MSGR 1949v75n3

YES, make the Camel 30-day mildne ss test. Smoke Camels for 30 days ... it 's revealing-and it's fun to learn for yourself . Let YOUR OWN THROAT tell you th e wonderful story of Camel's cool, cool mil dness. Let YOUR OWN TASTE tell you about the rich, full flavor of Camel's choic e tobaccos - so carefully aged and expertl y blended.

In a recent national test, hundreds of men and women smoked Camels, and on ly Camels, for thirty consecutive days-an average of 1 to 2 packs a day. Noted thro at specialists examined the throats of the se smokers every week (a total of 2470 exam inations) and reported

Try Camels and test them as you smoke them. If, at any time, you are not convinced that Camels are the mildest cigarette you have ever smoked, return the package with the unused Camels and we will refund its full purchase price, plus postage. (Signed) R. }. Reynolds Tobacco Co. Winston-Salem, N. C.

lf

By Bill Wills

St. Valentineandtlte WarmWar

TIS but a mere three years ago that the world JLwas able to put a halt to what has been called, "the most dreadful war of all times ." Poignantly within the memory of the veterans of that war are the sounds, the sights, even the smells of its clash and fury All men should now be entitled to a respite from such conflict-to some tranquil and meditative enjoyment of that part of civilization which, through their brave efforts and unstinting sacrifice, has been preserved to us.

But this now present February season shows us the hollowness of our hopes and the vacuity of our victory. That peace for which all men had so earnestly longed is still denied us The sounds of turmoil are with us yet, bombardments have not ceased, the relentless whine and ricochet of smallarms fire is undiminished as a piteous part of our domestic scene. Yes, over that land to which we had so joyously returned there hangs even now the lingering odor of powder-of powder and perfume!

This is the "warm war"! True , the "targets for tonight " are only hearts; the bombs may be no more than two pounds of Whitmans; the slings and arrows of our outrageous misfortune are shot from Cupid's bow. But they should not be thought the less dangerous for all that. No! For the arsenal art has advanced and so have women , and now there are placed in their hands diabolical implements

calculated to catch, conquer, and cause the cringing capitulation of once-proud and disdainful men. Lipstick, in 70 passion-provoking shades, is now flavored with every subtle substance from ambrosia to sloe gin; there are perfumes purporting to inspire "Midnight Madness," "Evening Ecstasy" and "Incessant Idiocy," and doing it, too. Their uniforms for warfare are basically the same-lace and silk and flowered embroidery in such soft and innocent shades as pink and baby blue, selected thus, you see, to banish every shadow of mistrust and suspicion Their weapons are sharp, their propaganda is sweet, their tactics are alluring, and the shape of their strategies renders them successful-wondrously successful-in close combat. Their victories are so continuous that even man-a pawn in their hands-supplies them with ammunition for his own ultimate downfall. (Witness the cards and candy of February 14th.)

But beware of the "warm war"-it is an ignoble contest employing snares, traps, lures, and illusions. St. Valentine was an abstemious and celibate Bishop who would have had none of this business of "hearts and flowers." His name and his day are being used by designing females for designing purposes, which, of course , they'll deny, but We could tell you more except that it's 5: 30 And we have a date at 6:00 -N.W.

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Picture of the Month

OFF THE BACKBOARD

This picture was submitted by a member of the Camera Club Everyone is urged to turn in entries for the Picture of the Month to the club

HANDS OFF

]E

VERYBODY who knew Clay Dalton and Rube ~mith, either personally or by local legend-and there were few who did not --had adopted the mental attitude and accepted as a foregone conclusion that the two men must one day face each other and end a sporadically violent feud that had simmered and boiled almost forty years. They knew this, it seemed, with a calm certainty which did not permit thoughts of interfering in what seemed inevitwble. Indeed, they regarded the approaching clash as one would view the black thunderheads of a far-off electrical storm sweeping fearfully in from their spawning places below the horizon. The old saying that "everyone _ talks about the weather, but no one ever does anything about it" was a true saying in Chase County. Everyone talked about Dalton and Smith too, but no one ever did anything about them.

They may have thought, though it is doubtful, :about the inevitableness of weather, the enigma of fate, or some may have believed, without realizing it themselves, in preordination.

However, it wasn't likely that the inhabitants of Chase County, North Carolina, U.S.A., ever analyzed in such a manner their feelings toward the -smouldering, volcanic hate liaison that bound Dal -' ton and Smith in chains stronger than any forged by man. For the most part they accepted the two men's deadly combat as they-accepted the sllli and the tfees find the moon ' at night. Chase County society -did not' resent the <dynamitekeg that occasionally e:j(!plodedwithin its midst. It was a diversion for all. ' It M1t·:a suspense to the monotony that perme1fted da 'ily life in that region.

A farmer's life is usual1y a routine one. It consists of little details tbat must be looked after, details that sta~d in' 'fow'slike lihle soldiers and demand attention.

It was a tyrannical life th'e co'unty farmers led, made all the more so by the one big money crop they raised-tobacco. The red soil of the region supported, as no other soil could, the delicate fluecured leaf which demanded just so much moisture .and no more, was laid low by any one of ten plant diseases, and, worst of all, furnished a broad green target for hailstones that plummeted not infre•quently from stormy summer skies. In all the rolling expanse of Chase County the tired soil had no peer as a taskmaster save one-the textile mills.

The mills first came to Chase County in the last decade of the Nineteenth Century, springing up in small individual units along Smith River, the county's main waterway, and to the young people of the county who stirred restlessly in the surrounding ancestral farmlands, they were beacons of hope which offered escape from the numb existence they heretofore had known.

So a steady migration from the land to the weave rooms had begun. With the passing years Chase County boasted two industries, and the .people now had two taskmasters. The cotton mill towns were the Twentieth Century equivalent of Twelfth Century feudalism. The busy mills, their looms humming day and night, owned the land of the -towns, the utilities, most of the stores and homes. What they didn't own outright, they controlled by devious and sometimes criminal means. No man could stand against them. The one commodity the people had to sell--labor--was bought by the mills on the latter's own terms. Labor unions were painfully born and painfully died.

No serious opposition ever faced the sprawling, secure textile industries in Chase County in their domination of the economic and social lives of the people who lived in the mill-owned and milloperated villages. Everyone either worked in the mills or on the farms or were dependent upon them.

Chase County was a tight little vassal state wherein the sun rose and the sun set for the benefit of Chase County. It was provincial and stolid, a political entity surrounded by a'n outside world of northern tourists and other foreigners who smoked Chase County tobacco and wore Chase County textiles. These, mainly, were the attributes the natives associated with people beyond the borders of the county ·

Sketched briefly, such were the three forces that shaped the lives of the inhabitants of that region -the all-powerful mills, the soil, and the cloaking isolationism of teople who, lacking imaginatio 'n, were satisfied and content that tomorrow would -be like the day before .

Therefore, it never would have occurred to a resident of that isolated '.'section of North Carolina to analyze the hands-off attitude 'the populace took toward the Dalton-Smith feud. · Just as they valued the isolationism of the county as a whole, so did

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they firmly believe in the application of it to private life. They waited. They watched. They speculated among themselves as to the probable climaxing date of the bloodletting. There were even a few bets as to what would finally happen, the manner in which it would happen, and who would be the victor. Yet by unspoken, tacit agreement, a web of close-lipped silence was spun between Chase County's ringside spectators and the gladiators.

In spite of this silent agreement among their neighbors, or, more truthfully, because of it, both Dalton and Smith were aware of the patient, watchful attitude of the whole county. When customers entered Clay Dalton's White Elephant roadhouse, located on the only federal highway through the county, they never spoke of Smith or Smith's Place or anything remotely pertaining to Smith. They drank beer by the bar which ran the entire length of the front room of the place and made small talk or usually didn't talk at all.

Always they admired large framed portraits of nude women hanging about the walls in spite of the fact that the portraits had been a feature of the White Elephant for years. Customers never failed to look at them on the first visit, nor the second, nor any subseguent trips to the roadhouse.

If couples came to the White Elephant they would go to the room reserved for couples in the back. Here they could order whiskey or gin by the shot, at a dollar a shot. But even when a man was tight at the White Elephant, the whiskey or gin or beer seldom brewed enough Dutch courage for an outright guestion or declaration about the relationship between Clay and Rube. If a man had done so he would have not only acted out of Chase County character, but, even worse, he would have brought down upon his head the wrath of Dalton.

Dalton could have passed for a schoolteacher or a student of divinity, so mild was his manner. When he spoke his voice was like soft velvet, but, in anger, which came in moods, the velvet carried the harsh sting of a whiplash. Men saw what they called a "soft streak" in Dalton, though. Sometimes he was actually kind. His kindness, however, he never wasted on the people he knew, but on animals, cats and dogs, which flocked in droves around his place of business.

It was not an uncommon sight to see him pick up a stray, mangy dog along the highway and adopt him into the animal family he had accumulated through the years. His devotion to animals and the love he had for them afforded an insight

into Dalton's character of which he was unaware. He did not know, for instance, that people associate a love for animals with a good heart, nor did he realize that because of this one peculiarity he was the unconscious favorite with many people in the county who stoically watched and waited for the two to fly at one another's throats.

Dalton was a meticulous man in everything except the company he kept and the establishment he ran. He was a widower and childless. His wife had died of tuberculosis a few years after their marriage. He seldom spoke of her nor were there any outward signs of lingering grief, unless one counted infreguent visits he made to the family cemetery. Some people who knew Mrs. Dalton started a rumor, which received wide credence, that she had died not only of the effects of TB of the lungs but also because of the strange, unconscious, silent brutality of Dalton.

Before her death, and with increasing occurrence afterwards, Dalton had met and become intimate with the tainted social elements in Chase County and had more than once been the target of thorough investigation by agents of the Alcoholic Tax Unit. Such investigations quite often bore fruit and Clay, through periodic fines and short prison sentences, had paid his debt to society. Always, however, he returned to the paths of life he knew so well, and his game of hide and seek with the federal ITU and state ABC men continued on its normal course.

Now, forty years old, Dalton looked back on the past years with few regrets for actions taken, but with many sorrowing emotions rising up to haunt him for things he had failed to do. He could have, he thought, preserved the home he had once shared contentedly with his wife had he not always demanded instead of giving. She had been loyal to him in spite of the life he led. He could have been more careful of the persons to whom he sold whiskey, for it was the strangers who invariably turned out to be revenue men. He had paid out thousands of dollars and, counting all the times he had received sentences, all of four years had been spent in prison. He had wasted money and, more important, he had lost four years of his life.

The slowly festering hatred that burned within him for Smith could have been ended long ago. He knew subconsciously that the backlog of things undone, the frustrations which had accumulated over the years, had soured and purged him of even the most rudimentary appreciation of what constitutes the make-up of a peaceful mind and a

[ 4]

serene outlook on life.

These thoughts spearheaded the cold, sickening repulsion he felt for Smith. His hatred had communicated itself to all the other facets of his life. He had few close friends. He was quiet and in · many little ways he showed contempt and complete indifference to neighbors and even to his customers. All these things Dalton knew, but at forty years he also was aware of the futility of starting a new life. There could be only one end to the irresistible , ceaseless ebb and flow of the malice the two men had for each other.

Such were the monotonous reflections that passed irritatingly through Dalton's mind on a blistering August afternoon as he rocked slowly back and forth in a squeaky rocking chair placed under an _ extended portion of the White Elephant roof which sheltered a part of the dusty front driveway. The way he was facing, with his back to the doorway of his combination home and "place of business," as he called it , he could see the two long unused gas tanks and oil pump which were supposed to serve as window dressing for the more lucrative trade in illegal sale of ABC whiskey and after-hours dispensing of beer.

The tanks and the oil pump fooled no one except motorists from out of the county and tour1sts who occasionally would drive up and ask for gas. Now the red paint on the three .fixtures had given up the fight against the sun and rain and peeled off in places , exposing large rusted sections of the metal underneath. Heat waves performed a satanic dance over the macadam highway which Dalton idly thought resented being made to pass through the tight, smug complacence of Chase County. He had always halfheartedly wanted to drive off from the White Elephant one day, without a word , and leave everything far, far behind, including the dreadful necessity of settling scores with Smith. There was no fear in him, only a numb , paralyzing weight that pierced his brain and sat heavily on his shoulders every time he thought of Smith.

From where he sat his vision was unimpaired for perhaps a quarter of a mile eastward. There were few trees near the edge of the road and in the flat expanse to his right he could make out the outlines of Smith ' s Place, perched on the wide shoulders of the highway. Its red tile roof slanted up to the sun and Dalton speculated for a moment on whether Smith had ever patched the two bullet holes that had pen~trated it when Smith, by the whisper of a second , had almost killed him

That last clash between them had occurred over six months ago when the snow lay deep on the ground, whipped down and packed by a bitter wind that had brought to Chase County its coldest winter on record. Something of a turning point had occurred in Dalton's life then. The cold had held a peculiar charm for him because he loved the biting wind and the sting of driving snow on his face. He had seen in the snow, in its white, sweeping expanse, the expressionless face of Smith. Smith was white to him, a horrible white-shapeless and indistinguishable. But his hatred now was not the singing, torrid warmth that had before drawn him to seek out and fight his enemy. Now it was a cold depression, a horror he felt in every fiber of his body.

Yet one day when the storm was at its height, he had picked up a double-barrelled shotgun and walked quietly out of the White Elephant.

The few regulars who sat around drinking the cold away had known where he was going. No one had followed him or said anything to him. Peering through windows, they had watched his progress down the road to Smith.

On that walk, Dalton recalled now as he sat in his rocking chair, time had seemed to hold for a moment, and he had seen Smith and himself when they were in grammar school, hating then as they hated now, only then it was a purer, boyish hatred, which both, with a child's sometimes mystifying intelligence, had recognized as natural. When they saw each other they fought and it had been that way all their lives. Neither family had tried to stop it. Dalton's father had told him "to leave the bastard alone, but if he comes up to you take up a stick and kill him."

So the two had never ceased fighting. As the years rolled by, youthful, impulsive hate fights had been replaced by cold, deadly ones, occurring less frequently , but part of a design familiar to a region where raw passion had never succumbed to a precarious and uncertain society of man. Each time both Dalton and Smith had survived; each time the one had reprieved the other from death.

Never had Dalton or Smith "gone to law" after one of their encounters. They both seemed to be peculiarly fascinated, strangely attracted to one another-like steel drawn to a magnet. Each time they met they built another step to the inevitable climax, each somehow intuitively aware that the end of it was not yet.

(C ontinu ed on page 14 )

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The Story of Saint \ 1alentine's Day

SOME say Cupid started it, and some that Mr. Shakespeare had a part in it, which, of course, is absurd because it began long before his time. And although some girls would like to think so, Stu Massey had nothing -to do with it either. All the recent encyclopedias claim that old Saint Valentine was the instigator of all this lovemaking-or something to that effect. What with all this technical "stuff" I've been cramming about atoms, cyclotrons, endoplasm, and the like, I've just about forgotten the finer and more important points in life-namely love and the day which commemorates it. What say we take a few minutes off and see what we can find on it?

Let's see, it says here in the Columbia Encyclopedia: "Valentine, Saint the patron of lovers and the help of those unhappily in love. The lovers' greeting cards sent on this day (St. Valentine's Day) are called Valentines for him." Um-m-m-m, now we' re getting somewhere, but there must be more to it than that. Oh, come on, let's find the story of this Saint. I've almost forgotten it.

In the year 270 A.D. men were still being put to death for their belief in the Christian religion; thus it was that Valentine, a bishop, was executed for his faith on February 14, 270, during the persecution under Claudius II of Rome. He had

"What kind of a guy is your roommate?"

"Well, last night he stubbed his toe on a chair and said, 'Oh, the perversity of inanimate objects!' "

-El Burro.

A dean of women at a large coeducational college recently began an important announcement to the student body as follows:

"The president of the college and I have decided to stop necking on campus."

-Old Maid.

been loved by the people in his Church for his kindness and gentleness; therefore, since his death occurred on their feast day of love, this holiday gradually took on the name of Saint Valentine's Day.

It was first thought that on February 14th the birds began to mate. This belief is known to have been of considerable antiquity since mention was made of it in one of Chaucer's works. On the eve of Saint Valentine's Day fair maidens and men met at the festival and by a process probably very similar to our custom of drawing names from a hat, each drew a name of one of the opposite sex. In such a way, each gentleman got a lady for his Valentine.

Well now, who could have thought of such an ingenious way of getting a man as that? It's certainly much less tiring than Sadie Hawkins' Day. There's only one thing that has me puzzled. What contrivances did the women use to get the men to the feast, where they were sure to be trapped? Oh well, that is probably another mystery of the past which may never be solved, so we women of today must continue to trap our men by our own crafty devices.

-JOYCE PARRISH.

1'. SCIENCEB-UILDINGS SONGS

--To be sung by all Science Majors.

1. Chemistry Building-1st floor. A burner scorched my hand last week; The memory still lingers. I cooled it off in HCLHas anyone seen my fingers?

2. Chemistry Building-2nd floor. Both chem and bridge I've studied hard; Alas to no avail. In bridge I always seem to passIn Chemistry to fail.

3. Physics Building He said take Physics thrice each week; It's really sure to please ya. So thrice each week I measure out And drink Milk of Magnesia.

Thus I acquire my knowledge. How easily I gain it. But though I drink it in so fast I can't seem to retain it.

4 Biology Building Inebriates both are men and frogs. The two conspire in sinFrogs are pickled in raw alcohol; The human uses gin.

-MIMI THALENBERG. [ 7}

ouples

GDeanAcheson

THE son of an Episcopalian minister, Dean Acheson is the kind of man that the State Department, as well as every other governmental department, could stand more of. Though he looks more like an actor, or British diplomat, Mr. Acheson is a very capable man.

Upon graduation from Harvard Law School, Mr. Acheson won one of the most sought after jobs offered by the school-that of secretary to Judge Louis D. Brandeis of the Supreme Court. Here he gained much valuable experience, and, being a young man, it is probable that his present ideas were somewhat molded during his services with Judge Brandeis.

Because he failed to land a job as economic advisor for the C.I.O., Mr. Acheson joined one of the best law firms in Washington, and before many years his reputation as a brilliant lawyer had spread over the country. He lived well, in fashionable Georgetown, and reared a family of three, two daughters and one son. Though he was successful, he was not satisfied, and the social and economic . issues of the day were his main interest. He was, at the time, active in the Democratic circles in the state of Maryland.

In 1933 he won the admiration of President Roosevelt, and when the President needed a smart man to become Under Secretary of the Treasury it was only natural that he should appoint Acheson to the position. But being a man who would not act contrary to his beliefs, Mr. Acheson's "New Deal" career ended within six months and he returned to his law firm where he was made senior partner.

Unlike most men who were eliminated from the "New Deal" staff, Acheson remained true to the Democratic Party and, in the next Presidential elec-

tion'}, qe"1continued to support Franklin Roosevelt f ~r 'Pr~sident.

When the war broke out in Europe, Secretary of State Cordell Hull literally drafted Acheson to the post of Assistant Secretary of State, and with the job he took upon his shoulders the economic problems and relations of the nation in a world on the verge of complete war.

More than six months before Japan's malicious attack on Pearl Harbor Mr. Acheson saw the necessity for the United States to halt exports to Japan, but he was unable to persuade the Congress to carry out his suggestion and ships of supplies continued to cross the Pacific to Japan.

Throughout the entire war Dean Acheson worked for the State Department, and after the surrender of Japan he was asked to help in drafting the peace treaty. To this task he gave his time freely and diligently. His skill in managing the United Nations' relief is unsurpassed, and he has contributed much time and work to the organization of the United Nations itself.

During the periods that James Byrnes and General Marshall served as Secretary of State Mr. Acheson was indispensable. His knowledge of foreign affairs was of unlimited value to both of them during the dark days of postwar problems.

When the retirement of Secretary of State Marshall became necessary President Ti:uman made a wise choice in appointing Dean Acheson to head the State Department. His experience aldne qualifies him for the position, not to mention his ingenuity and his ability to get along with people. His direct approach to problems is his greatest resource, and those who work around him appreciate his straightforwardness and sincerity.

-CHESTER A. BECK.

Sign in machine shop: "Girls, if your sweater is too large for you, look out for the machines; if you are too large for the sweater, look out for the machinists."

-Scripts 'n Pranks.

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The Cynic

I claim the kiss of one who drank before, And raise the cup and drink the warm red wine; And he who drinks the Grape this way again Will claim the bitter kiss that once was mine.

And who shall know how many lips have pressed Against the rim of painted potter ' s clay

A little while, and then did put it down And, as the wind, slipped silently away?

Ah, bitter is the taste of warm red wine, That lulls the soul to Yesterday's dead wasteAnd cold the cup that holds the mad Desire, And bitter cold the many lips I taste.

-N.C.B.

The Formationof a Fatalist

We dream too much who in our reverie Erect our destiny. We crave some place Where tempests rage against a joyous sea, Where gold suns shine; and some peculiar face Stamps all our dreams. Yet in the dull routine Of achromatic days, the changeless rooms Like honeycombs enclose pale lives who lean Against the stereotyping for support. Like tombs They hold our shells. And in the madding crowd Our days grow shorter and our visions blur With thoughts that never will be voiced aloud, With actions that we know will not occur.

But after countless pathways have been tried, The lamp dies out-we sleep unsatisfied.

-MARY

BURTON HASKELL.

Brown eyes gaze at mineVexation.

So£t hands clasped in mineExpectation.

Red lips close to mineTemptation.

FootstepsDamnation!

-Scripts 'n Pranks.

Dear Pop: Everything is fine at school. I'm getting lots of sleep and am studying hard. Incidentally, I'm enclosing my fraternity bill.

Your son,

Ignatz.

Dear Ignatz: Don't buy any more fraternities.

Pop.

-Scripts 'n Pranks.

A certain school advertised: "Short course in accounting for women."

The next day, a note reached the school's president. It read: "There is NO accounting for women."

-Scottie.

HE: "Do you know how bad the drought is in the Midwest?"

SHE: "No. How bad is it?"

HE: "It's so bad the trees are going to the dogs."

-Old Maid.

HE: "You look like Helen Green."

SHE: "So what, I look worse in pink."

-Scripts 'n Pranks.

A woman's mind is cleaner than a man's because she changes it more often.

-Scottie.

Well, Doctor, was my operation a success?

Sorry, old fellow, I'm Saint Peter.

-El Burro.

FATHER(to daughter coming in at 4:00 A.M.): "Good morning, child of Satan."

DAUGHTER(sweetly): "Good morning, father." -Scripts 'n Pranks.

A comely co-ed met her aunt downtown Saturday night and was given the aunt's pay check to take home. On the way home she was held up.

"Help! Help! I've been robbed!" she cried. "Someone has taken my aunt's pay!"

A policeman quieted her. "Cut out the pig Latin and tell me what happened," he said.

-Old Maid.

NOTICE-If the person who stole the jar of alcohol out of our cellar will return Grandma's appendix, no questions will be asked.

-El Burro.

CALLER:"Is your Mother engaged?"

SMALLSoN: "I think she's married."

-El Burro.

Walking with a friend one day, a professor passed a large fish shop where a fine catch of codfish with mouths open and eyes staring were arranged in a row.

"How about a little orange juice this morning?"

[ 16]

The prof. suddenly stopped, looked at them, and catching his friend by the arm, exclaimed; "Heavens! that reminds me-I should be teaching a class."

-Scottie.

A clergyman from south Milwaukee tells the story of an Italian who brought his baby to be baptized.

"Now," he said, "you see you baptize him right. Last time, I tell you I want my boy call Tom, you call heem Thomas. Theese time I want heem call, Jack. I no want heem call Jackass." -The Virginia Tech Engineer.

Then there was the Scotchman who wouldn't buy his girl a parasol when he took her to the beach but told her shady stories instead.

-The Virginia Tech Engineer.

"Are you a college student?"

"No, a horse stepped on my hat." -El Burro.

STAFF

Editor-in-Chief ... . .......... PEGGY HARRI S Westhampton College Editor JOYCE PARRISH

Lau: School Editor HAROLD FLAX

Rich111ondCollege Editor .. ... ... ... NELSON WEBER

Assistant IY/esthampton Editor BETTY CATHER

Assista11tRichmond College Edito,- BILL WILLS

Exchange Editor ................. WALLY McGRAW

Poetry Editor GEORGIA KILPATRICK

Feature Editors JEAN BISHOP, WALT MAHON

Fiction Editor .. ......... CHARLES TAYLOR, JR.

Pttblicity i \ilanager DON WILSON

Contact Staff BARBARA COVINGTON, MIMI ANDERSON , HARRIET LAMM, LIZ PAHNELAS , ANNE BREHME

Art Staff ............ LOUISE TRIPLETT, ANN WILEY

Editorial Staff CHESTER BECK, SAM PATTERSON

Layo11t .... , ................... BOBBY RODEWALD

Published in Oc·toher , Decembe1\ February. April and )lay by Universit~· of Ric·hmon<l Puhlieations, l nc·orpornted. Right is reserved to alter ('Ont l'ihut ions 10 meet pu hlieat ion 1·equ irements. \ ll communications (;hould be ntld1·e!-ised to 'r11 i,; .)(F<~s:-;1-;~(a:;R,,vesthnrnpton Co ll ege, Box 363, Univer:--ity of Richmond , Virginia, 11-lembo>rVirf!,i11i.1Intercollegiate Pre.rs AJSoci,1tio11

"\"Vhat foah dat doctah comin' out youah house?"

"Ah dunno, but ah thinks ah's got a little inklin. " -El Burro.

Nothing robs a man of his good looks like a hurriedly drawn shade. -Gargoyle.

MOTHER: "Sonny, don't use such bad words."

SONNY: "Shakespeare used them."

MOTHER: "\X 1 ell, don't play with him any more."

-El Burro.

Said the cat, watching the tennis match: "You know, it takes real guts to be in that racket."

-El Burro.

It takes five~~~~~!~;:~ They're all in Chesterfield, you see.

There are three in the pack which have three in each one; Which should make about nine; in reality, one.

Think of a word for a biscuit, change a letter and then You'll have a home for Daniel; but~ the lion's den, ANSWERS WILL APPEAR IN THE NEXT ISSUE OF YOUR MAGAZINE

LAST MONTH'S ANSWERS & WINNERS

A The sock which Arthur Godfrey is holding with his white mitten.

B The Chesterfield carton whose last five title letters show out of the green sock.

C Always Bring Chesterfield. The central word of the famous slogan has been revised from Buy to Bring.

WINNERS, ••

Chesterfield Contest Winners

Robert Fontaine, Bud Lowry, Bruce Price, Clyde Woodson, Donald Harding, Philip Goldfarb, Chester Bishof, Martin Shotzberger, Thomas Bondurant, Leonard Weiss.