mation and thereby eliminating you from the swoons with delight. panning list. It's rather difficult to pan some-
"The girl in love with another man." Just one who thinks you're wonderful. bear it as well as you can. Smile pleasantly The "girl who is always late." When you when she prattles on and on, telling you all arrive at her home, you catch a :fleeting about "dear Rollo" and his many virtues. If glimpse of her dashing for the regions above, she swoons in your arms when the orchestra or you hear her whistling gaily in the bedplays Rollo's favorite piece (which will prob- room, while you sit stiffly in the living room ably be I Love You Truly) bravely carry on. wondering why it is that women take so long
A girl in love is not sane and can't be to dress when they have so little to put on. reasoned with. The best you can do is to es- Her habitual lateness indicates selfishness. tablish yourself as a "good, understanding It is bound to show how little the girl really friend," and hope for the best. Perhaps Rollo cares for your convenience and the good time will be caught off base with another girl. Or you're planning to provide. If you know the perhaps he'll fall off a cliff. Then you can girl's parents fairly well, you can conspire mourn with the girl and console her. You'll at with them in advance, or allow for a half-hour least have the inside track. delay when you make the plans for the eve-
The "determined good sport" type always ning. If the girl has sisters who are also alwants to help. At first you can break a date ways late, bring a pack of cards and start a with her (if you must) and she'll laugh about bridge club with the other young men who it. She'll lend you class notes and her student must sit and sit and sit. activities ticket, but she'll never let you forget The "girl who breaks dates" may have a the favors. This girl will call you on the phone legitimate excuse for her action, but, more and carry on an endless "man to man" conver- often than not, the girl has had a later invisation. After a few weeks you'll wish you had tation from a man who rates higher than you never accepted anything from her. It's safest do, or perhaps she has received a more excitto stay away, far away unless being chased by ing invitation from some with the same rating a predatory female tickles your vanity . you have. Anyway you lose out.
The "catty girl." You know the type. While Girls who break dates often without excuse you're driving to a party, she rips into her are usually well advertised by their victims. friends, and perhaps yours, too. And all the If a girl really cares about you and must break while you're wondering what she says about a date, she'll do all she can to show you how you when she's out with some other fellow. unavoidable it was and how disappointed she She's the girl who can always remember that is. Often she calls when she knows you're not [ 21]
at home and merely leaves a message.
The "giggling Gertie" is easy to recognize. In fact, you'll have a hard time missing her. If you like her, tell her you admire strong, silent women. If you don't like her, tell her to shut up and act her age. This should startle her into silence. She may even come to love you and look up to you, or she may slap your face. Anyway, you've done your best.
The "unappreciated girl." She wails that no one loves her; that everybody hates her; that she is not appreciated at home; that the teachers, or her boss, discriminate against her. She sings a hymn of mourning.
Let the unappreciated girl pour forth her woe. She actually enjoys it, so be a good listener. But don't agree with her. Tell her she's mistaken. That is what she wants to hear from you. The glad tidings will inflate her ego. First, listen in sympathetic silence, looking as if you would like to pound bumps on the monsters who bedevil this frail, lovely, teminine creature. Then, with a quaver in your voice and sincerity in your eyes, tell her how much you admire and appreciate her.
If she tells you how cruel her parents are, let her weep on your shoulder, but it may be wise to obey the rules and regulations dictated by the monsters.
The "shy girl." This babe is really hard to know, but easy to recognize because of her reticence. Whether she is a clinging vine or an independent miss, you must approach her as
an entirely different person.
She is a shrewd judge of character, so watch your step. Be yourself, and be careful that nothing in the least crude, silly, or domineering enters your campaign. Steer clear of large parties and double dates with people strange to her.
The "shy girl" is sometimes a "wall flower, " for one or several reasons: she is a poor dancer and then too she may be unattractive physically or she is a stranger with men and has not yet learned how to attract attention or how to acquire social poise.
The wall flower's lot is a hard one, far more heart breaking than a man can realize. Anything you can do to help a girl out of the painful situation in which she finds herself will be appreciated out of all proportion to the effort necessary on your part, if you act subtly. Don't let her know you realize she's a wallflower. That will spoil it all.
A college fellow I know has made a specialty of entertaining the less popular girls. It wasn't insanity on his part but shrewdness. He met a lot of interesting girls and had grand times with them. And then, suddenly, they weren't "wallflowers" any longer. Other men were discovering them, too. That's the way it goes.
EDITOR' s NOTE: The characters depicted herein are completely fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. [ 22]
Deep purple finds its way along the sky
And falls. Anoth er day is gone. I sigh. It did not bring what I was hoping for -
One day can't bring you back. I hope too high.
Another year has gone. It's spring again. Winter closed his deep dark doors a month ago Shutting in a year I did not know.
A summer of sunburns- cruises on the seaAn autumn gay: all brown, and red, and rust; Long shadows on the hillside - dancing leaves; And walks through woods o ' er precious piny paths (They can't be real when you're no longer here.)
Another Christmas white, with parties plenty; The crowds all laughed; were gay. I could not smile.
Now trees rebud- the birds begin to sing.
Blossoms burst through gently falling rain. Would that you were here again, today, To live once more the joys we used to know.
But God saw fit to take you from my lifeMy love lives on when morning gilds the skies
HERMINE L. HOEN.
1/anlcie-
You see in looking over Hunkietown a jumble of unpainted, grime-bellied houses, and countless children wiggling through the streets. You will probably smell a strong odor of cooking cabbage, or potatoes, or fried eggs, or scents of refuse and decaying foods. And this is where the Poles, Hungarians, Czechs, Slavs, and Russians congregate and cast their lot in "the land of the free." They work grindingly, rest in surcease from heavy toil, and save money for offsprings who might achieve what they could not.
Hunkietown is the name given to that part of a steel-mill town which harbors these "Bohunks." One particular Hunkietown, that of the Blakely Steel Company, in Clarksville, had for many years the good fortune to escape civil war. Not that there weren't Reds and others there to keep the life up, but no single power could pry loose the hold which "Rust" Blakely had on his men. And to my mind the best way of illustrating this power, wholly humanitarian, would be to tell how he treated a Bunkie, Jake Gerrick, who had given his son, conceited and sure of the Boss's power, a ceremonious beating. And to do this it will be necessary to go into the chief interests and convictions of this man Gerrick.
One evening late in July consternation gripped the Gerrick household. In answer to a brisk knocking at the front door, Jake had admitted the tall figure of Blakely's son into the house. Anna, ponderously fat, shuffled into the front room, stood transfixed for a
BY SAMUELCOHEN
while, and then began to twist her raw hands in her apron. Jake saw him next, and faltered in his alarm.
"Mister Blakely- commit inside and set down - please?" His eyes questioned the youth's mushily handsome face and then gazed in disconcertment over the worn sofa, broken carpet, and at Anna's faded gingham dress.
"Hello, Mr. Gerrick. I - um - came for Anita- um -you see, we're friends. I met her when she was shopping over at Birch Street Tuesday."
Jake smiled proudly. "So? You meet Nita, heh? Sure, she's in de room now readin' her lessons." He looked hopefully toward his wife, and she smirked embarrassedly. "Anna, bringit Nita in please - quick."
Anita had got the best features of her Russian mother's dark person and her father's Slav inheritance. With jet-black hair contrasting effectively with her pale-white face and matching her dark eyes, meaningful and nai"ve, she was pleasant to look at. She came lightly, but painful self-consciousness appeared on her visage. Jake beamed and explained, "Nita-a guest." When the young people had exchanged muffled greetings, Jake murmured an apology." 'Scuse me now, Mister Blakely." He inclined his head, bobbed it up and down a few times, and left.
Jake and Anna sat quietly in the kitchen then, both straining their ears to catch the flow of words from the other room, but most of it they could neither hear nor understand. They
[ 24 l
fidgeted in dire discomfort. In Jake's mind came two opposing forces, one a pride for Anita and himself and the other a dim fear for Anita's future. Hunkies were supposed to stay in their place, just like negroes; in their own little world they were generally content, but if they ventured outside the sphere they would be lost and unhappy. A few soft-spoken words, gurgles, and chuckles permeated through the bare walls into the kitchen, and Anna ·s face brightened as she heard them, her body mute and undisturbed. Jake thought he heard the creaking of old chairs, and he guessed that they had arisen. Then Anita's rich voice hummed through the walls. "Papa, Mister Blakely and I are going for a ride. But we won't be too late back."
Jake shook his head wearily. "Yes - all right, Nita," he replied. Anna merely nodded her big head at Jake.
This was the beginning of their romance, but before long their going out together got around to the other Hunkies of the town. It started from a whisper, and then as Conrad Blakely saw Anita with alarming frequency, the whisper matured into a distinct voice at times or a mere babble of confused wonder and speculation.
"How ees father-in-law today?" spoofed Pete Merek, letting out a liberal guffaw.
"'Allo, rich man Jake. Haw! Haw!" bellowed "Dog" Drubinsky.
"Hya, Joe. I hear Nita's makin' time fer you," speculated little Jim Andrews.
But Jake didn't mind the kidding and rather liked it most of the time. So far he was getting a lot of attention from the men and women, he was still pushing billets out of the furnace competently, and his life was being made more interesting for him. One time Old Man Blakely was visiting, though, and he stopped to watch Jake and Max Sclemer at work. Jake froze inside and moved frenziedly, afraid to
look back at the Boss's face. At that moment a great uneasiness drooped his spirits, but it didn't stay with him long. When he came home at night, Anna was still looking serene.
Jake was confronted with this domestic complication all summer, but it didn't really come to a head until the beginning of the second week of September, when it was turning cold again and Con Blakely was preparing his return to college. Anita, on the other hand, had studied in a summer school at a nearby town. The climax of this domestic problem occurred on one drab, bleak day. He had been noticing in Con an almost rash impatience and more of an assurance and harshness in tone of which he was wary. Anita too, preparing for a new term of school, was changed, her sparkling laughs becoming less frequent, her face becoming paler, and her brows often knitted into a worried frown.
That evening Con had taken Anita indoors as Jake sat smoking his pipe and reading his newspaper. Near him, on the bed, Anna was in a peaceful sleep. He heard the voices of the youngsters clearly, for they were more throaty and louder tonight.
"Don't be a little fool, Anita. I'm going away tomorrow."
'Tm so afraid you'll forget me."
"Ah nuts! Kid, I could never forget you. Listen, am I going to live there these next months, not having you, and remembering how cold you were to me?"
A gasp- "How could you say that, Con! You know I love you."
A bitter laugh - "Yeah - um but not like a real woman - just like my dear sister."
Jake's heart made a tatoo and his fingers quivered as they touched his pipe. The words they spoke were strange to his ears, foreign and grating, but the tones of their voices spoke to him in a language he could understand better. And he distrusted Con Blakely, complete[ 25]
ly and with a vengeance; he hated the sure, gaunt face which was flushed with emotion, superior tones of voice which issued from his almost ugly in its look of deep hurt mingled throat. Jake didn't hear the next words they with a terrible resentment. With the weaving spoke, but something within him made him motion of his well-knitted shoulder muscle~ walk slowly into the front room. Jake's big-pawed, iron fist darted, and it met " 'Scuse me," he muttered confusedly. "I Con's face with the swiftness of an adder's was hearin' sometin' which you vas speaking sting. A loud, agonized gasp came from - I tought if maybe 'eres trouble, maybe I Anita, followed by little broken cries. Con's help?" legs tottered. Jake pumped a vicious left into
The dark lines on Con's face relaxed sud- the kidneys and followed with a bone-crushdenly, and he burst into a loud laugh, the cor- ing right hand to the right side of his face. ners of his mouth curving into a contemptu- Con stopped dead, his face a bewildered mask, ous smirk at its conclusion. "No - no, not at and then fell with his limbs sprawled brokenall, Bunkie." Then he said with mock serious- ly on the floor. He lay like a discarded puppet, ness: "You wouldn't know." body insensate, with blood trickling from the Jake was about to make his retreat, shame- corners of his mouth. Anita stared in disbelief, facedly, when he was hearing words which her eyes glowing strangely. Jake's pinched struck deep within him, words which tried to features were sullen, but yet curiously sombre, destroy everything he held sacred in life. and his large body quivered with emotion.
"Okay, okay. I don't want you anyway - Then he walked out of the house in the um - not if I have to hitch you." manner of an automaton, hearing vaguely the "It's all right," she pleaded with her father, agonized sobs of his daughter. He didn't want "there's nothing wrong, pa." to think, to rationalize. Some inner voice
"Yeah, there's nothing wrong. I'm not any- whispered he had done right in acting out the wheres so dumb as to bother with you. She'll natural impulse of a man, in carrying out his never be any different from you, Bunkie. Let credo and the convictions in his big heart. He her stay here with you - sure, she belongs walked slowly about fifty yards to Pete here. You God-damned stupid dog!"
Merek's house, entered without first ringing Jake's face trembled. Crimson flooded his the bell, and told Pete's wife dazedly that he mouth, his cheeks, his forehead, even the roots wanted to use the telephone. Jake called his of his hair. It was not only what Con had said, Boss, the Old Man Blakely, who had been but it was also the way he had said it - his su- his godfather for the last fourteen years and percilious, sneering voice with its cruel harsh- whose son he had now beaten. ness. A superior leer on his face. To him it "Please- could I - please, could I speak was not only a personal affront; it represented to Mister Blakely?" the very worst feature of the New World's "Certainly" - Mrs. Blakely's voice. economic system- the abuse from a person Time passed unerringly. "Yes?" - sudgranted power to smash the underprivileged denly- "who is it?" as he willed. "It is Gerrick."
Con had gotten halfway to the door when "Who?"
Jake felt a great fire scorch its way into his "It is Jake Gerrick - please." brain. Jake lurched his way to Con's side, and "Oh." The voice sounded relieved; it when the latter looked in surprise at the Slav's laughed. "What did you want, Jake?"
[ 26]
"Vell please don't be too mad at me, Mister Blakely - please!"
"Oh, nonsense, Jake. Glad you called," the Boss chirped
''Mister Blakely-your boy- he is at our house."
"Yes?"
"Yes. I - I got mad at vot he said to me - I beat him."
"What!" A deep silence. "Well-" and he hung up.
Jake slowly replaced the receiver, thanked Mrs. Merek, and walked back automatically in the direction of his house in an attitude of utter helplessness. He would probably lose his job and the friendship of the man he worshipped. Another job was hard to find- indescribably hard, when his loved ones were waiting. He kept on wandering for several minutes, an agonized hurt for his poor immigrant family deepening within, a wet film blinding his eyes.
"Finally, he came before his house. He heard an excited voice - Mr. Blakely's. Then two people seemed to continue conversation in a lower, more sustained quality of speaking. He went in and faced small, clear blue eyes peeping from the head .of a paunchy man of fifty, auburn-haired, somewhat dour-looking, this feature being accentuated by a bulbish, reddish-hued nose and a forcefulness of
mien.
The Old Man sighed " Too bad you had to do it, Jake - too bad."
Jake didn't answer. He couldn't.
"But the kid had it coming," he said in a hoarse, weary voice, deprived now of its booming zest. "In a way I'm glad you did it. For your daughter's sake- and for his. It might wake him up a little - I don't know." He chuckled uncomfortably.
"Your boy - he is hurt bad?"
"Oh, no, no, no. Not too batl,. I let him walk back home. I guess you didn't meet him outdoors, did you?"
Jake's heart felt close to bursting, and he held both hands to it, as though to keep it in place. Suddenly the Old Man arose and extended a firm, meaty hand. Nonplussed, Jake took it.
"Don't feel bad about it, Jake. Glad you did it. Anyway - don't let it interfere with your work - hear?"
Mr. Blakely went out. The blood pounded in his temples, and a wild, incommunicable joy beat in his heart. "He's a fine man - he's a good man," Jake whispered to Anita and to Anna. Then he hunched himself over, his head in his hands. His heart was beating painfully now, like something old and clogged. He sat, in a sort of desperate tranquility, gripping his head in his hands.
1lteDeacott
By WALTER E. BASS
that matter the church. One of his little talks left an unforgettable mark upon the Deacons and all to whom the message was repeated: It happened that during the summer of 1909 their little church had a let down in the donations which had been pledged. The problem
Jim McGregor, fifty-six, seldom felt the im- me "to pay up"-their sums was one of expulse to yield to the conventions of his reli- tre~e diffic~lty. Then Jim came with his suggion, the faith to which he had adhered as a ?eSbon which, although momentarily enticloose adhesiye since the Reverend John Q. mg, was neglected. Appelby had convinced him that joining " Bro th ers," Jim started that night, "I think church was the logical step for a young man th e chu_rchis quite a bit like a grocery store. to take. Reverend John had talked with him, It has its good eggs and its bad. It has its prayed with and at him, and had so be- sweets and its pickles, its pies and tarts and sprinkled his path with fire and brimstone- its limburger cheese. The church has some in church, at home, on the street and in the whose lives have the savor of the bakery, and grocery store at which he worked-that Jim 0th ers who-like limburger cheese The grofinally concluded that joining was not only the cery store also has unpaid accounts. Like the logical but convenient thing to do; and he did. c~urch it has an income and an outgo. SomeBut, as we began, Jim seldom felt the right- times th e outgo gets so near the income that eous inspiration of his religion. When he did, an onio~ skin would be squeezed into nothing however, the inspiration was to attend a but fetid vapor if it tried to stand between monthly meeting of the Deacons, to which th em. I remember back a few years when I body he had been elected for the last ten years, had th e same trouble you're having here now although he showed no zeal for the office. And in t~e . church. The people who bought on yet, at a meeting he became obsorbingly in- credit JUS t wouldn't pay. I tried a lot of things terested, an interest of criticism, but pertinent but no th ing seemed to work. Once I had some nevertheless. He always contributed some- card s printed and put them in every charged thing to the discussions which ranged from packa~e 1 sent out. The card read, 'While you the delights of the recent meal, to the number are enJoymg this, I am starving.' One man of carats in the gold of the streets of heaven. brought m~ back the card and his package in The grocery store, now his own, had given an_OS t entatious rage, 'If you think I enjoyed Jim that flavor of conversation and discussion th is you are a big-head,' he vociferated. I which seems to be acquired at some time by all opened the package and saw a can of spray of those who meet with the various types of for bedbugs. That was the end of the cards. customers, all of whom wish more goods for Finally I hit upon a plan which worked splenless money and end the lecture by requesting didly. Every Saturday afternoon I would go a three-cent reduction on a pound of ham- for a stroll. When I happened to pas one of burger steak. my creditor's houses, I shouted at the top of
On the floor of the Deacon's meeting Jim's my voice, 'Has any one seen Joe Bloe? He droning voice would talk on and on of the t d 11 o~es me en o ars!' I collected most of my problems which face the groceryman, and for bills. Now I was thinking that maybe if the
[ 28)
preacher would sorta read out some names, they would start paying up."
After Jim finished, all the Deacons began to nod their heads in agreement, until the treasurer of the church stood up and reminded them that only one of the Deacons had paid his pledge. The plan was dropped.
Jim was a character of common sense. This he carried even into his religion. He wasn't intellectual, but was inquisitive and practical. This common sense of ten acted as reins to the Deacons when they were deciding on a question. Well, it happened that Jim hadn't paid his religious duties to his church for a long time and the urge was upon him. The subject for discussion at this meeting of the Deacons was to be that of Missions. Now, Jim was apathetic to foreign missions, not because he didn't think the foreigners needed some help, but because he felt that church people had taken a wrong attitude toward mission work. He believed that they thought they were sending money to a group of people steeped in complete ignorance and depravity. They passionately abhorred the cultures of these people, believing their civilization was fashioned and fostered by the devil. Their simple, beautiful life Christians had overlooked; they thought it should be destroyed in its entirety; heathens had to put on American pants and drive automobiles and build churches after our kind before God would look at them. Jim had recently read reports of some intelligent missionary and had remembered the facts presented. With these he was fortified when he came to the meeting on the night of June 12, 1923.
On Tuesday the twelfth night, all the Deacons of Paul Memorial Church met in the basement next to the boiler room, this being as near the heat as they could get. And Jim was there, spruced up and ready to argue. Even the women folk would have had a difficult time
convincing him that night.
The preliminaries of the meeting having been passed over with the usual carelessness and indifference, the chairman stood to present the all-important matter to the brethren .
. "Brothers, our main business tonight is to discuss what we are going to do about the heathen ... ''
"What heathen?" piped in Jim.
"Why, Brother McGregor, the heathen in China, India, Africa, and "
"America?"
"No, we don't have heathens here. We are civilized. We have schools . . . "
"Oh, heathens are people who ain't been to school? Yes, like old Tom Painter. Poor Tom, parents were tenant farmers down in Louisiana. He had to work until he was "
"Er ... Brother McGregor, I didn't mean to say that heathens are people who have no schooling. A heathen is a person who lives in darkness."
"A cave dweller?"
"No! Foreign people living in darkness and sin, where filth and immorality abound."
"Like the slums of New York Pittsburgh , , and Chicago?"
"Yes, like New York. er uh no, I mean, people in foreign lands, I said. People who don't know God."
"Like John Gun, the atheist?"
"Well, no." And the chairman tried to explain in two-plus-two-equals-four language.
"You see, in other countries like China, India, and Africa people worship gods of stone. They try to appease these false gods by sacrifice. They lead awful lives, and their gods are vile and cruel. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I think so."
The chairman wiped his perspiring brow in the moisture of his embarrassment and continued to approach the question of foreign m1ss10ns. The other deacons had shown a
29]
slight uneasiness and mutual embarrassment to try to make them Christians when ninety during the dialogue, but were amused at the per cent of the American people didn't want apparent ignorance of Brother Jim, who was it, what would the missionary have to say?" usually the brains of the meeting. "He would have to point out some other
"Yes, Brother Deacons," continued the sin." chairman, "we wish to see how much money "For instance?" we can donate to the cause of winning the "What about the caste system? He could heathen to Christ. It's a hard job, and it takes point out that they were living under a social a lot of money to prepare workers to go to system which made it impossible for a man the fields." to rise above the place of his forefathers. This
"How do they prepare?" questioned Jim. system makes distinctions between the people "Why, Brother Jim, they study the Bible in the various castes, so that some are hardly thoroughly so that they will be able to con- more than animals." vince the people that it is true, that the Jews "That, no doubt, would be a good attack," were God's chosen race, that the worship of Jim responded, "if the people were wholly any other god is wrong. They can show the ignorant of our social net-work. But suppose heathen how God destroyed the Canaanites he wasn't ignorant of it and would rebuke the because they were evil, and how he blessed missionary by unveiling to him the social caste the Jew who worshiped Him." of our country. He could speak of the share"Like Job?" croppers in the South who are living in homes
"No, they teach only the love of God for that are barely barns, one room for several His people. [Pause.] Yes, we first wish to dis- families, having only a table and a stove. The cuss the deplorable conditions which exist in soil they till is not their own. The profits they India. Our missionaries there are faced with labor for go into the hands of unscrupulous grave problems. There are so many gods there, tight-wads whose social conscience is a block and the religious celebrations, too many of of ice. And what about a religious system them are filled with lust and sin." which holds in its membership people who are "Brother Chairman," asks Jim. "Are you stifling the life out of some communities by sure that our missionaries have a good argu- their power of money? And what social equalment there? Suppose the missionary gets up ity is there in an economy that permits twenty and tell the people that their religious worship or thirty men in a concern to make a hundred is sinful, and suppose those same people ask thousand dollars a year, while thousands toilhim why it is that in America we celebrate ing in the same industry under more strenuous the birthday of our Christ by drunkenness and and dangerous conditions make nine dollars shame, that it is a holiday in which the people a week? What has the missionary to say to get together and produce their vilest inde- that?" cencies, and that they do that after going to "Why, he could tell them that nine dollars churches and performing their duties of wor- a week would at least buy the people food ship. What answer would the missionary have and clothing. But things like that aren't the to make?" important things. It is the religion, the beliefs, "Why, he could say that these things were the faith, that are important. Our missionaries done by people who weren't really Christians." are up against the problem of showing these "And if they should reply that it was foolish people that the true God is a heavenly Father
[ 30]
who loves them despite their poverty and unworthiness. They don't know anything about a heavenly Father."
"Brother Chairman," again Jim, 'Tm afraid you don't quite know the facts about these people. They don't exactly think of God as we do, but they say, 'Heaven is my Father, Progenitor; there is my origin.' And they do call God the Father, as we do."
"But, Brother Jim, what can their religion offer these people? God is so far removed from them that no loving relationship can exist between them."
" The God Krishnu-so a book says-tells his worshipers, 'They do worship me devoutly, are in me , and I also in them. Be well assured that he who worships me does not perish.' They believe like we do-that after
death the just are rewarded and the evil punished But they even go further and believe that by many rebirths and the trials and purifications of many lives there comes the time when their spirits merge with the divine and there is an eternal existence, not as individuals, but in an unconscious unity with God. They carry their religion in every phase of life; they refuse to kill any living thing, believing it murder and sin. Almost Christian, isn't it?"
"Why, yes it is," several of the deacons whispered.
"Well, what can we teach them?" asked Jim.
"It seems that their religion is quite a bit like Christianity, only they don't know that Christ died to save them from their sins," the
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chairman added with a satisfied conclusiveness.
"They believe that their salvation lies in living up to the caste laws and in doing no injury to themselves," Jim added, breaking down the last of the arguments that could be offered.
"Well, maybe we picked a bad example in the Indians," the chairman excused himself. "Let's look at another field which is really a good example."
And so the night passed with the deacons endeavoring to convince poor, ignorant Jim McGregor that somewhere, for some reason, they had to send foreign missionaries in order that the heathen might be saved. The conditions in China, Japan, Africa, and the islands of the seas were attacked as being immoral, vile, and lowly. But Jim knew all the answers. The deacons were in a righteous sweat before the evening was over, and they had just about decided that the heathen was as well off as they were and that the best thing to do was to use the money in remodeling the church. The chairman of the board, who had opened his shirt collar, sighed deeply and asked if there was any more business to be brought before the meeting, looking furtively at Jim and praying that he would say no more.
But he did.
"Brother deacons," began Jim with a caustic remonstrance, "you remind me of a store owner trying to run a business without any business principles, of a blushing bride who tries to cook a pan of bread without knowing the difference between soda and baking powder. All these years you have been clinging to the ideas taught you by your forefathers and have believed completely that all of the world outside of America is a pit of sin filth ' '
and crime. You have accepted everything handed down to you as religion without once opening your Bible to see where it came from. You have come to church every Sunday and nodded at every word from the preacher's lips, afraid to disagree, not because you wanted to agree, but because you didn't know enough about your religion to realize when he made a mistake. And, more than that, you have been praying for and sending missionaries for the conversion of these heathens as ' you call them, without having any true and definite knowledge of their culture, their politics, their faith, their godliness, or what the stumbling block was that kept them from the highest faith. Here you are with life in your hands, but unable to see it yourselves, because you pref er to keep your eyes closed. You would tear down for the heathen all that ages have given him, mistaking a different culture for sin, and different ideas for idolatry. You have forsaken the elements of your faith which are the most supreme in preference to the ridiculous and the emotional. And you would rather give up missionary work than admit that the social order and individual conceptions of the majority of our people are unethical and unchristian.
"Civilization, as I think, doesn't make a man righteous, and the lack of it doesn't make him unrighteous. A pair of pants, a radio, an automobile and a church membership do not change a man. Indeed, it is not this that needs changing. We can change their idealogy by giving them that ideal by which our Savior was characterized, 'He went about doing good.' Yes we can give them that idealogyafter we have learned it ourselves."
And the ignorant groceryman sat down and laced his shoes which he had untied when the meeting started.
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