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THE 

ILLINOIS 

MAGAZINE 


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THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


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THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


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THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


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iiTiiitTiimniTiriiiTTTiii gj 


The  Illinois  Magazine 

Geohge  Uxger      -------------      Editor 

Walter  B.  Remley      ---------      Business  Manager 


Contents  for  October 

THE  SLACKER 

TAXQUARY'S  ARCTIC  DRIVE 

SHADOWINGS 

A  PORTRAIT  IN  MOSIAC 

MT.  VERNON  ON  THE  POTOMAC 

WITH  HAL  PAGE  IN  FRANCE 

THE  FIRST  OF  A  NEW  SERIES  OF  FACULTY  HOMES 
The  Home  of  Prof.  Geo.  A.  Goodenough 

A  WORD  FROM  "DOC"  BILIK 

BOOK  REVIEW 

"PRUT!  PRUT!  PRUT!" 

POEMS 

The  Poet  Speaks  To  His  Beloved  of  Youth 

The  Palimpsest 

The  Mole 

Oitsterii 


f 


EDITORIAL  STAFF 
L.  J.  Selzer       --------------       Af:!<i.<it(i)it  Editor 

Lois  Seyster       ------------      j„  Charge  of  Editorials 

Elizabeth  Leitzbach      -----------      in  Charge  of  Fiction 

BUSINESS  STAFF 
W.  E.  Krieger       -------------       Assistant  Manager 

R.  E.  Spangler      -------------      Circulation  Manager 

Published  monthly  by  the  Illini  Publishing  Company  durinK  the  college  year.  Entered  as  second-class 
matter  at  the  posloffice  at  Urbana.  Illinois.  Office.  University  Hall,  Urbana,  Illinois.  Subscription.  $1.00 
per  year.     Out-of-town  subscriptions.   ?1.25.     Single  copies,    15  cents. 

Twin  City  Printing  Company,  Pi-iutcrs  and  Bindrrs,  Champaign,  III. 


Renne  Photo 


The  Dean  of  Men 


I-<&iaQ"\-^ 


The  Illinois  Magazine 


\'olume  9 


OCTOBER.  1917 


Number  1 


THE  SLACKER 

THOMAS  ARKLE  CLARK 
Dean  of  Men 


HEY  were  standing  at  the 
station  waiting  for  the  train 
that  was  to  carry  the  soldiers 
away  to  the  training  camp — 
the  boy  a  little  stiff  and  self- 
conscious  in  his  new  uniform,  the  mother 
eager,  proud,  her  hands  clenched  tight  in 
an  attempt  to  be  calm  and  to  conceal  the 
pain  of  parting.  The  train  pulled  in,  and 
the  time  for  separation  arrived. 

"Don't  be  a  slacker,  .Jim."  the  mother 
said  as  she  kissed  the  boy  good-bye,  "Do 
your  best;  I'd  rather  you'd  be  killed  than 
be  a  slacker." 

During  all  these  months  of  war  and 
preparation  for  war  I  have  been  trying  to 
understand  just  what  it  means  to  be  a 
slacker.  Is  it  only  in  war  that  men  are 
slackers  when  they  shrink  back  from  duty 
and  danger,  and  sacrifice,  and  responsi- 
bility?   Surely  not. 

"Do  you  think  I  shall  be  looked  upon  as 
a  slacker?"  a  junior  asked  me,  "if  I  come 
back  to  college  and  finish  my  course?  I 
am  not  old  enough  for  the  draft,  and  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  could  get  in  to  the  army 
if  I  were  drafted". 

As  I  talked  the  matter  over  with  him,  it 


seemed  to  me  that  his  not  going  to  college 
would  more  surely  prove  him  a  slacker 
than  his  going.  He  saw  very  clearly  that 
his  duty  was  to  finish  his  education ;  the 
more  obviously  heroic  thing  to  him  was  to 
don  a  uniform.  What  he  feared  was  pub- 
lic criticism,  though  he  knew  that  with  a 
completed  education  he  could  best  sei've 
his  country. 

The  slacker,  as  I  see  him.  is  a  man  who 
shirks  an  obligation ;  who  is  afraid  of  dan- 
ger, and  privation,  and  hard  work;  who 
refuses  to  respond  to  duty ;  who  has  a  task 
assigned  to  him  and  who  is  satisfied  to  do 
it  indifferently — or  even  to  allow  it  to  go 
undone.  He  is  not  confined  to  the  army; 
he  is  found  in  every  walk  of  life  in  college 
and  out  of  it,  in  every  community  and  in 
every  profession.  He  is  the  immediate 
cause  of  policemen  and  proctors,  and  all 
other  individuals  and  devices  for  checking 
up  on  the  man  who  sees  his  duty  and  yet 
lacks  the  courage  or  the  energ>'  to  do  it. 

There  never  was  a  time  in  the  history  of 
this  country,  there  never  was  a  time  in  the 
life  of  colleges  when  the  slacker  was  of 
less  use  and  less  likely  to  be  tenderly  han- 
dled.    This  is  no  time  for  the  loafer  and 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


the  shirker  no  matter  what  line  he  is 
carrying  or  in  what  sort  of  business  he  is 
trying  to  operate. 

The  freshman  entering  college  is  prob- 
ably doing  the  wisest  possible  thing  under 
the  present  trying  national  condition,  for 
he  is  training  his  mind,  he  is  developing 
his  resourcefulness,  he  is  fitting  himself  to 
do  more  difficult  things  and  to  do  them 
more  easily ;  if  he  takes  advantage  of  the 
opportunities  offered  him,  he  is  becoming 
a  more  useful  and  a  better  citizen.  He  is 
not  needed  in  the  war.  Even  should  he  go 
in,  his  youth  and  his  inexperience  unfit 
him  to  do  as  strenuous  and  as  effective 
service  as  his  older  brother.  He  can  aflford 
to  wait  until  he  is  called  and  during  the 
interval  to  prepare  himself  more  effective- 
ly. It  is  true  this  waiting  and  this  prepar- 
ation are  often  for  him  the  most  difficult 
task,  but  that  should  not  deter  him  even 


if  the  course  that  he  chooses  bring  him 
into  criticism. 

One  can  not  evade  the  fact,  however, 
that  under  the  present  circumstances  when 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  our  young  men 
in  training  camps  and  across  the  water 
are  enduring  hardships  and  making  sacri- 
fices, and  many  of  them  giving  up  their 
lives  for  the  sake  of  a  great  principle,  the 
young  man  who  remains  in  college  is  un- 
der a  peculiar  obligation.  He  should  be 
willing  to  make  the  same  sacrifices  to  train 
his  mind  as  the  soldier  is  undergoing  when 
he  submits  to  discipline  to  train  his  body. 
He  has  one  of  the  greatest  opportunities 
of  his  life  to  show  the  fighting  spirit.  If 
he  loafs,  if  he  wastes  his  time  and  money 
in  foolish  pleasures  or  in  dissipations,  if 
he  is  satisfied  to  do  anything  less  than  his 
best  while  his  friends  are  fighting  in  the 
trenches,  he  is  the  worst  sort  of  slacker. 


THE  MOLE 


Day  after  day,  year  after  year,  he  came 

To  dig  among  these  musty  books.    It  seemed 

His  eyes  could  bear  no  stronger  light  than  streamed 

Dust — dimmed  through  painted  windows.    Passion's  flame 

Burned  not  his  shrunken  soul ;  he  could  not  claim 
Companionship  with  men.    He  never  dreamed ; 
He  only  dug  in  books.    And  this  he  deemed 

Worth  while  to  learn  how  Shake.speare  spelled  his  name. 

And  all  the  while  some  truant  in  a  wood 

Thrilled  with  the  song  of  Rosalind ;  and  one, 

No  scholar,  stood  where  Romeo  once  stood ; 

And  for  an  idler  in  the  evening  dells 
Titania  and  Puck  a  romance  spun, 

And  Touchstone  tinkled  merrily  his  bells. 


TANQUARY'S  ARCTIC  DRIVE 


W.  ELMER  EKBLAW 


"And  sometimes  it  leads  to  the  Arctic  trail,  and  the  snoios 
where  your  torn  feet  freeze, 
And  ijOH  whittle  away  the  useless  clay  and  crawl  on  your 
hands  and  knees." 

From  "The  Long  Trail"  iti  "Songs  of  a  Sourdough,"  by  Service 


The  end  of  one  of  the  fine  glaciers  along  the  Greenland  coast  in  sur 


ANY  a  daring  deed  worthy  of 
record  has  embellished  the  an- 
nals of  arctic  exploration,  and 
many  a  thrilling  tale  of  pluck 
and  endurance  has  been  told  of  the  heroes 
who  have  toiled  and  suffered  in  the  lands 
beyond  the  belt  of  the  Northern  Lights, 
but  to  all  mini,  the  story  of  Maurice  Cole 


Tanquary,  Illinois  '07,  of  the  recently  re- 
turned Crockerland  Expedition  will  be  the 
most  interesting  of  them  all  just  as  it  is 
one  of  the  most  noteworthy.  Tanquary's 
exploit  has  added  one  more  record  of  grit 
and  endurance  to  the  already  long  chron- 
icle. The  tale  of  his  adventure  will  persist 
long  in  the  tepees  of  the  Illini. 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


When  the  sledging  season  of  1914-15 
opened  at  our  headquarters  at  Etah, 
Northwest  Greenland,  we  included  among 
our  plans  for  the  season's  work  a  sledge 
journey  to  Danish  Greenland  to  carry  our 
mail  southward  to  the  first  outposts  of 
civilization  and  to  purchase  from  the  Es- 
kimo there  a  number  of  good  sledge  dogs 
to  strengthen  our  teams  for  the  explora- 
tory work  of  the  following  spring. 

The  leader  of  the  expedition  announced 
that  he  himslef  would  go,  and  chose  Tan- 
quary  to  accompany  him.  Tanquary,  who 
wished  and  planned  to  engage  in  active 
exploratory  work  the  next  spring  knew 
that  if  he  desired  dogs  for  a  good  sledge 
team  he  must  personally  procure  them 
himself  and  he  had  been  insistent  upon  the 
journey  from  the  first. 

Mid-December  came  and  with  it  mid- 
night darkness  and  good  sledging  ice. 
Only  a  day  or  two  after  the  winter  solstice, 
as  soon  as  the  December  moon  rose  to  give 
the  needed  light  for  traveling,  Tanquary 
and  our  leader  set  out  from  Etah  to  North 
Star  Bay  where  Peter  Frenchen,  the  factor 
at  the  Danish  Trading  Station  at  that 
place  would  join  them  and  serve  as  guide 
on  their  further  journey. 

The  southward  trip  proved  more  diffi- 
cult than  they  had  expected,  for  when 
crossing  the  ice-burg-studded  reaches  of 
Melville  Bay,  they  were  enveloped  in  heavy 
fog,  lost  their  vv'ay  and  for  ten  day  or  so 
sledged  about  aimlessly  with  almost  no 
provisions,  and  the  temperature  from 
forty  to  fifty  degrees  below  zero.  Despite 
their  killing  and  eating  several  of  their 
dogs,  they  were  rapidly  approaching  ex- 
haustion and  starvation  when  they  finally 
came  into  the  little  Eskimo  village  at  Tuk- 
toliksuak  on  Cape  Seddon. 

At  this  place,  the  leader  of  the  expedi- 
tion, who  had  been  unable  to  recover 
quickly,  turned  back  toward  headquarters, 
while  Tanquary  went  on  with  Frenchen 
and  one  Eskimo. 


They  reached  Upernivik  in  due  time, 
where  they  delivered  the  mail  and  assem- 
bled and  purchased  dogs  from  various  Es- 
kimo, until  Tanquary  got  a  team  of  seven- 
teen. This  done,  they  started  from  Uper- 
nivik back  to  headquarters  at  Etah,  Tan- 
quary driving  his  own  team. 

They  had  traveled  but  a  day  or  two  when 
a  period  of  unusual  cold  set  in,  and  Tan- 
quary, who  had  only  second-rate  foot  gear, 
froze  his  feet.  He  froze  them  early  in  the 
morning  but  did  not  realize  that  the  mat- 
ter was  serious  until  they  made  camp  that 
evening  and  undressed  to  get  into  their 
caribou-skin  sleeping-bags.  When  he  re- 
moved his  sealskin  boots  and  hare-skin 
stockings,  he  found  that  great  pieces  of 
skin  and  flesh  came  off  too,  frozen  to  the 
stockings. 

And  then  the  ordeal,  the  real  test  began. 
They  were  over  four  hundred  miles  from 
headquarters  where  our  surgeon  could  at- 
tend him.  He  himself  must  drive  his  team 
that  distance,  feed  his  dogs  and  care  for 
them,  and  help  in  the  breaking  and  mak- 
ing of  camp  each  day. 

They  sledged  across  the  lonely,  white 
wastes  of  Melville  Bay  in  February,  the 
coldest  month  of  the  year,  often  in  ice  so 
rough  that  they  had  to  walk  for  long 
stretches.  The  pain  and  strain  of  that 
journey  can  better  be  imagined  than  de- 
scribed. Only  a  man  who  has  tried  to 
drive  seventeen  wild  dogs, — gathered  from 
as  many  separate  teams, — -over  ice  in  cold 
weather  can  realize  the  difficulty  and  ner- 
vous strain,  and  only  a  man  who  has 
stubbed  along  over  chaotic  pressure  ice 
can  appreciate  the  equisite  agony  of  raw, 
bleeding,  rotting  toes  insufficiently  ban- 
daged and  almost  uncared  for. 

Yet  at  the  end  of  the  ordeal,  when  Tan- 
quary finally  came  into  Etah,  he  was  still 
smiling,  still  cheerful,  still  "going  strong". 
When  our  surgeon  examined  Tanquary's 
feet,  he  found  that  both  big  toes  were 
quite  frozen,  black,  and  the  flesh  practic- 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


Summer  scene  along  the  Greenland  coast 


ally  gone.  A  few  days  later  the  surgeon 
amputated  them,  but  it  was  eight  months 
before  they  finally  healed. 

In  all  the  four  years  of  our  expedition 
not  a  single  thing  was  done  that  so  severe- 
ly taxed  courage  and  endurance.  It  was 
the  grittiest  exploit  of  the  expedition,  a 
truly  heroic  deed  worthy  of  record,  and 


all  the  honor  that  should  come  to  the  man 
who  accomplished  it.  In  the  proud  story 
of  the  class  of  1907  not  one  achievement 
is  more  noteworthy,  more  praiseworthy. 

This  is  the  first  of  a  series  of  articles  by  Mr. 
Ehiier  Ekblaw.  Mr.  Ekblaw  was  a  member  of 
the  Macmillan  Crockerland  Expedition  and  re- 
turned to  Champaign  a  few  weeks  ago.  Photos 
bv  M.  P.  Porsild. 


SHADOWINGS 

MARCUS  SELDEN  GOLDMAN 


INCE  dawn  there  are  come  mes- 
sengers from  Marathon  and  the 
east,  my  Beloved.  There  was 
dust  on  their  hair  and  sweat 
upon  their  faces  and  they  panted  from 
long  running.  I  saw  them  in  the  agora  as 
I  stood  by  the  booths  of  the  sellers  of  figur- 
ines from  Tanagra.  Their  mouths  gaped 
and  the  veins  upon  their  faces  stood  out 
like  those  of  the  horses  that  race  at  Delphi 
in  the  games  of  far-darting  Apollo.  One 
of  them  fell  in  the  street  and  died  ere  he 
might  tell  his  message ;  for  his  heart  burst 
with  over-much  running. 

They  say  that  the  Great  King,  even 
rude-ruling  Darius  has  sent  a  mighty  host 
out  of  the  East  for  the  conquering  of  Hel- 
las. They  say  he  hath  sent  Medians  and 
Persians  and  spearmen  of  Egypt,  slingers 
of  Libya  and  hoplites  from  the  cities  of 
Ionia,  and  wild  tribesmen  of  Scythia  from 
the  slopes  of  Mount  Caucasus,  a  host  like 
the  sands  of  the  beach  at  Piraeus  for  num- 
ber. But  now  the  Archons  have  sent  run- 
ners to  the  allies  and  envoys  to  Thebes  and 
Sparta,  begging  they  come  in  force  to  the 
succor  of  Hellas.  For  once  the  barbarians 
come  from  Marathon  southward  and  west- 
ward to  Athens,  Hellas  is  subject  forever. 
We  shall  give  to  the  Great  King  water  and 
earth  and  be  his  servants,  even  as  now  the 
Helots  are  to  the  Spartans. 

Tomorrow  they  will  muster  the  war- 
riors upon  the  Areopagus.  Tomorrow 
there  will  be  sacrifice  of  cattle  and  sheep 
to  Zeus  and  to  Ares  and  to  spear-bearing 
Pallas.  Tomorrow  I  shall  grind  my  sword 
and  poli.sh  the  studs  of  my  buckler.     To- 


morrow I  shall  bind  on  my  greaves  of 
bronze  and  trim  the  red  horse-hair  crest 
of  my  helmet.  Tomorrow  I  shall  go  forth 
from  the  city  marching  toward  Mt.  Pen- 
tebius  and  the  green  meadows  that  lie  at 
its  feet,  the  wide  plain  of  Marathon  look- 
ing out  toward  the  sea. 

But  mayhap  I  shall  not  return  from 
Marathon  with  hacked  armor  bearing  rich 
spoil  of  barbarians,  gold  weapons  of  a  cap- 
tain of  Parius  taken  in  battle.  Mayhap  I 
shall  come  dusty  and  blood-stained  borne 
on  the  shields  of  my  comrades ;  in  my  side 
a  spear  wound  or  in  my  forehead  a  little 
hole,  a  little  black  hole,  made  by  a  leaden 
sling  ball.  Then  you  will  weep  for  me 
making  your  face  sad  with  tears  and  call- 
ing in  vain  for  mercy  of  shadowy  Aidon- 
eus.  You  will  put  flowers  upon  my  grave 
and  hang  my  stele  with  garlands,  the  fair 
stele  of  Parian  marble  adorned  with  a 
sculptured  hoplite.  And  I  shall  neither 
see  your  tears  nor  hear  your  lamentation. 
I  shall  not  smell  the  fragrance  of  the  lilies. 
I  shall  not  behold  the  figure  of  the  hoplite 
carven  upon  the  stele  of  marble  from 
Paros.  I  shall  be  but  shade  among  many 
crowding  the  margins  of  Acheron. 

But  that  is  tomorrow ;  today  I  am  liv- 
ing. Today  my  Beloved  we  lie  at  our  ease 
in  the  .shade  of  the  lime  trees,  here  by  the 
banks  of  clear-waved  Cephissus.  Today 
you  are  mine  and  ours  is  the  glory  of  lov- 
ing. Today  I  lie  with  my  head  in  your  lap 
and  look  through  the  leaves  of  the  lime 
trees  at  the  little  white  clouds  far  up 
against  the  blue  of  heaven.  The  clouds 
are  white  like  your  hands  and  the  sky  is 


10 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


blue,  yet  not  so  blue  as  your  eyes.  Rather 
it  is  blue  like  a  bracelet  of  turquoise.  Your 
hair  is  yellow  like  the  strings  of  the  lyre 
of  Apollo.  It  is  soft  and  pleasant  to  draw 
through  one's  fingers. 

Tonight  we  shall  make  a  feast,  a  ban- 
quet with  many  meats  and  with  lamps  of 
perfumed  oil  set  round  about.  Tonight 
you  shall  play  on  lyre  and  the  cithera  and 
sing  to  me  songs  of  Lesbian  Sappho.     To- 


night we  shall  drink  Chian  wine  unmixed, 
singing  songs  of  old  Mytelene. 

Tonight  I  shall  kiss  your  lips.  What 
does  it  matter?  What  does  it  matter  to 
you  and  to  me  if  the  Persians  be  marching 
on  Athens?  What  does  it  matter  if  there 
on  Marathon's  plains  he  be  waiting,  sable- 
robed  Thanatos,  guest-friend  of  iron-.scep- 
tered  Hades? 


THE  POET  SPEAKS  TO  HIS  BELOVED 

OF  YOUTH 

CLYDE  BYRON  BECK 


I  know,  beloved  of  my  soul,  your  heart 
Would  keep  me  young,  if  love  could  have  its  way. 
Just  as  I  would  preserve  your  rosy  lips 
Forever  in  the  summer  of  their  bloom : 
But  from  your  eyes  the  sad  uncertain  light 
Of  frail  humanity  sheds  on  your  love 
The  lost,  forsaken  light  of  autumn  suns. 
And  makes  your  wish  as  idle  as  a  dream. 
Thus  I,  praising  the  lords  of  poetry. 
Praise  them  the  most  who  passed  when  they  were  young 
Far  out  of  reach  of  winter  and  the  snows 
That  teach  regret.     I  count  them  over-blest 
That  they  could  pass  with  all  the  old  delights 
They  knew,  and  let  the  world  remember  them 
As  spring  once  decked  them  with  her  lusty  leaves 
Or  as  they  danced  to  Pan's  immortal  pipe. 
Rather  than  as  the  sad  and  common  lot, 
Borne  to  a  sad  but  common  resting-place, 
Decked  with  the  myrtle  and  the  common  yew, 
And  mourned  with  tears  too  quickly  wiped  away. 
They  live  in  generous  hearts,  and  in  the  loves 
They  made  immortal  by  immortal  strains, 

11 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


As  I  would  have  your  life  if  I  could  sing— 
And  as  I  would  the  world  should  think  of  me, 
Seeing  in  after  years  my  harp  unstrung 
And  silent,  when  your  eyes,  long  closed  in  sleep, 
Awake  my  heart  no  longer  in  my  voice — 
0,  live !  my  love,  you  are  the  mold  of  youth. 
The  very  leaf  and  flower  of  the  spring, 
Which  must  be  beautiful,  and  be  no  more ! 
0,  live!    Confound  the  moralist  and  saint 
With  beauty,  which  is  all  we  have  on  earth. 
And  more  than  they  can  prove  we  have  in  heaven ! 
O  Youth,  too  fair  inhabitant  of  scenes 
Too  soon  delivered  up  to  empty  days 
And  lonesome  habitations :  to  the  hearth 
Which  but  the  sad  hours  visit,  and  to  sleep 
Which  no  dreams  haunt  that  ask  to  be  fulfilled. 
Philosophy,  a  thin  and  withered  shell. 
Survives  thee,  it  is  true ;  but  the  sick  heart 
Lies  somewhere  backward  in  the  silent  shades 
That  cover  thy  repose,  while  Time  leads  on 
Pale  captives  shackled  with  a  chain  of  years: 
Shadows  and  memories  of  what  we  were ! 


THE  PALIMPSEST 

R.  C.  WHITFORD 

Love  is  an  ancient  palimpsest 
Of  vellum  gray  and  worn, 
Greasy,  scraped,  and  spotted. 
Grimy  and  frayed  and  torn, 
Whereon  a  dreamer-poet 
Transcribing  words  in  haste 
Have  scrawled  sweet  songs  and 

fleeting, 
Rejected  and  erased 
Dim  lyrics  of  old  makers 
Until  their  colder  lays 
Change  to  a  trembling  music. 


12 


A  PORTRAIT  IN  MOSAIC 


In  making  portraits,  oil  paint  is  al- 
ways considered  a  delightful  medium 
and  our  modern  artists  have  started 
laying  that  medium  onto  the  canvas 
in  blotches,  using  palate  knives  to 
apply  the  pigment.  They  work  in 
huge  planes  and  bright  colors  and 
you  are  asked  to  view  their  work 
from  a  distance  while  these  artists 
ask  you,  "Doesn't  it  Vibrate,"  and  vi- 
bration does  make  things  appear  life- 
like— and  is  this  not  what  these  men 
are  striving  to  accomplish? 

Last  spring  the  Architectural  Lib- 
rary was  dedicated  to  Dr.  Ricker  in 
commemoration  of  Dr.  Ricker's  43 
years  of  active  service  in  the  Univer- 
sity. Professor  Newton  Wells  of  the 
Architectural  department  was  called 
upon  to  make  a  portrait  of  Dr.  Ricker 
to  be  hung  in  the  library  on  that  oc- 
casion. Professor  Wells  wishing  to 
present  something  by  far  more  per- 
manent than  oils  and  canvas,  chose 
bits  of  brightly  colored  stone  and 
gilded  glass  which  he  set  in  cement. 
These  little  stones  were  of  every  nec- 
essary color.  Their  surface  texture 
gives  the  likeness  an  animated  bril- 
liancy. This  mosaic  is  now  perma- 
nently hung  in  the  Ricker  Library  of 
Architecture.  The  library  itself  is 
one  of  the  largest  of  its  kind  in  the 
country. 


MT.  VERNON  ON  THE 
POTOMAC 


R.  S.  FANNING 


|E  who  prizes  tradition  and  finds 
architecture  enhanced  by  his- 
toric association,  need  not  de- 
spair of  finding  many  archi- 
tectural works  of  interest  on  this  side  of 
the  Atlantic.  New  England,  the  colonial 
settlements  of  the  middle  states,  New  Or- 
leans and  the  mission  lands  of  the  south- 
west, all  bear  many  remains  of  building 
that  record  with  sentiments  nothing  else 
can  express,  the  early  life  of  our  great  re- 
public. 

Especially  to  the  architect  who  is  striv- 
ing to  produce  the  highest  type  of  Amer- 
ican home,  expressive  of  gentility,  refine- 
ment and  tradition,  should  many  of  the 
colonial  homes  be  a  source  of  inspiration. 
Probably  foremost  among  these,  Mt.  Ver- 
non on  the  Patomac,  the  home  of  our  first 


president,  has  the  greatest  amount  of  his- 
toric interest  and  with  it  an  architectural 
interest  is  also  combined.  This  splendid 
estate  of  the  colonial  era  appeals  to  all  visi- 
tors by  its  charm  of  site  and  wealth  of  his- 
torical association,  but  equally  does  it  ap- 
peal to  the  architect  as  a  work  of  high 
value. 

Here  we  have  an  estate  of  a  country 
gentleman  of  wealth  and  education,  a  home 
which  met  the  demands  of  the  social  prob- 
lems of  the  day  and  afforded  opportunities 
for  that  genial  hospitality  for  which  Vir- 
ginia was  famed.  In  the  planning  of  the 
estate  by  the  original  builder,  we  see  some- 
thing of  English  tradition  but  more  of  the 
genius  that  appreciated  local  conditions 
and  skillfully  solved  the  problems  that  they 
afforded.    These  problems  were  not  so  dif- 


14 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


ferent  from  the  designers  standpoint  tiian 
those  which  confront  the  architect  in  the 
planing  of  a  hirge  country  estate  today — 
an  estate  where  the  land  is  cultivated  in 
an  economical  manner,  where  a  large  num- 
ber of  servants  and  dependents  are  utilized 
and  provided  for  and  where  ample  accom- 
modation is  made  for  entertaining  visitors 
and  maintaining  a  high  social  position  in 
the  land. 

The  mansion  is  beautifully  situated  on 
the  brow  of  a  band  of  the  broad  Potomac. 
It  stands  a  hundred  odd  feet  above  the 


either  side  by  curving  arcades  of  unusual 
elegance.  The  house  is  entirely  of  wood, 
the  outer  covering  being  of  broad  thick 
boards  well  preserved  with  white  paint. 

The  central  hallway,  the  usual  feature 
in  a  colonial  plan,  opens  into  two  rooms  at 
either  hand,  the  end  toward  the  west  or 
land  side  being  occupied  by  a  broad  stair- 
way leading  with  two  flights  to  the  floor 
above.  To  the  north,  a  parlor  and  recep- 
tion room  in  turn  open  into  the  state  din- 
ing room  which  occupies  the  whole  north- 
ern portion.     This  room  is  of  special  pre- 


iffi  WWm  riir 


in'M  1^1^  WW  i  I 


water  and  faces  a  broad  sweep  of  velvety 
lawn  and  woody  slope  down  to  the  water's 
edge.  The  house  stands  today  as  Wash- 
ington left  it, — two  stires  and  a  com- 
modious attic,  nearly  a  hundred  feet  long 
with  an  imposing  portico  extending  the 
entire  length  of  the  river  front,  its  roof 
supported  by  square  columns  with  a  re- 
fined entablature  and  light  balustrade. 
Dormer  windows  break  the  wide  expanse 
of  shingle  roof  and  a  graceful  lantern  or 
cupola  cuts  the  center  of  the  ridge. 

The  elevation  from  the  land  side  is 
equally  as  attractive  as  the  main  or  river 
facade.  Here  is  felt  the  admirable  pro- 
portions of  the  main  building  with  the  kit- 
chen and  service  wings  connecting  it  on 


tention  with  high  ceiling,  large  Palladian 
motive  and  balanced  doorways,  all  deco- 
rated with  stucco  relief  and  ornamental 
wood  trim  of  exceedingly  refined  detail. 
Here,  also,  is  the  large  chimney  piece  in 
Carrara  and  Siena  marble,  executed  in 
Italy.  On  the  south  of  the  hallway  are  the 
dining  room,  parlor  and  library  as  well  as 
smaller  rooms  for  service. 

The  second  and  attic  stories  are  ar- 
ranged into  sleeping  apartments,  interest- 
ing for  their  furnishings  and  the  extreme 
refinement  of  the  wooden  trim  and  panel- 
ing as  well  as  for  the  delightful  vista  that 
nearly  all  the  windows  afford. 

The  skill  seen  in  the  planning  of  the 
other  buildings  of  the  estate,  the  barns, 


15 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


green-houses,  store  rooms  and  servant 
quarters,  is  most  desirable.  The  gardens 
and  the  grouping  of  trees  to  emphasize  the 
natural  beauties  of  the  landscape  deserves 
attention.  Especially  when  the  long  sha- 
dows from  the  stately  elms  and  walnuts 
creep  across  the  velvety  lawns  and  cast 
their  lacelike  patterns  of  soft  purples  upon 
the  warm  whites  of  the  painted  walls,  do 
the  brick  chimneys  and  dull  red  shingles 


of  the  roofs  make  with  the  enframing  foli- 
age a  color  scene  of  beautiful  harmony. 
The  cobalts  and  emeralds  of  the  quiet  Po- 
tomac and  the  mauve  hills  of  Virginia  add 
distance  to  the  picture,  while  the  whole  en- 
vironment seems  to  depict  a  stately  dig- 
nity and  a  lordly  calm.  All  tends  toward 
making  Mt.  Vernon  a  most  delightful 
Mecca  to  which  the  tourist  may  turn  for  a 
day  of  quiet  pleasure  and  inspiration. 


16 


WITH  HAL  PAGE  IN 
FRANCE 


|T'S  great  to  see  so  many  Amer- 
ican soldiers  in  Paris.  I  was 
down  to  the  headquarters  of 
the  expeditionary  force  today. 

Things  were  apparently  going  splendidly. 

They  have  a  whole  hotel  and  things  were 

busy. 

This  is  the  first  Sunday  for  some  weeks 
which  has  really  seemed  like  the  day  it  is; 
in  fact,  the  first  since  we  left  Paris,  where 
we  went  to  the  American  Church.  I  think 
I  told  you  about  that.  At  Les  Mesnie  it 
rained  all  Sunday  and  I  did  not  stir  out  of 
bed  except  to  eat.  And  every  Sunday 
thereafter  until  today  I've  been  on  duty 
most  or  all  of  the  day,  and  then  one  day  is 
so  much  like  another  that  once  or  twice  the 
day  has  passed  unnoticed.  But  today  here 
in  Bezer  the  church  bells  (three  of  them— 
two  good  and  one  cracked  so  that  there 
was  a  ding-dong-plunk  melody)  woke  me 
up  next  door.  Our  friend  the  protestant 
minister  came  in  at  breakfast  and  an- 
nounced that  he  would  have  services  at  10 
o'clock  in  the  school  house.  We  went,  of 
course,  and  enjoyed  the  service  greatly.  I 
think  we  sang  "Holy,  Holy,  Holy",  "On- 
ward Christian  Soldiers",  and  "America", 
while  the  few  Frenchmen  who  were  there 
sang  something  which  has  the  same  tune 
as  "Abide  with  me".  I  wanted  to  inquire 
if  the  words  were  the  same  but  couldn't 


Herewith  we  are  printing  extracts  from  Hal 
Page's  letters  to  the  Reverend  John  Michel  Page. 
Hal  Page  was  editor  of  The  Illinois  Magazine 
prior  to  his  leaving  for  France  to  join  the  Amer- 
ican Ambulance  Corps. 


think  of  the  French  verb  for  "abide". 
Would  "rester"  have  been  right?  Any- 
way, we  sang  our  own  words  to  that  and 
drowned  out  the  few  Frenchmen. 

We  are  en  repos  now,  after  three  weeks 
of  service,  the  activity  of  which  you  know 
of  from  my  experience  which  I  told  you  of 
in  my  last  letter.  We  now  have  six  cars 
en  panne,  all  as  badly  as  mine,  and  we  are 
still  unharmed.  The  section  next  to  ours 
at  the  next  post  lost  two  fine  men,  and  two 
others  were  decorated  after  having  been 
wounded.  The  two  Americans  were  sadly 
laid  away  on  the  barren  French  hill  side, 
just  off  the  road  where  they  were  killed 
when  an  obers  struck  there  car.  The  Gen- 
eral of  the  Division,  the  midecin  division- 
airre  and  the  head  of  the  A.  A.  Service 
attended.  They  were  changing  divisions 
on  our  last  two  days  of  duty  before  coming 
en  repos,  and  the  Germ-huns  took  advan- 
tage of  the  inevitable  confusion  attending 
the  change  to  stage  a  great  attack  for  con- 
trol of  the  Chemins  des  Dames.  It  was 
gloriously  repulsed  but  at  a  great  sacrifice. 
There  were  hundreds  of  wounded  to  carry ; 
both  French  and  German,  for  their  were 
many  prisoners.  The  evacuation  was  done 
all  night  and  day  under  constant  fire,  and 
the  escapes  were  narrow  and  thrilling. 
Every  time  a  car  returned  from  a  trip  the 
American  chef  said,  "Thank  God,"  and  if 
you  knew  the  chef  as  I  do  you  would  under- 
stand. None  of  us  expected  to  get  through 
the  thing.  The  cars  were  hit  in  the  court 
yard  and  showered  with  slabs  and  stones 
on  the  road  but  not  one  was  hurt.    Stires, 


17 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


son  of  the  rector  of  St.  Thomas,  New  York 
City,  had  the  end  of  a  finger  nipped  by  a 
tiny  elab,  but  it  was  a  mere  scratch.  Our 
section  is  said  by  the  head  of  the  service 
to  have  seen  more  active  service,  to  have 
done  better  evacuation  and  had  the  most 
stupendous  lucl<  of  any  section.  So  I  think 
the  Illinois  men  have  been  a  good  invest- 
ment. 

No  great  offensives  are  going  on  now. 
The  English  are  fighting  splendidly  in 
Flanders,  there  are  gains  on  other  fronts, 
but  you  see  nothing  spectacular  like  the 
Somme  and  other  glorious  oflfensives.  I 
have  seen  the  French  hammer  continually 
and  splendidly  at  the  German  lines  where 
I  have  been,  I  have  seen  men  horribly  mu- 
tilated by  hundreds,  I  have  seen  the 
"mort"  wagons  piled  high,  and  cemeteries 
double  in  a  week,  but  I  have  seen  no  great 
advance;  in  fact,  I  have,  at  times,  seen 
preparations  for  a  possible  retreat.  Again, 
had  I  been  on  the  Bosch  side  of  the  lines  I 
should  have  seen  the  same  great  eflforts 
at  advance  and  the  same  repulse.  They 
hammer  away  and  seldom  move.  Here  is 
what  they  are  doing  though.  They  are 
hammering  away  endeavoring  to  secure 
advantageous  situations,  to  keep  the  Huns 
from  advancing  and  to  straighten  out  the 
lines.  There  is  a  kink  in  the  line  where 
we  were  which  was  contended  for  all  the 
time  I  was  at  that  particular  poste ;  only  a 
small  crook  of  a  few  miles,  but  it's  still 
there.  They  are  hammering  and  tighten- 
ing and  stopping  advances  and  waiting  for 
the  U.  S.  to  help  perhaps  stage  the  great 
oflFensive  that  will  end  it  all.  I  think  they 
are  right  in  doing  so,  though  God  knows 
what  the  cost  will  be. 

Can  you  picture  a  division  of  soldiers, 
with  bayonetts  fixed,  standing  rigidly  at 
attention  on  a  little  hillside  which  was 
once  part  of  the  battle  of  the  Marne,  with 
a  wonderfully  peaceful  and  beautiful 
French  countryside  as  the  background? 
Can  you  hear  "The  Star  Spangled"  played 


by  a  splendid  band  and  imagine  how  it 
sounds  to  hear  it  so  far  away  from  "the 
land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the 
brave." 

Do  you  get  the  setting? 

Then — listen — "In  the  name  of  the 
President  of  the  Republique  Francaise, 
and  by  virtue  of  his  power  as  General  of 
the  — th  division,"  he  decorated  S.  S.  U. 
65  with  the  Croix  de  gueare,  pining  the 
cross  on  our  flag  and  kissing  very  solemnly 
the  bearer  of  the  emblem.  Then  there  was 
a  round  of  trumpets  and  the  Star  Spangled 
Banner  again.  It  was  the  most  beautiful 
and  touching  cermony  I  have  ever  been  a 
part  of  and  it  reminded  me  so  much  of  our 
little  sober  moment  that  night  at  the  allied 
bazar.  It  seemed  a  wonderful  answer  to 
the  prayers  that  were  oft'ered  then  and 
since,  that  we  were  all  there  and  so  hon- 
ored, after  the  strain  and  work  we  have 
been  through  since  we  came  to  the  front. 

I  have  just  been  to  the  evening  service — 
the  benediction — I  think  they  call  it — at 
the  little  Roman  Church  "in  face  noire 
cantonnement.  It  seemed  wonderfully 
calm  and  restful  there  in  the  church,  with 
the  lights  and  music  and  the  dull  intona- 
tion of  the  service,  after  the  hell  I've  been 
in  for  the  past  few  hours. 


I  should  tell  you,  I  suppose,  of  what  hap- 
pened last  night  and  this  morning — the  ac- 
cident which  has  put  my  car  en  panne 
(out  of  commission)  and  given  me  a  rest 
for  a  little  while  at  least.    At  10 :30  a  call 

came  to  go  to  X where  there  is  a  poste 

de  secours  on  a  hill  near  the  lines.  It  was 
very  dark,  and  of  course  we  drive  with  no 
lights.  For  several  kilometers  the  road  is 
good,  but  after  that  it  is  terribly  bad,  with 
shell  holes  which  make  it  almost  impass- 
able at  night.  We  had  been  ordered  to 
take  our  gas  masks  with  us,  as  the  Boschs 
were  reported  to  be  using  gas  bombs  ear- 
lier in  the  evening.     Tallmadge,  who  was 


18 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


with  me  in  the  car,  had  his  ready  to  slip 
on ;  mine  was  in  its  case  and  hung  around 
my  neck.  I  was  driving.  We  had  just 
gotten  on  to  the  very  bad  road,  in  a  wood 
where  it  was  so  darlv  that  the  star  shells 
and  floating  fire  were  all  that  made  driv- 
ing possible  at  all,  though  the  light  from 
the  artillery  along  the  road  gave  momen- 
tary flashes.  These,  though  were  so  close 
and  so  violent  that  they  were  blinding  and 
hindered,  rather  than  helped.  The  road 
was  continuously  shelled  by  the  Germans. 

Then,  in  an  instant,  as  we  drove  down 
into  a  little  valley,  we  smelled  it,  and  we 
knew  we  were  in  that  which  everyone  of 
us  dreads  more  than  shells — the  gas.  Tobe 
got  his  mask  on  easily  because  he  was 
ready,  but  I  was  driving  and  had  to  get 
mine  out  of  its  case.  That  took  time  and 
I  got  a  couple  of  whiffs  before  I  was  pre- 
pared.   It  was  terrible  stuff'. 

If  it  was  impossible  to  see  before  it  was 
doubly  so  now.  I  felt  like  I  was  driving 
with  my  eyes  shut  and  I  really  might  well 
have  been  doing  that.  The  masks  are  ter- 
rible even  when  there  is  no  gas ;  they 
are  ever  so  much  worse  in  it,  and  mine 
leaked  a  little  around  the  eyes.  As  we  went 
down  into  the  valley  farther  the  gas  grew 
denser  and  the  shells  came  thicker  for  the 
Boschs  were  after  the  French  artillery 
which  we  were  driving  only  about  fifty 
meters  in  front  of. 

Then  there  was  a  crash  and  our  car 
tipped  over.  I  thought  of  course  that  we 
were  hit  and  the  gas  was  getting  to  me  so 
that  I  didn't  much  care.  Shot  would  have 
been  easier  than  dying  of  gas.  But  Tobe 
wasn't  hurt  and  I  wasn't  and  we  found 
that  we  had  run  into  a  great  shell  hole 
about  as  big  as  the  car  and  four  feet  deep. 
We  couldn't  pull  out,  there  was  no  help 
near,  the  gas  was  so  bad  and  shells  so  thick 
that  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  hike  back 
over  that  terrible  road.  Tobe  is  an  athlete 
and  speedier  than  I,  so  I  proposed  that  he 
go  and  I  stay  with  the  car,  since  the  or- 


ders are  never  to  leave  a  car  alone.  He 
wouldn't,  however,  and  insisted  that  there 
could  be  no  good  in  staying  there  since 
they  were  letting  no  traff'ic  but  ambulances 
go  along  the  road.  I  felt  that  it  was  bet- 
ter, too,  to  let  the  car  go,  for  I  wouldn't 
have  lasted  a  long  time  in  that  air.  I  was 
getting  pretty  dizzy  and  my  head  and  the 
world  were  revolving  in  opposite  direc- 
tions. So  we  struck  out.  At  last  we  were 
forced  to  go  into  a  bomb  proof  shelter,  a 
dug-out  by  the  road,  but  it  was  too  low, 
making  a  perfect  gas  pocket  and  we  had  to 
go  on.  We  left  the  road,  crossed  a  field 
and  got  on  a  hill  where  the  air  was  clear. 
I  never  felt  so  good  in  my  life,  altho  I  was 
pretty  well  shot  from  gas  and  running. 
We  went  on  then  to  the  nearest  town  and 
telephoned  to  the  chef,  who  came  for  us. 
Another  car  was  sent  by  another  road  for 
the  blesse's  which  we  were  to  have  gotten. 
Their  road,  though  longer,  was  supposed 
to  be  comparatively  safe,  but  they  found 
a  guard  at  the  Entrance,  with  orders  to 
keep  all  traffic  off'  on  account  of  shells  and 
gas,  until  four  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

When  we  went  this  morning  for  the 
car,  we  found  that  guard  had  been  posted 
to  keep  all  vehicles  off  the  road  we  had 
taken,  but  he  had  missed  us.  The  medicin 
devesionnaire  was  much  wrought  up  when 
the  lieutenant  reported  that  we  hadn't 
been  flagged  and  was  astounded  that  we 
had  gone. 

And  the  car.  It  was  the  best  in  the  sec- 
tion. And  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  it. 
A  shell  had  gone  in  the  top,  down  through 
the  seat  and  tool  box  underneath,  bliss- 
fully slipping  monkey  wrenches  and  other 
impediments  in  its  path.  I  had  my  emer- 
gency kit  which  I  always  carry — extra 
pants,  shoes,  underwear,  socks  and  toilet 
supply,  to  use  when  out  for  two  days  as  I 
sometimes  am.  It  was  blown  all  to  pieces. 
The  steering  gear  and  two  v/heels  were 
wrecked.  I  will  show  you  a  picture  some 
time.     It  is  to  be  sent  to  the  pare  for  re- 


19 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


pairs.  They  are  trying  to  get  another  car 
for  us  to  use  until  ours  gets  a  new  body. 
Tonight  I  am  to  drive  another  car,  since 
the  driver  has  been  on  hospital  evacuation 
and  doesn't  know  the  road  to  the  poste. 
An  attack  is  on  tonight,  so  it  will  be  an- 
other hard  stretch. 

I  like  the  work  here,  though,  I  believe 
we  are  proving  a  good  investment.  At 
least  we  are  hauling  a  record  number  of 
wounded.    Some  of  the  sights  are  terrible. 

I  got  my  baptism  a  couple  of  weeks  ago 
when  I  worked  under  similar  conditions, 
but  sans  gaz,  from  the  poste  to  a  triage 
near  here.  I  think  I  ran  the  whole  gamut 
of  human  experience  that  night.  It  was 
mighty  sobering ;  some  of  the  things  I  saw. 
We  were  under  fire  much  of  the  time. 
Earl  Swaines'  car  was  hit  by  an  eclat 
which  blew  the  top  of  the  motor  off.  A 
man  died  my  first  trip ;  I  saw  an  amputa- 
tion.    And  to  top  it  all,  a  funeral  next 


morning  with  nine  ugly  stifFy  things  in 
wet  dirty  blankets — packed  in  pine  boxes 
— -the  silent  testimony  to  the  high  price  of 
taking  trenches. 

We  use  the  prayer  books  which  you  sent 
by ,  have  had  services,  sev- 
eral of  us  together,  a  number  of  times. 

Would  you  like  to  send  me  some  cigar- 
ettes? Tonight  I  bought  a  Fatima  from 
Silver  for  a  franc — four  days'  wages,  and 
was  glad  to  get  it  for  that.  He  had  the 
only  four  American  cigarettes  in  camp 
and  he  is  smoking  one  every  Sunday. 
French  tobacco  is  terrible;  the  cigarettes 
impossible  and  it  is  awful  with  nothing  to 
smoke.  If  you  send  some,  I  suspect  it  can 
be  best  done  by  American  Express.  They 
look  after  forwarding  to  the  military  ad- 
dress. They  look  after  the  duty.  I  smoke 
Omars  or  Fatimas.  They  can't  be  bought 
in  Iowa  or  the  folks  would  send  them.  I 
hope  to  be  still  rolling  when  they  come. 


Hee  page  lo 


20 


The  First  of 

qA  'TSl^w  Series  of  'Photographs 

of  Faculty  Homes 


The  Home  of  '-Professor  Qeorge  cA.  Qoodenough 

60^  South  Lincoln  Avenue 

Urhana 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


Home  is  sometimes  defined  as  a  place  of  refuge  from  the  outside  world. 
Home  is  a  place  of  rest  and  it  is  even  a  place  loherein  to  afford  hospitality  to 
others.     This  is  Professor  Goodenough's  home. 

It  ivas  designed  by  Profes.'sor  Xewton  Wells,  an  artist  who  can  carve,  etch, 
paint,  and  in  fact  do  anything  that  tends  to  beautify  or  teyids  to  please  admirers 
of  things  that  are  beatitiful.  Professor  Wells  is  in  the  department  of  Architec- 
ture. As  a  architect  the  desigyier  submits  plans  of  very  singular  character. 
There  is  a  spirit  of  originality  and  independence  with  which  his  creations  are 
saturated — even  to  the  material — the  interior  wood-work  in  this  example  being 
red  gum. 

The  accovipanying  photographs  serve  as  a  complete  description  of  the  char- 
acter of  the  exterior,  living  room,  dining  room  and  Professor  Goodenough's  study 
which  is  on  the  second  floor. 


' Il'l' " miilllllimi FIIIIIFFIIIF 


23 


There  is  an  entirely  new  publication  staff  trying  to  make  a  magazine 
that  is  truly  an  Illinois  Magazine — a  magazine  intended  for  the  stu- 
dents of  the  University  of  Illinois.  With  this  as  its  ideal  the  staff  endeav- 
ors to  publish  only  material  of  vital  interest  to  the  readers — material  cre- 
ated by  the  students  in  the  University — and  material  of  such  a  character 
that  other  universities  may  judge  our  intellectual  calibre  from  our  likes 
and  dislikes.     In  other  words,  the  magazine  represents  the  University. 

Our  football  team  represents  the  university  too,  to  some  extent  and 
for  the  last  few  years  Illinois  has  been  proud  of  its  team.  Many  of  us  have 
been  proud  in  saying,  "Yes,  I  am  studying  at  the  University  of  Illinois. — 
Yes,  indeed!  wonderful  school! —  Very  large! —  Equipment  perfect! — 
Strong  faculty !  Yes,  the  football  season  is  starting — wonderful  coach ! — 
We  always  turn  out  good  teams.  There  is  lots  of  pep  among  the  rooters, 
too —  A  very  loyal  bunch —  What  do  we  call  it  ?  — 0 !  we  call  it  Illinois 
Loyalty". 

And  the  staff  asks  of  the  students  of  the  University  of  Illinois,  "Do 
you  consider  the  campus  literary  magazine  worthy  of  a  little  Illinois  loyal- 
ty". Illinois  is  famous  as  a  school  and  well-known  for  athletics.  A  good 
literary  magazine  completes  the  cycle.  The  staff  is  ambitious  but  must 
have  your  support  in  order  to  carry  out  its  plans.  Nothing  can  be  accom- 
plished, therefore,  without  plenty  of  material  to  choose  from  for  publica- 
tion and  a  large  circulation. 

JOLTS 

The  greatest  discoveries  are  made  in  emergencies.  The  freshman  has 
his  greatest  inspirations  in  that  moment  of  pencil-chewing  desperation  just 
an  hour  before  his  theme  on  "A  Child's  Theology"  is  due.  The  business 
man  invents  his  most  original  plan  when  he  is  pushed  to  the  wall  by  com- 
petitor. "We  are  forced  to  sell  this  entire  line  of  goods" — that  humble  con- 
fession of  incompetence,  has  more  than  once  resulted  in  business  reform 
and  competency. 


The  reason  that  failure  so  often  means  success  is  that  it  forces  an  in- 
voice. The  bankrupt  has  to  take  stock  of  his  assets  and  liabilities.  The 
measures  he  adopts  in  the  time  of  commercial,  mental  or  moral  collapse  are 
often  those  he  should  have  adopted  at  the  height  of  his  successes. 

Modern  living  takes  place  between  layers  of  shock-absorbers.  The  ad- 
vertisements in  magazines,  filled  as  they  are  with  recommendations  of 
every  possible  physical  comfort,  are  typical  of  intellectual  conditions  prev- 
alent in  America.  Nowadays  men  must  have  electric  vibrators,  "to  give 
health,  power,  and  vigor,"  patent  arches  to  support  their  insteps,  cream  to 
protect  their  faces,  rubber  heels  to  save  their  bodies  from  jolts. 

But  jolts  are  sometimes  necessary.  The  terrific  jolt  of  a  world  war  is 
forcing  the  nations  to  make  careful  invoice  of  every  citizen,  law  and  re- 
source, they  possess.  Many  of  the  steps  being  taken  by  governments  now 
would  have  meant  untold  strength  years  ago.  War  measures  are  often  the 
right  remedies  for  the  maladies  of  peace. 

America  has  been  jolted  into  making  her  inventory.  She  has  un- 
earthed many  weaknesses — labor  problems  buried  by  political  leaders,  cov- 
ered over  by  the  drift  of  the  deciduous  years.  Men  who  were  never  before 
interested  in  governmental  questions  are  alert  now,  eager  to  aid  in  the  sim- 
plifications which  mean  efl'iciency.  Before  the  war,  prosperity  had  sup- 
plied them  with  shock  absorbers — rubberized  conditions  that  prevented 
them  from  realizing  that  Congress  was  slow,  that  the  I.  W.  W.  was  bubbling 
over  with  anarchy,  that  trusts  were  hungry  giants,  that  Uncle  Sam  lacked 
an  army  and  na\T. 

On  the  other  hand,  America  has  gained  confidence  in  unrealized 
powers.  The  men  who  are  executing  the  tremendous  tasks  of  the  federal 
government  possess  today  the  sympathy  and  good-will  of  the  majority  of 
citizens,  regardless  of  political  bias.  Patriotism  and  loyalty  are  no  longer 
dimmed  by  commercialism  and  a  sense  of  sentimentality.  Unified  thinking 
has  resulted  from  the  chaos — may  still  flourish  if  men  continue  to  be  wise 
after  the  war.  America  needed  a  jolt  to  make  her  realize  that  her  duty  lay 
in  "making  the  world  safe  for  democracy.'  ' 


Behind  the  tune — 

Through  the  din  of  street-noise,  a  singing  violin!  .  .  The  scarred, 
browm  player  ....  People  clinging  to  the  music  like  bits  of  steel  to  a 
magnet.  ...  A  voice  imprisoned  behind  a  commonplace  tune  telling  of  all 
corners  of  the  earth. 

One  was  a  city  where  yellow  men  leer  across  masses  of  fantastic  toys, 
orange,  green  and  red ;  where  grinning  gods  smell  sandalwood  burning  and 
the  bunks  are  crowded  in  dim  opium  dens.  One  a  great  workshop  blazing 
with  the  bloody  red  of  furnaces,  where  iron  runs  in  glowing  rivers,  and 
naked  shoulders  gleam  with  the  trickling  sweat.     One  was  a  dingy  play- 


house  with  stained  walls  and  smoke-hung  ceiling,  with  white-limbed 
wraiths  writhing  in  dance  across  the  glare  of  foot-lights.  One  a  blackened 
hall  at  the  top  of  broken  stairways,  filled  with  the  babble  of  foreign  lan- 
guage; crowded  with  gesticulating  people,  dominated  by  a  creature  with 
blazing  eyes  and  a  voice  full  of  passion ;  one  a  narrow  street,  ugly  and  evil, 
with  sly  lamps  flickering  still  in  early  morning,  where  foot-steps  are  echoes, 
voices  are  whispers  and  men  are  but  grey,  scarred  faces,  peering  from 
windows 

And  somebody  who  had  listened  to  the  voice  said  to  a  woman,  "I  never 
heard  it  before." 

And  the  woman  said,  "Why,  it's  nothing  but  Dvorak's  'Humoresque' !" 

Between  the  lines — 

From  out  of  the  first  printed  page,  a  girl's  hand  reaching — more  pages 
and  the  shadowed  eyes  of  a  nun  look  forth  .  .  .  Now  black-typed  words 
blur  into  green  meadows  dotted  with  sheep  under  slumbrous  skies.  Again, 
the  sorrowful  ache  of  humaness  steals  from  the  lines  like  an  evanescent 
perfume. 

But  the  reader  who  read  type  and  type  alone,  exclaimed : 
"It  hasn't  any  plot!"  and  brushed  "Marie-Claire"  aside. 

Within  the  silence — 

Stillness. 

Out  of  it  the  small  voice  of  Peter  Pan,  the  boy  who  never  grew  up, 
"Do  you  believe  in  fairies?" 

The  feel  of  youth  in  one  man's  heart  gave  joyous  answer  to  the  appeal. 
He  learned  forward —    The  other  man  laughed  sardonically. 

"Believe,"  he  analyzed,  "in  fairiesl" 

He  thought  he  walked  out  on  the  ordinary  floor  of  a  theatre-pit.  He 
didn't.  He  stamped  on  the  "rainbow  gleams  of  his  childish  dreams"  all  the 
way. 

Too  many  men  are  diseased  with  the  malady  of  Ponce  de  Leon — -not 
illiteracy  but  literalness.  If  he  had  "believed  because  it  was  impossible" 
in.stead  of  searching  because  he  thought  it  possible,  he  would  have  found 
the  fountain  of  youth.  Imagination  is  the  vital  quality  of  youngness.  A 
man  who  is  hopelessly  literal  is  hopelessly  old.  Art  keeps  men  young  be- 
cause it  is  composed  of  suggestions  which  appeal  to  the  imagination. 
Analysis  kills  the  subtleties  which  limit  the  perfect  whole. 

The  true  essence  of  beauty  is  never  tangible.  Too  much  finger-placing, 
the  guilt  of  critics,  has  led  the  public  to  believe  that  all  art  can  be  treated 
like  an  ordinary  commodity.    They  would  bottle  the  fountain  of  youth. 

How  seldom  do  men  realize  that  the  greatest  tribute  a  work  of  art  can 
call  forth  is  not  money  or  praise,  but  response  to  that  suggestion  which  lies 
always  behind  the  tune,  between  the  lines,  within  the  silence! 


A  WORD  FROM  "DOC"  BILIK 


HE  niciliiiiN  </azcd  for  a  long 
time  into  the  briUiaiith/  reflec- 
tive crijstal,  meditated  deepli/, 
ivliile  stroking  his  "long  grei/ 
beard",  turned  to  face  ».s,  opened  his 
month  and  said — nothing.  In  the  parli- 
ance  of  a  newspaper  reporter  he  "refused 


to  com.mit  himself".  The  questions  asked 
him  was,  "Well,  what  kind  of  a  team  will 
n-e  hare  tit  is  gear?" 

It  would  be  pleasant  to  be  able  to  de- 
fiantly declare  to  the  whole  world  that  Illi- 
nois has  a  team  that  should  and  will  win 
the  championship  of  the  Conference,  but 
it  "can't  be  done".  That  w-e  will  have  a 
g-Qod  fighting  team  is  beyond  question. 
We  had  one  last  year  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  a  plague  of  injuries  did  its  best  to  de- 
moralize the  team.  And  Zuppke  will  give 
us  one  this  year — a  team  we  will  be  proud 
of.  The  mini  are  always  sure  of  a  team 
which  fights  until  the  final  whistle  has 
blown,  no  matter  what  the  score  is.  I  am 
sure  not  even  the  defeat  could  detract  from 
the  fact  that  the  Illini  warriors  kept  ham- 
mering and  tearing  the  Chicago  line  with 
the  score  almost  hopelessly  against  them, 
in  that  weird  game  of  last  fall.  Ring  Lard- 
ner's  prediction  of  a  42  to  0  score  against 
Illini  was  absolutely  baseless.  No  team 
on  earth,  however  good,  can  run  up  such 
a  large  score  against  a  team  coached  by 
Zuppke.  Colgate,  the  brilliant  team,  which 
was  tied  for  the  eastern  championship 
with  Pittsburg,  had  a  hard  time  scoring 
two  touchdowns  and  gained  less  ground 
than  we  did.  The  explanation  is  simple — 
the  Illini  football  man  is  a  man  of  spirit, 
a  man  of  indomitable  grit. 

The  Illini  athlete  has  plenty  of  fight,  a 
man  who  hasn't  can't  find  a  place  on  the 
team.  Instilling  fighting  spirit  in  the  boys 
is  the  least  of  the  coach's  worries.  The 
great  problem  is  to  make  them  fight  intel- 
ligently. When  the  season  starts  the  first 
thing  the  coach  loooks  for  is  the  man  who 


27 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


can  and  will  use  his  head.  Contrary  to 
common  opinion,  gridiron  battles  are  not 
won  chiefly  with  brawn.  A  two  hundred 
pound  guard  who  wrestles  around  with  his 
opponent  while  the  play  is  going  through 
on  one  side  of  him,  is  not  worth  the  con- 
sideration of  a  man  who  weighs  only  a 
hundred  and  sixty  but  who  keeps  his  mind 
on  the  one  essential  thing;  getting  the  man 
with  the  ball.  To  the  bleacherite  the  con- 
certed movement  of  attack  or  defense  seem 
a  mere  test  of  strength  with  a  resultant 
gain  or  loss,  but  a  few  hours  spent  watch- 
ing and  listening  to  the  coaching  instruc- 
tions would  convince  one  that  football  as 
it  is  played  today  is  a  science.  A  science 
which  requires  a  thorough  grasp  of  the 
fundamentals,  persistent  and  earnest  ob- 
servation of  their  application  and  their 
eflFects;  judgment  of  arising  situations, 
followed  by  quickness  of  decision  and  alert 
and  vigorous  action.  And  to  do  all  this 
requires  intelligence. 

It  isn't  that  there  are  football  players 
who  lack  this  essential  quality.  If  they 
did  they  would  not  last  long.  The  law  of 
the  survival  of  the  fittest  would  quickly 
attend  to  them.  The  trouble,  as  any  coach 
will  tell  you,  is  that  they  do  not  always 
"use  their  head"  because  they  too,  come  to 
think  of  football  as  a  wrestling  game.  The 
chief  problem  of  the  coaches  at  the  start 
of  a  season  is  to  make  the  boys  realize  that 
brute  strength  and  unbounded  courage  is 
subordinate  to  intellgience. 

Thirty-five  men  turned  out  for  the  first 
day's  practice.  This  is  a  much  smaller 
squad  than  last  fall,  but  it  was  to  be  ex- 
pected that  the  war  would  make  inroads. 
All  the  other  conference  school  being  sim- 
ilarly affected,  we  are  under  no  disadvan- 
tage. If  the  truth  was  known,  we  would 
find  that  the  "sob  stuff"  about  the  short- 
age of  material  is  a  product  of  the  report- 
er's fertile  brain  rather  than  the  true  ut- 
terances of  the  coaches.  Zuppke,  for  one, 
is  not  spending  any  time  worrying  about 


the  size  of  the  squad.  It  is  going  to  be  a 
harder  task  to  form  a  machine  powerful 
enough  to  battle  Ohio  State,  Chicago  and 
Minnesota,  but  the  Suckers  will  give  a 
good  account  of  themselves. 

The  backfield  is  as  last  year,  a  serious 
problem.  Out  of  the  slim  material  on 
hand,  Zup  must  form  two  sets  of  backs, 
well  balanced  in  speed,  strength,  agility, 
shiftiness,  and  defensive  power.  Little 
backs  cannot  retain  their  efi'ectiveness  if 
forced  to  play  the  whole  game.  They  must 
have  rest.  Last  year  Zup  had  no  worthy 
second  string  backs  and  as  a  result  was 
forced  to  play  men  who  were  too  tired  to 
do  their  best. 

Sid  Nichols,  last  year's  freshman  team 
quarterback,  is  the  prime  candidate  for  the 
varsity  field  generalship.  As  a  freshman 
Sid  was  a  "little  dynamo  gone  made." 
Combined  with  his  undoubted  ability  as  an 
open  field  runner,  forward  passer,  and 
punter,  Nichols  has  that  something  in  his 
voice  which  commands  obedience.  It 
leaves  no  doubt  in  the  minds  of  the  other 
players  that  he  has  passed  judgment,  has 
decided  on  the  play  and  that  vigorous  ac- 
tivity   is    demanded    to    carry    the    play 


29 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


through.  Implicit  confidence  of  a  team  in 
the  quarterback's  judgment  means  a  battle 
half  won.  If  Sid  Nichols  shows  the  stuff 
he  showed  in  spring  practice  Illinois  has  a 
"find".  In  Bregman,  Swift,  and  Woleben, 
Zuppke  has  three  good  substitute  quarter- 
backs. 

And  there  is  still  another  boy,  and  that 
is  Bill  Schneider.  Here  is  a  player  who 
has  everything  necessary  to  make  a  good 
back — a  quick  forceful  mind,  a  lot  of  speed 
and  shiftiness,  plenty  of  courage,  and  a 
thorough  understanding  of  the  game.  Last 
year  he  lacked  confidence  in  his  own  abil- 
ity to  do  things.  He  is  a  year  older  now 
and  has  faced  big  crowds  at  basketball 
games.  It  would  not  surprise  me  if  he 
wins  a  regular  berth  on  the  team.  At  any 
rate,  he  is  sure  to  prove  a  valuable  sub- 
stitute. 

George  Halas,  if  he  comes  out  for  foot- 
ball (his  parents  object  to  his  playing), 
is  almost  certain  of  a  berth  in  the  back- 
field.  He  is  a  natural  athlete.  Problems 
of  offense  and  defense  are  solved  by  him 
almost  subconsciously.  Last  year  he  was 
incapacitated  by  an  injury  and  his  loss  was 
a  blow  to  the  team's  chances.  Morris,  Ed- 
wards, Raffei'ty,  Bregman,  Schneider,  Lar- 
rimer,  and  Leo  Klein  are  some  of  the  can- 
didates for  the  half  back  positions.  Leo 
Klein  played  end  throughout  last  year  and 
may  be  used  there  again.  There  are  a 
number  of  "lesser  lights"  trying  for  a 
backfield  position,  but  it  is  impossible  to 
get  a  line  on  their  respective  ability  this 
early  in  the  season.  Here  is  hoping  there 
is  a  star  or  two  among  them. 

Charpier,  Wilson,  and  Goelitz,  are  the 
candidates  for  the  fullback  position.  Char- 
pier  played  in  the  line  last  year,  and  had 
two  misfortunes: — he  was  injured  the  day 
before  the  Colgate  game,  and  was  chosen 
by  Eckersall  as  all  Conference  guard. 
The  injury  healed,  but  it  will  take  Leonard 
a  long  time  to  live  down  the  latter  afflic- 
tion.    Charpier  weighs  close  to  two  hun- 


dred pounds,  all  premium  beef,  is  one  of 
the  fastest  men  on  the  team,  can  throw  a 
good  forward  pass,  and  has  developed  into 
a  powerful  punter,  but  is  green  at  the  posi- 
tion and  will  have  to  work  hard  to  make 
good.  The  same  is  true  of  "Tug"  Wilson, 
who,  the  story  runs,  never  saw  a  football 
until  he  came  out  for  the  freshman  var- 
sity. Wilson  is  a  big,  powerful  boy  who 
is  willing  to  do  his  best.  His  plunging  in 
scrimmage  has  pleased  Zuppke  and  the 
coach  is  trying  hard  to  teach  him  the  fun- 
damentals. 

Shlaudeman  and  Ingwersen  are  the  two 
prominent  candidates  for  center.  Harry 
is  a  "cool-headed  chap"  and  Ingwersen  is 
a  "fiery  youngster",  so  a  happy  medium 
could  be  struck  by  using  both  of  them. 
The  former,  while  not  a  brilliant  player, 
is  a  consistent  dependable  man  through 
whom  few  gains  are  made.  He  played  a 
fine  game  last  year,  in  the  Minnesota  game 
bearing  the  brunt  of  the  attack.  This  year 
he  is  sure  to  prove  a  valuable  member  of 
the  team.  Ingwersen  was  on  of  the  fresh- 
men stars  last  year.  He,  like  Sid  Nichols, 
"eats  football".  Zuppke  will  no  doubt  try 
hard  to  find  a  place  for  him  on  the  team. 
At  any  rate  with  Schlaudeman  and  Ing- 
wersen the  center  is  well  taken  care  of. 

The  graduation  of  "Fat"  Stewart  and 
the  ineligibility  of  Otis  Petty  leaves  the 
two  guard  positions  to  be  filled.  McGreg- 
or, Firebaugh,  Goelitz,  and  Weiss,  are  the 
big  fellows  who  will  strive  to  win  a  place 
on  the  team  at  guard.  If  Ingwersen  plays 
center,  Shlaudeman  may  take  care  of  the 
guard  positions  and  vice  versa. 

Koch  and  Sprague  are  the  only  two  men 
out  for  Ross  Petty's  place  at  right  tackle. 
Those  are  big  shoes  to  fill,  and  Zuppke 
would  sure  be  pleased  to  find  a  man  as 
good  as  Ross.  Shlaudeman  may  be  used 
at  tackle. 

But  we  may  allow  ourselves  a  smile  of 
pleasure  when  we  turn  to  left  tackle.  Big, 
genial,  often  sarcastic,  but  never  danger- 


30 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


ous,  "Swede"  Rundquist  is  there.  "Spraf- 
ka  hit  Rundquist  and  stopped"  reads  a 
slipping  I  have.  And  they  will  be  saying 
it  again.  The  "Swede",  who  claims  to 
have  put  Harvey  on  the  map,  should  this 
year  play  the  best  game  of  his  career.  And 
here  is  the  reason:  Rundquist  and  Ren 
Kraft  are  two  of  the  chummiest  boys  on 
the  team.  On  trips  they  room  together, 
eat  together,  drink  malted  milk  together, 
play  cards  together  (matches  as  stakes), 
and  fight  side  by  side.  The  two  were  close 
candidates  for  the  team  captaincy.  Red 
won  out,  and  "Swede"  is  out  to  give  him 
more  than  his  best.  Rundquist,  big  in 
body,  big  in  spirit,  should  have  a  banner 
year. 

Ren  Kraft  will  take  care  of  his  end  in 
his  usual  reliable  manner,  but  the  other 
end  of  the  line  is  a  problem.  Leo  Klein, 
Edwards,  and  Goelitz  are  the  candidates. 

These  then  are  the  men  who  are  going 
to  fight  for  the  glory  of  our  school.  There 
are  only  a  few  of  them  but  what  there  is, 
is  good.  And  here  I  am  going  to  commend 
the  boys.  They  have,  without  exception, 
reported  in  good  physical  condition.  Each 
and  every  man  took  care  of  himself  and 
came  out  on  the  field  looking  trim  and  fit 
for  anything  and  everything  that  may 
come.  To  have  the  men  in  good  condition 
this  early  in  the  season  is  a  great  help  to 
Zuppke  and  Lindgren.  And  it  means  that 
the  boys  are  serious  in  their  will  to  do 
things.  Predictions  of  any  sort  are  out 
of  the  question  but  one  thing  is  certain,  the 
team  that  will  face  Chicago,  Ohio  State, 
Purdue,  and  Minnesota,  will  be  a  team 
hard  tackling,  quick  charging,  fighting, 
tearing,    roaring,    plunging,    and — intelli- 


gent.   Let's  go  Illinois !    Let's  go  Illinois ! ! 

Ohio  State  will  have  as  good,  if  not  a 
better  team  than  last  year.  They  have 
practically,  the  whole  of  last  year's  team 
back.  In  Bolen,  the  Courthney  brothers, 
Karsh,  Sedden,  Peabody,  and  Chick  Har- 
ley,  they  have  the  nucleus  for  a  very  strong 
team. 

Minnesota  has  lost  most  of  last  year's 
wonderful  scoring  machine  and  will  have 
to  build  anew.  However,  Williams  has 
plenty  of  husky  Northmen  to  draw  from. 
William's  record  should  assure  one  that  he 
will  have  a  strong  team.  Purdue,  in  the 
second  year  of  Cleo  O'Donell's  coaching 
will,  or  should  make  a  good  showing.  They 
too  have  practically  the  whole  team  back. 
Indiana  and  Iowa  are  frankly  optimistic, 
they  do  not  care  who  knows  that  they  are 
going  to  have  strong  winning  team.  So 
much  confidence  this  early  in  the  season 
implies  an  abundance  of  good  material. 
Stiehm,  the  former  Nebraska  coach,  is  in 
his  second  year  at  Indiana  and  his  showing 
there  this  year  will  be  watched  with  in- 
terest. He  left  an  enviable  record  of  suc- 
cessful teams  at  Nebraska. 

Wisconsin  is  making  another  change  in 
its  coaching  system,  big  John  Richards 
taking  charge  of  the  team  and  he  cannot 
be  expected  to  do  much  the  first  year. 
Northwestern  has  lost  most  of  its  team 
and  will  not  make  as  good  a  record  as  it 
did  last  year.  Michigan  will  play  but  one 
conference  game — with  Northwestern. 
Chicago  is  again  starting  the  season  with 
little  material,  and  "bear  stories",  but 
when  the  season  is  in  full  swing  we  will, 
no  doubt,  find  Stagg's  team  the  equal  of 
any  in  the  Conference. 


31 


Friends  and  admirers  of  Professor  Stu- 
art Pratt  Sherman  will  not  be  disappointed 
by  his  new  book,  Matthew  Arnold:  Hoiv 
To  K)!oic  Him,  which  has  just  been  issued 
by  the  Bobbs-Merrill  Company  as  one  of  a 
series  of  works  interpreting  great  authors. 
As  might  be  expected  from  the  title,  the 
book  is  critical  as  well  as  biographical — 
the  biographical  matter  in  fact  does  not 
take  up  a  great  number  of  pages — and  is 
designed  to  be  of  use  to  the  ordinary 
reader  rather  than  the  specializing  stu- 
dent. In  keeping  with  this  plan  Professor 
Sherman  quotes  extensively.  There  is 
quite  as  much  of  Arnold's  own  writing  as 
of  Professor  Sherman's  in  the  three  hun- 
dred pages  which  comprise  the  volume. 

In  very  clever  fashion  Professor  Sher- 
man makes  the  great  poet  and  critic  serve 
as  his  own  interpreter,  significant  sen- 
tences or  paragraphs  showing  Arnold's 
own  expression  of  opinion  on  all  import- 
ant subjects  being  quoted  in  full  and  pre- 
faced or  followed  by  Professor  Sherman's 
observations  which  are  admirably  calcu- 
lated to  focus  the  readers  attention  upon 
the  important  portions  and  to  lead  him  to 
an  understanding  of  Arnold's  full  mean- 
ing. Frequently  these  quotations  are 
from  Arnold's  letters  or  from  his  less  gen- 
erally read  works,  and  are  therefore 
doubly  important,  because  they  are  new  to 
the  average  reader,  and  apt  to  be  over- 
looked in  any  but  a  carefully  directed 
study  of  Victorian  literature. 


Professor  Sherman  posses.ses  the  faculty 
of  giving  important  summaries  of  his  cri- 
tical opinion  in  most  happy  phraseology  as 
in  this:  "Now  it  is  Arnold's  devotion  to 
'the  abiding'  that  makes  his  volumes  of 
literary  criticism  a  kind  of  center  and  ref- 
uge and  stronghold — let  us  not  say,  the 
professed  student;  let  us  say,  for  the  gen- 
eral reader,  for  the  man  of  affairs,  for  any 
man  who,  conscious  of  the  breadth  and 
brevity  of  life,  wishes  a  guide  to  the  high- 
lands and  mountain  tops  of  literature — 
wishes  death,  when  it  overtakes  him,  to 
find  him  in  good  company,  and  noble  occu- 
pation." It  might  not  be  amiss  to  say 
here  that  Professor  Sherman's  own  book 
would  seem  to  recommend  itself  to  just 
such  a  man. 

Now  and  then  Professor  Sherman  dis- 
poses of  a  man  or  an  opinion  in  a  way  to 
make  one's  heart  glad,  as  when  he  says : 
"With  Huxley,  who  asked  large  conces- 
sions from  the  humanists,  Arnold  could 
come  to  an  understanding,  if  not  to  a  per- 
fect agreement.  But  with  Spencer,  who 
wished  to  destroy  the  humanists,  he  could 
hardly  have  found  any  common  ground. 
In  philosophical  circles  Spencer  seems  to 
have  dwindled  from  a  star  of  the  first  mag- 
nitude to  a  rather  contemned  candle,  gut- 
tering and  smoking  toward  extinction.  In 
departments  of  Pedagogy,  however,  his 
Education — published  in  1861,  two  years 
after  the  Origin  of  Species — is  still  studied 
as  a  classic ;  and  in  college  faculties  is  still 


32 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


quoted  as  a  gospel  by  the  men  of  science 
who  acquired  their  leading  ideas  when 
Spencer  was  a  name  to  conjure  with." 
Again  a  little  lower  on  the  same  page,  he 
says  of  Spencer,  "He  thought  steadily  of 
man  as  an  animal  who  owed  his  place  in 
nature  to  the  skill  with  which  he  had 
adapted  himself  to  his  environment ;  and, 
as  his  Aiitobiographij  reveals,  he  thought 
steadily  of  himself  as  the  most  illustrious 
example  of  'adaptation'." 

Arnold's  rather  aristocratic  tastes  and 
feelings  are  explained  in  most  satisfactory 
fashion  as  is  |  also  his  devotion  to  the 
"grand  style"  which  was  as  it  were  the 
very  essence  of  his  personality. 

Even  tho.se  who  care  little  for  the  doc- 
trines of  Arnold  and  less  for  the  style  in 
which  he  set  them  forth,  may  well  give  a 
few  hours  to  the  perusal  of  Professor 
Sherman's  book,  and  it  is  more  than  prob- 
able that  they  will  find  the  hours  so  spent 
pleasant  as  well  as  profitable. 

Matthew  AntohJ:  Hmr  To  Knou-  Him, 
by  Start  Pratt  Sherman,  The  Bobbs-Mer- 
rill  Company,  Indianapolis,  1917.     ($1.50) 


When  I  picked  up  Henry  Van  Dyke's 
"Unknown  Quantity,"  a  volume  of  short 
stories,  I  wanted  something  definite,  and  I 
got  it.  I  wanted  to  read  a  book  while  sunk 
deep  in  my  soft-cushioned  morris  chair, 
my  slippered  feet  propped  up  on  my 
straight-backed  desk  chair,  my  pipe  in  my 
mouth.  These  stories  are  of  the  "Un- 
known Quantity"  in  human  life ;  not  tales 
dealing  with  the  "realm  of  the  occult,"  nor 
of  those  extraordinary  occurrences  which 
startle  and  perplex  the  world  from  time  to 
time,  not  subtle  stories  of  crime;  but  stor- 
ies of  human  and  familiar,  natural  and  im- 
mortal things  which  make  us  feel  that  life 
is  a  loom  threaded  by  the  "Unknown 
"Quantity."  There  are  three  divisions  in 
the  volume,  each  containing  a  different 
type  of  story. 


The  first  division  contains  Canadian 
tales.  "The  Wedding  Ring"  pictures  the 
unusual  woman  who  is  born  to  love  but  one 
man,  and  whose  very  life  exists  only  for 
this  love.  It  is  a  story  throbbing  with 
emotions,  with  pathos.  It  took  me  back  to 
the  Canadian  woods;  I  could  smell  the  pine 
forests,  I  could  feel  the  crisp,  invigorating 
air.  It  akso  carried  me  back  to  the  French- 
Canadian  people.  Once  again  I  could  hear 
their  quaint  dialect,  I  could  feel  their  re- 
ligious fanaticism.  The  characters  were 
alive,  and  I  could,  therefore,  live  their  joys 
and  -sorrows.  And  yet  what  happened  in 
the  story  I  couldn't  quite  fathom,  and  not 
being  able  to  understand,  I  felt  that  the 
story  was  an  "Unknown  Quantity." 

The  .second  division  contains  a  group  of 
very  short  stories  called  "Half-told  Tales." 
These  stories  are  bright  and  gay,  but  they 
contain  much  philosophy.  When  I  finished 
"An  Old  Game,"  the  .story  of  the  different 
ways  in  which  a  philosopher,  an  artist,  and 
a  business  man  look  at  life,  I  felt  that  there 
was  something  lacking.  Then  I  began  to 
think,  and  soon  I  had  supplied  what  was 
missing.  The.se  "Half-told  Tales,"  are  like 
etchings  in  which  more  is  suggested  than 
is  in  the  picture. 

The  third  group  of  stories  is  similar  to 
the  first.  They  are  not  Canadian  tales, 
however,  but  American  and  French  stor- 
ies. "The  Night  Call'  is  a  very  distinctive 
short  story,  it  realizes  its  one  ideal  to  cre- 
ate an  atmosphere  of  mystery  and  to  leave 
the  reader  with  its  creation  imprinted  in 
the  mind. 

All  of  these  stories  are  different,  some 
larger  and  some  smaller,  some  brighter 
and  some  darker,  but  all  interwoven  into 
one  theme — "The  Unknown  Quantity." 
Van  Dyke's  descriptive  powers  are  mas- 
terful ;  he  can  make  you  feel  or  see  a  scene. 
His  stories  are  full  of  local  color.  His  dic- 
tion reminds  one  of  Washington  Irving's. 
His  plot  construction  is  often  protot.\-ped 
after  Maupassant.    The  stories  them.selves, 


33 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


however,  are  his — only  Van  Dyke  could  tell 
them.  They  leave  you  thinking  and  pon- 
dering over  "The  Unknown  Quantity"  in 
life,  and  yet  you  are  comfortable,  because 
you  know  that  it  is  in  life. 


Professor's  Sumner's  essay  on  the  "For- 
gotten Man"  may  appear  to  be  merely 
theoretical.  If  we  cast  our  eyes  about  us, 
however,  we  may  see  its  practical  side. 
"The  Forgotten  Man,"  who  is  the  average 
law-abiding  citizen  of  the  middle  classes, 
and  who  constitutes  ninety-seven  percent 
of  our  total  population,  is  not  receiving  the 
proper  medical  attention. 

Who,  then,  does  receive  the  proper  med- 
ical attention?  Certainly  the  very  rich 
does,  for  he  is  financially  able  to  retain  the 
most  expert  specialists.  And  the  very  poor 
man  does,  because  he  is  a  ward  of  the  state, 
and  the  state  thru  its  benevolence,  with  the 
money  acrued  from  the  taxes  of  the  "For- 
gotten Man,"  retains  in  its  hospitals  the 
most  able  physicians. 

Why  does  not  the  "Forgotten  Man"  re- 
ceive the  most  efficient  medical  attention  ? 
There  are  many  reasons.  Among  the  most 
cogent  is  the  fact  that  the  medical  profes- 
sion is  a  profession  in  which  men  have  to 
earn  their  livelihood.  In  other  words, 
most  doctors  divide  their  time  between  the 


very  rich  class  and  the  public  hospital 
class.  They  are  well  paid  for  both  kinds 
of  work?  The  "Forgotten  Man"  is  willing 
to  pay  what  he  can  afford,  but  the  doctor 
wants  more,  and,  consequently  the  "middle 
man"  often  does  not  seek  expert  advice 
when  he  needs  it.  On  cannot  blame  a  sur- 
geon for  operating  where  he  can  get  $500 
for  his  services  instead  of  $100 ;  it  is  hu- 
man nature. 

There  is  but  one  way  in  which  the  "For- 
gotten Man"  can  get  efficient  treatment, 
and  that  is  by  cooperation.  At  the  Uni- 
versity of  California  each  of  the  seven 
thousand  students  pays  a  yearly  medical 
fee  of  five  dollars,  in  return  for  which  he 
receives  minor  and  major  medical  treat- 
ment of  all  kinds.  With  these  fees  the  Uni- 
versity is  able  to  retain  a  corps  of  special- 
ists. No  less  a  medical  authority  than  Dr. 
Richard  Cabot  of  Harvard  advocates  group 
cooperation  and  the  "Forgotten  Men." 
That  is,  a  group  of  people  living  in  the 
same  locality  should  each  pay  so  much  a 
year  to  retain  corps  of  expert  physicians, 
each  a  specialist  in  a  certain  branch  of 
medicine.  It  would  be  the  duty  of  this 
corps  to  maintain  the  health  of  its  com- 
munity by  treatment  and  by  preventative 
examinations.  Cooperation  is  the  only 
hope  of  the  "Forgotten  Man,"  and  it  is  up 
to  him  to  try  it. 


34 


"PRUT!  PRUT!  PRUT!" 

LOIS  F.  SEYSTER 


DAM,  sitting  in  the  garden  of 
^'A^^B  E  d  e  n,  just  newly  created, 
&.-  A   couldn't    be    newer    than    my 

stock  of  popular  songs!"  said 
Cliff  Anthony.  "They  actually  smell  of  the 
cigars  of  the  fellows  that  wrote  'em !" 

The  college  men  who  had  just  entered 
Anthony's  Music  Palace,  scattered  to  all 
parts  of  the  big,  music-plastered  room. 
One  of  them  dragged  a  black  poodle,  clip- 
ped in  the  approved  French  style  to  re- 
semble a  lion.  At  sight  of  it,  Anthony 
shouted : 

"Who  trimmed  that  canine?" 

"Yours  truly,"  said  a  stalwardt  fellow 
who  sat  on  a  mission  table  kicking  his  cor- 
rect English  heels  against  it. 

"Darn  your  ear,  Hump!'  remarked  the 
man  who  had  crawled  on  his  hands  and 
knees  underneath  the  table.  "You're 
scratching  the  furniture." 

But  Hump  continued  to  kick,  even  after 
the  group  had  gathered  about  the  girl  at 
the  piano.  She  played  their  selections  de- 
murely, without  seeming  to  see  their  ad- 
miring glances,  or  hear  the  many  observa- 
tions to  Cliff  Anthony, 

"You've  hired  a  new  girl  to  pound  the 
ivories — what?    This  one  is  some  looker." 

All  of  which  annoyed  the  young  man- 
ager extremely,  for  the  "new  girl"  was 
none  other  than  Maisie,  his  own  uncle's 
adopted  daughter.  Just  because  her  father 
owned  the  Music  Palace  was  no  reason 
why  Maisie  should  be  allowed  to  masquer- 
ade as  a  working-girl,  Anthony  reflected. 
She  wheedled  Uncle  Clifford  preposterous- 
ly!    He  thought  absently,  how  soft  and 


v.'hite  her  neck  was  just  below  the  careless 
knot  of  dark  hair.  He  noticed  that  the 
other  men  had  eyes,  too,  confound  'em ! 
(Not  that  he  cared.) 

Hump,  the  woman-hater  with  a  Past, 
-sat  apart,  listening  to  the  desultory 
snatches  of  song. 

"Why  don't  you  give  us  something 
new?"  he  inquired,  plaintively.  "What  is 
the  newest  thing  you  have?" 

Cliff  Anthony's  blue  eyes  took  on  a  cei'- 
tain  wariness  of  expression.  The  rejection 
or  approval  of  these  men,  made  or  marred 
popular  music.  The  matter  must  be  ap- 
proached with  casual  delicacy.  He  backed 
over  to  a  table,  to  choose  a  group  of  sheets 
from  it,  looking  them  over  silently,  before 
announcing: 

"Here's  'Lilies  and  Dreams' — " 

"Ugh!"  said  Hump,  "Semi-high  class 
ballad— rot !" 

"And  'Light  'o  My  Eyes',"  continued 
Cliff,  pleasantly,  "Nifty  little  hesitation  . 
.  .  We're  selling  a  lot  from  the  musical 
comedy,  'Her  Man' — 'If  Solomon  Had  Only 
Gone  to  Reno'  is  a  hit." 

"Excellent!"  said  Hump.  "All  but  the 
words  and  music.    Trot  out  another." 

Cliff  adjusted  his  flawless,  maroon  tie, 
with  great  nicety.  Then,  thoughtfully 
shuff'ling  the  songs  in  his  hand,  he  threw 
them  all  down  save  one,  which  he  held  out 
at  arms  length.  The  cover  was  bright  blue 
and  gold.  A  girl's  face  appeared  to  laugh 
out  from  behind  torn  paper.  The  title  in 
great  gold  letters  zig-zagged  across  the 
sheet. 

"Prut!  Prut!  Prut!"  he  announced,  sol- 


35 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


emnly.    "The  catchiest  song-hit  of  the  sea- 
son." 

Hump's  smile  was  inscrutable. 

"Have  it  played,"  was  his  terse  com- 
mand. 

Cliff  took  it  to  the  piano,  himself,  and 
stood  by  while  Maisie's  little  fingers  rip- 
pled thru  the  verse  and  tripped  into  the 
chorus.  The  music  had  the  lilting  swing 
that  sets  light  feet  a-going.  But  young 
Anthony  stood  motionless  and  when  Maisie 
looked  up,  she  thought  the  glance  of  the 
blue  eyes  was  almost  agonized.  She  won- 
dered why.  Behind  her  the  college  men 
were  trying  their  tongues  on  the  ridiculous 
syllables : 

"  'Prut  !  Prut!  Prut! 
Oh,  you're  the  dearest  thing  I  know. 
The  cutest  thing  I  know. 
You've  got  me  on  the  go-o-o~'  " 

Suddenly  there  came  a  deafening  crash. 
Between  a  squashy  thump  and  a  groan,  the 
rending  of  paper  was  heard. 

"What  in  heaven's  name — "  said  Cliff. 

"0-h-  look!"  squealved  Maisie. 

Hump  sat  on  the  floor,  being  responsible 
for  the  very  squashy  thump.  One  end  of 
the  table  on  which  he  had  lately  sat,  rested 
beside  him,  while  the  other  end  maintained 
its  proper  angle.  The  groans  issued  from 
under  the  table  and  its  sliding  mass  of 
music.  Hump  rocked  back  and  forth,  hi- 
lariously. 

"Poor  idiot — under — -there — "  he  gasp- 
ed, "pulled  one  leg  of — coUapseable — t — 
table — couldn't  get  out — joke  on  him — 
oh— h !" 

"Well,  you're  not  in  your  Frat-house 
now,"-  said  Maisie,  "so  you'd  better  get  him 
out,  double-quick-sudden.  He  may  be 
hurt." 

"Hu'urt,"  gurgled  Hump.  Then  he 
looked  up.  "Oh,  pardon  !  Why — why — 
"he  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  went  over  to 
the  girl.  "It's  Maisie.  Maisie  Carring- 
fon.  I  haven't  seen  you  since  my  Fresh- 
man year.     You're  not  a  day  older!     A 


regular  little  girl  in  that  dress." 

Maisie  looked  down  at  the  soft  silk,  her 
cheeks  wild-rose  pink. 

"Look  at  that  torn  music,"  said  some- 
body. 

"I'll  take  all  that's  torn,"  stated  Hump, 
munificently.  "Are  you  going  to  be  down 
here  all  the  time,  Maisie?" 

But  it's  all  torn,"  objected  somebody 
else. 

"I'll  take  it  all,"  returned  Hump. 
"D'you  remember  that  last  foot-ball  game 
we  saw  together,  Maisie?  When  do  you 
go  out  for  your  lunch?" 

The  college  men  gathered  about  Anth- 
ony to  pay  the  demands  which  Hump's 
generosity  incurred.  Glancing  towards 
the  piano,  where  "Prut!  Prut!  Prut!"  lay 
unharmed  and  unnoticed,  Cliff  asked  if 
there  was  nothing  more. 

"Oh,  give  us  a  few  of  the  latest,"  was 
the  answer,  " — yeh-a,  stick  in  that  'Prut! 
Prut !'  thing  if  it's  new.  Hurry  up,  fel- 
lows.   Come  on.  Hump.    So-long!" 

"One  copy !"  said  Cliff  Anthony.  He  did 
not  smile. 

"What?"  asked  Maisie.  "Do  you  know. 
Cliff,  that  when  I  grow  up  I  shall  have  a 
dog  like  that,  with  bracelets  around  its 
legs  and  neck,  with  a  leash  for  it  too. 
What  did  you  mean  when  you  said  'One 
copy'?  It  sounded  awf'ly  stupid  .  .  Then 
I  shall  walk  by  here  and  you  shall  say, 
"Some  nifty  little  woman'.    And — " 

"Masiie,  why  on  earth  did  Uncle  Clifford 
let  you  come  down  here  ?" 

"I  cajoled  him,"  she  said,  naively.  "Do 
you  know  what  it  is  to  be  cajoled.  Cliff?" 

"No,  how  is  it  done?"  he  asked,  amused 
past  his  preoccupation. 

"I  only  dare  whisper  it,"  she  said,  shyly, 
and  when  he  proffered  his  ear,  she  told 
him,  with  soft  lips  close,  "You  kiss  'em 
and  sit  on  their  lap !"  Fleeing  over  to  the 
other  side  of  the  room  she  began,  sudden- 
ly, "Do  you  really  like  that  funny  'Prut! 
Prut!  Prut!?" 


36 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


The  calculated  reserve  of  Clifford  Anth- 
ony was  mementarily  shattered.  He 
snorted.  He  seized  the  song  and  tore  it 
into  shreds.  "No!"  he  said,  savagely,  "/ 
hate  itr 

Maisie  started  towards  him,  all  her  fem- 
inine sympathy  aroused. 

"My  poor,  old  Cliff.  What's  the  mat- 
ter?" 

"Nothing  at  all,"  he  replied  stiff'ly- 
Stuffing  the  crumpled  papers  into  his 
pockets  he  stepped  forward  to  greet  a  cus- 
tomer, the  smiling  business  man,  once 
more. 

Maisie  felt,  nevertheless,  that  there  was 
something  mysterious  in  Cliff's  behavior, 
that  morning.  He  had  even  forbade  her 
going  into  the  adjoining  off'ice,  altho  be- 
fore her  father  had  retired  from  the  man- 
agement of  the  Music  Palace,  .she  had  ruled 
the  whole  establishment.  She  wandered, 
idly,  over  to  the  office-door,  wondering  just 
what  it  (lid  conceal.  The  thought  of  Anth- 
ony in  the  role  of  Bluebeard,  was  laugh- 
able. She  put  a  tentative  hand  on  the 
door  swung  open ! 

There,  towering  up  against  the  wall, 
were  three  great  stacks  of  music.  Just  as 
she  reached  out  towards  one,  Clifford 
spoke  sharply  behind  her. 

"Don't  touch  it!" 

But  it  was  too  late.  One  of  the  piles 
'  went  toppling  over  to  the  floor.  Maisie 
started  back  in  amazement,  for  each  sheet 
was  a  duplicate  of  the  rest, — the  same  blue 
and  gold,  the  same  laughing  face,  the  same 
three  words  careening  dizzily  across  the 
page.  Cliff"  watched  her  miserably,  as  she 
ascertained  that  the  remaining  piles  were 
triplets  with  the  first.  He  faced  her  de- 
fiantly. 

"I  knew  you'd  find  it  out." 

"Oh,  Cliff',  "said  her  small,  awed  voice, 
"How  much  is  there?" 

"Si.\  thousand  copies." 

"But — but  it's  .some  mistake?" 

"No,  it's  no  mistake.     I'm  going  to  sell 


them.  See?  I'm — I'm  going  to.  D'you 
hear?"  His  words  tumbled  out,  hurriedly. 
"The  (Jrantley  Music  Company  agrees  not 
to  sell  the  song  to  any  other  place  in  town 
— they  even  make  a  small  di.scount  if  I  buy 
my  bunch  of  six  thousand.  You  see  that  I 
can  sell  them,  don't  you,  Maisie?" 

"But,  Cliff!     'Prut!  Prut!  Prut!'—" 

"Why,  it's  a  regular  beaner,"  he  defend- 
ed. "Can't  you  see  that  it's  catchy?  Even 
the  cover  is  good — the  coloring,  the  pic- 
ture.   College  men  are  sui'e  to  like  it." 

Her  anxious  eyes  spelled,  "Only  one 
copy !",  but  she  would  not  say  it.  Instead, 
she  drew  from  her  dangling  mesh-bag,  an 
old  letter,  on  which  she  began  to  write, 
with  a  ridiculous,  silver  pencil. 

"What  is  the  selling  price?" 

"Twenty-five  per." 

She  looked  up  triumphatly : 

"Why  it's  only  fifteen  dollar.s — don't 
worry  about  that." 

He  smiled  as  he  scanned  the  little  round 
figures. 

"Fifteen  hundred,  you  mean.  (You 
never  could  do  decimals,  Maisie.)  But 
money  go  hang!  It's  Uncle.  When  he  re- 
tired and  put  me  in  charge  here,  he  did  it 
on  one  condition.  He  was  afraid  I  was 
still  a  bit — er — wild.  Reckless,  you  know. 
So  he  put  me  on  trial  for  six  months,  dur- 
ing which,  I  must  absolutely  make  good,  or 
out  I  go !  He  mustn't  find  out  I'm  a  bone 
head." 

"Why,  it's  almost  a  matter  of  life  and 
death !  Poor,  old  Cliff — Listen  !  Somebody 
has  come  into  the  other  room.  .  .  .  Why 
it's  Hump." 

Cliff  suddenly  turned  towards  her.  "It's 
lunch  time,  Maisie.  You'll  go  out  with 
me?    I'll  look  up  the  place." 

She  hesitated  as  she  walked  slowly  for- 
ward. 

Hump  met  them,  and  said  with  confi- 
dence, "Hello,  Maisie,  you  see  I'm  here 
again.  How  does  the  Brunswick  suit  you 
for  a  little  feed  ?    Will  you  go  ?" 


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THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


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THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


She  looked  like  a  very  little  girl,  stand- 
ing there  between  the  two,  tall  men.  A 
steely  glint  had  come  into  Cliff's  blue  eyes. 

"Yes,  Hump,  "said  Maisie,  at  last,  "I'll 
go." 

When  she  looked  back  to  say,  "I'm  sorry, 
Cliff,"  he  had  turned  away. 

II. 

"Hoo — 00 !" 

Maisie  ran  joyfully  into  Anthony's 
Music  Palace,  the  second  morning  of  her 
business  career. 

"I  haven't  deserted  yet.  Why,  where 
are  you  ?" 

She  dragged  oft'  her  fuzzy  white  coat, 
and  unpinned  her  hat  with  its  impudent 
feather,  on  the  way  over  to  the  office. 
Opening  the  door,  she  beheld  again  the  be- 
wildering domain,  with  the  masculine  note 
decidedly  dominant.  Half-burnt  cigar- 
ettes littered  the  floor,  among  the  crum- 
pled papers  overflowing  from  the  perpetu- 
ally full  waste-basket.  A  long  piece  of 
carbon-sheet  dangled  from  the  uncovered 
typewriter.  From  the  desk,  which  w^as  a 
strange  contrast,  with  its  neat  pigeon-hole, 
and  carefully  stacked  letters,  smiled 
Maisie's  prototype,  as  if  in  amusement  at 
six  thousand  copies  of  "Prut !  Prut !  Prut !" 
directly  opposite.  Sitting  at  the  desk,  face 
buried  in  folded  arms,  was  the  manager. 

"Poor,  old  Cliff!"  said  Maisie,  with  a 
little  catch  in  her  voice,  "What's  the  mat- 
ter?" She  kept  her  hands  tightly  clasped, 
for  fear  that  she  should  yield  to  the  temp- 
tation of  smoothing  down  the  little  wisp  of 
blonde  hair,  which  having  escaped  hte  fate 
of  being  brushed  straight  back,  stood  stub- 
born and  erect  on  top  of  his  bent  head. 

He  looked  up  suddenly,  his  lips  twitch- 
ing, his  face  all  red  with  anger. 

"Can't  you  tell  me?"  said  she. 

He  thrust  a  newspaper  into  her  hands. 
"Read  that!"  he  said,  pointing  with  a 
trembling  finger  at  a  certain  column.  "Oh, 
do-gone-it !    Dog-gone-it !    It's  all  up,  Mai- 


sie.   I'll  have  a  bon-fire." 

The  girl's  hand-bag  dropped  to  the  floor, 
with  a  golden  clatter. 

"This — this  is  the  'University  Daily'." 
And  slowly,  she  read  aloud  in  an  uncertain 
voice : 

"  'POPULAR  SONGS 

"  'This  is  an  era  of  ragtime.  We  must 
all  admit  that.  To  a  certain  extent,  we  are 
reconciled  to  having  pianos,  phonographs, 
and  vocalists  exhale  it  persistently.  Just 
now,  we  are  flooded  with  Popular  Songs — 
each  a  combination  of  the  latest  scandal 
told  in  Mother  Goose  rime,  with  a  buzz- 
saw. 

"  'We  are  inui'ed  to  'Sugar  Babes'  and 
'Spoony  Moons',  and  the  recurrent  allu- 
sions to  'lover's  bliss'  and  'hug  and  kiss', 
while  the  trite  rime,  'tease  me,  squeeze  me' 
has  no  longer  any  power  to  move  us.' 

"You  don't  object  to  that,"  said  Maisie. 

"Read  on,"  he  muttered. 

"  'But  there  is  a  limit  to  our  endurance. 
A  certain  questionable  song  has  suddenly 
become  fashionable,  just  because  everyone 
wishes  to  be  'up  on  the  latest'.  It  has  no 
merit,  whatever,  except  it's  catchy  music, 
which  is  guaranteed  to  set  even  faculty 
feet  in  Number  Thirteens,  shuffling  diz- 
zily. The  fact  that  the  meaning  of  the 
lyric  is  not  clear,  makes  it  doubly  sugges- 
tive and  demoralizing.  The  men  and 
women  who  pride  themselves  on  their 
'style'  and  'go'  are  all  singing  this  'classy' 
rag  : 
"  'Prut!  Prut!  Prut     Oh,  you're 

The  dearest  thing  I  know, 

The  cutest  thing  I  know, 

You've  got  me  on  the  go ! 

Your  red  lips  tell  me  haughty  lies. 

But,  oh  you — oh  you  naughty  eyes! 

You're  the  dearest  thing  in  all  my  life — 
Prut!  Prut!— 

Except  my  wife!' 

—Signed,  X.  Y.  Z.'  " 

"Oh,  Cliff,  it's  terrible  if  this  hurts  your 
song!"  said  Maisie. 


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THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


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40 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


"Of  course  you  know  the  editor's  Hump 
Wallace,"  snorted  Cliff.  "I  don't  see  how- 
such  rot  gets  by  him — he's  no  reformer. 
I'd  like  to  meet  the  dub  that  wrote  it.  The 
crazy,  idiotic,  loonq,  loco  bun !  The  ignor- 
ant, cross-eyed,  narrow-minded,  bow-leg- 
ged, pigeon-toed,  under-handed,  balled-up 
boob!" 

"Clifford  Carrington  Anthony,  you  stop. 
Next  thing  you'll  be  kicking  the  wood- 
work, like  you  used  to." 

"I  don't  care!  The  song's  ruined,  and 
so  am  I !" 

"Don't  be  sensational,"  said  Maisie, 
making  a  face  at  him.  "Go  on  and  tend  to 
your  customers  like  a  little  man." 

Still,  she  looked  grave  when  he  had 
slammed  the  door  behind  him.  Those 
stacks  of  "Prut !  Prut !  Prut"  were  so  un- 
believably high.  A  moment  later,  his  head 
appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"Sold  one  copy  of  the  darn  thing.  One 
from  five  thousand,  nine  hundred,  ninety- 
eight,  is  five  thousand,  nine  hundred  and 
ninety-seven.  Bah!"  Then  he  withdrew, 
leaving  Maisie  to  sit  in  disconsolate 
thought,  teetering  back  and  forth  in  the 
swivel  chair. 

It  was  more  than  half  an  hour  before 
the  door  opened  again,  and  Cliff  burst  in. 
He  was  shouting,  and  slapping  his  thin 
legs,  madly. 

"Maisie!  Maisie!"  he  yelled.  "It's  going 
— it's  going — they're  buying  it,  do  you 
hear?  They  think  it's  rotten  and  they 
want  it.  Students  all  take  the  'Daily',"  he 
explained,  as  the  girl  pirouetted  about  the 
room,  in  a  transport  of  joy.  "You  see  that 
article  said  'Prut!  Prut!'  was  the  latest 
and  claftft!/:  and  tho  of  course  you  can 
hardly  understand  this,  Maisie,  these  High 
School  kids  and  Rah-rah  boys  like  to  be 
thought  wicked  and  demoralized.  .  .  .  But 
by  Jove !  I  said  all  along  that  song  would 
sell.    I  knew  a  humdinger  when  I  saw  it !" 

in. 

Hump  wore  a  light  grey  Norfolk,  with 


the  belt  dangling,  and  no  hat,  so  that  the 
gentle  spring  breze  could  stir  his  thick, 
black  hair,  playfully.  He  walked  as  a 
'Varsity  pitcher,  champion  pole-vaulter, 
editor  of  the  'Daily',  and  most  quoted  cynic 
could  afford  to  walk.  He  whistled  an  odd 
tune. 

"Oh,  cut  it!"  said  the  man  at  his  side, 
who  was  trying  vainly,  to  keep  step  with 
Hump's  strange,  grand  .stride.  "The  whole 
University  has  howled  that  song  two  weeks 
now." 

"It  is  a  devilish  song." 

The  other  man  chuckled.  "Heard  my 
kid-brother  singin'  it — he  got  the  notion  it 
was  wicked  from  your  paper.  'Mind  say- 
ing who  wrote  that?" 

But  Hump  had  halted  in  front  of  Anth- 
ony's Music  Palace,  to  gaze  at  the  gorgeous 
window.  It  was  a  two-toned  .symphony  in 
blue  and  gold,  with  the  sunnie,st  of  daffo- 
dils, and  the  deep  of  violets  banked  in  the 
background.  As  wide  as  the  window  and 
as  high,  (like  a  word  taken  from  a  baby- 
giants  primer)  constructed  solely  of  cop- 
ies of  the  song,  "Prut !  Prut !  Prut !"  with 
its  saucy,  girlish  face,  and  bright,  gold  let- 
ters, was  the  single  syllable,  PRUT !  The 
whole  effect  was  lavish,  ridiculous,  but  tri- 
umphant. In  the  other  section  of  window 
was  the  same  color-i5cheme,  but  here  were 
alarming  white  things  displayed  on  shiny 
pedestals.  Hump  aid  not  observe  them 
closely,  but  his  glance  caught  a  few  of  the 
bold  black  placards,  "The  Prut-Prut  Col- 
lar," "The  Prut-Prut  Blouse,"  "Latest 
Thing  Out— the  Prut-Prut  Parasol." 

"Thunder!  It  beats  the  Tango  craze. 
The  Prut-rut  boom — that's  good  !   Why " 

"Good-bye,"  interrupted  Hump,  rudely, 
and  entered  Anthony's. 

Maisie  came  skipping  towards  him,  and 
in  her  high-waisted  green  dress  was  like 
apple  blossoms  fragrantly  pink  among  the 
first  green  leaves  of  spring.  (Hump 
thought.)  Her  hair  was  coiled  low  on  her 
neck,  in  little-girl  style. 


41 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


"Oh,  Hump !"  she  cried,  "Isn't  it  d'light- 
ful?  Oi'  do  you  think  we  are  wicked  to 
sell  so  much  of  such  a  naughty  song? 
Your  paper  said  it  was  naughty.  Thank 
you  for  being  so  obliging.  It  really  is  why 
everybody  is  buying  'Prut!  Prut!  Prut!' 
Will  they  not  be  surprised  to  find  it's  a 
perfickly  nice  song?" 

"Maisie."  said  Hump,  "you're  the  same 
little  doll  that  graduated  from  High 
School.  I  was  a  college  Freshman,  then. 
Made  a  darn  fool  of  myself  over  you — " 

"Never  mind  about  that !  Did  you  see 
our  windows?  And  oh,  Humperty,  the 
'Prut-Prut'  blouse?    I  thought  of  it." 

" — and  I'm  liable  to  do  it  again !" 
"The  'Prut-prut'  blouse,  collar,  etc.," 
pursued  maisie,  gently,  "are  only  articles 
I  purchased  at  other  stores,  and  named, 
and  of  course  are  not  for  sale.  A  sales- 
woman— Hump,  please  listen, — who  came 
by  and  saw  them,  said,  "For  Mercy's  sake  I 
Is  that  what  they  call  them?    I  must  mark 


ours.'    Now,  all  the  stores  have  them." 

"Only  beauties  should  wear  green,"  ob- 
served Hump,  with  fine  irrelevance. 

"What  a  kind  way  of  telling  me  I 
shouldn't.  You  must  hear  the  'Prut-prut' 
record.  Clifford  made  it.  Will  you  put  it 
on  the  phonograph,  please?  ....  Hump, 
you  must  be  nervous." 

For  the  record  had  crashed  to  the  floor 
from  the  man's  trembling  fingers.  When 
he  knelt  beside  her  to  gather  up  the  pieces, 
she  turned  her  head,  unable  to  meet  his 
dark  eyes.  The  soft,  white  curve  of  the 
back  of  her  neck  was  gently  hollowed  like 
a  baby's.  The  next  moment.  Hump  had 
pressed  his  hot  lips  to  it.  Maisie  whisked 
about  to  blaze  at  him, 

"Hump!    Beg  my  pardon!" 

"I — I  can't.  Maisie — sweetheart,  isn't 
there  any  use?" 

Seeing  the  pain  in  his  eyes,  she  said: 

"No,  old  boy.  I'm — -I'm  sorr — eh,  hello, 
Cliff".    I'm  picking  up  the  pieces.    You  see 


. + 


—It's  Good 


[f  it 


comes  rrom 


ft 


ZOM'S 


^. , — 


I 


oArtistic  Photography 

qA  Satisfied  Customer 

added  with  every 

photograph 


For  superior  ■work  see  the 

Howard  Studio 

E.  L.  Helton,  ^Manager 
602  E.  John 


..4.        +  , 

42 


'"         ""         ""         ""         ""         " '         ""         ■■         tirt^— m         I*!* 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


we  broke  the  record!"    Laughing  unstead- 
ily, she  ran  from  the  room. 

At  sight  of  Anthony,  the  greatest  anger 
that  can  move  a  man,  arose  in  Hump's 
heart.  Casting  about  for  any  available 
excuse,  he  chanced  to  note  a  huge  placard 
on  the  wall : 

BUY  prut: prut:  prut:  the 

LATEST  SONG-HIT 
"It's  catchy  music,"  says  the  Uni- 
versity Daily,  "is  guaranteed  to  set 
even  faculty  feet  shuffling  dizzily. 
The  men  and  women  who  pride  them- 
selves on  their  style  and  go  are  all 
singing  this  classy  rag — 'Prut!  Prut! 

Prut!' " 

"You  take  that  sign  down,  today,"  said 

Hump,  "See?" 

Cliffs  smile  was  maddening. 

"You    sound   like   the   peeved   foreman 

giving   orders   in    a   one-horse   pork   and 

beans  factory,"  he  said. 

"If  you  weren't  so  thin,"   said  Hump, 


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October  Twenty-four 

Recital  by  Ethel  Leginska,  Pian- 
ist. 

November  Sixteen 

Recital  by  Christine  Miller,  Con- 
tralto. 

November  Twenty-six 

Joint  Recital  by  Reinald  Wer- 
renrath,  Baritone,  and  Lambert 
Murphy,  Tenor. 

December  Fourteen 

Joint  Recital  by  Pablo  Casals, 
Cellist,  and  Harold  Bauer,  Pian- 
ist. 

January  Twenty-three 

Ben  Greet  Players. 

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THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


* — ■• 


I 


i^<.' 


TO 

JOIN  THE  NAVY 

IS 

ILLINOIS  LOYALTY 

RAISED  TO  THE 

N'TH  POWER 

You'll  be  backing  the  nation  to  "win 


U.  S.  NAVY  RECRUITING  STATION 

PRICE  ESTATE  BUILDING,  CHAMPAIGN 


44 


;,„ „„ „„ .,„ „  ^ 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


"I'd  knock  you  clear  thru  your  bally  sign." 

"I'll  eat  cocoa-butter  at  your  recommen- 
dation." 

"That's  sign's  a  fraud,  and  the  'Daily' 
can  sue — " 

"Damn  your  old  'Daily' !"  said  Cliff. 

Suddenly,  Maisie  appeared,  smiling  up 
at  them,  innocently. 

"Talking  about  the  song,  I  suppose? 
Oh,  are  you  going  Hump?    Goodbye." 

As  he  opened  the  door.  Hump  turned 
and  with  his  cynical,  twisted  smile,  said  "I 
should  PRUT !" 

He  had  barely  disappeared,  before  the 
proud  owners  of  the  disgusted  poodle,  en- 
tered in  a  body,  to  announce : 

"We've  named  the  canine  Prut-prut,  and 
give  us  another  copy.  He  shall  have  it 
tied  to  his  honorable  tail." 

Then,  Cliff  drew  a  deep  breath,  thrust 
his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  crowed, 


"Sorry,  but  I'm  all  out.  Sending  for 
more  to-night." 

When  the  door  had  slammed  again,  Cliff 
went  close  to  Maisie. 

"Six  thousand  copies !  Why,  that  ar- 
ticle in  the  'Daily'  was  the  best  thing  that 
ever  happened  to  me — unles-s — Maisie,  you 
are  the  dearest  thing  in  all  mi/  life."  He 
choked  a  little.  "I'm  asking  about  the 
milBonth  time.     Now,  could  you?" 

"Why,  Cliff,"  said  Maisie,  "I've  found  I 
just  do  love  you  aw'fly  good." 

The  man's  eyes  grew  wet,  as  he  looked 
reverently  down  upon  the  little  dark  head 
he  was  holding  close. 

"I  take  it  back,"  he  exulted,  "that  ar- 
ticle in  the  'Daily',  wasn't  the  best  thing 
— not — by — a — jugful !" 

"Well,  it  was  good,"  said  a  muffled  voice 
from  his  coat-lapel,  '"Cause  I  wrote  it  mi/- 
selfr 


I 


l/enneclvC 
iVindteO 


Home  of  Good 
Candies 


315  North  Neil  Street 
Opposite  Gazette 


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45 


^^m 

W 

w^- 

m 

^^^^d 

w 

m 

m 

M: 

M 

M 

M 

OYSTERS 


Oysters  are  not  so  bad  if  you  swallow  them  quick. 

Some  people  are  not  so  bad  if  you  let  them  slip  by. 
There  isn't  any  food  value  in  oysters, 
There  isn't  any  brain  food  in  some  people. 

1.— RAW  OYSTERS 

Silly,  giggling  young  things, 

No  thoughts  beyond  the  movies  and  the  masculine. 
(Should  be  seasoned  well  with  common  sense  before 
serving.) 

2._0YSTER  COCKTAIL 

The  masculine  species  which  the  raw  oysters  Fall  for. 
A  dashing,  jaunty,  style-plus  but  sense-minus  Creature. 
(Usually  present  at  social  functions. 
But  not  needed  with  a  home  dinner.) 

3.— FRIED  OYSTERS 

The  prinking,  frizzled  spinsters. 

(Rolled  in  flour. 
Too  long  preparing  to  be 

A  practical  dish.) 
4.— STEWED  OYSTERS 

The  red-nosed,  beer-soaked  bum. 

Drowning  in  his  foaming  mug 
Just  as  the  oyster  is  lost  in  the  milk  stew. 

(Very  economical. 

Most  inferior  oyster  may  be  used. 

How  strange  that  so  many  churches 

Have  oyster  suppers!) 
5.— ESCALLOPED  OYSTERS 

The  seeming-wise,  who  hide  their  oyster  nature 

Beneath  assumed  intellectuality. 
Who  palm  off  as  their  own  thoughts 

What  they  have  read  in  other  people's  books. 
(Beneath  the  disguise  of  the  crumbs  of  knowledge. 

They  are  still  oysters. ) 
6._VEGETABLE  OYSTERS 

Those  few  rare  souls  who  try  to  conceal  their  thoughts 

By  assuming  the  tastes  and  appearance  of  oysters. 
Afraid  the  shoal  will  mock  because  they  think  and  dream 

They  pretend  to  scorn  themselves. 
(Not  of  the  genus  oysteris.) 

46 


I 


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Advertising  Columns  of 
The  Illinois  Magazine? 

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Representative  Monthly  of  the  University 

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The  Illinois  Magazine 

FOOTBALL  NUMBER 


George  Unger ----..      Editor 

Walter  B.  Remley      ----.....      Hii.-^incss  Mamujcr 


Table  of  Contents 


Ch-e-e-e  He-e-e-e!  The  Team! 53 

So  This  is  Paris 64 

The  Seal  ( Poem ) 66 

Greenland  and  The  War 67 

Autumn    (Poem) 68 

Turkey  Joins  the  Social  Center ■  69 

Editorial 74 

An  Informal  Essay— To  Think  Or  Not  To  Think 76 

Moods   (Poem)  78 

Mask  and  Bauble  in  "It  Pays  To  Advertise" 79 

Subaltern  Wilkes 81 

A  Defiance  to  the  Elements  (Poem) 84 

The  Balm  of  Gilead 85 

The  Ail-Around  Man 88 


EDITORIAL  STAFF 
L.  J.  Selzer       --------------       Asaixtant  Editor 

Lois  Seyster      ------------       /u  Charge  of  Editorkds 

Eliz.\beth  Leitzbach      -----------      /n  Charge  of  Fiction 

Glenn  W.  Frede -      -      .      .      -        -In  Charge  of  Athletics 

BUSINESS  STAFF 

W.  E.  Krieger       -------- Assiistant  Manager 

R.  E.  Spangler      -------------      Circulation  Manager 

Published  monthly  by  the  Illini  PublishinE  Company  during  the  colleBe  year.  Entered  as  second-class 
matter  at  the  postoftice  at  Urbana.  Illinois.  Office.  University  Hall.  Urbana,  Illinois.  Subscription.  $1.00 
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t«<ipww)t>wi>wi>wtww!]tg^tgjiijwij8a(a<ii«a(3{ii3ai3<iiaa^ai«ai^ 


Coach  Ziippke 


RiiTBI!?^lr7^li?^irSI!?^liraiff^lff^lff^lB^I?P^ljraiff^[g^lBTiir/^lff^^^ 


The  Illinois  Magazine 


FOOTBALL  NUMBER 


Volume  9 


NOVEMBER,  1917 


Number  2 


CHE-E-E-E  HE-E-E-E!    THE    TEAM! 


GLENN  W.  FREDE 


^^■r,  P!^  the  mind  unconsciously  reverts 
to  football  as  a  diversion  from 
the  routine  of  study.  We  find 
ourselves  speculating  as  to  the  probable 
outcome  of  games,  and  we  begin  to  study 
the  personnel  of  the  various  teams.  Natur- 
ally, we  are  more  concerned  about  our 
own  team,  and  those  of  the  "Big  Ten". 

Coach  Zuppke's  comparatively  green 
team  hurriedly  whipped  into  form,  de- 
feated the  fast  Kansas  and  Oklahoma 
teams  successively  by  comfortable  mar- 
gins. A  few  days  before  the  Kansas  game, 
Capt.  "Ren"  Kraft  was  seriously  injured 
in  practice  and  eliminated  from  all  com- 
petition for  the  season.  This  accident  ne- 
cessitated several  changes  in  the  line-up: 
Mongrieg  was  made  an  end,  Klein  was 
shifted  from  halfback  to  end,  Goelitz  to 
guard,  Charpier  to  fullback  and  Halas 
from  end  to  halfback.  Two  sophomores, 
Weiss  and  Ems  were  given  positions  in  the 
Inie,  and  Ingwersen,  another  promising 
sophomore,  managed  to  gain  a  berth  at 


center.  "Sid"  Nichols,  of  Freshmen  Var- 
sity fame,  was  made  varsity  quarterback. 
Schlaudeman  was  shifted  from  center  to 
end  and  back  to  guard.  To  v,-hat  extent 
Zuppke  was  justified  in  making  these 
changes  has  been  demonstrated  in  the 
games  played  to  date.  The  team  has  not 
been  scored  upon,  and  has  exhibited  a  type 
of  offensive  and  defensive  football  that  is 
a  great  tribute  to  Zuppke's  good  judgment. 
In  every  instance  the  change  has  proved 
helpful  to  the  team. 

"Sid"  Nichols  has  evidenced  a  remark- 
able quantity  of  "footbal  sense",  and  is 
equally  as  well  qualified  to  instill  fight- 
ing spirit  into  the  team  as  he  is  to  return 
a  punt.  He  is  fast,  a  sure  tackier,  and  has 
many  of  the  qualities  of  one  "Potsy"  Clark, 
who  it  is  rumored  played  football  at  Illi- 
nois at  one  time.  Halas.  at  halfback,  is 
fast,  and  a  wonder  at  breaking  up  passes. 
He  is  remarkably  adept  at  grasping  situa- 
tions, and  is  a  dependable  ground  gainer. 
Charpier  at  fullback  has  proved  the  sur- 
prise of  the  .sea.son,  and  he  seems  to  take 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


P!IMIMjy:1.!yiiMI'i^ity!l'iJia^!iU)!'iJJlMi'lJiliy.¥.yil'i^lt.^^ 


?^'!-.?r.llTr^l^7rt!t?^lf^^lgyTig^|g^|gT.lrralr/^^I7W.i^^l,7r^lffT^ll7^ 


RUNDQUIST 

Acting   Captain    and   a   veteran   who   knows 

Conference  football 


NICHOLS 
Our   plucky   little   quarterback.     "Sid" 
the  original  "pep-instiller" 


particular  joy  in  carrying  passengers  on 
his  line  plunges.  His  punting  is  very  good, 
and  he  is  always  sure  of  a  gain  in  his  line 
bucks.  Sternaman  is  especially  good  at 
open  field  running,  is  a  crack  tackier,  and 
is  good  at  forming  interference.  Acting- 
Captain  "Swede"  Rundquist  is  eclipsing 
all  records  at  tackles,  and  is  proving  him- 
self an  able  leader.  Ingwersen  is  playing 
a  great  game  at  center.  His  ability  to 
break  through  the  line  is  especially  com- 
mendable. Klein  and  Mongrieg  are  im- 
proving at  their  newly  acquired  positions 
at  end,  and  we  expect  to  hear  from  them 
later  in  the  season.  Klein  is  the  best  for- 
ward passer  in  the  line-up.  Schlaudeman, 
Cook,  Weiss,  Goelitz,  and  Ems  are  other 


prominent  members  of  that  line  you  saw 
in  the  Wisconsin  game.  Larimer,  Mc- 
Gregor, and  Bregman  have  shown  up  ex- 
ceptionally well  in  the  practice  games,  and 
will  probably  be  used  in  the  backfield  a 
part  of  the  time.  "Tug"  Wilson  has  been 
handicapped  all  season  by  repeated  in- 
juries, and  with  a  little  experience  should 
prove  a  valuable  man  to  the  team. 

The  weak  points  of  the  1917  team  seem 
to  be  the  result  of  so  many  green  men  on 
the  team  and  the  shifting  of  players  to  new 
positions.  The  new  men  are  not  accus- 
tomed to  varsity  football,  but  they  are 
greatly  interested  and  willing  to  learn,  and 
no  doubt  will  soon  be  well  seasoned  by  ex- 
perience.   It  is  in  the  men  who  have  been 


54 


THE  ILLINOIS  MACAZINE 


piiyyytjyii'iaHMi'iJtiJiiyiiHZ'I'i^gjyiiMi^ 


a ,„_^,.,,^„_ „ 


STERXAMAX 

"Dutch"  is  considerable  halfback  and  is  very 

popular  among  his  teammates 


HALAS 

"Illinois  most  versatile 

athlete" 


shifted  to  new  positions  that  there  is  great- 
est posibilities  for  improvement.  Zuppke 
has  realized  this  situation,  and  has  been 
emphasizing  tackling,  getting  down  under 
punts,  and  breaking  up  opponents  forward 
passes.  If  reports  are  true,  the  team  must 
improve  in  these  points  if  we  are  to  have 
a  Championship  team.  And  why  shouldn't 
we  have  a  Championship  team?  All  are 
agreed  that  we  have  the  best  backfield 
since  the  memorable  team  of  1914.  It  is 
true  the  line  is  composed  largely  of  green 
men,  but  by  the  time  we  meet  the  Maroons 
on  Nov.  3,  they  will  have  had  ample  oppor- 
tunity to  remedy  those  things  in  which 
they  are  lacking  at  present. 

Although  it  is  too  early  to  decide  any- 


thing definite  about  the  conference  stand- 
ing at  the  end  of  the  season,  it  is  a  reason- 
ably safe  conjecture  that  Illinois.  Minne- 
sota, Chicago,  and  Ohio  will  contend  for 
final  honors.  Some  critics  have  already 
slated  Ohio  for  another  championship,  but 
what  they  lost  in  over-confidence  should  be 
our  gain.  Minnesota  has  shown  up  well 
to  date,  and  "Doc"  Williams  can  be  de- 
pended upon  to  place  an  exceptionally 
strong  team  in  the  field.  Chicago  under 
the  tutelage  of  "Old  Man"  Stagg  has  hu- 
miliated all-comers  by  top-heavy  scores, 
and  is  going  to  be  a  strong  contender  for 
Conference  honors.  But  we  must  not  base 
our  estimate  entirely  bn  relative  scores. 
We  must  also  consider  the  strength  of  the 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


SCHLAUDEMAN 

It  is  rumored  that  he  is  as  much  at  home  on  the 

movie  screen  as  he  is  on  the  football  field 


CHARPIER 

A   confirmed   optimist.     The   Charpier   Bus   Line 

will  operate  as  usual  at  Chicago 


contesting  teams.  You  may  have  noticed 
that  Illinois  does  not  generally  have  a  foot- 
ball team  that  runs  up  large  scores.  It  is 
a  part  of  Zuppke's  plans  not  to  have  in- 
dividual stars,  but  to  produce  an  all-round 
eleven  capable  of  meeting  and  conquering 
any  team  it  plays.  If  our  present  analysis 
of  the  situation  holds  true,  the  Chicago- 
Illinois  game  will  determine  which  team  is 
eliminated  from  the  championship  race. 

Chicago!  'Ay,  there's  the  rub'!  Chi- 
cago has  always  been  a  great  rival  of  Illi- 
nois, and  since  the  coming  of  Zuppke  in 
1913,  a  profound  admirer.  The  Maroons 
realize  the  Chicago-Illinois  game  will  de- 
cide which  team  is  eliminated  from  the 
championship    race,    and   they   will    fight 


from  blast  to  blast  with  every  ounce  of 
strergth  they  are  capable  of.  Coach  Stagg 
had  an  abundance  of  material  to  pick  a 
team  from,  even  though  reports  were  to 
the  contrary.  The  veterans  in  the  line 
will  include  Capt.  Brelos,  Gorgas,  Bodzin- 
ski,  Jackson,  and  Cochrane.  In  Elton, 
Bondi,  and  Rouse  he  found  three  crack 
backfield  men,  and  in  Higgins  he  has  a 
recognized  power  both  in  offense  and  de- 
fense. Both  Chicago  and  Illinois  have  a 
number  of  dependable  substitutes,  and  in- 
juries on  either  team  should  not  make  any 
appreciable  difference  in  the  final  result. 
The  team  has  shown  a  fighting  spirit 
this  year  that  after  all  looks  like  a  cham- 
pionship possibility,  and  it  is  up  to  the 


56 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


ij8itigaaiiaj)(gjii«a3^(3aat«ai)B«aia!)i>si^^ 


SIB'Slg^ljraiir^iiT^lryYtig^liraiiT^ifi^iiyairraiTT^f^^ 


MONGREIG 

"Monte"  has  a  big  task  on  his  hands  to  fill 

"Ren"  Kraft's  shoes  at  end 


PRITCHARD 

Pritchard  has  been  keeping  Kraft  company 

over  at  the  Burnhani 


students  to  encourage  and  back  the  team 
whenever  an  opportunity  is  offered.  We 
cannot  do  less  if  we  want  Illinois  to  have 
a  winning  team.  After  the  Chicago  game 
we'll  hang  it  on  Ohio  and  Minnesota! 


THE  FRESHMEN  VARSITY  TEAM 

"I  will  drive  the  varsity  as  never  be- 
fore ;  the  men  must  stop  those  plays" !  said 
Zuppke  before  the  Wisconsin  game,  and 
drive  the  boys  he  did.  The  reason  for  this 
statement  was  the  fact  that  on  several 
occasions  that  week,  the  freshmen  had 
ripped  up  the  varsity  defense  in  an  appall- 
ing manner.    When  consideration  is  taken 


of  the  fact  that  nearly  everyone  thinks  the 
varsity  this  year  is  the  best  for  several 
seasons,  the  feat  of  the  freshmen  is  suffi- 
cient proof  of  the  quality  of  the  yearlings. 

"I've  got  the  best  backfield  material  in 
years,"  says  Coach  Jones.  "While  in  pre- 
vious years  there  were  always  a  few  m.en 
who  did  good  work  in  the  backfield,  this 
year  there  is  a  large  number  of  men  of 
equally  fair  caliber,  fighting  for  the  posi- 
tions." And  what  they  have  done  to  the 
varsity,  using  the  plays  of  conference 
teams,  bears  out  this  .statement. 

The  freshmen  season  started  in  as  prom- 
ising manner  as  in  the  year  when  the 
Kaiser  and  President  Wilson  were  friends. 
One  hundred  and  fifteen  men  turned  out  at 


57 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


j!!y!ii^'!iy!iiy;iiyi.'iyi!iyii!yii'i^Mi^'iMiiyi.!y.'iiyiitt=aiiUi!!L^ 


^trSill^RsrltntlRsilrrsnt^tiSvlRSil 


% 


i?ri!irr¥frriij?r,\irri\fni\irr,\^r\iir,m,\rniirnfimm^ 


MORRIS 

Morris  is  a  dependable  halfback. 

Zup's  utility  man. 


KLEIN 

Leo  is  quite  a  forward  passer,  and  has  helped  the 

team  out  of  many  a  tight  place 


the  first  call,  and  it  was  soon  evident  that 
the  1917  freshman  varsity  was  to  be  a 
good  one. 

The  competition  is  especially  keen  for 
the  backfield  positions,  Springston,  Flet- 
cher, Howard,  and  Saltzenstein  are  show- 
ing up  good  at  the  pilot  position,  and  Mey- 
ers, Fletcher,  Ludwig,  and  Slater  are  al- 
ternating at  half.  Hansen  has  succeeded 
in  holding  down  the  fullback  position,  and 
has  shown  some  good  line  plunging  abil- 
ity. All  are  heavy  and  fast,  and  together 
they  comprise  the  best  material  Jones  has 
had  in  years. 

The  freshman  varsity  line  is  weaker 
than  usual,  but  nevertheless  the  Yearling 
linemen  have  shown  up  well  in  scrimmage 


against  the  varsity.  Depler,  the  heavy- 
weight pivot  man,  i?  doing  good  work  in 
the  line.  Friedmeyer,  Crowel,  and  Deeds 
have  shown  up  well  as  guards.  Fromman, 
Kapp,  and  Shoemake  promise  great  things 
at  tackle.  Ekblaw,  Ford,  Cheasi,  comprise 
the  end  possibilities,  and  some  of  the  sur- 
plus backfield  men  may  occasionally  be 
worked  at  end. 

Coach  Jones  is  to  be  especially  com- 
mended for  his  work  in  building  a  strong, 
fighting  team  in  such  a  short  time.  That 
his  efforts  have  not  been  in  vain  is  evi- 
denced by  the  fact  that  on  several  occa- 
sions the  freshmen  varsity  has  scoi'ed 
against  the  varsity,  which,  beyond  all 
doubt,  pleased  Mr.  Zuppke. 


58 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


(«aiMiii»aia{n«ai3aesai3jMaisai3a(saBsyi«^ 


Si55l!S^!E2!53S555'iSi5Ji5'-;'J  'il'  Vi; '."; '."!  ^liiimric 


P?hT?Ttii?Tilg^T^it7Td?rQ,trSl!rTilr?^iiraii7^iT?^!ffTi:fr^^ 


LARRIMER 

'If  it  wasn't  for  the  state  of  Iowa,  Illinois 

wouldn't  have  a  team  this  year." — Zuppke 


EMS 

A  sophomore  who  is  making  good 

at   tackle 


TRACK 

In  no  other  branch  of  athletics  has  Illi- 
nois been  so  directly  affected  by  the  war 
as  in  track.  The  enlistment  of  Captain- 
elect  Spink,  Husted,  and  Bennett  broke  up 
one  of  the  greatest  point-gaining  monop- 
olies Coach  Gill  has  ever  produced. 

Spink  was  one  of  the  best  quarter  and 
half  milers  in  the  West,  and  a  consistent 
point  gainer  for  Illinois.  "Phil"  was 
elected  captain  of  the  1917  team  at  the 
close  of  last  season,  and  we  understand  he 
has  declared  a  truce  with  Chicago  for  the 
period  of  the  war.  The  elimination  of 
"Arlie"  Mucks  left  Husted  with  a  clear 
field  on  the  title  of  the  best  discus  thrower 


in  the  West.  Bennett  was  handy  with  the 
weights,  and  was  a  determining  factor  in 
every  meet. 

A  nucleus  of  a  team,  however,  remained 
from  last  year,  and  Coach  Gill  has  a  great 
task  on  his  hands  if  Illinois  is  to  have  a 
winnig  team.  He  is  depending  upon  the 
members  of  last  year's  freshman  varsity 
and  to  an  unusual  extent  upon  the  possi- 
bility of  finding  new  material  among  the 
students. 

When  it  was  learned  that  Capt.-elect 
Spink  could  not  return  to  school  "Chet" 
Kriedler  was  chosen  to  pilot  the  trackmen. 
Gill  is  relying  on  Kriedler  and  Bush  to 
annex  the  hurdle  events.  Great  things  are 
expected  from  Bush,  and  he  should  be  good 


59 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


^![MiM'iyiiiyi!iyi'}yi:Miiy!'ajiiyiiiyii!y-''tt=jjiiyi!'i^i«iiii^^ 


ltS()ISv)(3(ltS?ltSv11^?ltSr1l^^tilfl^^{)t)8(irs;)^i)t^ 


Slr!^iT7^lt?^T;ATliAiT>AtljraiiArt?°tf'i7^'iriiiy^l?'^ffi!^.f! 


INGWERSEN 

"Bert"  paves  the  way   for  the 

mini   "Tank" 


McGregor 

McGregor  is  making  his  dobut  in  the 
backfield  this  year 


for  about  fifteen  points.  Carrol  and  Fields 
are  very  reliable  men  in  the  dashes.  Em- 
ery, a  sophomore,  is  a  promisng  sprinter, 
and  will  very  likely  be  tried  in  the  quarter 
mile.  In  the  middle  distances,  Coach  Gill 
also  has  Somers,  Berlin,  and  Brown. 
Brown  will  also  be  tried  in  the  mile.  At 
the  present  the  outlook  for  the  middle  dis- 
tances is  rather  gloomy,  but  Gill  is  expect- 
ing to  get  more  good  material  from  the 
students  later  on.  In  the  long  distance 
events,  Lewis,  Garvan,  Birks,  and  Kadyck 
are  showing  up  best.  "String"  Bush  has 
been  doing  good  work  in  the  high  jump, 
and  can  be  counted  on  in  this  event.  Lang 
is  an  excellent  pole  vaulter,  and  as  soon  as 
Mongrieg  finishes  the  football  season,  he 


will  be  hard  at  work  with  the  javelin.  All- 
man  is  expected  to  return  to  school  the 
second  semester,  and  will  undoubtedly  fig- 
ure in  the  weight  events.  At  the  present 
Anderson  is  showing  up  good,  and  Char- 
pier,  Pike,  and  Weiss  are  expected  to  do 
something  with  the  weights  later  on. 

It  is  entirely  too  early  in  the  season  to 
predict  just  what  kind  of  a  track  team 
will  represent  Illinois  in  the  coming  sea- 
son, but  the  foresight  and  ability  of  Coach 
Gill  can  be  relied  up  to  produce  a  good 
team. 

Editor's  Note — It  is  a  little  too  early  at  the 
lime  this  goes  to  press  to  predict  our  Chicago 
victory.  But  we  would  like  to  do  so,  only  the  ex- 
perience of  the  Minnesota  papers  a  year  ago  is 
s;i!l  in  our  memory. 


60 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


a  lyjHUi  lyji  iUi  'iJ{iyi-iyi]iyoyii}UOyoyoyoyi'iyj^iyt.iyj:iyi  it.ii  ^n  mi  tyn  n,;i  i\^n  njmji  n^;i  ii_'i  F  TTF  Tji*  TF  TTF  TIF  TTH  TiiT  I.-'.'  Tfii  ir.'  Tiuijj 


'^  »fS  K°a  jTB  ifS  JTii  »7ii  r»i  irrt  TJTi  g^">?^  T?^  i?^  i?^  i7^  iTii  iTii  FB  iraysyg  g^ffyiTS  iat  ff^'inirAiiiriTiirfl'rriiffTi  JTii  iTfl  JTiTiTni  irff  rriuT^  iTfi  S 


WEISS 

A  little  green  at  the  game,  but  a  real 

fighter 


KOCH 

"Cookie"  is  one  of  Zup's  best 

linemen 


FORMER  CHICAGO-ILLINOIS  FOOTBALL  SCORES 


DATE 

1892 

1893..... 

1894 

1896.._. 

1897. 

1901.-. 

1902.._.. 

1903....- 

1904 

1905.-.- 
1906.— 
1907..- 
1908..- 
1909..-.. 
1910..-.. 

1911 

1912 

1913 

1914 

1915 

1916 


ILLINOIS 

4 

28 

.  6 

.  0 


-  0.. 
..  0- 
..  7.- 
.21... 
.10... 
...  7... 


CHICAGO 

4 

-..12 

0 

12 


...12 18 

..24 0 

...  0 6 

...  6 18 

.-  6 6 

...  0 

...  0 

...  6 

"-  sZZZZZZZZZZZZIZZ 

...  3 - - 


44 

63 

42 

11 

14 

0 

24 

10 

28 

7 

0 

-20 


61 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


i'iJ!miiyii'^iiL!!iiUi!iUiiiyii'i^iiyii!U,'iiyiMi3 

I 


RffTt[ff^K^irairrT<ii7^li?^lff«lir^ljrai?y^yff^T7^i?^yg^[g^l^ 


WILSON 

"Tug"  is  putting  in  a  strong  bid 

for  end 


BREGMAN 

A  good  halfback — fast 

and  shifty 


NOVEMBER  THIRD 

We've  lost  our  Krafty  captain  and  no  more  will  he  be  seen 
A-dodging  past  the  hostile  backs  upon  the  lime-marked  green  ; 
His  face  is  missing  from  the  bunch  of  which  we  all  are  proud, 

But 

Mr.  Stagg,  you'd  better  place  an  order  for  a  shroud. 

Our  captain's  on  the  sidelines,  swinging  by  upon  a  crutch. 
And  the  warriors  of  Illini  miss  him  worse  than  very  much ; 
Without  him  in  the  lineup  we're  a  sadder,  graver  crowd, 

But 

Mr.  Stagg,  you'd  better  place  an  order  for  a  shroud. 

H.  W.  Ostrom,  '19. 


62 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


fi'!g^;iraiif^{i7^i!f^iff^iryrrii7^iff^ii?^ij?^ig^tysi??^ii?^ig^iiy^^ 


GOELITZ 

Goelitz  is  playing  a  wonderful  game 

at  guard 


SPRAGUE 

Sprague  is  a  consistent  lineman  and  can 

be  depended  upon 


Plidtos  bi)  Hoicnrd  Studios 


63 


so  THIS  IS  PARIS 

ART  ("MIKE  ')   DAILEY 


ilO  this  is  Paris. 

Everyone  of  us  American 
Field  Service  ambulance  driv- 
ers said  this  as  wet  got  off  the 
train  at  the  wonderful  city.  What  else 
was  there  for  us  to  say? 

We  were  a  tired,  a  hungry,  a  scrappy, 
and  a  dirty  crowd.  Our  trip  across  the 
ocean  was  very  boring  as  the  scenery 
never  changed.  We  didn't  even  see  a  tree. 
The  all  night  ride  on  the  train  from  Bor- 
deaux was  tiring  and  annoying  as  there 
was  no  place  for  any  of  us  to  sleep,  unless 
we  slept  on  the  luggage  racks  above  the 
seats.  So,  under  the  circumstances,  we 
just  said  what  we  were  suposed  to  say  and 
let  it  go  at  that. 

Although  powerfully  hungry — starving 
in  fact — we  were  not  allowed  to  go  and 
hunt  for  some  breakfast  until  after  we  had 
reported  at  the  American  Field  Service 
Headquarters.  We  reported  and  then 
looked  for  a  place  to  get  something  to  eat. 
We  found  a  nice  little  cafe — with  high 
prices.  The  breakfast  that  was  brought 
to  us,  consisted  of  omelette  and  chocolate. 
That  is  all  we  knew  how  to  order.  We 
didn't  even  know  how  to  pay  the  bill.  But 
the  waiter  was  very  nice  and  helped  us  to 
do  that.  He  took  our  money — nearly  all 
of  it. 

After  we  got  something  into  our  stom- 
achs, we  got  some  ideas  into  our  heads. 
Nearly  everyone  of  the  ideas  were  some- 
thing like  buying  a  cane,  and  raising  a 
mustache,  so  we  would  be  like  the  French- 
men.    And   the   Frenchmen   threw   away 


their  canes  and  cut  oft'  their  mustaches  sol 
they  would  be  like  the  Americans. 

By  the  time  our  mustaches  were  a  suc- 
cess or  a  failure,  our  ambulance  section  of| 
forty  men  and  twenty  Berliet  cars  was  sta- 
tioned at  a  camp  a  few  miles  back  of  thel 
front  and  waiting  for  orders  to  go  up.    Atj 
this  place  we  were  divided  into  two  squads! 
of  twenty  men  and  ten  cars.     One  squadi 
was  on  duty  every  day  and  was  kept  busy! 
peeling  potatoes  and  writing  letters  to  the| 
dear  ones  in  the  U.  S.  A.  about  narrow  es- 
capes.   Gee,  it  was  a  dangerous  place.    WeJ 
could  just  about  hear  the  guns  banging- 
if  we  listened  very  carefully. 

But  one  night — the  night  of  the  4th  of  I 
July,  I  believe  it  was, — aviators  dropped! 
bombs  on  our  camp.    The  fellows  that  were| 


64 


il 


THE  ILLINOIS  MACAZINE 


dropping  the  bombs  were  good  shots  as 
they  hit  the  camp  every  time.  The  camp 
was  about  forty-nine  miles  square. 

It  was  about  1  o'clock  when  the  fire- 
works started.  The  first  bomb  fell  about 
400  yards  from  our  sleeping  quarters. 
The  terrible  roar  and  crash  of  the  e.\plod- 
ing  bomb  probably  woke  up  the  surround- 
ing country  for  miles.  About  two  minutes 
later  a  second  bomb  fell  about  as  far  away 
from  us  as  the  first  one  did. 

By  this  time  we  were  all  out  of  our 
blankets  looking  for  the  invading  aero- 
planes we  could  hear  buzizng  around  above 
us.  We  couldn't  see  them.  They  were  too 
high  up  and  it  was  too  dark. 

Shot  after  shot  was  fired  at  the  annoy- 
ing planes  with  the  French  anti-aircraft 
guns.  Colored  lights  flashed  from  the 
French  machines  that  had  gone  up  to  look 
for  the  enemy.  Powerful  search  lights 
were  flickering  about  the  sky  in  a  sort  of 
a  net  work.  It  was  a  wonderful  4th  of 
July  celebration. 

While  the  fireworks  were  going  on. 
Dewey  Campbell  was  curious  to  know 
what  was  the  nationality  of  the  aii*  ma- 
chines that  were  causing  the  trouble.  So 
Dewey  looked  for  a  Frenchman  and  found 
him  under  a  wagon. 

Are  those  Boche  planes?"  Dewey  asked 
him. 

"Yes,"  .  .  . 

Now  the  Frenchman  didn't  ju.st  .say 
"Yes",  he  said  a  lot  of  other  things,  but 
Dewey  found  out  they  were  Boche  alright 
enough. 

It  had  quieted  down  by  this  time.  The 
Germans  had  left  our  vicinity.  It  was 
very  quiet  now.  Not  a  sound  could  be 
heard— except  Chris  Gross's  snoring.  But 
we  were  used  to  that,  so  we  crawled  back 
in  our  blankets  and  went  to  sleep. 

Swish  I  Bang !  Crash !  It  was  the  most 
terrible  roar  I  had  ever  heard  in  my  life. 
The  building  we  were  in  seemed  to  rise 
oft"  the  ground  and  fall  back  again  in  place. 


The  French  guns  were  working  over-time 
now.  The  air  seemed  to  be  a  continual 
screach.  It  was  impossible  to  say  a  word 
in  that  noi.se  as  we  knew  we  wouldn't  be 
heard. 

Um — but  listen.  There  was  somebody 
hollering  at  us. 

"Cut  out  the  talking  and  go  to  sleep. 
How  do  you  expect  a  fellow  to  get  any  rest 
with  you  gabbin'  all  night." 

We  hand  it  to  him.  Chris  had  finally 
awoke. 

But  Chris's  .soothing  calm  words  didn't 
calm  me.  I  was  shivering  like  a  plate  of 
jelly — but  not  from  the  cold.  And  I  was 
saying  my  prayers  and  wondering  where 
the  next  bomb  was  going  to  light.  It  didn't 
light.    I'm  some  prayerer. 

From  this  time  on  we  got  in  the  war  and 
got  in  deeper  and  deeper  and  deeper.  And 
so  did  some  of  the  other  little  things  that 
went  with  us.  The.se  little  things  had  grey 
backs  and  were  too  playful  for  words. 
They  would  always  hide  so  we  couldn't 
find  them,  the  little  darlings. 

Finally  these  pets  of  ours  got  so  numer- 
ous that  difl^erent  species  sprung  up  among 
them.  The  species  must  have  declared  war 
on  one  another — or  all  of  them  on  us.  We 
wanted  peace. 

On  account  of  the  circumstances  a  few 
of  us  troubled  ones  were  allowed  to  leave 
the  front  and  return  to  Paris — sh —  to  get 
a  bath.  There  are  no  bath  rooms  attached 
to  the  hotel  rooms  in  Paris,  so  we  had  to 
step  out  and  buy  a  bath  at  a  regular  Turk- 
ish bath  hou.se.  A  Turki.sh  bath  is  alright 
in  its  place — -but  I  don't  drink  so  I  asked 
for  a  hot  and  cold  shower. 

I  took  ofl'  my  clothes  and  walked  into 
a  small  tiled  room,  I  thought  to  be  the  place 
for  the  showers.  There  were  no  .showers 
to  be  seen,  but  hot  water  was  hitting  me 
in  the  back  with  a  terrible  force.  I  turned 
around  and  saw  a  fellow  up  in  the  balcony. 
This  fellow  was  holding  an  ordinary  gar- 
den hose  and  giving  me  my  shower. 


65 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


He  finally  forced  me  over  into  the  corner 
with  the  force  of  the  water  and  had  me 
shriveled  up  like  a  wet  rat.  The  water  was 
getting  so  hot  I  was  commencing  to  sizzle. 
I  hollered  at  him  that  I  didn't  want  any- 
more hot  water.  That  is,  I  thought  I  hol- 
lered that  at  him. 

You  see,  I  had  figured  out  from  the 
French  I  had  picked  up  that  if  e.ncore 
meant  more — pas  de  encore  ought  to  mean 
— no  more.    So  I  tried  it  on  him. 

"Pas  de  encore.  Pas  de  encore,"  I 
pleaded. 

But  my  shower  bath  merchant  kept  play- 
ing the  boiling  water  on  my  poor  blistered 
back. 


"Pas  de  encore",  I  emplored  with  tears 
in  my  eyes  and  water  in  my  ears. 

But  he  didn't  stop.  The  water  kept  get- 
ting hotter. 

"Shut  it  off — gimme  some  cold  water, 
you  etc.,  etc., "  I  finally  screamed. 

"Well,  why  the  devil  didn't  you  say  so  in 
the  first  place." 

The  man  understood  English  as  well  as 
I  do.  And  I  learned  later  that  pas  de  en- 
core doesn't  mean,  no  more.  It  means 
something  like,  NOT  YET. 

When  I  got  out  into  the  cool  air  of  the 
street,  there  was  only  one  thing  I  could 
think  of  and  only  one  thing  I  could  say. 

So  this  is  Paris ! 


THE  SEAL 


Knowing  that  I  have  too  oft  said  too  much, 

I  simply  say,  "Forgive  me",  and  am  done; 

It  grieves  me  that  my  least  small  word  is  such 

That  I  should  wish  speech  o'er  when  scarce  begun. 

But  I  will  keep  my  peace,  I  will  not  speak. 

For  words  impetuous  fire  each  rebel  thought ; 

Yet  God  forgive,  if  silence  be  not  meek. 

But  each  unuttered  sentence  dearly  bought — 

If  it  be  pregnant  with  unspoken  things. 

A  seal  now  on  my  lips,  my  faith  is  still 

In  later  years,  when  times  own  wisdom  brings 

Calm  after  storm ;  if  then  it  be  God's  will, 

My  lips  shall  speak  kind  words  that  mirror  forth 

The  mind's  tranquillity  that  gave  them  birth. 


66 


GREENLAND  AND  THE  WAR 


W.  ELMER  EKBLAW 


'IVEN  in  a  land  so  remote  from 
the  center  of  the  European  war 
as  Greenland,  the  conflict  is 
causing  a  profound  impression 
upon  the  minds  of  the  people  and  notice- 
ably affecting  their  economic  and  physical 
welfare.  A  self-imposed  guest  among  the 
Danes  of  Greenland  for  six  months,  I 
found  ample  time  to  study  the  effect  of  the 
war  upon  the  people  there,  both  the  native 
Eskimo  and  the  Danes,  who  live  in  the 
land  on  commercial  or  governmental  bus- 
iness. 

In  this  article,  Greenland  may  most  con- 
veniently be  divided  into  two  districts,  for 
the  purpose  of  discussion:  the  Smith 
Sound  or  Cape  York  District,  some  times 
known  as  Northwest  Greenland,  over 
which  Denmark  has  not  claimed  jurisdic- 
tion until  after  the  purchase  of  the  Danish 
West  Indies  and  the  relinquishment  of  all 
claims  in  Greenland  by  the  United  States ; 
and  Danish  Greenland,  or  all  that  portion 
lying  south  of  about  the  seventy-fourth 
parallel. 

The  Smith  Sound  district  is  populated 
by  some  two  hundred  fifty  rather  pure- 
blooded  Eskimo  scattered  along  over  six 
hundred  miles  of  coast  line.  In  this  dis- 
trict the  war  has  not  produced  so  deep  an 
impression  on  the  people  or  so  serious  an 
economic  situation.  The  people  of  this  dis- 
trict have  not  yet  forgotten  the  primitive 
hunting  methods  of  their  forefathers,  nor 
have  they  as  yet  become  dependent  upon 
the   white   man's    foods,    or   clothing,    or 


equipment.  Their  contact  with  civiliza- 
tion is  relatively  recent,  and  has  been  only 
casual  until  within  the  last  ten  years — 
more  definitely  since  1909,  when  Knud 
Rasmussen  established  a  small  trading- 
station  at  North  Star  Bay  as  a  base  for 
his  scientific  and  exploratory  research. 
No  matter  how  long  the  war  lasts,  they  will 
face  no  really  serious  difficulties  as  a  con- 
sequence, they  will  not  freeze  or  starve. 
They  may  feel  some  little  annoyance  over 
the  want  of  tobacco,  matches,  tea,  and 
needles,  but  they  can  get  along  without. 

Sipsoo,  one  of  Peary's  old  trusties,  and 
a  sage  of  the  tribe,  expressed  the  sentiment 
of  his  people  when  he  said  he  thought  the 
white  people  had  gone  "piblokto"  (tempor- 
arily crazy)  to  kill  so  many  of  each  other 
when  the  earth  and  the  sea  are  so  big,  and 
so  full  of  game  for  food  and  clothes,  and 
to  waste  so  much  ammunition  shooting  at 
each  other,  when  they  might  better  send  it 
to  the  Eskimo. 

It  is  in  Danish  Greenland  that  the  effect 
of  the  war  is,  and  will  be,  most  seriously 
felt,  both  among  the  half-breed  natives  and 
the  resident  Danes.  The  total  population 
of  Danish  Greenland  is  somewhat  over 
thirteen  thousand,  of  which  the  Danes 
comprise  only  about  two  hundred, — not  too 
many  for  the  land  to  support  had  they  not 
lost  their  old-time  independence  and  abil- 
ity to  wrest  their  living  from  it.  But 
longer  than  the  two  hundred  years  of  Dan- 
ish occupancy  is  the  period  of  clo.se  I'ela- 
tion.ship  between  the  natives  of  this  di.s- 


67 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


trict  and  Europe  and  America,  and  the  de- 
pendence of  the  Eskimo  upon  the  white 
men.  For  almost  three  hundred  years 
they  have  received  ammunition,  cooking 
and  hunting  equipment,  and  food  from 
whalers,  sealers,  and  traders,  until  now 
they  can  no  longer  exist  without  them. 
They  have  lost  their  economic  independ- 
ence and  in  a  measure  exhausted  their  re- 
sources. They  have  become  infected  with 
the  diseases  of  civilization — over  a  half  of 
the  natives,  perhaps,  have  tuberculosis — ; 
men,  women,  and  children  are  addicted  to 
the  unrestrained  use  of  tobacco  and  strong 
coffee ;  they  are  physically  and  mentally  in- 
ferior to  their  ancestors. 

Last  summer  the  need  had  already  be- 
come urgent  among  this  poverty-stricken 
native  population.  The  previous  winter 
had  been  one  of  want,  and  starvation,  and 
disease;  the  stock  of  ammunition  and  pro- 
visions was  running  low;  about  half  the 
supply  expected  for  the  stations  arrived ; 
the  prospect  for  the  coming  winter  was 
gloomy.  And  now  that  the  Allies  have 
made  it  exceedingly  difficult  for  Denmark 


to  get  enough  supplies  for  even  her  home 
people  it  is  certain  that  untold  deprivation 
and  suffering  will  be  the  lot  of  these  far- 
away people  of  the  north. 

They  cannot  understand  why  they 
should  suffer  for  the  sins  of  the  German 
emperor  and  his  advisers.  They  have  be- 
come dependent  upon  Denmark  for  help; 
Denmark  is  helpless  herself  and  can  do 
nothing  for  them.  They  will  certainly 
suffer  sadly,  and  unless  Providence  helps 
them  in  an  unexpected  way  many  of  them 
must  starve. 

And  the  resident  Danes  will  suffer  with 
them.  Without  exception,  they  are  strong- 
ly opposed  to  Germany  as  are  all  true 
Danes,  and  strongly  sympathetic  to  the 
cause  of  the  Allies.  If  the  war  continues 
over  next  summer  they  too  will  be  reduced 
to  poverty  and  even  starvation.  Should 
Denmark  be  unable  to  send  them  relief 
next  summer  some  of  them  may  perish. 
The  situation  for  them  is  fraught  with 
peril. 

Could  America  aid  them  in  case  Den- 
mark is  unable  to  do  so? 


AUTUMN 


Within  darks  the  chilling  sun. 

The  lazy  clouds  of  a  warmer  sky 

Are  chastened  and  torn  till  they  scurry  away 

At  the  stern,  bluff  note  of  the  frosty  day. 

Across  the  gully  the  breath  of  fall 

Comes  hissing  to  rattle  the  oaken  bones. 
A  white-tufted  rabbit  in  search  for  food. 

Is  quickened  by  touch  of  earth's  stinging  rood. 

But  vainly  the  tempest  may  flourish  his  might ; 

His  threat  means  naught  to  the  undaunted  leaves 
That  cling  to  the  topmost  twigs  with  glee 

As  they  dance  and  sway  on  the  cottonwood  tree. 


68 


rURKEY  JOINS  THE  SOCIAL 

CENTER 

ANITA  LIBMAN 


ijEING  "a  sweet  girl  graduate' 
may  be  all  right  if  you  can  sit 
back  under  the  shadow  of  your 
sheep-skin  and  gather  laurels 
from  your  admiring  friends,  but  when  you 
are  a  graduate  of  the  Chicago  School  of 
Civics  and  Philanthropy,  and  spend  your 
days  in  taking  Civil  Service  exams,  and 
expecting  the  mailman  to  come  laden  down 
with  offers  for  positions — which,  by  the 
way,  never  come — it  is  quite  different. 
Things  are  rather  exciting  during  the  first 
few  weeks.  In  the  first  place,  your  hopes 
are  still  untarnished.  You  have  faith  in 
the  superintendents,  and  the  agencies, 
even  in  yourself.  You  await  the  mailman 
with  a  beating  heart.  You  never  can  tell, 
you  know.  But  wait  until  a  couple  of 
months  have  passed — matters  are  quite 
different  then.  The  mailman  becomes  ad- 
dicted to  ads  of  Malted  Milk  and  painless 
dentists,  and  you  begin  to  regret  that  you 
did  not  take  up  dictaphone  operating,  at 
the  time  they  had  that  famous  deduction 
in  rates.  Oh  I  I  know,  I  have  been  there. 
I'm  not  telling  you  this  because  it  looks 
well  in  print — on  the  contrary,  it  is  be- 
cause I  want  you  to  understand  why  I 
accepted  the  position  as  organized  of  the 
Social  Center  of  the  Wells  School,  despite 
the  advice  of  my  teachers,  friends,  and 
even  the  superintendent  himself.  For,  if 
you  must  know  it,  the  Wells  school  has  a 
reputation  in  Chicago.  You  have  prob- 
ably heard  of  it,  so  I  won't  need  to  go  into 
details.  Even  if  you  haven't — my  story 
will  speak  for  itself. 


The  morning  that  I  received  my  appoint- 
ment, I  hurried  over  to  Miss  Breckenridge. 
She  had  been  my  advi-ser  and  teacher,  and 
I  knew  she  would  want  to  know.  Besides, 
I  needed  her  signature. 

"Miss  Breckenridge,"  I  cried,  as  I  burst 
into  her  office,  "I've  got  it  at  last." 

"Got  what,  child?"  asked  Miss  Brecken- 
ridge, laying  aside  the  latest  statistics  on 
smallpox.    "Got  what?" 

"My  position — an  appointment  at  last." 

Well,  I  am  certainly  glad  to  hear  it.  At 
the  Bell  School?" 

"No,  at  the  Wells.  See?''  I  showed  her 
the  appointment  slip. 

"Well — well,  that's  too  bad.  Of  course, 
you  can't  take  it,  Emily.  That  school  isn't 
for  you.  I  didn't  know  it  was  going  to  be 
used  as  a  social  center  again — after  last 
year." 

"Why?    Why  shouldn't  I  take  it?" 

"Why  shouldn't  you  accept  it?  Didn't 
you  hear  about  the  terrible  failure  they 
made  of  it  last  year?  The  Greccho  gang? 
You  remember,  that's  where  Miss  Wright 
was  shot  two  years  ago?  I  can't  see  why 
they  have  opened  it  again  this  year — and 
to  give  you  the  position,  one  of  our  young- 
est graduates,  inexperienced — it's  unheard 
of—" 

"But,  I've  got  to  get  my  experience 
somewhere." 

"Yes,  but  there?  No,  Emily  you  must 
refu.se  it.  I  know  it's  hard,  this  long  wait 
for  a  position,  but  your  turn  will  come — " 

"You  always  said,  Miss  Breckenridge, 


69 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


that  workers  must  not  be  afraid  of  hard- 
ships, that — " 

"Yes,  yes,  child  go  on  quoting  me."  She 
smiled,  "That's  an  unfair  advantage 
you're  taking  of  me,  Emily." 

"But  I  am  going  to  take  the  position." 

"You'll  not  get  my  signature,  Emily  Wil- 
son." 

But  I  did  get  it.  I  forget  what  argu- 
ments I  used.  I  think  it  was  partly  her 
own  class  room  doctrines  plus  a  little  of 
the  Wilson  stubborness.  Half  an  hour 
later  when  I  left  the  office,  in  addition  to 
the  signed  appointment,  I  had  the  follow- 
ing infoi'mation :  First,  that  I'd  fail  with- 
in two  months,  or  become  a  nervous  wreck 
in  six  weeks.  Second,  that  I'd  probably 
be  shot  or  give  up  in  disgust.  Third,  that 
she.  Miss  Breckenridge,  washed  her  hands 
of  the  whole  affair.  Fourth,  that  my  worst 
enemy  in  the  district  was  one  known  as 
Constantine  Greccho,  otherwise  "Turkey" 
— after  his  fatherland — I  believe.  "Tur- 
key" was  the  leader  of  a  sort  of  anti-social 
workers  trust,  which  during  the  past  two 
years  had  successfully  frustrated  all  ef- 
forts to  establish  at  the  Wells  School  a 
well-regulated,  efficient,  social  center.  I 
was  glad  to  know  the  Enemy's  name.  It's 
rather  uncanny  to  fight  a  nameless  foe. 

The  opening  night  came  around  in  its 
proper  astronomical  order.  It  found  me 
ready  for  a  riot,  an  uprising,  a  murder — 
none  of  which  happened.  Upon  entering 
the  assembly  room,  I  found  a  cosmopolitan 
crowd  assembled,  characteristic  of  the 
neighborhood,  —  swarthy  Italians,  olive 
complexioned  Greeks,  blue-eyed,  rosy 
cheeked  Poles,  dark-eyed  Jews,  robust 
Germans,  all  vied  with  each  other,  in  show- 
ing me  their  friendliness  and  their  desire 
to  become  part  of  the  Wells  School  Social 
Center.  They  were  all  there  with  a  pur- 
pose. They  were  in  earnest.  They  had 
an  end  to  gain,  and  came  to  us  for  help, 
for  advice,  for  inspiration.  My  heart 
warmed  when  I  realized  that  it  was  in  my 


power  to  do  so  much  good.  Never  before 
was  it  brought  home  so  closely  to  me,  what 
it  meant  to  be  a  social  worker.  I  vowed  to 
myself  I'd  make  good — and  I've  already 
had  occasion  to  mention  the  Wilson  grit. 

The  first  three  nights  were  taken  up  in 
organizing  classes  registering  the  pupils 
and  getting  things  started  in  general. 
Everything  was  coming  along  first  rate. 
I  hadn't  met  Turkey  face  to  face,  and  I 
was  beginning  to  feel  that  he  was  nothing 
but  a  myth  after  all, — a  myth  conjured  up 
by  imaginative  brains  to  keep  needy  young 
social  workers  from  accepting  much 
needed  positions. 

I  mentioned  the  matter  to  Mr.  Polkow- 
sky,  who  had  been  elected  President  of  our 
Father's  Club. 

"We  are -going  to  have  a  nice  year  at 
the  center.  Don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Pol- 
kowsky?" 

"Dono  yet.  Miss  Weelson,"  he  shook  his 
head,  "You  never  cain't  tell  when  them 
boys  weel  begin  to  get  started  on  their 
treaks.  Everyt'ing  ees  quiet  now  'cause 
they  ain't  had  not  time  to  git  togither. 
Now  I  seen  thees  here  vat  you  call  him — 
Toorkey,  yeserday,  and  he  seem  like  he 
vas  up  to  meescheef  agin." 

"Would  it  do  any  good  for  me  to  see  him, 
do  you  suppose?  ' 

"He  has  a  mighy  hard  heart  to — vat  you 
call  it — reesist  you  Miss  Weelson,  a  sweet 
young  leddy  like  that."  The  Polish  are 
very  polite. 

"Where  can  I  see  him.  Do  you  know  his 
address?" 

"He  got  a  news  stand  on  Robey  and 
Fourteenth.  Don't  go  there  at  night,  Miss 
Weelson." 

At  three  the  next  afternoon,  I  found  my- 
self on  the  corner  of  Robey  and  Four- 
teenth. There  is  a  news  stand  on  every 
corner.  I  looked  around  me.  The  news- 
body  caught  my  eye. 

"Poiper,  Miss?  Noos?  Journal? 
American?" 


70 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


I  handed  him  a  penny.  He  gave  me  the 
"American".  I  never  read  the  American. 
For  a  while  I  stood  there  irresolute,  won- 
dering how  to  approach  Turkey,  wonder- 
ing which  one  of  the  four  busy,  hustling 
newsboys  he  was.  I  looked  at  the  one  near- 
est me.  — An  innocent  looking  chap,  not 
more  than  sixteen  years  old;  but  with  old 
lines  on  his  face. — pi'obably  a  step-son  of 
.society,  prematurely  hardened  by  his  bat- 
tle with  life.  (These  you  understand  are 
the  proper  terms  in  which  a  full-fledged 
social  worker  is  expected  to  philosophize.) 

"I  think  I'll  ask  him."  I  said  to  myself. 
I  cleared  my  throat. 

"I  wonder —  hm —  Say  newsboy — "  I 
really  succeeded  in  getting  his  attention. 

"What  you  want  lady? —  Another 
poiper?" 

"I  wonder  can  you  tell  me,  can  you  tell 
me  which  one  of  those  newsboys,"  I  point- 
ed across  the  .street,  "which  one  of  those 
newsboys  Turkey  is?  ' 

"I  dono  'bout  that — what  you  want  with 
him?"    He  looked  at  me,  shrewdly. 

"I  want  to  speak  to  him." 

"You  ain't  one  of  them  lady  policeman's 
are  you?  'Cause  if  you  air.  Turkey,  he 
said  to  give  you  his  compliments,  but  he's 
sick  in  bed." 

"No,  no,"  I  protested  eagerly.  "I  only 
wanted  to  ask  him  to  join  our  social  cen- 
ter." 

"Well,  lady,  I  am  Mr.  Greccho." 

"You!"  I  breathed  easily.  Was  this 
the  notorious  Turkey?  My  problem  was 
getting  easier  every  day.  I  had  no  doubt 
but  that  I  could  easily  control  this  lad. 
"You  see,  Mr.  Greccho,  I  had  heard  that 
you  knew  a  good  many  of  the  boys  in  the 
neighborhood, — that  you  were  their  leader, 
so  I  thought  I  would  ask  you  to  come  up  to 
our  center, — at  the  Wells  School,  you 
know, — and  perhaps  join  one  of  our  clubs, 
or  else  have  your  club  meet  there, — it's  all 
free,  you  know."  I  finished  rather  lamely. 
Turkey's  big,  black  eyes  were  gazing  at 


me  with  a  .scrutiny  so  penetrating,  so 
searching  that  I  could  scarcely  keep  my 
eyes  up.    He  gave  me  a  contemptuous  look. 

"Say,  come  off  of  that  talk.  What  you 
think  you're  handing  me?  I  ain't  none  o' 
your  settlement  guys,  and  none  of  my 
friends  ain't  neither.  We  don't  need  none 
o'  your  free  halls,  and  none  o'  your  free 
soup,  nor  free  gab  neither. —  Poiper? 
Journal?  Noos?  American?"  He  was 
off  on  his  business  talk. 

I  waited  on  the  corner  for  about  fifteen 
minutes.  Turkey  showed  no  signs  of  re- 
turning. He  seemed  totally  unaware  of 
me.  Finally,  I  decided  that  I  had  lost  the 
day,  and  rather  dejectedly  walked  away. 

A  week  later,  as  I  was  right  in  the  midst 
of  that  thrilling  romance, — "Goldilocks 
and  the  Three  Bears",  which  I  was  telling 
to  the  youngest  children,  I  was  interrupted 
by  a  most  hideous  noise.  It  sounded  like 
fifty  moon-struck  cats  rendering  a  musical, 
— a  musical  of  a  blood-curdling  variety. 
A  moment  later  some  gravel  hit  the  win- 
dow. The  children  began  craning  their 
necks  in  the  direction  of  the  noise. 

"Sit  still,  children,"  I  commanded.  I 
went  up  to  the  windo^^'  and  raised  it. 
"Boys,"  I  called,  "stop  that  noise,  instant- 
ly." A  deafening  roar  was  raised  by  a 
mob  outside,  whom  I  could  not  see,  because 
the  lamps  in  the  ward  had  evidently  been 
put  out. 

"Boys,"  I  called  again,  but  before  I  had 
a  chance  to  finish,  I  was  rewarded  by  a 
shower  of  gravel.  I  staggered  back  from 
the  window.  As  soon  as  I  was  able  to  see 
again,  I  rushed  downstairs. 

"Stop!  Stop!  Don't  go  out.  Mi.ss  Wil- 
son," I  heard  several  voices  calling  behind 
me,  among  them  that  of  my  good  friend 
Mr.  Polkowsky.  Of  course,  I  went  on.  I 
was  here  to  run  the  social  center,  if  it  took 
my  life  to  do  it.  I  ran  out  into  the  yard. 
I  could  distinguish  among  the  voices,  that 
of  Turkey  Greccho. 

"Don't  you  hurt  her  now,  boys,  remem- 


71 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


ber  what  I  told  you, — we  don't  fight  no 
women.  Get  back  there  now,  Fatty. 
Damn  you — " 

The  last  remark  was  addressed  to  one  of 
the  boys  who  had  thrown  a  stone  at  me. 
It  gashed  my  cheek.  I  caught  hold  of 
someone  back  of  me.  It  was  Mr.  Polkow- 
sky. 

"Go  on  eenside,"  he  said  pushing  me  in. 
roughly.    "Eet  ain't  no  beezness  fer  girls." 

I  heard  him  command  several  of  the 
men  who  had  gone  out  with  him  in  a  loud 
business-like  tone.  He  knew  how  to  take 
charge  of  a  battle ; — he  had  the  spirit  of 
Kosciusco  in  his  heart.  I  went  upstairs 
and  after  fixing  up  my  cheek,  went  around 
to  the  difi'erent  class  rooms  and  quieted 
the  children,  and  some  of  the  girls  who  had 
become  badly  frightened.  I  then  went 
back  to  my  classroom  and  finished  the 
story  I  had  been  telling  to  the  children.  It 
was  hard  to  get  their  attention  at  first,  as 
they  had  been  pretty  bady  frightened. 
Outside  I  could  hear  the  voices  of  the  men 
as  they  tried  to  catch  some  of  the  boys. 
Turkey  and  his  gang  were  evidently  too 
much  for  them,  for  every  few  minutes,  the 
boys  would  raise  a  triumphant  yell.  I 
heard  the  occasional  swearing  of  our  men. 
gradually  the  noise  subsided.  I  dismissed 
my  class,  but  ordered  them  not  to  leave  the 
building  without  my  permission.  I  then 
went  downstairs.  The  men  were  just  com- 
ing in.  I  gasped  when  I  saw  them.  Some 
of  the  men  were  bleeding.  Some  had  their 
clothes  torn.  Mr.  Polkowsky  was  trying 
to  tie  up  his  hand,  which  was  badly  cut. 

"Oh!,"  I  cried,  "You  men  are  badly 
hurt." 

"Neefer  mint  younk  lady,"  answered 
Schnitzelwarter,  one  of  our  German  mem- 
bers, "You  got  kind  uv  a  blenty  yourself." 

I  felt  my  cheek.  It  was  still  bleeding  a 
little. 

"The  wilda  keeds,"  said  Palterino,  "Dey 
no  come  a-agin  to-night." 

The  next  day  I  again  sought  out  Turkey. 


This  time  I  was  no  faltering  amateur,  com- 
ing to  ask  favors.  I  meant  business. — 
And  he,  with  the  wonderful  ability  of  his 
class  to  read  character,  seemed  to  know  it. 
I  saw  him  square  his  shoulders,  and  as- 
sume an  indifferent  attitude,  as  I  came 
up. 

"Poiper,  lady?"  he  asked.  I  understood 
his  ruse. 

"See  here,  Turkey,  you  know  why  I  am 
here  as  well  as  I  do.  I  am  here  to  talk 
business, — and  it  would  be  better  for  you 
and  your  friends  to  listen  to  me,  see?  ' 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Look  here,  last  night  you  and  your 
gang  came  into  the  yard  of  the  Wells 
School,  and  raised  a  racket.  You  broke 
one  of  our  windows. — Wait,  that  isn't  all. 
— You  bruised  and  injured  some  of  the 
men, — not  to  mention  cutting  my  cheek." 

He  swore  under  his  breath. 

"Some  of  the  men  have  recognized  you. 
I  can  swear  to  having  seen  you  myself. 
This  morning  they  went  over  to  court  and 
swore  out  warrants  against  you.  I  have 
them.  Now,  look  here,  either  you  and 
your  gang  agree  to  stop  this,  and  join  our 
Social  Center,  or  else —  It's  up  to  you, 
Turkey — " 

"I  ain't  got  nothin'  to  say,"  he  said  in 
an  indifferent  tone,  again  shrugging  his 
shoulders.  Yet  I  saw  he  was  moved.  "If 
you  wants  to  talk  to  the  boys,  you  kin  come 
to  our  meetin'  tonight." 

"All  right,  I  will,  "I  too  readily  prom- 
ised.    "Where  will  it  be  held?" 

"Over  Maccafferty's  Saloon.  Schlitzes 
Hall."  He  watched  me  narrowly.  Mac- 
cafferty's Saloon  was  two  blocks  from 
"Death  Corner",  and  also  notorious  in  the 
vice  district.  He  knew  that  I  knew, — and 
waited  for  me  to  back  out.  My  promise 
had  already  been  given.  I  believed  that  I 
had  in  my  hands  the  means  of  breaking 
up  the  "Greccho  Gang".  I  had  to  do  that 
or  fail. 

"I'll  be  there,"  I  promised  again. 


72 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


"See  here,  lady,  are  you  on  the  level? 
Dis  ain't  no  trick  you're  playing  me  'n  de 
bunch.  Cause  if  you're  up  to  tricks — " 
He  doubled  his  fiists  suggestively. 

"I'm  honest,  Turkey.  I — I'll  come  alone, 
if  you  promise  me  that  you  and  your  boys 
will  play  fair  with  me." 

Turkey  reached  out  his  grimmy  hand. 
I  shook  it. 

"You  kin  come  at  eight,"  he  said. 

At  eight  that  evening  I  was  climbing 
the  steps  back  of  Maccafferty's  Saloon. 
When  I  reached  the  landing  I  stopped. 
My  hand  shook  as  I  tried  to  open  the  door. 
I  paused  with  my  hand  on  the  door-knob. 
Inside  there  was  a  dreadful  commotion. 
Over  the  din  I  heard  Turkey's  voice :  "And 
when  she  comes, — if  you  don't  act  respect- 
ful like  I  told  you.  I'll—"  The  rest  was 
chiefly  a  series  of  oaths.  I  turned  the  door- 
knob and  went  in. 

The  noise  stopped  so  quickly  that  the 
silence  became  oppressive.  Through  the 
smokey  air  I  could  distinguish  about 
twenty  boys,  lounging  around  in  chairs. 
Gradually  as  my  eyes  became  accustomed 
to  the  light,  I  could  see  the  features  of  the 
boys,  among  them  somewhat  apart  from 
the  others,  was  Turkey.  He  came  up  to 
me. 

"So  you  kum?"  he  asked  me.  I  saw  that 
he  respected  me  for  coming.  "You  kin 
come  up  to  the  front  of  the  room,  here  'n 
talk  to  the  boys.  Then  as  soon  as  you  's 
thru  you  kin  go." 

"All  right,  Turkey,"  I  tried  to  say  it  in 
my  everyday  voice.  I  hated  myself  for 
allowing  it  to  shake.  By  the  time  I  had 
reached  the  front  of  the  room,  I  had  re- 
gained my  courage. 


"Boys,"  I  said,  "I'm  not  here  to  make  a 
speech.  You  know  why  I  am  here  as  well 
as  I  do.  — Night  before  last,  you  boys  en- 
tered the  yard  of  the  Wells  School,  and 
raised  a  rough-hou.se.  You  broke  a  win- 
dow, and  badly  hurt  some  of  the  men."  I 
saw  their  eyes  on  my  plastered  cheek. 
"Yes,  one  of  you  did  that.  Some  of  the 
men  recognized  you,  and  went  to  court  yes- 
terday and  swore  out  warrants  for  about 
fifteen  of  you. —  I  have  those  warrants." 
I  saw  them  look  threateningly  first  at  me 
and  then  at  Turkey.  "No,  I  am  not  going 
to  use  them  unless  you  force  me  to.  Now, 
look  here,  boys,  either  you  all  swear  off, 
and  join  our  Social  Center,  or  else  I  am 
going  to  fight  you  to  the  finish,  see?  For 
some  of  you  it  will  mean  Bridewell,  or 
John  Worthy  Reformatory--"  Some  of  the 
boys  made  treatening  gestures.  I  took  no 
notice  of  it.  Turkey  silenced  them  with  a 
look. —  "Or  else  you'll  join  our  center, 
and  meet  in  our  rooms,  — and  — and  turn 
over  a  new  leaf."  I  stopped.  I  could 
hardly  keep  the  tears  back,  for  I  saw  that 
I  had  made  a  failure. 

Here,"  I  said,  "are  some  membership 
cards,  — for  — for  any  of  you  who  would 
care  to  join."  I  looked  about  the  room, 
appealingly.  No  one  stirred.  After  about 
a  minute's  pause,  Turkey  got  up. 

"Lady,"  he  said,  coming  up  to  me,  "I 
like  your  grit.  You  kin  write  me  one  of 
them  there  entrance  tickets. —  All  right, 
boys,  one  at  a  time —  This  way  up  fer 
your  entrance  tickets." 

The  boys  looked  uncertainly  at  each 
other.  There  was  a  scraping  of  chairs. 
The  noise  they  made  drowned  the  scratch- 
ing of  my  pen,  as  I  made  out  Turkey's 
"Entrance  Ticket". 


73 


That  Guilty  Feeling — 

The  Boy  put  his  hand  over  the  page  as  his  room-mate  came  in.  Some- 
thing in  the  Boy's  guilty  flush  attracted  the  new-comer's  quick  eye. 

"Good-night!"  said  the  room-mate,  "What  rot  are  you  reading?"  He 
seized  the  book  to  mock :  "  'Be  thou,  Spirit  fierce,  my  spirit,  be  thou  me, 
impetuous  one,  drive  my  dead  thoughts' —  Sa-ay,  your  thoughts  sure  are 
dead  if  you  read  that  stuff  for  fun." 

"Isn't  it  rot!"  said  the  Boy.  "I  had  to  read  it  for — for  an  assign- 
ment." Something  he  had  heard  before  crept  into  his  consciousness:  "We 
cannot  kill  and  not  kill ;  we  cannot  speak  a  loyal  word  and  remain  meanly 
silent — "  All  bosh,  of  course!  What  a  joke  to  imagine  you  had  been  dis- 
loyal to  the  spirit  of  a  man  who  lived  years  and  years  ago.  Must  have  been 
a  fine  chap,  though,  that  Shelley.  Said  the  very  things  a  man  longed  to  say. 
And  just  now  in  Autumn — 

"Drive  my  dead  thoughts  over  the  universe 
Like  withered  leaves — " 


He  bit  his  lip.  What  a  fool  the  fellows  would  think  him  if  they  knew  he 
didn't  read  poetry  just  for  assignments. 

"Meanly  silent".  Well,  that  was  it,  he  was  ashamed.  It  suddenly 
occurred  to  him  that  he  had  that  guilty  feeling  most  of  the  time.  He  men- 
tally paraphrased  Ruskin  (subconsciously  labelling  himself  a  sissy  for 
knowing  that  Ruskin  wasn't  a  kind  of  breakfast  food)  with  the  sentence., 
"Tell  me  of  what  you  are  ashamed  and  I  will  tell  you  what  you  are."  If  he 
had  been  speaking  aloud  to  the  room-mate,  he  would  have  taken  pains  to 
say,  "Tell  me  what  you  are  ashamed  of."  One  dares  not  say,  "It  is  I"  or 
"Oh  whom  are  you  speaking?"  to  one's  jeering  friends.  (Nor  even  refer 
to  himself  as  'one'. 

Studying,  too.  How  many  times  had  he  chucked  his  English  when  he 
heard  Roomy  coming,  and,  lighting  his  pipe,  leaned  back  lazily  to  look  as  if 
he  had  been  idle  for  hours !    He  was  chagrined  by  a  92  in  the  stuff".    Good 


Heavens!  Everybody  would  think  him  a  grind.  He  talked  as  the  rest  did 
about  "putting  things  over  on  the  Profs"  and  pretended  to  flunk  at  least 
the  minimum  that  popularity  demanded. 

The  Boy  did  not  know  that  Roomy  had  a  passion  for  sunsets — Roomy 
was  too  careful  to  say,  "Oh  gosh!  I  bet  it'll  rain  tonight,"  whenever  he 
saw  one — or  that  Roomy  was  ashamed  of  being  honest,  and  scrupulously 
sought  to  appear  a  double-died  cheat  and  liar.  The  two  were  daily  letting 
their  spirits  be  sapped  by  that  deep  sense  of  guilt.  Their  real  selves  were 
becoming  flabby  from  disuse.  Some  day  "Be  thou,  spirit  fierce,  my  spirit!" 
would  mean  less  to  the  Boy  than  stock-quotations.  Some  day  the  crimson 
sun  in  a  nest  of  gold  would  only  remind  Roomy  of  the  price  of  red  satin. 
The  thing  of  which  a  man  is  ashamed  he  lo.ses.  If  it  is  a  wrong  thing,  his 
loss  is  right.  If  it  is  a  right  thing,  his  loss  is  wrong.  He  is  twisting  values 
somewhere.  A  man  is  a  cheat  when  he  tosses  the  coin  up  himself  so  that 
it  comes  down  on  the  wrong  side.  Eventually,  he  fails  in  the  great 
gamble  .  .  . 

The  Boy  and  Roomy  leaned  out  of  the  window  together  that  night. 
Roomy  wanted  to  see  the  moon  tip-toe,  silver-clad,  across  the  tops  of  the 
pine  trees.  (He  said,  "I  don't  want  the  place  filled  with  cigaret  smoke.") 
The  Boy  wanted  to  feel  the  west  wind — "the  breath  of  Autumn's  being, 
from  whose  unseen  presence  the  leaves,  dead,  are  driven  like  ghosts  from 
an  enchanter  fleeing!"     (  He  said,  "I've  simply  gotta  cool  off".") 

Then  out  of  the  night,  through  the  rustle  of  leaves  went  the  figure. 
That  collar  open  at  the  throat !  That  velveteen  jacket!  That  ruffled  hair! 
Just  beneath  the  spattering  light  of  the  arc,  the  poet  looked  up.  Youth 
called  to  youth.  His  eyes  offered  beauty.  How  wistfully  his  lips  moved  to 
say  again, 

"Drive  my  dead  thoughts  over  the  universe, 
Like  withered  leaves  to  quicken  a  new  birth,  .  .  . 
Be  through  my  lips  to  unawakened  earth 
The  trumpet  of  a  prophecy !    Oh  wind, 
//  winter  comes,  can  spring  be  far  behind?" 

But  the  twentieth  century  spring  was  ashamed  to  answer.    In  a  swirl 
of  withered  leaves,  the  figure  vanished. 
Roomy  laughed. 
"What  a  crazy  guy!" 
"Wasn't  he  a  nut?"  said  the  Boy. 


AN  INFORMAL  ESSAY- 
TO  THINK  OR  NOT  TO  THINK 


F.  HOULTON  LAUDER 


HEN  other  topics  of  conversa- 
tion are  exhausted  it  is  a  favor- 
ite thing  for  many  people  to 
cast  reflections  upon  the  college 
man.  Although  many  criticisms  are  made 
no  one  of  them  is  so  justifiable  as  that  the 
college  man  is  not  a  thinker.  That  a  man 
who  must  use  his  brain  continually  for 
four  years  is  not  a  thinker  sounds  para- 
doxical. It  is  a  true  bill  notwithstanding. 
We  come  to  the  University  with  the  ex- 
pectation of  being  graduated  in  four  years, 
a  finished  product.  We  read  books,  we 
recite,  we  perform  experiments  in  a  pro- 
saic way  as  though  such  were  a  sort  of 
necessary  evil.  In  due  time  then,  we  get 
our  degree  and  are  ready  to  take  our  place 
in  afi'airs.  This  is  the  point  to  be  consid- 
ered :  are  we  ready  ?  If  we  are,  well  and 
good,  but  if  we  are  not,  the  unpreparedness 
may  be  traced  to  our  inability  to  think  for 
ourselves.  And  this  is  the  salient  feature 
upon  which  we  receive  so  much  criticism. 
When  we  go  into  active  life  we  are  con- 
fronted with  problems  to  be  solved.  If  the 
problem  is  one  in  economics,  we  remember, 
say,  the  rule  or  paragraph  on  page  eighty- 
two  ;  but  upon  looking  it  up  we  find  that 
it  is  only  a  general  statement  or  solution. 
If  the  problem  is  one  in  graphics  we  are 
able  to  find  a  general  formula  covering  a 
general  class  of  which  the  case  in  hand  is 
a  member.  We  are  confronted  with  the 
question  of  how  to  adapt  our  knowledge  to 
meet  the  specific  case.    In  other  words,  we 


must  learn  how  to  apply  that  information 
which  we  have  already  learned. 

Consider  the  bookworm — a  fine  example 
of  mere  mechanical  herding  of  knowledge. 
He  is  a  species  of  the  genus  homo  which 
likes  to  read  better  than  eat.  He  prefers 
an  afternoon  spent  in  reading  Hume  or 
Locke  to  one  spent  in  rooting  on  Illinois 
Field.  His  interest  is  tied  up  in  some  hypo- 
thesis advanced  several  centuries  ago  and 
never  heard  of  outside  of  a  few  old  vol- 
umes. He  is  to  be  found  any  day  lounging 
about  with  a  book  in  hand  when  he  should 
be  doing  something  for  the  common  good. 

If  you  ask  the  bookworm  a  question  out- 
side his  own  particular  realm,  you  will  find 
that  he  cannot  carry  on  an  intelligent  con- 
versation. His  thinking  apparatus  re- 
sponds only  to  the  stimulus  of  black  lines 
upon  a  white  page.  To  put  the  matter 
plainly,  he  carries  his  knowledge  in  his 
memory  instead  of  in  understanding. 
Such  a  person  when  talking  upon  his  own 
particular  item  of  interest  is  a  bore.  When 
he  attempts  to  speak  on  a  subject  outside 
his  own  province  or  one  which  demands 
thought  he  is  an  ass.  To  the  bookworm, 
thinking  is  a  chore.  "Why  think,"  he  asks, 
"when  I  can  find  this  or  that  already  writ- 
ten upon  by  Plato  or  Aristotle?" 

Not  meaning  to  flatter  him  at  all  nor  to 
disparage  the  ancient  philosophers,  he  was 
blessed  with  a  mind  just  as  they  were  and 
probably  an  equally  good  one  with  which 
to  begin  life.    The  difference  between  them 


76 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINP: 


is  that  the  ijltilosapJicis  used  their  faeiil- 
ties  to  the  fullest  e.rtoit  and  now  they  are 
looked  upon  with  respect.  The  bookworm 
on  the  other  hand  is  satisfied  to  take  other 
people's  opinions  whole,  swallowing  them 
without  a  moment's  mastication. 

The  result  of  this  procedure  is  that  the 
bookworm  gradually  becomes  through  his 
faculty  of  memory  a  mental  truck  horse, 
peddling  other  people's  knowledge.  It 
would  be  amusing  if  he  should  be  asked 
what  his  own  ideas  were  upon  a  subject, 
especially  if  he  happened  just  then  to  be 
quoting  Marcus  Aurelius  on  the  matter. 
Or,  if  we  should  be  patient  enough  to  hear 
him  to  the  end  of  his  memorized  disserta- 
tion he  would  be  discovered  as  the  dis- 
gusting phonograph  that  he  is. 

We  dislike  the  bookworm  because  he  is 
nothing  more  than  a  walking  encyclopedia, 
or  a  player  piano  which  keeps  on  going  as 
long  as  it  receives  an  external  stimulant. 
We  might  be  able  to  bear  him  if  it  were  not 
for  this  superlative  imperfection.  That 
defect  is  his  inability  or  unwillingness  to 
digest  and  arrange  that  information  which 
he  knows  and  to  apply  it  in  his  every  day 
life. 

This  fault  which  we  so  strenuously  ob- 
ject to  in  the  bookworm  is  exactly  the  one 
which  people  of  affairs  criticize  in  us. 
They  see  us  as  containers  filled  to  the  brim 
with  a  helter-skelter  mass  of  information 
such  as  Chemistry  la,  Physics  3a,  Eco- 
nomics 22,  and  the  rest.  We  throw  to- 
gether a  pile  of  disassociated,  unwieldy 
facts  which  falls  like  a  house  of  cards 
when  something  solid  hits  it. 

When  we  are  brought  face  to  face  with 
the  problems  of  the  world,  unless  we  have 
the  ability  to  adapt  our  knowledge  to  the 
new  conditions,  we  fail.  Furthermore,  we 
continue  to  fail  until  that  faculty  for 
adaptation  is  finally  beaten  into  our  heads. 

Courses  in  subjects  should  be  used  as 
hints  indicating  something  yet  to  be  .stud- 
ied out.     We  should   use  our  courses  as 


crutches  to  help  us  along  until  we  are  able 
to  get  onto  our  own  feet  and  think  mat- 
ters out  for  our.selves.  Instead  of  doing 
this,  however,  we  go  over  the  material, 
take  it  for  what  we  can  see  it  to  be,  and 
nothing  more.  A  course  in  which  a  man 
memorizes  only  a  conglomerate  mass  of 
facts  without  attempting  to  arrange  or  di- 
gest them  is  of  no  benefit  to  him.  He 
might  as  well  have  committed  to  memory 
the  Iliad  in  the  original  Greek  for  all  the 
good  he  will  ever  get  out  of  his  efforts. 
Neither  of  the.se  performances  imprese.ss 
his  understanding,  and  of  the  two  the  re- 
peating of  the  Iliad  would  probably  com- 
mand more  admiration. 

I  hesitate  to  take  an  example  from  the 
bluffer,  but  in  one  way  he  gets  more  out 
of  his  four  years  here  than  people  think. 
It  is  a  familiar  story  that  Thompson — any 
name  will  do — who  studied  the  main  points 
of  his  lessons  more  to  pass  the  time  than 
for  any  other  reason  has  made  a  big  name 
for  himself.  It  has  also  been  said  that 
Robinson  was  a  fine  scholar  in  the  Univer- 
sity but  he  was  never  able  to  get  far  in 
business.  A  simple  investigation  of  the 
facts  reveals  the  reasons  for  their  respec- 
tive attainments.  Thompson  associated 
and  arranged  what  he  did  study  so  that 
when  called  upon  he  was  thinking  fast  and 
was  able  to  use  his  limited  knowledge  of 
the  subject  to  the  best  advantage.  Robin- 
son studied  the  material  diligently  and  re- 
cited from  memory.  He  was,  of  course,  re- 
warded with  an  enviable  grade.  The  dif- 
ference between  these  men  was  that  one 
learned  to  think  while  the  other  simply 
used  his  memory.  This  is  the  whole  point. 
The  man  ivho  has  not  learned  to  think  is 
uneducated. 

Mere  erudition  without  thought  never 
developed  a  man  nor  broadened  his  char- 
acter. Many  minds  are  not  able  to  think 
beyond  conventional  matter.  On  the  other 
hand  there  are  many  people  who  have 
never  seen  a  college  yet  are  shrewd  think- 


77 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


ers.      I   have   in   mind   an   old   fisherman  tenaciously.     And  this  is  in  spite  of  the 

whom  I  met  on  Nantucket  Island.    He  had  fact  that  he  can  give  no  accurate  train  of 

never  gone  to  school  a  day  in  his  life,  but  reasoning  by  which  he  came  to  his  conclu- 

his  philosophy  of  life  was  excellent  as  were  sion.    The  mass  of  illiterate  people  are  for- 

also    his    remarks    upon    current    topics,  tunate  in  that  they  judge  for  themselves, 

Further,  he  was  able  to  discuss  his  views  but  unwise  in  that  they  trust  an  ignorant 

intelligently.     While  not  educated  in  the  mind. 

accepted  sense  of  the  word,  he  had  more         To  be  a  time  server,  to  go  through  the 

ideas  and  much  more  sense  stored  in  his  University  as  a  means  of  spending  four 

mind  than  many  college  graduates.  years  pleasantly  is  merely  the  formality 

As  college  students  we  enjoy  almost  un-  of  walking  in  the  front  door  and  out  the 

limited  facilities  for  the  acquiring  of  in-  back  door.     To  be  a  book  worm  is  merely 

formation.     Why  cannot  we  go  one  step  to  absorb  what  cannot  be  used.     As  for 

further  and  think  out  conclusions?    When  most  of  us,  we  shut  up  our  information  on 

you  present  a  case  to  a  ditch  digger  or  one  a  subject  in  a  neat  brain  cell,  give  it  an 

of  his  class,  he  is  able  to  arrive  at  a  de-  appropriate  label  and  allow  it  to  stand.    It 

cision    on    the    matter    almost    instantly,  is   only   brought   out   for   dress   parades. 

More  than  that,  he  clings  to  his  verdict  never  for  hard  work  in  the  trenches. 


MOODS 

AARON  EARNEST  SINGER 

Days  of  glory,  days  of  dread — 
Days  in  which  the  heavens  shed 
Sunshine,  dampness,  snow,  or  rain — 
Days  of  joy  and  days  of  pain. 
Days  of  mirth  and  days  of  grief, 
Days  when  sadness  is  relief. 
Days  of  hope  and  of  despair — • 
Blithesome  days  and  days  of  care. 
Days  of  love  and  days  of  hate. 
Days  of  silence,  days  of  prate. 
Days  harmonic,  days  discordant. 
Days  in  which  the  mind  lies  dormant. 
Pious,  sacred,  solemn  days — 
Fickle,  fiendish,  feasting  days — 
Days  of  health  and  days  of  illness, 
Days  of  tumult,  days  of  stillness. 
Days  of  business,  days  of  leisure, 
Days  of  toil  and  days  of  pleasure: 
Aye!  in  every  person's  treasure, 
Lies  concealed  his  tearful  measure ! 
Then  why  write  and  preach  and  chant- 
Why,  oh  why,  to  rave  and  rant? — 
Every  mortal  undergoes 
Cheer  and  overwhelming  woes ! 

78 


MASK  AND  BAUBLE 
IN  "IT  PAYS  TO  ADVERTISE" 


DOROTHY  SEIDEL 


|T  PAYS  TO  ADVERTISE",  a 
popular  play  of  the  modern 
stage,  was  delightfully  enjoy- 
I  able  to  its  audience  when  pre- 
sented by  Mask  and  Bauble,  as  one  event 
of  this  annual  home  coming.  Mrs.  Charles 
Albert  Gille  of  Decatur,  who  undertook  its 
direction,  has  once  more  proven  her  effi- 
ciency. The  lines  were  cleverly  written 
and  on  the  whole  well  interpreted  by  the 
entire  cast,   although   at   times   we   were 


made  uncomfortably  aware  that  it  was 
acting.  The  mechanical  grind  of  a  well 
coached  play  was  more  than  occasionally 
apparent. 

The  first  act  acquaints  us  once  again 
with  the  old  problem  of  a  doting,  am- 
bitious parent  who  wishes  to  see  his  only 
.son  a  success  in  business.  The  contriving 
father,  with  the  help  of  his  attractive  pri- 
vate secretary,  proceeds  to  apply  a  stim- 
ulus to  his  son's  slumbering  powers. 


79 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


The  hero  of  "It  Pays  To  Advertise  ',  in- 
aptly though  conscientiously  portrayed  by 
P.  G.  King,  is  unceremoniously  launched 
upon  his  own  resources,  by  an  apparently 
indifferent  parent.  He  is  left  to  either  sink 
or  swim. 

Bernice  McNair,  as  Mary  Grayson,  the 
private  secretary,  at  father's  urging, 
rather  unconvincingly  pretends  an  affec- 
tion which  is  to  lead  to  the  son's  success. 
She  displayed  the  brainy  cultured  business 
of  today,  rather  masterfully  at  times,  al- 
though once  or  twice  we  are  strikingly 
made  aware  of  a  forced  atmosphere. 

The  audience  is  asked  to  pre-suppose 
that  this  only  son  is  endowed  sufficiently 
with  education,  "savior  faire",  and  the  gift 
of  conversation,  combined  with  the  love  of 
a  charming  girl  to  "make  good"  under 
these  strained  conditions.  Just  how  to  do 
it — this  is  the  problem  which  he  faces. 

In  the  heights  of  uncertainty,  H.  A.  Wil- 
liamson, in  the  character  of  Ambrose 
Peale,  an  enthusiastic  believer  in  the  power 
of  publicity,  makes  his  timely  entrance. 
His  was  a  well  done  piece  of  work.  Peale 
straightway  purposes  that  our  hero  finance 
a  somewhat  unsuccessful  undertaking  of 
his — Peale's  own.  But  his  efforts  meet 
with  no  success.  This  refusal  from  our 
hero  brings  down  an  avalanche  upon  him 
— an  avalanche  in  the  form  of  a  lengthy 
dissertation  upon  the  power  of  publicity — 
the  importance  of  the  press.  His  argu- 
ments are  so  overwhelmingly  convincing 
that  our  hero  installs  him  in  his  business — 
the  business  that  is  to  be. 

The  play  develops  various  complications 
in  launching,  on  imaginary  capital,  a  com- 
petitive business  to  manufacture  "13  Soap, 
Unlucky  for  Dirt",  in  opposition  to  father's 
soap  monopoly.  All  this  surreptitiously 
watched  over  by  an  apparently  indifferent 
father. 

Advertising — the  psychology  of  mind — 
the  power  of  suggestion — are  the  elusive 
elements   they   depend   upon   for   success. 


Bankruptcy,  fraud,  failure  and  even  im- 
prisonment seem  staring  them  in  the  face, 
when  the  day  is  saved — publicity  has  won 
the  day — "13  Soap"  is  in  great  demand, 
father  is  agreeably  nonplussed,  cleverly 
fooled,  and  finally  sold — the  business. 

Father  is  apparently  thwarted,  being 
forced  to  pay  his  debt  which  he  had  made 
on  the  assurance  of  his  son's  failure — only 
to  find  that  his  money  is  really  a  belated 
wedding  present.  Peale  is  given  a  perma- 
nent position  in  the  firm  and  all,  even 
father,  admit  the  forcefulness  of  the  press. 

Merle  Turner  again  showed  her  versa- 
tility in  her  difficult  role  as  the  Countess 
de  Beaurien,  alias  a  crook.  Both  her  cos- 
tuming and  acting  was  charming,  her 
voice  well  modulated  and  her  work  well 
received. 

Irene  Seaton  as  the  petite  maid  dis- 
played a  sense  of  humor  and  adaptability 
in  her  handling  of  French. 

Mary  Caldwell  made  an  admirable  bus- 
iness woman,  and  S.  A.  Walser  a  very  un- 
pretentious butler.  M.  A.  Romano  as  the 
relentless  collector  of  just  debts  was  good. 
Ellery,  the  effeminate  son  of  a  wealthy 
father,  was  a  trifle  overdone  by  T.  W. 
Kaempfer.  William  Smith,  as  interpreted 
by  I.  L.  Peterson,  was  the  easy  going  old 
friend  of  the  family  that  he  was  supposed 
to  be.  R.  P.  Benedict,  as  Charles  Bronso, 
representative  for  Marshall  Field,  gave  us 
a  sense  of  satisfaction  in  the  clean-cut  bus- 
iness man  of  today. 

One  of  the  cleverest  pieces  of  work  was 
done  by  J.  E.  Davis  in  his  interpretation 
of  Cyrus  Martin,  the  affectionate,  though 
exacting  father.  He  read  his  lines  with 
just  the  right  suggestion  of  meaning  and 
appreciation. 

The  play  owes  its  success  to  its  clever 
lines,  which  held  a  twang  of  real  life ;  its 
lucky  combination  of  enthusiastic  players 
and  clever  stage  direction,  together  with 
an  established  predisposition  of  the  audi- 
ence to  enjoy  the  production. 


80 


il 


SUBALTERN  WILKES 


JOHN  0.  RICHARDS 


ilHAT  can  you  do?"  The  Colo- 
nel's head  was  thrust  forward ; 
his  body  was  rigid  as  he  await- 
ed an  answer. 

P"or  several  moments  following  his  ques- 
tion all  was  still.  The  young  subaltern, 
standing  at  attention  near  the  entrance 
flap  of  the  tent,  the  flap  itself,  the  few 
prints  on  the  canvas  walls,  all  were  rigid 
and  silent  in  the  pervading  calmness  of  the 
early  French  twilight. 

The  Colonel's  eyes  burned  queerly  as  a 
ray  of  the  setting  sun  crept  through  the 
doorway  and  spanned  the  tent's  interior 
with  a  narrow  golden  bridge.  Then  "What 
can  you  do?" — sharply,  almost  harshly. 
His  right  hand,  resting  on  the  wicker  table, 
strummed  out  a  tattoo,  loud  in  the  sur- 
I'ounding  calm,  and  ever  so  short. 

The  eyes  of  Subaltern  Wilkes  dropped 
suddenly ;  and  his  head  was  bowed. 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  know,  sir."  A  red 
splotch,  as  of  shame,  appeared  in  either 
blonde  cheek.  His  right  foot  stirred  ner- 
vously on  the  grassy  floor. 

"Wilkes,"  said  the  superior,  "you  have 
surprised  me  greatly.  When  Johnston, 
Arber,  and  you  came  to  this  regiment  I  ex- 
pected fine  things  of  all  three.  You  know 
about  Johnston ;  he  died  at  Verdun,  holding 
a  trench  with  five  Tommies  against  a  com- 
pany of  Boches.  And  Arber  fell  only  last 
week,  just  three  miles  south  of  here,  pull- 
ing a  wounded  Frenchman  to  safety  in  the 
very  teeth  of  a  German  battery.  Shrapnel 
told  his  story.  Went  to  his  death  spinning 
like  a  top.  I'm  told,  and  shouting  even  as 
he     collapsed:        'Britain,     Britain,     St. 


George  for  England!'    Wilkes,  sit  down." 

Once  more  the  tent  grew  quiet.  Outside 
a  breeze  was  stirring;  now  and  then  a 
zephyr  stole  in  to  ruffle  the  maps  and  pic- 
tures on  the  walls,  to  stir  the  yellow  curls 
of  the  subaltern,  ever  so  gently.  The  su- 
perior, staring  at  him  perplexedly,  pitied 
him  but  when  he  spoke,  there  was  no  sign 
of  this.  His  tone  was  sharp  and  held  a 
faint  and  very  noticeable  measure  of  con- 
tempt. 

"I  shouldn't  have  mentioned  Johnston 
and  Arber,"  he  resumed,  "but  that  I 
thought  that  it  might  do  you  some  good. 
Wilkes,  I'm  going  to  give  you  another 
chance." 

His  tone  grew  less  sharp,  more  pliant, 
persuasive.  "For  God's  sake  man  try  to 
realize  what  this  means.  Your  commis- 
sion, your  honor,  your  very  life  happiness 
depend  on  how  you  act  now.  One  more 
chance,  if  you  fail  you  lose  your  commis- 
sion. I'll  not  even  let  you  fight  as  a  pri- 
vate. I'll  ship  you  back  to  England,  a  dere- 
lict. You  know  what  that  means,  your 
family,  your  happiness  and  theirs." 

"I  have  asked  you  what  you  could  do. 
The  matter  still  rests  with  you.  Think  it 
over.  I'll  be  back  here  in  fifteen  minutes. 
That's  your  respite.  I'll  expect  something 
definite  when  I  return." 

The  Colonel  strode  from  the  tent  leaving 
within,  his  head  buried  in  arms  out- 
stretched on  the  wicker  table,  Wilkes,  the 
man  whom  other  men  called  a  coward,  he 
who  cried  like  a  woman  when  the  charge 
sounded,  the  torpor  of  whose  fear  often 
prevented  his  leaping  from  the  trench  at 


81 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


the  order,  who  frequently  fainted  at  the 
sight  of  too  much  blood. 

XL 

In  this  game  of  war,  this  seething,  shud- 
dering realm  of  hate,  of  roaring  sounds, 
of  cold  burnished  steel,  and  of  shattered 
bodies,  warm  and  bloody,  what  myriads  of 
struggles  must  occur  in  the  minds  of  the 
men  who  fight,  those  who  must  key  up 
their  will  to  dare  the  impossible,  and  force 
their  determination  to  accomplish  the  un- 
thinkable. These  are  the  real  heroes,  who 
fear  and  yet  dare.  These  are  the  truly 
courageous,  who  feel  the  instinctive  terror 
and  yet  shake  oflF  its  detaining  hand  and 
fight,  and  die. 

As  Subaltern  Wilkes  sat,  crumpled  and 
bowed  at  the  wicker  table,  fighting  his  bat- 
tle with  fear,  how  awful  his  thoughts,  how 
appalling  his  anticipation  of  that  redemp- 
tion he  knew  was  to  be  exacted  of  him. 

He  simply  couldn't  fight,  he  thought. 
He  hated  blood  and  shattered  bodies;  and 
he  feared  with  the  fear  of  a  deeply  inher- 
ent and  inherited  dread  of  death,  the 
poison  gas,  the  shrapnel,  and  the  bayonets 
of  the  Germans. 

The  thought  that  his  early  training 
should  have  helped  him  now,  in  this  war, 
passed  through  his  mind.  At  school  he  had 
gone  through  a  hardy,  rigorous  training 
of  athletic  discipline.  He  had  won  honor 
in  the  realm  of  sport.  He  had  learned  how 
to  take  orders ;  and  to  fight  until  exhausted 
on  the  Rugby  field,  and  in  the  long  distance 
races. 

Yet,  now  he  lived  in  a  state  of  ceaseless 
fear  and  inefficiency.  In  a  trench  he  was 
worse  than  useless.  He  had  winced  at  ex- 
plosions from  the  start,  and  usually  wept 
at  the  signal  for  a  charge.  His  terror  was 
ever  with  him,  constantly  augmented  with 
the  passing  of  time,  growing  greater 
rather  than  lesser  at  each  new  experience ; 
a  dread  aggravated  and  heightened  with 
endless  repetition. 


His  condition  now  was  intensely  piti- 
able. With  a  terrible  fear  at  his  heart, 
with  his  whole  future  re.sting  upon  his  ac- 
tion, with  but  five  minutes  left  until  the 
Colonel's  returning,  he  sat  and  strove  to 
nerve  himself  to  a  decision,  to  construct 
for  him.self  a  policy  of  redemption  to  serve 
as  a  balm  upon  the  sore  of  his  cowardice. 
God,  what  was  he  to  do? 

Suddenly  he  raised  his  head  and  looked 
out  through  the  doorway.  The  sun  had 
just  set,  and  the  Western  sky  was  invaded 
in  all  corners  by  a  great,  rare  mantle  of 
carmine. 

The  breeze  had  fallen  again  and  the  in- 
terior of  the  tent  had  grown  stuflfy  and  de- 
pressing. Subaltern  Wilkes  felt  that  he 
would  like  to  be  outside.  Acting  upon  his 
desire,  he  rose  and  walked  to  the  doorway 
of  the  tent.  Pausing  for  a  moment,  his 
troubled  eye  dwelt  upon  the  glory  of  the 
sunset,  and  then,  swinging  slowly  around, 
he  faced  the  east  and  set  oflf  in  that  direc- 
tion at  a  slow,  meditative  pace. 

Presently  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  hor- 
izon and  glanced  along  the  sweep  of  the 
slight,  rolling  raise  which  formed  the 
boundary  of  his  sight  in  that  direction. 
The  eastern  sky  was  darkening  rapidly 
and  here  and  there  in  its  expanse  could  be 
distinguished  the  first,  faint  elusive  stars. 

Suddenly  the  slowly  moving  gaze  of  the 
subaltern  stopped  and  focused  upon  an  ob- 
ject resting  upon  a  low  hill  to  the  left  and 
east.  It  shown  but  faintly  in  the  twilight 
air  as  a  trim  mass  of  two  black  wings,  and 
a  torpedo-like  car,  these  blending  with  the 
dimness  of  the  surrounding  objects,  yet 
clearly  distinguishable.  It  was  a  mono- 
plane. 

III. 

There  come  times  in  the  lives  of  all  when 
it  seems  as  if  our  destinies  are  no  longer 
in  our  own  keeping,  when  we  are  moved 
by  impulses  which  are  stronger  than  any- 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


or  counteract  them.  We  act  at  these  times 
in  spite  of  our  inclinations  and  carry  out, 
seemingly,  a  plan  of  different  texture  than 
our  own  shaping  would  have  had,  and  a?- 
complish  ends  which  before  we  would  have 
thought  impossible  and  unbelievable.  We 
act  and  react  at  such  times  as  veritable 
pawns  of  Fate. 

Just  such  an  impulse  as  this  seemed  to 
influence  Subaltern  Wilkes  as  he  moved 
toward  the  flyer.  A  force  irresistible  in 
its  power,  drew  him  to  its  side.  Here  he 
hesitated,  the  fear  again  gripping  his 
heart. 

He  had  always  been  afraid  of  aero- 
planes. He  hated  the  frail,  flimsy  things 
which  took  men  up  into  that  blue,  empty 
void,  and  so  often  came  hurtling  down  in 
those  sickening  swoops,  to  death  and  de- 
struction. 

He  had  known  several  flying  men.  Now 
all  were  dead,  each  the  victim  of  one  of 
those  terrible  drops  from  unbelievable 
heights  in  the  air.  They  had  all  been  fine 
chaps,  with  their  sharp,  wide-awake  man- 
ner and  their  daring,  skillful  ways.  He 
had  learned  much  concerning  the  opera- 
tion of  air-cars  from  these  ill-fated  ac- 
quaintances, but  had  never  been  able  to 
bring  himself  to  the  point  of  flying  in  one 
of  them. 

But  a  crucial  moment  had  come  now  in 
the  life  of  Subaltern  Wilkes.  His  was  the 
moment  which  comes  at  the  parting  of  the 
ways,  when  impulses  of  the  clay  fade  be- 
fore mightier  forces  of  vague  and  unknown 
power  which  necessitate  their  departure 
and  hold  sway  upon  their  passing. 

Mechanically  he  climbed  up  over  the 
fuselage  of  the  machine  and  settled  deeply 
into  the  cockpit.  Soon  the  powerful  motor 
was  clattering  and  the  monoplane  shot  out 
across  the  field  and  into  the  air ;  on  and  out 
into  the  carmine  flare  of  the  dying  sun. 
Subaltern  Wilkes  was  away  on  his  pen- 
ance, his  pilgrimage  of  fire. 

Those  upon  the  earth  watched  and  mar- 


veled at  the  beauty  of  the  flight.  Far  out 
in  the  red-golden  glow,  the  great,  black 
machine  banked  steeply  and  turned  north. 

An  orderly  passing  the  Colonel's  tent 
found  the  officer  standing  before  the  en- 
trance, his  eye  tracing  the  distant  motion 
of  the  flyer. 

The  orderly  stopped,  saluted,  and  falling 
into  a  position  of  re.st,  remarked,  "A  beau- 
tiful flight,  sir,  who  is  it?" 

"Subaltern  Wilkes,"  came  the  reply, 
"I've  been  watch — " 

"Why,  good  God,  sir,  look  look,  as  I  live 
he's  afire,  sir." 

It  was  true.  To  those  upon  the  earth 
the  catastrophe  at  first  took  on  attributes 
of  a  still  more  beautiful  picture  than  the 
one  of  a  moment  before.  A  faint  splotch 
of  light  appeared  near  the  machine's  head 
which  spread  and  gradually  heightened  in 
radiance  until  the  whole  car  seemed  suf- 
fused with  a  clinging,  crimson  glow.  Rap- 
idly the  color  of  the  flame  deepened  into 
carmine  and  the  picture  of  the  burning 
plane  seemed  almost  to  melt  into  the  ruddy 
haze  of  the  background. 

Then  came  the  explosion.  Those  below 
had  been  awaiting  its  sharp,  cruel  report 
and  would  have  looked  away  with  its  occur- 
ence but  could  not.  Downward,  with  an 
ever  gaining  speed,  came  that  twisted 
mass  of  charred,  blackened  wood  and  wire. 
And,  as  it  fell,  it  left  in  its  path  a  great, 
slender,  twisting  cylinder  of  smoke,  dense- 
ly thick,  and  black  against  the  twilight 
glow. 

And,  presently,  the  wind  of  the  upper 
air  dispelled  this  sable  spectre ;  gently,  and 
slowly  carried  it  from  the  realm  of  livng 
things,  out  into  the  fast  spreading  black- 
ness of  the  summer  star-lit  night. 

And  the  Colonel,  who  was  not  a  bad  man, 
nor  a  hard  one,  but  only  a  dutiful  one, 
sighed  as  he  passed  on  into  the  tent. 

Seated  again  at  the  wicker  table,  he 
mu.sed  to  himself — "John.ston,  Arber — 
Wilkes." 


83 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


4. . ._.. ._.._. — ._. .. 


Students! 


SATISFACTION  is  the  slogan  at 
Hoover's  Sanitary  Barber  Shop 

At  the  First  National  Bank 
Freshmen,  ask  the  upper  classmen 


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East  University  Avenue 


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THE  ILLINOIS  PENNANT  COMPANY 


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84 


m 

^&- 

\^^M 

xn 

^M 

^M 

M 

^^ 

>lffl^ 

A  DEFIANCE  TO  THE  ELEMENTS 

CURTIS  BENTON 

The  bard  as  he  stood  on  the  wild  hill's  brow 

In  the  moonlight's  savage  ray, 
While  the  storm-clouds  thundered  overhead, 

He  sang  a  defiant  lay : 

"Oh!  what  care  I  for  the  elements; 

The  tempest  driven  rain? 
I  only  laugh  at  the  storm-cloud's  threat 

And  the  storm  hag's  howling  vain ! 

"I  only  laugh  at  the  sleet  and  snow, 
At  the  chill  of  the  winter's  breeze! 

I  only  jeer  at  the  night  wind's  blast. 
At  the  baneful  moaning  trees! 

"I  only  laugh  at  the  hail  and  shower 

At  the  blare  of  the  scorching  sun ! 
I  only  jeer  at  the  lightning's  flash, 

At  the  thunder's  pealing  gun. 

"Then  what  care  I  for  the  elements: 

The  tempest  driven  rain? 
I  only  laugh  at  the  storm-cloud's  threat 

And  the  storm  hag's  howling  vain!" 

The  storm-clouds  raved,  the  lightning  flashed, 
The  wind  roared  with  the  voice  of  hate, 

The  clouds  re-echoed  the  thunder's  growl 
Which  only  rumbled,  "Wait!" 

The  years  brought  age  to  his  stalwart  frame, 

And  at  length  he  passed  away, 
And  they  buried  him  on  the  lonely  hill 

Where  the  savage  moonlight  lay. 

The  storm  hag  shrieked  in  fiendish  glee 

The  ominous  gale  awoke. 
And  through  the  din  of  the  thunder's  rack. 

The  voice  of  the  tempest  spoke : 

"Oh !  man  may  laugh  at  the  elements 

And  defy  with  his  puny  breath. 
He  may  hoot  and  jeer  at  the  storm  king's  threat. 

But  he  cannot  jest  with  Death !" 
85 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


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Chocolate,."  if  you  wish  to  really  please  her.  J 

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The  ILLINOIS  THEATRE 

SEASON  1917-1918 


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THE  BALM  OF  GILEAD 


M.  J.  McCONNELL 


XD  it  came  to  pass  that  a  certain 
preacher  of  the  gospel,  called  by 
the  good  people  of  his  parish, 
Reverend  Ithicary  Solomnius 
Watkins,  was  called  upon  to  make  a  jour- 
ney to  a  far  and  wicked  land  to  dwell  for 
a  season  among  evil  inn-keepers  and  sel- 
lers of  wines. 

The  good  prophet,  Ithicary,  was  not  pos- 
sessed with  worldly  wisdom,  but  when  a 
man  prideth  himself  upon  his  knowledge 
of  what  is  good  and  what  is  evil,  as  did  the 
Reverend  Watkins,  why  need  he  fear  the 
power  of  the  evil  one  ? 

And  Ithicary  vowed  a  vow,  saying, 

"Thither  will  I  take  myself;  preach  the 
word  of  the  gospel  to  the  evil-doers,  and 
convert  them  to  the  paths  of  righteousness. 
There  with  the  help  of  my  good  brethren 
will  I  show  these  'meek  and  humble'  tasters 
of  the  wine  when  it  is  red'  the  straight  and 
narrow  path." 

Thus  spake  he  to  his  noble  wife,  Mary, 
as  he  put  on  his  nocturnal  raiment  of 
many  colors  and  went  to  his  cot. 

And  on  the  morrow  when  he  aro?e,  he 
spake  again  of  his  mission  to  the  distant 
land.  His  wife  gave  him  graciously  of 
savoury  meat,  bread  and  advice  which  she 
had  prepared  and  warned  him  against 
these  many  friends  of  Satan  that  he  might 
not  be  cast  down  with  them. 

He  took  unto  himself  these  gifts  and 
spake  unto  her,  saying, 

"Behold  woman  I  I  am  of  him  that  hath 
cast  away  scores  of  wine-takers.  Fear  ye 
not". 


But  Mary  heeded  not,  for  she  was  one 
of  those  who  trusted  in  his  ways. 

Thus  spake  he  and  departed  upon  his 
journey. 

His  wife  was  a  good  wife  and  took  heed 
lest  her  first-chosen  fall  into  wacked  ways. 
However,  she  feared  no  evil  to  come  to 
him,  for  -she  trusted  greatly  in  him.  So 
she  spake  unto  her  neighbor,  Margaret, 
saying, 

"Surely  my  husband  will  return  from 
that  wicked  land  pure  in  spirit  and  blest 
with  the  power  of  converting  wicked  souls. 
He  has  indeed  to  dwell  among  thieves  and 
robbers,  yet  shall  he  come  home  pure  in 
heart  and  soul." 

And  her  neighbor,  Margaret,  answered 
her  saying, 

"Verily,  I  fear  thy  husband  shall  fall 
into  wicked  ways ;  I  pray  thee  let  him  not 
go.  Cast  him  not  into  the  way  of  tempta- 
tion." 

And  when  he  was  come  to  the  end  of  his 
journey,  he  sought  food  and  rest  with  ye 
host  of  a  small  tavern,  where  he  fell  among 
thieves.  The  good  preacher  looked  about 
him,  saying, 

"How  dreadful  is  this  place." 

Verily,  ye  host,  a  follower  of  strange 
ways,  summoned  unto  him  a  strange 
woman,  comely  and  a  soothsayer.  In  his 
native  land  the  Reverend  Ithicary  Watkins 
had  never  cast  eyes  upon  one  of  such  rare 
beauty.  Surely  here  was  a  sheep  cast  from 
the  fold.  His  heart  beat  exceedingly  fast; 
his  eyes  grew  exceedingly  lai'ge.  For- 
sook, he  remembered  not  his  holy  mission ; 


87 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


_.. „ „ ., .. ., „ „ „j. 


A  Well  Dressed  Man 

is  envied  by  all  of  his  less  fortunate 
friends.  It  is  not  how  much  you 
pay  for  your  clothes  but  where  & 
how  they  are  made. 

€[|  We  make  a  specialty  of  catering  to  the 
tastes  of  discriminating  dressers.  'Urmg  your 
Clothes  'Problems  to  us.  We  will  make  your 
garments  to  suit  YOU,  guaranteeing  fit, 
style,  cloth,  and  workmanship  or  no  pay. 

Can  you  ask.  for  more? 


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612  E.  Green  St. 


Bell  Phone  1967 


Make  the  Howard 
Studio  your  place 
for  a  portrait. 

^ality,  Individuality,  and  Ex- 
pression. Tour  satisfaction  is  our 
ambition. 


Howard  Studios 

E.  L.  Melton,  Mgr. 
Bell  3015  602  E.  John  Street 


f 


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/m\ 


Out  of  the  ordinary  ^ifts 

The  'T>htlbnck  Qift  Shop 

Mrs.  mtbrick 

121  W.  Church  Street  Belvoir  Theatre  Building 

Champaign,  Illinois 

, . .— . . . .. . . .._.._. — .. .+ 


. ^. 


(^Meet  Your  Friends  Here 

HETHER  you  play  Billiards  or  not,  we  want  you  to  feel  as  perfectly  free  to  come  and 
go  here  as  you  do  in  your  own  home.  The  company  is  always  congenial;  the  atmo- 
sphere that  of  the  gentleman's  club  room.  <|  Billiards  and  Pocket  Billiards  furnish 
the  Ideal  Exercise.  Brain,  hand,  eye,  and  many  muscles  are  called  into  play  for  every 
shot.  The  mild  exercise  is  very  beneficial,  the  constantly  changing  problems  extremely 
refreshing,  especially  after  a  day  of  hard  study. 

ARCADE  BILLIARD  PARLORS  E'/X  A^tr/e"' '''"""""^ 


88 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


j'ea,  he  fell  into  communion  with  the  beau- 
tiful daughter  of  Satan. 

Her  eyes  shone  as  the  stars  out  of  the 
heavens;  her  voice  tinkled  like  the  chapel 
bell  in  the  Sabbath  morn ;  her  skin  was  as 
the  lilies  as  they  grew  in  the  fields;  her 
cheeks  as  the  red  rose.  She  sat  at  his  right 
hand  and  his  heart  smote  heavily  within 
him. 

And  he  said,  "Bring  me  of  meat  that  I 
may  eat." 

And  she  brought  him  of  meat  and  he  did 
eat. 

When  it  was  evening,  two  other  friends 
of  Satan  visited  the  tavern  and  communed 
secretly  with  the  soothsayer.  Then  the 
prophet  spake  of  Destruction  and  The  Life 
to  Come.  But  his  companions,  the  lost 
ones,  gave  him  of  beer  containing,  for- 
sooth, some  of  the  balm  that  was  in  Gilead. 
And  he  tarried  awhile  longer  and  partook 
of  more  of  the  balm,  for  he  was,  indeed, 
sorely  tempted. 

And  it  came  to  pass  that  the  three  evil 
ones  departed  from  thence  thence.  And 
the  prophet  discerned  no  more  of  the  ten- 
poral  world ;  yea,  the  stars  twinkled  and 
the  daylight  glimmered.  Forsooth,  he 
dreamed  a  dream.  In  his  vision  he  saw 
bands  of  merry-makers;  the  throngs  of 
Gomorrah  before  the  flames  of  fire  and 
brimstone ;  and  great  hordes  of  money- 
changers before  the  temple. 

And  on  the  Sabbath  morn  he  awoke 
alone.  He  hastily  departed  from  thence; 
but  lo,  the  earth  arose  to  meet  him  and 
smote  him  hard  upon  the  temple.  And  he 
crawdled  upon  his  hands  and  knees  humbly 
as  the  sheep  walketh  on  the  mountainside. 

^'erily  he  sought  out  a  Roman  sentinel 
in  blue  broad-cloth,  with  an  amored  hel- 
met, and  a  shining  silver  star,  and  spake 
unto  him  saying, 

"Good  Shentinel  I  Where  -  oneshy  - 
hadda  -  wadch  -  'n  -  chain  -  "n  -  choo  - 
hunerd  -  shekelsh  -  'n  -  a  -  sheck  -  fer  -  choo 
-more  -  shekelsh  -  'n  -  a  -  railwav  -  tchicket- 


n  -  a  -  booka  -  prayer,  now  -  I  -  jusht  -  -got- 
a  -  railway  -  tchicket  -  "n  -  a  -  headake." 

And  the  Roman  sentinel  rebuked  him, 
saying, 

"Thou  groveler!  Arise.  Take  thy  rail- 
way ticket  and  walk."    And  he  did  walk. 

And  when  he  was  come  to  the  depot,  the 
sentinel  conversed  in  secret  with  another 
sentinel.  Then  these  twain  sat  him  down 
upon  a  cot  in  a  train  of  many  carriages. 

Thus  he  departed  upon  his  journey  to 
his  native  land. 

And  while  he  journeyed,  yea,  hastily  so, 
he  gazed  out  upon  the  land-scape  and  was 
sorely  puzzled  concerning  the  vast  number 
of  wooden  crosses  that  passed  his  vision. 
Yea,  they  were  strung  one  upon  the  other 
with  wii-e.  And  he  would  have  communion 
with  the  sentinel,  but  the  sentinel  spake 
not. 

"Behold !  How  comsh  zow  t'  have  s' 
many  croshes  in  zish  plashe?  One-crosh- 
affer  -  anozzer  -  one  -  crosh  -  affer  -  anoz- 
zer  -  bewful  -  woman  -  balma  -  Gilead," 
until  the  Roman  smote  him  heavily  upon 
the  temple. 

And  when  he  awoke,  he  cried  out  again 
saying, 

"Shpeed,  -  shpeed  -  I  -  pleadesh  -  verily- 
knowesht  -  zow  -  not  -  zat  -  I  -  musht  - 
preasha  -  sherman  -  t'night?  Shpeed,  - 
Preasha  ?  sherman ;  -  one-crosh  -  affer  - 
anozzer;  bewful  -  woman." 

And  it  came  to  pass  that  he  was  come 
to  the  end  of  his  journey.  But  the  good 
prophet,  Ithicary,  discerned  not  his  native 
city  until  one,  who  was  his  countryman, 
espied  him  in  his  carriage  and  cried  out  to 
him  saying, 

"Ho,  Reverend  Watkins !  Stoppest  thou 
not  here  in  this  place? 

But  the  good  Reverend  Watkins  saw  him 
not,  for  it  was  dark ;  he  heard  him  not.  for 
he  slept.  But  when  the  countryman  cried 
out  again  and  yet  again,  the  converter  of 
intemperate  souls  oped  his  eyes,  arose  and 
descended  from  his  carriage.    But  lo,  when 


89 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


+     •{••" 


N  Ed.  V.  Price  tailor- 
ed to  order  suit  or 
overcoat  will  give  you 
the  greatest  satisfaction  and  the 
best  value  for  the  money  you 
pay.  It  will  pay  you  to  investi- 
gate,  '^biewest  Fabrics. 

W.  Lewis  &  Co. 


Ch 


ampaign 


On  meatless  days 

drink  Schuler  Bros,  famous 
malted  milks   at   Bradley's. 


.„+     .jj.  — „„_.._.._„„ 


Gifts  for  Every  Occasion 

Our  little  shop  will  help  you  solve  the  problem 
"What  Shall  I  Give?" 


Liitest  Ideas  in  Jewelry 
Everything  TSlew 


Watch  and  Jewelry  Repairing  Moderate  Prices 

RAY  L.  BOWMAN  JEWELRY  CO. 

Miss  Ray  L.  Bowman,  -Manager 

New  Hamilton  Building  Champaign, 


^n. 


00 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


his  humble  servant,  he  that  awoke  him, 
saw  with  what  exceeding  trouble  he  bore 
his  burden,  he  was  ashamed  and  turned 
away  his  face. 

But  the  prophet  heeded  him  not ;  yea,  he 
went  merrily  yet  heavily  upon  his  way. 
He  was  exceedingly  merry  and  he  bade 
.  every  torch  that  crossed  his  path  a  hearty 
good  morrow  (though  it  was  yet  dark)  and 
gave  praise  unto  them  for  casting  light 
upon  his  way. 

And  it  came  to  pass  that  he  was  come 
to  a  temple  where  he  heard  the  singing  of 
praises.  Yea  verily,  the  temple  was  his 
own.  And  Ithicary  vowed  the  same  vow 
again,  saying, 

"^'erily,  I  mush  preasha-sherman ;  mush 
-preasha-sherman." 

Thus  spake  he  and  ascended  the  steps. 
And  even  as  he  ascended  he  spake  again, 

"One  -  shtep  -  affer  -  anozzer  -  one  - 
crosh  -  affer  -  anozzer  -  "n  -  ony  -  one  -  bew- 


ful  -  woman;  jush  -  one  -  bewful  -  woman. 
Woe !  Woe  !" 

And  his  humble  wife,  Mary,  hearing 
these  words,  fell  upon  her  knees  and  wept, 
for  she  was  ashamed.  And  her  neighbor, 
Margaret,  spake,  saying, 

"Good  neighbor,  did  I  not  tell  thee  so?' 

Discerning  one  that  was  his  parishoner 
in  his  pulpit,  the  Reverend  Ithicary  Solom- 
nius  Watkins  ascended  with  pride  to  the 
pulpits  that  was  his  own.  And  when  he 
was  come,  he  embraced  his  brother  and 
kissed  him  upon  the  temple.  Then  seized 
he  him  by  the  .seat  of  his  raiment  and  cast 
him  heavily  out  of  the  pulpit. 

Then  the  converter  smote  his  palm  heav- 
ily upon  his  thigh,  and  lifted  his  voice  to 

'Breshern,  breshern ;  m'  textsh  -  ish  - 
his  brethren,  saying, 

"Breshern,  breshern ;  m'  text.sh  -  ish  - 
evenin'  -  ish  -  on  -  je  -  balma  -  Gilead; 
je  -  balma  -  Gilead. 


I 
1 

I 
I 
1 

i 


PLATINUM  JEWELRY 

Exquisite   designs   in   Brooches,  Rings 
and   LaVallieres 


John    O.  Smith 

Jeweler   and   Silversmith 

Champaign,   Illinois 

'The  Home  of  the  Finest  '•Diamonds' 


Tell  the  Advertiser  you  saw  his  ad  in  The  Illinois  Magazine  —  He'll  appreciate  it 

91 


THE  ILLINOIS  MACxAZINE 


*— 


— Wear  one  of 
Zom's  new  Trench 
overcoats  home  for 
Thanksgiving. 


$2^ 


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+. — 


MUNHALL 
PRINTING  HOUSE 

COMMERCIAL  &  SOCIETY 
PRINTING 


17  TAYLOR  STREET 

CHAMPAIGN 


S  tranches 

The  c4rt  &  gift  Shops 

University     625  So.  Wright 
'Downtown      112  No.  Neil 

Artistic  Gifts 
Picture  Framing 
Photo  Finishing 

STRAUCH'S— GIFTS 


.„+     4. ,. ._., — 


+     +■■ 
1       1 
I 


If  you  have  any 
KICK  COMING 


1    I 
1    I 

92 


Kindly  drop  in  at 
606   East  Green  Street 

IVe  "would  like  to 
FURNISH  THE  BALL 

ILOYDES 


TWO   STORES. 


I 
1 
I 

■4 


THE  ALL-AROUND  MAN 


T 


ELIZABETH  LEITZBACH 


ANY  times  upon  a  time  there 
was  an  Illinois  Boy  who  longed 
to  be  The  Illinois  Man.  That 
is,  he  wanted  to  doff  the  verd- 
ure of  the  country-man  and  don  the  green 
of  the  fresh-man.  Moreover,  he  was  curi- 
ous about  the  passport ing  powers  of  a 
(lueer  little  button  which  a  college  fellow 
had  given  him  when  he  came  out  first  in 
the  county  track-meet. 

Father  decided  to  plow  the  extra  forty 
acres  and  send  his  boy  to  college. 

Mother  said  she  would  save  her  butter 
money  for  his  pin  money. 

Because 

"This  youth  resolved  to  go  to  college, 
And  knew  just  where  to  go," 
the  Coming  Illinois  Man  arrived  in  Cham- 
paign safe,  sane,  and  sandwiched  from  the 
contents  of  a  paste-board  box.  He  went 
to  Hotel  Come  Inman  because  it  sounded 
so  cordial. 

In  three  days  he  shook  hands  a  few  hun- 
dred times,  was  slapped  on  the  back  three 
hundred  and  seventyone  times,  and  dis- 
covered that  he  had  a  button  in  his  lapel 
like  the  one  he  had  brought  from  home 
in  his  pocket. 

He  was  interviewed  by  an  upper-class- 
man who  informed  him  that  he  had  been 
thus  singularly  honored  because  the  broth- 
ers believed  he  had  something  in  him.  He 
was  told  that  Alpha  Phi  Beta  Gamma  Sig- 
ma Kappa  Omega  was  the  oldest,  strong- 
est, and  best  national  in  the  world,  espe- 
cially in  the  East.  Wouldn't  he  have  a 
little  smoke,  live  up  to  the  button,  send  for 
his  car  from  home,  make  Brother  Smith's 


bed,  and  move  into  the  house,  first  deposit- 
ing one  hundred  dollars  for  the  building 
fund?  The  Ambitious  Freshman  swal- 
lowed and  said  he  would  try  to  be  An  All 
Around  Man. 

He  immediately  fulfilled  this  promise  by 
over-hearing  a  bunch  of  the  fraters  con- 
gratulating themselves  on  getting  him  be- 
cause he  could  play  the  piano  with  his  feet 
as  well  as  his  hands  and  could  tell  a  point- 
less joke  dramatically. 

The  All  Around  Man  planned  his  cam- 
paign in  Champaign  systematically.  He 
would  become  a  ward-boss  first,  class  presi- 
dent second,  and  pay-master  of  the  Illinois 
Union  third.  Of  course  if  a  little  honor 
like  the  captaincy  of  a  foot-ball  team  or 
the  editorship  of  the  G.  C.  M.  should  be 
handed  to  him  he  would  not  object. 

Politics  went  great.  Mother's  butter 
money  sure  made  things  slide. 

The  All  Around  Man  went  out  for  a  col- 
lection of  pins.  His  vest  began  to  look 
like  a  fraternity  jeweller's  sample  card. 

At  the  end  of  his  Junior  year,  having 
gotten  so  far  in  his  religious  convictions 
that  he  could  chat  about  "Friend  God",  and 
play  Seven  Up  till  twelve  on  Sunday,  the 
All  Around  Man  decided  to  get  on_  more 
intimate  terms  with  the  fairer  sex  who 
attended  college.  He  didn't  think  that 
there  was  much  to  be  learned  from  the 
creepings  of  a  Parlor  Snake  but  he  was  in 
for  all  the  sensations  in  life.  In  the  days 
when  he  had  been  running  for  class  presi- 
dent the  All  Around  Man  had  systemat- 
ically fussed  representatives  from  every 
sorority  house,  so  he  knew  just  where  he 


93 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


1 


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while  the  picking  is  good 
from  the  carefully  select- 
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Zinc  Etchings 

Color  Plates 


Bell  411     Auto  2162 


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Engravers 


114  North  Walnut  Street 


Champaign,  lliiniiis 


©to  ^|autp5l|irc  ^5uu^ 


The  Stationery  of  a  Qentleman 

Old  HAMPSHIRE  BOND  is  essentially  a  man's  stationery.  The  suggestion  of 
worth  and  dignity  that  it  adds  to  your  letters  is  of  sufficient  importance  to  merit  an 
examination  of  our  samples. 

Call  '^ssell  White,  Student  '^presentative,  or  stop  at 

Twin  City  Printing  Company 


116-118  N.   Neil  Street 


CHAMPAIGN,  ILL. 


94 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


wanted  to  concentrate.  He  chose  the  house 
with  the  softest  davenports,  the  rosiest 
shaded  lights,  and  the  most  inconspicuous 
chaperon. 

At  the  close  of  three  months  of  frenzied 
fussing  the  All  Around  Man  decided 
that  every  coed  in  school  was  wild  about 
him.  He  decided  marriage  was  too  passe 
for  him.  Having  made  the  Scout  Column 
three  times  and  leai'nt  to  distinguish  be- 
tween Mary  Garden  and  Violet  Sachet,  the 
All  Around  Man  felt  that  this  chapter  of 
his  life  should  be  finised. 

The  boys  staged  a  formal.  No  less  than 
ten  coeds  were  expecting  a  telephone  call 
from  the  All  Around  Man,  but  his  room- 
mate asked  a  Ten  Cent  Store  Clerk  from 
Chicago  for  him.  Her  picture  was  so  tan- 
talizing that  no  one  could  have  refrained 
from  entering  the  importing  business. 
Naturally  he  needed  some  place  to  store 
his  ware  and  her  wears  so  he  took  her  to 
the  sorority  house  with  the  best  food. 

The  Import   was  a   wonderful   success. 


She  looked  just  like  the  end  girl  in  "Keep 
to  the  Right."  After  the  first  dance  she 
asked  him  if  he  wasn't  "one  of  those  You 
Love  I  men",  and  of  course  the  All  Around 
Man  answered  "Yes". 

That  night  he  serenaded  beneath  many 
windows  and  clinked  many  a  bottle  in  the 
old  barn. 

The  next  day  he  decided  to  go  to  school 
again.  He  didn't  have  a  very  clear  idea 
of  just  which  class  he  ought  to  attend,  but 
he  chose  a  lecture  in  philosophy.  "Any- 
thing is  dead,"  said  the  instructor,  "if  it 
has  no  purpose  in  life — no  justifications  in 
living." 

The  All  Around  Man  wandered  out  to 
the  border  of  the  campus,  blew  wreaths  of 
Omar  artistically  through  his  nose,  flecked 
an  imaginary  spot  of  dust  from  his  violet 
socks  with  a  lavender  silk  bordered  hand- 
kerchief, and  thought  for  the  first  time  in 
months. 

He  knew  that  at  last  he  had  become  A 
Dead  Sport. 


SOMETHING  DIFFERENT 
at 

Joe  and  Tracy's 
Barber  Shop 


1 
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at 


621  1-2  S.  Wright 


G.  N.  BACON                                             WM.  SANDWELL 

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Bell  262 

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CHAMPAIGN 

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THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


On  Shore  and  Off 

men  like  our  collegians  who  are 
training  for  the  navy  and  Uncle 
Sam's  seasoned  sea  fighters — men 
who  must  maintain  their  vigor, 
quickness  and  "headiness" — are 
tuning  up  on 


Soft  in  the  strictest  sense,  but  a  thorough- 
going man's  drink — gives  you  the  full  flavor 
of  wholesome  grains  and  the  nip  and  fra- 
grance of  genuine  Bohemian  Saazer  Hops. 

Try  Bevo  by  itself — see  how  good  it  makes 
things  to  eat  taste. 

Served  at  the  best  places  everywhere. 
Families  supplied  by  grocers. 

r  lanufactured  and  bottled  exclusively  by 

AnheuGcr-Busch,  St.  Louis,  U.  S.  A. 


Bevo  should  be  served  cold 
"The  all-year-'round  soft  drink" 


IV 


96 


Ol^n.  H.  M.  Lmdemhal  &  Sons.  THe  L  System 


GO  FROM  MAINE  TO  CALIFORNIA  AND 

YOU'LL  NOT  FIND  STYLES  IN  MEN'S 

APPAREL  THAT  WILL  SURPASS  THAT 

SHOWN  AT  THE  LIVE  STORE 

WE  WANT  TO  SHOW  YOU 

tJt  M.lLftD  COMPANY 


THE 

ILLINOIS 

MAGAZINE 


CHRISTMAS  NUMBER 


2. 


igiy 


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cents 


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J!!y.'iiy.'  iyinyiityjSBjitm  '.yiiiyiiiyiiyiiiyjityi 


a4iay(«au»MaKs«!saiaai3ai«aesasa(is^ 


The  Illinois  Magazine 

CHRISTMAS  NUMBER 


George  Unger      -------------      Editor 

Walter  B.  Remley      ---------      Business  Manager 


Table  of  Contents 


An  Appreciation  of  Dr.  Burrill  101 

To  a  Madonna  (Poem) 103 

Holiday  Festivities  in  Other  Lands 104 

Two  Christmases  in  the  Far  Arctic  106 

When  Santa  Claus  Got  Drunk    108 

Pi-esident  James'  New  Home  (Illustrated)..  Ill 

By  Courtesy  of  the  Poetry  Society  (Poems)      115 

The  Rediscovery  of  An  Old  and  Rich  Country  (Illustrated) 118 

Editorial   120 

Recent  Developments  in  the  Aircraft  Industry 122 

You  May  Be  Mistaken 124 

The  Elephant  Button .• 127 

Between  You  and  Me  128 

Dormitory  Sketches 130 

Smoking  Compartment  Millionaires 133 

Dope — Basketball  Prospects 135 

Dramatics  137 


EDITORIAL  STAFF 
L.  J.  Selzer      --------------       Assistant  Editor 

Lois  Seyster      ------------       7h  Cluirge  of  Editorials 

Elizabeth  Leitzbach      -----------      in  Charge  of  Fiction 

Dorothy  Seidel      ------------       in  Charge  of  Dramatics 

Zelo.MIA  Ainsworth       ------------       Woman's  Editor 

Glenn   \V.  Frede       -       -       - -         -In  Charge  of  Athletics 

BUSINESS  STAFF 

W.  E.  Krieger       -------------  Assistant  Manager 

R.  E.  Spangler      -------------  Circulation  Manager 

Roger  Dawson,  S.  A.  Wilson,  W.  F.  Gast      -----  B)Lsiness  Assistants 

Published  monthly  by  the  lUini  Publishin^ir  Company  durins  the  college  year.     Entered  as  second-class 
matter  at  the  postoffice  at  Urbana,  Illinois.     Office.  University  Hall.   Urbana,  Illinois.     Subscription.  ?1.00 
JJ  per  year.     Out-of-town   subscriptions.   ?1.2.5.     Sinfile  copies.    15   cents. 

^  Twin  Citv  Printing  Coxip.\nv,  Piintfis  and  Binder.'^,  Champaign,  111.       / 


:0?^ft?^ff^?fr;ffi7^.i?^t>^ii?^'trsB?^i!friit7Tiii7T^ 


i::8iiyiiB^!Mi!yiiiy,¥-^iityiityiiM'i'-Laityiiiyii'i^iiu.'it^'iMiB=aity^ 


Professor  Thomas  Jonathan  Burrill 


From    an    etching    made   for   The   Illitwis   Magazine   by 
Professor    Wells    of    the    Department    of   Architecture. 


The  Illinois  Magazine 


CHRISTMAS  NUMBER 


Volume  9 


DECEMBER,  1917 


Number  3 


AN  APPRECIATION  OF 
DR.  BURRILL 

ARTHUR  H.  GOTTSCHALK 


"Spend  not  the  remnant  of  thy  days  in  tliouf/hts  and  fancies  concernincj  other  men, 
ichen  it  is  not  in  relation  to  some  common  good,  witcn  by  it  thou  art  hindered  from  some 
other  better  work."  —MARCUS  AURELIUS 


VERY  institution  of  higher 
earning  can  point  to  one  sa- 
ient  figure  through  whose 
eff'ort  the  institution  was 
nursed  through  its  stage  of 
infancy  anc  brought  to  the  portal  of 
greater  usefulness.  The  University  of  Illi- 
nois looks  to  the  late  Professor  Thomas 
Jonathan  Burrill  as  the  man  through 
whose  labor  and  integrity  the  present  or- 
ganization of  the  University  is  largely  due. 
As  acting  regent  of  the  institution  in  1891, 
Dr.  Burrill  recommended  and  originated 
many  things  which  have  proved  to  be  po- 
tential in  insuring  the  successful  future 
of  the  school. 

Doctor  Burrill's  entire  life  was  devoted 
primarily  to  education.  He  was  born  on 
April  25,  1838  at  Pittsfield,  Massachu.setts, 
and  at  a  very  early  age  came  to  the  west. 


After  completing  the  course  of  study  at 
the  Rockford,  Illinois  High  School,  T.  J. 
Burrill  entered  the  Illinois  State  Normal 
School  at  Normal,  Illinois,  from  which  he 
got  his  first  degree.  Although  he  never 
attended  any  other  colleges,  several  other 
degrees  were  conferred  upon  him  by  other 
Universities  in  recognition  of  his  work  in 
the  scientific  field.  The  degree  of  Doctor 
of  Philosophy  was  given  him  by  the  Uni- 
versity of  Chicago ;  Northwestern  con- 
ferred the  Doctor  of  Laws  degree  in  1893 
while  President  James  was  at  the  head  of 
that  institution.  The  University  of  Illinois 
also  conferred  the  honorary  law  degree. 

The  University  of  Illinois  first  received 
the  -services  of  Dr.  Burrill  on  April  20, 
1868,  when  he  left  his  position  as  the  sup- 
erintendent of  the  Urbana  High  School  to 
become  the  instructor  of  Algebra  at  the 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


University.  The  Algebra  class  on  April 
20  evolved  the  young  instructor  into  an 
assistant  professor  of  Natural  History  and 
Botany  three  months  later.  At  the  out- 
set, there  were  only  four  instructors  in- 
cluding the  regent,  so  that  this  distinctive 
advancement  is  in  part  picturesque. 
Assistant  Professor  Burrill  taught  classes 
almost  all  of  the  day  and  when  he  found  a 
little  spare  time  from  class  work  he  would 
plant  trees  about  campus.  This  he  con- 
sidered as  recreation.  In  fact,  Dr.  Burrill 
was  kept  so  very  busy  that  one  account  of 
University  management  at  tha<"  time  sees 
fit  to  comment  upon  it ;  "lest  a  remnant  of 
his  time  should  be  unoccupied,  he  was 
charged  by  the  board  with  the  sale  of  a 
pair  of  mules  whose  labors  on  the  South 
Farm  showed  that  they  were  not  able  to 
stand  the  strenuous  life  as  he  was." 

The  faculty  of  the  University  was  in- 
creased to  six  men  by  1871  and  in  this 
same  year  Dr.  Burrill  was  advanced  to  the 
professorship  of  Botany  and  Horticulture. 
In  1873,  in  adition  to  his  work  as  a  pro- 
fessor of  Botany,  he  undertook  the  duties 
of  corresponding  secretary  to  the  board  of 
trustees,  a  position  which  he  held  until  the 
spring  of  1894. 

The  year  1878  marks  two  further  ad- 
vancements for  the  erstwhile  instructor  of 
mathematics.  By  appointment.  Professor 
Burrill  became  the  dean  of  the  College  of 
Science  and  later  that  year  he  became  the 
acting  regent  of  the  University.  With  the 
election  of  the  new  regent.  Dr.  Burrill  re- 
sumed his  old  duties,  but  again  in  1880  he 
was  called  to  act  as  regent.  At  this  time 
there  were  grave  doubts  as  to  the  future 
of  the  University,  but  the  acting  regent 
who  had  known  University  affairs  inti- 
mately from  the  very  beginning  soon 
calmed  the  prevalent  fears.  In  1891,  poor 
management  again  brought  about  a  sim- 
ilar state  of  affairs,  causing  great  conster- 
nation, and  at  the  resignation  of  the  re- 
gent.   Professor   Burrill   was   called   once 


more  to  occupy  the  position  temporarily. 
The  legislature  had  increased  the  appro- 
priations and  in  the  year  previous  several 
new  additions  had  been  made  to  the  fac- 
ulty. Apparently  the  door  of  greater  use- 
fulness needed  but  to  be  opened  by  an  ex- 
perienced administrator  and  the  Univer- 
sity would  be  admitted  to  the  highway  of 
"great"  universities.  Acting  regent  Bur- 
rill took  the  decisive  step  early  in  Septem- 
ber, 1891,  and  overthrew  the  dogmas  and 
the  administration  policies  which  had  been 
holding  the  University  in  check.  The 
course  of  study  was  replanned,  and 
strangely  enough,  the  new  course  was  not 
substantially  different  from  the  one  Illi- 
nois has  today.  Professor  Burrill's  pro- 
gram included  such  measures  as :  the  re- 
admission  of  the  Greek  letter  fraternities, 
which  had  been  driven  out  some  years  be- 
fore ;  the  reorganization  of  the  department 
of  Military  so  that  it  conformed  to  the 
work  of  the  department  today ;  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  law  school ;  a  summer  school ; 
the  establishment  of  a  medical  school ;  and 
the  appointment  of  a  director  of  athletics. 
This  enumeration  shows  how  great  the 
needs  of  the  institution  were  and  how  nec- 
essary it  must  have  been  to  have  a  man  of 
experience  and  fidelity  in  charge  of  the 
execution  of  the  program. 

The  University  of  Illinois  was  fortunate 
in  having  had  Dr.  Burrill  at  this  time  when 
good  judgment  in  meeting  responsibilities 
was  necessary  and  when  wisdom  in  action 
counted  infinitely.  Dr.  Burrill  remained 
acting  regent  until  1894,  when  the  title  of 
the  office  was  changed  to  that  of  president 
and  Dr.  Draper  elected  to  fill  the  chair.  It 
is  due  to  Professor  Burrill  himself  that  he 
was  never  regent  of  the  University,  be- 
cause he  refused  the  regency  when  it  was 
offered  to  him  by  the  trustees. 

Following  1894,  Dr.  Burrill  devoted  him- 
self entirely  to  scientific  research  in  plant 
life.  He  was  the  first  to  suggest  that  the 
disease  in  plants  and  trees  are  caused  by 


102 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


bacteria.  Although  the  theory  of  bacterial 
origin  was  discredited  at  first  it  is  now  re- 
garded as  one  of  the  great  discoveries  in 
science.  Professor  Burrill  continued  in 
the  service  of  the  University  until  Septem- 
ber 1,  1912,  when  he  was  retired  on  funds 
provided  by  the  Carnegie  Foundation. 

Professor  Burrill  was  active  in  societies 
related  to  his  field.  He  was  a  member  of 
the  American  Microscopical  Society  and 
served  that  organization  in  the  capacity  of 
president  and  also  as  general  secretary. 
He  was  the  vice-president  of  the  American 


Association  for  the  Advancement  of 
Science  for  two  terms.  Dr.  Burrill  re- 
mained active  in  these  organizations  until 
his  death  on  Friday.  April  14,  1916.  With 
the  death  of  Dr.  Burrill,  the  University 
lo.st  the  last  of  its  original  corps  of  in- 
structors. 

Thomas  Jonathan  Burrill,  scientist  and 
one  of  the  "Makers  of  the  University",  a 
man  whom  Illinois  honors  for  "he  loved 
people  better  than  things,  education  better 
than  science,  and  others  better  than  him- 
self." 


TO  A  MADONNA 

FLORA  HOTTES 


Mary, 

I  see  the  still,  rapt,  wonder  of  your  face. 

The  holy  purity,  the  heavenly  grace 

That  floods  your  virgin  brow  with  angel's  light; 

Enfolded  by  your  sacred  tenderness, 

The  babe  lies  cradled  in  your  soft  caress ; 

You  sit 

Enthroned  in  rapture,  with  your  prayerful  eyes 

In  deep  communion  with  the  starry  skies ; 

The  golden  halo  shimmers  'round  your  head. 

The  radiant  peace  of  mothei'hood  is  spread 

And  hovers  o'er  your  presence,  calm  and  bright. 

Mary, 

You  knew  the  little  Jesus,  Son  of  God, 

Must  walk  the  shadowed  way  the  martyrs  trod. 

You  bore  Him  to  a  world  that  knew  him  not. 

Yet  from  the  dreaded  future's  dark  abyss, 

You  seized  a  few  brief  hours  of  perfect  bliss; 

And  then 

You  waited,  sad  at  heart,  until  the  doom 

That  sealed  your  Christ-child  in  the  Easter  tomb ; 

But  in  your  mother's  grief  your  pure  faith  soared, — 

You  knew  him  at  his  birth  the  Christ  and  Lord       ^.^'r:^^^'^'' 

For  you  remembered,  when  the  world  forgot.  ^       //'-s«^ 


103 


KT^ 

^! 

mm 

^M 

^ 

M 

M 

>5^7<1 

HOLIDAY  FESTIVITIES  IN 
OTHER  LANDS 


JOE  HEIDLER 


N  this  age  when  international- 
ism and  universal  good-fellow- 
ship are  growing  so  rapidly,  it 
will  doubtless  prove  interesting 
to  see  how  some  of  our  brothers  in  other 
nations  celebrate  the  holiday  season.  This 
compilation  of  facts  concerning  the  cus- 
toms of  some  of  the  lands  with  which  we 
are  not  so  well  acquainted  was  obtained 
by  personally  interviewing  some  of  the 
foreign  students  who  are  attending  the 
University  of  Illinois.  Since  the  nature  of 
the  festivities  depends  much  on  the  lead- 
ing churches  of  the  various  countries,  the 
latter  are  ILsted  according  to  their  dom- 
inant faiths. 

In  Roman  Catholic  lands  great  emphasis 
is  laid  on  the  spiritual  meaning  of  Christ- 
mas— this  is  curiously  intermingled  with 
many  kinds  of  sport  and  recreation.  In 
Spain,  Peru,  and  Brazil  a  special  service, 
known  as  Rooster's  Mass  is  held  at  12 :00 
o'clock  on  Christmas  Eve.  There  are 
other  services  during  Christmas  day,  but 
the  occasion  is  not  merely  one  of  church- 
going.  On  December  24,  the  Spanish  gov- 
ernment conducts  a  lottery  at  Madrid. 
There  are  one  thousand  prizes,  the  first  one 
ranging  from  one  million  to  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars.     Shares  are  sold  at  two 


Autor's  Note: — The  information  contained  in  this  article 
is  due  to  the  courtesy  of  these  men:  Pedro  Bach  y  Rita, 
Barcelona.  Span  :  R,  Acrramonte.  Aretiuipa.  Peru  ;  R.  Pin- 
heiro,  Campinas.  Brazil  :  P.  Ghei-jranoff.  Lovetch,  Bulgaria  ; 
H.  M.  Westergaard,  Coi:)enhaM:en.  Denmark  ;  E.  K.  Hall,  Lady 
Brand,  Union  of  South  Africa  ;  Monindraii  Banerjee,  Cal- 
cutta. India  :  T.  M.  Mauns.  Rangoon,  Burma  :  S,  C.  Lu, 
Foochow,   China, 


hundred  dollars,  therefore,  several  hun- 
dred people  may  join  in  the  purchase  of  a 
share.  The  lucky  drawers  are  thus  pro- 
vided with  ample  means  for  a  great  cele- 
bration. Spain  is  distinctive  in  another 
way — the  children  get  toys  not  on  Christ- 
mas, but  on  the  day  of  the  Wise  Men. 

In  Peru,  horse  races  are  the  favorite 
form  of  pastime  for  Christmas  afternoons. 
Every  home  in  Brazil  has  either  a  wax  or 
wooden  reproduction  of  the  Christ  child's 
birth.  In  these  reproductions  the  work- 
manship is  remarkable  and  the  Savior  and 
Mary,  the  manger,  the  cattle,  and  even  the 
hay  is  very  realistic. 

Little  Bulgaria,  which  is  Roman  Cath- 
olic, has  many  unique  customs  connected 
with  the  holiday  season.  For  six  weeks 
preceding  Christmas  there  is  fasting. 
Each  family  raises  a  pig  and  kills  it  the 
day  before  Christmas.  Of  course  the  peas- 
ants enter  most  heartily  into  the  spirit  of 
the  occasion.  A  man  drops  a  few  grains 
into  the  pocket  of  his  neighbor  and  wishes 
the  latter  an  abundant  crop,  several  girls 
drop  their  rings  into  a  cup  of  water.  A 
young  bride  sings  a  merry  little  song  about 
some  man  and  that  girl  whose  ring  is  then 
drawn  out  is  told  that  some  day  she  will 
marry  such  a  man.  A  young  boy  kills  a 
rooster  and  the  more  times  the  rooster 
jumps  the  better  time  he  will  have  in  the 
ensuing  year.  The  children  strike  their 
elders  with  green  sprouts  and  wish  them  a 
happy  new  year.    In  return  the  youngsters 


104 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


are  given  candy  and  trinkets.    The  season 
is  also  a  time  for  courtship  and  marriage. 

On  Christmas  eve  all  Denmark  goes  to 
the  Lutheran  church.  Later  in  the  even- 
ing there  is  the  usual  Christmas  tree  and 
exchange  of  presents.  Although  -similar 
to  our  celebration  in  many  ways,  the  Danes 
do  not  have  the  mistletoe.  Their  New 
Year's  festivities  aLso  show  much  resem- 
blance to  ours  in  that  there  are  all  manners 
of  celebrations  in  honor  of  the  coming 
year.  In  Denmark,  there  is  much  more 
visiting  among  friends  than  is  found  in 
this  country  and  goodfellowship  is  found 
everywhere. 

South  Africa  with  its  mi.xture  of  Eng- 
lish, Dutch,  and  Boers,  keeps  the  holiday 
season  in  a  manner  very  similar  to  ours. 
Christmas  suggests  church-going,  a  big 
dinner,  gifts  and  a  Christmas  tree,  both 
here  and  there.  One  great  difference  is 
the  lack  of  snow  in  South  Africa  (Christ- 
mas comes  in  the  middle  of  .summer.) 
Very  quaint  customs  are  to  be  found 
among  the  Kafirs.  For  example,  each  one 
tries  to  greet  the  other  with  a  Merry 
Christmas  before  the  latter  accosts  him  in 
a  like  manner.  The  prompt  good-wisher 
then  receives  a  gift  from  his  neighbor. 
On  New  Years  there  are  night-watch  par- 
ties and  the  choral  singing  by  volunteer 
choirs. 

Although  India  has  several  million 
Christians,  and  many  educated  Hindus 
with  a  faith  quite  similar  to  Unitarianism, 
Mohammed  still  holds  millions  of  fol- 
lowers.    Therefore,  Christmas  is  celebra- 


ted only  in  the  Christian  communities. 
Such  sports  as  cricket  and  tennis  are  pop- 
ular. There  are  gifts  and  cards  inter- 
changed and  many  big  balls  are  given  by 
the  government  officials.  In  Bengal,  New 
Years  comes  in  March  and  is  not  celebra- 
ted like  our  holiday.  The  big  day  of  wor- 
ship among  the  reformed  Hindus  is  called 
Pooja,  and  comes  in  October.  On  that  day 
gifts  are  exchanged.  Among  the  Hindus 
Christmas  is  known  as  the  longest  day,  and 
New  Years  as  the  shortest  day.  The  Mo- 
hammedans observe  the  anniversary  of 
their  prophet.  In  Burma,  Christmas  has 
been  adopted  from  the  western  countries 
and  is  celebrated  to  some  extent.  Several 
interesting  customs  are  connected  with 
their  New  Years  day,  which  comes  in 
April.  The  children  visit  their  elders  and 
show  them  the  greatest  respect  on  this 
day.  Merry  makers  douse  those  whom 
they  encounter  with  water. 

In  China,  the  great  realm  of  Confucian- 
ism, there  is  no  celebration  similar  to  our 
Christmas.  On  New  Years  day  boys  sing 
in  the  streets,  all  the  shops  are  closed,  and 
there  is  much  visiting  among  friends. 
From  January  first  to  thirteenth,  the  chil- 
dren are  given  money  to  buy  fireworks  and 
paper  lanterns.  This  period  is  also  a  time 
of  feasting. 

We  see  that  every  land  subscribes  in  its 
own  to  the  divine  rule  of  "Peace  on  earth, 
good  will  toward  men".  Whether  they  are 
followers  of  Christ,  Mohammed  or  Con- 
fucius, the  same  great  principle  guides 
them  one  and  all. 


105 


TWO  CHRISTMASES  IN  THE 
FAR  ARCTIC 


W.  ELMER  EKBLAW 


shall  never  forget  my  first 
Christmas  in  the  Arctic.  Our 
little  party  of  seven  had  been 
established  for  less  than  four 
months  at  our  headquarters  at  Etah,  well 
within  the  snow  and  ice-bound  dominions 
of  Santa  Glaus.  We  had  built  our  house, 
and  made  it  warm  and  comfortable.  Some 
of  us  had  been  out  on  a  sledge-trip  or  two 
across  the  ice  of  Smith  Sound  to  Ellesmere- 
land,  or  over  the  nearer  reaches  of  the 
Greenland  ice-cap;  but  sledging  to  the 
south  to  the  Eskimo  villages  along  the 
coast  had  not  been  possible  because  the  ice 
had  not  formed  everywhere. 

Just  a  few  days  before  Ghristmas,  the 
temperature  dropped  suddenly,  the  wind 
ceased  blowing,  and  solid,  substantial  ice 
lay  along  the  whole  coast.  Dr.  Tanquary 
and  our  cook.  Jot  Small,  seized  the  oppor- 
tunity to  visit  the  Eskimo  at  the  first  vil- 
lage to  the  south  of  us  at  Silkwaddy,  as  we 
called  it.  During  the  absence  of  Jot,  who 
was  to  return  on  December  twenty-fifth,  I 
was  to  serve  as  cook.  It  was  my  first  ex- 
perience in  that  capacity,  but  I  felt  equal 
to  the  task,  since  there  would  be  but  five  of 
our  own  party,  and  a  few  of  our  Eskimo. 

Imagine  my  consternation  then,  when  on 
the  twenty-fifth,  Eskimo  visitors  began 
arriving  from  the  south  by  the  sledge-load, 
all  meeting  us  for  the  first  time,  and  ex- 
pecting us  to  do  the  honors  and  feed  them 
well.  The  number  grew  and  grew  until 
sixty-five  had  come.     I  put  every  pot  and 


kettle  onto  the  stove  that  I  could  find  room 
for,  and  made  pemmican  soup,  boiled  wal- 
rus meat,  stewed  canned  tomatoes,  and 
cooked  coffee  almost  the  whole  day.  I  must 
confess  that  I  was  both  "peeved"  and  ner- 
vous, for  Jot  and  Tanquary  did  not  show 
up  as  expected  and  I  had  to  stick  by  my 
post. 

I  finally  got  the  Eskimo  fed,  and  turned 
my  attention  to  our  own  dinner.  Our  din- 
ner was  one  that  President  Osborn  of  the 
American  Museum  had  had  packed  for  us 
in  New  York  and  was  rather  elaborate. 
Just  as  I  had  set  the  dishes  on  the  table, 
and  those  of  us  who  were  home  were  seat- 
ing ourselves,  in  came  Tanquary  and 
Small,  just  too  late  to  do  any  of  the  work. 
Had  I  not  been  so  worked  up  cooking  for 
the  Eskimo,  I  think  that  dinner  would 
have  been  a  masterpiece;  even  as  it  was 
we  found  it  satisfying! 

Our  first  Christmas  included,  among 
other  things: 

Celery  Soup 

Salmon  Ripe  Olives  Gherkins 

Fried  Chicken  and  Dressing 

Broiled  Caribou 

Cranberry  Sauce 

Mashed  Potatoes  and  Brown  Gravy 

Corn  Tomatoes  Sweet   Potatoes 

Fruit  Plum    Pudding  Pumpkin    Pie 

Coffee 

Nuts 

Cigars  and   Cigarettes 

Candy 

Champagne 


106 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


quite  a  different  menu  from  that  of  four 
years  later. 

That  evening  we  had  a  grab-bag  at 
which  every  Eskimo  got  at  least  one  gift, 
and  all  the  children  two,  besides  nuts  and 
raisins  and  other  good  things  to  eat.  After 
the  grab-bag  was  over,  we  held  a  "moo- 
niuk-to" — an  Eskimo  song-fest  with  dim- 
med lights  and  the  wierdest  music,  if  it 
may  be  called  that,  imaginable.  Then  the 
guests  cuddled  down  in  every  possible  cor- 
ner of  the  house,  and  finally,  long  after 
midnight,  there  was  in  Etah  "on  Earth 
peace,  good  will  toward  men." 

Nor  shall  I  ever  forget  my  last  Christ- 
mas in  the  Arctic. 

Dr.  Hunt  and  I  were  crossing  Melville 
Bay  in  company  with  the  Danish  E.xplorer, 
Knud  Rasmussen,  on  our  way  to  Danish 
Greenland  where  we  might  reach  a  ship 
that  would  take  us  home ;  and  some  six  or 
eight  Eskimo  were  with  us.  We  had  left 
the  second  relief  ship,  Danmark,  in  North 
Star  Bay  on  December  nineteenth,  and 
had  had  hard  going  in  deep  snow  most  of 
the  time,  with  the  temperature  rather 
steady  about  50  Centigrade  degrees  below. 

The  day  had  been  long  and  hard  and 
bittei'ly  cold  the  temperature  below  50 
Centigrade  degrees  below  zero.  Our  train 
of  sledges  had  dragged  its  tedious  and  ar- 
duous way  through  miles  of  deep  soft  snow 
with  water  underneath,  into  which  the 
sledges  broke  often. 

All  day  long  we  had  dragged  along.  Dr. 
Hunt  and  I  trudged  ahead  on  our  snow- 
shoes.  Often  we  struck  an  area  of  rotten 
snow,  and  sank  through  to  the  water  ly- 
ing on  the  ice  beneath.  This  "pootenook" 
as  the  Eskimo  call  snow  with  water  on  the 
ice  underneath,  is  most  fatiguing  going. 
Every  time  we  broke  through  we  had  to 
extricate  our  feet  from  the  snowshoes,  pull 
out  the  snowshoes  and  carefully  knock  off 
the  ice  that  formed  on  them  at  once  in  the 
cold  air.  As  the  noon-day  flush  disappeared 
from  the  south,  and  the  foggy,  dimly  star- 


lighted  dusk  settled  down  upon  the  icy 
waste  with  its  spectral  icebergs,  a  biting 
sharp  wind  swept  down  off  the  ice-cap. 
Land  was  nowhere  in  sight,  even  at  noon- 
day twilight. 

We  crossed  the  track  of  a  single  polar 
bear  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
About  five  o'clock  Dr.  Hunt  began  suffer- 
ing from  snowshoe  sickness,  an  excruci- 
ating pain  in  the  muscles  of  the  ankle  and 
instep,  due  to  the  weight  of  the  snowshoe. 
The  dusk  gathered  into  darkness,  and  we 
could  not  see  to  go  on  farther.  The  wind 
blew  harder  and  harder.  It  was  time  to 
make  camp.  We  marched  up  to  one  big 
iceberg,  but  could  find  no  lee  where  the 
snow  was  not  drifting.  We  went  on  to 
another  and  found  a  little  niche  in  its  pre- 
cipitous lee  side,  where  the  wind  did  not 
blow  and  the  snow  was  not  drifting. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  make  everything 
ready,  but  even  so,  while  we  were  doing 
this,  I  frosted  both  my  wrists  so  severely 
that  great  blisters  formed  and  froze ;  my 
face  and  fingers  were  already  badly  frozen. 
The  whole  party  was  in  the  like  plight  and 
uncomfortable,  but  w'e  chipped  some  ice  off 
the  iceberg  to  melt  water  for  tea  and  in 
which  to  cook  our  meat.  The  menu  this 
time  was : 

Raw  Frozen  Beai-  Meat 

Cooked  Bear  Meat 

A  Handful  of  Peminican 

A  Cup  of  Tea 

"Dinner"  over,  we  got  ready  for  sleep 
and  put  out  our  candles  to  crawl  into  our 
cleeping  bags.  When  I  took  off  my  clothes, 
I  found  that  both  my  big  toes  were  so 
badly  frozen  that  big  blisters  had  formed 
and  broken,  and  the  water  from  them  had 
frozen  in  the  end  of  my  stockings.  As  I 
crawled  into  my  sleeping  bag,  I  hoped  that 
the  morrow  would  not  be  so  cold,  nor  so 
wearisome,  nor  so  discouraging.  And 
again,  there  was  "on  Earth  peace,  good 
will  toward  men". 


107 


^ 
^P^ 

>r^.") 

^ 

i 

^S 

R 

M 

/•^^^ 

WHEN  SANTA  CLAUS 
GOT  DRUNK 


BETTY  WILEY 


ilELLO,  Art,  come  in."  The 
Freshie's  beaming  face  showed 
the  great  honor  he  felt  in  ad- 
mitting to  his  own  private  pos- 
ter-pennant-pillowed boudoir  no  less  a  per- 
sonage than  one  of  the  august  upper  class- 
men. Freddy  felt  himself  rise  several 
notches  in  his  own  estimation.  He  really 
was  getting  to  be  quite  an  essential  feature 
of  this  school  after  all.  His  mother  had 
told  him  that  they  might  not  appreciate 
him  right  at  first,  but  that  such  an  intel- 
lectual community  as  that  in  which  he  was 
about  to  enter  would  be  bound  to  realize 
his  possibilities  before  the  first  semester 
had  ended.  This  was  just  two  days  be- 
fore the  Christmas  vacation,  and  so  far 
Freddy  had  been  unable  to  impress  people 
with  his  potentialities. 

"Well,  Freddy,  how  is  everything  comin' 
with  you?  '  It  was  the  tone  of  a  superior 
to  an  inferior,  but  Freddy  didn't  notice 
that.  "Are  you  all  ready  to  go  home  for 
the  Holidays?" 

"Yep — bought  my  ticket  as  much  as  a 
week  ago."  The  minute  he  had  said  it, 
Freddy  called  himself  all  kinds  of  a  fool 
for  .sounding  so  much  like  a  freshman,  but 
the  upper  classman  in  his  turn  appeared 
not  to  notice.  In  fact,  Freddy  decided,  he 
seemed  to  have  something  on  his  mind.  At 
the  thought  that  Art  had  come  to  him  seek- 
ing advice,  Freddy's  appreciation  of  him- 
self rose  several  more  notches. 


"Say,  Fred,  you  don't  happen  to  know  a 
girl  by  the  name  of  Molly  Mayo,  do  you? 
A  little  dark  girl  with  sparkly  brown 
eyes?" 

(Did  he !  Hadn't  he  been  sitting  behind 
those  tantalizing  curls  three  days  out  of 
a  week,  oblivious  to  all  else,  and  received, 
as  a  consequence,  two  invitations  to  visit 
the  dean.  All  the  wiliness  of  our  little 
Freshman  was  aroused.) 

"It  seems  to  me  I've  heard  the  name 
somewhere.    Why?" 

"Well,  I  want  to  take  that  girl  to  the 
basket-ball  game  tomorrow  afternoon,  and 
I  haven't  a  cent  of  money.  Could  you  lend 
me  a  couple  of  dollars?" 

Just  then  there  was  another  knock  at 
the  door,  and  Freddy  opened  it  to  admit 
Bill  Garmon,  president  of  the  Senior  class. 
His  recent  revelation  as  to  the  reason  for 
upper  classmen  cultivating  the  Freshmen 
made  Freddy's  greeting  in  this  case  much 
less  eff'usive.  But  Bill  seemed  not  to  mind 
at  all,  or  perhaps  he  just  attributed  it  to 
the  usual  Freshman  timidity. 

"Hello,  Fred — h'are  you?  Why,  Art, 
you  here?  Say,  could  one  of  you  fellows 
lends  me  a  couple  of  dollars?  I  got  an 
awful  case  on  a  little  Freshman  girl,  and 
want  to  take  her  to  the  game  tomorrow, 
but  I  haven't  a  cent  more  money  than  it 
will  take  to  pay  my  car-afare  home. 
You're  always  broke,  thought.  Art — I'll 
ask  you,  Fred — what  do  you  say?"     And 


108 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


the  dignified  William  began  executing  a 
little  dance  to  the  tune  of  "Molly,  My  Irish 
Molly,"  just  as  if  he  already  had  the  two 
dollars  in  his  possession. 

It  was  a  difficult  situation  for  a  Fresh- 
man, but  Freddy  thought  he  must  manage 
to  distinguish  himself  in  some  way.  To 
tell  the  truth,  he  had  only  thirteen  cents 
besides  the  ticket  home.  But  if  he  could 
only  solve  the  financial  dift'iculty  for  them 
all,  then  his  status  in  this  educational  in- 
stitution would  be  permanently  estab- 
lished. 

"You  know,  fellows  (he  liked  that  word 
— sounded  so  chummy),  I'd  be  glad  to  lend 
you  both  the  money,  if  I  had  it — yes,  and 
take  Molly  to  the  game  into  the  bargain. 
(True.st  thing  he  ever  said).  But  I'm  as 
near  broke  as  you  are,  so  you  see  how  it  is. 
If  we  only  had  some  way  of  making  a  little 
cash.  You  know,  I  was  just  watching  the 
people  outside  before  you  fellows  came  in. 
There  are  such  crowds  and  crowds  of 
them,  and  all  feeling  so  Christmasy.  Now, 
why  don't  one  of  you  dress  up  as  a  Salva- 
tion Army  Santa  Glaus,  stand  down  there 
on  the  street  corner,  and  see  how  fast  you 
can  coin  the  nickels  and  dimes." 

"Just  the  thing !  Great !  What  put  that 
brilliant  idea  into  your  head,  kid?  Rah! 
Rah !  for  Freddy !  Art,  you're  just  the  guy 
to  pull  off  a  stunt  like  that — come  on,  I 
have  a  Santa  Glaus  outfit  over  at  the 
house !"  Bill  dragged  Art  out  of  his  chair 
and  half  way  to  the  door  without  giving 
him  a  chance  to  expostulate. 

"Look  here,  Bill — listen  to  me.  You 
know  very  well  I'm  no  good  at  anything 
like  that.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  haven't  the 
nerve.  Now  you — well,  that's  a  different 
story." 

"But,  don't  you  see?  Remember  who  I 
am.  What  an  awful  scandal,  if  it  .should 
by  chance  leak  out.  Gan't  you  just  see  it 
in  the  Daily?  'President  of  the  Senior 
Clas.s — pauper.  Had  to  re.sort  to  begging 
on  the  street  corner,  etc.,  etc.    No,  I  don't 


dare  risk  it,  though  I  must  say  I'd  enjoy  it 
hugely.  What's  the  matter  with  you  doing 
it  yourself,  Freddy?" 

Here  was  his  chance.  Why  not  .show 
these  fellows  that  he  was  game? 

"Lead  me  to  the  outfit!"  cried  the  young- 
ster, in  his  most  masculine  tones.  It  was 
worth  it  just  to  walk  down  the  street  for 
four  blocks  in  confidential  intercourse  with 
two  such  prominent  upperclassmen. 

Forty  minutes  later  a  red-cheeked,  much 
bewhiskered  Santa  challenged  the  charity 
of  all  the  busy  Ghristmas  shoppers.  Those 
who  heard  that  youthful  voice  coming 
from  behind  those  gi'ay  whiskers,  smiled 
to  themselves  as  they  dropped  a  small  coin 
into  Santa's  outstretched  palm,  and 
thought  they  were  helping  the  Salvation 
Army. 

Watching  the  proceedings  from  a  near- 
by corner  were  the  two  upper  classmen. 
"Say,  that  kid's  got  the  nerve  all  right. 
Look  at  him !  By  George,  there  goes  his 
whiskers!  But  look.  Art,  he's  inside  that 
building  before  many  people  witnessed  his 
dire  disaster.    He's  good,  I  tell  you !" 

"Santa  Glaus  patronizing  a  saloon !  He 
wants  to  be  sure  and  choose  his  time  for 
coming  out.  There  he  is,  and  you'd  never 
know  anything  had  happened.  Listen  to 
that  boy — he's  getting  pretty  noisy  in  his 
announcement.  He  knows  we're  here 
watching  him,  and  he's  trying  to  make 
good.  You  know,  I  think  I'll  take  that  kid 
around  to  see  the  brothers  one  of  these 
days." 

"I  was  just  thinking  of  doing  that  very 
thing,"  said  the  president  of  the  Senior 
Glass.  "So  you  want  to  get  your  bid  in 
early,  Artie,  my  boy." 

"Why,  look,  there's  a  policeman  talking 
to  Freddy.  What's  up,  I  wonder?  Let's 
go  closer  so  we  can  hear  what  they're  talk- 
ing about." 

'That's  all  right,  young  feller,"  the  pol- 
iceman was  saying,  "but  it  don't  do  you  no 
good  to  argue.    I  saw  you  come  out  of  that 

109 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


saloon,  and  I  take  it  you're  pretty  well 
tanked.  You'll  just  come  right  along  with 
me,  and  I'll  report  you  to  headquarters." 

"But,  I  tell  you  I  went  in  to  tie  on  my 
whiskers.  It's  all  a  prank  we've  been  play- 
ing. There  are  two  fellows  somewhere 
around  who  could  swear  I  haven't  been 
drinking  a  thing.  Why,  I'm  a  college  man, 
and—" 

"That  settles  it  then.  Now  march  right 
on,  and  not  another  word." 

Bill  and  Art  saw  Freddy  looking  around 
for  aid,  and  their  first  thought  was  to  go 
to  his  rescue.  They  started  to  cross  the 
street  when  Bill  had  a  sudden  inspiration. 

"I  tell  you  that's  a  good  experience  for 
the  kid.  Let's  see  how  he  can  get  out  of  it 
by  himself.  If  he  makes  good,  he's  going 
to  get  to  wear  the  badge  of  Phi  Omicron 
Delta,  so  there!" 

"If  the  Psi  Alpha's  don't  beat  you  to  it," 
said  Art. 

The  next  morning  it  was  rather  a  sub- 
dued looking  Santa  Glaus  who  was  brought 
up  before  the  judge.  The  false  face  and 
whiskers  were  missing,  and  the  rest  of  the 
garb  looked  grotesquely  out  of  place.  Even 
the  august  administi'ator  of  the  law  had 
to  smile  at  the  dubious  expression  on  the 
boy's  face. 

"Arrested  for  misconduct,  drunkenness, 
and  begging  under  false  pretences,"  the 
judge  read  from  a  book  in  his  hand. 
"What  do  you  have  to  say  for  yourself. 


young    fellow?"      Here    was    his    chance. 

Well,  he  had  plenty  to  say  all  right,  and 
he  poured  it  all  forth  in  a  stream  of  fre.sh- 
men  eloquence.  It  was  what  he  had  been 
wanting  to  do  for  fourteen  hours  now,  to 
explain  to  someone  who  would  give  his 
words  more  credit  than  that  bone-headed 
policeman,  or  that  numbskull  of  a  jail- 
keeper,  who  had  dealt  with  enough  drunks 
in  his  time  that  he  ought  to  be  able  to  tell 
the  real  from  the  falsely  accused. 

"How  much  money  did  you  confiscate?" 
the  judge  asked,  when  the  boy  had  finished 
his  story. 

"I  don't  know,  sir."  Fred  answered.  "I 
haven't  even  thought  of  it  since — let  alone 
count  it,"  and  he  handed  it  over  to  the 
judge. 

"Two  dollars,  exactly.  Now  look  here, 
youngster,  I'd  like  to  see  you  get  even  with 
those  other  fellows — 'put  one  over  on  'em', 
as  you  would  say  in  your  highbrow  lingo. 
They  knew  they  didn't  dare  do  it  them- 
selves, so  they  prevailed  upon  you,  just  be- 
cause they  thought  you  were  'fresh'  and 
'easy'.  Here's  the  two  dollars, — you  know 
what's  up  to  you." 

Yes,  he  knew  all  right.  At  least,  you 
would  have  thought  so,  could  you  have  seen 
the  faces  of  Art  and  Bill  as  they  watched 
the  Freshie  parade  down  the  street  that 
afternoon.  He  was  on  his  way  to  the  bas- 
ketball game,  with  Molly  on  one  arm  and 
a  box  of  candy  under  the  other. 


110 


:^[iijjiiLL'itijii'i^'i!y!i'^iBJii'i^iiyii'i^iiLaiB^i}Uiiiyii'^iK^ity^ 

13 


President  J  antes' 
New  Home 

With  Jescripltoti  hy  L.  Logan  Smith 


j/oj  f^ejf  IN^vada  Street 
Urbana 


111 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


u;i!yiiMiiy.'i'^'iiyiiiU'iiyiiMiiyii'i^i!s^it!^!iyii'A^'ii^¥i=aia^iMi^ 

1 


Those  who  are  interested  in  Faculty  homes  at  Illinois  have,  perhaps,  had 
their  attentions  drawn  to  that  of  President  James.  Through  the  exigences  of 
war  it  became  necessary  to  transfer  the  old  house,  so  commodious  and  so  cher- 
ished as  a  home  by  the  President,  into  the  temporary  headquarters  of  the  Young 
Men's  Christian  Association. 

The  new  residence,  recently  purchased  by  the  University  from  Dean  W.  F.  M. 
Goss,  retiring  dean  of  the  College  of  Engineering,  was  designed  by  Temple  and 
Boroughs  of  Davenport,  Iowa.  It  is  one  of  stucco  and  timber,  combined  in  a  very 
attractively  design,  making  it  distinctively  American.  But  on  close  observation, 
its  many  gables,  its  windows  with  many  small  panes  and  its  wide,  low  eaves, 
which  cast  very  deep  shadows,  remind  one  of  the  old  English  type  of  house  which 
has  been  the  inspiration  of  so  many  of  our  American  homes.  The  soft  grey  of 
the  stucco  is  greatly  enhanced  by  the  heavy  growth  of  shrubbery  that  completely 


112 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


surrounds  the  house,  as  well  as  the  vines  that  are  slowly  feeling  their  way  up  the 
corners  and  around  the  windows. 

The  interior  is  equally  interesting.  On  entering  the  reception  hall  through  a 
broad  doorway  leading  from  the  vestibule,  you  at  once  are  attracted  by  the  rich- 
ness of  the  light  coming  from  the  two  large  art  glass  windows  on  the  landing  of 
the  broad  stairs.  This  solf  yellow  light,  combined  with  the  warmth  afforded  by 
the  oriental  rugs  in  shades  of  dull  reds,  yellows,  and  blues,  offers  a  warmth  of 
hospitality  in  character  with  such  a  room.  If  you  turn  to  look  about  you,  you  will 
find  an  alcove  cozily  filled  with  comfortable  chairs  grouped  about  a  small  table. 
The  furniture  in  the  room  is  mahogany  upholstered  in  dull  shades  of  red  and  blue 
tapestry. 

To  your  left  as  you  enter  is  the  living  room,  which  extends  the  entire  length 
of  the  east  wing  of  the  house.     This  room  is  equally  inviting  with  the  hallway. 


113 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


PBsroEitu'i'4aiB^iiyiiMii!^¥.yji'^'i'ij.'i'iJiity!i'ii.'iiy!MMi'i=^^  G 


ttKHrir^^^^  "»■•* 

^                A-  .'5*1 

^ 


Here  light  enters  through  a  small  bay  window  on  the  north  and  a  group  of  five 
small  windows  on  the  east.  The  large  fireplace,  shown  in  the  photograph,  is  the  in- 
teresting feature  here.  It  is  of  dark  red  brick  which  harmonizes  with  the  wood 
trim  of  red  gum  and  the  color  in  the  living  room  is  furnished  by  the  green  rug 
and  hangings.  At  the  south  end  of  the  room  are  doors  leading  on  to  the  porch 
overlooking  a  simple  little  garden. 

The  dining  room,  at  the  right  of  the  reception  hall,  is  furnished  in  mahogany 
while  the  handings  and  floor  coverings  are  brown.  An  attractive  old  grandfather 
clock  stands  in  one  corner  and  only  a  few  pieces  of  pewter  and  silver  in  simple 
design  are  displayed  on  the  serving  tables.  The  wall  tones  here  and  through  the 
first  floor  are  mauve  and  serve  as  a  pleasing  background  for  the  furnishings. 

The  second  floor  is  arranged  into  study  and  sleeping  rooms. 

There  are  but  eight  rooms  aside  from  the  service  quarters  and  this  makes  a 
comfortable  home  for  the  household  of  the  President. 


Sflfiffll^^lSfltSfllSfltSflfiSflfiifllSfltStlf 


114 


BY  COURTESY 
OF  THE  POETRY  SOCIETY 

EDITED  BY  HELEN  BUCHEN 


BARBAROSSA'S  AWAKENING 


Within  his  mountain  fastness 
The  Redbeard  King  awakes, 
The  ancient  ravens  drop  to  earth, 
The  granite  fortress  quakes. 

The  Hohenstaufen  lifts  his  head, 
The  flame  leaps  from  his  eyes ; 
And  shattered  on  the  cavern  floor 
The  beai'd-pierced  table  lies. 

The  dwarf  page  shrinks  by  the  granite  wall, 
The  heaped  gold-hoard  gleams  bright ; 
But  the  ruddy  beard  far  brighter  gleams 
With  red  and  aerie  light. 

The  beard  flows  down  his  mailed  breast, 
His  hand  is  on  his  sword. 
But  there  comes  no  tramp  of  horsemen. 
No  knights  await  their  lord ; 

For  the  thousand  years  appointed 
Have  not  been  fully  told ; 
And  the  unseen  elfin  warders 
Dare  not  unlock  the  hold. 

The  dwarf  page  falls  by  the  granite  wall, 
The  gold  hoard  turns  to  dust — 
The  hands  of  the  king  grow  nerveless, 
The  great  sword  flakes  with  rust : 

The  fire  dies  out  in  the  Spear-lord's  eyes 
As  he  sinks  to  the  basalt  floor; 
And  the  red  beard  pales  to  the  white  of  snow 
While  the  darkness  closes  o'er. 

MARCUS   SELDEN   GOLDMAN 


115 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


ANEMONE 

Daintiest  windflower,  found !  and  with  that  success 

Swift  I  would  seize  you,  yet  do  not  dare ; 

Delicate  petals  of  flushing  sweet  loveliness 

Should  I  not  shatter  you  past  all  repair? 

Lover,  care  not  for  that !    Yours  in  my  transiency ! 

Born  of  the  breezes,  tender  and  frail ; 

Zephyrs  of  springtime,  true,  they  have  mothered  me — 

But  it  is  life  to  be  swept  by  the  gale ! 

E.   G.   s. 

THE  MOTH 

This  little  lamp  men  call  the  light  of  day. 

By  which  I  darkly  read  the  signs  of  life : 

Its  promises  and  visions :  rainbows  dim 

Which  span  the  wreck  of  disappearing  storms — 

This  little  candle  in  the  night  of  time, 

This  spark  that  lights  eternity  for  me, 

A  moth,  weak  fluttering  in  the  immense  abyss — 

With  what  regret  shall  I  recall  its  flame 

When,  like  a  moth,  I  lie  with  folded  wings 

And  eyes  put  out  by  staring?    Shall  I  stir. 

Hearing  the  spring  winds  and  the  rolling  rivers. 

And  momently  from  out  my  rifted  cell 

Call  broken  yearings  for  the  old  adventure  ? 

Or  shall  I  sit  in  a  gilt  chair,  and  know 

Stale  reasons  why  the  moth  and  I  existed? 

CLYDE   BYRON  BECK 

YOUR  EYES  ARE  VIOLET 

That  modest  color,  violet. 

Somehow  I  prize. 

Can  children  tell  the  hows  or  whys? 

I  set 

My  h-eart  long  since  on  violet. 

And  now,  my  dear,  your  shining  eyes — 

Your  tender  eyes  are  violet. 

Had  they  been  blue 

Perchance  my  love  had  been  as  true. 

And  yet — 

Your  smiling  eyes  are  violet, 

For  me  enchantment's  in  the  hue. 

E.  G.  S. 


116 


1 

t 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


ROAD  SONG 


The  Open  Road  and  the  joy  of  dawn, 

To  wander  with  winged  feet 
Into  the  heart  of  the  sunrise  gold, 
Watching  the  wonderful  day  unfold. 
Till  we  learn  what  secrets  the  hill  tops  hold 

Where  the  sky  and  the  long  road  meet. 

A  song  of  true  Franciscan  men ! 

Their  way  lies  high  and  far. 
God-sib  they  be  to  grass  and  tree. 

And  their  brother  the  Morning  Star. 

Tramping  under  the  noonday  sun 

Where  slow  miles  climb  to  the  sky, 
A  sudden  wonder  we  seek  no  more, 
We  have  learned  the  long  road's  deeper  lore ; 
'As  the  miles  behind  are  the  miles  before.' 

Yet  we  march  with  courage  high. 

A  song  of  true  Franciscan  men ! 

Comrades  beneath  the  load, 
By  the  steady  beat  of  marching  feet, 

To  their  brother  the  Dust  and  the  Road. 

The  Lonely  Road,  and  the  wise  stars  smile 

As  into  the  dark  we  creep ; 
For  better  than  promise  of  sunrise  gold 
Or  vision  the  long  white  miles  unfold 
Is  the  perfect  gift  that  the  night  shall  hold, 

The  gift  of  a  dreamless  sleep. 

A  song  of  true  Franciscan  men  ! 

Their  way  who  followeth? 
Dame  Poverty  their  bride  shall  be. 

And  their  brother  men  call  Death. 

ALLENE    GREGORY 


117 


^ 

S  &^Si=S 

^ 
^ 

-)^:p 

^a 

MM 

M 

^^^ 

THE  REDISCOVERY  OF  AN  OLD 
AND  RICH  COUNTRY 


FERDINAND  MEYER 


UPPOSE  Cuba  were  to  be  torn 
by  a  revolution  for  one  hundred 
years — its  wealth  of  sugar  and 
tobacco  allowed  gradually  to  go 
to  ruin — its  home  and  foreign  business  al- 
lowed to  dwindle  to  comparatively  nothing 
— its  people  discouraged  by  lack  of  employ- 
ment and  petty  grafting  of  politicians,  and 
then,  while  they  were  in  this  demoralized 
condition,  the  United  States  should  offer 
its  protection  and  co-operation  to  restore 
orderly  conditions  on  the  island,  what  an 
opportunity  it  would  mean  for  the  country 
and  its  people !  Just  such  a  situation  offers 
itself  now  in  the  Republic  of  Hayti. 


The  island  of  Hayti  is  located  in  the 
Indies,  east  of  Cuba,  about  eleven  hundred 
miles  due  south  of  New  York  City,  and  is 
about  the  size  of  Ireland. 

The  chaotic  affairs  which  existed  in 
Hayti  in  1915  forced  the  United  States  to 
land  marines  and  to  keep  them  there.  On 
September  16th,  1915,  Mr.  R.  B.  Davis, 
jr.,  American  Charge  D'Affaires  at  Port- 
Au-Prince,  with  Mr.  Louis  Borno,  the 
Haitian  Foreign  Minister  signed  a  treaty 
which  has  since  been  ratified  by  the  United 
States  Senate  and  which  is  bound  to  make 
a  healthy,  self-supporting  community  out 
of  what  had  been  for  many  years  a  kind  of 


118 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


bankrupt  purgatory.  The  treaty  contem- 
plates not  only  the  collection  by  the  United 
States  of  the  custom  revenues,  but  it  also 
expressly  provides  for  the  budgetary  dis- 
position of  these  revenues  so  that  they  may 
be  applied  to  the  public  welfare.  A  clause 
also  provides  for  an  efficient  constabuhiry 
composed  of  native  Haitians,  but  recruited 
and  officered  by  Americans.  It  would  be 
too  much  to  say  that  for  the  first  time  in 
a  hundred  years  good  order  now  prevails 
in  Hayti.  But  it  is  not  too  much  to  say 
that  for  the  first  time  in  a  hundred  years 
nothing  else  but  good  order  can  prevail 
there. 

The  European  war  has  done  much  to  al- 
ter the  state  of  mind  of  Americans  to- 
wards things  foreign.  The  war  news  has 
made  foi'eign  names  familiar  in  appear- 
ance and  when  prices  for  food  have  soared 
with  the  demand  in  Europe,  even  the  most 
rural  American  has  acquired  a  sense  of  the 
importance  of  foreign  trade.  Also,  with 
as  much  money  as  is  now  in  circulation  in 
this  country,  the  speculative  instinct  as- 
serts itself — American  gold  goes  adventur- 
ing. China  needs  it,  South  Africa  and 
South  America  need  it.  A  powerful  cor- 
poration has  of  late  been  formed  in  Hayti. 
Among  the  directors  are  a  few  of  the  most 
prominent  names  in  the  financial  world. 

Hayti  has  greater  natural  advantages  in 
land  and  labor  than  either  Cuba  or  Porto 
Rico.  The  fertility  of  Ha>i;i's  soil  is  un- 
surpassed anywhere  on  this  earth  and  in 
order  to  judge  this  fertility,  we  have  to  go 
back  to  the  times  when  Hayti  was  a  French 


colony.  The  official  record  of  the  French 
government  shows  that  at  the  end  of  the 
18th  century,  there  had  been  invested  in 
Hayti  only  1,500,000,000  francs  or  the 
equivalent  of  $300,000,000.  There  were  in 
existence  in  the  colony,  in  the  year  1797, 
790  sugar  plantations,  3150  indigo  planta- 
tions, 789  cotton  plantations.  2119  coffee 
plantations,  50  cocoa  plantations  and  182 
distilleries  and  sugar  refineries.  Sugar 
was  Hayti's  principal  agricultural  product 
at  that  time.  What  has  been  done  can  be 
done  again,  only  many  times  better,  with 
modern  methods  of  cultivation  and  trans- 
portation. 

The  mountains  of  Hayti  are  reported  to 
contain  many  minerals — coal,  copper,  iron, 
gold,  silver  being  in  evidence,  and  the  val- 
leys offer  a  good  grazing  and  agricultural 
country,  all  of  which  only  awaits  the  com- 
ing of  capital  and  energetic  white  men  to 
develop  it.  The  climate,  owing  to  the 
mountainous  character  of  the  country,  and 
the  sea  breezes,  is  pleasant  and  healthful. 

The  American  intervention  is  not  to  be 
a  mere  superficial  dip-in  and  dip-out  of 
our  black  brothers'  chaotic  art'airs.  The 
American  government  means  business  this 
time.  Section  16,  the  last  of  the  ti'eaty, 
provides  that  the  agreement  shall  remain 
in  force  for  at  least  ten  years  "to  be 
counted  from  the  day  of  exchange  of  rati- 
fication and  further  for  another  term  of 
ten  years  if  for  specific  reason  presented 
by  either  of  the  high  contracting  parties 
the  purposes  of  this  treaty  has  not  been 
fully  accomplished." 


119 


The  Peace  of  War — 


For  fifty-three  years,  Christmas  has  not  found  America  in  war.  Now 
as  the  birthday  anniversary  of  brotherly  love  draws  near,  our  country  is 
engrossed  in  a  pursuit  which  sages  said  the  world  had  forgotten  how  to  fol- 
low. Nations  have  remembered  the  path  too  well.  One  after  another  they 
have  fallen  into  the  foot-steps  worn  by  all  the  soldiers  of  bygone  centuries. 
Last  in  line  marches  America,  while  the  Christmas  angel  of  a  modern  age 
speaks : 

"You  were  a  contented  group,  dreaming  before  your  hearthside.  Hur- 
ried knocking, — the  voice  of  a  messenger, — the  cold  rush  of  winter  across 
the  threshold, — the  yellow-clad  paper!  These  brought  the  news  of  your 
little  sister's  death  at  the  hands  of  an  assassin ;  of  the  terrific  slaughter  in 
her  vengeance. 

"The  soft  fire-glow  burst  out  into  flame.  The  caged  bird  hushed  its 
song.  Silence — and  then  confusion.  There  was  no  longer  calm.  Some  of 
you  shed  tears  of  rage,  beating  feebly  against  the  walls  that  barred  your 
way.  Others  fell  into  the  hysteria  of  speech  and  would  not  pause  for 
thought.  The  selfish  took  advantage  of  the  confused  to  pilfe  their  posses- 
sions even  as  Villon  was  robbed  when  he  wept  at  the  murder  of  Thevenin. 

"The  servants  of  the  house  became  rebellious,  seizing  that  dark  hour 
to  demand  gold — more  gold,  when  every  coin  was  needed.  Appreciation 
and  prejudice  were  cast  together  upon  the  coals.  Phedisposition  to  decry 
an  enemy  caused  lurid  pictures  of  him  to  be  drawn,  blacker  than  Beelzebub 
deserves.  Predisposition  to  follow  a  maxim  blindly  caused  the  ignorant  to 
shout  that  the  killing  of  men  by  men  was  wrong  even  to  defend  the  inno- 
cent. So  there  were  petty  quarrels  inside  while  without  the  slayers  hacked 
down  body  after  body  trampling  on  the  dead  to  reach  the  maddened  living. 

"From  the  window,  watchers  whispered  that  the  ground  gleamed  wet 
with  blood ;  that  children  were  maimed ;  the  unborn  murdered ;  womanhood 


blasphemed ;  and  old  men  crucified.  Still  you  did  not  arise  and  go,  all  un- 
knowing that  your  decision  lay  between  an  eternity  of  heaven  or  hell. 

"At  last  the  wise  shook  off  their  stupor.  They  heard  the  voice  of  one 
who  looked  upon  life  with  quiet  eyes,  saying:  'We  must  help  disarm  the 
madman  and  his  followers.  Wc  miitst  make  the  road  to  huppiiieuft  >tafe  for 
our  future  children.' 

"The  door  opened  .  .  .  The  young  and  strong  are  .still  filing  out  into 
the  night.  Upon  their  lips  is  the  family's  unsoiled  name  'Democracy'. 
What  matter  how  their  bodies  are  to  be  dishonored  when  their  spirits  have 
chosen  the  better  part?" 

So  speaks  the  angel  of  the  holiday  outside  our  war-disheveled  room. 
He  sees  that  our  nation-circle  is  broken,  that  we  grieve  and  are  not  com- 
forted. He  knows  that  we  are  impatient  of  whispers  as  we  listen  to  the 
reverberations  of  a  distant  tumult;  that  fierce  impulses  arise  at  the  nerve- 
racking  insistence  of  the  terrific  fact — the  world  is  at  war ! 

Yet  as  in  every  year  since  the  Nativity,  the  angel  waits  to  sing  the 
divine  song,  "Peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men."  Shall  no  head  be  lifted  to 
listen?  Is  the  invocation  but  a  cynicism  to  remind  us  that  peace  knows  not 
earth  and  good-will  is  a  stranger  to  mankind? 

No,  for  the  fact  that  our  nation  is  at  war  assures  our  peace.  Had  we 
no  share  in  the  battle  for  justice  our  happiness  would  be  lost  forever.  Our 
legacy  to  countless  generations  would  be  shame.  Their  right  to  enjoy  & 
world-established  good-will  would  be  destroyed  by  their  forefathers'  cow- 
ardice. 

There  could  be  no  peace  for  us  this  year  if  we  were  safe  from  war. 
The  faces  of  our  own  would  accuse  our  days.  The  cries  of  the  suffering 
would  haunt  our  nights.  The  indignation  of  the  avenging  powers  would 
vest  itself  in  a  mighty  scorn  fit  only  for  a  craven  nation. 

It  is  with  the  great  price  of  sacrifice  that  we  change  our  Christmas 
hymn.  Let  us  rejoice  that  this  year  we  are  not  singing  "Oh  little  town  of 
Bethlehem,  how  still  we  see  thee  lie".  For  it  is  our  great  privilege  to  chant 
the  mighty  psalm,  "He  has  sounded  forth  the  trumpet  that  shall  never  call 
retreat",  in  praise  of  a  God  who  is  truth  that  marches  on  forever. 

Christmas  is  not  a  myth. 

Wise  men  today  are  led  in  millions  by  the  star. 

We  who  watch  them  go  out  along  the  road  of  death  dare  not  gainsay 
their  sacrifice  when  "Inasmuch"  is  written  on  their  brows. 


;^^'^^"% 


RECENT  DEVELOPMENTS  IN  THE 
AIRCRAFT  INDUSTRY 


H.  T.  BOOTH 


PT  has  long  been  known  that  a 
"lighter  than  air"  airship  was 
possible,  but  it  is  only  compara- 
tively recent  that  the  balloon 
and  Zeppelin  have  been  developed  to  a 
practical  degree  of  efficiency.  The  tests 
carried  on  during  the  progress  of  the  pres- 
ent war  have  shown,  however,  that  there 
is  still  much  to  be  desired  along  the  bal- 
loon and  airship  line.  We  shall  not  con- 
sider the  airship  question  here,  but  confine 
this  discussion  to  the  aeroplane  proper,  the 
"heavier  than  air"  machine. 

When  Lillienthal,  Langley,  and  the 
Wright  Brothers  produced  their  gliding 
machines,  the  whole  civilized  world  was 
rather  sceptical  as  to  the  truth  of  the  mat- 
ter. Yet  today,  airplanes  are  sufficiently 
common  to  put  to  rout  any  remaining 
doubts  as  to  their  practicality.  And  since 
it  seems  certain  that  the  airplane  is  to  de- 
velop by  leaps  and  bounds,  it  would  be  in- 
teresting for  us  to  consider  the  reason  why 
a  five  thousand  pound  machine  can  remain 
in  the  air  for  an  indefinite  length  of  time, 
and  be  as  stable  as  a  balloon  during  its 
flight. 

We  shall  first  get  some  idea  as  to  the 
theory  of  flight.  Everyone  is  familiar 
with  the  fact  that  when  a  liquid  surface  is 
struck  by  a  flat  board,  as  far  as  the  senses 
are  concerned,  the  board  might  just  as 
well  have  struck  a  stone  wall.  Yet  when 
the  board  is  moved  sloicli/  thru  the  same 
liquid,  the  resistance  offered  to  the  motion 
of  the  board  is  negligible.     We  may  say 


then,  that  the  "resistance  offered  by  any 
liquid  to  the  motion  of  a  solid  thru  it,  is 
proportional  in  some  way  to  the  speed  of 
the  motion".  Later,  we  shall  see  what  this 
proportionality  is. 

This,  however,  does  not  e.xplain  why  the 
board  would  be  sustained  in  the  air,  say, 
even  if  it  were  moved  at  a  high  velocity. 
Let  us  take  another  example.  When  an 
oar  is  pulled  with  the  blade  perpendicular 
to  the  direction  of  motion,  there  is  no  ten- 
dency for  it  either  to  "dig  a  clam"  or  to 
fly  out  of  the  water.  But  if  it  be  inclined, 
a  force  immediately  is  experienced  .such 
that  the  oar  tends  to  dig  in,  or  fly  out  of 
the  water.  We  may  say  then,  that  the 
"force  tending  to  move  a  flat  surface  sus- 
pended in  a  moving  liquid  either  up  or 
down,  is  proportional  in  some  way  to  the 
angle  which  the  flat  surface  makes  with 
the  direction  of  motion  of  the  surface". 

Thus  we  see  that  the  motion  of  the  body, 
if  no  other  forces  are  acting,  depends  in 
some  way  upon  the  angle  of  incidence  and 
the  velocity  of  the  medium. 

Now  the  pressure  on  the  body,  which  is 
the  force  per  unit  area,  granting  that  the 
density  is  constant,  is  proportional  to  the 
square  of  the  relative  velocity,  from  the 
above  equation.  So  if  we  incline  the  plane 
to  the  direction  of  the  wind,  there  will  be 
exerted  a  certain  pressure  on  the  body  per- 
pendicular to  its  surface  which  may  be  re- 
solved into  two  components,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  wind,  and  perpendicular  to  the 
direction  of  the  wind. 


122 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


Consider  first  the  vertical  component  of  I 
the  pressure,  technically  called  the  "lift". 
The  component  will  vary  as  the  original 
force,  consequently  the  lift  will  vary  as  the 
square  of  the  velocity.  (It  makes  no  dif- 
ference how  we  set  up  this  relative  vel- 
ocity ;  whether  by  moving  the  body  at  a 
certain  velocity  relative  to  the  ground,  or 
holding  it  stationary  and  letting  a  wind 
blow  on  it  with  the  same  velocity  as  the 
moving  body  had  in  the  previous  case).  So, 
if  a  plane  be  suspended  in  a  moving  cur- 
rent of  air  and  at  an  angle  of  three  degrees 
to  the  direction  of  the  wind,  it  will  support 
a  certain  weight,  fifty  pounds,  for  instance. 
If  the  wind  velocity  be  doubled,  the  weight 
which  the  plane  can  support  will  be  multi- 
plied by  four,  or  two  hundred  pounds.  If 
the  area  be  doubled  at  the  same  time,  the 
plane  will  support  four  hundred  pounds. 

The  horizontal  component  of  the  pres- 
sure, called  the  "drift"  or  "head  resist- 
ance", must  be  overcome  by  the  power  sup- 
plied by  the  propellor,  and  it  is  only  this 
head  resistance  that  limits  the  speed  of  the 
machine.  It  is  obvious  that  since  the  re- 
sistance increa.ses  as  the  square  of  the 
velocity  produced  by  the  propeller,  there 
must  be  some  limiting  speed  for  a  given 
power  plant  and  wing  area. 

Thus  we  see  that  the  calculations  of  the 
performance  of  a  given  machine  is  depend- 
ent upon  the  preliminary  experiments 
made  upon  a  model  to  determine  the  pres- 
sure of  the  wind  on  the  wing  surface. 
For  the  experiments,  resort  to  a  wind  tun- 
nel is  the  usual  practice.  The  wind  tunnel 
is  merely  a  rectangular  box,  usually  about 
four  feet  square,  and  twenty  feet  or  more 
in  length,  thru  which  a  homogeneous  cur- 
rent of  air  is  forced.  The  given  model  is 
supported  by  a  spindle  suitably  connected 
to  a  balance,  and  the  lift,  drift  and  moment 
about  the  spindle  measured  for  the  desired 


velocity.  The  wind  current  is  supplied  by 
a  motor  driven  propellor  situated  at  one 
end  of  the  tunnel,  whose  speed  may  be 
varied  at  will  by  means  of  a  rheostat  in 
the  motor  circuit.  The  velocity  of  the 
wind  is  measured  by  a  special  type  Pitot 
tube  placed  near  the  center  of  the  tunnel, 
and  some  sort  of  a  difi'erential  pressure 
guage.  In  some  tunnels,  only  a  static 
opening  is  used,  situated  near  the  center 
of  the  tunnel,  on  the  wall. 

So  much  for  the  theory  of  the  aeroplane, 
necessarily  very  much  condensed,  with 
very  important  phases  omitted.  Consider- 
able could  be  said  concerning  the  manu- 
facture of  the  machines,  as  well  as  the  de- 
sign and  opei-ation,  if  time  and  space  as 
well  as  diplomatic  considerations  permit- 
ted. Suft'ice  it  to  say  that  it  has  been 
proved  by  actual  test  that  machines  can  be 
built  which  are  automatically  .stable,  (that 
is,  inherently  stable)  which  are  capable  of 
a  speed  of  from  one  hundred  to  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  miles  an  hour,  and  which,  at 
a  lower  speed,  can  carry  four  or  five  thous- 
and pounds  useful  load.  ^The  new  Liberty 
motors  should  allow  this  performance  to 
be  exceeded  to  some  extent. 

To  a  young  man  deciding  what  his  life 
work  shall  be,  and  who  is  inclined  toward 
engineering,  this  field  should  prove  very 
attractive.  The  universities  are  not  turn- 
ing out  many  aeronautical  engineers,  and 
a  young  man  starting  at  the  bottom  now, 
presupposing  an  adequate  university  engi- 
neering training,  should  be  well  up  in  the 
profession  in  a  very  few  years.  But  what 
the  industry  needs  at  present,  in  addition 
to  a  systematic  educational  campaign,  is  a 
supply  of  young  men  possessing  the  pre- 
requisite ability  to  become  aeronautical  en- 
gineers. Having  these,  one  can  hardly  be 
too  optimistic  regarding  the  future  of  the 
aeroplane  as  a  commercial  necessity. 


123 


YOU  MAY  BE  MISTAKEN 


LOIS  SEYSTER 


IVERYBODY  stood  up.  It  was 
the  last  feature — the  climax  of 
the  afternoon  performance.  To 
quote  the  hand-bills, 

"A  Stupendous,  Startling  Staggering 
Stunt,  Sustained  by  Superb,  Supernatural, 
Sublime,  Stupendous,  Steadiness  and 
Strength,  Starring  Steve  Stanley — Super- 
man!   !" 

Some  old  couples  clambered  upon  the 
vacant  seats ;  fathers,  who  pleased  small 
sons  as  excuses  for  seeing  the  circus,  lifted 
them  high,  but  were  careful  not  to  obstruct 
their  own  view;  sweethearts  pressed  each 
other's  arms,  warningly,  as  they  whis- 
pered, "There  he  comes !"  ;  the  atmosphere 
was  electrical  with  excitement  when  Steve 
Stanley,  Superman,  trotted  into  the  middle 
ring.  One  girl  clad  in  bright  crimson, 
seated  on  the  very  highest  tier  of  seats  in 
the  great  tent,  made  herself  conspicuous 
for  inexcusable  ignorance  by  inquiring, 

"Why  are  we  standing  up?    Who's  he?" 

Old  Doctor  Groves,  who,  with  no  excuse, 
attended  every  circus  that  came  to  Man- 
keto,  remarked  to  Carney  MacConnell,  cub 
reporter  for  the  "Times",  that  anyone 
must  be  a  country  not  to  know  about  Steve 
Stanley.  Carney,  being  still  pink-cheeked 
and  chivalrous,  turned  his  head  to  answer 
the  girl's  question. 

"Stanley  is  the  greatest  acrobat  yet,"  he 
replied,  kindly,  for  he  had  noted  her  poor 
little  crimson  dress  so  obviously  of  the 
country,    and    her    pinched,    white    face. 


"He's  famous  for  his  nerve  and  poise — 
Gee!     Isn't  he  handsome?" 

Carney  turned  around,  suddenly,  for  the 
Superman  was  bowing  his  response  to  the 
applause  with  easy  grace.  Then,  swift  as 
an  arrow,  he  darted  over  to  a  mysterious 
structure  and  shaking  back  his  thick,  black 
hair,  started  nimbly  to  ascend.  At  the 
very  top  of  the  edifice — which  resembled  a 
loop-the-loop — was  a  tiny  platform,  on 
which  a  bicycle  waited.  By  the  time  Stan- 
ley reached  the  platform,  his  great  stature 
appeared  diminished,  but  the  breathless 
audience  could  easily  discern  his  every 
movement.  Waving  his  hands  gaily,  he 
stood  seventy-five  feet  above  the  ring,  his 
black  head  brushing  the  very  apex  of  the 
tent  canvas.  Before  anyone  realized  it, 
there  was  a  sudden  rush  from  the  plat- 
form along  the  dizzily  narrow  incline. 
Stanley,  standing  with  folded  arms  upon 
the  wheel,  was  a  mere  streak  of  color  that 
gathered  tremendous  momentum,  struck 
the  loop  like  lightning,  whirled  under  the 
curve,  turned  a  complete  circle  and 
emerged — faster,  unbelievably  fast.  In 
the  incline  there  was  an  abrupt  gap  that 
yawned  for  fifteen  feet.  As  the  wheel 
plunged  at  it,  a  woman  screamed.  Like  a 
bird,  the  bicycle  skimmed  through  the  air, 
hit  the  other  side,  and  floated  to  the 
ground.  .  .  Stanley,  smiling  coolly,  was 
bowing  to  the  delirious,  thundering,  audi- 
ence. 

Carney     MacConnell     ran    his     fingers 


124 


THE  ILLINOIS  MACAZINE 


through  his  crisp,  red  hair,  and  nudging 
Doctor  Groves,  said,  "Steve's  alright,  eh. 
Doc?" 

The  doctor  did  not  pause  in  his  furious 
hand-clapping,  but  shouted,  "Yes,  he's 
good,  but  he'll  get  hurt  at  it  some  day.  I 
recollect  in  '98,  there  was  an  acrobat 
called — ■'  He  stopped  abruptly,  for  a 
slight  hand  fluttered  on  his  arm,  while  a 
timid  voice  begged, 

"Will  you  please  not  talk?  I  want  to 
hear — " 

"Certainly!"  Carney  answered  for  the 
doctor,  and  again  had  a  glimpse  of  melting 
brown  eyes,  red  lips  and  the  whitest  of 
faces.  His  boyish  imagination  could  pic- 
ture this  shy  country  girl  in  the  crimson 
fi'ock,  saving  up  her  precious  dimes  to  see 
her  first  circus.  Even  now,  he  could  not 
remember  his  first  without  a  thrill.  He 
could  sympathize  with  a  girl  who  did  not 
want  to  miss  even  one  word  of  Stanley's 
most  trivial  announcement.  Or  was  it 
trivial?     (Carney  thought  not  afterward.) 

"Leydies  and  gents,"  Steve  Stanley  was 
megaphoning  to  the  audience.  "This  little 
joy-ride  of  mine  maybe  don't  look  very 
diff"ycult" — celebrities  can  aft'ord  to  be 
modest  —  "but  the  moving-pitcher  man, 
and  the  circus  manager,  together,  pay  me 
one  thousan'  bones  for  each  performance. 
I  tell  you  this  because  I  am  offering  one- 
half  that — five  hundred  dollars  spot-cash 
— to  any  laidy  or  gent  who  cares  to  repeat 
my  stunt." 

As  he  lowered  the  megaphone,  there  was 
a  loud  buzz  of  comment,  mostly  humorous. 
Old  Doctor  Groves'  remark  was  repre- 
sentative : 

"Guess  I'll  try  it,  Carney.  You  can  buy 
me  a  powerful  big  funeral  with  that  five 
hundred." 

Ju.st  then,  a  voice  at  the  top  of  the  tier 
of  seats  said,  clearly, 

"Let  me  by.    I'm  going  to  try  it." 

Carney  MacConnell  sprang  up  and 
looked  around.    It  was  the  girl  in  crimson. 


Her  face  was  whiter  than   before.     Her 
eyes  blazed  defiantly.     (Carney  thought.) 

You  can't — you  mu.st  not!'  he  stam- 
mered.   "I  shan't  let  you." 

"You  can't  stop  me.  I  don't  care  if  I 
am  killed.     Let  me  by." 

"Good  heavens!'  cried  Doctor  Groves, 
feelingly,  "You're  such  a  slip  of  a  girl!" 

Then  a  thought  struck  Carney  and  he 
asked  in  a  low  voice,  "Do  you  need  the 
money?    Is  that  why  you  want  to  do  this?" 

Her  eyes  fell.  "You're  good  at  guessing 
— but  let  me  by.    I  must  have  the  money." 

"Can't  I  help  you?"  said  Carney  and 
Doctor  Groves,  in  unison.  The  girl  shook 
her  head  and  started  to  descend. 

By  this  time,  the  news  had  passed  from 
mouth  to  mouth,  so  that  everybody  stood 
up  again  to  watch  the  slight  figure  make 
its  lonely  way  to  the  ring.  The  whisper 
had  gone  'round  that  she  "needed  the 
money".  Some  stout,  philanthropic  gentle- 
men were  for  making  up  a  purse,  though 
none  of  them  seemed  to  intend  starting  it ; 
curious  people  wondered  who  she  was; 
fashionable  people  said  she  had  "very  poor 
taste";  excitable  people  said  it  was  suici- 
dal ;  horror-fiends  said  they  hoped  -she 
would  try  it. 

Carney's  sun-burned  forehead  became 
wet  with  sweat. 

"How  can  I  stop  her?"  he  asked. 

"You  can't,"  said  Groves,  hopelessly. 
"Look," 

The  girl  in  crimson  having  reached  the 
sawdust-ring,  was  talking  to  Steve  Stan- 
ley, who  everybody  thought  looked  uncom- 
fortable— a  man  taken  unexpectedly  at  his 
word.  Presently,  Steve  raised  the  mega- 
phone: 

"Laidies  and  gents,"  he  shouted,  "You 
will  now  see  a  repytytion  of  the  former 
feat.  Miss,"  he  questioned  the  girl,  "Miss 
Rose  Lane  has  volunteered."  There  was  a 
great  .shout  of  applause  during  which  Miss 
Ro.se  Lane  put  her  hands  uncertainly  to 
her  face,  forgetting  to  bow.     Then,  it  be- 


125 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


came  intensely  still,  while  Stanley  mounted 
lightly  to  the  platform  to  place  the  bicycle 
there. 

Two  Orientals,  who  had  been  desultorily 
riding  their  camels  around  the  outer  rings 
saw  that  there  was,  as  ice  Americans  say, 
"nothing  doing",  and  with  great  hauteur, 
disappeared.  Even  the  clowns,  ceasing 
their  gambole,  .squatted  back  on  their  heels 
to  watch  the  new  performer. 

"Poor  little  thing!"  muttered  Carney 
MacConnell. 

At  last,  all  was  ready.  Stanley  shook 
hands  with  the  girl,  gave  her  a  few  direc- 
tions, and  started  her  up  the  ladder.  She 
climbed  haltingly  for  a  few  feet  and  then 
stopped. 

"Go  on!"  shrieked  an  urchin. 

"Take  your  time!"  shrilled  a  clown. 

"Want  to  quit?"  asked  Steve  Stanley, 
very  eagerly. 

"Come  on  back!"  shouted  Carney  with  a 
tremendous  voice. 

The  girl  shook  her  head  and  started  on, 
clinging  desperately  to  each  round.  It 
seemed  years  to  Carney  before  she  reached 
the  top.  Everybody  strained  his  eyes  up- 
ward, during  a  painful  silence.  At  last 
she  was  perched  like  a  scarlet  bird  on  the 
wheel,  her  frightened  face  showing  vividly 
white  against  the  gray  canvas.  Very 
slowly,  she  loosed  the  brake  that  held  the 
bicycle.  With  a  sudden  whirr  of  wheels, 
it  shot  downward.  .  .  .  Carney  closed  his 
eyes.  He  could  not  look.  Then  they  flew 
open — "Heavens !  I  must  look !"  he 
groaned.  He  saw  the  flash  of  crimson 
shoot  into  the  loop.  He  saw  the  slight  fig- 
ure hang  downward  on  the  curve  for  an 
infinitesimal  instant.  Then  it  righted  it- 
self to  whirl  madly  on.  The  track  was 
cruelly  narrow — and  there  was  the  gap ! 
One  foot  to  right  or  left  and  the  wheel 
could  never  hit  the  other  side.  Carney 
closed  his  eyes  again.  .  .  When  he  opened 
them,  the  wheel  had  crossed  the  space, 
spun  down  the  last  incline  and  swept  to 


safety.     Once  there  it  toppled  over  with 
its  rider  to  the  ground. 

The  girl  in  crimson  had  won ! 

As  soon  as  he  could  still  the  pandemo- 
nium, Steve  Stanley  spoke: 

"Laidies  and  gents — you  have  been 
thrilled  by  Mi.ss  Lane's  hearoism,  and  so 
have  I.  And  in.gtead  of  the  five  hundred 
dollars,  I  wish  to  give  her  the  whole  one 
thousand.    My  compliments,  Miss  Lane." 

Smiling  tremulously,  her  eyes  downcast, 
the  girl  received  the  gift.  The  audience 
rooted  out  its  appreciation  in  three  cheers 
for  Steve  Stanley,  and  departed.  He,  as  a 
man,  meant  more  to  them  than  Steve  Stan- 
ley, acrobat,  had  meant. 

"Well!  Well!  This  is  the  best  circus 
I  ever  saw,"  said  old  Doctor  Groves,  "ex- 
cept that  one  in  '98  when —  He  stopped 
and  smiled  understandingly,  for  Carney 
MacConnell  was  leaping  over  three  seats 
at  a  time  to  reach  the  sawdust-ring. 

He  stopt  at  the  side  of  the  girl  in  crim- 
son. 

"How  brave  you  are!"  he  said,  softly, 
"but  my  heart  stood  still  for  you." 

Though  her  brown  eyes  glanced  up  shy- 
ly, she  did  not  speak. 

"Won't  you  tell  me  where  you  live?"  he 
wheedled,  like  the  Irishman  he  was.  "I 
want  to  know  you.  Besides  bravery,  I 
read  in  your  little  white  face  innate  re- 
finement, and — " 

But  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  she  had  dis- 
appeared into  the  crowd. 

Steve  Stanley  was  taking  off  his  black 
wig  as  he  walked  toward  the  men's  dress- 
ing tent,  when  the  girl  in  crimson  ran  to- 
ward him, 

"I  sure  will  get  a  lot  of  press-notices, 
tomorrow,"  said  Steve,  rubbing  his  bald 
head.  "They  take  to  my  generous  act  like 
ducks  to  water." 

"Every  time  you  hand  me  that  fake 
dough,  I  think  what  if  it  was  only  real," 
pouted  the  girl.  "And  I  just  ache  to  loop- 
the-loop,   standing  with   my  arms  folded 

126 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


like  you,  instead  of  acting  a  darn  fool 
simp." 

"Better  act  a  simp  (and  you  do  it  well)" 
replied  Steve,  judiciously,  "when  you  know 
Pete  is  out  in  the  audience  winnin'  big 
bets  on  you.  He  got  some  haul,  this  after- 
noon." 

"And  then  he  swipes  a  good  deal.  He 
picked  a  red-headed  guy  and  an  old  man 


right  while  I  held  them  with  the  high-brow 
talk.  The  guy  didn't  want  me  to  hit  the 
ring.  I  had  to  say  I  needed  the  money — 
I  certn'ly  made  a  mash  on  that  red-headed 
rube.  "Her  brown  eyes  grew  meltingly 
soft.    "Say,  Steve—" 

"I'm  lisfnin'  girlie." 

"Please  tell  me — what's  in-nate  re-fine- 
munt  ?" 


THE  ELEPHANT  BUTTON 


AS  CHUB  DESCRIBED  IT 

lost  Tweedledee.  He  is  an  ele- 
phant and  he  lives  on  my 
Fourth-button.  Mary  Ann  .said 
it  was  the  Fourth-button.  She 
taught  me  to  count  to  four.  The  elephants 
on  my  other  buttons  are  Tweedledum  and 
Humpty  and  Dumpty. 

I'll  tell  you  what  the  Fourth-button 
looks  like.  It's  great  big — oh.  about  as  big 
as — as  the  Moon,  and  round.  It's  the  color 
of  toads.  And  Tweedledee  stands  right  in 
the  middle,  all  .shiny.  I  broke  off  his  trunk 
one  day  to  see  what  was  underneath. 
Nothing  was. 


AS  MOTHER  DESCRIBED  IT 

Another  button  gone  from  Chub's  coat ! 
I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  sew  it  on,  now 
Mary  Ann  is  discharged.  Where  can  that 
button  be?  It  wasn't  large;  perhaps  an 
inch  across.  It  was  a  flat,  brown,  bone 
button  with  a  filigree  pattern.    There  was 


a  figure  near  the  center — a  dog  or  some- 
thing. It  must  have  been  bent  or  broken, 
for  it  was  a  troublesome  old  thing.  Every 
time  I  kissed  Chub,  it  pulled  out  some  of 
my  hair. 


AS  MARY  ANN  DESCRIBED  IT 

I  thought  if  I  left  when  Chub  was  away, 
I  wouldn't  care — so  much.  I  was  sneaking 
through  the  hall  when  I  saw  something 
shiny  under  the  chair  where  Chub  plays 
lion.  It  was  one  of  his  grand  elephant- 
buttons.  I  thought  right  away,  "I  must 
sew  that  on."  Then  I  remembered.  I'll 
never  see  Chub  anymore.  I  picked  the  but- 
ton up.  It  felt  all  warm  in  my  hand  .  .  . 
Such  a  pretty  tan  button  with  a  silver 
border:  a  dot,  then  a  di'mond,  a  dot — all 
of  a  sudden,  the  dots  blurred  into  the 
di'monds, — /'//  never  see  Chub — .  Well,  I 
slipped   the   button    into   my   pocket.      It 


couldn't  be  wrong.  I 
how  it  caught  in  my 
Chub  kissed  me. 


want  to  remember 
hair  the  last  time 


127 


BETWEEN 
YOU  AND  ME 


In  the  days  of  our  youth  in  the  old  home 
town,  it  was  "between  You  and  Me  and 
the  Gate-post".  But  gate-posts  are  con- 
spicuously absent  in  the  Twin  Cities.  The 
only  respectable  one  I  have  discovered  is 
west  of  Lincoln  Hall  and  it  wouldn't  be 
comfortable  to  try  hanging  on  it  and  tell- 
ing secrets  across  the  top. 

So  the  third  party  between  you  and  me 
will  have  to  be  the  last  dance  we  sit  out  at 
Bradley's,  or  the  double  chocolate  Boston 
at  Harris's.  Anyway,  understand  the 
third  party  doesn't  talk,  so  it  is  all  be- 
tween you  and  me. 

The  first  secret  is  that  the  Siren  has  be- 
come a  Red  Cross  nurse.  But  beneath  the 
apparent  demureness  I  believe  you  will  de- 
tect the  same  old  frivolity.  This  letter,  for 
instance — 

Somewhere  Perchance. 
Dear  Illinois  Boys, 

I'm  having  a  perfectly  wonderful  time 
this  year.  The  boys  are  all  too  dear  for 
anything.  I  call  them  all  by  their  first 
names  but  I  never  saw  so  many  Tommies 
and  Sammies.  Their  last  names  are  worse 
than  Open  House.  You  know  in  the  old 
Illinois  days  there  were  only  five  men  to 
every  girl — now  I  have  five  hundred  to 
choose  from.  I  was  never  so  popular  in 
all  my  life.  I'm  so  sorry  they've  cut  out 
formals. 

If  any  of  the  rest  of  you  come  over,  do 
look  me  up,  especially  you,  friend  Scout. 

The  Siren 


HOLIDAY  PRIMER  FOR 
A  STUDENT 


H 
R 


I 

S 


S 


rackers  and  cheese  may  mean  Christ- 
mas —  it  depends  where  you  eat 
them. 

appiness    must   be   packed    hard   like 
snow  to  keep  it  from  melting. 

isks  are  what  Santa  Claus  takes  in 
coming  down  the  chimney,  but  no- 
body ever  heard  him  howling  for 
life  insurance, 
nasmuch  as  you  give  to  Uncle  Sam  this 
year,  have  you  given  unto  Democ- 
racy, 
ome  people  are  so  busy  opening  the 
gifts  on  the  lowest  boughs  of  the 
Christmas  tree  that  they  never  see 
the  star  on  the  highest. 

he  world  is  a  naughty  child  who  gets 
switches  instead  of  sweets  this 
Yuletide. 
isery  is  not  always  absent  from  the 
house  with  the  holly  in  the  window, 
woman's  intuition  is  that  sense  which 
tells  her  before  she  looks,  where  the 
mistletoe  is  hung,  but  deviltry  tells 
her  to  stand  beneath  it. 

acrilege  is  written  "Xmas". 


M 


The    Optimist    is    the    one    who    says 
''Darn"  inside.     Cheerup  outside. 


128 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


WHY  MEN  LEAVE  HOME- 

An  Anachronistic  Study 

Adam  was  the  first  man. 

Eve  she  was  his  wife; 

She  pulled  an  apple  from  a  tree 

And  peeled  it  with  his  knife. 

Methusaleh  was  the  oldest  man 

Sarah  his  sixteenth  wife; 

She  practiced  four  hours  every  day 

And  always  on  a  fife. 

Napoleon  was  a  conqueror, 

His  empress,  Josephine. 

She  drove  his  Ford  from  morn  till 

night. 
Nap  paid  for  gasoline. 


EMANCIPATION 

No  more  dancing  all  night  long. 

No  more  women,  wine  and  song, 

No  more  roses  and  cab  bills  to  pay 

No  more  imports  to  stow  away. 

No  more  banquets,  no  dress  suits, 

No  more  green  snakes  in  our  boots. 

No  more  rides  till  break  of  day. 

No  more  smash-ups  with  the  deuce  to  pay. 

No  more  worry  about  which  to  take, 

No  more  freshman  dates  to  make. 

We're  not  giving  a  formal. 

The  man  who  says  children  should  not 
believe  in  Santa  Claus,  wears  spectacles 
with  no  twinkle  behind  them. 


WE'RE  ROBBED 

What's  the  use  of  fussing  now. 

When  the  Girls  PanHell  makes  a  rule 
That  only  two  dances  a  year  be  allowed, 

It  makes  a  steady  Fusser  a  fool. 
No  more  can  he  boast  of  his  Formal  bids. 

Of. a  Sorority  House  dance  date; 
No  more  in  full  dress  does  he  pace  the  halls 

Waiting  for  a  cab  that  is  two  hours  late. 
Just  think  of  it  girls,  how  you've  robbed  us 

Of  all  the  pleasures  and  thrills. 
Even  if  the  best  of  all  of  us 

Have  been  "roped  in"  on  "pills". 
We'll  miss  the  Brothers  welcome. 

The  chat  around  the  fire. 
When  each  girl  at  the  party 

Is  "raked  over"  by  her  heart's  desire. 
And  then  when  all  are  gone  to  bed. 

At  your  Illio  picture  he  looks  with  a  stare. 
He  nods  and  says  "When  I  got  you, 

I  am  sure  I  got  more  than  my  share. 

^3 


fa^^' 


129 


DORMITORY  SKETCHES 


GRACE  BROWN 


MARTHA  IN  CURLERS 

|lTH  all  the  devoutness  of  Aud- 
rey, I  thank  the  gods  that  they 
have  made  me  content  with  hair 
straight  as  a  string.  For  last 
night  I  saw  Martha  in  curlers.  As  I  was 
creeping  down  the  hall  at  a  late  hour  to 
borrow  Lucy's  Rob  Roy,  a  door  somewhere, 
closed  softly,  and  a  figure  glided  between 
me  and  the  light  at  the  far  end  of  the  pas- 
sage. It  paused  there,  enhanced  by  shadow, 
huge  and  gaunt.  Its  lower  parts  were  vague 
and  indistinct;  but  the  clearly  outlined 
head  struck  terror  into  my  soul.  Above 
outstanding  ears  untrammeled  by  hair, 
there  protruded  two  huge  bare  horns  at 
an  angle  to  freeze  blood  in  the  veins  of  the 
wicked.  As  I  choked  down  a  scream,  a 
sudden  light  from  an  opened  doorway  re- 
solved the  apparition  into  Martha  with 
her  hair  done  up  for  the  night.  I  shrank 
against  the  wall  to  let  her  pass  by.  Though 
I  conceded  the  fact  that  Satan  has  small 
use  for  a  negligee,  and  though  the  light 
had  revealed  the  unmistakable  snub  nose 
of  Martha,  I  could  not  convince  myself 
that  what  I  had  seen  was  other  than  the 
devil  in  a  bath  robe. 


ORANGE  PUDDING 

Betty  opened  the  door  softly.  "Do  you 
know  anything  about  a  gallon  can  of 
orange  pudding?"  .she  asked. 

Marion    looked    up   from    a   jumble   of 


gloves  and  hair  pins  in  her  lap.  "I  am 
now  searching  for  my  tooth  brush,  volume 
nine  of  Stevenson's  collected  works,  and 
Barbara's  rubbers.  I  shouldn't  be  at  all 
surprised  to  run  onto  a  can  of  orange  pud- 
ding in  the  north-east  corner  of  this 
drawer.    Who  wants  it?" 

"Tisn't  lost,"  explained  Betty.  "A  man 
brought  it  to  the  back  door  and  said  he'd 
been  sent  here  with  it.  Mother  Brett 
asked  me  to  inquire." 

"You  interest  me  strangely,"  said  Mar- 
ion, with  a  grin.  "I  leave  goloshes  to  fol- 
low you.    Let's  a-sk  Jane." 

Jane,  who  thought  she  was  a  radical  be- 
cause she  read  the  Masses,  and  said  women 
had  a  right  to  smoke  cigarettes — Jane 
knew  nothing  at  all. 

"Your  Henry  couldn't  have  sent  it  to 
you,"  suggested  Betty. 

"Perish  the  thought !"  Jane  swung  her 
feet  off  the  table  with  the  force  of  the 
idea.  "I  like  sausage  and  onions,  and  he 
sends  me  violets  and  Easter  lilies.  Have 
you  asked  the  Cherub?  Sometimes  she 
has  an  appetite." 

The  Cherub  next  door  had  a  blissful 
idea  that  Mother  Brett  was  an  embar- 
ras-sed  benefactor  overwhelmed  by  her 
own  generosity.  The  crowd  hooted  and 
went  on,  the  Cherub  in  its  wake. 

"Orange  pudding?"  inquired  Mabel,  far- 
ther down  the  hall,  her  eyes  big  with 
fright.  "I'd  certainly  be  careful  what  I 
ate  these  days,  with  German  spies  blow- 
ing up  chem  labs  and  everything." 

"  'The  can  was  filled  with  dynamite — 


130 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


Which  Billy  thought  was  cheese,'  "  sang 
the  group  as  with  one  voice. 

"The  Amazon  ate  six  desserts  the  other 
night,"  suggested  Marion. 

"Don't  ask  her,"  warned  Betty.  "She'd 
it  was  paid  for.  And 
we'd  see  of  the  orange 


want  to  know  if 
that'd  be  the  last 
pudding." 

"Is  it  paid  for? 

"Betty  turned  accusing 
"Get  thee  behind—" 

"Is  it  paid  for?  '  repeated  Jane 


asked  Jane,  suddenly, 
eyes  upon  her. 


Betty  nodded. 

Jane  shouldered  her  down  the  hall.  "I'm 
behind,"  .she  said.  "Away  with  middle 
class  morality!  This  is  a  gift  from  the 
gods." 

Amid  a  rattle  of  dishes  and  spoons, 
Betty's  voice  went  to  the  depths  below. 
"It's  all  right,  Mrs.  Brett.  Jane  will  take 
care  of  it.     Send  it  right  up." 

And  a  frantic  hostess  ne.xt  door  sought 
in  vain  to  solve  the  mystery  of  the  orange 
pudding. 


WOMAN'S  LEAGUE  TEA 

T.  S. 

The  buzz  of  conversation. 

The  swish  of  silken  skirts. 

The  whir  of  the  passing  tea  cart. 

The  suppressed  giggle. 

The  unsupressed  giggle. 

The  presiding  hostess'  smile. 

The  lemon  or  sugar. 

The  wafer, 

The  second  wafer. 

The  vocal  program. 

The  hush  while  listening. 

The  renewed  buzz. 

The  passing  acquaintance. 

The  nod  from  a  friend. 

The  soft-cushioned  sofa. 

The  yawn. 

The  click  of  the  knitting  needles. 

The  tea ! 


#""'<■ 


131 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


THE   BEARDSLEY 

STRICTLY   EUROPEAN 

9 

Every  faculty  for  Serving  banquets,  Luncheons, 
and  'Dinner  Parties 

C.  B.  HATCH,  Proprietor 


■ — ■+ 


I 
1 
1 
I 

i 

1 
I 

I 
i 


The  Arcade  Barbershop 

"Congeniality  and  Superior  Work' 

Our  Motto 

Come  to  see  us  before  you 
leave  for  Christmas  vacation 

Geo.  G.  Brown,  Proprietor 


.-I.     4,,. 


BOYS!  Harvey  wants  to 
give  you  a  good  shine  &  put 
a  big  crease  in  your  suit  be- 
fore uacation.    Don't  Forget. 


HITE  BROS. 


College  Hall 


JOSEPH   C.  BOWMAN 

is 

YOUR  DEPENDABLE  JEWELER 

Where  (^ems  and  (^old 
are  '^ghdy  Sold 


# 


oAn  exclusive  showing  of  Christmas  (jifts 
Worthy  of  the  Holiday  Season 

First  Door  Nortli  of  tlie  City  Building 
Neil  Street,  Champaign 


Tell  the  Advertiser  you  saw  his  Ad  in  The  Illinois  Magazine — He'll  appreciate  it 

132 


SMOKING-CAR  MILLIONAIRES 


MARTIN  L.  STRAUSS 


OU  have  seen  them  often  enough 
in  the  smoking  compartment  of 
a  pullman  sleeper,  dressed  in 
shiny  blue  serge  suits,  flashy 
necKtie,  diamond  scarf  pins  and  yellow 
shoes,  puffing  on  big  black  cigars  to  work 
up  steam.  In  real  life  they  are  drummers, 
and  the  commodity  they  sell  is  "bull."  On 
the  train  I  like  to  loiter  with  my  pipe  in 
the  smoking  compartment.  I  enjoy  the 
society  of  other  people  more  than  my  own, 
and  as  I  make  friends  easily,  I  often  pick 
up  an  acquaintance.  But  of  these  pluto- 
crats in  the  blue  serge  suits  I  always  steer 
clear. 

Several  weeks  ago  I  entered  a  smoking 
compartment  where  three  of  these  wealthy 
individuals  held  sway.  I  took  a  seat,  lit 
my  pipe,  and  tried  to  read.  The  million- 
aires were  filling  the  atmosphere  with  so 
much  smoke  that  I  could  hardly  see  the 
print,  so,  I  barkened  unto  their  words.  "I 
tell  you.  Bill,"  said  one,  "business  is  rot- 
ten, rotten  with  a  capital  R." 

"You're  right,  Tom,"  said  Bill,  "Why 
the  stock  market  is  way  down.    Why  .  .  " 

"Don't  I  know,  don't  I  know.  Say 
Charlie  Schwab  tipped  me  off"  to  sell  my 
U.  S.  Steel  before  it  goes  down  a  few 
points." 

"Do  you  know  Schwab?"  squeried  the 
third. 

"Ha,  ha.  Do  I  know  Charlie  Schwab? 
Say  you  ought  to  ask  me  if  I  know  my 
mother.  Charlie  and  I  are  chummy.  In 
fact,  his  wife  and  mine  'play  around'  to- 
gether two  or  three  times  a  week." 


"Pretty  nice  fellow?" 

"Nice,  you  bet  he  is!  Say,  just  'cause 
he's  got  a  few  more  dollars  than  me  doesn't 
make  any  difference  to  him.  He's  as  plain 
as  any  of  us,  and  lets  me  in  on  all  the  big 
deals,  too." 

Tom  puffed  vigorously  on  his  cigar,  and, 
after  he  had  had  time  to  think  up  a  "come 
back,"  he  bent  over  confidentially  and 
shouted,  "I'm  going  to  let  you  boys  in  on 
something.  Don't  tell  anybody — this  is 
confidential.  When  I  was  up  in  St.  Paul 
last  week,  Jimmie  Hill  oflfered  me  a  fifty 
thousand  a  year  job,  and  I  told  Jim  that 
my  interests  wouldn't  permit  me  to  accept 
it.  I  guess  I'm  content  with  what  I  got," 
and  he  winked  self-satisfiedly. 

The  third  chap  threw  away  his  cigar, 
lit  up  another,  and  got  into  the  game. 
"The  real  reason,"  said  he,  "that  I  am 
going  East  is  that  Secretary  McAdoo  has 
called  me  to  Washington  to  get  my  opinion 
on  the  Allies'  loan  proposition,  and  .  .  " 

.Just  then  the  train  stopped  at  Dayton. 
Bill  arose  hurriedly,  and  whispered  as 
softly  as  was  possible  for  him,  "Come  on, 
boys,  if  we  hurry  we  can  buy  some  more 
mileage  here,  and  save  forty  cents  apiece." 
— and  they  hurried. 

Seated  at  my  left  was  an  elderly,  beard- 
ed gentleman  from  whom  eflfervesced  the 
odor  of  hay.  He  turned  to  me  and  re- 
inarked,  "By  Crickety,  young  man,  that  be 
how  them  gentlemen  got  rich,  because  they 
saved  their  pennies.  Habits  stick,  young 
man,  habits  stick!" 

"Like  a  bottle  of  glue,"  I  agreed. 


133 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


The  University  Press 

Job  Printers 

Better  prepared,  and  even  more  willing  than  ever,  to  serve 
your  wants  and  treat  you  right. 

Bell  93,  Auto  1078 
108  S.  Neil  Street,  Champaign 

+. ._.„_,._. , .._.._.. .._„_.._. .—..—...J. 


We  wish  you  a  Happy  Christmas  and  hope 
to  see  you  all  back  next  year. 

•^  SMake  the  cArcade  your  hang-out  between  classes 

"  m^  Mr.  &  Mrs.  "Jimmy" 


(^et  the  Christmas  (^ift  at 
SMITH'S  JEWELRY  STORE 

"The  Reasonable  '=Place  to  'Buy" 


TiU  tin   Adi'crtisrr  you  saw  hi^  Ad  in  Tur:  Illinois  Magazine — Hell  avpnciate  it 

134 


I 

■4 


+  „ „„ „. „„ ,,„ „„ „„ .,„ „„ .,„ „„__„„ „„ „„ „„ „„ „„ „„ ,.,i.^„,i^,„i ,Mi .„. „,,_„« „, „,. „« Ml. .,., ..,. iin iin ,,11— .A 
i 


BASKETBALL  PROSPECTS 


^^^^OACH  JONES  is  confronted 
g,^t :;%5^  with  an  unusually  difficult 
?l''^*=^3<^I  problem  this  year,  since  so 
many  of  the  members  of  last 


year's  squad  have  entered  the  service. 
Captain  George  Halas  was  the  only  old 
man  back,  and  it  is  reported  that  he  con- 
templates getting  into  the  service  before 
the  opening  of  basketball  season.  This 
will  be  a  very  serious  loss  to  the  team,  for 
in  the  event  of  the  loss  of  Capt.  Halas,  Illi- 
nois will  lose  an  able  leader  and  one  of 
the  best  fighting  guards  in  the  conference. 
The  only  other  men  in  school  who  were  on 
last  year's  squad  are  Calvin  and  Steven- 
son. 

Some  of  the  best  players  of  the  1916 
Freshman  Varsity  did  not  get  back  this 
year.  Anderson,  one  of  the  most  promis- 
ing of  the  freshmen  is  back  and  is  expected 
to  put  in  a  strong  bid  for  a  place  on  the 
team.  "Bert"  Ingwersen,  fresh  from  the 
football  field,  is  in  fine  trim  for  the  basket- 
ball season.  Coach  Jones  is  hoping  to  find 
some  good  material  from  the  student 
body. 

Little  is  known  of  the  relative  prospect 
of  the  Conference  teams,  for  so  many 
players  have  entered  the  service.     Purdue 


leads  the  list  with  four  old  men  back  in 
school,  and  it  is  known  that  Minnesota  has 
three  letter  men  back.  Minnesota  lost  only 
two  games  last  year  and  Illinois  was  the 
victor  in  both  cases.  At  any  rate,  Purdue 
and  Minnesota  are  slated  for  a  rather  for- 
midable aggregation  of  tossers. 

The  schedule  has  been  practically  com- 
pleted. Coach  Jones  is  trying  to  get  the 
first  and  second  teams  of  Northwestern 
College  to  play  our  first  and  second  teams 
practice  games  in  the  afternoons  during 
the  holidays.  The  remainder  of  the  sched- 
ule is  as  follows : 

Dec.  15 — Millikin  at  Illinois. 

Dec.  19 — Millikin  at  Decatur. 

Jan.  .5 — Wabash  at  Wabash. 

Jan.  9 — Purdue  at  Illinois. 

Jan.  14 — Minnesota  at  Illinois. 

Jan.  19 — Wisconsin  at  Illinois. 

Feb.  2 — Chicago  at  Chicago. 

Feb.  9. — Northwestern  at  Illinois. 

Feb.  11— Ohio  at  Illinois. 

P'eb.  16 — Purdue  at  Lafayette. 

Feb.  19— Ohio  at  Columbus. 

Feb.  23 — Wisconsin  at  Madison. 

Feb.  25 — Minesota  at  Minneapolis. 

Mar.  2 — Northwestern  at  Evanston. 

Mar.  6 — Chicago  at  Illinois. 


135 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


+, — 


Out  of  the  ordinary  Christmas  Qifts 

The  Tbilbrick  (jift  Shop 


Mrs.  'Thilbrkk 


121  W.  Church  Street  Belvoir  Theatre  Building 

Champaign,  Illinois 


. •> 


I 


^^^^  ^^^^  1^  |.|,  |,„  I  ^  J,„ 


^UnCdn  "Portraits  for 

Christmas  will  make 
wonderful  gifts. 


614  E.  Green  Street 
Champaign,  III. 


* 


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DANCE  PROGRAMS 

We  make  the  best  Dance  Programs  &  Banquet  Menus  in  the  Twin  Cities. 

A  trial  will  convince  you. 

THE  HENDERSON  PRINT  SHOP 

The  'Program  Shop 


Wright  Street 


Champaign 


Till  the  .Advertiser  you  saw  his  Ad  in  The  Illinois  Magazine — He'll  apprceiate  it 

136 


I 
I 
I 

■4 


DRAMATICS 


MR.  ANTONIO 

touch  of  real  pleasure  was  af- 
forded to  the  task  of  theatre- 
going,  in  these  strenuous  war 
times,  by  the  appearance  at  the 
Illinois  theatre  for  one  night,  of  Otis  Skin- 
ner in  Mr.  Antonio,  the  well  known  com- 
edy by  Booth  Tarkington. 

Mr.  Skinner  is  a  splendid  actor,  a  gifted 
interpreter  of  character  parts,  and  in  Mr. 
Antonio  he  had  a  vehicle  adapted  to  his 
ability.  Mr.  Antonio  tells  a  clear  coherent 
story  that  is  rich  in  sentimental  interest, 
and  the  added  attraction  of  Otis  Skinner 
in  the  leading  role  removed  it  far  from  the 
realms  of  the  commonplace. 

In  the  first  act  we  are  introduced  to  our 
hero  in  the  form  of  "Antonio  Camara- 
donio",  a  wandering  organ  grinder,  whose 
kindness  of  heart  leaves  a  trail  of  friends 
in  his  wake,  but  who  excuses  his  charity 
on  the  assumption  that  he  has  "a  devil  in- 
side of  him"  responsible  for  the  actions. 

In  this  play,  Booth  Tarkington  intro- 
duces a  new  group  of  characters ;  stern, 
pious,  hypocrites,  rigidly  trying  to  make 
their  village  of  Avalonia  a  model  of  pur- 
ity. Into  this  atmosphere  on  a  Sunday, 
comes  Antonio  with  his  donkey  and  organ, 
grinding  out  a  ridiculous  screeching  mel- 
ody. There  he  stays  long  enough  to  par- 
tially reform  the  community  and,  to  all  ap- 
pearances, win  the  love  of  a  lonely  orphan. 
This  play  succeeds  with  its  audience 
because  it  takes  one  of  the  lowest  of  char- 
acters and  shows  the  beauty  in  it;  also  be- 
cause of  the  clever  and  subtle  acting  of 
Otis   Skinner   in   the   leading   part.      Mr. 


Skinner  is  gifted  with  an  educated  ear, 
and  he  reads  his  lines  with  quite  an  ex- 
traordinary sense  of  tempo,  and  a  marvel- 
ous appreciation  of  the  effect  of  well  cal- 
culated pauses.  To  him  and  to  the  sup- 
port of  a  well  selected  cast,  we  owe  our 
enjoyment  in  "Mr.  Antonio". 

As  a  charity  production  for  enlarging 
the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Fund,  Pierrots  Vaudeville 
show  was  a  decided  failure,  because  every- 
one had  their  money's  worth.  It  was  not 
ju.st  a  campus  production  supported  for  a 
good  cau.se,  but  a  clever  bit  of  work  en- 
thusiastically carried  out,  which  sent  its 
audience  away  conscious  of  a  clever  per- 
formance. 

The  single  acts  were  exceptionally  good. 
0.  A.  Schoeffler,  the  xylophone  wizzard 
approached  the  ranks  of  a  professional  in 
his  unusual  ability  and  technique. 

G.  A.  Cambell's  impersonation  of  Harry 
Lauder  was  a  credible  one  and  in  his  own 
way  he  held  the  interest  of  the  audience. 

Mike  Dailey,  as  usual,  had  no  trouble  in 
convincing  the  audience  that  as  a  dark- 
town  comedian,  he  is  far  from  being  an 
amateur.  Carlsen's  Operatic  Nightmare 
is  worthy  of  mention. 

Of  the  group  numbers,  the  Peerless 
Quartet  (composed  of  G.  D.  Snyder,  W.  E. 
Hayne,  H.  G.  Haake,  and  R.  F.  Kurtz  off- 
ered some  real  harmony.  The  Jazz  Sextet 
lived  up  to  its  name  with  a  well  balanced 
act  consisting  of  some  real — Jazz — a  vocal 
solo  and  a  steel  guitar  number. 

The  Harmony  Trio  offered  a  varied  pro- 
gram of  which  the  story  of  the  three  trees 
was  the  deciding  feature. 


137 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


+■— • 


Halftones 

Zinc  Etchings 

Color  Plates 


Bell  411     Auto  2162 


G.  R.  Grubb&Co. 

Engravers 

114  North  Walnut  Street  fhampaign,  llliniiis 


Bright  New  Xmas 
Goods  Just  In— 

— tasteful  and  inexpen- 
sive Christmas  presents  of 
all  kinds,  including 

Fountain   pens.       Our  stock  of  CONKLIN 
PENS  is  complete. 

LLOYDE'S 

CHAMPAIGN,  ILL. 


Gifts  for  Every  Occasion 

Our  little  shop  will  help  you  solve  the  problem 
"What  Shall  I  Give?" 


Latest  Ideas  in  Jewelry 
Everything  '^^lew 


Watch  and  Jewelry  Repairing  Moderate  Prices 

RAY  L.  BOWMAN  JEWELRY  CO. 

Miss  Rdv  L.  Bowman,  ^ianageT 


New  Hamilton  Building 


Champaign,  III. 


Tell  the  Adi'ritiscr  ijou  san-  hi.s  Ad  in  Tut':  Illinois  Maijazi.nl; — He'll  aiijmciatv  it 

138 


u._» ^ 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


A  touch  of  originality  was  introduced 
into  the  Novelty  Dance  and  Novelty  Music. 
The  dance  itself  was  exceptionally  clever 
and  well  executed,  while  the  Broom  Viol 
orchestra  was  a  real  novelty  to  say  the 
least. 

We  were  a  trifle  disappointed  in  I  he 
Style  Revue.  The  best  part  of  the  act  was 
the  dainty  tripping  of  a  fair  Co-ed  and  her 
dancing  partner. 

One  of  the  most  novel  acts  in  the  history 
of  Illinois  dramatics,  was  the  three  act 
playlet  by  P.  H.  Young.  One  sought  in 
vain  throughout  its  course  for  the  imagi- 
native touch  of  art  which  it  lacked,  but  the 
keen  enjoyment  that  we  derived  from  the 
ludicrous  antics  of  its  players  will  long  re- 
main in  our  memory. 

Aside  from  the  fact  that  the  numliers 
failed  to  appear  as  .scheduled,  and  that 
some  of  the  musical  numbers  were  re- 
peated, this  attempt  of  Pierrots  will  be  ca- 
talogued in  the  language  of  the  campus  as 
a  daring  success. 


Mme.  Sarah  Bernhardt,  in  another  fare- 
well tour  of  America,  was  at  the  Illinois. 
Tuesday,  October  16. 

Time,  which  hangs  so  heavily  on  the 
shoulders  of  men,  has  seemed  to  pass  by 
the  greatest  of  all  French  tragedians,  the 
"Divine  Sarah".  She  is  undoubtedly  still 
the  foremost  member  of  the  profession,  al- 
though approaching  her  seventieth  year. 
Her  Cleopatra  was  a  triumph  of  emotional 
expression.  Her  passionate  love  for  Mark 
Anthony  opposed  to  her  pride  of  race  and 
place  was  revealed  in  a  variety  of  nuances 


that  clearly  demonstrated  that  her  mas- 
tery of  all  .shades  of  hi.strionic  expression, 
is  still  unchallenged.  She  was  the  im- 
perious mistress  of  Egypt  through  all — a 
figure  of  compelling  fa.scination  and  dom- 
ination. The  death  scene  was  a  moment 
of  inspiration  that  held  all  eyes  by  its 
sheer  beauty  of  emotional  appeal. 


To  open  the  musical  comedy  .sea.son,  the 
management  at  the  Illinois  were  fortun- 
ate in  getting  the  inimitable  Percival 
Knight  to  present  his  new  three  act  com- 
edy "Dew  Drop  Inn",  Monday  night,  Oc- 
tober 22.  Only  five  days  away  from  the 
Illinois  Theatre  in  Chicago,  the  company 
was  on  its  way  to  the  Lyric  in  New  York, 
so  for  once  Twin-Cityites  are  privileged  to 
boa.st  that,  "We  looked  it  over  before  the 
smart  set  of  Gotham  got  it." 


The  popular  musical  comedy,  "Very 
Good  Eddie"  came  to  the  Illinois,  Monday 
night,  October  29,  for  the  second  visit  of 
the  present  sea-son  in  the  Twin-Cities,  hav- 
ing played  at  the  Belvoir  about  two  weeks 
previous.  In  spite  of  this  fact,  however, 
a  good  hou.se  was  out  to  greet  the  diminu- 
tive "Eddy".  It  is  rare,  indeed,  that  we 
see  a  bevy  of  stars  of  the  New  York  cast 
on  local  stages  as  well  as  the  billboard,  and 
in  this  case  it  was  only  due  to  the  fact 
that  the  management,  at  the  close  of  the 
Chicago  run  last  .June,  .sent  the  company 
on  a  short  tour  of  the  Pacific  Coast  to  keep 
the  cast  and  performance  intact  and  at 
high  efficiency. 


139 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


Schuler  Bros.'  Homemade 

-    '< 

,, . „ , . 

<^erry  Christmas  and 

Candy  made,  unexcelled, 
before  the  public 

Happy  "ISlew  Tear 

at  the 

r  Our  Brittles  are   fine  —  our 
Chocolate  Creams  are  better 

BRADLEY 

9  Main  Street 

KENNEDY  KANDY  SHOP 

Champaign 

. ■; 

315  N.  Neil,  Opposite  Gazette 

*  ,_.. 


The   Cave   Barber  Shop 

Haircutting  8C  Electric  Massage 
Toilet  Articles  for  sale 


FUNK  &  MORGAN 

510   E.  Green  St. 


■.}. 


Y 


_„,, „„ „„ nn „u n., n., nci mi on .... n  A 

ES,  send  her  a  box  of  our  famous  "La  l^oy     = 
Chocolates/'  if  you  wish  to  really  please  her.     T 

70  C  the  pound  1 


Del  Harris 

On  Green  Street 


I 
I 
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I    i 
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STRAUCH'S 

112  N.  NEIL    DOWNTOWN 
625  S.  WRIGHT    UNIVER'Y 


for 

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charming 

The  oArt  and  (jift  Shops 


BOYS!   Mr.  George  H.  Stout  will  be  glad  to  see  you  at  the 
new  Uni  Billiard  Parlor  at  608  S.  Sixth — 

"just  a  few  steps  from  'Bert's" 

Come  on  over  and  play  billiards  or  pool  on  the  best  tables  in  the  University 

district.     The  click  of  the  new  "ivorys"  sure  is  tantalizing.     All  your  needs  in 

staple  tobaccos  and  confections  also  taken  care  of. 

THE  UNI  BILLIARD  PARLOR 


Tell  the  Adiwrtnicr  you  mo/c  his  Ad  in  The  Illinois  Magazine^//*'//  aj'jinciate  it 

140 


THE  YELLOW  WOMAN 


LOIS  SEYSTER 


"Mother,  there  is  someone  else  a-moving  in  the  room !" 

"Child,  it  is  the  Yellow  Woman  creeping  through  the  gloom." 

"Why  do  we  know  fairy-folk?    They  often  frighten  me," 

"Fairies  only  come  to  lowly  people  who  can  see." 

"Mother,  she  has  yellow  eyes !    And  oh,  they  drip  with  tears !" 

"Hush,  dear  .  .  .  She  has  rowed  to  make  you  happy  all  your  years!' 


"Yellow  Woman,  make  me  happy  with  a  lovely  face, — 
Scarlet  lips,  and  luring  glances,  lissomness,  and  grace." 

"Nay.    I  rode  the  green  sea-surf;  I  trod  the  barren  hill 
To  bring  your  naked  hands  the  gift  of  magic  housewife  skill." 

II. 
"Yellow  Woman,  now  you've  come  a-roving  back  again. 

If  not  beauty  give  me  charm  to  captivate  all  men." 
"Nay.    I  crept  through  heathered  copse,  and  danced  o'er  down  and  dun 

All  to  promise  this:  of  lovers,  you  shall  have  but  one." 

III. 
"Yellow  Woman,  grant  a  woman  like  yourself  a  boon, — 

Give  my  lover  riches, — bring  us  golden  power  soon." 
"Woman-like-myself,  I  ranged  from  purple  fen  to  moor 

Bringing  you  the  golden  privilege  of  being  poor," 

IV. 

"Yellow  Woman,  eerie  woman,  tell  me  why,  I  pray, 
(Though  you  vowed  to  make  me  happy)  thrice  you  said  me  nay?" 

"You  chose  beauty,  adulation, — wealth  you  ask  me  now ; 
When  I  give  you  these,  my  daughter,  then  I  break  my  vow." 


141 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


'^^^hjK, 


Watch!!! 


BEVO — a  proven,  whirlwind  success- -has  been 
followed  by  a  ho:t  of  imitations.  They  are 
offered  in  bottles  of  similar  shape  and  color, 
with  labels  and  names  suggestive  of  the  BEVO 
bottle's  embellishments. 

But  you  don't  taste  the  package — it  is  the  con- 
tents you  must  depend  upon  for  enjoyment. 
Beware  of  these  various  just-as-goods — don't 
try  to  identify  BEVO  by  the  shape  of  the 
bottle  alone. 


Look!! 


Certain   identification  marks  protect  you  against  . 

the   spurious — not    only    the    im-tations    of   the  \ 

product,     remember,     but    attempted    resurrec-  \ 

tions — the  old  fa-lures  that  are  now  masquerad-  \ 

ing  in   bottles  similar  to  that  of  the  new  sue-  \ 

cess.      Look  for   these   unmistakable    marks  of  « 

the    genuine — have    the    bottle    opened    before 
you;     then, 

Look  for  the  Seal y^^ 

Sse  that  it  is  unbroken;  covers  th? 
Crown  Top.  and  that  the  Crown  Top 
bears  the  Fox  trade-mark. 
B2  sure  the  Bottle  bears  this  label  ^ 


Listen ! 


BEVO  is  a  pure  drink.  Which  means  more 
than  thc:t  it  contains  pure  ingredients — means 
that,  while  you  r-ay  have  good  reason  to 
suspect  some  milk  cr  water  of  containing 
germs,  BEVO — a  pasteurised  product  in  ster- 
ilized bottles — is  always  absolutely  free  from 
them. 

BEVO  is  also  healthful  —  the  choice  cereals 
and  Saazer  hops  from  which  it  is  made  make 
it  so — and  you  will  find  its  refreshing  quality 
and  flavor  dilightfully  unlike  any  you  ever 
tasted  in  a  soft  drink. 

Demand  the  genuine.  On  sale  at  all  first-class 
places.  Your  grocer  will  supply  you  by  the 
case. 

Manufactured  and  bottled  exclusively  by 

Anheuser-Busch,  St.  Louis,  U.S.  A. 

^/ways  drink  Sevo  cold 


The  all-year-'round 
soft  drink 


Trll  thr  Advertiser   ijou   so  ir  his  Ad   m 


142 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


Students! 

Do  you  consider  the  Illinois  Magazine  worthy 
of  a  little  Illinois  loyalty?  Illinois  is  noted  as  a 
school  and  well  known  for  athletics.  A  good  lit- 
erary magazine  completes  the  cycle.  The  staff  is 
doing  its  best,  but  needs  your  support.   See  that 


!  you  take  a  copy  of  this  number  home 

I  with  you — the  folks  "will 

appreciate  it. 


■■* 


i 
1 

I  ILLINOIS'  Fair  Name 

j  must  be  carried  unsullied  over  seas  to 

I  a  victorious  finish  by 

your  country's  NAVY 


I  Full  Information  at  the 

I  NAVY  RECRUITING  STATION 

1  CHAMPAIGN  I 

i  1 

j ^       1 

Tell  Ihc  Adiirtiser  you  saic  )ii.s  Ad  in  THE  Illinois  Magazine — He'll  appreciate  it 

143 


Y.  M.  C.  A.  Cafeteria 

A  broad  and  sweeping  statement,  nevertheless  it  is  true,  that  those  of 

our  customers,  who  have  had  wide  experience  in  such  matters,  say  that 

the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  Cafeteria  of  the  University  of  Illinois  served  the  best 

value  and  the  greatest  variety  of  food  they  have  ever  found  in 

any  cafeteria,  ANYWHERE. 

WE  HAVE 


cA  French  Chef  Wonderful  French  'Castries 

'Delicious  and  appetizing  salads         ^eats  of  the  best  quality 


WE  GIVE 


Courteous  treatment  €ficient  service 

Special  features  in  music,  Wednesday  and  Sunday  evenings 

WE  INVITE  YOU  TO  VISIT  US 

HOURS 

WEEKDAYS  SUNDAY 

Breakfast 7:00—8:30  Breakfast 8:00—9:30 

Lunch 11:00—1:00  Lunch  .          .          .          .          .          .   12:00—1:30 

Supper 5:30—7:00  Supper 5:30—7:00 

CONCERT  WEDNESDAY  AND  SUNDAY  EVENINGS 


I 


THE 
ILLINOIS 

MAGAZINE 

NEW  YEAR'S  NUMBER 
1918 


15 


cents 


NOTICE  T0_  READER — When  you  finish  reading  this  magazine  place  a  one 
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THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


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exams,  we'll  be  on  hands 
with  the  same  old  Ime  next 
semester,"  say  Mr.  &  Mrs. 
Jimmy. 

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— hit  'em  hard! 


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FRESH  CANDIES  DAILY 

Come  in  and  inatch  us  make  candy 


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145 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


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146 


!iyiiM''-i^-g^a^'i'i^iii^i'-i^^i'-i^ii^ii!^!a^-^''^=ffli^^^ 


«yp*jwwLva^tvf^iis«ia«y*yis«!isyi«yisytwyiait«at«yi^ 


The  Illinois  Magazine 

NEW  YEAR'S  NUMBER 


George  Unger      -------------      Editor 

Walter  B.  Remle\      ---------      Bitsinesft  Manaqer 


Table  of  Contents 


Santa  Maria  della  Salute  Fnnitispiece 

A  Night  in  Venice 149 

A  Perfect  Understanding  (Prize  Story)  155 

Defeat   (Prize  Poem)  160 

Forty-five  and   Forty-six 161 

^        From  the  Poetry  Society  (Poems) 16o 

Editorial    166 

I        From  the  President's  Message  168 

^        "As  One  Who  Serves" 169 

The  Professor's  Pony l72 

Mara  (Poem) 174 

Promoting  the  Play 175 

Dope  177 

Between  You  and  Me - 178 

Days  in  a  Seminar 181 

"Spiffin's  Toilers" 183 

Taps  Eternal  191 


EDITORIAL  STAFF 

L.  J.  Selzer       -------. --       Assistant  Editor 

Lois  Seyster       ------------       In  Charge  of  Editorials 

Elizabeth  Leitzbach      -----------      In  Charge  of  Fiction 

Dorothy  Seidel      ------------      In  Charge  of  Dramatics 

Zelomia  Ainsworth      ------------       Woman's  Editor 

Glenn  W.  Frede      ----------        -In  Charge  of  Athletics 

BUSINESS  STAFF 

W.  E.  Krieger      -------------  Assistant  Manager 

R.  E.  Spangler      -------------  Circulation  Maiiager 

Roger  Dawson,  S.  A.  Wilson,  W.  F.  Gast      -----  Business  Assistants 

Published  monthly  by  the  Illini  Publishing  Company  ilurinn  the  colleue  year.  Entered  as  second-class 
matter  at  the  postoflice  at  Urbana,  Illinois.  Office.  University  Hall,  Urbana,  Illinois.  Subscription,  $1.00 
per  year.     Out-of-town   subscriptions.   ?1.2o.     Single  copies.   15   cents. 

Twin-  City  Prixtixg  Compaw,  Pyiiitcra  and  Uhidcrs,  Champaign.  111. 

3;t7rfFaig^iraigT.iffT.i!friii?ytiff^iyrrTrMit7r.,tT^!trsir^^ 


ggVrTTTTTTTTii[iininiiiiiTTTmrTmTTTTii[TMiiiMiriii[Tiiiniiiiitii]iriniiiii;i]irnTirTn7TT7iiTr7TTr^^ 


The  Illinois  Magazine 


NEW  YEAR'S  NUMBER 


Volume  9 


JANUARY.  1918 


Number  4 


A  NIGHT  IN  VENICE 

PROFESSOR  NEWTON  A.  WELLS 


ilT  was  during  the  summer  of 
1912  and  before  Europe  had 
been  wrecked  and  impover- 
ished by  war,  that  the  "Haut- 
beaux" — they  pronounced  it  "Ho-boes"- — 
made  their  memorable  study  trip  through 
France  and  Italy.  The  company  was  made 
up  of  thirteen  seniors,  two  alumni  and 
three  members  of  the  faculty, — all  from 
the  Department  of  Architecture.  They 
had  sailed  about  the  middle  of  June  from 
Montreal,  landing  at  Liverpool ;  had  spent 
a  few  days  in  London,  a  couple  of  weeks 
in  Paris,  a  few  days  in  Switzerland ;  had 
wandered  for  a  week  among  the  Italian 
lakes  and  then  across  the  plain  of  Lom- 
bardy,  arriving  at  Venice  early  in  July. 

Right  here,  I  shall  pause  long  enough  to 
contradict  the  generally  accepted  tradition 
that  the  climate  of  Italy  is  inimical  to 
tourists  during  the  summer.  The  heat  is 
no  greater  than  that  of  our  middle-west, 
and  the  only  danger  to  be  especially  guard- 


ed against  is  that  of  mo-squitoes  at  night. 
We  found  the  beds,  in  all  hotels  through 
Italy,  protected  by  mousquito  awnings.  To 
those  not  acclimated,  the  sting  of  the 
Italian  mosquito  is  liable  to  cause  ma- 
larial fever.  The  lagoons  and  marshy  dis- 
tricts about  Venice  are  especially  infested 
with  these  pests,  against  which  the  Vena- 
tion hotels  take  corresponding  pains,  to 
protect  their  guests. 

Fortunately  for  the  "Haut-beaux",  their 
hotel  accommodation  had  been  engaged 
some  weeks  in  advance.  Otherwise  they 
would  have  found  it  difficult  to  obtain 
quarters,  at  any  price,  since  the  annual 
gondolier's  carnival  occurs  in  July,  bring- 
ing with  it  an  unusual  conge.stion  of  tour- 
ists, as  well  as  native  visitors  from  all 
northern  Italy.  So  it  happened  that  the 
train  which  bore  us  from  Milan  to  Venice 
was  so  packed  with  tourists  on  their  way 
to  see  the  "Carnival",  that  it  was  with  the 
greatest  difficulty  that  the  "Haut-beaux" 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


were  able  to  sandwich  themselves  into  the 
few  vacant  places  to  be  found  scattered 
through  the  long  string  of  coaches.  I  well 
remember  my  own  experience  on  drifting 
into  a  compartment  containing  half  a 
dozen  people — these  European  railway 
compartments  are  intended  to  accommo- 
date ten  passengers — a  middle-aged  man 
in  shirt-sleeves  sat  by  the  window,  his  nose 
in  a  guide-book ;  a  woman, — evidently  his 
wife — lay  extended  along  the  seat  beside 
him,  her  face  covered  with  a  paper;  the 
opposite  seat  was  occupied  by  four  young- 
sters and  traveling  impedimenta.  I  knew 
from  the  forbidding  glances,  with  which 
my  advent  was  hailed,  that  a  seat  was  to 
cost  me,  at  the  least,  some  polite  insistence. 
Not  knowing  the  nationality  of  the  tra- 
velers, I  initiated  my  first  request  in 
French,  "A  place  if  you  please?" 

"No,  Monsieur,  vous  voyez  que —  qu — 
nous  sommes —  eh —  oh  tell  the  man  that 
we're  crowded  already,  Sis",  Shirt-sleeves 
finished,  appealing  to  the  girl  sitting  oppo- 
site. 

As  the  girl  began  in  very  lame  Italian,  I 
interrupted  smiling,  "Never  mind;  let's 
finish  in  plain  United  States." 

"Oh,  you're  an  American  then?"  from 
the  girl  who  began  immediately  to  gather 
up  papers  and  magazines  and  shoo  the 
youngsters  along  so  as  to  make  room  on 
the  seat  beside  herself.  With  very  profuse 
thanks  and  apologies  for  the  crowding  ne- 
cessitated by  the  heavy  travel  of  the  "Car- 
nival" season,  I  dropped  into  the  seat. 
Thus  mutually  introduced  by  the  common 
accent  of  our  mother  tongue,  we  fell  into 
conversation,  during  which  it  transpired 
that  my  fellow  travelers  comprised  the 
family  of  a  professor  froin  Leland  Stan- 
ford University,  spending  a  year  abroad 
and  now  on  their  way  to  Venice  for  the 
"Carnival". 

So  the  hours  passed,  and  at  last  we 
arrived  at  Venice  in  the  glow  of  a  won- 


derful sunset  which  gilded  towers,  domes, 
and  palaces  with  a  transitory  radiance  so 
enchanting  that,  for  the  moment,  it  seemed 
a  veritable  city  of  Elysium  floating  upon 
a  sea  of  liquid  gold.  This  dream,  with  its 
enchantment,  was,  however,  rudely  extin- 
guished as  we  passed  into  the  semi-gloom 
of  the  great  train-shed  where  everything 
became  hurry  and  bustle  in  the  prepara- 
tion for  descending  from  the  train.  Then 
it  was  that  the  wisdom  of  preparation  for 
possible  difficulties  ahead  became  conspic- 
uously apparent.  The  management  of  the 
Hotel  Gia))dc  Bretaigxv  had  been  notified 
by  wire  from  Milan  of  the  train  by  which 
the  "Haut-beaux"  were  to  arrive;  conse- 
quently they  had  their  "facchino''  at  the 
station  to  meet  us  and  care  for  the  trans- 
fer of  our  baggage  to  the  hotel.  While  he 
was  engaged  in  the  loading  of  our  grips 
and  suit-cases  upon  a  big  gondola,  I  felt  a 
rather  timid  hand  laid  upon  my  arm  and. 
on  turning,  met  the  anxiously  eager  in- 
quiry of  the  Professor,  "How  did  you  man- 
age that? — to  get  your  porter  service  so 
Ouickly,  I  mean." 

"Oh,  by  telegraphing  ahead  to  our  hotel, 
of  course." 

"Didn't  know  that  was  necessary  so  long 
as — "  At  this  moment  the  Professor  inter- 
rupted himself  to  make  a  grab  at  a  passing 
porter  who  paused  just  long  enough  to  find 
that  it  was  going  to  take  a  long  time  for 
the  Profesor  to  make  himself  understood ; 
so,  while  the  poor  Professor  was  fever- 
ishly thumbing  his  pocket  Italian  Phrase 
Book  for  the  appropriate  question,  the 
impatient  porter  suddenly  disappeared  in 
search  of  more  profitable  employment. 
"That's  it.  Confound  the  fellow !  He's  the 
third  one  I've  tried  to  get  service  from," 
fumed  the  irate  Professor.  Realizing  that 
it  would  take  too  long  to  convince  him  of 
his  own  short-comings,  I  turned  to  our 
own  porter  who  had  just  finished  with  our 
luggage  and  asked  him  in  French — nearly 
all  Italian  porters  are  linguists — to  call  a 


150 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


1 


porter  for  this  Monsieur.  To  which  he  re 
plied  in  true  cockney  English.  "Very  well, 
sir,  thank  you  sir,"  then  holding  up  an  in- 
dex finger,  he  called  "facchi)io",  and  in- 
stantly several  porters  came  running  to 
our  group.  Then  turning  to  me  he  asked, 
"W'eres  th'  gent's  bags  and  boxes?" 
These  being  pointed  out  by  the  "gent",  the 
several  "facchinos"  each  possessed  himself 
of  a  single  piece  and  then  stood  waiting 
for  further  orders.  The  dazed  Professor 
also  stood  helplessly  waiting,  as  if  he  ex- 
pected the  rest  to  perform  itself  automa- 
tically. '  '■ 

"Wat  'otel,  sir?"  from  our  porter.  On 
being  informed,  he  signaled  a  gondola 
about  to  put  off  with  a  small  load,  whereat 
the  boatman  waited  while  the  several 
"Facchini"  hurried  down  with  their  sev- 
eral pieces  and  the  distracted  Professor 
herded  his  family  aboard. 

Our  porter  smiled  cynically  as  he  led  us 
to  the  landing  stage  of  the  Vaporetti  com- 
mioiali,  or  small  steamboat  line,  which  car- 
ried us  to  our  hotel,  situated  on  the  Riva 
defjli  Schiavoni,  remarking,  "They'll  jolly 
well  bleed  that  bloke."  Then  our  little 
steamer  threaded  its  course  through  the 
entire  length  of  the  Canal  Grande,  to  the 
other  side  of  the  city  to  reach  our  landing 
stage  on  the  Rira  degli  Schiavoni  situated 
at  the  head  of  the  Grand  Canal  and  facing 
the  broad  Canale  di  San  Marco  and  the 
Isola  di  Sa)i  Giorgio.  How  we  shivered 
with  delight  as  we  recognized,  in  passing, 
the  beautiful  little  palace  of  the  Casa  d' 
Oro,  and  pa.ssed  beneath  the  famous  bridge 
of  the  Rialto!  And  then,  in  rapid  succes- 
sion, the  palaces  of  Dandolo,  Grimani,  Ber- 
nardo, Pi.sani,  Barbarigo.  Foscari,  Giiisti- 
niani,  and  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  at  a  turn  in 
the  canal,  the  domes  of  Santa  Maria  della 
Sab(tc,  gilded  by  the  la.st  rays  of  the  set- 
ting sun,  burst  upon  our  already  dazzled 
vision !  Ah !  to  arrive  at  Venice  at  such  a 
moment,  as  she  sat  in  gala  dress  for  the 
coming  carnival,  at  the  end  of  a  perfect 


day  and  smiled  back  her  promise  of  golden 
days  to  come!  I  think  that  every  "Haut- 
beau"  responded  heartily  to  "Skipper's" 
exclamation  "Gee!  This  is  worth  the  whole 
trip."  It  was  at  that  moment  that  I  regis- 
tered a  vow  to  sketch  that  view  of  our 
approach  to  Santa  Maria  della  Salnte,  as 
she  lay  under  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun ; 
a  vow  that  I  was  happily  able  to  fulfill 
and  which  I  have  since  enlarged  upon  by 
the  mosaic  painting  which  now  holds  the 
most  honored  place  over  the  mantel  of  our 
living  room. 

Last  came  the  Mole  of  San  Marco,  on 
which  stand  the  Ducal  Palace,  the  Lions 
of  St.  Mark  and  the  famous  Clock-Tower 
— together  with  Sansovino's  masterpiece 
of  renaissance  architecture. — the  Library 
of  St.  Mark.  On  the  whole,  I  do  not  recall 
any  twenty  minutes  of  my  life  so  crammed 
with  exquisite  realization  of  pure  esthetic 
enjoyment  as  that  boat  ride  from  the  rail- 
way station  to  our  hotel.  Then  came  the 
bustle  of  landing  and  getting  settled  in  our 
hotel.  Fortunately,  it  was  found  that  the 
proprietor  spoke  French,  the  waiter  as 
well,  while  that  marvellous  hotel  "facch- 
ino"  spoke  every  thing — so  far  as  we  wei'e 
able  to  discover.  Anticipating  the  coming 
of  our  party  at  the  carnival  season,  with 
its  unusual  influx  of  visitors,  the  propri- 
etor had  temporarily  turned  out  of  their 
quarters  on  the  top  floor,  all  of  the  hotel 
help;  had  evidently  hung  fresh  paper  on 
the  walls  and  installed  new  mosquito 
awnings  over  the  beds  and  had  then  turned 
over  the  whole  floor  to  our  party  of  Amer- 
icani,  setting  a  toothless  and  ancient  crone 
to  preside  over  our  necessities  as  chamber- 
maid. The  chambers  were  low,  plainly  but 
comfortably  furnished  and  scrupulously 
clean.  On  being  shown  to  them,  the  pro- 
prietor apologized  for  their  plainness,  but 
added  that  we  would  find  the  balcony, 
overlooking  the  water-front,  and  access- 
ible only  from  our  rooms,  the  very  best 
place   in  all  Venice  from  which  to  view 


1.51 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


the  procession  of  boats  and  the  fireworks 
during  the  coming  night  of  the  carnival. 
This  balcony,  by  the  way,  was  a  part  of 
the  marble  cornice  crowning  the  building, 
which  had  formerly  been  a  private  pala- 
tial residence.  In  consideration  of  the  very 
reasonable  cost  of  our  accommodation  dur- 
ing the  carnival  season — only  about  $1.75 
per  capita  per  day,  for  rooms  and  board 
— we  felt  particularly  fortunate  and  would 
not  have  exchanged  our  balcony — the  only 
one  on  the  building — for  all  the  palatial 
pomp  of  the  floridly  decorated  chambers 
on  the  lower  floors,  now  filled  to  overflow- 
ing with  guests.  By  the  time  that  we  had 
unpacked  traveling  bags,  arranged  our 
several  belongings  and  arrayed  ourselves 
in  fresh  linen  and  white  duck  trousers,  we 
began  to  feel  quite  ready  to  mingle  with 
any  festivities  afoot,  but  preferably,  some- 
thing which  included  food  and  drink.  De- 
scending to  the  lower  floor  and  making  in- 
quiry at  the  "bureau",  it  was  learned  that 
a  special  dinner  had  been  prepared  in  an- 
ticipation of  our  coming,  the  obliging  pro- 
prietor explaining  that  he  was  "always 
happy  to  serve  his  guests  whenever  noti- 
fied of  their  number  and  the  hour  of  their 
arrival, — as  the  Americani  had  so  wisely 
done."  No  sooner  were  we  seated  before 
the  broad  open  windows  that  looked  out 
upon  the  water-front,  and  impatiently 
sniff'ing  the  aroma  of  our  approaching 
minestra,  than  a  sudden  diversion  of  at- 
tention was  caused  by  the  entrance  of  an- 
other company,  about  the  size  of  our  own, 
led  by  a  be-whiskered  and  be-spectacled 
specimen  of  masculinity,  who  was  followed 
by  a  rather  reserved  but  prepossesing  fe- 
male of  noncommittal  age  indications, 
who,  in  turn,  was  followed  by  a  train  of 
"buds"  of  the  most  interesting  just-about- 
to-blossom  period.  The  assured  and  easy 
manner  of  the  new-comers  fairly  shouted 
their  American  extraction,  even  if  a  few 
low  spoken  words  in  the  accent  of  the 
"sunny  south"  had  not  more  definitely  be- 


trayed their  nationality.  No  doubt  that 
similar  peculiarities  were  as  easily  per- 
ceptible in  our  own  manners  and  conver- 
sation. The  invaders  were  not  yet  seated 
before  the  inevitable  began  happening — a 
rapid  exchange  of  half  veiled  side  glances 
expressive  of  mutually  pleased  interest 
and  curiosity — a  sort  of  "if-we-were-only- 
introduced"  expression.  The  agitation  on 
both  sides  could  hardly  have  been  greater 
than  the  opening  of  an  action  with  ma- 
chine guns. 

Presently  "Denver",  who  was  always 
good  at  strategy,  leaned  over  and  whis- 
pered from  the  corner  of  his  mouth — 
"Prof,  it's  up  to  you  to  tackle  the  chap- 
erone." 

"All  right,  but  leave  me  to  select  the 
psychological  moment,"  I  responded. 
While  everybody  in  the  room  seemed  to  be 
enjoying  the  dinner,  it  is  a  pretty  safe 
gamble  that  no  one  could  have  named  a 
single  course  eaten.  As  we  reached  desert, 
I  arose,  sauntered  smilingly  over  to  the 
chaperone,  presented  my  card,  also  a  let- 
ter of  credentials  that  had  been  furnished 
me  by  the  President  of  our  University  be- 
fore leaving.  The  lady  received  this  ad- 
vance with  very  gracious  reserve,  inform- 
ing men  that  she  and  her  charges  were 
from  a  young  ladies'  seminary  in  South 
Carolina  and  were  making  a  "personally 
conducted  tour  of  Europe  under  the  guid- 
ance of  their  professor  of  English  and  the 
chaperonage  of  herself,  head  of  the  de- 
partment of  Music."  The  professor  of 
English  was  then  introduced,  but — name 
forgotten — negligible.  And  now  the  su- 
preme moment!  So,  calling  up  my  most 
guilefully  camouflaged  smile,  I  exclaimed, 
"How  fortunate  that  we  should  have  ar- 
rived in  Venice  at  the  same  time !  And 
all  the  more  especially  at  the  season  of 
the  Carnival,  because,  of  course,  you  are 
aware  that  it  is  not  permissable  for  re- 
spectable young  ladies  to  be  abroad  in  the 
evening  without  escorts." 


152 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


"Aiul  chaperones,"  added  the  dame, 
looking  me  quizzically  in  the  eye. 

"Ah,  my  dear  madam,  chaperones  are 
always  understood  in  Europe  but,  during 
the  evening  of  the  Carnival,  escorts  are 
quite  as  necessary  and  I  can  assure  you 
that  we  shall  feel  most  highly  honored  if 
we  may  be  permitted  to,  to  serve  our  fel- 
low country-women  in  such  an  emer- 
gency." 

After  a  moment's  hesitation,  the  lady 
looked  up  and  smilingly  remarked — "I  am 
afraid  that,  in  becoming  an  artist,  you 
have  spoiled  a  very  good  advocate.  How- 
ever, suppose  you  bring  your  young  gen- 
tlemen over  and  introduce  them  to  me." 
While  this  short  colloquy  had  been  carried 
on  in  low  conversational  tones,  it  was  yet 
audible  to  those  in  its  immediate  vicinity 
and  produced  no  little  suppressed  pleasur- 
able excitement — better  camouflaged  by 
the  "Buds"  than  by  the  "Beaux",  if  the 
truth  be  told. 

Happily  the  latter  were  successful  in 
passing  the  ordeal  of  introduction  to  the 
duenna  and  were  all  duly  introduced  to 
her  charges.  It  was  then  proposed  that  we 
all  repair  to  the  Piazza  of  San  Marco  for 
coffee  while  listening  to  the  music  of  one 
of  the  finest  military  bands  in  Europe. 
Of  course,  it  was  up  to  the  leader  of  the 
"Beaux"  to  make  the  first  move  by  ofl'er- 
ing  his  services  to  the  lady  in  charge  of 
the  "Buds",  the  Professor  of  English 
being  left  to  act  as  rear  guard.  After  an 
hour's  enjoyment  while  listening  to  the 
music  and  watching  the  movement  of  the 
gala  crowd,  several  of  the  most  venture- 
some "Beaux"  approached  the  chaperone 
with  requests  to  take  their  partners  out 
on  the  lagoon  for  a  gondola  ride.  "Yes,  if 
you  will  all  go  in  one  boat  and  be  back  here 
in  an  hour."  While  I  continued  to  engage 
the  lady  in  conversation,  the  Professor  of 
English  carelessly  followed  the  departing 
party  to  the  water-front  to  make  sure, 
doubtless,  that  the  .stipulation   regarding 


"one  boat"  was  duly  fulfilled.  All  went 
well  and,  by  ten  o'clock,  as  the  musicians 
were  putting  away  their  instruments,  the 
party  returned  full  of  enthusiastic  plans 
for  the  morrow  which,  of  course,  must  be 
submitted  to  the  modifying  wishes  of  the 
chaperone.  It  .should  be  understood  that 
the  real  Carnival  of  Venice  does  not  begin 
for  the  natives  until  nearly  midnight  and 
then  lasts  until  six  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
So  the  "Beaux"  were  compelled  to  bid  re- 
luctant "good  nights"  to  their  equally  re- 
luctant compatriots  and  see  them  care- 
fully shepherded  away  to  their  front  win- 
dows on  the  third  floor,  happily  beneath 
their  own  balcony.  Nothing  remained  for 
the  "Beaux"  but  to  mount  to  their  aerie 
and  watch  for  the  procession  of  gaily  dec- 
orated gondolas  soon  to  appear  from  the 
direction  of  the  Canal  Grande.  In  due 
time  the  procession  appeared, — hundreds 
of  gondolas,  each  vying  in  the  originality 
of  its  decoration  of  flags ;  banners,  painted 
effigies  and  artfully  arranged  colored  lan- 
terns,—debouching  from  the  Grand  Canal 
into  the  broad  lagoon,  where  it  broke  up 
into  picturesque  groups  along  the  water- 
front. Soon  barcarolles,  for  which  the 
Venetian  gondoliers  have  long  been  cele- 
brated, began  floating  out  on  the  soft  night 
air,  boat  answering  to  boat  with  solo  and 
chorus,  trio  and  duo. 

"Say,  fellows,  why  don't  we  give  'em  one 
of  our  college  songs?"  demanded  Denver, 
no  longer  able  to  restrain  his  enthusiasm. 
It  so  happened  that  there  were  about  a 
half  dozen  good  voices  among  the  "Haut- 
beaux",  all  familiar  with  a  repertoire  of 
college  songs  and  negro  melodies.  These 
voices  were  immediately  bunched  together, 
for  greater  eff'iciency,  at  the  front  of  the 
balcony  and,  at  the  first  pause  in  the  sing- 
ing from  the  water,  "Oskee-wow-wow" 
leaped  forth  with  all  the  vim  of  long  re- 
strained enthusiasm.  No  sooner  was  it 
finished  than  it  was  greeted  by  prolonged 
and  insistent  applause,  amid  which  could 


153 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


be  distinguished  a  very  pronounced  clap- 
ping from  the  windows  of  the  third  floor 
below.  Thus  encouraged,  another  song  fol- 
lowed, during  which  there  was  a  notice- 
able pressing  forward  of  the  boats  toward 
our  quay.  Then  for  an  hour,  songs  from 
the  water  were  followed  by  responses  from 
the  balcony,  and  not  until  the  singing  was 
interrupted  by  the  opening  of  the  grand 
display  of  fireworks,  did  we  begin  to  rea- 
lize that  we — the  "Haut-beaux" — had  been 


playing  an  important,  although  an  im- 
promptu, part  in  this  Carnival.  When  the 
fireworks  ceased  and  the  gondolas,  with 
their  lights,  had  disappeared,  it  was  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  So  we  sang  a  last 
"Good-night  Ladies"  softly,  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  third  floor  below,  and  being  re- 
warded by  as  soft  a  hand-clapping,  that 
seemed  to  come  from  beneath  the  subduing 
veil  of  mosquito  netting,  we  sleepily  with- 
drew to  the  protection  of  our  own. 


|JltL!!l'AJi'tyil!yiliyi!iL!i:i^l!^liUiliyii!yiliSJIii 
1 


^iiU'iiU'iiy!iiyiiMiiyii!yiiMiiyiiiy!iiU'iBJ!iLaiiy!iiyj'iU'iiy.'iKiii'^^ 


The  Illinois  Magazine  Short  Story  Prize  of  $25  was  awarded  to  Cath- 
arine Needham,  and  the  second  prize  of  $10,  to  W.  S.  Stone.  Miss  Need- 
ham's  story,  "A  Perfect  Understanding",  appears  in  this  number.  "A 
Coward  in  Ubadam"  by  Mr.  Stone,  will  appear  in  the  February  number. 

The  Illinois  Magazine  Poetry  Prize  of  $10  was  awarded  to  Helen 
Buchen  for  her  poem,  "Defeat",  printed  this  month,  and  the  second  award 
of  $5  was  made  to  Flora  Hottes  for  her  poem,  "To  a  Madonna",  which 
Illinois  Magazine  readers  will  remember  from  the  Christmas  issue. 


sMias 


154 


First  Prize 

A  PERFECT  UNDERSTANDING 


CATHARINE  NEEDHAM 


;\IY  slipped  into  the  dimly  lit 
kitchen  where  her  aunt  was 
sorting  and  washing  the  best 
dishes.  "Tom  ought  to  be  here 
now  in  about  three  minutes,"  she  said, 
glancing  at  the  clock,  and  then  going  to 
stand  by  the  open  window.  "The  train 
from  Chicago  is  never  late.  There  goes  the 
mail-cart  across  the  bridge  now." 

Down  the  one  street  of  the  town  rum- 
bled the  wheels  of  a  hand-cart,  escorted 
by  small  boys,  half-grown  girls  and  women 
avid  for  gossip,  in  their  nightly  procession 
to  watch  the  fast  mail  come  in. 

"Doesn't  it  seem  strange,"  the  girl  con- 
tinued dreamily,  gazing  out  into  the  dark 
garden,  "that  I  am  actually  to  be  married 
tomorrow  morning?  I  can  hardly  believe 
it." 

"Well,  I  guess  it's  pretty  hard  for  any- 
one to  believe,"  answered  Mrs.  Marshall 
dryly.  "After  a  man's  been  away  as  long 
as  he  has.  A  girl  with  any  gumption  at  all 
could  have  married  Tom  Oldham  years 
ago,  instead  of  letting  him  dawdle  along 
all  this  time." 

Amy  flu.shed  hotly,  but  made  no  direct 
reply.  After  a  moment's  pause  she  picked 
up  a  dish-towel  and  began  mechanically 
to  polish  salad  plates. 

"Got  everything  packed  and  cleaned 
up?"  asked  her  aunt. 


This  is  a  blue  ribbon  stoi-y  by  a  blue  ribbon  writer.  Miss 
Needham  won  the  first  prize  in  the  same  contest  last  year. 
She  is  a  senior  in  the  College  of  L.  A.  and  S..  a  member  of 
Phi  Beta  Kappa.  Phi  Delta  Psi  and  Scribblers  Club.— Eiutor. 


"Yes,  everything  except  the  clothes  I'll 
wear  tomorrow.  The  room  seems  dread- 
fully bare  without  any  books  or  pictures; 
I  almost  hate  to  sleep  there  tonight.  I 
suppose  I  might  have  left  some  of  them — " 

"Goodness,  no!"  interrupted  Mrs.  Mar- 
shall. "I've  got  enough  to  tend  to  without 
dusting  any  more  trash,  and  besides,  that 
young  "Drover's  Drug"  peddler  will  need 
all  the  space  there  is  to  store  his  hor.se 
liniments  and  stuff.  I  told  him  he  could 
move  in  tomorrow  afternoon,  soon  as 
you're  gone.  He's  promised  to  stay  a  year, 
at  ten  dollars  a  month.  I'll  have  to  charge 
him  a  little  more  than  a  relative,  of 
course." 

"You  know  I  offered  to  pay  more.  Aunt 
Jane,"  Amy  protested.  "And  I  didn't  want 
you  to  go  to  all  the  trouble  and  expense  of 
a  big  wedding.  I — I  haven't  any  money 
left,  or  I  would  pay  for  that." 

"Oh.  well,  you're  the  only  niece  I've  got," 
Mrs.  Marshall  answered  grudgingly.  "I 
guess  I  can  stand  it  once  in  a  lifetime." 

The  shriek  of  a  whistle  announced  the 
incoming  train. 

"I  suppose  you  will  want  to  come  in  and 
see  him  when  he  gets  here,  won't  you?" 
Amy  asked. 

"Oh,  I  won't  have  time.  I've  got  plenty 
to  do  before  bed-time  as  it  is.  What  have 
you  done  with  the  other  two  thin  tumblers. 
Amy?  I  was  sure  I  saw  the  whole  dozen 
here,  just  before  you  went  up  to  change 
vour  dress."   Amy  started  guiltily. 


155 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


"I  forgot  to  tell  you,  Aunt  Jane.  They're 
in  the  ice-box.  I  thought  it  would  be  nice 
to  take  out  .some  lemonade  and  cakes — just 
those  little  ones  left  from  dinner,  you 
know.  I'll  wash  the  glasses  afterwards  and 
put  them  with  the  others." 

"Well,  all  right.  Though  I  don't  see  why 
you  had  to  take  the  be-st  ones.  And  don't 
get  any  crumbs  on  the  carpet.  Maybe  you'd 
better  keep  him  out  on  the  porch : — it's 
warm,  to-night,  anyway." 

From  the  street  came  the  scuffling  and 
chattering  of  the  returning  procession  on 
its  way  to  the  postoffice. 

"It's  high  time  he  was  here,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Marshall  irritably.  "If  he  didn't  come 
on  that  last  train  we'll  be  in  a  pretty 
pickle,  for  sure.  What  would  people  say, 
when  they  got  here  in  the  morning  and 
found  everything  ready  but  the  bride- 
groom. It's  perfectly  scandalous,  anyway, 
his  not  coming  till  the  last  minute  this 
way.  Looks  as  though  he  cared  for  you  a 
lot,  I  must  say.  You'd  better  have  taken 
that  fellow  from  Buffalo,  and  married  him 
before  he  left  town.  When  a  girl  gets  to 
be  twenty-four  years  old — " 

"Oh,  Aunt  Jane !"  cried  the  girl,  turn- 
ing upon  her  desperately.  "Can't  you  let 
me  have  even  one  night  of  happiness? 
This  is  the  last  night  you'll  ever  be  both- 
ered with  me !  You  needn't  ever  see  me 
again  if  you  don't  want  to — " 

There  came  a  loud  knock  at  the  front 
door.  Amy's  face  softened,  paled  a  little, 
then  grew  radiant,  and  like  a  flash  she  was 
gone  to  meet  her  lover. 

"Well,  where'll  we  go?"  began  Tom  jo- 
vially, after  the  first  greetings  were  over. 
"Any  movies  or  anything  in  the  old  burg? 
Haven't  been  here  for  so  long  I  don't  know 
what's  going  on." 

"Oh,  what  an  idea !"  laughed  Amy.  "As 
if  I  would  want  to  go  to  the  movies 
tonight!  But  let's  walk  somewhere  or 
other, — say  down  to  the  river  and  back. 
It's  too  pretty  outdoors  to  sit  at  home." 


"Sure !  Whatever  you  say  suits  me.  I 
just  thought  maybe  you'd  like  to  cele- 
brate." He  jingled  the  change  in  his  poc- 
kets. "But  since  this  is  the  last  night  I'll 
ever  be  engaged  to  you — and  the  first 
night,  too,  as  you  might  say — I  might  as 
well  make  the  most  of  it." 

"I  think  I'm  glad  it  is  just  one  night, 
instead  of  a  hundred,"  Amy  said  softly, 
as  they  walked  along.  "I  wouldn't  want  it 
ever  to  seem  common.  And  this  way,  we 
get  a  hundred  happinesses  all  in  one,  don't 
we?  I  never  was  very  good  in  arithmetic, 
but  I  can  figure  that  out."  She  laughed 
gaily,  and  Tom  echoed  her  laugh. 

"You're  still  the  same  little  girl  as  ever, 
Amy.  Always  some  queer  notion  or  other 
in  your  head." 

"You  may  be  right  about  the  queer  no- 
tions, Tom ;  but  you  are  wrong  when  you 
say  I'm  the  same  little  girl  I  used  to  be," 
answered  Amy,  grown  suddenly  serious. 
"I'm  not  the  same.  Just  think,  Tom,  it  has 
been  seven  years  since  we  graduated  from 
High  School  and  you  went  away  to  col- 
lege. I  don't  suppose  it  has  seemed  very 
long  to  you,  but  to  me — "  a  little  note  of 
bitterness  crept  into  her  voice.  "Imagine 
seven  years  of  teaching  in  the  same  little 
country  school,  and  of  living  shut  up  in 
the  same  little,  gossipy  town !  All  my  girl 
friends  married  years  ago,  and  moved 
away  or  forgot  me.  I  wasn't  lonely  so  long 
as  I  had  mother  to  take  care  of,  but  after- 
wards there  was  nothing  left  except 
dreaming — and  waitings — "  Her  voice 
trailed  into  silence.  "Well,  that's  all  over, 
now,  of  course,"  she  concluded  cheerfully, 
"and  we  will  be  all  the  happier,  I  suppose, 
for  being  separated  so  long." 

The  two  had  reached  the  river  by  this 
time,  and  stood  with  their  elbows  on  the 
rail  of  the  bridge,  staring  down  at  the 
dark  water  below  them  and  at  the  creamy 
line  of  foam  where  it  plunged  over  the 
dam. 

"We  won't  need  to  go  to  Niagara  for  our 


156 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


wedding  trip,  will  we?"  asked  Tom  jocu- 
larly.  "Gee !  but  it  goes  over  with  a  rush." 

"I  guess  you  would,  too,"  Amy  rejoined, 
"if  you  had  been  dammed  up  as  long  as  it 
has.  I  know  just  how  it  feels.  I'm  about 
to  'go  over",  myself,  with  a  most  glorious 
splash!" 

"Huh?" 

Amy  laughed. 

"Don't  you  think  seven  years  is  long 
enough?  — Really,  though,  I  hate  to  leave 
the  river.    I  call  her  Lucretia." 

"What  an  idea !" 

"She's  about  the  most  human  thing  in 
town  ;  at  least  she's  human  enough  to  want 
to  get  away  from  it, —  She's  lovely  and 
quiet,  though,  farther  up,  where  she  first 
spreads  out  in  a  pool  for  lilies  and  lotus 
flowers.  Do  you  suppose  she  doesn't  rea- 
lize she's  dammed,  so  long  as  she  has  the 
lotuses?" 

"Where'd  you  learn  to  swear.  Amy?" 
chuckled  Tom,  drawing  her  closer  to  him. 

"Do  you  remember  the  first  time  you 
came  to  see  me,  Tom?"  she  asked,  with  an 
eager  little  catch  in  her  voice.  "You 
brought  some  lotus  flowers  and  gave  them 
to  mother  instead  of  to  me." 

"I  was  a  queer  little  cuss,  wasn't  I? 
Didn't  have  sense  enough  to — " 

"No,  no !  That's  why  I  began  to  like  you. 
No  other  boy  in  town  would  have  done 
that.  It  seemed  so — so  fine  and  delicate 
somehow.  It  makes  me  think  of  that  verse 
about  'unheard  songs'  you  know.  'Heard 
songs  are  sweet — '  But  there !  Tell  me  all 
about  yourself,  Tom :  what  you've  been 
doing  and  everything.  You  have  hardly 
written  me  at  all  the  past  year,  except  just 
to  say  you  had  a  good  job  and  were  hav- 
ing a  good  time." 

"A  good  time!  I  should  say  I  have." 
And  Tom  launched  forth  into  an  enthusias- 
tic description  of  dances  and  theaters  and 
motor  trips.  "And  girls !  Gee !  I  had  dates 
once  with  nine  different  girls  in  two  weeks. 
— Well,  I've  had  my  fling,  and  I'm  ready 


to  settle  down,  now,  for  good.  I'm  not  a 
mollycoddle:  I've  rubbed  up  against  all 
kinds  of  men  and  women,  and  I  know 
about  all  there  is  to  know  about  life,"  he 
boasted  modestly.  "But  dissipation  simply 
doesn't  appeal  to  me  anymore,  that's  all. 
It  don't  pay  in  the  long  run.  Have  a  good 
time,  but  stay  decent,  is  my  motto :  marry 
a  nice  girl,  go  to  church  occasionally,  get 
in  with  a  good  crowd  of  people — after  all. 
that's  the  way  to  get  ahead  in  the  world." 

Tom  paused  in  his  harangue,  as  though 
waiting  for  a  burst  of  applause  from  his 
listener.  But  since  none  was  forthcoming, 
he  continued  his  case: 

"Why,  I  could  tell  you  some  stories 
about  men  I  know, — pretty  good  men,  too, 
as  the  world  goes, — that  would  make  me 
seem  like  an  angel  with  my  wings  sprout- 
ing. Take  my  pal,  Wingard,  now,  this  is 
strictly  confidential,  you  understand — " 

"Never  mind  that,"  interposed  Amy 
hastily.  "Tell  me  about — oh,  anything: 
the  girls  you  had  dates  with,  for  instance. 
I  suppose  they  were  awfully  pretty  and 
clever?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Swell  dresesrs,  mostly.  And 
some  of  them  college  women  journalists, 
and  so  on, — smart  as  the  dickens!  Not 
your  kind,  most  of  them.  They're  all  right 
to  have  a  good  time  with,  but  when  a  fel- 
low marries  he  wants  some  quiet,  modest 
girl  who  knows  more  about  sewing  and 
cooking  than  she  does  about  socialism  and 
all  this  modern  bunk.  A  married  woman 
don't  need  much  education." 

There  w^as  a  long  pause.  It  was  Tom 
again  who  broke  the  silence. 

"Care  if  I  smoke?'  he  asked  casually, 
pulling  a  box  of  cigarettes  out  of  his 
pocket.  "It's  been  hours  since  I  .saw  a 
cigarette." 

"And  it  has  been  a  year,"  remarked 
Amy  with  a  detached  air,  "since  you  last 
saw  me." 

"Huh?"  ejaculated  Tom,  taking  the  cig- 
arette   fi'om    his    mouth    in    amazement. 


157 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


"You  don't  mean  you  really  object  to 
smoke?  I  11  throw  the  thing  away,  of 
course,  if  you  say  the  word."  With  a  dra- 
matic flourish  he  held  it  out  over  the 
water, — but  without  loosing  his  hold  of  it. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Amy  dully.  And  he  put 
the  cigarette  back  into  his  mouth  and  pro- 
ceeded to  light  it.  Amy  giggled  hysteric- 
ally, and  then  shivered. 

"Come  on  back  to  the  house.  This  river 
makes  me  melancholy."  And  she  started 
off"  at  such  a  feverish  pace  that  Tom  had 
diff'iculty  in  catching  up  with  her. 

Very  little  was  said  on  either  side  until 
they  reached  the  porch.  Here  Amy,  ignor- 
ing an  invitation  to  share  the  porch  swing, 
seated  herself  in  a  big  arm  chair  and 
leaned  forward  earnestly,  her  hands  tight- 
ly clasped  in  her  lap. 

"I've  something  to  say  to  you,  Tom,"  she 
began  at  once. 

"All  right,  fire  away."  Tom  lolled  back 
in  the  swing  and  crossed  his  legs  comfort- 
ably. 

"We  are  both  at  our  very  worst  to- 
night," burst  out  Amy,  with  an  evident 
effort  to  speak  coolly.  "We're  both  human, 
and  have  lots  of  faults.  I  think  maybe  we 
have  been  loving  each  other,  idolizing  each 
other,  for  qualities  that  we  don't  possess, 
either  of  us.  But  perhaps  all  that  won't 
count,  if — if  we  can  keep  on  loving  each 
other  and  being  loyal  to  each  other  through 
everything.  — Oh,  I  don't  know  how  to 
say  what  I  mean,  Tom !"  She  stopped,  and 
then  began  again  abruptly. 

"There  was  a  man  in  town  this  spring — 
a  man  named — but  it  doesn't  make  any 
difference:  we'll  never  see  him  again.  I 
don't  know  where  he  is  now, — he  wanted 
me  to  marry  him,  Tom.  — It  was  dread- 
ful !  Can  a  girl  be  in  love  with  two  men 
at  once?  I  think  I  should  have  said  yes, 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  you.  — You  weren't 
much  more  than  a  dream  to  me,  I  hadn't 
heard  from  you  for  so  long,  and  I  didn't 
know  whether  you  would  ever  come  back. 


"He  was  to  come 
night ;  — when  your 
me  to  marry  you  at 


for  his  answer  that 

letter  came,   asking 

once.    And  so  I  sent 


'  she  concluded  lamely, 
a   great   old    pal.   Amy," 


him  away, 

"You're  a  great  old  pal.  Amy,"  said 
Tom,  moved  to  a  burst  of  genuine  admira- 
tion. "I  knew  you'd  stick  to  me.  But  gee, 
I  sent  that  letter  just  in  the  nick  of  time, 
didn't  I?  Of  course,  you  could  have  broken 
with  the  mutt  later;  but  that  sort  of  thing 
is  always  awkward  and  disagreeable,  as  I 
know  from  past  experience." 

"Oh!'  said  Amy  a  little  puzzled;  and 
then,  a  little  stiffly : 

"Do  you  often  break  engagments?" 

Tom  burst  out  laughing  and  went  and 
sat  on  the  arm  of  her  chair,  leaning  over 
her  teasingly. 

"So  I've  got  you  jealous,  have  I?  I 
thought  I  could.  I  believe  you  do  care  for 
me  a  little,  even  if  you  are  such  a  little 
iceberg,  eh?"  Amy  shrank  from  him,  and 
rose  to  her  feet. 

"I  almost  forgot.  I  meant  to  bring  out 
some  lemonade,  "if  you  care  for  any." 

"Sure  thing!  Me  for  the  eats,  every 
time." 

When  the  "eats"  arrived,  he  applied 
himself  heartily  to  the  task  of  consuming 
them.  Amy  did  not  need  to  see  him  to 
know  that  he  was  enjoying  himself:  she 
could  tell  by  the  sound.  Every  time  he  took 
a  swallow  of  lemonade  she  stirred  uneasily 
and  braced  herself  to  wait  for  the  next 
one,  and  after  a  particularly  hearty  gulp, 
she  broke  the  silence  sharply. 

"Why  didn't  you  marry  her?" 

"Huh?  Oh,  the  girl  in  Brockton.  Why, 
the  truth  of  the  matter  was,  I  simply  got 
sick  and  tired  of  her.  I  tell  you,  I  don't 
believe  I  could  stand  a  long  engagement 
with  at)//  girl,  I  don't  care  how  nice  she 
is.  Either  they're  too  darned  mushy,  or 
else  they're  jealous  as  cats,  and  blow  you 
up  if  you  dare  to  look  at  another  girl.  I 
don't  mean  you,  of  course:  you've  got  some 
sense,  and  don't  expect  a  man  to  be  per- 


158 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


feet.  But  Grace  was  a  fool.  We  had  an 
awful  row.  and  both  of  us  got  mad  as  the 
dickens.  You  should  have  been  there !  I 
just  told  her  that  I'd  be  tied  to  no  girl 
till  I  got  good  and  ready:  and  she  said,  of 
course,  that  no  girl  would  have  me,  anj'- 
way.  and  I  says  I  bet  I  could  be  married 
inside  of  a  month  if  I  took  the  notion — 
Why,  what's  that?"  There  was  the  sound 
of  broken  glass,  and  of  a  quickly  indrawn 
breath  from  Amy.  "Did  you  break  your 
glass'?  Right  in  your  hand,  too!  That's 
queer.  Did  it  hurt  you  much,  honey'?"  He 
was  at  once  all  tender  solicitude. 

"No."  said  Amy  quietly,  as  she  rose  and 
went  toward  the  door.  "I  don't  think  it 
cut  me  at  all.  But  it's  late,  and  I'd  better 
go  in  now.  Good-night.  No !  Don't  come 
near  me,  you'll  make  me  drop  all  this 
broken  glass." 

"You  can't  pull  a  blutf  like  that  on  me," 
cried  Tom,  laughingly  catching  her  and 
crushing  her  face  against  his.  "You  little 
minx,  you, — you've  stood  me  off  seven 
years.  By  Jove,  I  believe  that's  why  I  al- 
ways come  back  to  you.  You  sure  know 
how  to  keep  a  man  dangling.  Some  little 
coquette,  aren't  you — some  little  co- 
quette !"  he  repeated  tenderly. 

"If  you  are  through  with  me  now,"  said 
Amy,  in  a  voice  which  was  quite  cold  and 
steady,  but  almost  inaudible,  "will  you 
open  the  door  for  me,  please?" 

Once  inside,  she  swayed  slightly,  and 
leaned  back  against  the  door  for  support. 
As  she  stood  there,  Mrs.  Marshall  came 
from  the  kitchen  toward  the  front  stair- 
case, carrying  a  lighted  lamp  in  her  hand. 

"Is  that  you  Amy?"  she  asked,  peering 
into  the  dark  hall.  "It's  time  you  were  get- 
ting to  bed.  I'm  going  now;  everything's 
ready  except  frying  the  chicken  and  put- 
ting the  salad  together.  Good  gracious! 
You  look  as  sick  as  a  dog.  And  what's  the 
matter  with  your  hand?  It's  bleeding  all 
over  your  dress,  I  do  declare — and  isn't 
that  one  of  the  good  tumblers  you've  got 


broken,  there?  I  never  .saw  such  a  girl. 
I'll  have  to  put  an  odd  tumbler  on  the 
bride's  table.  How  will  your  hand  look  all 
bandaged  up  tomorrow,  I'd  like  to  know. 
And  I  suppose  you've  left  the  other  tumb- 
ler out  on  the  poi-ch,  where  it'll  get  broken 
too." 

Amy  shifted  the  broken  glass  to  one 
hand,  and  lifted  the  other  to  her  forehead 
in  a  dazed  fa.shion. 

"I'll  go  and  bring  it  in  now,"  she  said 
dully,  and  turning,  she  went  out  and  softly 
closed  the  door  behind  her. 


In  the  darkened  parlor  next  morning, 
sat  Mrs.  Marshall,  pale  and  red-eyed,  and 
wearing  an  expression  of  utter  bewilder- 
ment, vexation  and  gloom.  Crumpled  de- 
jectedly in  an  easy  chair  was  Tom,  star- 
ing vacantly  at  the  wall  paper  opposite. 
The  Methodist  minister,  quiet  and  ob.ser- 
vant,  sat  between  the  two,  while  just  out- 
side the  door  two  or  three  neighbor  women 
sniffled  sympathetically  and  whispered 
with  each  other. 

"But  I  don't  see  how  she  coithi  do  such  a 
horrible  thing,"  Mrs.  Marshall  was  saying 
distractedly,  for  the  hundredth  time. 
"With  everything  ready  —  everything! 
Even  the  table  set  and  covered  with 
cheesecloth.  And  then  to  srteak  out  of  the 
house  and  go  and  throw  herself — " 

"Perhaps  she  only  went  for  a  walk,"  in- 
terposed the  preacher  gently,  "and  fell  in 
by  accident.  Such  things  have  happened, 
you  know." 

"But  what  would  any  girl  in  her  senses 
want  to  go  and  take  a  walk  by  the  river 
for  at  that  time  of  night,  I'd  like  to  know," 
wailed  Mrs.  Marshall,  not  to  be  comforted. 

"You  are  sure,"  asked  the  preacher, 
after  a  pause,  "that  there  was  not  some 
special  reason  for  despondency?  Some 
other  love  affair  perhaps,  or  a  misunder- 
standing of  some  sort  with  Mr.  Oldham, 
here?"  And  he  glanced  keenly  at  Tom. 


159 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


Tom  roused  himself,  and  faced  his  in- 
terrogator with  all  the  dignity  of  conscious 
rectitude  and  stricken  love. 

"You  wouldn't  ask  such  a  question,  Rev- 
erend Wallace,"  he  said  hollowly,  "if  you 
knew  how  Amy  and  I  have  loved  each 
other  all  these  years.  Why,  I  used  to  say 
to  her,  'You're  perfectly  free,  now.  Amy: 
marry  the  first  man  that  comes  along,  if 
you  want  to.'  But  do  you  think  she  would? 
No  sir,  she  waited  for  me."   He  pulled  out 


his  handkerchief  and  blew  his  nose  before 
he  went  on.  "If  there  was  anything  the 
matter  with  her  last  night,  it  was  happi- 
ness— just  plain  happiness,  I  tell  you! 
Why,  we  never  quarreled  in  our  lives.  And 
last  night  we  had  a  regular  heart  to  heart 
talk — told  each  other  everything.  — A  mis- 
under.standing?  Why,  I  tell  you,  we  under- 
stood each  other  perfectly — perfectly!" 
His  voice  broke,  and  he  hid  his  face  in  his 
handkerchief. 


jByjiiyiijyji'i^ityiiiUiiiyii'^itu'iiyiiMiB^ityiityiityii'i^ityiiK^ 


The  following  prize  poem,  "Defeat"  is  an  unusual  bit  of  undergraduate  -writing.  The  author,  Helen 
Buchen.  is  well  known  on  the  campus  for  her  work  on  the  Siren  and  Illinois  Magazine.  She  is  an  active 
member  of  Scribblers  Club  and  Poetry  Society. — Editor. 


First  Prize 


DEFEAT 

HELEN  BUCHEN 

The  sun  comes  up  and  the  sun  goes  down. 
And  the  day  and  the  night  are  the  same  as  one ; 
The  year  grows  green  and  the  year  grows  brown, 
And  what  is  it  all  when  all  is  done? 
Grains  of  somber  or  shining  sand 
Gliding  into  and  out  of  the  hand. 

And  men  go  down  in  ships  to  the  seas, 
And  a  hundred  ships  are  the  same  as  one ; 
And  backward  and  forward  blows  the  breeze — 
And  what  is  it  all  when  all  is  done  ? 
A  tide  with  never  a  shore  in  sight 
Setting  steadily  into  the  night. 

The  fisherman  droppeth  his  net  in  the  stream, 
And  a  hundred  streams  are  the  same  as  one ; 
And  a  maiden  dreameth  her  love-lit  dream. 
And  what  is  it  all  when  all  is  done? 
The  net  of  the  fisher  the  burden  breaks, 
And  from  her  dreaming  the  dreamer  wakes. 


B[ir7TiirrriiirriiirriiiTriii7^it7Tiir7rtitniii7Tiii7rfirrtii7rTirr^iiiTB 

160 


FORTY-FIVE  AND  FORTY-SIX 


ELIZABETH  LEITZBACH 


ACT  ONE 

(The  scene  is  the  front  lawn  of  the  Pemberton 
Home  for  the  insane.  It  is  3:00  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  and  the  patients  are  out  for  their  hour 
of  exercise.) 

ATIEXT  NUMBER  THREE 
(who  is  counting  blades  of 
grass)—  1—2  —  3  —  4  —  5 
—  6  —  7  —  8  —  9  —  10.  Now 
I  suppose  I'll  have  to  begin  all  over  again. 
I  wish  I  could  mark  just  where  I  left  off. 
If  I  could  only  remember  anything  but 
that  binomial  theorem,  I  might  be  able  to 
figure  it  out  some  day. 

Patient  Seven  and  Eleven  (who  are 
catching  sunbeams) — Oh,  I've  got  one — 
no,  there  it  is!  You  help  me — I  want  to 
take  some  in — it's  so  dark  where  I  stay! 

(Patient  Forty-six  appears  for  the  first  time 
and  after  wandering  around  alone,  approaches 
a  woman  who  stands  looking  on  scornfully.) 

Number  Foi'ty-six  (with  the  air  of  a 
weary  traveller  who  has  lost  his  way)  — 
Pardon  me,  but  could  you  tell  me  where  I 
could  find  Number  Fortv-f.ve? 


( The    woman 
straight  ahead.) 


does    not     answer    but     stares 


You  see  I'm  Forty-six  and  just  out  for 
the  first  time  and  I  was  rather  curious  to 
see  Forty-five. 

The  Woman  (shortly) — I'm  Forty-five. 
.  .     Well,  do  you  think  I'm  crazy  too? 


(The  man  stands  silent,  startled  by  the  sudden 
question.) 

Aren't  you  sick  of  it  all?  .  .  .  Look  at 
those  idiots!  At  least  /  haven't  started  to 
count  blades  of  grass  or  catch  sunbeams — 
yet. 

(She  laughs  mirthlessly.) 

Number  Forty-six — No,  in  fact,  I  took 
you  for  an  attendant. 

Number  Forty-five  (ignoring  this)  — 
How  long  have  you  been  here?  Are  you 
going  home  when  you  get  out — what  did 
you  do  to  get  in? 

Number  Forty-six — Oh,  I  started  out  to 
do  all  the  things  I  had  always  wanted  to 
do.  You  see  I  was  a  school  teacher — I  had 
to  be  so  conventional !  It  was  smothering 
me;  so  finally  I  decided  fo  dare  do  all  the 
things  I  had  always  wanted  to  do. 

Number  Forty-five — How  queer !(  She 
laughs.)  I  .started  out  to  say  all  the  things 
I  had  always  wanted  to  say. 

(An  attendant  who  has  noticed  them  talking, 
moves  close  enough  behind  them  to  catch  Forty- 
five's  next  words.) 

I  believe  your  plan  would  work  better. 
But  would  I  have  courage  enough  to  try 
it? 

(The  attendant  leaves  hurriedly.) 

Number  Forty-six — I  started  out  with 
foolish  Hallowe'en  pranks,  such  as  kick- 


161 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


ing  bottles  of  milk  down  cement  steps  and 
yelling  "P^ire!"  at  movies.  Then  I  pulled 
the  crutches  out  from  under  a  lame  man — 
(he  shudders.) 

Number  Forty-five — Well,  you  see  I'm 
the  ex-wife  of  a  Methodist  minister.  I  got 
so  tired  of  all  the  hypocrisy ;  so  I  started 
in  to  say  all  the  things  I  had  always 
wanted  to.  I  started  in  on  the  Elder-who- 
played-the-Board-of -Trade. 

(The  attendants  round  up  the  sunbeam  chasers 
and  the  other  patients.  Number  Forty-five  and 
Number  Forty-six  start  toward  the  main  build- 
ing.) 

Number  Forty-five — I  can't  help  think- 
ing we're  braver  than  the  cowards  on  the 
outside  who  put  us  here. 

Number  Eorty-six  (nodding  his  head)  — 
Yes,  we're  brave  all  right.  See  you  to-mor- 
row and  we'll  talk  some  more. 

(The  attendant  who  listened  to  their  words  be- 
fore, nods  her  head  and  smiles  as  she  hears  the 
last  happy  remark  of  Forty-six.) 

ACT  TWO 

(The  time  is  three  o'clock  on  the  following 
day.  The  sunbeam  chasers  and  the  man  who  is 
counting  blades  of  grass  are  at  work  on  the  lawn 
as  usual,  but  Forty-five  and  Forty-six  do  not 
appear. ) 

The  attendant  (to  the  head  nurse)  — 
Yes,  they  both  needed  the  air,  but  I  don't 
think  its  safe  to  let  them  out.  You  know 
what  I  told  you  I  overheard  them  saying? 

The  head  nurse  (nodding  indiflferently 
and  continuing  to  count  the  stitches  of  her 

knitting)  —2  —  3  —  4 5  —  6  —  7 

—  8  —  9  — 

ACT  THREE 

(The  scene  is  a  busy  street  corner  at  early 
evening  in  a  great  city,  ten  years  later.  A  group 
of  socialists  are  gathered  about  the  speaker — 
a  woman  dressed  in  blue  serge,  a  bit  frayed  and 
shiny  at  the  seams.    A  man  in   evening  clothes, 


wearing   a    pearl-gray    muff'ler   and    spats,    stops 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd.) 

The  Speaker — Yes,  and  why  don't  you 
dare?  Isn't  this  a  free  country?  Is  free- 
dom of  speech  and  of  the  press  only  an 
empty  creed?  Eleven  years  ago.  I  became 
sick  of  it  all  and  started  out  to  say  the 
things  I  had  always  wanted  to  say. 

(The  man  in  evening  clothes  pu.shes  himself 
nearer.) 

I  won't  tell  you  where  I  spent  a  year  for 
daring,  but  I  will  tell  you  it  pays!  You  no 
longer  feel  that  you  are  a  coward  and  a 
hypocrite.  If  you  don't  want  war,  why 
don't  you  say  so — 

(The  woman's  face  grows  vivid  with  life,  as 
she  stands  beneath  the  glaring  arc  light.  She 
looks  into  the  outer  circle  of  darkness  with  shin- 
ing eyes.  One  hand  thrust  wildly  up  into  her 
auburn  hair  loosens   it  .  .  .) 

Tell  your  president  if  he  wants  war,  he 
can  have  anarchy — what's  the  diflference? 


(There   is   an   awed   silence. 

step  towards  the  woman.) 


Three   policemen 


(The  Speaker  holding  out  her  hands) — - 
Won't  some  of  you  dare  to  do  the  things 
you  have  always  wanted  to  do  ? 

(The  man  in  evening  clothes  takes  another 
step  forward — then  hesitates.  There  are  con- 
fused murmurs.  A  youth  pulls  a  red  flag  out  of 
his  pocket  but  an  older  man  beside  him  hastily 
jerks  it  away  and  hides  it  inside  his  coats.  The 
ci'owd  melts  away  at  the  rough  order,  "Move  on!" 
The  policeman  lead  the  woman  off.) 

The  Man  in  Evening  Clothes  (climbing 
into  his  waiting  car — to  the  chauffeur)  — 
Order  a  dozen  red  roses  sent  to  the  social- 
ist speaker  in  the  woman's  ward — (gives 
the  address  in  a  low  voice) .  Put  in  no 
message  but  this,  "To  Number  Forty-five 
from  Number  Forty-six."  (Sternly)  Re- 
member it's  nobody's  business. 

Chaufi'eur — Of  course,  sir. 


162 


FROM  THE  POETRY  SOCIETY 


THE  POET  AND  THE  BIRD 

(When  the  wreaths  were  removed  from  the  grave  of  the  Danish  poet, 
OehlenschlJiger,  a  bird's  nest  was  discovered.) 

Rest,  little  bird,  upon  the  poet's  grave. 
Nowhere  is  thei-e  a  place  more  meet; 
Living  to  thee  his  loving  heart  he  gave, 
And  dead  a  nest  in  flowers  sweet. 

DANIEL    KILHAM    DODGE 


ALL  HALLOWS 

The  saints  of  God,  they  frighten  me.    Their  faith  is  always  whole. 
They  stand  like  tall  white  candles  by  the  altars  of  the  soul. 

I  have  so  many  wayward  moods  that  take  me  unawares, 

I  had  rather  ask  God's  poets  to  help  me  at  my  prayers. 

Saint  Crispin  was  a  workingman  before  he  made  his  vow, 

Theresa  was  a  woman  once,  that  wears  a  halo  now. 
And  Hugh  of  Lincoln  played  the  game  that  little  children  know; 
But  they  were  all  so  innocent,  those  lives  of  long  ago. 

The  poets  were  a  feckless  lot,  and  seldom  over  wise 

And  many  wrong  and  foolish  things  had  value  in  their  eyes. 

They  trailed  their  visions  in  the  dust,  were  often  somewhat  blind — 
One  dare  confess  to  them  that  God  is  very  hard  to  find. 

So,  Dante  teach  me  love  and  hate,  and  Chaucer  show  me  mirth, 

And  Langland  give  me  plowman's  faith  that  labors  close  to  earth. 
And  Shelley,  sacred  heart  afiame  with  sense  of  human  wrong. 
Make  me  a  valiant  rebel  for  the  weak  against  the  strong. 

ALI.ENE   CIREGORY 


163 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


TO  SOMEONE 


CITIES 


Dear  friend,  who  say  you  love  me,  and  whose  heart 

I  hold  in  hostage  ere  I  give  you  mine, 

It  seems  my  love  your  spirit  must  divine 

Without  the  meaning  stumbling  words  impart. 

That  I  was  happiest  when  you  were  near, 

— Before  I  glimpsed  the  truth, — was  all  I  knew, 

Then,  warm  and  pulsing  into  life,  there  grew 

The  love  above  all  loves  I  bring  you,  dear. 

I  learned  to  need  you,  praying  selfishly, 

That  as  I  longed  for  you,  you  should  want  me ; 

And  then,  despairing  of  my  heart's  desire, 

I  laid  the  ashes  on  the  unsought  fire — 

When  lo,  at  your  warm  love's  awakening  breath, 

The  smothered  embers  kindled  from  their  death. 


Too  many  faces,  too  many  tongues, 

Too  many  smiles  that  lie, 
Too  many  shuffling  feet  that  beat 

And  fiercely  hurry  by ! 

I'm  sick  of  the  streets  and  the  sweating  throng 

In  the  city's  sinister  night; 
Of  the  gimlet  eye  and  the  bawdry  lip 

Of  satyr  and  Sybarite ! 

Oh,  for  the  face  of  the  honest  sun. 

And  the  tongue  of  the  singing  rill, 

And  the  patter  of  gladsome  feet  in  the  street 
That  leads  to  the  halcyon  hill ! 

Oh,  for  the  balm  of  the  brooding  dusk, 
When,  one  by  one,  with  His  rod. 

My  Father  lights  the  friendly  lamps 
In  the  slumbering  City  of  God ! 


LEW    SARETT 


THE  WOLF  CALL 


The  Arctic  moon  hung  overhead ; 

The  wide  white  silence  lay  below. 
A  starveling  pine  stood  gaunt  and  lone. 

Black-penciled  on  the  snow. 

A  phantom  shadow  on  the  plain ; 

A  wolf's  weird  call  from  the  distant  trail ; 
And  the  trembling  .soul  of  the  frozen  North 

Was  in  that  mournful  wail. 


164 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


ILLUSIONS 


On  cami)us  [laths  allood  with  youth, 
Beneath  the  autumn  sky, 

When  some  vouuk.  slender,  careless  lad 
In  khaki  caught  my  eye, — 

One  breathless  instant  1  have  thought 
My  own  was  passing  by. 

And  sometimes  I  have  dropped  a  book 
And  started  from  my  chair 

Because  I  heard  a  boyish  step 
Come  bounding  up  the  stair. 

And  waited  I'or  a  wide-tlung  door 
To  show  him  laughing  there. 

Last  night  I  thought  of  quiet  fields 

Made  horrible  by  war — 
I  heard  the  night  wind  say  a  prayer 

For  young  lads  journeyed  far, 
And  I  saw  that  tears  were  in  the  eyes 

Of  every  lonely  star. 


A.    G. 


TO  MY  BELOVED 


I  have  seen  the  white  light  of  the  moon 

Bathing  the  earth  with  an  eternal  splendour ; 
I  have  seen  the  skipping  winds  of  autumn 

Playing  with  ten  thousand  colored  leaves ; 
I  have  seen  the  quiet  of  the  snow-capped  mountains 

Smiling,  gleaming  in  benevolent  silence; 
And  then  the  breaking  of  the  ever  dashing  waves 

Upon  a  white  seabeach  have  I  seen. 

And  I  have  seen  thee. 
And  the  quiet  .smile  that  lights  thine  eyes, 
The  dimpling  hollow  in  thy  lovely  throat. 
The  calmness  of  thy  sweet  white  face, 
And  the  radiance  of  thine  auburn  hair 
Are  far  more  lovely 
Than  the  white  light  of  the  moon, 
Than  the  skipping  winds  of  autumn. 
Or  the  snow  upon  the  mountains. 
Or  the  breaking  of  the  waves 
Upon  the  white  sea  shore. 
Oh  God,  but  I  do  love  thee  and  all  thy  quiet  fairness ! 
And  if  I  loved  thee  not  nor  saw  thee  not, 
What  availed  me  all  the  beauty  of  the  earth? 


165 


F.  M. 


"Ntneteen-nineteen,  Entrezvouz!" 


If  wishes  were  three-cent  stamps,  the  Illinois  Magazine  would  mail 
individual  "Greetings  for  1918"  to  its  five  million  subscribers.  Wishes  are 
not  stamps,  ergo,  we  greet  you  as  a  united  group  with  a  huge  consolidated 
greeting.   Which  is  all  well  and  good,  in  this  age  of  corporations. 

To  be  sure,  the  first  precept  of  a  magazine  should  be  "Ignore  thyself". 
We  duly  admit  our  presumption  in  daring  to  live  in  these  tumultuous  times. 
The  public  is  no  doubt  incensed  to  see  us  flourishing  as  the  green  bay-tree- 
or  the  Kaiser.  Yet  it  might  be  well  to  pass  on  the  secret  of  flourishing,  as 
a  solid  basis  for  our  gay  "Wish  you  success!"  The  recipe  was  originally 
Stevenson's,  in  reference  to  his  writing:  "I  slogged  at  it  day  in  and  out." 
Whether  it's  war  or  work,  here's  hoping  we  get  to  the  goal  the  Stevenson 
way — slog ! 


The  Blind  Spoi- 


lt was  an  odd  game. 

"The  Bunch",  gathered  about  the  fireplace  on  New  Year's  Eve,  was 
candidly  naming  its  own  virtues.  Each  one,  gathering  up  his  courage  and 
his  pride  bespoke  the  qualities  he  admired  in  himself. 

At  first,  curly-haired  Zippy  was  frivolous, — "I  like  my  high  insteps." 
The  Uppish  Man  was  inclusive, — "There's  nothing  I  don't  like  about  my- 
self." Scuttles  sought  Bohemianism, — "I  can  drink  more  cocktails  than 
anyone  at  the  Club.  And  I  love  the  way  I  flip  aside  a  half-smoked  cigar- 
ette." Hannah  was  prim, — "I  never  kissed  a  man."  Yet  even  in  this  tenta- 
tive fooling,  the  Bunch  stressed  peculiar  virtues. 


As  the  game  progressed,  the  truth  became  more  glaring.  When  Zippy 
announced,  "I  am  democratic,'  every  eye-brow  went  up.  That  afternoon, 
walking  out  with  Mr.  Cordovan  Borsalino  Trench-Model,  she  had  snubbed 
old  Pegtop  Corduroy  mercilessly.  Pegtop  would  have  laid  down  his  life  for 
Zippy.  It  is  doubtful  if  Trench-Model  would  have  laid  down  his  swagger- 
stick. 

The  Uppish  Man,  strangely  enough,  admitted  his  snobbishness, — "I 
come  of  an  awfully  good  family  you  know.  By  Jove,  you  ought  to  meet  my 
dad, — -a  wonder  at  the  dollar  game,  but  blue  blood  to  the  la.st  drop!  We're 
alike  as  two  pins, — "  then  quietly  announced  that  he  was  not  conceited.  .  . 
There  was  a  strangled  silence. 

Hannah  hastened  thereupon  to  acknowledge  she  was  not  humble,  she 
knew  she  bragged,  but  her  greatest  virtue  was  an  understanding  of  human 
nature.  Who  could  deny  that  she  had  seen  at  once  the  risque  morals  of  that 
little  French  maid  and  dismissed  her  without  a  single  ref  ?  (The  reddened 
eyes,  the  despairing  lips,  the  determined  chin  had  been  meaningless  sym- 
bols. But  a  withered  rose  saved  out  of  chaos  bespeaks  sentimentality.  The 
soubrette's  last  plea.  "To  know  all,  madame,  is  to  forgive  all,  madame"  was 
an  astounding  impudence!)  Oh,  Hannah  knew  all  about  people.  She  read 
them  as  books  never  as  folks. 

Scuttles  swore.  "I  couldn't  have  discharged  the  Risque  One.  Maybe 
she  had  a  rummy  prayer-book.  Maybe  someone  spilled  ink  on  the  line  'Lead 
us  not  into  temptation' — ^that  is  part  of  a  prayer  aint  it?  I  don't  know 
much  about  women,  but  the  bad  uns  are  as  good  Red  Cross  nurses  as  the 
good  uns."  I  ' 

Scuttles  professed  to  know  nothing  about  anything  but  he  saw  through 

the  game  first  of  all "J'ever  hear  of  that  little  place  in  your  eye 

right  over  the  optic  nerve?  You'd  think  it  would  be  a  whang  for  seeing, 
wouldn't  you?  Not  a  bit.   It's  the  blind  spot. 

"F'r  instance,  I  was  going  to  say,  'I've  got  lots  of  will-power'.  Well,  I 
won't.  I've  kidded  me  into  believing  it,  but  no  one  else  does.  You  figure 
out  the  li'l  old  quality  that  makes  you  crazy  about  yourself  and  ten  to  one. 
there's  your  blind  spot.  That's  the  thing  to  make  your  New  Year's  Resos 
about.  Don't  worry  over  your  poor  old  faults.  You've  been  lammin'  them 
aroun'  ever  since  you  were  born.  Cuft'ing  'em  and  prodding  'em  when  they 
didn't  need  it.  And  all  the  time  that  guilty  old  teacher's  pet,  Virtue,  sat  on 
the  blind  spot  and  grinned.  .  .  .  Get  him  this  year!" 

Yes,  Scuttles  understood  the  game. 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


From  the  '^'resident's 
Message 


"Let  there  be  no  misunderstanding.  Our 
present  and  immediate  task  is  to  win  the 
war,  and  nothing  shall  turn  us  aside  from 
it  until  it  is  accomplished.  Every  power 
and  resource  we  possess,  whether  of  men, 
of  money,  or  of  material,  is  being  devoted 
and  will  continue  to  be  devoted  to  that  pur- 
pose until  it  is  achieved.   *   *   * 

"We  shall  regard  the  war  as  won  only 
when  the  German  people  say  to  us,  through 
properly  accredited  representatives,  that 
they  are  ready  to  agree  to  a  settlement 
based  upon  justice  and  the  reparation  of 
the  wrongs  their  rulers  have  done.  *  *   * 

"When  this  intolerable  Thing,  this  Ger- 
man power,  is,  indeed,  defeated  and  the 
time  come  that  we  can  discuss  peace — 
when  the  German  people  have  spokesmen 
whose  words  we  can  believe  and  when 
those  spokesmen  are  ready  in  the  name  of 
their  people  to  accept  the  common  judg- 
ment of  the  nations  as  to  what  shall  hence- 
forth be  the  bases  of  law  and  of  covenant 
for  the  life  of  the  world — we  shall  be  will- 
ing and  glad  to  pay  the  full  price  for  peace 
and  pay  it  ungrudgingly.  We  know  what 
that  price  will  be.  It  will  be  full,  impartial 
justice — justice  done  at  every  point  and  to 
every  nation  that  the  final  settlement 
must  affect,  our  enemies  as  well  as  our 
friends." — Woodrow  Wilson. 


168 


"AS  ONE  WHO  SERVES" 


HENRY  E.  WILSON 


^-^^jHANKS  for  the  insect  powder. 
We  are  not  as  bad  off  as  many 
of  our  regiments,  but  it  comes 
in  handy." 

Written  in  a  dugout  in  Flanders,  this 
letter  from  a  young  Winnipeg  lawyer, 
serving  with  the  Canadians,  told  a  little 
about  the  discomforts  of  trench  life. 

I  know  him,  have  camped  and  tramped 
with  him  and  other  men  in  his  regiment. 
He  was  not  complaining,  he  was  just  giv- 
ing facts  of  interest  to  those  at  home. 

It  was  a  great  satisfaction  to  me  to 
know  that  after  the  experience  in  the 
trenches — the  mud,  the  vermin,  the  trench 
rats,  the  poison  gas,  the  shell  fire,  and 
penetrating  cold — there  waited  the  "hut" 
with  the  Red  Triangle  on  it,  the  synonym 
for  welcome,  cheer,  service,  warmth  and 
friendliness,  a  "hut"  which  offers  diver- 
sion, amusement,  recreation,  comfort,  and 
relaxation. 

Y.  M.  C.  A.  secretaries  accompany  men 
from  home  cities  to  camps.  They  serve 
them  there.  They  continue  with  them  to 
the  port  of  embarkation ;  they  serve  them 
on  the  transport ;  thej'  serve  them  at  the 
port  of  debarkation ;  they  provide  for  them 
at  base  camps,  rest  camps,  in  dugouts  back 
of  the  trenches ;  they  go  with  them  in  the 
advance.  General  Odium,  commander  of 
Vimy  Ridge,  said :  "Before  the  place  was 
consolidated,  your  representative  was  at 


This  is  the  story  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  red  trianj^le.  of  a  re- 
markable campaign,  and  of  the  fiKhttnjr  men  at  home  and 
aboard,  who  battle  for  democracy.  The  author  is  General 
Secretary  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  University  of  Illinois. — EniToR. 


the  crest  of  Vimy  Ridge.  Hill  145,  .serving 
bi.scuits  and  hot  chocolate  to  the  men." 

"The  Y.  M.  C.  A.  goes  with  your  boy 
every  step  of  the  way.'  More  than  that, 
it  is  the  only  significant  competitor  to  the 
agencies  of  commercialized  vice.  We  have 
now  in  operation  429  centers  in  France,  47 
in  Mesopotamia,  45  in  India,  43  on  the 
Mediterranean,  58  in  Egypt  and  Palestine, 
loco  in  England,  and  over  300  in  the  Uni- 
ted States  and  Canada,  and  al.so  at  every 
important  base  here  and  abroad  for  the 
men  of  the  navy. 

At  the  ba.se  camps  where  the  largest 
program  of  work  is  carried  out,  the  "hut" 
serves  as  a  center  for  the  activities  in  each 
brigade.  Moving  picture  machine,  piano, 
talking  machine,  writing  materials,  maga- 
zines, athletic  supplies,  game  tables,  post- 
office  and  savings  department,  make  up 
the  equipment.  The  activities  vary.  Mov- 
ing pictures,  practical  talks,  educational 
classes,  all  kinds  of  indoor  and  outdoor 
athletics,  Bible  classes,  a  variety  of  relig- 
ious meetings,  with  many  other  events,  are 
all  included. 

One  bit  of  work  is  interesting  and  in- 
dicates the  spirit  of  the  movement.  The 
Association  has  established  agencies  in  the 
camps  in  this  country  for  handling  money 
oi'ders  in  order  to  make  it  easy  for  the  men 
to  send  money  home.  As  a  result,  from  one 
to  three  million  dollars  a  month  passes 
through  Y.  M.  C.  A.  channels. 

The  work  done  outside  of  the  camps  is 
worthy  of  note.  Not  only  in  this  country 
are  the  city  Y.  M.  C.  A.  buildings  open  to 


169 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


the  men,  but  headquarters  are  established 
for  American  soldiers  in  both  London  and 
Paris.  They  meet  the  need  of  our  men 
even  to  the  furnishing  of  the  "American" 
soda-water  fountain.  Y.  M.  C.  A.  guides 
are  supplied  in  the  large  cities  to  conduct 
sight-seeing  parties,  and  recently  a  hotel 
in  the  French  Alps  has  been  fitted  up  to 
provide  for  the  men  on  furlough  with  Y. 
M.  C.  A.  service  under  the  best  possible 
conditions. 

It  is  said  that  there  are  never  fewer 
than  250  relatives  of  wounded  men  stay- 
ing at  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  hotels  in  France. 
These  people  cross  the  Channel  to  go  to 
the  front  hospitals  and  are  cared  for  by 
the  Association  secretaries.  In  one  in- 
stance the  relatives  arrived  after  the 
wounded  man  had  passed  away.  They 
found  that  the  secretary  had  made  all  nec- 
essary arrangements  for  the  funeral,  even 
to  the  purchasing  of  flowers. 

The  knowledge  of  such  work  makes  for 
the  sense  of  proprietorship  now  being  ex- 
hibited in  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  by  our  own 
American  people.  In  the  recent  campaign 
a  stenographer  contributed  ten  dollars 
(which  was  one  week's  salary).  The  can- 
vasser protested,  advising  her  to  give  less. 
She  replied,  "No,  I  have  two  brothers  in 
France ;  it  may  be  the  last  chance  /  will 
have  to  do  anything  for  them."  She  per- 
sonalized the  organization.  She  was  right 
for  we  are  representing  the  home  folks. 
In  the  spirit  of  our  Master,  we  are  among 
you  and  them  "as  one  who  serves". 

And  what  tributes  we  have  had  from  the 
men  themselves.  Sergeant  Empey,  author 
of  "Over  the  Top",  said  in  an  interview : 
"Show  me  the  soldier  who  makes  a  dis- 
paraging remark  about  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
and  its  work,  and  I  will  show  you  the  sol- 
dier who  is  a  detriment  to  the  army,  who 
is  constantly  in  trouble,  and  who  has  lost 
the  respect  of  his  officers  and  mates." 

Major  Gerald  Birks,  of  Canada,  said, 
"La.st  time  I  visited  the  spot  near  a  com- 


municating trench  at  the  front,  soldiers 
were  picking  up  the  remains  of  a  man  who 
had  just  been  blown  to  pieces  as  he  was 
drinking  tea  at  an  Association  'dugout'. 
When  the  boys  from  the  front  saw  the 
'dugout'  where  their  kitchen  had  been 
shelled  out,  one  shouted,  'Look,  boys,  at  the 
bloody  Y.  M.  C.  A. ;  they're  the  stuff.' 

"After  seventy-two  hours  in  the  trench- 
es, an  English  officer  wearily  dragged 
himself  down  the  road  wondering  if  he 
could  take  the  next  step.  He  passed  the 
Y.  M.  C.  A.  tent  well  ventilated  by  Ger- 
man shells,  and  was  soon  in  his  sleeping 
bag.  But  later,  when  he  heard  music  at 
the  Association,'  said  he,  "Blamed  if  I 
didn't  dress,  and  hang  around  the  edge  of 
that  tent  all  evening,  singing  and  listening 
to  the  singing.  I  don't  think  much  of  this 
religion,  but  blamed  if  you  can't  have  my 
last  cent." 

Regular  army  officers  appreciate  the 
service.  The  heads  of  our  own  and  Allied 
governments  have  requested  the  continu- 
ation and  expansion  of  the  Association 
program.  France  has  requested  a  thous- 
and Y.  M.  C.  A.  centers  for  her  troops; 
Italy,  that  we  send  500  men ;  Russia,  that 
we  come  immediately. 

The  Y.  M.  C.  A.  is  the  only  international 
structure  now  intact.  Its  program  has 
been  adapted  to  meet  the  needs  of  the  men 
in  prison  camps  of  whom  there  are  over 
six  million.  It  will  mean  the  salvation  of 
the  bodies,  minds,  and  spirits  of  these  men. 
It  makes  possible  the  return  of  prisoners 
of  war  to  their  countries  as  moral  and 
physical  assets  rather  than  liabilities.  As 
our  soldiers  are  taken  prisoners  we  will 
come  to  know  the  Red  Triangle  as  the 
channel  through  which  to  send  mail  and 
food  to  them.  In  European  countries, 
thousands  of  citizens,  and  in  many  in- 
stances members  of  the  government,  have 
depended  on  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  to  locate  their 
relatives  in  the  prison  camps  of  the  enemy 
countries. 


170 


THE  ILLINOIS  MACxAZINE 


In  the  United  States  our  organization 
for  the  work  in  the  Army  and  Navy  is  un- 
der the  direction  of  an  executive  commit- 
tee with  a  subcommittee  for  each  military 
district.  In  addition  there  are  seven  na- 
tional bureaus  specializing  on  different 
lines  of  work.  They  are  the  Bureau  of 
Personnel,  the  Bureau  of  Materiel,  the 
Bureau  of  Construction,  the  Bureau  of 
Publicity,  and  the  Bureaus  of  Physical 
Education  and  Religious  Work,  each  in 
charge  of  their  respective  departments, 
standardizing  programs  and  perfecting 
methods. 

The  Bureau  of  Finance  is  ably  admin- 
istered, having  the  services  of  some  of  the 
greatest  financiers  of  the  country  who  are 
giving  generously  not  only  of  their  money 
but  of  their  time. 

It  has  been  .said  that  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  is 
as  necessary  to  "the  Army  as  is  ammuni- 
tion. Certainly  it  contributes  directly  and 
almost  entirely  to  the  "morale" — courage, 
optimism,  contentment,  determination — • 
which  Napoleon  said  is  to  any  other  factor 
in  the  Army  as  three  to  one. 

The  cup  of  cold  water  has  been  inter- 
preted to  mean  the  cup  of  hot  coffee.  Those 
sick  and  in  prison  are  visited.  The  hospital 
visitor  may  be  an  actor  who  by  his  enter- 


tainment helps  to  dam  up  the  rivers  of 
pain.  The  pri.son  visitor  organizes  and 
gives  direction  upward  to  the  energy  that 
would  otherwise  rot  away.  This  is  the 
modern  manifestation  of  the  .spirit  of 
Christ  expressed  in  terms  we  all  under- 
stand. 

We  are  fighting  for  national  ideals.  We 
have  asked  men  to  go  out  and  represent 
us,  if  necessary,  to  the  giving  of  their  lives 
for  their  ideals.  Through  the  work  of  the 
Red  Triangle  we  are  making  it  possible 
for  them  to  do  this  service  for  humanity 
without  it  costing  the.se  ideals  in  their  own 
personal  lives. 

Long  after  we  have  forgotten  our  I'ecent 
contributions  of  nearly  $30,000  to  the  war 
fund,  our  representatives  will  .still  be  doing 
this  service  for  us  in  the  camps  of  this 
country,  in  the  cities,  and  camps  of  Eur- 
ope, and  up  back  of  the  lines. 

These  Y.  M.  C.  A.  secretaries,  our  repre- 
sentatives, will  work  early  and  late ;  they 
will  give  of  themselves  unselfishly  for  they 
feel  as  do  we,  that  no  amount  of  money  is 
too  large,  no  effort  is  too  great  to  provide 
for  the  comfort  and  welfare  of  these  men 
who  go  out  from  us.  Verily,  they  will  be 
known  in  history  as  the  saviors  of  civiliza- 
tion. 


""■' rriiiiiiMimiiiLmiiiiiii,iiiiiiiinTinminMiniiimiiriiiiiniiniiiiiiililiimiiiiniiii, 


mmmMiiiiniiiriiiirnTT 


Illllll 


iiiiiiiiiiiiiii JFiin^ 


171 


THE  PROFESSOR'S  PONY 


ASTRID  DODGE 


'it~:^..''.1:u 


ROFESSOR  ALONZO  P.  FAIR- 
WEATHER,  of  the  department 
of  Chemistry  at  Glover  College, 
sat  down  at  his  desk,  extracted 
an  ample  handkerchief  from  his  pocket, 
and  blew  his  nose  hard.  Rising,  he  tiptoed 
to  the  door,  locked  it,  and  sat  down  again. 
Before  the  professor,  on  his  desk,  stood  a 
large,  round  box.  Untying  the  string,  he 
raised  his  trembling  hands  to  remove  the 
cover,  dropped  them  quickly,  rose  again, 
and  walked  over  to  his  window.  With  the 
utmost  care  and  precaution,  he  drew  the 
curtains  clo.se  and  pulled  down  the  .shade. 
Ne.xt  he  lighted  a  candle  and  placed  it  on 
the  desk.  This  done,  he  sat  down,  lifted 
the  cover  from  the  box,  and,  with  a  cau- 
tious glance  over  his  .shoulder  at  the  flick- 
ering .shadows  in  the  corners  of  his  little 
room,  he  drew  forth — a  pair  of  cuft's ! 

It  may  seem  to  you  that  the  professor 
was  using  undue  precaution  in  opening 
the  box  of  laundry  which  Lee  Woo  Ting 
had  left  outside  his  door  that  morning. 
Pray  suspend  your  judgment  until  the  cir- 
cumstances have  been  related  to  you. 

It  all  began  with  the  fact  that  Alonzo 
Fairweather  was  bashful.  Not  only  was 
he  bashful  before  members  of  his  own  sex, 
but  he  was  unconquerably  bashful  before 
members  of  the  more  powerful  sex.  When 
a  student,  Alonzo  had  carefully  avoided 
girls  and  had  reached  his  thirtieth  year 
without  so  much  as  having  exchanged  a 
word  with  a  woman  of  his  own  age. 
Imagine  his  consternation  when,  yester- 


day evening  a  member  of  his  department 
had  dropped  into  his  room  and  a.sked  him, 
as  a  special  favor,  to  escort  his  sister  to 
Mme.  von  Schlickberg's  concert,  as  he  had 
been  called  out  of  town  unexpectedly. 
What  was  poor  Fairweather  to  do?  This 
was  Wednesday  afternoon  and  the  con- 
cert was  Friday  evening.  Not  daring  to 
refuse  a  member  of  the  .department,  he 
accepted  and  from  that  moment  his 
troubles  began.  Far  into  the  night  he  sat, 
elbows  resting  on  his  desk,  hands  buried 
in  his  hair.  Inspiration  comes  to  him  who 
waits.  Fairweather,  waiting  in  his  dark- 
ness, of  his  room,  got  his  idea  just  as  the 
clock  in  the  hall  struck  two.  It  wasn't  that 
he  did  not  know  how  to  act  in  public,  but 
only  that,  when  in  the  fearful  presence  of 
women,  he  became  so  flurried  that  he  com- 
pletely forgot  himself.  Why  not  make  a 
list  of  the  things  to  do  and  the  things  to 
say  and  print  them  on  his  cuffs?  By  turn- 
ing aside  from  time  to  time  with  the  pre- 
tence of  looking  at  his  wristwatch  he  could 
read  his  self-imposed  instructions  and  per- 
haps for  once  in  his  life  feel  at  ease  in 
public ! 

With  a  sigh  of  relief  he  rose,  undressed 
and  climbed  into  bed  with  a  lighter  heart 
than  he  had  had  since  the  blow  had  come. 

Thus  it  was  that  Prof.  Fairweather  had 
retired  to  his  room  with  so  much  secrecy 
on  the  evening  before  the  concert,  fearing 
that  some  of  his  fellow  boarders  at  Mr. 
Binglo's  Select  Bachelors'  Quarters  might 
spy  on  him.   With  the  feeling  of  a  school- 


172 


THE  ILLINOIS  MACAZINE 


boy  preparing  a  "pony"  for  a  coming  ex- 
amination, the  professor  drew  one  of  the 
cults  from  the  box,  and,  in  small,  neat  let- 
ters, printed  the  following  words: 

I. — Mode  of  Procedure 

A.  Gall  for  her. 

B.  Ask  if  she  wants  to  ride. 

1.  If  she  does,  remember  to  pay  for 
her. 

2.  Help  her  on  car.   (Jet  otf  first  and 
help  her  oft'. 

C.  Ask  if  she  wants  her  coat  otf  and 
help  her  if  she  does. 

D.  Get  programs  for  both. 

E.  If  she  asks  me  to  call,  I'll  be  glad  to. 
DONT  ASK  HER  TO  GALL  ON  ME! 

Well  satisfied  with  his  efforts,  he  placed 
the  cuff's  on  the  radiator  to  dry,  and  set  to 
work  on  the  other  one,  in  the  same  neat 
lettering. 

II.— Gonversation.    MEMORIZE ! 

A.  Weather : 

L     Pleasant  now. 
a.     Hope   it  gets  cold   soon   or  the 
buds  will  come  out  and  freeze. 

2.     Blizzard  this  time  last  year. 

B.  Concert. 

1.  Mme.  von  Schlickberg  born  in 
Paris  of  German  parents.  Spent  most  of 
her  life  in  Italy. 

a.     Mixed   feelings   concerning   the 
war.— EXPAND. 
G.     Her  brother. 

L     Invaluable  to  department, 
a.     Never  loses  head  in  explosion. — 
Cite  examples. 

2.  Well  liked  by  students  and  fac- 
ulty.—DEVELOP  FURTHER. 

The  rest  of  the  evening  he  spent  in  his 
room,  door  locked,  keyhole  stuffed  with 
cotton,  shade  pulled  down,  memorizing  the 
conversation  in  which  he  was  to  engage 
his  colleague's  sister  the  next  evening.  He 
set  to  work  with  an  earnestness  that  would 
have  done  justice  to  a  far  nobler  task.   At 


the  end  of  two  hours,  with  the  perspira- 
tion streaming  down  his  face,  he  was  in- 
quiring of  a  picture  of  Hercules  for  the 
twentieth  time  if  it  would  not  prefer  to 
ride  home  as  it  must  be  rather  tired  after 
walking  over. 

The  next  morning  dawned  with  ironical 
brightness  it  seemed  to  Fairweather,  as  he 
sprang  from  his  bed  and  looked  nervously 
into  his  top  bureau  drawer  to  reassure 
himself  that  the  cuff's  were  still  there.  As 
he  dressed,  he  asked  himself  a  thousand 
questions:  What  if  she  said  she  wi.shed  to 
remove  her  coat  "after  a  while"'.'  He 
couldn't  very  well  make  a  note  of  that  on 
his  cuff"!  What  if  their  seats  were  in  the 
first  row  downstairs'?  He  would  have  to 
lead  her  past  all  his  gaping  friends — for 
they  were  sure  to  be  seated  in  a  grinning, 
derisive  row  behind  him,  watching  and 
commenting  on  his  every  movement.  And 
what,  oh,  what  if  she  weren't  ready?  As 
time  went  on  he  became  more  nervous  and 
excited.  He  spent  an  hour  before  dinner 
in  rehearsing  the  conversation.  Immedi- 
ately after  dinner — which  he  but  tasted, — 
he  retired  to  his  room  to  dress.  He,  at 
least,  would  be  on  time. 

Just  as  he  was  about  to  put  on  the  pre- 
cious cuffs,  a  loud  knock  sounded  at  the 
door.  He  started  guiltily,  hid  the  cuff's  un- 
der his  pillow,  and  opened  the  door  as 
calmly  as  he  could.  Outside,  in  the  dimly- 
lit  hall,  stood  Mr.  Binglo,  his  landlord.  Mr. 
Binglo  handed  him  a  pale,  scented  note, 
remarking  with  a  sly  wink  that  brought 
a  hot  wave  of  color  to  Fairweather's  cheek, 

"It's  from  a  lady,  I  think.  Smells  like 
it." 

As  soon  as  the  door  had  closed  behind 
the  landlord,  he  tore  open  the  note  and 
read  the  contents  written  in  a  dainty,  fem- 
inine hand: 

"My  dear  Prof.  Fairweather, 

I  can't  tell  you  how  sorry  I  am,  but 
this  afternoon  I  tripped  on  my  pet  Pomer- 
anian and  sprained  my  ankle,  which  will 


173 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


make  it  impossible  for  me  to  go  to  the 
concert  this  evening.  I  appreciate  very 
much  your  kindness  in  consenting  to  take 
my  brother's  place. 

Sincerely  yours, 

Violette  Worthington  Pierce" 

With  remarkable  coolness  and  self-pos- 


session, Fairweather  walked  across  the 
room  to  his  bed,  pulled  one  cuff  out  from 
behind  his  pillow,  and  wrote  in  small,  neat 
letters : 

"Send  flowers  if  she  sprains  her  ankle." 
He  then  sat  down  at  his  desk,  extracted 
an  ample  handkerchief  from   his  pocket, 
and  blew  his  nose  hai'd. 


MARA 

HELEN  BUCHEN 

Dying,  the  old  year  slips 

Down  in  Time's  grays; 

Slowly,  like  white-sailed  ships, 

Vanish  his  days. 

Joy  have  I  had  in  him. 

Sorrow,  despair; 

That  which  is  past  grows  dim, — 

What  should  I  care? 

Life  is  a  little  thing. 

Shadows,  the  years ; 

Dirges,  the  songs  they  sing. 

Empty  their  fears. 

New  Years  no  hope  should  bring; 

Old  years  no  pain. 

Death  is  a  little  thing. 

Strong  sins  no  stain. 

On  to  the  journey's  end. 

Stumbles  my  soul. 

Come  what  the  gods  may  send, — 

Happiness,  dole! 

That  which  is  done  is  done, — 

Why  wail  and  weep? 

Doom  has  not  yet  begun, — 

Let  the  past  sleep. 


174 


PROMOTING  THE  PLAY 


F.  K.  W.  DRURY 


|HE  work  of  the  Illinois  Drama 
Federation  for  the  University 
year  1916-17  was  along  four 
distinct  lines.  Perhaps  the  chief 
activity  was  play  presentation,  and  it  is  of 
interest  to  note  that  every  affiliated  club, 
with  the  exception  of  the  Glee  and  Mando- 
lin Club,  presented  at  least  one  production 
during  the  year. 

In  addition  to  all  of  these  performances 
by  the  federated  clubs,  there  were  others 
of  interest  to  drama  lovers,  which  con- 
tained much  original  material. 

The  second  main  work  of  the  Drama 
Federation,  was  play-writing.  Not  only 
have  stunts  been  produced  and  a  student 
opera  written,  but  for  the  first  time  two 
prizes  for  plays  were  oflfered.  First  was 
the  Thacher  Rowland  Guild  Memorial 
prize  of  $25.00  for  a  poem,  or  a  one-act 
play.  This,  however,  did  not  bring  forth 
material  which  satisfied  the  judges. 

At  about  the  same  time.  Mask  and  Bau- 
ble oflfered  $25.00  for  a  one-act  play  and 
several  were  submitted.  One,  "The  Cedar 
Tree  Man",  by  W.  S.  Stone,  '19,  was 
awarded  the  prize.  Later,  this  had  the 
honor  of  being  presented  in  Morrow  Hall 
as  the  last  of  the  Dramatic  Hours. 

Also,  besides  these  efforts  on  the  part  of 
the  Federation,  the  Scribblers  Club  voted 
to  undertake  the  writing  of  one-act  plays 
and  by  virtue  of  this  action  applied  for 
membership  in  the  Federation,  which  has 
been  granted. 


Editor's  Note — This 
the  University  of  Illinois 


is  a   I'eview  of  dramatic   activity 
for  the  winter  of  1916-17. 


The  third  main  line  of  work  for  the  Fed- 
eration has  been  play  reading,  and  the 
most  notable  event  in  regard  to  this  was 
the  inauguration  by  Mask  and  Bauble  of 
a  series  of  Dramatic  Hours. 

At  these  it  was  the  intention  to  pre.sent 
in  simple  form  some  interesting  one-act 
plays  and  four  of  these  Hours  were  held  in 
Morrow  Hall  during  the  year.  Attendance 
was  limited  to  members  of  the  Federation 
and  such  others  of  the  faculty  and  .stu- 
dents who  made  application  for  associate 
membership. 

At  the  first  of  these  Dramatic  Hours,  on 
December  13,  1916,  "The  Lost  Silk  Hat", 
by  Lord  Dunsany,  and  "Mary's  Wedding", 
by  Gilbert  Cannan,  were  presented.  At  the 
■second,  on  January  17,  the  "Maker  of 
Dreams",  by  Oliphant  Downs,  was  pre- 
sented. At  the  third  on  March  28,  two 
plays  by  Percival  Wilde  were  given,  "The 
Noble  Lord",  and  "The  Finger  of  God", 
while  at  the  fourth  and  la.st  Hour,  on  May 
2,  the  prize  play,  "The  Cedar  Tree  Man", 
by  W.  S.  Stone,  was  presented. 

Among  the  Tuesday  night  readings  by 
the  English  faculty,  only  one  play  was 
read,  this  being  Clyde  Fitch's  "The  Truth" 
by  Mr.  Hillebrand  on  November  7. 

Dramatic  readings  of  a  more  informal 
nature  were  tried  by  Athenean,  and  a  few 
other  societies. 

Play  study  was  featured  during  the  year 
by  the  re-installment  in  the  curriculum  of 
English  45,  a  course  in  the  study  of  plays, 
under   the    direction    of    Mr.    Hillebrand, 


175 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


there  having  been  no  such  course  since  the 
death  of  Mr.  Guild. 

The  fourth  line  of  work  attempted  by 
the  Federation  was  the  promotion  of  a 
campus  theatre,  the  idea  of  which  really 
gave  rise  to  its  formation.  The  field  for 
possible  development  toward  a  campus 
theatre  was  carefully  gone  over  by  the 
Executive  Committee,  and  while  dis- 
appointed in  the  failure  to  see  an  adequate 
stage  for  dramatic  performances  installed 
in  the  new  Music  Building,  there  has  been 
some  consolation  in  the  feeling  that  the 
Music  School  would  undoubtedly  keep  this 
auditorium  so  busy  with  its  own  features 
that  it  would  be  difficult  to  secure  it  for 
rehearsal,    or    even    performances    them- 

Possible  stages  in  the  Student  Union 
Building  and  the  Gregory  Memorial  were 
also  discussed,  but  seemed  rather  intan- 
gible.  It  was,  therefore,  decided  to  center 


the  interest  of  the  Federation  for  the  pres- 
ent upon  Morrow  Hall,  and  to  improve 
that  .stage  by  taking  out  the  rear  wall  and 
deepening  the  stage  to  a  depth  of  at  least 
30  feet.  An  estimate  of  this  proposition 
from  the  supervising  architect's  office 
gave  the  cost  at  $3,500,  and  because  of 
war  conditions  no  action  was  taken  on  this 
during  the  spring. 

An  attempt  to  improve  the  staging  in 
the  University  Auditorium  met  with  de- 
cided success,  and  the  University  has  in- 
stalled an  adequate  denim  curtain  to  run 
across  the  platform  and  has  enclosed  the 
entire  stage  with  green  velour  curtains. 

This  summary  of  the  work  of  the  Illinois 
Drama  Federation  is  presented  to  show 
that  there  seems  to  be  a  definite  place  for 
such  an  organization  to  center  the  activi- 
ties of  the  dramatic  organizations  on  the 
campus. 


Mask  and  Bauble  may  be  famous 

And  its  name  you'll  always  hear, 

And  the  Player's  Club,  and  the  gay  Pierrots 

To  campus  hearts  are  dear, — 

We  champion  still  another 

Deserving,  noble  name. 

We  nominate  the  old  Glee  Club 

For  the  Drama's  Hall  of  Fame. 

They  won  applause  by  singing 

"My  Boy"  and  "LadyChloe", 

But  the  piece  de  resistance 

Was  a  futuristic  show ! 


176 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


ITH  Capt.  George  Halas  as  a 
nucleus,  Coach  Jones  has  lived 
up  to  his  reputation  as  a  coach 
and  in  a  short  time  has  formed 
a  lighting  team.  This  team,  in  practice 
games,  defeated  the  Millikin  quintet  at 
Champaign  and  again  at  Decatur  by  com- 
fortable margins.  An  effort  to  schedule 
practice  games  during  the  holidays  with 
Northwestern  College  failed.  Since  only 
the  Wabash  game  is  to  be  played  before 
the  Purdue  game,  a  comparatively  green 
team  must  start  against  the  Boilermakers 
January  9.  Five  days  later  we  play  Min- 
nesota in  Champaign.  If  veterans  count 
anything  in  basketball,  Purdue  and  Min- 
nesota should  have  rather  formidable  ag- 
gregations of  tossers,  for  Purdue  has  four 
and  Minnesota  has  three  letter  men  back. 
Capt.  Halas  threw  his  hat  into  the  ring 
last  year  and  with  no  high  school  experi- 
ence developed  into  one  of  the  best  guards 
in  the  conference.  This  year  he  is  going 
good  at  back  guard.  He  is  the  only  surviv- 
ing member  of  last  year's  quintet.  Coach 
Jones  is  as  yet  undecided  as  to  the  per- 
sonnel of  the  remainder  of  the  team,  and 


at  present  all  we  can  do  is  to  indulge  in  a 
few  of  Professors  Bode's  "probabilities". 

"Bert"  Ingwer.sen,  who  played  center 
on  the  football  team,  has  shown  up  well  in 
practice  games,  and  it  seems  as  if  he  will 
play  the  other  guard.  Wilson  has  shown 
up  best  at  the  pivot  position,  but  an  injury 
received  a  short  time  ago  in  practice  may 
keep  him  out  of  the  game.  At  forward, 
Anderson,  an  old  freshman  varsity  man 
from  Charleston  Normal,  seems  to  be  se- 
curely fortified  against  all  comers.  Probst 
has  been  playing  center  since  Wilson  has 
been  injured,  and  if  he  keeps  on  improv- 
ing will  probably  play  somewhere  on  the 
team.  Middleton,  a  junior,  is  making  a 
good  bid  for  forward.  Taylor,  a  sopho- 
more, and  Stevens,  a  senior,  are  both  play- 
ing fair  basketball  and  may  break  into  the 
game  sometime. 

Concerning  the  1918  team.  Coach  Jones 
says: 

"This  year  the  basketball  team  is  very 
green — even  the  captain.  However,  they 
have  assimilated  the  coaching  in  good 
share,  and  have  used  fairly  good  head- 
work  in  the  games  played  to  date." 


177 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


f 

Between 
You  and  Me 

^ 

How  few  tears  are  shed  for  anything  but  self-pity ! 

At  least  the  war  has  made  the  world  safe  for  informals. 

Ten  years  from  now  you  will  not  remember  whether  you  passed  your 
quiz.  But  you  will  still  hear  Warfield  say,  "Eat  'em  a-life — eat  'em  alife!", 
and  Bernhardt  cry,  "Vive  la  France!" 

To  be  paradoxical — when  freshmen  are  ready  to  graduate  they  are 
taught  how  to  be  good  freshmen.  That's  why  you  hear  so  many  seniors 
ejaculate  "If  I  could  only  do  it  over!" 

Happiness  is  like  a  coiffeur.  It  looks  all  right  so  long  as  you  don't 
look  at  it. 


TECUMSEH  SAYS- 


Be  rash  if  you  would  be  wise. 

Goodness  or  truth  should  never  be  ques- 
tioned when  comfort  and  entertainment 
figure. 

Discontent  is  largely  a  matter  of  sur- 
feited content. 


Plagiarism  is  clumsy  imitation :  genius 
is  not  clumsy. 

The  difference  between  yours  and  mine 
is  dependent  upon  your  ability  to  keep 
yours  yours. 

The  works  of  the  devil  are  things  I  do 
not  care  to  do. 


The  difl:"erence  between  a  woman  and  a 
man  is  the  diff'erence  between  a  fool  and 
his  foil. 


There  are  all  sorts  and  grades  of  wash- 
women ranging  from  those  who  get  ten 
percent  of  the  buttons  to  those  who  get 
There  are  only  two  sorts  of  things  in  the     sixty  and  eighty  percent, 
world, — things  I  can  do  and  things  I  can- 
not.  And  the  only  sort  that  amounts  to  a         The  vermin  in  France  will  probably  be 
whoop  is  the  latter.  greatly  delighted  to  find  lodgment  in  the 

nobby  sweater  vests  the  co-eds  are  knit- 
Educational  institutions  are  designed  to     ting.  It  is  undoubtedly  horrid  even  to  sug- 
produce  ideal  mediocrity.  gest  such  a  thing. 

178 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


THE  SCRAP-BAG 

The  thermometer  went  down.  The  fat  gods,  being  cold,  decided  to  piece  a  quilt. 
They  went  to  the  .scrap-bag  where  all  cast-off  bits  of  life  are  relegated.  The  first  ragged 
bundle  the  gods  pulled  out  of  the  bag  had  beanthrown  in  by  Illinois  .students.  The  bundle 
was  composed  of  impressions,  each  one  cut  from  a  different  fabric  of  University  life. 
This  is  the  way  the  fat  gods  pieced  their  impressionistic  quilt: 


^COl/IjEGa  >fevv3i'AF££OPnCS 


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179 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


IMPORTS  I  HAVE  KNOWN 

— by  the  Inspired  Co-ed 


All  of  us  know  her:  the  just  right  girl, 
or  the  little  girl,  or  the  tall  girl,  with  the 
brown  eyes,  or  blue  eyes,  or  gray  eyes,  or 
black  eyes,  and  the  brown  hair,  or  yellow 
hair,  or  golden  hair,  or  red  hair, — the  girl 
men  think  of  and  don't  talk  about  much — 
the  girl  they  import  for  the  prom. 

And  we  all  know  the  fever  we  get  when 
as  mere  onlookers  in  the  gallery,  we  see 
our  friends  and  enemies  enjoying  them- 
selves on  Prom  night.  We  all  have  sworn 
that  next  year  when  the  melancholy  days 
have  come  again,  we  will  most  emphatic- 
ally say  "No!"  when  w-e  are  asked  to  shel- 
ter the  lass  from  the  home  town.  Too  long 
have  we  paid  the  duty  levied  on  imports. 

Of  the  specimens  of  out-of -towns  in  my 
mental  gallery,  I  first  remember  Gwen- 
dolyn of  the  blue  eyes  and  the  baby  face. 
She  was  fair  and  good  to  look  upon.  For 
her  there  existed  one  god  and  one  only — ■ 
and  that  was  the  god  of  clothes.  But  the 
sisters  were  so  shocked  at  the  utter  ab- 
sence of  back  in  her  formal  gown  that  they 
inserted  a  piece  of  lace  in  a  desperate  at- 
tempt to  at  least  partly  conceal  Gwen- 
dolyn's dorsal  possession  from  all  scrutin- 
izing observers.  Surely  the  sorority  could 
not  bear  the  stain  of  such  effrontery  on 
its  traditions ! 

Then  there  came  she  whom  men  call 
Dorothy.  In  my  tortured  mind  she  will  al- 
ways live  as  the  devotee  of  fraternity  pins. 
Dorothy  never  wore  less  than  two  at  a 
time  when  she  sat  down  to  luncheon  or 
dinner.  When  I  finally  recovered  from  my 
horror  the  first  time  I  saw  her  motley 
array  of  Greek  symbols,  I  managed  to  ar- 
ticulate, "where  did  they  come  from?" 

"Oh,"  she  casually  replied.  "I  just  wear 
'em !"  Dorothy  was  not  at  all  sur- 
prised when  one  of  the  sisterhood  in  fun 
wore  six  pins.    Indeed,  the  only  one  that 


Milady  thought  worthy  of  notice  was  that 
of  Phi  Gamma  Delta. 

Wilhelmina  offered  an  interesting  con- 
trast. She  seemed  almost  painfully  harm- 
less. When  she  came  home  from  the  Prom 
in  the  early  morning,  the  vestibule  door 
was  locked,  but  Wilhelmina  Henrietta  did 
not  think  it  worth  while  to  ring  the  bell 
for  someone  to  let  her  in.  She  merely  fell 
asleep  in  the  hall  and  there  the  sisters 
found  her  in  the  morning. 

Next  came  Vivian,  who  attended  a  fra- 
ternity formal.  For  her  le  hon  Dieu  was 
curiosity.  Nothing  escaped  her — positive- 
ly nothing.  At  five  o'clock  on  Saturday 
morning,  she  awakened  her  room-mate 
with  her  ceaseless  babble.  At  seven,  her 
olfactory  organs  were  aware  of  the  cofl^ee 
in  the  kitchen,  and  her  wrathful  bed-fel- 
low stumbled  downstairs  in  self-defense. 
At  eight,  Vivian  was  out  on  the  lawn  dig- 
ging dandelions. 

Now  comes  the  last  chapter  in  this  mys- 
tic Book  of  Imports.  Phoebus  Apollo  with 
his  lyre  could  not  have  posed  more  effec- 
tively than  Virginia.  She  thought  more  of 
the  manner  in  which  she  held  her  fork 
than  she  did  of  her  dinner.  She  was  espe- 
cially fond  of  posing  in  the  glow  of  the 
hearth-fire.  Once  her  dress  began  to  burn 
while  she  experienced  unusual  difficulty  in 
attaining  a  perfect  drape  in  her  sleeve, 
wound  her  arm  around  the  tall  lamp  by 
the  mantel. 

We  of  the  feminine  gender  know  all 
these  things.  They  are  a  part  of  Prom  and 
fraternity  formals  just  as  much  as  the 
pretty  girls,  and  the  good-looking  lads,  and 
the  golden  haze  of  playing  at  being  "peo- 
ple", and  the  charm  of  seeing  one's  friends 
take  the  girl  they  want — or  that  somebody 
else  wanted — to  the  greatest  social  event 
of  the  year. 


180 


DAYS  IN  A  SEMINAR 


1.     The  Rain  Day 

ilODAY  the  seminar  is  a  mad- 
house. There  is  an  iron  netting 
over  the  collection  of  rare 
books.  The  stacks  and  the 
grating  for  shelves  are  of  iron.  I  cannot 
escape. 

The  books  are  all  mutely  accusing  me 
and  each  .seems  to  insist,  "You  should 
know  what  I  contain."  How  impossible 
and  absolutely  endless  is  this  so-called 
quest  for  knowledge.  These  men  with 
doctor's  degrees  who  spend  a  life-time 
pouring  over  the  heaviest  and  dustiest  vol- 
umes should  be  wise — and  yet  how  little 
in  the  whole  world  they  really  know. 

Two  professors  are  jabbering  unintel- 
ligible sounds.  It  sounds  like  an  insane 
jargon  but  I  know  it  is  Spanish.  A  pale, 
nervous  graduate  student  cannot  find  a 
book  and  I  think  he  will  be  raving  in  a 
minute.  Two  under-classmen  are  whisper- 
ing together.  They  wear  huge,  horn  spec- 
tacles and  might  be  inhabitants  of  another 
planet.  I  listen  closely.  They  are  repeat- 
ing over  and  over  in  a  dull  monotone  an 
irregular  French  verb.  Tomorrow  is  a 
final  examination  and  they  are  tense  and 
high-strung  from  the  so-called  cramming. 
Not  one  smiles  as  he  works.  There  is  a 
grim  determination,  a  feverish  energy  and 
white  heat  at  which  he  labors.  Not  one 
seems  young  or  happy. 

Outside  the  rain  is  beating  down. 
High  above  my  desk  on  the  top  of  each 
stack  a  noted  author  glares  down.     There 


is  nothing  sympathetic  or  encouraging  in 
their  marble  faces — only  a  grim  cynici.sm 
and  .sarcasm  as  if  they  ob.served  our  futile 
efforts.  They  are  the  guards  of  the  mad- 
hou.se. 

2.     The  Sunshine  Day 

Below  the  seminar  windows,  the  green 
campus  stretches  alluringly.  The  frag- 
rance of  new-mown  grass  freshens  the 
dusty  atmosphere  of  our  book-house.  A 
gay  butterfly  floats  through  the  open  win- 
dow. 

The  seminar  door  swings  open  and  the 
Lady  in  White  steps  in.  How  feminine 
and  dainty  she  seems!  Her  dainty  white 
dress  is  so  different  from  the  tailored  suits 
and  last  year  hats  of  the  women  who 
usually  come  here.  Wonder  of  wonders, 
she  is  smiling  and  her  eyes  are  bright  with 
anticipation.    Is  she  really  going  to  study? 

She  is  translating  a  book  on  Italian  phil- 
osophy. Then  I  and  the  Least  Objection- 
able of  the  Masculine  Graduates  who  sits 
facing  her  at  the  table,  simultaneously 
make  a  wonderful  discovery.  She  has  been 
here  many  times  before  but  it  has  been  on 
cold  days  and  rain  days.  It  remained  for 
the  sun-shine  day  to  bring  the  two  butter- 
flies into  the  seminar. 

3.     Yesterday 

Truly  this  is  rightly  called  the  Romance 
Language  Seminar  for  the  Lady  in  White 
and    the    Least    Objectionable    Masculine 


181 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


Graduate  are  learning  the  language  of  ro- 
mance as  the  clays  go  by.  I  can  see  it  in 
their  eyes.  I  can  see  it  in  the  way  they 
both  study  here  more  than  ever. 

I  saw  it  yesterday  when  he  wanted  her 
to  go  wall^ing  and  she  insisted  that  it  was 
her  duty  to  read  the  Italian  philosophy 
book.  He  reluctantly  began  to  study  also. 
I  watched  her  for  half  an  hour.  She  never 
looked  from  her  book,  but  she  never  turned 
a  page ! 

At  the  end  of  that  time  they  both 
glanced  up,  she  nodded  to  the  question  in 
his  eyes,  and  they  left  for  a  stroll  along  the 
shady  campus  walks. 

4.     Today 

It  was  hard  to  come  to  the  seminar  this 
morning.  It  grows  harder  as  the  year  goes 
by,   but   after   Home-coming   and   all   the 


attendant  excitement  it  seemed  to  take 
more  energy  than  usual.  I  was  almost  de- 
serted all  morning. 

Then  at  noon  I  heard  voices.  The  door 
swung  open  and  the  ex-Lady  in  White, 
now  a  fashionable  Lady  in  Grey  entered. 
Behind  her  came  the  Most  Desirable  Grad- 
uate Student.  They  did  not  notice  me.  I 
am  like  the  books — only  part  of  the  neces- 
sary equipment  of  the  seminar.  They  stood 
so  near  my  desk  that  I  could  hear  snatches 
of  their  whispered  conversation,  in  plain 
English,  thank  heavens ! 

"Over  there  Helen — at  that  table — white 
dress." 

"Don't  be  silly,  Tom — time  before  the 
train  to  hunt  for  that  Italian  philosophy." 

The  door  closed  and  I  was  left  alone  with 
my  books.  They  are  my  friends  now  for 
I  know  them  all  and  their  stories.  Even 
Dante's  marble  lips  seemed  to  smile. 


For  it  is  written  in  the  Cook  Book  of  Life :  He  that  is  Pickled  shall  be 
Canned. 

Look  not  on  the  wine  when  it  is  red  lest  thou  be  in  no  condition  to  look 
upon  the  book  when  it  is  blue. 


"ILLINOIS  IN  THE  FIFTIES" 

This  is  Centennial  year  for  Illinois.      Have  you  read  the  Centennial  edition  of 
Illinois  In  The  Fifties,  by  Charles  B.  Johnson,  M.  D.,  a  book  by  a  Cham- 
paign man.    Published  in  Champaign  and  profusely  illustrated.    $1.2^  at  all  book 
stores  and  at  the  offce  of  the  Local  Exemption  Board  1^.  2.      The 
author  is  medical  examiner  there  and  he'll  autograph  it 
for  you  if  you  ask  him  to. 
I 

^liraiffa[rRiirairaiff^iira;ff^it?^rRii?^rfi[fifriii7rt[Faiin^ijrs^^ 

182 


"SPIFFIN'S  TOILERS" 


^^^^HAT   night,   as   I    slept    in 
t^^  c^!    -^tudy  on  the  folding  bookc 


my 
folding  bookcase- 
bed,  I  dreamed  that  I  received 
this  mysterious  letter: 


"Find  enclosed  fifty  dollars  ($50) 
in  payment  for  your  short  story 
entitled  'Spiffin's  Toilers'." 

I  awoke  to  the  dismal  realization  that  it 
was  not  true ;  that  I  had  not  sold  a  story 
since  my  marriage  (much  less  before)  ; 
that  the  last  check  father  sent  us  had 
dwindled  away  into  a  hundred  dollars  and 
twenty-nine  cents,  which  we  kept  in  the 
flat  because  banks  may  fail.  Just  that 
evening,  Estelle  and  I  had  hidden  twenty- 
five  in  the  fern-dish,  twenty-five  in  the  pa- 
tent bread-mixer,  and  fifty  in  the  umbrella 
stand. 

Perhaps  my  dream  indicated  the  imme- 
diate sale  of  "Spiffin's  Toilers" — "Spiff in's 
Toilers"!  Suddenly,  the  unfamiliar  words 
seized  my  thoughts.  The  strange  thing 
was  that  /  had  written  no  story  called 
"Spiffin's  Toilers".  Who,  indeed,  was  Spif- 
fin?  And  who  or  what  on  earth  were  his 
toilers?  I  had  subconsciously  gleaned  the 
phrase  from  some  old  volume? 

I  pulled  my  flashlight  from  the  pocket 
of  my  pajamas,  where  I  kept  it  for  mid- 
night reading,  to  feverishly  scan  the  rows 
of  books  above  and  below  me.  Not  a  title 
mentioned  or  even  suggested  Spiff'in.  Not 
one.  He  was  an  absolute  stranger  to  the 
fictional  world.    Undoubtedly,  I  had  never 

read  him But  perhaps  I  had  met 

him?  I  would  ask  Estelle. 


Having  descended  from  the  bed  by 
means  of  a  high  table,  I  donned  my  purple 
bathrobe  and  hastened  into  the  living- 
room  where  my  wife  sleeps  on  a  magnifi- 
cent bed-davenport.  I  disliked  to  disturb 
the  little  thing,  curled  so  comfortably  be- 
neath her  winter  coat,  one  hand  grasping 
a  big  green  button,  the  other  hidden  among 
her  silky  curls  and  curlers. 

"Sweetheart,"   I    whispered,    "Who    is 
Spiff  in?" 

Estelle  awakens  beautifully.  She 
stretches  out  like  a  sleepy  kitten,  her  body 
tense  from  flung  arm  to  toes,  till  her  mouth 
rounds  into  a  rosy  yawn,  her  arms  fall 
limp  and  her  eyes  open.  Then  she  smiles 
and  goes  to  sleep  again  if  you  do  not  use 
drastic  measures.  After  each  measure,  I 
repeated,  "Who — is — Spiff'in?"  She  re- 
turned the  measures  but  no  information. 

"Dunno  him,"  was  her  lucid  reply. 

You  see?  She  didn't  know  him.  Neither 
of  us  did.  His  world  was  not  ours,  but  the 
great  Unknown.  Out  of  the  night,  .some 
disembodied  human  spirit,  with  a  yearn- 
ing soul  unfathomed  by  our  poor  intelli- 
gence, had  sought  to  communicate  with  my 
living  person,  finally  imparting  his  name 
to  me — Spiff'in  ! 

"Estelle,"  I  said  very  cautiously,  for  I 
didn't  want  to  frighten  her  by  my  strange 
story :  "Your  Bruno  has  had  an  odd  ex- 
perience. Some  psychic  reality  has  caused 
him  to  dream  he  sold  a  story !  Isn't  that 
wonderful,  dear —  But  more  wonderful  is 
the  name  of  this  unwritten  story,  'Spiffin's 
Toilers'." 


183 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


"How  much  did  you  get  for  it?"  asked 
my  wife  eagerly. 

"Fifty  dollars,"  said  I,  trying  not  to  look 
conceited. 

"I  think  you're  wonderful,"  sighed  Es- 
telle. 

Sometimes  I  believe  she  is  divine,  this 
wife  of  mine.  Content  to  abandon  her 
splendid  art  of  chorus-dancing,  she  seldom 
murmurs  at  living  in  a  flat  too  small  to  be 
called  an  apartment,  sleeping  on  a  folding 
bed,  or  eating  canned  beans.  Content  with 
smoking  cigarettes,  she  never  drinks  cock- 
tails like  her  former  companions.  And  no 
matter  how  small  the  sales  from  my  stor- 
ies, she  still,  after  a  year  of  marriage, 
thinks  I  am  wonderful.  Even  my  own 
father  fails  to  hold  that  opinion,  but  you 
can  see  he  admires  Estelle,  for  he  said  the 
other  day,  "I  can  keep  you  both  now  on 
half  the  amount  you  alone  used  to  cost 
me."  It  hurts  not  to  be  able  to  give  a 
woman  like  that  what  she  is  used  to.  I  tell 
you  an  author  is  sometimes  tempted  to 
prostitute  his  Art  by  catering  to  a  public 
that  demands  vampires  and  Wall  Street 
for  the  sake  of  earning  the  paltry  shekels. 

Divining  my  financial  embarrassment, 
Mr.  Spiffin  had  thoughtfully  offered  the 
prospect  of  money  for  my  story  of  him 
and  his  toilers.  From  among  the  more  ex- 
perienced writers  he  had  chosen  me  to 
present  his  psychic  mesasge  to  the  waiting 
world.  Triumphant,  I  paced  the  moonlit 
room. 

"Estelle,"  I  cried,  "I  am  vogue  as  to  the 
exact  communication  of  the  psychic  real- 
ity, so  tell  me !  What  sort  of  a  person  be- 
longs to  the  name  'Spiffin'?" 

She  thoughtfully  sat  up  and  hugged  her 
pink  silk  knees. 

"An  Englishman,"  she  beamed,  at  last, 
"Red  nose.  Drinks  rum.  Talks  Cockney. 
Ni-lce  o-old  Geezer  with  a  narsty  cough — " 
she  hummed  tentatively. 

A  bit  dashed,  I  queried,  "Who  then  are 
his  toilers?" 


"Sixty  bottlers  that  work  in  his  pickle 
factory." 

Somehow  my  enthusiasm  for  the  mes- 
sage of  Spiffin  waned.  Pickles  are  really 
vulgar,  you  know.   And  smelly. 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,"  I  said,  faintly. 
"And  good-night." 

I  had  reached  my  room  and  untied  my 
bathrobe  before  a  new  thought  struck  me. 
Was — Spiffin — a — poet?  I  dashed  back 
into  the  living-room,  knocking  over  my 
pipe-stand  and  a  beauty-case  as  I  went.  I 
switched  on  the  light. 

"Estelle!"  I  cried.  I  have  it.  Spiffin  is 
a  poet." 

"A  poet,"  she  gurgled,  joyously.  She 
leaped  from  the  davenport  and  together 
we  fox-trotted  madly  about  the  dismantled 
room.  We  threw  chairs  into  corners  and 
kicked  them.  We  hurled  rugs  and  the  win- 
ter coat  against  the  windows.  We  tore  the 
evening  newspapers  into  shreds  and  threw 
them  up  like  snow.  We  shook  out  the  con- 
tents of  the  waste-basket  and  danced  with 
it  on  our  heads.  Long  ago,  Estelle  taught 
me  this  method  of  rejoicing.  She  learned 
it  on  the  stage.   It  is  very  jolly. 

"Our  fortune's  made,"  she  panted,  as  we 
sank  exhausted  into  the  morris  chair.  "I 
think  you're  wonderful." 

"You  mean  Spiffin  is.  What  a  poet  he 
must  have  been  !  Marvelous  eyes  like  blue- 
bells under  water.  Rich  brown  curls.  Yes, 
I  see  it  all  now." 

"And  the  toilers?" 

I'm  afraid  my  face  clouded.  "Well,  the 
toilers  were —  the  toilers  were —  they  were 
his  hands.  His  hands!"  I  held  up  mine  to 
look  at  them  curiously.  "These  are  the 
two  toilers.  How  stupid  of  me  not  to  have 
guessed !  Don't  you  see  the  symbolism,  the 
thought  and  emotion  they  express?  They 
toiled  for  the  genius,  Spiffin,  patiently  and 
after  his  death  came  back  to  haunt  the  exe- 
cutioner who  killed  him." 

"Ugh!"  shivered  Estelle.  "Don't  tell  me 
any  more." 


184 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


"I  won't.  Let  me  carry  you  to  bed  now. 
Lm  glad  Spiffin's  a  poet,  though,  darling." 

As  I  returned  to  my  study  that  time,  I 
was  enjoying  the  exalted  mood  of  inspira- 
tion which  comes  to  all  true  artists.  It 
seemed  that  the  whole  world  had  been  cre- 
ated for  my  pleasure.  Each  whisper  of 
nature  was  a  sign,  every  shadow  had  a 
deeper  significance.  I  stopped.  The  light 
from  the  living-room  filled  my  study  with 
shadows.  There  was  a  strange  one  upon 
the  calcimined  wall  that  had  the  aspect  of 
a  human  profile.  Great  beetling  brows 
overhung  the  bulging  eye ;  the  hooked  nose 
almost  met  the  protruding  lips ;  and  the 
curved  chin  added  enormously  to  the  vil- 
liany  of  a  hideous  face.  I  stood  paralyzed 
before  it.  Some  spirit-like  voice  seemed  to 
whisper  with  inevitable  authority 

"You — were — wrong.  This  creature  be- 
fore you  is  the  likeness  of  the  criminal 
Spiffin." 

"Heaven  help  me!"  I  groaned,  bowing 
my  head  into  trembling  hands.  "Can  poor 
Spiffin  be  a  criminal?" 

I  stumbled  back  into  the  living-room  be- 
cause it  had  a  window.  I  wanted  to  lay 
my  fingers  upon  the  throbbing  pulse  of 
nature.  As  I  opened  the  creaking  sash, 
three  little  handkerchiefs  which  Estelle 
had  spread  upon  the  glass  to  dry,  fell  ofl" 
one  by  one.  I  shivered  a  little  as  I  stood 
there  in  the  moonlight.  They  seemed  to 
symbolize  my  hopes  for  the  disembodied 
human  spirit.  I  leaned  out  to  look  into  the 
deep  gulf  of  the  gray  court,  and  uttered 
the  fantastic  name  aloud. 

"Spiffin!'  I  cried,  again  and  again,  as 
if  to  recall  my  visitant.  "Spift"in !  What 
has  been  thy  crime  and  what  thy  meed?" 
(A  good  word,  that.)  It  occurred  to  me  to 
try  poetry.  The  only  lines  I  could  recall 
were  some  I  had  used  that  evening  in  a 
toast  at  the  Annual  Banquet  of  the  Patten 
County  Patriots. 

"  'Lay  down  the  axe',"  I  began,  and  Es- 
telle stirred  a  little.   I  confess  I  hoped  she 


would  awaken  to  appreciate  my  earnest- 
ness. Perhaps,  I  even  went  so  far  as  to 
visualize  her  "Memoirs  of  My  Husband" 
which  she  is  to  write  after  my  death : 

"Nov.  1 — At  midnight,  my  slumber 
was  aroused  by  Bruno's  voice.  He 
stood  at  the  window,  utterly  uncon- 
scious of  the  material  world,  repeat- 
ing those  solemn  lines  of  Bry- 
ant's— " 


I  continued,  rais- 
regretted  it  after- 


"  'Lay  down  the  axe!' 

ing  my  voice.    How  I 

ward !   Mut  pride  was  my  undoing.   "  'Lay 

down  the  axe !    Fling  by  the  spade,'  "   I 

quite   shouted,   "  'Leave   in   its   track   the 

toiling  plough!" 

"Toiling!"  said  Estelle,  very  much 
awake,  now. 

"Toiling!"  said  I,  blinking  dazedly. 
"Plough.   Axe.    Spade." 

"Spade.   Axe  Plough,"  tittered  Estelle. 

I  drowned  her  levity  in  a  torrent  of 
words.  "Spift'in  was  a  villian !  The  axe 
was  his  weapon.  Even  now  his  hands  are 
bloody.  His  crimes  swept  the  country 
while  he  lived.  In  death,  he  finds  no  re- 
spite, but  returns  to  relate  the  story  of  his 
victims.  He  seeks  in  me  a  medium — "  my 
teeth  chattered. 

"Put  down  the  window,"  said  Estelle, 
"you're  catching  cold." 

Before  obeying,  I  uttered  again  to  the 
night,  "Spiffin,  thou  rogue!  Away!  Away! 
To  where  the  blood-stream  blots  the 
green."   Then  I  turned  on  the  light. 

Estelle's  voice  was  extremely  muffled  be- 
cause she  had  somehow  got  her  head  in- 
side the  sleeve  of  her  winter  coat ;  still  I 
heard  her  remonstrate, 

"Aw,  what  d'ye  want  to  have  him  be  a 
Raffles  for?" 

I  told  her  about  the  strange  silhouette, 
but  she  observed  that  she  was  not  inclined 
to  "give  it  much".  Undoubtedly,  she  said, 
it  was  the  shadow  of  the  waste-paper  bas- 


185 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


ket  on  top  of  the  morris  chair,  with  her 
shoes  and  corset  on  top  of  that.  Not  think- 
ing of  any  refutatoin,  I  only  chanted,  sol- 
emnly, 

"  'Lay  down  the  axe;  fling  by  the  spade; 
Leave  in  its  track  the  toiling  plough !" 

After  the  way  of  women,  she  even  ap- 
propriated my  verse  for  her  own  purpose. 
Rising  inside  the  wildly  waving  coat 
sleeve,  she  argued  insistently  that  if  Spif- 
fin's  toilers  were  ploughs,  Spiffin,  himself, 
was  a  farmer.  I  sank  weakly  into  a  chair. 
It  sounded  reasonable.  Yet  whose  instincts 
was  I  to  believe?  How  might  I  choose  the 
true  inspiration  from  among  so  many?  I 
was  hopelessly  befuddled.  Not  so  Estelle. 
The  wonderful  little  wom^an  emerged  from 
her  snug  covering,  turned  a  somer-sault  on 
the  floor  and  landed  by  the  ward-robe. 
(Half  is  a  writing-desk.)  From  it  she  took 
a  pencil  and  a  piece  of  paper,  which  she 
tore  into  strips. 

On  the  first  she  printed,  in  a  business- 
like manner: 

1.  Spiff"in  —  Englishman;  red  nose; 
narsty  cough.  Toilers — Bottlers  in  his 
pickle  factory. 

"Oh,  never!"  I  objected,  but  she  calmly 
wrote  on  the  next  slip : 

2.  Spiflfin — Poet;  eyes  like  blue-bells 
under  water.   Toilers — two  hands. 

"That's  better,"  said  I.  She  rapidly  in- 
scribed on  two  more  pieces, 

3.  Spiffin  —  Farmer ;  boots ;  tobacco 
(for  chewing).  Toilers — Keen  Kutter 
Ploughs. 

4.  SpiflS'in  —  Criminal;  blood-stream 
blots  green.  Toilers — -Axes. 

"Now,"  she  said,  "Luck  decides."  (I  se- 
cretly begged  the  gods  for  number  two.) 
"Ill  place  these  in  a  row  in  the  back-yard 
by  the  garbage  can."  I  would  have  spoken, 
but  she  clapped  her  hand  on  my  mouth. 
"Of  course  its  cold.  But  who's  the  hero  in 
this    comedy,    anyhow?     Want    to    speak 


your  lines  in  the  wings?  You're  going  to 
enter  the  stage  blindfolded,  Upper  Right 
Center,  and  the  little  chorus  in  pink  silk 
pajamas  leads  the  way." 

"Blindfolded,"  I  muttered. 

At  that  she  seized  the  table-cover,  gath- 
ered it  about  my  head  and  tied  it  in  tight 
knots  at  the  back  of  my  neck  with  the  cord 
of  my  bathrobe.  Between  soft  gurgles  of 
laughter,  she  commanded,  "Forward, 
Growly!"  I  did  not  realize  the  import  of 
that  speech  until  later. 

As  we  went  down  the  long,  winding, 
back-stairs,  the  clock  on  the  down-town 
library  chimed  one.  It  filled  me  with  un- 
utterable sadness.  There  was  a  sort  of 
finality  in  that  melancholy  "One!"  Fate — 
or  Estelle  —  had  decreed  that  I  might 
choose  not  three,  or  ten,  or  thirteen  Spif- 
f  ins,  but  one.  That  was  the  magic  number 
which  would  decide  my  future.  A  verse  of 
my  childhood  recurred  to  me,  and  I  impro- 
vised, tenderly, 

"Hundreds  of  sea-shells  on  the  shore. 
Hundreds  of  bees  in  the  open  clover. 
Hundreds  of  butterflies  on  the  lawn, 
But  only  one  Spiffin  the  wide  world 
over!" 

"You're  dead  right,"  said  Estelle  in  her 
quaint  phraseology.  "Blindfolded  tight 
enough?" 

I  assured  her  that  I  was.  We  stepped 
shiveringly  into  the  cold  Night  and  wend- 
ed our  way  to  the  garbage  can. 

"Now  the  slips  are  in  a  neat  row,"  said 
Estelle,  "Grab  one." 

"I  can't!"  I  choked.  Perhaps  some  high 
Power  awed  me  and  stayed  my  hand.  "I, 
like  Bassanio,  must — " 

"Ponder  then,  Basanio,"  interrupted  Es- 
telle in  her  deliciously  humorous  fashion, 
"But  Portia  is  darn  cold  in  her  pink  silk 
pajamas.  "Meet  you  in  the  flat.  So  long!" 
I  heard  her  patter  away. 

In    a    moment    I    was    left    with    my 


186 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


thoughts  and  the  garbage  can.  The  latter 
tripped  me  every  time  I  moved.  Finally 
resolving  to  make  the  choice,  I  slid  my 
hand  along  the  ground  in  search  of  the 
pieces  of  paper.  I  felt  them  there,  nestling 
innocently  together  just  as  Estelle  had 
placed  them. 

"Lay  down  the  axe!"  I  murmured,  in 
breathless  incantation.  "Fling  by  the 
spade!"  My  hand  trembled  and  sought  the 
fatal  slip — 

Then  it  happened. 

Just  as  I  was  bending,  my  fingers  hesi- 
tating over  the  piece  of  paper,  a  heavy 
hand  fell  on  my  shoulder,  something 
smooth  and  hard  tapped  my  hand,  and  a 
loud  voice  close  to  my  ear  cried  : 

"STOP!' 

"Who  are  you?"  I  stammered. 

"1,"  replied  a  gruff  voice,  solemnly,  "Am 
Spiffin!" 

It  was  too  much.  Wrenching  myself 
from  his  graps,  I  plunged  headlong  into 
the  alley.  I  thought  it  was  the  alley.  It 
seemed  to  me,  blind  as  I  was,  that  I  tra- 
versed a  boundless  expanse,  without  be- 
ginning or  end.  My  feet  scarcely  touched 
the  ground.  I  had  the  strange  sensation  of 
flying  in  the  dark.  Spiffin,  I  knew,  was 
soaring  after  me.  He  would  catch  me,  of 
course.  He  was  psychic  and  I  wasn't.  He 
had  the  advantage  of  being  disembodied. 
Still,  he  thudded  when  he  ran.  I  heard  him. 
His  steady  strides  metrically  coincided 
with 

"Lay  down  the  axe!  Lay  doioi  the  axe!" 

The  thought  of  the  axe  terrified  me. 
With  that  he  had,  undoubtedly  pounded 
my  head.   Spiffin — was — a — criminal — 

There  was  a  shot ! 

I  stumbled  against  a  sidewalk.  Picking 
myself  up,  I  sped  on  again,  along  smooth 
pavement.  I  seemed  to  have  outrun  Spiffin, 
but  there  were  steps  in  front  of  me  now. 
Other  people  had  been  aroused  by  the  re- 
volver They  begged  me  to  pause,  but  I  re- 
fused. .  .  .  My  headdress  smothered  me. 


At  last,  somebody  seized  my  flying  bath- 
robe and  brought  me  to  an  abrupt  halt. 
I  could  vaguely  see  a  light. 

"Bring  him  up  by  the  winder,"  said  a 
.squeaky  voice. 

"Where  are  we?"  I  panted. 

"In  front  of  Keegan's  saloon,"  replied  a 
hoarse  grumble,  "And  a  pretty  ad  you'll  be 
for  him."  They  shoved  me  roughly  up 
against  the  building,  were  silent  a  mom- 
ent, and  then  shouted  with  laughter. 
Somebody  spelled  out  slowly,  "All — I — did 
— was — to — growl — a — little." 

I  realized,  with  mortification,  that  the 
table  cover  on  my  head  bore  the  motto  with 
the  picture  of  a  small  puppy-dog  wearing 
a  muzzle  and  a  look  of  abject  humiliation. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  .said  I.  "but  I  can't 
be  detained.   I  am  fleeing  from — from — " 

I  stopped.  Who  was  I  fleeing  from?  Had 
human  hand  fired  that  shot?  Did  Spiffin 
Exist?  And  if  he  did,  could  he  be  seen? 

"I  am  escaping  a  psychic  reality,"  I  ex- 
plained with  dignity. 

"Sounds  like  one  of  them  Mexican  ban- 
dits," said  the  squeaky  voice,  with  some 
frivolity. 

Of  course  it  is  dift'icult  for  people  who 
frequent  Keegan's  at  one  o'clock  Saturday 
morning  to  grasp  the  portent  of  the  Un- 
known World. 

"I  am  running  away,"  I  repeated,  slow- 
ly, "From  a  disembodied  human  spirit." 

"He  means  me,"  said  a  new  voice. 

Everybody  became  silent.  I  knew  that 
Spiffin  had  spoken ;  that  seeing  my  cap- 
ture, he  had  approached,  leisurely.  In 
short,  he  bore  witness  to  my  veracity. 
Again,  his  heavy  hand  was  upon  my  shoul- 
der, and  something  smooth  and  hard 
tapped  my  head. 

"Aha !"  I  said,  triumphantly,  to  the 
awed  by.standers,  "What  did  I  tell  you? 
I'm  going  to  write  a  story  called  'Spiffin's 
Toilers'  and  every  one  of  you  must  read  it. 
It  shall  be  written  about  this  identical  visi- 
tation." 


187 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


Halftones 

Zinc  Etchings 

Color  Plates 


Bell  411     Auto  2162 


G.  R.  Grubb  &  Co. 

Engravers 


114  North  Walnut  Stref I 


Champaign,  lllinuis 


I 

4. 


YOU'LL  COME  BACK 
FREQUENTLY 

Every  man  does,  once  he  has 
played  Billiards  or  Pocket  Bill- 
iards here.  Courtesy,  gracious- 
ness,  cheerfulness,  and  a  real 
interest  in  what  the  player 
wants  are  outstanding  features 
of  our  service.  And  any  time 
you  don't  get  those  things  we 
want  to   know   it  right  away. 

Arcade  Billiard  Parlors 

Dewey  Newman,  Prop. 
Bradley  Arcade 


Announcing  the  Annual 

MILITARY   BALL 

to  be  held  at  the 

Woman's  Building 

Friday,  February  22,  1918 

"BIGGER  AND  BETTER  THAN  EVER" 

Watch  for  an  announcement  of 
the  ticket  sale 


+ 


Tell  the  Advertiser  you  saw  his  Ad  in  The  Illinois  Magazine — He'll  appreciate  it 

188 


+ 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


My  pride  overcame  my  fear;  besides,  I 
thought  it  was  a  splendid  chance  to  adver- 
tise.   Spiffin  ignored  the  opportunity. 

"Move  on,"  he  said.  With  wonderful 
strength,  he  turned  me  around  and  led 
me  back  down  the  way  we  had  come.  Al- 
though he  maintained  silence,  his  power- 
ful personality  impressed  me  continually. 

"What  color  are  your  eyes?"  I  dared  to 
ask. 

"Blue."   The  poet! 

"Please  tell  me,"  I  faltered,  "What  are 
your  toilers?  Are  there  two  of  them?  Do 
they  have  any  connections  with  hands?" 

At  that,  my  strange  acquaintance  burst 
into  rollicking  laughter. 

"Sure,"  he  said,  in  a  rich,  Irish  voice. 
"Hands.   We're  going  to  get  thim  now." 

You  see  it  all  coincided  with  my  concep- 
tion of  the  poet.  Yet  I  shuddered.  What 
else  could  our  mission  be  but  to  seek  the 
Haunted  Hands ! 

I  begged  to  have  my  headdress  untied. 
My  heart  pounded  furiously  as  he  cut  the 
string.   Oh,  for  a  sight  of  my  companion! 

The  tablecover  fell  off.  I  blinked  for  a 
moment  in  the  bright  light  of  a  familiar 
apartment-house  hallway.  I  loked  into  the 
blue  eyes  of  Spiffin — 

Stalwart  and  uniformed,  holding  in  his 
first  a  smooth  club,  he  stood  before  me — - 
the  policeman  who  lives  in  the  flat  across 
the  court. 

"You're  a  wife-beater,"  he  observed, 
cheerfully,  "And  it's  lucky  you've  not 
killed  her  by  the  chairs  and  rugs  you 
slammed  in  her  face,  to-night.  Didn't  I  see 
it  all  from  me  window?  Nor  do  I  blame 
her  for  takin'  an  axe  to  ye  nor  a  spade. 


though  I  don't  see  how  she'd  get  a  plough 
into  that  little  flat.  Yes,  it  was  but  a  fitful 
revenge. 

"Still,  I'd  not  thank  either  of  you  for 
shoutin'  the  name  of  an  honest  officer  and 
callin'  him  'villian'  and  'rogue'.  Yes,  it's 
(lueer  how  you  learned  me  cognomer,  lest 
you  overheard  Mrs.  Spifi'in  employin'  it 
this  evenin'.  Anywise  and  otherhow,  it'll 
cost  you  one  hundred  dollars  in  court  to 
e.xplain  your  trip  tonight,  both  masked  and 
arrayed  indecently.  Me  toilers  will  soon 
have  connection  with  uour  hands." 

It  was  then  I  had  the  Happy  Inspiration. 
I  whispered  to  him  five  words  and  a  ques- 
tion mark. 

"Yis,  thank  you,  it  would  be  enough," 
he  answered,  judiciously,  and  touched  his 
hat. 

He  went  with  me  to  the  umbrella  stand 


When  I  joyously  ascended  the  stairs  af- 
ter seeing  Spiffin  to  his  own  flat,  Estelle 
was  standing  by  the  mailchute. 

"Darling,"  I  said,  trying  not  to  appear 
too  conceited,  "I've  made  fifty  dollars." 

"Let's  see  it,"  she  said. 

Then  I  e.xplained  how  the  fifty  dollars 
was  really  gone  from  the  umbrella  stand ; 
but  how  I  had  given  it  to  save  fifty  more. 
When  I  quoted  "A  penny  saved  is  a  penny 
earned",  she  was  elated  and  cried, 

"I  think  you're  wonderful!  Fifty  dol- 
lars will  just  pay  the  first  installment.  I've 
mailed  the  order." 

"The  order  for  what?'  I  asked  with  awe. 

"A  dictograph  disgui-sed  in  a  billiard 
table.  After  this,  no  psychic  reality  can 
slip  anything  over  on  us!" 


189 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


In  appreciation  of  our  patrons' 

very  liberal  patronage  during  the  past  year 

and  a  (^ood  Wish  for  the 

T^'w  Tear 


Watch  and  Jewelry  Repairing  Moderate  Prices 

RAY  L.  BOWMAN  JEWELRY  CO. 

Miss  Ray  L.  Bowman,  ^P^anjger 
New  Hamilton  Building  Champaign,  III. 


+— 


Qetting  In  Touch 


THROUGH  Mr.  Russell  S.  White,  Student 
^presentative  to  the  University  of  Illinois,  we  are 

striving  to  get  closer  to  the  real  wants  and  needs  of  the  students. 

We  Have  found  that  you  do  appreciate  good  work;  that  you 
want  something  different,  yet  in  good  taste;  that  only  the  latest  and 
newest  will  satisfy;  and  that  it  is  really  good  fun  to  work  for  you. 

We  ask,  sincerely.  What  can  'we  do  for  you? 

Twin  City  Printing  Company 

•who  are  as  proud  of  the  Illinois  SMdgazine  as  you  are 


Tell  the  Advertiacr  you  saiv  his  Ad  in  The  Illinois  Magazine — He'll  appreciate  it 

190 


TAPS  ETERNAL 


Private  James  Blaine  Phipps,  ['18],  of  Troop  B,  1st  111.  cavalry.  Died  July 
25,  at  McDonald.  Kan.  Age  24. 

Corporal  Lloyd  Havens  Chi.slin.  ['18],  of  the  ordnance  dept.,  U.  S.  A.  Died 
Aug.  31  at  Ft.  Riley,  Kan.   Age  21. 

Lieutenant  Charles  Leslie  Starkel,  ['18],  of  Co.  L.,  342  nd  inf..  Camp  Grant, 
Rockford.  Died  Oct.  20  at  Camp  Grant.  Age  22. 

Lieutenant  Orlando  Gochnaur,  ['15],  med,  of  the  British  forces.  Killed  in 
action  Nov.  6  in  France.  Age  29. 

David  W.  Dunlap.  ['15],  Y.  M.  C.  A.  secretary.  Camp  Funston,  Kan.  Died 
Nov.  26,  1917,  at  Camp  Fun.ston.  Age  25. 

Lieutenant  Edward  Forbes  Greene.  ['00],  acad.,  of  the  U.  S.  Navy.  Died 
Dec.  18.  1917,  at  Cambridge.  Mass.  Age  33. 

Bruce  Lucius  Sizer,  ['16],  of  the  U.  S.  Navy.  Died  Dec.  28  at  the  U.  S. 
Naval  hospital,  Las  Animas,  Col.  Age  22.    (Further  mention  later.) 

MISSING 

Everett  Buckley,  ['12],  LaFayette  escadrille,  France.  Believed  to  be  in 
German  prison. 

WOUNDED 

Lieutenant  Allie  L.  Cone,  ['07],  acad.  with  the  U.  S.  Engineers  in  France, 
severely  wounded  in  action  Nov.  30.  (No  further  details  reported 
by  Gen.  Pershing.  Nov.  30  teas  the  day  that  several  American  engi- 
neers working  irith  the  Briti.'^h  army  assisted  Gen.  Byng's  forces  at 
Cambrai.) 

— Reprint  Alumni  Quarterly 


191 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


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•  ll—HU nil 11 II 1 

. — „._„j 

AB-SO-LUTELY 


— something  new  under  the 
sun — a  drink  of  sparkle,  nip  and 
an  entirely  new  taste  that  you  will 
say  is  "there".  Nothing  insipid 
about  it — but  strictly  soft — Bevo. 

Try  it  for  refreshing  properties — 
true  cereals-and-Saazer-hops  flavor. 

Served  at  all  first-class  places,  in 
its  own  original  "squatty"  brown 
bottles,  sterilized  and  hermetically 
patent-crowned. 

See  that  the  Fox  seal  over  the 
crown  is  broken  in  your  presence 
when   you    order    Bevo    in    public. 

Families  supplied   by  grocer. 

Manufactured  and  bottled  exclusively  by 

Anheuser-Busch,  St.  Louis,  U.  5.  A. 


Have  your  Bevo  cold 

'The  all-year-'round  soft  drink" 


4r 


192 


THE 

ILLINOIS 

MAGAZINE 


SPRING  NUMBER 


15 


cents 


NOTICE  TO  READER— When  you  finish  reading  this  magazine  place  a  one 
cent  stamp  on  this  notice,  hand  same  to  any  postal  employe,  and  it  will  be  placed 
in  the  hands  of  our  soldiers  or  sailors  at  the  front.     No  wrapping  :  no  address. 


^K£ivi.<i,Vl.- 


\Jn<5.teLTiL.~ 


THE  ILLINOIS  MACAZINE 


The  Well  Dressed  Man  Has  His  Clothes  Made-to-Measure 


WHY?  Because  there  are  no  two  forms  exactly  alike  or  of  the  same  proportion.  By  wearing 
made-to-measure  clothes  you  get  garments  that  fit  all  around  —  not  just  in  places.  Clothes  that 
fit  as  they  should,  look  good,  and  hang  well  as  long  as  you  have  them.  This  is  especially  true 
if  you  leave  your  order  with  us.      IVe  guarantee  a  ft  or  no  sale. 


PITSENBARGER  &  FLYNN 


Cleaning,  Pressing,  Repairing 


+ . . ^       ^. 

BELL  249  AUTO  1294 


PRINTING 
&  BINDING 


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ILLINOIS  HOTEL 

CHRIS.  MARTENS,  Prop. 
CHAMPAIGN,  ILL. 


612  E.  Green  Street,  Champaign,  III. 


C.  A.   Kiler 

Complete   House  Furnisher 

cAgent  for 
Victor  Victrolas  and   Records 

Pictures  aLd  Frames 

Berkey   &  Gay    Furniture 

S.   Karpen   &  Bros.   Furniture 


-f 

■  + 


24-26  Main  Street 
Champaign,  III. 


3\4eals  served  'Day  and  '^gbt 

Headquarters  for  Students 
Down  Town 


Tell  the  AdvcrtiMf  uou  «aw  his  Ad  in  Tut:  Il.l.l.NoIs  Mac.v/inm: -//(')(  aiijtreciate  it 

193 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


tits 


We  fit  your  head 
We  fit  your  body 
We  ft  your  purse 


34illinery 

Our  hats  are  smart  and  chic,  you  girls  know  what  that  means  and  one  look  will 

convince  you.      Exclusive  patterns  (that  look  like  ^25)  for  ^12  and  ^15. 

Hundreds  of  beautifully  trimmed  hats  ^5  to  ^8.      Over  1000 

untrimmed  hats  to  select  from  ^2  to  ^7. 

Elegant  Bangkoks  at  ^10. 

Corsets 
Kabo  and  Goodwin  corsets,  designed  on  live  models,  ^1  to  ^10.     Expert  fitter  in  charge.  } 

IVaists 
Best  ^5  georgette  waist  in  town. 

THE  MULLIKIN  CASH  STORE 

opposite  City  'Building 


9 


ifts  for  Every  Occasion 

Watches,  'Diamonds, 
Silverware,  Jewelry, 
&  oArt  Qoods 


Repair  Department  under  expert  workmen.     Experienced — Reliable. 

RAY  L.  BOWMAN  JEWELRY  CO.  Inc. 

The  Hamilton  Building,  Champaign,  III. 


TcU  the  Advcrtiscy  you  saw  his  Ad  in  The  Illinois  Magazine — He'll  appreciate  it 

194 


I 


Lois  Seyster     - 
Walter  B.  Remlev 


-      -      -      Kilitor 
Biisitwss  Mcniaycr 


Table  of  Contents 


Praeterea  Nihil  (Poem  with  decoration) Frontispiece 

Down  Ghetto  Way  (Illustrated) 199 

The  Living  Versus  the  Dead  (Epigram  Contest) 202 

A  Coward  in  Ubadam  (Prize  story) 203 

The  Psychology  of  Jazz _ 209 

An  Apostle  of  the  New  Poetry  211 

By  Courtesy  of  the  Poetry  Society  (Poems) 213 

Selfish  Martyrs  (Editorial)    219 

Between  You  and  Me  220 

Behind  the  Footlights  223 

Dope 226 

The  Red  Feather 231 


EDITORIAL  STAFF 
L.  J.  Selzer      --------------       Assistant  Editor 

Elizabeth  Leitzbach      -----------      /n  Charge  of  Fiction 

Dorothy  Seidel      ------------      /h  Charge  of  Dramatics 

Zelomia  Aixsworth       ------------       Woman's  Editor 

Glenn  W.  Frede       ----------         -In  Charge  of  Athletics 

BUSINESS  STAFF 

W.  E.  Kkieger      -------- Assistant  Manager 

R.  E.  Spangler      -------------      Circulation  Manager 

Roger  Dawson,  S.  A.  Wilson,  \V.  F.  Gast,  I»I.  Beaumoni     -    -    -    Business  Assistants 

Published  monthly  by  the  Illini  Publishinc  Company  durinjr  the  college  year.  Entered  as  second-class 
matter  at  the  postoffice  at  Urbana,  Illinois.  Ortice,  University  Hall,  Urbana,  Illinois.  Subscription,  $1.00 
per  year.     Out-of-town  subscriptions,   $1.2.5.     SinKle  copies,   15  cents. 

Twix  City  Pbixting  Company,  Printers  and  Binders^  Champaign,  111. 


•!m!i>gasa5s«isjisiS3iiistii«awaisu^ 


The  Illinois  Magazine 

"c/f  Student  SMa^a^ine  for  Studails  b\  Students" 

SPRING  NUMBER 


'yya  :ffr<  ffy.  ffTi  tTBiTwn  irrMys  iTB  rT^riff^firaw^iiraFiiijrglg^ai^^ 


PRAETEREA  NIHIL— j 

Decoration  by  J 

(7T\he  thought  of  you  is  'what  your 
Vly       kisses  ■were 

Too  long  ago  to  dream: 


fhe  thought  of  you  is  like  the  wind 
that  blows 
Seaward  from  Heart's  'Desire, 
cA  breath  from  some  old  garden  lahere  It  is  the  sun  upon  your  radiant  hair. 


the  rose 
''Drank  deep  of  summer's  fre; 
Forgotten  days  of  summer  are  its  livings, 
cAnd  long  forgotten  days  of  half- 
forgotten  springs. 


qA  faint  reviving  gleam 
In  those  old  corners  of  the  heart  'where 

dust 
cAnd  ashes  are  the  days  that  youth 

'was  glad  to  trust. 


by  Clyde  Byron  Beck 


Louis  Selzer 

'TT^he  thought  of  you  is  like  a  flower 
VL        that  takes 

'^ot  in  my  heart's  repose, 
Though  iL-here  you  are  or  -what  your 
fortune  makes 
Of  you  (^od  only  knows; 
This  thing  I  keep,  this  joy  is  left  me  still: 
To  think  of  'what  you  'were  and 
love  you  as  I  'will. 


1\nd  so  I 
^\      urn 


leave  you  to  the  golden 


c 

cAnd  ashes  of  delight, 
While  to  the  hills  the  summer  days  return, 

cAnd  lovers  haunt  the  night: 
While  round  my  daily  -walks  new 

loves  increase, 
oAnd  the  old  love  embalms  my  evening 
lamp  'with  peace. 


i«a3aast3i)ijgaiaaiajmiia!)B»)ta<ii3j)ia!i^^ 


"Oooh!    WatcJi  the  bird  jump  out.'" 


"Information  first-hand"  was  Miss  Lieber's 
slogan,  this  summer  when  she  made  a  study 
of  conditions  in  the  Chicago  Ghetto.  She 
discoi'ered  that  its  juvenile  citizens  are  as 
fond  of  posing  as  Illinois  co-eds. 


^m^^ 


i^A 


\cP^ 


On  the  left  is  a.  bit  of  the  "market-place  of 

the  poor";  above,  a  feiv  of  the  Ghetto's 

coming  generation. 


n«v^^so^«1^n«r^I7Sx^^rs^n«1I7»^tr»^rISv^^rsr1hsv1^rS(1trMh«(1hs<^^«(1r«!: 


The  Illinois  Magazine 

"cA  Student  3iagazinc  for  Students  by  Students" 
SPRING    NUMBER 


Volume  9 


MARCH,  1918 


Nunihoi 


DOWN  GHETTO  WAY 


RUTH  LIEBER 


lATCH  OUT  FOR  THE  CHIL- 
DREN" should  be  the  motto  of 
all  who  pass  through  Chicago's 
(Jhetto.  From  Polk  to  Fifteenth 
street  along  Halsted,  where  there  are  from 
fifty  to  one  hundred  children  in  sight 
every  moment  of  each  day, — and  where 
street  cars  and  vehicles  pass  every  second, 
no  effort  is  made  at  protection.  A  police- 
man in  the  Open  Air  Market  on  Four- 
teenth street  is  a  certain  sign  there  has 
been  a  brawl  or  a  "raid".  The  sight  of  an 
officer  of  the  law  means  danger,  not  pi'o- 
tection  to  the  thousands  of  children  from 
the  ages  of  two  to  twelve  who  spend  all  of 
their  time  on  the  only  play  ground  that 
they  know — the  street. 

Where  do  all  these  children  come  from? 
Where  are  their  homes  and  their  guar- 
dians? Why  are  they  allowed  to  roam  un- 
protected in  the  conge.sted  quarters  of  the 
Market?  These  are  the  questions  that  nat- 
urally came  to  me  the  fir.st  time  I  tried  to 


walk  down  Fourteenth  street  without 
knocking  some  toddling  baby  under  the 
wheels  of  a  passing  pedler's  cart.  That  I 
might  answer  my  own  queries  I  asked  one 
of  the  little  ones  wading  in  the  gutter  to 
take  me  and  my  companion  to  his  mother. 
To  my  surprise  he  consented  with  alacrity. 
The  little  lad,  whose  only  covering  was  a 
dirty  blue  "jumper-suit"  led  us  immedi- 
ately to  one  of  the  small  black  alleys  open- 
ing on  Halsted  street.  In  the  basement  of 
one  of  the  many  brown  buildings  facing 
this  dark  opening  this  little  American  citi- 
zen introduced  us  to  his  home.  This 
"home" — I  am  really  loathe  to  use  the  term 
of  such  an  habitation — consisted  of  three 
small  rooms  with  two  windows,  one 
glas.sed,  the  other  boarded.  Here  filth  and 
sordidness  reigned  unchallenged.  The  mis- 
tress, or  mother,  ugly,  slovenly,  dressed  in 
dirtiest  of  garments,  could  not  speak  a 
word  of  English.  She  was  in  the  "kitchen" 
washing,    baking   and   caring   for   a    sick 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


baby,  all  at  the  same  time.  Her  old  wooden 
wash  tub  stood  steaming  with  hot  suds  on 
the  one  chair  under  the  only  window  in  the 
room,  which  was  closed.  "Metzos",  or  un- 
leavened wheat  cakes,  were  sizzling  in  a 
half  inch  of  grease  on  the  top  of  a  rusty 
wood  fire  stove.  The  nauseating  odor  of 
the  grease  which  had  run  over  on  the  stove 
penetrated  every  corner  of  the  three 
rooms.  On  the  side  of  the  kitchen  furthest 
from  the  door  an  old  couch  held  a  three- 
months  old  baby  who  fought  with  bron- 
chitis amidst  the  steam  of  washing  and  the 
odor  of  burning  grease.  Unable  to  breathe 
I  rushed  from  the  room,  leaving  my  friend 
who  was  more  accustomed  to  social  work, 
in  this  district,  to  urge  the  women  to  open 
the  window  so  that  a  little  of  the  "ninety 
in  the  shade"  air  might  reach  the  baby. 
At  the  door  I  met  the  other  five  children 
of  the  family.  They  had  heard  about  the 
"company" ! 

In  close  contact  with  the  Ghetto  or  Jew- 
ish district,  is  the  Italian  quarter.  Wish- 
ing to  see  an  Italian  as  well  as  a  Jewish 
home,  we  went  to  call  on  a  certain  Mrs. 
Rio.  Mrs.  Rio  is  thirty  years  old,  has  been 
married  eight  years,  and  has  seven  chil- 
dren. She  has  been  in  this  country  five 
yea/'s.  Her  home  consists  of  two  rooms  on 
the  second  floor  of  a  small  building  in  the 
back  yard  of  a  large  tenement  house.  Her 
husband  secures  twelve  dollars  a  week,  and 
they  pay  ten  dollars  a  month  rent.  For  a 
number  of  years  Mr.  Rio  has  shown  signs 
of  consumption.  As  a  result  the  three 
youngest  children  are  sickly  crying  young- 
sters and  a  great  strain  on  their  mother. 
Yet  with  all  her  responsibility,  Mrs.  Rio 
keeps  her  three  rooms  fairly  neat. 

"The  only  thing  a  matter  mit  us  is  de 
flies,"  she  explained.  "We  have  so  wanted 
many  years  screens  for  two  windows  and 
one  door." 

"And  why  don't  you  get  them?"  I  was 
innocent  of  the  irony  in  my  question. 

"They  cost  seventy-five  cents  for  one. 


We  can  never  save  that  much  of  money. 
Seventy-five  cents, — it  is  awful !" 

So  thousands  of  flies  continue  to  eat 
their  meals  with  the  seven  little  Rios. 

Where  do  such  people  as  the  Rios  buy 
provisions  to  support  nine  people  on  twelve 
dollars  a  week  ?  I  have  spoken  of  the  Mar- 
ket. It  is  the  bargain  counter  of  the  poor. 
From  Halsted  street  east  on  Fourteenth  it 
reaches  a  little  over  a  block.  On  one  side  of 
the  street  the  walk  is  covered  with  dry 
goods  for  sale,  on  the  other  with  food.  The 
vender's  carts  are  backed  to  the  curbing 
and  their  wares  displayed  upon  carts  or 
upon  stands  on  the  walk.  On  the  inside  of 
the  walk  are  many  small  stores,  whose  con- 
tents are  also  displayed  in  the  open  air.  A 
very  narrow  path,  scarcely  wide  enough 
for  two  people  to  pass  comfortably  be- 
tween the  rival  displays,  aft'ords  the  only 
thoroughfare  for  thousands  of  purchasers. 
On  the  corner  of  Halsted  stands  one  of  the 
typical  Market  venders.  Whether  it  be  the 
hottest  day  of  summer  or  the  coldest  of 
winter,  this  tall  Jew  stands  draped  in  un- 
der vests.  "Well  Now — "  shouted  as  loudly 
as  his  lung  capacity  allows,  followed  by  a 
long  line  of  Jewish  syllables,  in  his  greet- 
ing to  all  who  come  to  the  market.  He  uses 
his  only  two  words  of  the  English  lan- 
guage to  welcome  both  his  own  people  and 
foreigners  to  Chicago's  Market,  even  as 
his  ancestor  may  have  welcomed  with  some 
unknown  phrase  the  money  changers  and 
venders  in  Jerusalem  before  Jesus  over- 
turned the  tables  of  the  market  in  the  holy 
citadel. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the 
numerous  and  unusual  articles  for  sale. 
Everything  from  "diamond"  studded  hair 
pins  to  live  fish  may  be  purchased  at  mini- 
mum prices.  Fowls, — I  never  saw  so  many 
in  my  life! — crate  after  crate  of  cackling 
hens,  cooing  doves  and  squawking  ducks 
and  geese.  The  Ghetto  inhabitants  buy 
their  fowls  alive  and  frequently  keep  them 
for   days   before   killing.     They   save   the 


200 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


feathers  for  pillows  and  cook  the  fowls 
whole.  They  eat  even  the  heads  and  for 
many  meals  use  the  juice  for  soup.  When 
people  of  the  "Other  Half"  accuse  the  very 
poor  of  extravagance  and  waste  they 
should  be  certain  that  they  know  all  the 
facts.  When  one  sees  how  these  people 
bargain,  how  they  live  and  what  they  eat, 
he  realizes  how  very  incapable  those  who 
have  not  experienced  these  conditions  are 
of  judging. 

Prices  in  the  Market  are  very  much 
cheaper  than  one  would  imagine  possible. 
During  July  potatoes  were  selling  at  three, 
four  and  five  cents  a  pound,  according  to 
the  comparative  bartering  ability  of  ven- 
der and  patron.  A  few  days  before  a  trip 
to  the  Market,  I  had  purchased  a  green 
pepper  for  five  cents.  Here  I  might  have 
bought  a  dozen  for  eight  cents.  But  of  all 
the  articles  for  sale,  fi'om  babies'  high 
chairs  to  sirloin  steak  or  evening  gowns, 
that  which  impressed  me  the  most  were 
the  fish.  After  one  has  stood  for  half  an 
hour  in  the  water  that  runs  from  the  fish 
barrels  into  the  gutter,  and  has  smelled 
nothing  but  fish,  live  fish,  dead  fish,  and 
non-describable  fish, — fish  are  likely  to 
leave  the  most  lasting  impression  on  the 
mind  of  any  casual  visitor.  It  seems  that 
every  one  in  this  part  of  Chicago  eats  fi.sh. 
because  they  are  so  cheap.  I  remember 
watching  one  may  buy  three  large-sized 
fish  which  the  woman  originally  priced  at 


ten  cents  a  piece  for  ten  cents  for  the  lot. 
He  probably  took  his  bargain  home  to  the 
house  wife,  who,  perhaps,  washed  them 
and  assuredly  stuffed  them  and  baked  them 
in  olive  oil. 

In  addition  to  the  Market,  numerous 
small  shops  line  all  the  streets  of  the  dis- 
trict. Synagogues  and  saloons  seem  to 
rival  each  other  for  the  most  prominent 
street  corners.  At  almost  any  time  of  the 
day  one  may  witness  a  street  brawl  or  a 
saloon  fight.  Or  at  any  hour  he  may  go  in 
and  worship  at  one  of  the  holy  shrines  of 
the  synagogue.  Law  and  order  play  little 
part  in  this  section  of  the  city.  Thieves  and 
rabbis,  murderers  and  children  mingle  as 
equals,  unnoticed  and  unnoticing. 

But  it  is  the  children  who  should  inter- 
est every  American  citizens.  They  rival 
the  flies  in  numbers.  "Swat  The  Fly"  is 
one  of  the  national  cries  of  the  day.  What 
shall  it  be  for  the  children?  When  one 
spends  a  few  days  in  Chicago's  worst  tene- 
ment districts  he  thinks  more  than  once  of 
"A  Modest  Proposal",  in  which  Jonothan 
Swift  ironically  offers  death  as  the  easiest 
means  of  disposing  of  the  children  of  Ire- 
land. Certain  it  is  that  some  disposition 
mu.st  be  made  of  the  children  of  America. 

"We  cannot  swat  the  children,"  one  of 
the  few  American  residents  of  Halsted 
street  said,  "but  we  should  'Watch  Out  For 
The  Children'." 


Cupid  often  hits  the 

mark  b 

ut  makes  a 

lot 

of  Mrs 

all 

the  same. 

Politics  is  the  liniment  that 

raises  the 

muscles  on 

the 

arms  of  the  law 

201 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


THE  LIVING  VERSUS  THE  DEAD 


First  Prize,  $5, 

Unknown 

In  politics  as  nowhere  else  the  goose  may 
have  his  day 


For   feather-beds   are    in 
politicians  stay. 

This  world  war  is  a 
great  revival  and  every- 
one is  expected  to  take 
part  in  the  service. 

When  love  is  but  a 
pastime  it  is  well  to  re- 
member that  one  of  the 
players  may  tire  of  the 
game. 


demand    where 


Second  Prize,  $2, 

Marguerite  Needham 

As  a  boy  who  passes  whistling  in  the 
night,  so  is  love :  as  real  and  as  mysterious. 

War  envies  not :  it  takes. 


Shakespeare,  Sherman  and 
Tennyson  are  vanquished. 
Weary  of  hearing  the  worn- 
out  platitudes,  "Something  is 
rotten  in  Denmark",  "War  is 
hell",  and  "In  the  spring  a 
young  man's  fancy — ",  Illinois 
students  entered  a  contest  to 
produce  better  epigrams  on 
War,  Love  and  Politics.  With 
one  fell  blow,  the  living  routed 
their  psychic  foes  and  purged 
the  campus  of  bromidioms. 


Politics,  like  the  Bone- 
y  a  r  d,  is  too  dirty  to 
touch  ;  too  dangerous  to 
let  alone. 


Love  cuts  the  coupons 
of  matrimony. 


Three  prizes, — $1,  R.  W.  Whitford,  Harold  Meek,  Fay  Cuerden.  The  judges 
selected  the  following  as  best  from  the  three  third-prize  sets : 

What  are  the  schemes  of  diplomatic  folly?   Tricks 
To  gum  the  Golden  Rule, — and  this  is  Politics! — R.  W. 

Love  is  the  life. — F.  C. 

War  proves  that  God  needs  a  lot  of  assistance  in  running  this  world  of 
our.— H.  M. 


Notice — Have  you  an  imagination?  The  five  dollars,  which  the  anonymous  contest- 
ant scorns  to  claim,  will  be  awarded  to  the  best  letter  describing  Unknown's  character- 
istics as  shown  by  his  views  on  the  three  great  topics — War,  Love,  and  Politics. 


202 


The  Red  Ribbon  Story 

A  COWARD  IN  UBADAM 


\V.  S.  STONE 


T  was  Indian  Summer  in  Uba- 
dam  Hollow.  The  air  was  filled 
w  i  t  h  faint  odor  of  burning 
leaves.  Far  across  the  hills 
smoke  was  lazily  rising  into  the  air.  The 
day  was  hazy  and  warm  but  the  large  grey 
clouds  hovering  on  the  western  horizon 
gave  warning  that  Indian  summer  was 
nearing  its  close.  An  occasional  gust  of 
wind  caught  up  the  leaves  which  lay  thick 
upon  the  ground  and  revolved  them  in  ka- 
leidoscopic confusion.  There  was  not  a 
sound  to  be  heard  save  the  scream  of  a 
flock  of  jays  in  angiy  pursuit  of  a  squirrel 
who  had  too  indiscreetly  approached  their 
deserted  nests.  On  the  sides  of  the  bluffs 
wherever  one  might  gaze,  ground  hogs 
were  sunning  themselves  on  the  warm 
rocks  or  were  lazily  stalking  along  the 
fallen  logs.  Near  at  hand.  Bald  Knob  tow- 
ered up  above  the  neighboring  hills,  its  top 
covered  with  stunted  cedars  and  oaks.  To 
the  west.  Wolf  Lake  stretched  out  before 
the  eyes  like  an  interminable  blanket  of 
blue  among  the  grey  cliffs. 

Not  far  from  the  base  of  Bald  Knob 
stood  the  tumble-down  cabin  of  Giles  Cor- 
bett.  It  was  the  vigorous  condemnation  of 
a  federal  revenue  agent  years  ago  by  Giles 
Corbett  that  had  given  the  valley  its  name. 


Warm.xg — A  heavy  i>enalty  of  curiosity  will  be  inflifted 
upon  any  reader  who  be^iins  "A  Coward  in  Ubadam"  without 
time  to  finish  it.  The  author,  W.  S.  Stone,  a  Junior  in  the 
CollCKe  of  Liberal  Ai-ts  and  Science,  was  awanied  second 
prize  for  this  story  in  the  Illinois  Magazine  Short  Story  Con- 
test. 


Giles  had  operated  a  still  which  was  lo- 
cated in  a  rocky  gorge  behind  his  cabin. 
But  that  was  long  ago  when  Giles  was 
young  and  feared  neither  God  nor  man. 
Today  he  was  willing  to  sit  in  his  cabin 
and  smoke  and  allow  the  younger  men  to 
operate  the  still. 

Pug  Corbett  stood  in  the  doorway  of  her 
grandfather's  cabin  and  looked  down  the 
lane  which  ran  past  the  cabin  along  the 
side  of  the  lake  at  the  vei-y  foot  of  Bald 
Knob.  A  calico  apron  was  thrown  around 
her  head  from  one  side.  The  slight  breeze 
blew  strands  of  hair  in  confusion  around 
a  face  which  might  have  been  pretty  had 
it  not  been  so  freckled.  A  short,  promin- 
ent nose  left  no  doubt  as  to  the  source  of 
her  nick-name. 

The  old  man  sitting  in  a  hickory-split 
chair  before  a  .smouldering  fire  had  noticed 
his  granddaughter  standing  in  the  door- 
way. "Ye  might  as  well  get  to  bakin'  the 
corn  pone  for  dinner.  Pug ;  I  seed  him  pass 
early  this  mornin'  on  his  black  filly.  He 
was  shore  a  ridin'  some.  That's  shore  some 
boss  o'  his'n." 

The  girl  started,  "Did  he?"  she  replied 
in  a  tone  of  attempted  nonconcern.  But 
the  next  quesiton  gave  the  lie  to  her  as- 
sumed indifference.  "An'  didn't  he  stop  or 
wave  ner  anything?"  she  asked. 

The  old  man  stooped  to  light  his  pipe 
from  a  live  coal  in  the  fire  place.  "Nary 
one,"  he  replied,  after  he  had  finished  the 


203 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


operation.  Then  he  added,  "Ye  an'  Jim 
Hickum  hain't  had  words,  have  ye?" 

The  girl's  face  reddened.  "No,"  she  an- 
swered shortly.  "Air  ye  sui-e  it  was  Jim, 
gran'pap?  '  she  asked  in  a  doubting  tone. 

"I  ain't  lived  night  onto  seventy  year 
without  knowin'  Jim  Hickum's  horse  when 
I  see  it,"  he  responded  in  a  tone  of  irrita- 
tion. "Hit's  the  only  coal  black  hoss  with 
a  blaze  face  in  the  Holler." 

The  girl  began  to  move  around  with  her 
bare  foot  a  leaf  which  had  blown  in  at  the 
open  door.  The  old  man  moved  his  chair 
back  from  the  fire  which  had  begun  to 
blaze.  "I  suppose  ye  an'  Jim'll  be  gettin' 
married  purty  soon  bein'  as  Jim's  goin'  to 
the  war." 

The  girl's  face  flushed.  "He  ain't  agnin' 
to  the  war  gran-pap,"  she  said  slowly. 

The  old  man  nearly  sprung  from  his 
chair.  "He  ain't  agoin'  to  the  war'?"  he  re- 
peated in  amazement.  The  girl  nodded. 
"Why  ain't  he  agoin'  ?"  the  old  man  almost 
shouted.   "He  ain't  afeerd  to  go,  is  he?" 

The  girl  moved  listlessly.  "He's  got  to 
stay  home  and  take  care  o'  his  gran-pap. 
His  gran'pap's  so  crippled  up  with  rheu- 
matiz  he  ain't  walked  for  quite  a  spell," 
she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

The  old  man's  eyes  were  blazing.  He 
took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth  an'  laid  it  on 
the  hearth.  "What's  the  matter  with 
Noahie  takin'  care  o'  his  gran'pap?"  he 
asked.  "He's  eighteen  year  old  an'  as  big 
an'  strong  as  Jim." 

"He's  afeerd  to  leave  him  with  Noahie. 
Noahie's  been  havin'  them  spells  o'  his'n 
agin'.  He  had  one  t'other  night,"  the  girl 
said  simply. 

"Hit's  a  lie,  he  ain't  afeerd  for  his  gran- 
'pap, he's  afeerd  fer  Jim  Hickum,"  said  the 
old  man  hotly.  "There's  a  strain  o'  bad 
blood  in  his  veins.  Pug.  That's  what's  a 
ailin'  him.  Hit  war  Tom  Hunter,  his 
mother's  brother,  that  told  the  gover-ment 
men  whar  the  still  war.  He  war  a  coward. 
Pug." 


The  girl's  eyes  blazed  as  she  turned 
fiercely  on  the  old  man.  "I  tell  ye  he  ain't 
a  coward.  Jim  Hickum  can  lick  any  man 
in  the  Holler  in  fair  fight.  He  ain't  afeerd 
o'  any  man.  I  tell  ye  he  ain't  a  coward ! 
Besides  this  ain't  Jim's  fight.  He  ain't  got 
no  niggers  to  fight  fer.  Them  Northern- 
ers ain't  never  done  anything  to  him." 

The  old  man  was  beside  himself.  "Hit 
ain't  his  fight,  eh?  Yer  right  it  ain't  his 
fight.  Hit's  a  man's  fight.  An'  he  can  whip 
any  man  in  the  Holler  in  fair  fight,  kin  he? 
So  could  Tom  Hunter,  Pug;  he  war  a  cow- 
ard none  the  less.  Pug.  An'  ye  can't  trust 
a  coward ;  he'll  turn  agin'  his  best  friends. 
Pug.  An'  they  always  pay,  too.  Tom  Hun- 
ter, he  paid.  They  throwed  him  into  the 
Devil's  Suck-hole  in  Wolf  Lake  down  by 
the  hangin'  rock.  He  never  come  to  the 
top.  Pug.  Hit  war  what  he  deserved.  Dead 
cowards  never  tell  no  tales." 

The  girl  looked  at  her  grandfather  de- 
fiantly. Her  eyes  were  suspiciou.sly  moist. 
"I  tell  ye,  he  ain't  a  coward  like  Tom  Hun- 
ter! Jim  Hickum  'ud  never  tell  the  gov- 
ern'nt  men  whar  a  still  war." 

The  old  man  noticed  the  tears  and  a 
gentler  expression  appeared  on  his  coun- 
tenance. "Thar  be  different  ways  o'  bein' 
a  coward.  Pug,"  he  said  enigmatically. 

Pug  did  not  reply.  She  began  to  mix  the 
cornpone  batter  for  the  mid-day  meal.  The 
old  man  picked  up  his  pipe  and  resumed 
smoking.  Not  a  word  passed  between  the 
two,  but  neither  had  forgotten. 

A  suspicion  had  entered  the  girl's  mind 
which  she  could  not  cast  aside.  Was  Jim 
Hickum  a  coward?  The  thought  tortured 
her  like  a  nightmare.  Was  he  afraid  to 
fight  the  men  from  the  North  or  were  his 
reasons  genuine?  His  answers  to  her  ques- 
tions the  night  before  had  been  evasive. 
She  had  chided  him  at  the  time  and  the  re- 
sult had  been  that  a  feeling  of  coldness  had 
sprung  up  between  them.  But  for  a  man 
to  be  a  coward — the  thought  maddened 
her.    At  last  she  managed  to  shake  it  ofi^. 


204 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


A  man  as  strong  and  brave  as  Jim  Hickiim 
was,  couldn't  be  a  coward. 

And  the  old  man  was  thinking  too,  but 
he  was  thinking  of  Tom  Hunter  and  a 
hand  clutching  frantically  at  a  limb  before 
it  sank  for  eternity  into  the  Devil's  Suck- 
hole  below  the  hanging  rock. 

The  day  slowly  passed  away.  The  squir- 
rels no  longer  frisked  about  in  the  trees 
outside.  The  jays  had  become  silent.  The 
lengthening  shadows  of  the  trees  outside 
the  door  gave  evidence  that  the  day  was 
nearing  the  close.  The  setting  sun  changed 
the  lake  from  deep  blue  to  red.  The  frogs 
in  the  buck-brush  along  the  bank  began  to 
sound  their  nocturnal  chorus. 

The  girl  was  again  standing  in  the  door- 
way. But  this  time  she  wasn't  gazing 
down  the  lane.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  in 
space  and  she  saw  nothing.  The  old  man 
was  asleep  in  his  chair,  his  white  head  rest- 
ing on  his  hand. 

Soon  the  moon  began  to  rise  above  the 
gap  between  two  hills  beyond  Bald  Knob. 
The  lake  changed  again  from  red  to  silver. 
The  hanging-rock  appeared  like  the  dark 
forehead  of  a  giant  peering  over  the  preci- 
pice into  the  lake.  The  odor  of  burning 
leaves  became  stronger.  Here  and  there 
fires  began  to  glow  on  the  hillsides  in  the 
distance,  forming  a  circle  of  red  in  all  di- 
rections around  the  valley. 

The  girl  aroused  herself.  She  had  heard 
the  foot-steps  of  some  one  approaching.  In 
a  few  moments  the  figure  of  a  man 
emerged  from  the  dark  space  where  the 
road  passed  underneath  the  hanging  rock. 
The  girl  took  a  shawl  from  a  peg  from  be- 
hind the  door  and  gently  shook  the  old  man 
by  the  shoulder.  "I'm  goin'  to  the  meetin', 
gran-pap — with  Jim,"  she  said.  The  old 
man  stirred  but  did  not  waken.  "He  war 
a  coward.  They  done  him  right  fer  he  war 
a  coward,"  he  mumbled.  The  girl  started 
as  if  moved  by  an  electric  shock.  She 
moved  rapidly  to  the  door  and  shut  it 
quietly  after  her. 


She  quickly  advanced  down  the  lane  to- 
ward the  man  approaching.  He  came  for- 
ward to  meet  her  but  she  ignored  his  out- 
stretched hands.  She  could  not  have  given 
the  reason  why.  "Ye  ain't  turned  agin'  me 
have  ye,  Pug?"  he  asked.  She  did  not  reply 
at  once.  "No — no,  I  guess  not,"  she  replied 
hesitatingly. 

He  .seemed  strangely  agitated.  "Pug, 
have  ye  heerd  about  Noahie?"  he  asked  ex- 
citedly. 

The  girl  raised  her  head.  "No,"  she  re- 
plied, "Has  he  had  another  spell'.'" 

"It's  worse  than  that,"  he  answered  in  a 
voice  husky  with  emotion.  "It's  worse  than 
that.  Pug,  an'  the  doctor  says  he'll  never 
walk  ag'in." 

"How  did  it  happen?"  .she  inquired  anx- 
iously. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Don't  a.sk  me.  Pug," 
he  said,  in  a  tone  which  was  half  a  sob. 
"I'm  afeerd  to  talk  about  it.  I  don't  know 
how  it  happened.  Oh,  Pug,  gran'pap 
didn't  do  it, — he  couldna,  he  ain't  strong. 
I  had  gone  to  Willard  Langin'  to  take  some 
corn.  I  didn't  git  back  till  mornin'.  When 
I  came  Noahie  war  lying  in  a  pool  o'  his 
own  blood  an'  gran'pap  war  settin'  by  him 
a  carryin'  on  terrible.  Noahie's  head  war 
all  cut  up  and  both  his  leg  war  broke.  1 
can't  get  gran'pap  to  say  a  word.  He  won't 
tell  a  word  how  it  happened.  He  jest  sets 
and  looks  at  Noahie."  His  voice  broke.  "I 
don't  know  how  it  happened.  I  run  and 
fetched  the  doctor  soon's  I  could  an'  he  said 
Noahie  won't  never  walk  again.  I  wouldna 
come  tonight.  Pug,  for  Noahie  needs  me  so 
bad,  but  I'd  promised  ye.  Pug." 

"Why  didn't  ye  tell  me  this  mornin' 
when  ye  went  past  instead  o'  galloping 
by?"  she  asked  reproachfully. 

The  man  looked  at  her.  "When  I  rode  by 
where?"  he  asked  puzzled.  "I  ain't  passed 
by  yer  house  today,  Pug.  I  ain't  been  o'  the 
house  today  'cept  when  I  went  to  the 
spring  fer  water.   Noahie's  been  out  o'  his 


205 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


head  all  day  an'  he's  just  burin'  up  with 
fever  an'  calls  far  water  ever  minute." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  in  astonishment. 
"Do  ye  mean  to  tell  me  ye  didn't  pass  our 
house  today  on  yer  blazed  face  filly  ?" 

"I  ain't  rid  the  black  filly  in  a  week."  he 
said. 

"Gran'pap  seed  ye.  He  knowed  it  was 
ye  cause  ye've  got  the  only  blaze  face  black 
boss  in  the  Holler,"  she  said  in  a  tone  of 
finality. 

"He  war  shore  mistaken,  then,"  he  ans- 
wered. 

The  girl  did  not  answer.  She  wondered 
why  he  was  lying  to  her. 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  the  hang- 
ing rock.  The  water  in  the  Devil's  Suck- 
hole  fifty  feet  below  seethed  and  foamed; 
it  struck  the  sides  of  the  bluff  with  a  sound 
like  that  of  distant  thunder.  The  lake 
shone  like  burnished  silver  in  the  moon- 
light. Far  out  on  the  lake  the  figure  of  a 
man  in  a  boat  could  be  distinguished. 

"Ole  Jack  Sides  is  a  runnin'  his  lines  to- 
night," he  remarked. 

The  girl  did  not  hear  him ;  her  eyes  were 
glued  on  a  spot  in  the  lake  below  where 
the  water  revolved  in  a  never-ceasing 
whirl.  She  pointed  to  it  and  said,  "Thar's 
where  they  throwed  Tom  Hunter." 

He  shuddered.  "Hit  must  a  been  a  aw- 
ful death ; — but  he  war  a  coward,"  he 
added. 

In  a  short  time  they  arrived  at  a  small 
log  building  which  served  as  a  church.  It 
stood  among  a  grove  of  black  oaks  not 
twenty  feet  from  the  edge  of  the  lake. 

A  small  group  of  people  stood  convers- 
ing in  hushed  tones  just  outside  the  door. 
"Hit  war  a  shame,"  they  heard  someone 
say  as  they  passed.  Pug  would  have  halted 
but  her  companion  hurried  her  on. 
"They're  talkin'  about  Noahie,"  he  whis- 
pered. 

They  took  a  seat  in  the  rear  of  the  room. 
The  floor  was  half  covered  with  autumn 


leaves  which  had  blown  in  through  the 
cracks  between  the  logs.  The  benches  were 
made  of  rough  unhewn  boards.  The  room 
was  dimly  lighted  by  means  of  a  solitary 
oil  lamp  which  smoked  and  sputtered  craz- 
ily  from  a  rude  shelf  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  room.  Below  the  lamp  was  a  rude 
platform  made  of  unhewn  logs  from  which 
the  preacher  spoke. 

The  man  and  girl  sat  without  speaking. 

After  a  while  the  congregation  began  to 
file  in.  Most  of  them  were  men  ;  the  women 
of  the  Hollow  were  too  tired  to  attend 
meetings  on  week  nights. 

A  hush  fell  upon  the  room.  A  youth 
dressed  in  grey  homespun  passed  quickly 
between  the  rows  of  seats  to  the  platform. 
His  eyes  were  bright  and  staring.  His  hair 
was  long  and  unkempt.  His  skin  was  un- 
usually white  for  that  of  a  mountaineer  of 
the  Ozarks.  One  acquainted  with  the 
mountaineer  type  w-ould  have  recognized 
him  at  once  as  the  excitable  religious  fa- 
natic— a  ne'er-do-well  in  a  community  of 
ne'er-do-wells. 

He  mounted  the  platform  and  picked  up 
a  ragged  edged  Bible  lying  on  the  bench 
which  served  as  a  pulpit.  "Hit's  the  Davis 
boy,"  someone  remarked,  in  a  tone  which 
was  barely  audible. 

The  preacher  cleared  his  throat.  "Bro- 
ther Ellis  can't  be  with  ye,  brethern,"  he 
stammered  in  an  odd,  frightened  voice. 
He  then  read  a  verse  from  Corinthians  in  a 
halting,  uncertain  manner.  "We'll  sing 
The  Rock  of  Ages,"  he  continued  after  he 
had  finished. 

Some  one  in  the  rear  of  the  room  started 
the  song.  The  rest  joined  in,  in  a  slow,  dull 
monotone.  There  was  no  musical  accom- 
paniment. The  men  began  to  tap  the  floor 
with  their  feet  in  order  to  keep  together; 
the  song  ended  in  a  tone  which  was  almost 
a  wail. 

"Hit's  about  Noahie  Hickum  that  I've 
come  to  tell  ye,  brethern,"  the  boy  began 
in  a  sharp,  excited  voice.  "Hit's  about  him 


206 


THE  ILLINOIS  MACiAZINE 


and  brother  Ellis.  Thar  has  been  trouble 
in  Ubadam,  brethern  an'  I  am  goin'  to  tell 
ye  about  it.  brethern.  Brother  Ellis  war- 
en't  to  blame.  I  swear  to  God  he  wai'en't. 
I  call  on  God  to  strike  me  dead  if  he  war. 
Hit  war  like  this,  brethern.  Brother  Ellis 
war  a  preachin'  up  to  Goat  Gap,  brethern. 
an'  Noahie  Hickuni  war  thar  an'  he  took  a 
spell,  brethern,  an'  Brother  Ellis  'lowed 
'twas  the  devils  in  Noahie  that  caused  him 
to  have  the  fits,  je.st  like  the  woman  in  the 
Good  Book  who  had  the  devils  in  her.  An' 
he  'lowed  'twould  be  a  good  thing  to  rid 
Noahie  o'  the  devils  some  time,  brethern." 
The  speaker  paused.  There  was  not  a 
sound  to  be  heard  save  the  rustling  of  the 
leaves  outside.  The  man  in  the  back  part 
of  the  room  turned  to  his  companion, 
"Let's  go,"  he  whispei'ed.  "I  can't  bear  to 
listen  to  it."  The  girl  looked  at  him  ques- 
tioningly.  "Ye  ain't  afeerd,  air  ye?"  she 
asked.  The  man  turned  slightly  but  did 
not  reply. 

The  speaker  began  to  fumble  with  the 
Bible  and  continued.  "'Tother  night 
Noahie  and  his  gran'pap  war  alone  an' 
Noahie  had  another  fit.  His  gran'pap  came 
up  to  the  church,  brethern.  an'  he  got 
Brother  Ellis  an'  me,  brethern,  to  come 
down  an'  help  rid  Noahie  o'  the  devils, 
brethern,  fer  me  an'  Brother  Ellis  kin  talk 
in  the  unknown  tongue,  brethern.  An' 
Brother  Ellis'  ■>-  ;fe,  she  came  too,  brethern. 
An'  when  we  got  thar,  Noahie  war  a  lyin' 
on  the  floor  an'  a  foamin'  at  the  mouth. 
An'  we  got  some  switches,  brethern,  to 
whop  the  devils  out  with,  an'  we  whopped 
him,  brethern,  till  the  devils  runned  out, 
brethren.  I  seed  'em  myself,  brethern. 
They  were  seven  o"  them,  all  red  and  green, 
brethern.  Hit  war  the  grace  o'  the  Lord, 
brethern.  An'  we  didn't  hurt  Noahie, 
brethern,  fer  we  didn't  strike  him  hard, 
brethern.  Fer  the  devils  knowed  they  war 
fightin'  aginst  the  spirit  o'  the  Lord,  breth- 
ern." He  stopped  for  breath.  The  tirade 
had  been  spoken  in  a  rapid  sing-song  tone. 


His  dark  eyes  flashed  with  the  insane  glaze 
of  fanaticism. 

"I  say  it  agin,  brethern,  '  he  continued, 
"I  say  agin  that  we  didn't  hurt  Noahie. 
We  couldn't  a  hurt  him  fer  the  world.  An' 
when  we  had  run  the  devils  out  we  left 
him,  brethern.  An'  we  went  home.  An' 
Noahie's  gran'pap  went  to  the  spring  fer 
water  an'  when  he  war  at  the  spring  he 
heard  Noahie  a  hollerin'.  An'  he  run  to 
the  house,  brethern,  as  fast  as  he  could  go. 
but  he  war  all  crippled  up  an'  he  couldn't 
go  very  fast  brethern.  An'  when  he  got  to 
the  house  a  man  runned  out  an'  jumped  on 
a  horse  an'  galloped  away,  brethern.  An' 
Noahie  war  all  bloody  an'  he  didn't  know 
anything.  His  arms  an'  legs  war  all  broke, 
brethern.  But  I  swear  to  God  hit  warn't 
Brother  Ellis.  Hit  war  the  man  on  the 
horse  that  nearly  killed  Noahie.  But  the 
sheriff  came  an'  'rested  Brother  Ellis, 
brethern,  an'  they're  goin'  to  .send  him  to 
the  pen,  brethern." 

The  speaker  sat  down  on  the  bench  be- 
side him  and  loked  with  dull  eyes  at  the 
congregation.  He  had  finished;  they  began 
to  pass  out  without  waiting  for  a  dismiss- 
al. 

The  girl  and  man  in  the  rear  of  the 
church  did  not  move  until  the  congregation 
had  passed  out.  The  man  was  the  first  to 
break  the  silence,  "I  guess  we'd  better  be 
movin'  on,"  he  said  rising. 

The  girl  obeyed  him  mechanically.  She 
seemed  to  be  stunned. 

They  walked  along  the  lane  in  silence. 
The  girl  sighed.  "So  ye  air  a  coward,  ain't 
ye  Jim,"  she  said  in  a  hollow  voice. 

The  man  did  not  answer.  Instead  he 
dropped  his  eyes  awaiting  her  accusation. 

It  struck  him  like  a  thunderbolt.  "Ye 
war  afeerd  to  go  an'  fight  the  Northerner's 
an'  ye  tried  to  kill  Noahie  .so  ye  wouldn't 
have  to  go."  He  was  too  stunned  at  first  to 
speak. 

"What  do  ye  mean.  Pug?"  he  asked 
when  he  had  recovered  himself. 


207 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


The  girl  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eyes. 
"I  mean  jest  what  I  say  Jim,  I  mean  that 
ye  air  a  coward  an'  a  liar.  I  mean  that  ye 
war  afeerd  o'  me,  a  woman,  an'  afeerd  o' 
what  I  thought  because  ye  waren't  goin' 
to  the  war.  I  mean  that  it  war  ye  who  rid 
up  that  night  an'  beat  up  Noahie." 

The  man's  eyes  hardened.  He  .seized  her 
by  the  wrists.  "Ye  lie,  Pug,"  he  said  stern- 
ly. Something  in  her  eyes  made  him 
ashamed  and  he  released  her  arms. 

The  girl  drew  back  a  pace  and  drew  her- 
self up  to  her  full  height.  Her  breath  came 
quickly.  "I  seed  ye  myself  that  night.  I 
war  up  on  the  cliffs  by  Goat-gap.  I  couldn't 
sleep  an'  I  war  walkin'  around.  The  moon 
war  bright  as  day.  Ye  war  ridin'  yer  black 
filly.  I  hollered  out  to  ye  but  ye  war  goin' 
too  fast  to  hear  me.  An'  ye  lied  to  me 
about  passin'  the  house  this  mornin',  too, 
Jim.  Hit's  the  worse  thing  on  earth  to  be 
a  coward  but  hit's  worser  to  be  a  liar  with 
it."   Her  words  ended  in  a  sob. 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  hang- 
ing rock.  The  cavity  beneath,  through 
which  the  lane  passed,  yawned  like  a  dark 
abyss  in  the  moonlight.  The  rocks  and 
trees  beside  the  rock  stalked  like  shrouded 
ghosts.  Far  out  on  the  lake  the  figure  of  a 
man  could  be  seen  resting  in  a  skiff.  Below 
the  rocky  ledge,  the  Devil's  Suck-hole 
whirled  and  seethed. 

The  girl  peered  over  the  precipice.  She 
saw  the  spot  where  Tom  Hunter  had  gone 
down.  The  words  of  her  grandfather  kept 
dinning  in  her  ears,  "He  war  a  coward,  he 
war  a  coward."  Her  eyes  became  dull. 
"Ye  can't  trust  a  coward,  they  turn  agin 
their  best  friends."  She  was  unconsciously 
repeating  aloud  the  words  of  her  grand- 
father. A  violent  conflict  raged  in  Pug 
Corbitt's  soul — the  conflict  between  the 
love  of  a  man  and  the  creed  of  the  hlils. 

The  man  beside  her  began  to  speak.  "I 
war  a  coward  an'  a  liar,  Pug.  I  was  afeerd 
to  tell  ye  why  I  warn't  goin'  to  the  war. 
Hit  war  on   account  o'   that  still   up  by 


Satan's  Back-bone.  I  wanted  to  jine  the 
army,  but  the  man  what  I  asked  said  they 
didn't  need  no  corn  whiskey  makers  to  help 
'em  keep  their  niggers.  He  knowed  I'd 
been  brought  down  to  jail  fer  runnin'  a 
still  up  here.  I  lied  to  ye,  Pug,  cause  I 
didn't  want  ye  to  know  about  me  bein'  in 
jail." 

The  girl  hardly  listened  to  him.  "He  lied 
to  me  about  the  horse  and  he's  probably 
lying  now,"  she  thought. 

The  man  was  walking  hardly  a  foot 
from  the  edge  of  the  precipice.  His  head 
was  bowed.  The  girl  looked  at  him  for  a 
moment.  A  wild  gleam  shot  from  her  eyes. 
She  walked  quickly  toward  him  and 
pushed  him  with  all  her  strength.  The  man 
swayed  drunkenly  for  a  moment  on  the 
edge  and  fell.  Not  a  sound  escaped  him. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  heard  save  the 
noise  of  the  water  below. 

The  girl  gazed  stupidly  about  her.  She 
threw  herself  down  by  the  side  of  the  lane 
and  began  to  sob.  The  love  of  a  woman 
had  fallen  before  the  creed  of  the  Hollow. 

A  -sound  of  the  galloping  hoofs  of  a 
horse  aroused  her.  She  quickly  crouched 
in  the  shadow  of  the  hanging  rock.  At  last 
she  could  make  out  the  figure  of  a  horse 
and  his  rider.  In  the  moonlight  she  could 
.see  him  as  plainly  as  if  it  were  daylight. 
As  the  horse  galloped  past  she  saw  that  it 
was  coal  black  and  there  was  a  streak  of 
white  on  its  forehead.  But  she  saw  some- 
thing that  Jim's  horse  did  not  have — there 
was  a  streak  of  white  on  the  fetlock  of  its 
left  hind  foot.  There  was  evidently  more 
than  one  black  horse  in  the  Hollow. 

"Oh,  Jim,  ye  warn't  a  coward,  ye 
warn't,"  she  kept  repeating  to  herself.  The 
cry  was  one  of  anguish  but  there  was  a 
note  of  joy  as  well.  There  had  been  but 
one  coward  in  Ubadam. 

Far  out  in  the  lake  Old  Jack  Sides  run- 
ning his  lines,  wondered  what  had  loos- 
ened the  two  stones  which  bounded  over 
the  precipice  at  the  base  of  Bald  Knob. 


208 


THE  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  JAZZ 


ARTHUR  H.  GOTTSCHALK 


AZZ.  For  some  of  us  there  is  a 
connotation  of  the  hour  of  rev- 
elry the  night  before,  but  for 
others  an  unrelenting  horror  is 
awakened  as  the  worldly  proletariat  men- 
tions this  dual  powered  term.  Jazz  seems 
to  be  the  proper  stimulus  to  set  off  the  ner- 
vous energy  which  has  been  held  in  re- 
serve. Indeed,  one  may  well  wonder  why 
it  is  that  jazz  should  act  as  a  common  .stim- 
ulus and  why  it  usually  produces  the  com- 
mon result — that  of  rhythmic  movements. 
Apparently  the  number  of  people  whose 
feet  are  not  troubled  with  insomnia  when 
this  type  of  music  mars  the  air  is  compara- 
tively small. 

Any  marked  rhythm  seems  to  possess 
the  proper  quality  of  being  able  to  cause 
motor  responses.  The  savage  would  knock 
pieces  of  wood  together  to  produce  accen:s 
to  guide  the  youth  in  his  romping  dance. 
This  was  not  entirely  for  mere  pleasure, 
for  the  primitive  man  had  aims  other  than 
his  own  delight.  He  was  trying  to  under- 
stand a  wonderful  secret — he  was  patient- 
ly examining  a  great  unknown.  The  secret 
he  was  trying  to  learn  was  that  of  the  po- 
tency of  rhythm.  We  can  all  recall  the 
.scene  in  a  dance  hall  of  wild  frontier  days 
whei'e  the  young  folk  danced  while  the  old- 
er people  occupied  one  of  the  corners  and 
kept  time  quite  vigorously  with  their  feet. 
Surely  we  have  all  pictured  to  ourselves 
some  of  the  clog  dancing  scenes  of  planta- 
tion days.  As  the  music  accented  the 
rhythm  for  the  strenuous  Nero,   the  old 


negro  mammies  would  nod  their  heads  to 
and  fro  and  clap  vehemently  with  their 
hands  in  perfect  time.  Of  course  this  music 
was  not  given  the  name  of  jazz,  but  it  had 
the  chief  constituent  of  the  modern  type. 
The  music  which  is  called  jazz  today  is 
ninety  percent  rhythm.  This  craze  for  the 
rhythmic  rather  than  the  tonal  quality  is 
a  return  to  the  primitive.  It  is  also  a  good 
example  of  the  theory  of  gravity,  for  in 
music  too,  it  is  easier  by  far  to  drag  the 
masses  down  to  enjoy  the  crash  of  a  drum 
than  it  is  to  pull  them  up  to  an  apprecia- 
tion of  the  art  of  a  Mendelssohn. 

When  a  musician  begins  to  play  jazz,  he 
attempts  to  make  a  huge  noise  rather  than 
a  pure  tone.  A  pure  tone  enforces  a  kind 
of  order.  When  people  hear  a  beautiful 
tone  they  stop  to  listen  and  to  enjoy  it.  If 
a  number  of  instruments  were  playing  so 
that  they  produced  the  kind  of  noi.se  the 
jazz  orchestra  does  and  suddenly  one  in- 
strument would  penetrate  the  noise  with  a 
pure  tone,  everyone  that  had  a  sense  of 
beauty  would  be  brought  to  immediate  sil- 
ence. One  of  the  results  of  our  return  to 
primitive  music  is  that  on  the  dance  floor 
we  scuffle  about,  laugh  in  each  others  faces 
and  make  as  much  noise  as  possible  to  con- 
form with  the  spirit  of  jazz.  With  the  loss 
of  grace  in  dancing  possibly  we  have  also 
lo.st  some  of  the  graces  which  have  made 
the  picture  of  social  life  beautiful. 

To  be  successful,  jazz  must  be  novel.  It 
is  usually  a  safe  criterion  that  the  more 
marked  the  syncopation  is  and  the  more 


209 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


peculiarly  banging  the  general  tone  of  the 
selection  the  more  acceptable  it  will  be. 
There  is  nothing  lasting  about  this  type  of 
music.  In  order  to  be  popular,  jazz  must 
be  represented  by  a  new  jumble  of  chopped 
up  melodies  weekly.  It  is  due  to  this  pro- 
cess of  surcharging  the  atmosphere  with 
the  astonishing  new  things  in  the  field  of 
sentiment  and  rhythm  that  jazz  has  held 
its  own.  Had  it  been  necessary  for  us  to 
listen  to  the  same  selection  for  any  num- 
ber times  we  would  soon  have  been  dis- 
guested  with  everything  "jazzy".  There  is 
no  classic  in  jazz.  An  old  master  in  this 
type  of  music  is  a  dead  master  and  cer- 
tainly a  forgotten  composer.  The  Sym- 
phony Ninth  will  live  until  the  crack  of 
doom,  but  modern  jazz  will  not  live  to  hear 
the  second  hand  pant  as  it  moves  in  its 
everlasting  journey  from  one  second  to  the 
next. 

There  has  been  a  gradual  dwindling  of 
structure  and  unity  in  the  popular  music 
of  the  last  few  years  until  now  it  lacks 
architecture  and  unity  of  design  entirely. 
Nothing  is  left  but  a  highly  incoordinate 
jumble  of  notes  which  if  properly  timed  in 
their  explosion  are  splendid  motor  stimuli 
for  the  feet.  This  lack  of  style  has  changed 
the  mode  of  dancing  from  the  Minuet  with 
its  exactness  to  the  "any  old  way"  dance  of 
today.  Instead  of  planning  the  composi- 
tion with  the  ideal  of  a  pleasing  sound  as 
did  the  composer  of  the  symphonic  poem, 
the  originator  of  jazz  has  a  different  ob- 
ject— that  of  correlating  certain  bangs  on 
the  drum  with  corresponding  movements 
of  the  body.    Should   anyone   attempt  to 


change  a  single  note  of  a  Beethoven  classic, 
the  entire  composition  would  be  marred ; 
but  in  jazz  the  more  individual  ideas  the 
player  can  crowd  into  a  selection  in  the 
form  of  original  notes  and  changes  in  the 
composition  the  more  "jazzy"  the  music. 

The  jazz  orchestra  is  a  kind  of  a  heaven 
for  musicians  if  freedom  of  expression  is 
an  ideal  of  heaven.  The  manager  of  the 
bass  viol  can  place  his  finger  almost  any- 
where on  the  fingerboard,  but  just  as  long 
as  he  contributes  to  the  noise  at  the  right 
time  he  is  an  asset  to  the  organization. 
The  trombonist  can  play  the  notes  writ- 
ten for  him  and  a  few  wild  slides  occa- 
sionally which  are  not  w'ritten  and  yet  it 
all  is  splendid  jazz.  The  banjo,  decidedly 
an  instrument  for  emphasizing  rhythm, 
finds  a  happy  home  in  the  modern  dance 
orchestra.  Even  the  violin  is  used.  The 
instrument  of  an  Elman  is  made  to  sound 
like  the  Pipes  of  Pan  in  the  hands  of  the 
village  blacksmith.  There  is  reason  to 
wonder  why  some  people  are  satisfied 
when  they  become  jazz  virtuosos. 

A  mania  has  swept  over  the  world  from 
Hawaii  to  No  Man's  Land.  From  the  twang 
of  the  ukelele,  an  instrument  for  produc- 
ing the  highest  type  of  the  lowest  music, 
and  from  the  ra-ta-tata  of  the  shells  "over 
there"  everyone  finds  stimulation.  But  this 
is  apparently  only  a  dark  stage  for  the  di- 
sease will  soon  be  cured.  A  new  kind  of 
music  should  come  to  replace  jazz.  What 
this  new  type  will  be  no  one  will  venture 
to  say.  But  with  the  passing  of  jazz  will 
the  pugilistic  and  wrestling  tendencies  of 
dancers  also  become  something  of  the  past  ? 


210 


AN  APOSTLE  OF  THE 
NEW  POETRY 

HERBERT  L.  CREEK,  Ph.d. 


HE  recent  visit  of  Miss  Harriet 

Monroe  at  the  University,  like 

^^,-,.   that  of  Mr.  \'achel  Lindsay  a 

fftf^l  year  or  so  ago,  is  symptomatic 


of  a  changed  attitude  toward  the  so-called 
new  poetry.  Five  years  ago  most  of  us 
were  laughing  at  the  free  verse  of  the 
humorous  columns  of  our  newspapers  and 
wondering  that  intelligent  persons  seemed 
to  take  rhymeless  and  metreless  lines  for 
poetry.  Today  the  most  conservative  of 
the  magazines  are  opening  their  pages  to 
the  newer  poetry ;  the  rank  and  file  of 
readers  are  becoming  familiar  with  the 
terms  "imagist",  "futurist",  and  "vortic- 
ist" ;  and  even  the  college  professors, 
necessarily  and  fortunately  the  defenders 
of  conservatism  and  tradition,  are  not 
above  the  fascinating  adventure  of  a  mild 
flirtation  with  the  new  muse. 

To  Miss  Moore  and  Poetry,  the  Chicago 
magazine  of  which  she  is  editor,  the  new 
movement  in  poetry  and  the  revival  of  in- 
terest in  poetry  generally  owe  much  of 
their  aggressiveness  and  success.  The 
founding  of  the  magazine  a  little  more 
than  five  years  ago  must  now  seem  to  Miss 
Monroe  her  supreme  opportunity  to  make 
an  impression  upon  the  artistic  life  of 
America.  She  had  long  been  known  by  a 
few  as  a  minor  poet  and  as  art  editor  for 
a  daily  newspaper.  As  long  ago  as  the 
Chicago  Exposition  she  gained  attention 
by  her  "Columbian  Ode",  which  was  read 
and  sung  at  the  dedication  of  the  Exposi- 


tion on  the  four  hundredth  anniversary  of 
the  di.scovery  of  America.  More  sensation- 
al was  a  suit  for  damages  against  the  New 
York  World  for  the  premature  publication 
of  the  "Ode",  resulting  in  an  award  to 
IMiss  Monroe  of  five  thousand  dollars.  Two 
or  three  volumes  of  verse  had  also  won  a 
limited  success. 

The  venture  of  1912  in  founding  a  maga- 
zine, however,  eclipsed  the  smaller  suc- 
cesses. That  it  was  made  at  a  time  when 
the  English-speaking  world  was  on  the 
verge  of  a  poetic  revival  rather  adds  to  the 
credit  Miss  Monroe  should  receive.  No 
matter  how  favorable  the  conditions,  the 
enterprise  would  have  failed  except  for 
heroic  efforts.  Miss  Monroe  secured  the 
support  of  a  hundred  guarantors,  chiefly 
Chicago  business  men,  who  agreed  to  give 
$250  each,  in  installments  of  fifty  dollars 
a  year.  With  this  fund  of  $25,000  and  the 
amount  obtained  from  subscriptions  and 
advertisements,  the  editor  was  enabled  to 
pay  for  all  poetic  contributions  that  were 
accepted  and  to  award  prizes  averaging 
more  than  three  hundred  dollars  a  year. 
Almost  immediately  the  interest  of  poets 
of  reputation  as  well  as  of  poets  with  repu- 
tations to  make  was  secured.  The  chief 
service  of  the  magazine,  however,  was  in 
bringing  before  the  public  the  names  of 
men  who  have  since  established  themselves 
in  the  literary  world.  Radindranath  Tag- 
ore  made  his  first  appearance  as  a  poet  in 
English   in   one   of  the   first   numbers  of 


211 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


Poetry.  Vachel  Lindsay's  "General  Booth 
Enters  into  Heaven"  appeared  in  the 
fourth  number.  Imagist  poems  by  Ezra 
Pound,  the  English  Richard  Aldington, 
the  American  Mrs.  Aldington  (who  signs 
her  poems  "H.  D."),  and  Miss  Amy  Lowell 
came  very  soon.  Some  of  the  best  poems 
of  Carl  Sandburg  and  Edgar  Lee  Masters, 
the  Chicago  poets,  were  also  published  in 
its  pages.  Naturally,  the  willingness  of  the 
editor  to  accept  so  much  verse  that  was 
unconventional  and  experimental  aroused 
contemptuous  criticism,  but  the  magazine 
had  so  well  established  itself  that  it  was 
possible  to  secure  a  renewal  of  the  guar- 
antee when  the  five  year  period  expired. 

Whether  or  not  Poetry  should  have  the 
lion's  share  of  the  credit  for  the  fact 
that  poets  may  now  compete  with  prose 
writers  for  the  places  of  honor  in  our  gen- 
eral magazines,  as  Miss  Monroe  seems  to 
think,  it  deserves  some  credit.  Moreover, 
it  has  certainly  encouraged  various  indi- 
viduals and  groups  to  undertake  maga- 
zines of  poetry,  and  while  most  of  these 
have  not  survived  the  vicissitudes  of  war 
and  uncertain  financial  support,  they  have 
encouraged  the  poetic  efi'orts  of  younger 
writers.  The  successful  Poetry  Society  in 
our  University  is  itself  a  sign  of  this  po- 
etic renaissance. 

The  visit  of  Miss  Monroe  enabled  us  to 
study  one  of  the  central  figures  in  the 
movement.  We  did  not  find  in  her  the 
aggressiveness  of  manner  or  the  extrava- 
gance of  claim  that  her  editorials  suggest. 
Her  manner  is  modest,  with  a  suggestion 
of  shyness  even.  She  has  no  very  definite 
critical  theories,  and  if  she  has  standards 
which  are  formulated  she  conceals  them 
effectually.  In  speaking  for  the  new  poets, 
she  does  not  impress  her  hearers  as  having 
any  particularly  strong  convictions.  If  she 
has  the  conventional  hostility  toward  the 
Victorians,  which  was  represented  by  a 
mild  attack  on  Tennyson  in  one  of  her  lec- 
tures, her  hostility  is  not  fervid.    But  she 


has  enthusiasm,  and  enthusiasm  which 
makes  one  think  of  the  very  young,  for 
many  kinds  of  poetry.  She  believes  that 
we  are  living  in  a  great  poetical  period, 
and  that  American  poetry  is  superior  to 
British  poetry  in  range  and  interest. 

It  is  the  enthusiastic  welcome  that  Miss 
Monroe  gives  to  sensitive  and  proud  aspir- 
ants for  poetical  honors  that  has  enabled 
her  to  retain  the  support  of  many  tem- 
peramental persons  who  could  not  them- 
selves edit  a  magazine  of  poetry  that 
would  last  a  year  without  ofl'ending  three- 
fourths  of  their  contributors  and  sub- 
scribers. 

Miss  Monroe's  refusal  to  surrender  her- 
self to  any  poetical  creed  or  school  of  po- 
etry has  saved  the  magazine  from  becom- 
ing the  organ  of  a  clique.  There  is  a  group 
of  American  poets,  including  Ezra  Pound, 
the  London  correspondent  of  Poetry,  Miss 
Lowell,  J.  G.  Fletcher,  Maxwell  Boden- 
heim,  and  others — most  of  them  being  fre- 
quent contributors — whose  work  is  repre- 
sentative of  artistic  and  not  human  ten- 
dencies, who  are  inclined  to  deny  to  poetry 
any  large  interpretive  function,  who  would 
write  poetry  for  those  of  poetical  and  aes- 
thetic mind  and  deliberately  shut  them- 
selves off"  from  the  main  currents  of  life 
and  thought  and  feeling.  It  is  a  vigorous 
group  and  includes  some  skillful  artists, 
but  its  influences  upon  contemporary 
American  literature  and  upon  the  maga- 
zine Poetry  has  been  exceedingly  question- 
able. That  these  poets  write  free  verse  is 
merely  an  incident,  since  poets  of  very 
diff'erent  minds  use  the  same  form.  For- 
tunately, Miss  Monroe  has  a  broader  view 
of  the  function  of  poetry.  She  receives 
patiently  the  criticism  of  the  extreme  rad- 
icals who  sometimes  sneer  at  her  large 
hospitality  and  welcomes  their  contribu- 
tions without  accepting  their  advice.  Her 
independence  has  made  it  possible  for  her 
magazine  to  be  really  serviceable  to  our 
literature. 


212 


BY  COURTESY  OF  POETRY 

SOCIETY 


LA  MESSE  POUR  LES  MORTS 
RAY  W.  GAUGER 

Holy,  Holy,  Holy,  rings  the  slow,  sad,  bell. 

Its  voice  is  choked  and  stifled  by  the  clutch  of  a  heavy  mist. 

Grim  and  stalwart  chasseurs  mount  in  free  defile 

Up  through  the  narrow  street  of  a  quartered  Alsace  village, 

High  to  a  church  where  the  mourning  bell  rings  holy, 

Bell  for  mass  for  the  dead  of  a  bold  battalion. 

Young  lovers  dead  for  France,  for  the  world,  their  homes, 

Fathers  of  lovers,  brothers  of  stoic  women. 

Shades  of  courageous  sacrifice  done  with  hearts  of  fire, 

Hearts  forced  mute  in  the  army  life  of  silence 

Have  burst  in  the  vaults  of  death  to  convincing  and  golden 

expression. 
Then  ring  high  bell  for  your  mass 

Calling  for  prayers  that  the  souls  of  these  dead  may  live. 
I  shall  not  pray  for  their  souls — 

(Oh  weakened  faith  in  the  power  of  the  deeds  of  men. 
That  God  should  judge  the  one  by  the  wish  of  another) 
Oh  simpering  feeble  sureness  of  after  life. 
How  could  I  doubt  their  certain  victorious  flight ! 
How  could  I  pray  and  insult  the  power  of  their  deeds! 
How  can  their  sturdy  .souls  be  at  the  mercy  of  me, 
I  who  can  pray  or  not — I  who  can  now  be  blind  or  choose  to  see? 
Far  more  certain  to  me  is  their  future  than  this. 
Ah,  never  a  doubt  have  I ! 

They  rest  in  a  far  oflf  world  of  nether-world  planets 
Where  the  fortifications  are  turrets  and  temples  of  Peace, 
Whose  presence  alone  without  action  .secures  a  result. 
They  have  anchored  secure,  without  tow,  in  a  harbor  of  quiet. 
The  fortified  harbor  of  God. 

Note Anions  the  Illini  ambiilancicrs  in  I'lance  who  have  found  time  to  share  with  us  thoiv  thouEhts 

and  experiences,  is  Ray  W.  Gausjer.  Since  his  talents  as  an  interinctivc  dancer  and  as  a  composer  of 
Student  Opera  Music  are  in  all  probability  classed  amonit  the  lost  arts  in  modern  trench  warfare,  R.  G.  has 
turned  to  verse  as  a  means  of  artistic  expression.    "La  Messe  Pour  Les  Morts"  was  sent  to  Poetry  Society. 

213 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


THE  IRON  CROSS 


PEACE 


I  saw  it  today  on  her  finger, — 

The  silver  ring  which  bore  the  cross  of  Teutons. 

It  had  been  a  thing  of  pride  for  many  generations. 

Fathers  had  told  their  sons  how  one  had  bravely  led  an  army 

To  victory,  and  how, 

The  mighty  Emperor  had  honored  him, 

The  first  Johann. 

And  ever  it  was  known  of  them. 

That  they  were  born  of  fighting  blood,  the  blood  that  conquers, 

And  all  had  respected  them  because  of 

The  Iron  Cross. 

But  in  a  few  short  months  the  emblem  of  honor 

Had  become  a  mark  of  barbarism,  of  cruelty, 

And  of  hate.  Honor  had  become  disgrace. 

And  yet  because  she  had  the  fighting  blood  of  Johann 

In  her  veins. 

Because  all  her  nineteen  years  she  had  boasted  of  him, 

She  could  not  become  a  traitor  to  his  memory, 

A  coward  to  cast  aside  her  heritage. 

The  Iron  Cross  had  not  changed,  Johann  had  done  no  less, 

Why  should  she  not  wear  the  ring? 

And  yet  it  seemed  to  burden  her  finger, 

The  heaviness  of  real  iron  seemed  to  weight  down 

the  silver  trifle. 
She  could  not  lift  her  hand  before  the  gaze  of  others. 


The  soft  half-shadows  clasp  hands  from  arch  to  arch  ;— 

The  light  falls  o'er  the  faces  of  the  worshippers 

Caressingly,  nor  bares  the  lines  of  ugliness 

Of  neighbor's  face  to  neighbor,  but  like  a  cloak 

Or  the  beneficent  shadow  of  God's  hand  covers 

And  protects  each  soul's  most  secret  hateful  thought. 

The  murmuring  silence  like  balm  spreads  peace : 

The  droning  of  the  voice  before  the  altar,  the  whisper 

Of  the  parrying  lips  of  all  the  kneeling  souls. 

The  beating  of  the  bell,  the  "vere  dignum  et  justum" 

Of  the  celebrant,  the  shadowy  crosses 

Made  on  brow  and  lips  and  heart,  mean  peace, 

Most  quiet  peace,  and  a  measure  of  contentment. 


F.  M.  MYERS 


214 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


DAYS  AND  DAYS 


There  are  fleshly  days 

full-swathed  in  heavy-threaded  garments, 

dizzily  perfumed  with  the  scent 

of  earth. 

Then  are  my  hands  laid  on  the  soft  breast 

of  the  World, 

feeling  her  slow  heart-beat, 

lotused  to  sleep  by  her  breathing. 
But  there  are  spirit-days,  of 
naked  whiteness. 

No  perfume  they  bear  but  the  iciness 
of  the  sky. 

Then  are  my  eyes  heavenward, 

seeing  every  cloud,  every  star,  the  moon,  the  sun, 

knowing  the  meaning  of  the  universe, — 

smiling  at  the  World 
as  at  a  disenchanted  Circe 
who  lures, 
but  cannot  tempt  me. 

L.  F.  S. 


REALIZATION 


0,  little  waif  before  my  door. 
Low  sobbing  with  your  pain  ; 
Why  did  you  never  come  before 
All  shivering  in  the  rain  ? 
For  I  have  longed  to  dry  your  tears. 
And  see  your  glad  eyes  shine; 
How  I  have  waited  all  these  years, 
0  lost  Love-soul  of  mine ! 

HELEN   L.   BUCHEN 


TO- 


You  would  unclasp  my  hand  that  holds  your  hand. 

Deeming  yourself  to  our  high  faith  untrue ; 
But  can  I  never  make  you  understand 

My  need  of  you  ? 
You  have  no  right!   The  weak  must  help  the  weak ! 

I  have  so  trusted  you,  you  dare  not  fail. 
Come,  hand  in  hand,  adventurers,  to  seek 

The  Holy  Grail. 

ALLENE  GREGORY 
215 


"The  Captains  and  the  Editors  Depart" — 

If  history  repeats  itself,  so  do  incidents  which  are  not  history.  Witness 
an  editorial  found  in  last  year's  files  of  the  Illinois  Magazine : 

"The  task  of  undertaking  to  begin  to  edit  a  college  publication  on 
March  first  is  not  an  inspiring  one." 

It  seems  to  have  been  written  by  the  Magazine's  Nemesis,  "Thou  shalt., 
upon  the  beginning  of  the  third  month,  find  thyself  desolate,  without  a 
sponsor.  Then  shall  a  new  guardian  be  unearthed  to  conduct  thee  on  thy 
precipitous  career." 

Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  comforting  to  reflect  that  our  hardship  has  been 
suffered  by  previous  editors — excellent  gentlemen  all  of  them,  who  deserved 
better  at  the  hands  of  fate.  It  is  also  noteworthy  that  we  are  as  fortunate, 
if  not  more  so,  than  former  mid-year  sponsors,  in  finding  a  publication  alive 
and  growing,  with  the  outer  cloak  of  an  artistic  make-up  vvhich  Mr.  Unger 
so  carefully  constructed.  We,  too,  can  write,  "We  wish  no  better  luck  for 
ourselves  than  that  we  may  inherit  his  happy  faculty  of  consistent  improve- 
ment." 


Background- 


Pierrot  wanted  the  moon — that  great  yellow  disc  sailing  like  a  gondola 
across  the  sea  of  clouds.  Pierrot  put  three  pine  trees  on  top  of  each  other 
and,  climbing  upon  the  highest,  cut  carefully  around  the  moon  with  the 
sharp  peak  of  a  mountain. 

Ah,  it  is  glorious  to  have  the  moon  in  your  hands !  He  stood  at  last  on 
the  ground  looking  at —  Was  it  or  wasn't  it  the  moon?  It  was  no  longer 
yellow.    It  was  not  like  a  gondola.    It  would  never  sail  again  on  a  sea  of 


clouds.  It  would  never  again  melt  into  the  eyes  of  lovers,  or  throw  down 
gold  to  be  made  into  coins  of  thought  by  poets. 

Pierrot  flung  himself  upon  the  ground  and  wept.  The  moon  lay  un- 
noticed at  his  side. 

Would  the  moon  be  the  moon  without  the  sky  for  a  background? 
Would  you  be  you  without  .society  behind  you?  Would  any  of  your  thougiils 
and  aspirations  be  the  same  without  the  perspective  that  the  .shadowings  of 
old  lore,  history,  science  and  tradition  can  give?  And  how  about  the  effect 
of  other  people's  aspirations  on  your  own? 

Sometimes  the  sense  of  self  comes  so  vividly  that  your  body  walks  like 
Pierrot  on  the  earth  and  sees  its  own  thoughts  and  emotions  and  experi- 
ences constituting  an  orb  as  aloof  as  the  moon.  Seldom,  however,  do  you 
understand  that  the  colors  of  self  are  vicariously  gained  from  background. 
The  best  high  lights  and  fine  gradations  of  illumination  denote  the  mind's 
third  dimension — depth. 


The  Indictment— 

Let  there  be  no  vagueness  about  the  indictment.  If  you,  Illinois  stu- 
dent, feel  too  frequently  that  campus  life  is  "flat,  stale  and  unprofitable" 
you  are  being  robbed  of  background.  You  are  dragging  your  ambitions  to 
the  earth — refusing  to  let  your  thoughts  and  dreams  stand  out  against  the 
thoughts  and  dreams  of  society.  You  need  that  degree  of  intensity  in  your 
thinking  which  is  attained  by  association  with  the  mo.st  intense  degrees  of 
social  thinking. 

You  relapse  into  an  inertia  of  non-achievement  the  moment  you  be- 
come too  indifferent  to  avail  yourself  of  the  inspiration  to  be  gained  from 
others.  Books,  conversation  and  personality  are  three  big  factors  which 
will  lend  your  mind  its  third  dimension. 

On  the  campus  we  need  fewer  books  and  more  conversation.  We  need 
fewer  places  to  read  and  more  places  to  talk.  We  need  the  exchange  of  per- 
sonality and  experiences.  The  little  handful  of  years  we  give  to  college  life 
is  so  scanty,  but  the  possibilities  are  so  rich !  We  should  be  greedy  to  grasp 
in  return  every  inch  of  background  which  a  university  measures  out  to  us 
in  exchange  for  our  time.  The  books  are  precious  but  we  can  always  buy 
those.  The  great  thing  is  to  develop  the  kind  of  mind  that  knows  how  to 
read. 

Lectures  are  instructive  but  we  remember  the  remarks  the  lecturer 
makes  to  us  personally.  We  need  to  come  in  personal  contact  with  every  in- 
structor and  student  who  is  worth  while.  We  need  to  try  everybody  in 
order  to  find  out  exactly  who  is  worth  while.  Away  with  the  hermit  life  and 
the  "sweet  sessions  of  silent  thought"  ! 


Bohemianism — 

The  middle  West  thinks  it  must  be  proper  in  order  not  to  be  thought 
bourgeois  by  the  East.  The  East  thinks  it  must  be  supercilious  in  order  to 
keep  the  West  in  its  place.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  New  York  might  gain  a 
delightful  respite  from  ennui  by  trying  the  quiet,  unassuming  role  and  (this 
is  a  bird  of  entirely  different  feather)  Illinois  might  gain  a  thrill  from  an 
aristocratic,  nose-lifting  Bohemianism. 

"Nothing,"  said  Byron,  "is  so  stupid  as  this  damned  respectability" 
and  we  suppose  the  first  step  in  unconventionality  is  to  cure  ourselves  of 
thinking  such  a  philosophy  not  "nice".  The  quarrel  does  not  centre  about 
respectability  to  be  sure.  The  point  is  that  if  conventions  interfere  with 
your  thoughts,  stop  being  conventional.  If  everybody  ignores  absurd  cus- 
toms it  becomes  unconventional  to  be  conventional. 

Final  irhttntctions  to  the  jioij — 

To  sum  up  the  whole  indictment :  The  University  of  Illinois  is  charged 
with  lack  of  background,  and  a  depressing  state  of  self-righteousness.  The 
judge  recommends  the  removal  of  "Silence"  signs  in  your  mental  libraries 
with  the  substitution  of  "Out  with  it"  ! 


THE  PALIMPSEST 

ROBERT  CALVIN  WHITFORD 

Love  is  an  ancient  palimpsest 

Of  vellum  gray  and  worn. 

Greasy,  scraped,  and  spotted, 

Grimy  and  frayed  and  torn. 

Whereon  a  dreamer-poet 

Transcribing  words  in  haste 

Hath  scrawled  sweet  songs  and  fleeting, 

Rejected  and  erased 

Dim  lyrics  of  old  makers 

Until  their  colder  lays 

Change  to  a  trembling  music. 

Rhythms  of  nights  and  days. 

Till  over  the  flaws  and  blotches. 

Thoughts  hid  or  blotted  out. 

He  painteth  in  fire  of  quick  desire 

Runes  of  the  death  of  doubt. 

(Rei^rinted    from   the    October    issue.) 


i 


i 


SELFISH  MARTYRS 


Children  of  the  world,  you  all  want  the  same  things — love,  life,  and 
happiness.  Besides  these,  what  matter  little  differences  of  creed  and  lan- 
guage? Why  can  you  not  understand  each  other? 

Some  of  you  are  growing  desperate — furious  in  your  weakness.  You 
are  trying  to  dig  your  heels  into  the  .slope  of  the  hill,  but  the  mad  throng 
about  you  hun\v  you  along.  If  you  can't  stand  firm,  don't  fall  down  and 
cling  to  the  ground.  You  will  only  be  trampled  underfoot  and  forgotten  by 
your  deluded  companions.  Even  if  your  feet  are  going  in  the  same  direction 
as  those  about  you,  your  head  does  not  need  to  be  filled  with  the  same 
thoughts  of  revenge  and  mock  idealism.  You  may  have  the  consolation  that 
your  own  ideal  is  firm. 

It  may  be  easier  and  much  more  soul-satisfying  to  fall  beneath  the  feet 
of  the  multitude  when  your  momentary  self  rebels,  but  you  would  only  be  a 
selfish  martyr,  a  useless  martyr.  Keep  on  going — but  keep  on  thinking. 
Fight  a  clean  fight  within  yourself  for  the  supreme  good.  Do  not  insist  on 
trivial  differences  that  irritate  society — sacrifice  your  prejudices  to  public 
opinion — it  is  the  faith  within  you  that  counts. 

Then  some  day,  after  the  throng  has  become  exhausted  with  its  mad 
rush,  there  may  be  others  who  see  truth  as  you  see  it.  There  may  be  others 
who  have  sacrificed  their  individualism  to  the  good  of  the  cause — whose 
feet  have  followed  where  their  reason  lagged.  Then,  sure  of  your  strength 
you  may  try  to  stand  firm.  If  you  cannot  stay  those  about  you  by  the  per- 
sonalitj'  and  influence  you  have  developed  in  the  meantime — then  may  be 
the  time  to  cling  to  the  side  of  the  hill,  for  many  bodies  can  make  the  pro- 
cession halt.  Then  you  will  not  be  a  selfish  martyr — you  will  not  have  ven- 
tured foolishly — you  will  not  have  antagonized  those  about  you  by  needless 
remonstrances. 

You  may  not  even  need  to  be  trampled  underfoot  when  the  time  comes. 
The  rabble  may  become  brare  enough  to  admit  its  fear.  It  may  even  gaze 
with  reverence  upon  your  face  because  you  are  a  worshipper  of  Truth. 

Martyrs  are  often  fanatical,  often  insane,  often  ambitious,  often  .sel- 
fish. Life  is  more  valuable  than  death  in  any  fight.  If  you  see  Truth  you 
will  realize  that  she  wants  you  to  live  and  think  and  help  the  Philistines 
about  you  to  think.   The  world  does  not  need  selfish  martyrs. 

— E.  L. 


;fi7^fto^fi?r.ifrTvii"i<te^^?^ilt?^li?^tK^ffi^ 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


^ 

Between 
You  and  Me 

f 

Cleopatra  of  Egypt,  Illinois 


Before  the  Date 

Good-night!   I'm  such  a  nut, 
I  wish  I  could  be  great ! 
I  reckon  it's  too  late 
To  wriggle  from  this  rut — 
Good-night,  I'm  such  a  nut 
I  hate  to  keep  this  date. 
I  hate  to  think  He  knows 
I'm  just  a  curly  mutt 
That  keeps  her  thinker  shut 
And  spends  her  cash  for  hose. 
I  hate  to  think  He  knows — 
Good-night!   I'm  such  a  nut! 
Good-night,  I'm  almost  scared 
He  may  not  like  my  clo'es! 
They're  shorter  yet — in  shows ; 
Before,  I  never  cared — 
Good-night !    I'm  almost  scared 
To  vamp  Him  when  He  goes. 


After  the  Date 

They  say  it  ain't  your  heart 
That  gambles  in  the  game ; 
They  say  your  mind's  to  blame, 
And  love's  a  thinking  part ! 
They  say  it  ain't  your  heart, — ■ 
It  hurts  you  all  the  same. 
It  hurts  you  in  your  chest 
And  makes  your  eye-lids  smart. 
I  read  that  "Cupid's  dart 
Has  never  maid  distressed." 
(It  hurts  you  in  your  chest) 
They  say  it  ain't  your  heart. 
They  say  it's  nothing  real 
And  love's  a  thought  at  best. 
I  hope  He  hasn't  guessed 
The  way  it  makes  me  feel ! 
I  know  that  mine  is  real — 
It  aches — inside  my^chest. 


Surcease 


She  was  in  love  without  hope. 
She  wept  unceasingly. 

"Grief  will  rob  your  heart  of  its  mortal 
smile,"  said  the  poet. 

"Grief  is  selfish,"  said  the  altruist. 

"Grief  will  sap  your  vitality,"  said  the 
materialist. 


"Grief  causes  permanent  decadence  of 
the  will,"  said  the  philosopher. 

She  wept  unceasingly.     .     .     . 

"Grief  makes  your  hair  turn  gray — it 
done  it  to  mine,"  said  the  beauty-doctor. 


Then  She  ceased  to  loeep. 


220 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


LETTERS  OF  A  DIPLOMAT 

I. 


Champaign.  Illinois 
February  IL  1918. 
Dear  Father: — 

Though  I  know  I  got  a  check  from  you 
last  week,  right  now  a  matter  has  aris'n 
that  causes  me  to  speak,  (for  more).  Oh 
no,  I  do  not  waste  away  behind  some  pris- 
on's bars,  for  staying  out  all  night  at  play, 
with  .some  of  "Stageland's"  stars.  I  do  not 
even  need  the  "kale"  to  keep  the  "lamp  of 
wisdom"  lit.  I  have  enough  to  keep  it  going 
and  still  have  left  a  bit.  The  thing  I  wish 
to  ask  you  for,  is  fifty  or  one  hundred 
more,  (whichever  you  can  spare),  for  me 
to  spend  with  common  sense,  on  things 
aside  from  school  expense,  of  which  you're 
not  aware. 

But  now  I'll  justify  myself  in  your  pa- 
ternal eye,  for  making  this  abrupt  request 
— I'll  tell  you  here  just  why.  Complete  suc- 
cess, you  said,  I  know,  besides  upon  acu- 
men, depends  upon  the  thoroughness  with 
which  one  knows  things  human.  Of  course, 
in  order  to  know  men,  one  must  associate, 
and  that  is  what  I  wish  to  do  before  it  is 
too  late.  The  chance  that  cau.sed  this  sud- 
den plea  is  certainly  a  gem,  for  I  am  bid- 

(To  be  continued) 


den  by  a  "frat"  to  become  one  of  them. 
The  name  of  this  fraternity  is  "Donot  Giva 
Damma",  'tis  better  than  the  "I'.ita  Pie"  or 
"Hittem  Witha  Hamma".  The  first  objec- 
tion that  you'll  make  is  one  of  grades,  I 
know;  but,  fear  not,  others  hitherto  have 
made  far  from  low.  Therefore,  the  "frat", 
whate'er  you  think,  cannot  be  wholly  bad, 
and  I  am  sure  the  peer  ol'  mine  can  no- 
where else  be  had.  This  brings  me  to  the 
reason  for  my  frantic  cry  for  aid;  to  be 
initiated  fifty  dollars  must  be  paid.  An- 
other fifty  would  help  out  for  incidental 
things  as  silk  shirts,  socks,  a  new  sjiring 
suit,  and  last,  an  "order"  ring.  Well  may 
you  whi.stle  at  the  cost  of  joining  in  a 
"frat",  but  let  me  tell  you,  Father  dear,  it 
is  most  cheap  at  that.  I'll  know  what 
pleases  every  man  of  every  class  and  type, 
from  mi.xing  with  them  day  by  day  and 
learning  what  they  like. 

Dear  Father,  you  must  see  it,  opportun- 
ity is  mine,  but  I  need  your  help  to  seize  it, 
so  I'm  sure  you'll  send  in  time, — one  hun- 
dred dollars. 

Attectionately  your  son. 
JAMES 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


"/  exist — how  often?      oAs  often  as  I  think."  — 'Descartes 

ACCORDING  TO— 


Dr.  Bode— 


"Thinking  is  symptomatic  of  trouble ; 
the  reason  most  people  don't  have 
trouble  with  their  philosophy  is  that 
they  don't  think." 

"Philosophy  is  a  pretty  serious  thing 
— the  Germans'  war  proves  that." 

"If  we  were  monkeys  we  would  say, 
'How  straight  evolution  is  headed  for 
perfect  monkeys' !" 


Prof.  Shermayi — 

"There  is  nothing  so  wholesome  in 
education  as  to  have  ideas  thrust 
upon  you  in  such  a  way  that  you  have 
to  believe  or  refute  them.  To  take  a 
stand  in  regard  to  all  sorts  of  things 
is  the  essence  of  education." 

"Our    task    is    to    make    aristocratic 
■  tastes  prevail  in  a  country  that  is  be- 
coming increasingly  democratic." 


P}'nf.  Ha  lies — 

"It  was  a  brave  man  who  first  tried 
eating  an  oyster." 

"Half  the  books  in  the  world  dilute 
and  obscure  what  is  said  in  the  other 
half." 

"We  all  have  one  thing  in  common — 
we  can't  get  off  the  world." 

H.  F.  Harrington — 

"There  should  be  more  service  and 
less  services." 

A'.  Needham — 

"A  good  nothing  is  better  than  a  poor 
something." 

B)iice  Weirick — 

"The  School  of  Liberal  Arts  and 
Sciences  crept  into  the  University  of 
Illinois  like  Cinderella — on  suffer- 
ance." 


Dr.  J.  G.  Stevens— 

"Anti-social  action,  to  which  free 
opinions  sometimes  lead,  is  often 
worth  while  as  an  incident  of  pro- 
gress." 

"It's  a  hard  world." 


Mr.s.  Doeden — 

"If  it's  a  good  sonnet  and  written  to 
the  devil,  it  is  still  a  good  sonnet." 


Selzer- 


"The  trouble  with  most  students  is 
that  they  save  all  of  their  work  for 
the  eighth  day  in  the  week." 

"The  aviator  and  the  coal-miner  are 
not  the  only  people  who  understand 
the  ups  and  downs  of  life. 

"If  you  enter  a  room  without  knock- 
ing you  should  at  least  try  to  leave 
the  same  way." 


222 


BEHIND  THE  FOOTLIGHTS 


THE  MYSTERY 

HEN  is  a  pageant  not  a  pag- 
eant? When  it's  a  Mystery,  to 
be  sure.  Already  has  William 
Chauncy  Langdon,  University 
Pageant  blaster,  acquainted  the  University 
with  three  new  kinds  of  dramatic  spec- 
tacles: a  Masque,  a  Mystery,  and  a  Pag- 
eant.* Maybe  there  will  be  others  to  fol- 
low. 

A  Christmas  Mystery  of  the  War.  writ- 
ten by  Mr.  Langdon,  and  produced  by  him 
in  cooperation  with  Mrs.  Langdon,  was 
given  in  the  Auditorium  on  the  bitterly 
cold  and  blizzardy  night  of  January  12th, 
and  was  repeated  the  next  week  on  Janu- 
ary 18th  before  appreciative  audiences. 
The  weather  gave  the  production  a  cold  re- 
ception, and  fifty  cents  seemed  too  high  a 
price  for  many  students,  but  the  elect  who 
did  attend,  the  noble  200,  were  given  an 
artistic  treat  in  which  music,  action,  and 
color  were  blended. 

The  Mystery  dealt  with  three  phases  of 
the  war  at  Christmas  time  1917.  The  fir.st 
was  Christmas  in  the  American  home,  the 
second  was  Christmas  on  a  stricken  battle- 
field at  the  front,  the  third  a  pageant  of  the 
first  Christmas  at  Bethlehem. 

The  three  parts  were  united  by  Joy  and 
Grief,  who  like  a  Greek  chorus  spoke  inter- 


-Hear  him  define  these  three  (as  he  does  in  his  course  in 
Pageantry  1 )  ;  A  Mystery  is  the  presentation  of  Biblical 
stories :  a  Morality  the  presentation  of  ethical  subjects  :  a 
Mastjue  is  the  drama  of  personified  ideas ;  a  Pageant  is  drama 
in  which  the  place  is  the  hero  a"nd  the  development  of  the 
community  is  the  i>lot. 


ludes  in  blank  verse  from  their  posts  on 
either  side  of  the  proscenium  arch.  Neal 
Caldwell  '20,  as  Joy,  was  radiant  in  his 
vesture  of  gold ;  Mrs.  W.  A.  Noyes  as  Grief 
was  sombre  in  her  robe  of  gray ;  and  they 
both  declaimed  the  rhythmic  lines  to  good 
advantage. 

The  combined  Glee  Clubs  (men  and 
women)  sang  the  stately  hymns  which 
voiced  the  varying  moods  as  the  Mystery 
pi-ogressed:  "Adeste  Fideles",  "Hark  the 
Herald  Angels  Sing",  "For  All  the  Saints", 
"0  Little  Town  of  Bethlehem",  "Silent 
Night".  It  was  intended  for  the  audience 
lo  join  in  these,  but  the  volume  of  .song 
was  not  appreciably  swelled  by  those  who 
may  have  done  so.  A  chorus  of  children 
dressed  as  Christmas  Waits,  sang  with 
vigor  the  carols  "Here  We  Come  A-was- 
sailing"  and  "God  Rest  You,  Merry  Gen- 
tlemen". 

The  American  home  scene  with  the  little 
ones,  the  students,  and  elders  was  realistic, 
but  too  disconnected  to  be  effective. 

In  the  second  short  scene  with  its 
wounded  soldiers  and  attending  Red  Cross 
nurses.  Miss  Frances  Brooks  was  especial- 
ly appealing  as  the  Belgian  woman  in 
search  of  her  lost  husband  on  the  battle- 
field. 

The  third  scene  was  the  best.  It  made  an 
effective  climax,  perhaps  by  every  contrast 
with  part  one.  Mr.  Langdon  is  at  his  best 
in  devising  and  depicting  a  bit  of  move- 
ment which  has  an  emotional  appeal.  Who 
did  not  feel  the  heart-grip  when  Belgium 
kissed  the  American  flag  in  his  Masc|ue 


223 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


"The  Sword  of  America";  when  France 
entered  at  the  Lincohi  Day  Pageant;  when 
Magi  came  to  worship  and  offer  gifts  to  the 
Babe  at  Bethlehem,  and  when  the  angels 
rose  in  triumph  to  sound  their  glad  hallelu- 
jahs before  the  infant  King  in  the  manger? 
A  notable  part  in  this  effect  was  obtained 
through  the  music  so  appropriately  select- 
ed by  Mr.  Langdon,  and  so  capably  played 
by  Mr.  Erb. 

Miss  Velma  Dumas  '18  as  Mary  brought 
to  life  a  Madonna  from  an  Old  Master, 
and,  bending  o'er  the  manger-cradle,  sang 
most  sweetly  the  old  Coventry  Carol  "Lul- 
lay,  Thou  Little  Tiny  Child".  Prof.  D.  K. 
Dodge  made  an  imposing  Joseph,  his  fam- 
ous beard  functioning  adequately  to  the 
purpose.  We  now  know  why  he  has  grown 
it  all  these  years.  The  shepherds,  the  Three 
Kings,  and  the  angelic  host  all  came  to 
worship,  and  the  King  was  honored  Whose 
Hand  shall  stay  and  subdue  the  king-like 
power  of  Death  and  Destruction. 

The  Bethlehem  scene  opened  with  the 
city  silhouetted  against  the  blue  sky  in 
which  shone  the  single  star  above — as  ex- 
quisite a  bit  of  lighting  as  has  been  ob- 
tained on  the  campus.  Prof.  N.  A.  Wells 
outlined  the  temple  towers  and  roofs ;  the 
Langdons  did  the  rest.  Mrs.  Langdon  de- 
signed the  costumes  and  clothed  all  the 
angels:  robes,  halos,  wings  and  trumpets. 
And  real  angels  they  were  too — the  most 
angelic  twenty  the  University  could  sup- 
ply. Over  eighty  people,  students  and  fac- 
ulty, appeared  on  the  stage  in  the  course 
of  the  production,  showing  a  wide-spread 
interest  in  this  all-University  undertaking. 
The  Illinois  Drama  Federation  leaguing 
as  it  does  all  dramatic  interests  on  the 
campus,  appropriately  co-operated  in  giv- 
ing it. 

The  tone  of  a  religious  service  was  given 
to  the  whole  Mystery,  especially  in  part 
three,  successfully  reflecting  the  old  mir- 
acle and  mystery  plays.  Rev.  J.  M.  Page 
opened    and    closed    the     Mystery     with 


prayer.  The  production  must  be  deemed  a 
success  not  simply  as  an  entertainment, 
but  as  a  picture  of  life  to-day  at  home  and 
at  the  front,  as  an  inspiration  to  higher 
living  based  upon  the  true  meaning  of  the 
Christmas  season,  and  as  strengthening 
our  determination  to  end  this  war  and  to 
bring  in  the  time  when  nations  shall  learn 
to  war  no  more. — F.  K.  W.  Drury. 

THE  THIRTEENTH  CHAIR 

The  hour  was  about  midnight  of  Feb- 
ruary 25,  the  night  when  "The  Thirteenth 
Chair"  was  presented  at  the  Illinois  Thea- 
tre and  the  scene  was  the  Third  Street 
Delicatessen. 

"Fine  show,  wasn't  it?"  casually  re- 
marked the  critic  to  a  stranger  as  he  or- 
dered a  midnight  meal. 

"Fair,"  replied  the  stranger  in  question, 
chuckling  to  himself. 

"The  players  were  all  so  natural,"  was 
the  rejoinder  of  the  critic,  who  was  puz- 
zled, but  not  dismayed  at  the  stranger's 
continued  chuckling.  "I  haven't  seen  such 
a  good  show  in  the  Twin  Cities  for  a  long 
time,"  he  continued.  "The  plot  was  thrill- 
ing, the  acting  great,  and  the  scenery — 
well  it  was  the  best  I've  ever  seen  at  the 
Illinois." 

Then  imagine,  if  you  can,  the  critic's 
surprise,  when  the  stranger  comes  back  by 
reciting  some  of  the  lines  from  the  most 
exciting  scenes  of  the  play — just  the  times 
when  the  girl  with  you  got  excited  and 
cuddled  up  close.  But  imagine  the  greater 
surprise  when  he  was  introduced  as  Mr. 
Sidney  Dudley,  the  subject  of  all  the  mys- 
tery in  the  play, — the  man,  who  was  mur- 
dered during  the  seance. 

Then  followed  a  very  interesting  discus- 
sion about  the  company's  trip  to  the  coast 
and  how  they  were  working  back  east. 
Particularly  was  the  information  divulged 
concerning  Miss  Katharine  Grey,  the  me- 
dium, of  interest.  According  to  Mr.  Dud- 
ley, she  is  a  profound  Christian,  going  to 


224 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


church  wherever  the  cunipany  happens  to 
stop  over  Sunday  and  at  the  same  time 
being  deeply  interested  in  spiritualism. 
That  in  part  then,  explains  her  natural- 
ness on  the  stage  and  remarkable  adapt- 
ability to  the  part  of  the  spiritualistic  me- 
dium. 

Perhaps  a  word  to  those  not  witnessing 
the  production  would  not  be  out  of  place. 
The  spiritualistic  medium  is  brought  to  the 
home  of  Roscoe  Crosby,  a  wealthy  man, 
for  the  express  purpose  of  conducting  a 
seance  to  secure  a  clue  to  the  solution  of  a 
murder  committed  before  the  act  on  the 
act  on  of  the  play  begins.  All  the  lights 
are  turned  out  during  the  seance,  and 
when  the  medium  is  apparently  about  to 
divulge  the  name  of  the  murderer,  a  man 
shrieks,  the  light  are  turned  on.  and  it  is 
discovered  that  he  had  been  stabbed  in  the 
back,  dying  instantly.  The  doors  and  win- 
dows are  immediately  locked,  so  that  no 
one  can  leave  the  room  and  a  police  in- 
spector is  immediately  called.  Suspicion  is 
directed  at  several  of  the  twelve  persons 
present  in  the  room,  but  the  evidence  is 
circumstantial  in  each  case  and  it  is  finally 
left  to  the  medium  to  discover  the  mur- 
derer. Her  highly  emotional  acting,  along 
with  the  murderer's  remarkable  confes- 
sion, and  the  dropping  of  the  dagger  from 
the  ceiling,  where  it  had  been  thrown  af- 
ter the  stabbing  furnish  the  final  thrill  in 
this  mystery  play,  which  is  so  replete  with 
exciting  situations. — W.  B.  R. 

THE  DRAMATIC  HOUR 

Someone  once  enunciated  a  truism  about 
valuable  things  and  small  packages.  It  is 
a  pleasure  to  record  Mask  and  Bauble's 
first  Dramatic  Hour  this  year  as  a  package 
of  quite  unusual  value.  M.  Hervieu  has  en- 
closed a  parcel  called  "Mode.sty"  in  appi'o- 
priate  coverings  and  through  the  medium 
of  Miss  Irene  Seaton  as  Henrietta,  a 
French  coquette,  and  her  respective  lovers, 


Albert  (M.  A.  Romano),  and  Jacques  (P. 
P.  Young),  the  delightful  caprices  of  fem- 
inine fickleness  are  enjoyably  revealed. 

Vivacious  in  temperament,  dainty  of 
(igure  and  sprightly  of  speech,  the  luscious 
Henrietta  first  lavished  favor  on  the  flat- 
tering Jacques,  who  gives  Albert  the 
wrong  steer.  The  latter,  smoking  a  cigar- 
ette nonchalently,  served  his  hostess  with 
old-fa.shioned  ideas  about  the  behaviour  of 
women.  But  violating  no  commandment  of 
feminine  wile,  Henrietta  promptly  resent- 
ed the  truth  and  stamped  her  miniature 
boot  with  quite  natural  impetuosity.  Mr. 
Romano  was  nothing  if  not  easy  in  his  con- 
templation of  women's  conceit  and  his  at- 
tempt at  subduing  the  vain  Henrietta  end- 
ed in  quite  the  ordinary  manner.  After 
which,  of  course,  the  suave  Jacques  as- 
sumed the  gentle  hand  and  oily  tongue  by 
which  his  excess  capital  is  readily  disposed 
of. 

Miss  Mary  Caldwell  as  the  stupid  maid 
"Rosalie"  was  interestingly  funny,  typi- 
cally stubborn,  equally  grotesque  and  per- 
plexingly  silly.  Miss  Zelomia  Ainswoi'th  as 
the  matronly  Mme.  Bol  and  her  husband 
(J.  E.  Davis)  formed  the  distracted  house- 
hold which  attempted  fashion  and  display 
upon  the  occasion  of  a  respected  friend's 
visit.  Much  as  servants  are  wont  to  do, 
Rosalie  refused  to  function  in  the  duties 
of  serving  maid  and  the  ensuing  bedlam 
gives  rise  to  many  a  smart  quip,  numer- 
ous e.xasperated  expressions,  some  inartis- 
tic pleadings  and  a  highly  laughable  situa- 
tion generally. 

The  action  of  the  latter  skit  was  not  en- 
tirely the  fault  of  the  players.  No  guest 
would  wait  so  long  for  an  answer  to  his 
ring  as  the  Bol  guest,  so  that  the  strained 
feeling  was  hardly  indispensable.  "Mod- 
esty" on  the  whole  was  done  with  brighter 
action  and  more  naturalness.  We  would 
be  glad  to  contemplate  another  such  Mask 
and  Bauble  package. — "K". 


225 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  ILLINOIS 

ATHLETICS 


GLEN  W.  FREDE 


E  have  grown  accustomed  to 
thinking  of  our  athletics  system 
as  a  standardized  inheritance 
and  as  a  system  which  will 
never  essentially  change.  But  in  the  past 
thirty-five  years  athletics  at  the  University 
of  Illinois  have  undergone  some  curious 
changes.  Illinois  did  not  partake  in  inter- 
collegiate athletics  until  about  1888.  Prior 
to  that  time  Illinois  students  competed 
only  among  themselves,  and  annual  "Field 
Days"  were  held  each  May.  A  much  larger 
proportion  of  the  students  engaged  in  ath- 
letics then,  sometimes  as  many  as  thirty 
being  entered  in  a  single  event.  Field 
events  were  more  numerous  and  varied, 
and  the  prizes  offered  to  successful  com- 
petitors were  even  more  varied  than  the 
events.  Hampering  regulations  and  radi- 
cal differences  in  the  nature  of  the  events 
themselves  combined  to  produced  records 
very  different  from  those  with  which  we 
are  familiar.  "Field  Day"  at  Illinois  was 
the  big  event  of  the  year.  Field  events 
took  place  throughout  the  greater  part  of 
the  day,  and  the  day's  festivities  termin- 
ated with  a  baseball  game  between  the 
University  of  Illinois   and   the   combined 


talent  of  Champaign  and  Urbana,  and  a 
presentation  of  prizes  by  a  select  commit- 
tee of  three  co-eds.  Today  our  inter-class 
and  intramural  athletics  are  the  remnants 
of  the  old  athletic  system.  In  1892  the  first 
Inter-scholastic  was  held  at  Illinois.  It  has 
always  produced  certain  definite  advan- 
tages, and  has  been  continued  (informal 
times)  in  essentially  its  original  form. 

The  Sixth  Annual  Field  Day  held  May 
25,  1888,  marked  the  zenith  of  local  ath- 
letics, and  may  be  taken  as  a  fair  example 
of  them.  On  this  date  Dean  N.  A.  Weston, 
'89,  broke  the  Illinois  record  by  throwing 
the  hammer  86  feet — a  record  which  he 
held  for  several  years.  The  "hammer"  at 
that  time  was  indeed  a  hammer.  It  was  an 
exact  replica  of  our  modern  sledge,  having 
instead  of  a  wire,  a  wooden  handle  of 
proper  length.  Dean  Weston  won  a  Man- 
illa hat  for  winning  this  event,  besides  the 
coveted  ca.sh  prize  of  three  dollars  paid  by 
the  Athletic  Association  to  all  contestants 
breaking  Illinois  records  in  any  event. 
The  seniors  won  ten  pounds  of  bologna  for 
winning  the  tug  of  war,  while  the  losing 
freshmen  had  to  content  themselves  with 
a  sack  of  peanuts.   A  feature  of  the  Field 


226 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


Days  was  the  senior  scrub  and  pie  race,  in 
which  about  thirty  seniors  ran  100  yards, 
ate  a  pie  and  ran  back.  The  winner  re- 
ceived a  photo  album.  The  University  of 
Illinois  baseball  team  beat  the  Illinois  Col- 


lege aggregation  13-12  in  the  tenth  inning, 
and  received  a  "ca.se  of  refreshments"  for 
so  doing.  The  following  is  a  list  of  the 
other  events  held,  Illinois  records  of  the 
event,  and  the  prizes  offered  to  the  win- 
ner in  each  case: 


EVENTS 

RECORD  IN  1(>8S 

IKESENT   KECOKDS 

I'kiZES  Ul-ll-JKliU  IN    1»SK 

One  mile  run 

•')  niin.  10  sec. 

4  min.  18'^  sec. 

Hat  and  ink  stand 

Shot  put   (25  lbs.) 

2.3  ft.  8Vi  in. 

Box  of  cigars 

100-yd.   Dash 

10  3/5  sec. 

9  4/5  sec. 

Silk  umbrella 

Running  broad  jump 

18  ft.  2  in. 

23  ft.  4  in. 

Smoking  set 

Running  high  jump 

5  ft.  2  in. 

6  ft.  114  in. 

220-yd.    dash 

24  2/5  sec. 

21  4/5  sec. 

Dancing  pumps 

Hop,  step,  and  jump 

•39  ft.  11%  in. 

48  ft.  4%  in. 

100  Havana  cigars 

440-yd.    dash 

59  1/5  sec. 

48  3/5  sec. 

Dressing  case 

880-yd.    dash     

2  min.  17  sec. 

1  min.  55  3/5  sec. 

^uit-ca<^p 

Pole    vault 

7  ft.  4  in. 

12  ft.  6  in. 

Baseball  shoes 

Collar  and  cuff  box 
Baseball  suit  and  two 

Half-mile  bicvcle  race 

Two  knives  and  a 
string  of  sausage 

Box  of  confectionery 

Hitch  and  kick 

S  ft.  Vj  in      . 

Hammer  throw 

86  ft. 

Manilla  hat 

100-yds.  unicycle  race 

Pocket  book 

Go-as-you-please-kick  

S  ft.  3  in. 

Slippers  and  perfume 

Egg    race 

Box  of  candy 

I  went  to  Dame  Experience  to  learn  her  Book  of  Life. 

"It  contains  only  two  rules,"  she  said  wearily.  "When  you  have 
learned  all.  But  no  man  has  ever  believed  me,  hence  no  man  has  ever  been 
wise." 

"What  are  they?"  I  cried.  "I  will  believe  you — of  all  men  1  will  learn 
the  Book  of  Life.   What  are  they?" 

Then,  carefully.  Dame  Experience  taught  me: 

One — Trust  no  woman. 

Two — Trust  no  man. 
"You  lie !"  I  cried. 

227 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


"Pour  le  philosophe  .  .  .  il  ne  doit  pas  y  avoir  dans  la  conduite  mi  seul 
element  dont  la  pensee  ne  cherche  a  se  rendre  compte.  .  ." — Guyan. 

WHAT  DO  YOU  THINK? 


March  .  1918. 
Jiditiir  of  the  Illinois  Magirciiic  : 

For  more  than  a  year  magazines  interested  in 
social  and  educational  policies  have  reflected  some 
phase  of  a  struggle  portending  in  American  col- 
leges,— a  struggle  for  and  against  academic  freedom. 

The  loss  by  dismissal  and  sympathetic  resigna- 
tion of  half  a  dozen  eminent  professors  from 
Columbia  and  the  education- 
al-political turmoil  staged  in 
New  York  high  schools  last 
spring  marks  New  York  as 
the  storm  center  of  the  con- 
troversy. Recent  expres- 
sions by  President  Lowell  of 
Harvard,  President  Meikle- 
jiihn  of  Amherst,  and  an 
outburst  from  Dr.  William 
Hobbs  of  Michigan,  indicate, 
however,  that  the  problem 
is  not  a  local  one. 

For  some  reason,  perliajis 
a  prudent  policy  of  letting 
well  enough  alone,  and  per- 
haps—( indifference,  Illinois 
publications  have  shown  no 
consciousness  of  this  prob- 
lem.    Fear    that    indifference 

has     been     a     large     factor, 

prompts  me  to  suggest  that  tlie  Illinois  Magazine 
give  some  attention  and  publicity  to  the  issues  in- 
volved, to  the  specific  cases  of  dismissal  and  to  the 
opinions  of  such  men  as  Presidents  Lowell  and 
Meiklejohn,  with  the  purpose  of  furnishing  infor- 
mation upon  which  students  may  base  sound  opin- 
ions concerning  the  matter. 


The  opinions  expressed  by 
our  correspondents  are  not 
necessarily  our  opinions.  At 
times  we  may  disagree  vio- 
lently— and  we  may  say  so. 
Likewise,  if  you,  Mr.  Reader, 
disagree  violently,  it  is  your 
prerogative  to  say  so.  We  in- 
vite wholesome  discussion  of 
all  subjects, — not  excepting 
the  magazine  and  its  new  pol- 
icy "A  student  magazine  for 
students  by  students". 


To  The  Illinois  Magazine: 

If  the  average  college  student  were  suddenly 
stopped  in  his  meanderings  about  the  campus,  and 
confronted  witli  a  pointed  query  on  his  philosophy 
of  life,  I  dare  say  he  would  be  quite  as  helpless  as 
an  unprecocious  two-year  old  in  giving  his  answer. 
When  the  young  American  comes  to  college,  he  has 
a  complex  idea  of  football  games,  august  profes- 
sors, college  yells ;  an  exag- 
gerated idea  about  doing  _as 
he  pleases ;  and  some  notions 
•of  a  more  or  less  intoxicat- 
ing creature  called  a  co-ed. 
By  the  time  he  gets  his  di- 
ploma, he  still  has  a  complex 
idea,  but  it  is  a  different 
idea.  Before,  he  had  a  beau- 
tiful theory  of  life ;  now  he 
is  apt  to  have  a  skeptical 
theory,  and  in  addition  to 
being  something  of  a  pessi- 
mist, he  will  have  become  in- 
tensely practical. 

The  process  of  evolution 
has  ]irought  him  to  an  essen- 
tially "pragmatic"  view ;  and 
the  first  thing  that  pops  into 

' liis    head    relative    to    a    new 

theory  is  "Will  it  work?"  If 
it  won't  work,  he  doesn't  want  it.  If  a  college  course 
doesn't  offer  him  a  chance  to  make  more  money,  he 
doesn't  want  it.  If  a  subscription  to  a  fund  doesn't 
offer  more  than  a  sentimental  satisfaction,  he 
doesn't  make  it;  if  it  costs  more  to  buy  a  book  tlian 
he  thinks  the  course  is  worth,  he  doesn't  buy  the 
book.  He  learns  to  dance,  because  he  thinks  it  is 
necessary  to  social  prestige;  he  joins  a  fraternity  to 


This  matter  of  academic  freedom  is  not  a  con- 
cern simply  of  teachers  and  educational  boards.    It       get  a  political  stand ;  he  makes  the  acquaintance  of 


is  as  vital  to  those  who  are  taught  as  to  those  who 
teacli.  If  we  want  facts  taught,  with  attention  fo- 
cused upon  their  truth  rather  than  upon  their  effect, 
if  we  want  questions  raised  and  discussion  stimu- 
lated, we  should  take  interest  in  maintaining  sucli 
conditions  throughout  the  country. 

Present    conditions    hint    of    a   crisis    in    educa- 
tional  policy.     In   such   a   crisis   students   should   be 
involved.     As    a    healthy    sign    of    preparation    and 
(Continued  on  page  229,  first  column) 


all  the  deans  because  some  day,  perhaps,  they  can 
help  him  get  a  job.  He  has  a  pocket  full  of  dollar 
signs  which  he  hangs  on  everything  with  which  he 
comes  in  contact.  He  lends  to  his  conversation  a 
metallic  twang ;  the  chimes  are  clanking  dollars  to 
him ;  and  the  great  red  sun  looks  like  a  newly  coined 
twenty  dollar  gold  piece 

The  moral  obligation  to  education  is  one  of  the 
dead    commandments.     After    all,    perhaps    the    first 
(Continued  on  page  229,  second  column) 


228 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


promise  of  sound  ami  \  ij;oroiis  opinions  1  believe 
greater  awareness  of  this  problem  as  well  as  many 
others  might  well  be  evident.  In  these  days,  the  be- 
ginning of  the  great  reconstruction  period,  should 
not  our  student  publications  reflect  our  relationships 
with  the  vital  movement  of  our  time  occasionally, 
rather  than  constantly  mirroring  tlu-  superficialities 
of  a  college  campus? 

A  STUDENT 


nauR-  yiwn  lu  ihu  L'uivirsit\,  the  Illinois  Indus- 
trial University, — was  more  appropriate.  It  seems 
to  fit  in  better  with  the  American  idea.  M  any  rate, 
such  a  pragmatic  view  of  learning  is  essentially 
.■\nurican.  We  call  him  the  ■■ty|>ical  business  man", 
when  what  we  mean  is  that  he  is  a  mercenary  slave 
to  the  Philadelpliia  mint.  He  has  lost  the  art  of  the 
ages.  Socrates  means  nothing  to  him  but  a  statue 
in  a  useless  art  museum  and  "How  much  belter  it 
would  be  to  turn  that  edifice  into  an  oflfice  build- 
ing." Is  this  progress?  Perhaps  not;  but  the  Amer- 
ican idea  seems  to  work,  and  is  not  that  entirely 
sufficient  for  our  purpose?  This  is  an  era  of  high 
|)rices  anyway. 

SENIOR. 


THE  DISCORD 


This  was  a  pagan  shrine,   To  every  face 

Of  moldering  wall,  to  every  blurred  relief, 
There  clings,  but  dimly  felt,  like  soothed  grief, 

An  aura,  yet,  of  beauty  and  of  grace. 

Decay,  the  vandal,  left  this  merest  trace 

Of  ravaged  perfectness.  The  brutal  thief 
Despoiled  the  treasure  the  ages  held  in  fief 

And  left  this  plundered  ruin  in  its  place. 

This  was  a  pagan  shrine.  The  note  of  truth 
That  sounded  from  the  beauty  of  its  stone 

111  harmonized  with  that  of  rites  uncouth 

Which  echoed  from  within.   Decay  alone, 

The  error-seeking,  heard  and  without  ruth 

Avenged  the  discord,  .stilled  the  imperfect  tone. 


229 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


oAuto  Phone  1 1 18 


WILLIAMS  BROS.  CO.  """*""" 

faints,  Garnishes  & 
Wall  Taper 


, — .1. — .. ' — i'» — *    +"— •■— >■ — " — •' + 


^rinten  of 

THE  1919  ILLO 
THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


4. 


Thomas  Franks  &  Son 

£tiit  '  JnivcTiity  cAyenite 

The  Florists  of 
the  City 


• + 

+ 


"Let  Us  Figure  Your  "Bills" 

HUNTER,  ROURKE  &  CO. 

LUMBER,  PLANING  MILL,  &  COAL 

URBANA,  ILLINOIS 


Tell  the.  Advi  )tisri-  yoii  saic  his  Ad  in  The  Illinois  Maua/.ink — He'll  apinvciate  it 

230 


. — + 


THE  RED  FEATHER 

ELIZABETH  LEITZBACH 


RIVATE  CLARK  report  to 
headquarters.  Break  ranks." 
Capt.  Martha  Sayres  gave  her 
last  order  in  a  clear,  strong 
voice  though  her  teeth  were  chattering  and 
her  feet  numb  with  the  cold.  The  forty 
aviatrixes  who  composed  Company  A,  Re- 
serve Aviator  Corps,  broke  ranks  and  ran 
for  the  nearest  warm  corner  by  a  stove. 
The  Captain  walked  slowly  over  the  hard, 
frozen  ground  to  headquarters,  a  nine  by 
sixteen  shack,  rudely  constructed  of  fresh 
pine  boards.  The  luxury  of  headquarters 
consisted  of  a  Mountain  Oak  stove  which 
warmly  welcomed  the  tired  officer.  Capt. 
Martha  put  a  kettle  of  water  on  the  back 
of  the  stove  and  sat  down  on  a  goods  box 
to  await  the  coming  of  the  latest  recruit. 

Private  Clark  had  been  out  of  step  three 
times  and  when  she  had  been  reprimanded 
she  had  cried.  It  was  unmilitary,  to  say 
the  least.  Capt.  Martha  thanked  her  lucky 
stars  that  she  had  not  been  the  pampered 
daughter  of  ex-Steel  King  Clark.  The  life 
of  an  efficiency  expert  in  the  wholesale 
firm  of  Flannigan  and  Myers  had  been 
much  better  training  for  war.  It  did  seem, 
though,  as  if  any  woman,  after  the  United 
States  had  been  fighting  four  years,  could 
at  least  keep  from  crying  over  nothing. 

When  the  latest  recruit  entered  the 
room,  however,  Capt.  Martha  forgot  her 
intention  of  being  curt.  The  private  looked 
so  pitiful  and  forlorn  with  the  tears  frozen 
on  her  red  cheeks  I  In  her  six  months  of 
command  the  Captain  had  learned  when 


to  be  harsh  and  when  to  be  womanly.  Now. 
she  observed  was  the  time  to  play  the  po- 
lite hostess.  "Sit  down,  won't  you.  Miss 
Clark?  We'll  have  a  cup  of  tea  soon  to 
thaw  us  out.  Beastly  weather,  isn't  it?" 
Private  Clark  complied,  but  made  no  an- 
swer. "Won't  you  take  off  your  heavy 
shoes  and  warm  your  feet  while  we're 
waiting  for  the  kettle  to  boil?" 

In  silence  the  recruit  unbuckled  her  leg- 
gings and  started  to  pull  off  her  heavy 
shoes ;  but  her  chin  quivered  and  soon  with 
one  shoe  off  .she  gave  up  and  sobbing  held 
her  foot.  "Oh,  it  hurts  so,  Capt.  Sayres.  I 
know  they're  both  frozen.  Do  you  suppose 
I'll  ever  be  able  to  march  as  well  as  the 
others  if  my  feet  are  frozen?" 

Even  as  she  comforted  the  latest  recruit 
Capt.  Martha  gloried  secretly  in  the  fact 
that  Private  Clark  had  not  asked  if  she 
would  be  able  to  dance  well  (which,  no 
doubt,  would  have  been  her  only  .solicitude 
si.x  months  before) ,  but  rather,  could  she 
march  as  well  as  the  other  aviatrixes. 

Under  the  warming  influence  of  tea  the 
private's  spirits  revived  .somewhat.  "Hon- 
est, Capt.  Sayres,  I'm  dreadfully  ashamed 
to  seem  such  a  quitter  right  at  first,  but  I 
always  got  mixed  up  on  that  Column  Left 
thing  and  every  one  else  seemed  to  know. 
Then  I  was  so  blue  to  think  my  summons 
had  to  come  just  the  week  before  Christ- 
mas and  I  can't  get  off.  Really,  there  didn't 
.seem  to  be  a  thing  in  the  world  to  be  happy 
about." 

Capt.  Martha  then  delivered  her  heart- 


231 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


I 


Bailcty  Slrdiii)  <Lla\ina 


Spring  weather  is  here  and  we  are 
ready.      Come  in! 

Jos.  Kuhn  &  Co.  118 1-2 

Clothing  for  Men 


*      * 


.  4. 


Easier 

Vumps,  Oxfords 
&  Shoes 

'^yo'ie'  on  display  at 

SPALDINGS 

jp  SMain  Street 
Champaign 


The 

SOFT  WATER 
LAUNDRY 

for 

'Prompt  and 

'Particular 

Service 


A.  A.  NYBERG 
Bell  88o  Auto  4}o6 


The  Co-Op 

On  the  :*quare 

The  Student's  Store 


Carries  every- 
thing  for 
the  Student 


■•*     *■■ 


Till  the  Advertiser  you.  saw  his  Ad  in  The  Illinois  Magazine— Hc'U  appreciate  it 

232 


THE  ILLINOIS  MACAZINE 


to-heart  talk  on  the  duty  of  womankind  to 
be  optimistic  for  the  sake  of  the  men  which 
she  had  delivered  under  almost  similar  cir- 
cumstances to  almost  every  recruit  for  the 
last  six  months.  But  this  repetition  failed 
to  produce  its  usual  cheerful  effects.  Pri- 
vate Clark  was  again  on  the  verge  of  tears. 
"That's  just  it,  if  I  had  anyone  to  be  cheer- 
ful for — but  Morrie  thought  I  was  such  a 
selfish  slacker  that  we  had  a  terrible  argu- 
ment and  now  he  doesn't  even  write."  The 
Captain  could  only  advise  such  strong  anti- 
slacker  action  that  Morrie  would  soon  hear 
of  her  patriotic  deeds. 

After  the  latest  recruit  had  gone.  Capt. 
Martha  sat  thinking  for  a  long  time. 
Strangely  enough,  her  own  optimism 
seemed  to  have  deserted  her.  She  felt  that 
she  had  given  all  her  own  store  away  to 
other  people.  For  six  months  she  had  seen 
dainty  girls  of  many  types  arrive  in  camp ; 
and  now  she  knew  that  their  hands  were 
rough  and  hard  like  her  own,  and  their 
skin  coarse  and  reddened.  They  had  all 
arrived  like  the  new  recruit  of  the  day  be- 
fore, chic  and  individually  stylish.  Now^ 
they  were  all  alike  as  far  as  clothing,  food 
and  environment  could  make  them.  While 
she  gloried  in  the  results  of  military  train- 
ing, yet  she  regretted  that  the  shy,  femi- 
nine something  which  had  lurked  in  the 
eyes  of  Private  Clark  beneath  her  red- 
feathered  hat  must  vanish. 

Tomorrow  was  Christmas  and  orders 
from  headquarters  had  decreed  no  fur- 
lough. Capt.  Sayres  wondered  what  could 
be  done  to  cheer  up  the  forty  girls  in  her 
own  company,  and  especially  the  newest 
recruit.  Her  tired  brain  refu.sed  to  devise 
any  plan.  She  felt  as  if  she  were  giving 
herself  away  by  inches.  Every  new  day 
brought  its  own  problems.  She  wondered 
if  men  were  as  hard  to  deal  with  as 
women.  She  wondered  if  it  were  worth 
the  effort.  Did  the  men  really  appreciate 
what  the  women's  reserve  corps  were 
doing,  or  did  they  think  it  was  only  play"? 


Play — she  smiled  ironically.  She  felt  a 
hundred  years  old  tonight. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  An  or- 
derly from  Camp  Donovan,  the  men's  avi- 
ation camp,  an  eighth  of  a  mile  away,  sa- 
luted her.  "Capt.  Sayres?  A  mes.sage  from 
Ma.i.  Matthews.  He  said  there  would  be  an 
answer." 

Martha  Sayres  glanced  at  the  bottom  of 
the  type-written  note  and  .saw  only  these 
words — "Will  you  come"?  We  think  we  can 
count  on  you.  R.  A.  Matthews,  Command- 
ant." Instantly  Martha  scribbled  her  an- 
swer, "I'll  be  there.  Martha  Sayres, 
Capt.",  and  gave  it  to  the  orderly. 

She  did  not  even  wait  to  read  the  note 
because  she  knew  that  anything  genial, 
big-hearted  Maj.  Matthews  should  ask  her 
to  do  would  be  all  right.  She  could  never 
repay  his  kindness  to  her  during  the  try- 
ing daj^s  of  organizing  camp. 

Then  Martha  Sayres  slowly  read  the 
note,  and  this  is  what  she  read.  "No  doubt 
this  information  will  surprise  you  greatly, 
for  no  one  beyond  six  of  us  here  and  the 
War  Department  knows  of  our  plan  to 
cheer  the  soldiers  in  France  on  Chri.stmas 
Day.  We  had  planned  for  three  of  our  best 
aviators  to  fly  across  the  Atlantic,  leaving 
here  at  three  o'clock  on  Chri.stmas  morn- 
ing. They  would  arrive  in  France  by  four 
that  afternoon  easily. 

"This  may  at  first  seem  foolhardy,  but 
we  feel  that  the  attempt  is  justified  when 
we  think  how  the  mail  and  candy  we  in- 
tend to  send  over  by  the  boys  will  cheer  up 
our  men.  They  will  feel  that  they  are 
nearer  home  when  they  receive  letters 
written  one  day  before  from  their  home- 
folks  (for  we  intend  to  collect  them  from 
the  ship-mailing  stations).  Incidentally, 
the  three  aeroplanes  will  carry  bombs 
which  may  come  in  handy.  The  machines 
are  all  in  perfect  condition  and  we  have 
chosen  competent  men.  We  have  sent  wire- 
lesses to  three  men-of-war  to  station  them- 
selves so  as  to  afford  a  temporary  resting 


233 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


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234 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


place.  The  only  trouble  that  could  be  ex- 
perienced is  that  the  steady  driving  might 
tire  the  men  before  the  ships  were  sighted 
or  that  they  might  strike  an  unexpected 
air  current  or  meet  a  German  plane  near 
the  coast. 

"Now,  on  the  eve  of  their  journey  one  of 
the  men,  in  fact  the  leader  of  the  three, 
Phillip  Morris,  is  very  depressed  and  says 
he  has  a  foreboding  of  misfortune.  If  his 
present  state  of  mind  continues  the  trip 
will  have  to  be  abandoned  for  we  cannot 
find  another  capable  man  at  this  late  hour. 
I  even  fear  for  his  sanity.  Now  I  feel  that 
if  you  could  talk  to  Morris  you  could  brace 
him  up.  I  know  you've  done  wonders  for 
the  hysterical  women  in  your  camp  and 
this  is  merely  a  case  of  nerves. 

"Will  you  come?   We  count  on  you. 

R.  A.  Matthews,  Commandant." 

Martha  Sayres  was  stunned  by  the  un- 
heard-of plan  and  by  the  part  that  she  was 
expected  to  play.  Only  a  few  minutes  be- 
fore she  had  been  wondering  if  it  were 
worth  all  the  struggle.  She  had  been  on 
the  point  of  giving  up  and  now  she  was 
called  upon  to  instill  courage  into  someone 
more  di.scouraged  than  her.self.  She  could 
not  do  it — it  would  take  more  will  power 
than  she  possessed.  Could  she  truthfully 
urge  on  this  man?  It  seemed  such  a  great 
risk,  and  yet,  if  a  little  Christmas  spirit 
could  be  carried  across  the  water  to  the 
disheartened  soldiers,  it  would  be  worth 
the  hazard  of  three  lives.  It  was  really  a 
wonderful  mission — a  supreme  chance  to 
be  a  spectacular  hero. 

Why  had  she  hesitated?  Why  did  the 
man  hesitate?  Perhaps  it  was  "merely  a 
case  of  nerves."  Then  a  .sentence  from  her 
theory  of  woman's  place  in  the  distribu- 
tion of  optimism  occurred  to  her.  "We 
can't  even  consider  nerves — or  anything 
we've  had  time  for  in  the  old  selfish  days. 
We've  got  to  give — give  everything,  our 
courage,  and  even  ourselves."    Truly  this 


was  in  accord  with  the  spirit  of  Christmas. 
She  would  go  and  try  her  best. 

As  Capt.  Martha  Sayres  walked  across 
the  rough,  bare  .stretch  of  ground,  called 
in  the  American  military  .slang  of  the  two 
camps  "No  Man's  Land",  which  separated 
the  men's  aviation  field  from  the  women's, 
a  calm  of  strength  and  peace  came  upon 
her.  The  bright  moonlight  illumined  the 
black  hangars  where  the  big  planes  which 
were  used  by  both  camps  were  waiting. 
She  wondered  which  machines  would  be 
cho.sen  for  the  Christmas  Mission.  She 
wondered  what  kind  of  a  man  Phillip  Mor- 
ris would' be — she  wondered  if  he  had  no 
mother  or  sweetheart  to  help  him  through 
this  crisis,  or  if  they  were  the  kind  of 
women  who  could  only  weep  and  cling  in  a 
big  moment. 

Something  dark,  carried  by  the  night 
wind,  fluttered  down  at  her  feet.  Abstract- 
edly, Capt.  Martha  stooped  and  picked  it 
up.  In  the  clear  moonlight  she  saw  that  it 
was  a  red  feather.  It  had  probably  blown 
off  of  the  hat  of  the  ex-Steel  King  Clark's 
daughter  when  she  had  arrived  in  camp  on 
the  previous  day.  Now  the  foolish  trifle 
seemed  an  omen  of  good  fortune,  of  brav- 
ery, and  of  fighting  courage. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  inform  Maj. 
Matthews  that  she  had  arrived.  It  took 
more  time  to  meet  Phillip  Morris  and  to 
find  a  secluded  corner  where  they  could 
talk  without  being  interrupted.  A  spot  be- 
hind the  stove  was  finally  chosen  as  being 
warm  and  out  of  the  range  of  hearing  of 
the  oft'icers  who  were  packing  boxes  of 
mail  for  the  Atlantic  flight.  The  room  was 
blue  with  smoke  and  bare  of  furniture,  ex- 
cept for  camp-tools,  a  rough  pine  table, 
and  the  little  red-hot  stove.  For  a  second 
Martha  Sayres  was  silent — bewildered  by 
the  unconventional  situation.  A  year  ago 
she  would  never  have  thought  of  remain- 
ing in  such  a  place  at  eight  o'clock  at  night, 
but  in  the  face  of  big  things  who  would 
hesitate  for  conventionality's  sake? 


235 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


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THE  ILLINOIS  MACiAZINE 


Phillip  Morris  was  glad  to  have  her  talk 
10  him.  She  had  thought  it  would  require 
much  tact  to  broach  the  subject,  but  he  had 
mentioned  it  first.  After  Capt.  Martha  had 
impressed  upon  the  aviator  the  honor  of 
being  chosen  for  the  Christmas  Mission 
and  had  painted  a  vivid  picture  of  the  joy 
he  would  bring  to  the  men  in  France.  He 
confessed,  "Really,  I'm  very  glad  you  came. 
It  does  a  fellow  a  lot  of  good  to  talk  to  a 
woman  and  especially,  a  plucky  one  like 
you.  You  know  when  I  think  how  much 
courage  it  must  have  taken  for  you  to 
come  across  here  to  talk  to  me,  1  feel  a 
regular  duffer  to  have  even  hesitated." 

They  talked  on  for  fully  half-an-hour. 
"See,"  continued  Capt.  Hatha,  showing  the 
little  red  feather,  "what  the  wind  blew  in 
my  path.  It's  a  message  of  true  aviator 
courage.  Won't  you  take  it  for  a  talisman? 
You  might  stick  it  in  the  front  of  your 
plane  and  rechristen  your  number.  "The 
Red  Feather'." 

"Say,  that  would  be  quite  appropriate 
for  my  old  ship — light  as  a  feather  she  is." 

"Well,"  said  Capt.  Martha,  and  she  took 
both  hands  of  Phillip  Morris  in  a  hearty, 
friendly  grip,  "here's  good-by  and  good 
luck  on  the  Christmas  mission.  How  I 
envy  you  your  chance." 

For  a  second  they  stood  in  silence ;  then 
still  holding  her  hands,  Phillip  answered, 
"And  when  I  come  back  I'll  remember  who 
gave  me  courage  to  go." 

Then  Capt.  Martha  realized  in  a  big 
wave  that  seemed  to  cover  her  in  warmth, 
how  much  this  aviator  meant  to  her.  They 
had  lived  through  a  big  moment  together 
— and  big  moments  count  more  than  a  life- 
time of  trivialities.  She  knew  that  here 
was  a  man  she  could  help  to  the  winning 
places  in  life  by  her  own  spirit.  She  won- 
dered if  he  realized  that  she  needed  him 
as  much  as  he  needed  her.  She  was  about 
to  tell  him  how  her  thoughts  would  be  with 
him  every  minute  of  the  cross-Atlantic 
flight. 


Then  he  dropped  her  hands  and  brought 
her  back  to  earth  with  a  startling  remark. 
"You  know,  you've  made  me  think  of  a  girl 
who  meant  more  than  anyone  in  the  world 
to  me.  My  mother's  dead,  you  see.  She  was 
the  best  jolly,  good-fellow  as  long  as  every- 
thing went  right.  That  was  the  trouble, 
\\hen  they  began  to  go  wrong  she  became 
a  slacker.  We  haven't  written  for  a  year. 
I  wonder  if  she  can  have  changed."  (He 
did  not  know  that  Capt.  Martha  was 
wounded  more  deeply  than  any  soldier 
ever  was  in  battle.)  "Do  you  suppose  if 
she  could  get  this  red  feather  and  just  a 
message  that  I  had  gone  on  the  Christmas 
Mission,  it  might  change  her'.-"  I  believe 
she's  be  sorry  we  disagreed — and  maybe  I 
could  come  back  to  her." 

"All  right,"  dully  agreed  Capt.  Martha, 
"what  is  her  name  and  address"?" 

"Marybelle  Clark,  Brook  Place,  Win- 
chester, Maine.  She's  the  daughter  of  ex- 
Steel  King  Clark." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Capt.  Martha  answered 
low,  "I'll  tell  her  you  went  bravely  and 
gladly." 

"You  know  I  didn't  exactly,  but  you're 
a  brick  to  say  so.  Good-by  Capt.  Sayres. 
Some  of  us  would  go  back  with  you  if  we 
didn't  have  to  pack  for  the  flight.  We'll 
have  to  rush ;  and  of  course,  no  one  else 
must  know  you're  here." 

Martha  Sayres  stumbled  out  across  the 
stretch  of  "No  Man's  Land".  She  was 
thankful  for  the  solitude.  She  stupidly 
wondered  how  she  had  been  able  to  en- 
courage Phillip  Morris,  for  now  she  felt 
devoid  of  strength. 

It  was  a  quarter  after  nine  when  Capt. 
Sayres  entered  headtjuarters.  It  seemed 
hours  since  she  had  left  the  shack.  She 
looked  at  the  little  red  feather  and  saw 
that  there  was  a  spot  of  darker  red  on  it. 
She  had  held  it  so  tightly  that  her  nails 
had  cut  into  the  flesh.  As  she  gazed  at  the 
trifle  Martha  Sayres  seemed  filled  with  a 
savage,    primeval    instinct   of   hate.     She 


237 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


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THE  ILLINOIS  MACAZINE 


would  not  give  Private  Clarlc  tlie  message. 
Why  should  she — hadn't  she  been  the  one 
who  had  stayed  by  Phillip  Morris  in  the 
crisis?  If  Marybelle  Clark  had  helped  at 
the  last,  then  he  would  be  hers.  But  she 
had  not.  She  had  failed  him  during  all 
these  months.  Marybelle  Clark  had  had 
everything,  money,  education,  her  chance 
at  Phillip  Morris,  while  she,  Martha  Say- 
res,  had  worked  all  her  life.  What  sacri- 
fice had  Private  Clark  ever  made?  Per- 
haps the  red  feather  would  mean  nothing 
to  her.  It  was  just  off  her  own  hat.  Yet. 
even  as  Capt.  Martha  argued  with  her  con- 
science, the  vision  of  the  latest  recruit's 
tear-stained  face  dispelled  all  her  doubts. 

Then  Taps  sounded  out  on  the  frosty  air. 
No,  it  was  not  too  late  yet — she  could  make 
one  private  happy  on  Christmas  Eve. 
Capt.  Martha  stole  across  to  the  big  bar- 
racks to  the  corner  where  she  had  assigned 
the  latest  recruit.  It  was  most  unmilitary 
to  stumble  around  and  whisper  in  the  dark 
after  taps,  but  it  was  Christmas  Eve. 

"Here,"  whispered  Capt.  Martha,  when 
she  had  found  Private  Clark's  cot,  "is  a 
little  red  feather  that  Phillip  Morris  sent 
you  as  a  sign  that  he's  still  playing  the 
game  bravely.  Tomorrow  he  is  doing  the 
bravest  thing  that  any  man  in  the  army 
has  ever  done,  and  he  hopes  you  will  let 
him  come  back  to  you  when  it's  done.  He'll 


be  the  hero  of  two  continents  tomorrow 
night.  I  can't  tell  you  more  now,  but  I 
thought  you'd  be  glad  to  know  you're  still 
— the  one  girl." 

Capt.  Martha  e\en  .softly  touched  Pri- 
vate Clark's  chet'k.  It  was  still  wet  with 
tears,  but  she  knew  it  would  not  be  again 
that  night. 

As  Capt.  Martha  walked  l)ack  to  her  lone 
shanty  she  heard  church  bells  in  the  little 
town  two  miles  away  faintly  ringing.  It 
was  ten  o'clock  on  Christmas  Eve.  The 
Captain  pau.sed  outside  her  door  to  listen 
until  the  chiming  ceased.  The  spirit  of 
Christmas  filled  her  with  radiance.  "Yes. 
Cod,"  she  breathed,  "we  women  are  still 
giving  the  big  things,  just  as  one  women 
did  on  the  first  Christmas.  Even  if  it's 
only  a  red  feather,  (]od,  our  spirits  are  big- 
ger this  Christmas  than  ever  before." 

Then  as  she  stood  in  the  moon-light  out- 
side of  the  door  to  headquarters  she  sud- 
denly knew  that  Phillip  Morris  would 
reach  France  safely.  She  was  as  sure  then 
as  she  was  two  days  later  when  Maj.  Mat- 
thews showed  her  the  lead-lines, 

CHRISTMAS  MISSION  ARRIVES  IN 
FRANCE 

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THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


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THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


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1918 


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<5^^5^^.<a^e^: 


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Th 


e  Illinois  Magazine 

"cy/  Student  Magazine  for  Students  by  StudaUs" 

SO-LONG  NUMBER 


Table  of  Contents 


Permission  Song  ( Poem ) Frontispiece 

The  National  Capital  in  War  Time 245 

The  Motive  (Epigram  Contest)                248 

The  One-Track   Mind 249 

Humming    _ 253 

Bigger.  Better  Poodles   (Story) 255 

The  Latest  Volunteers  in  the  Conservation  Corps  (Illustrated) 262-3 

A   Paradox 264 

From  the  Poetry  Society  (Poems) 265 

Editorial    268 

Between  You  and  Me 270 

According  To 273 

Dope  (A  Plea  For  Mass  Athletics) 274 

Behind  the  Footlights 275 

Thoughtless    Drama  .,. 276 

What  Do  You  Think  ? 283 

Minutes  of  the  A.  ^l.  C.  F 285 


EDITOniAL  STAFF 


L.  J.  Selzer 
Elizabeth  Leitzbach 
Dorothy  Seidel 
Zelomia  Ainsworth 
Glenn  W.  Frede 


BUSINESS  STAFF 


W.  E.  Krieger      .-.--....-- 
R.  E.  Spangler      -.--..----- 

Roger  Dawson,  S.  A.  Wilson,  W.  F.  Cast,  M.  Beaimoni 


Assistant  Editor 

In  Charge  of  Fiction 

In  Charge  of  Dramatics 

Woman's  Editor 

In  Charge  of  Athletics 


Assistant  Manager 
Circulation  Manager 


Business  Assistant:' 


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:s 


PERMISSION  SONG 

EAUVAIS,  old  jewel  of  the  Freneh  frontier, 
The  rain  has  fallen  on  your  age.   I  pass 
And  rest  within  a  secret  court,  concealed 
Where  is  a  plot  of  flowers  and  shining  grass 
Washed  of  the  dust;  and  pools  so  static  clear 
TItat  clouds  go  by  within  their  mirrored  face 
Like  shadoivs  bloivn  in  magic,  endless  chase 
Across  the  heavens  in  ever-changing  mass — 
Unto  no  purpose  bent,  nor  to  a  fate  to  yield — 
Dally,  and  float  on,  sailing  in  the  deep  morass 
Of  blue  forever. 

;7i    marble  satyr  grins  from  the  fountain  bath, 
J\  His  imaged  m,ieyi  grotesque  within  the  pool 

Where  the  clouds  pass  in  magical  parade. 
The  air  is  attared  since  the  shower's  deep  cool. 
The  garden  flowers  lean  heavy  on  the  path 
Of  clean,  ivhite  stones  and  sharply  pebbled  jade, — 
Go7ie  from  my  little  ivorld  the  battle's  wrath. 
I  thought  that  life  ivas  only  death  and  grief, 
Floating  in  Armageddon's  bloody  wet. 
The  pall  of  tvar  had  shaped  a  sad  belief 
Til  at  all  the  world  is  endless  tvar, — and  yet 
Here  in  my  ken  are  beauty  and  relief. 
As  oases  must  cool  the  Arab's  fevered  pain, 
So  do  these  lovely  gardens  bring  me  peace  again, 
At  old  Beauvais. 


The  Third's  the  Charm — Only  by  an  oversight  of  the  censor's  were  we  permitted  to  supply  the  missing 
word  "Beauvais"  in  this  second  poem  sent  from  France  by  Ray  W.  Gauger.  The  name  had  been  clipped 
from  the  manuscrijit  in  the  first  two  places  it  occurred:  the  third  repetition  (in  the  last  line)  had  been 
overlooked,  and  supplied  the  mueh-desii-ed  cue. 

Of  the  poem.  Ganger  writes,  "Just  a  description  of  the  relief  I  had  when  I  took  a  short  permission 
for  the  first  time  back  in  the  quiet  of  this  lovely  old  French   town  of " 

Foiled  ati'ain,  Mr.  Censor! 


aiiraiif^iraii?ititr^irRitrffltr^iifsitr^iirii^ii?^iFflitniiirR[t^ 


The  Illinois  Magazine 

"^qA  Student  'SMagazine  for  Students  by  Students" 
SO-LONG  NUMBER 


Volume  9 


MAY,  1918 


Nuinhcr  6 


THE  NATIONAL  CAPITAL 
IN  WAR  TIME 


H.  GORDON  HULLFISH 


tlROWDED  streets,  packed  street 
cars,  overloaded  hotels,  stand- 
ing-room-only theaters,  full  to 
overflowing  lunch  rooms  and 
office  buildings  that  fairly  teem  with 
people,  all  these  things  combine  to  bring 
one  to  the  realization  of  what  a  vast  dif- 
ference there  is  in  the  national  capital 
since  the  declaration  of  war. 

One  of  the  most  interesting,  and  at  the, 
same  time,  one  of  the  greatest  changes 
brought  about  by  the  war  is  the  different 
atmosphere  that  pervades  Washington  to- 
day. Always  a  city  that  slumbered  along 
undisturbed  by  the  crashing  ways  of  busi- 
ness which  occupied  other  cities,  Washing- 
ton has  come  out  of  its  dream  and  is  now 
a  city  of  business,  a  city  of  life,  a  city  that 
is  fully  awake  to  the  glorious  po.ssibilities 
of  a  people  who  love  their  country. 

Though  now  a  city  of  business,  Wash- 
ington is  not  to  be  compared  with  com- 


mercial centers  as  we  ordinarily  think  of 
them  ;  that  is,  activities  are  not  of  a  private 
nature,  but  every  action  in  this  great 
whirlpool  bears  a  relation  to  the  public. 
Here  business  has  at  heart  the  welfare  of 
the  nation. 

Coming  into  Union  Station  you  .sense  an 
activity  not  present  on  former  visits.  Even 
before  you  can  alight  from  the  train  sol- 
diers are  .seen  hustling  back  and  forth  with 
mail  sacks,  for  Uncle  Sam  has  had  to  de- 
tail men  to  look  after  the  huge  correspond- 
ence of  the  men  in  service.  The  station, 
.somehow,  has  changed  and  the  entire  cen- 
tral portion  has  been  given  over  to  one  in; 
men.se  information  bureau.  The  people 
gathered  around  this  show  that  the  .station 
gates,  which  heretofore  knew  only  before 
a  clientele  that  came  leisurely  and  left  leis- 
urely, are  now  receiving  thousands  of 
people  who  are  coming  to  serve  their  coun- 
try in  one  capacity  or  another. 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


And  the  streets  are  crowded.  This  is 
noticeable  at  all  times  during  the  day,  but 
especially  so  when  the  buildings  which  now 
house  thousands  of  government  employees 
close  their  doors  and  the  inmates  pour 
forth.  To  accommodate  them,  packed  street 
cars  are  running  continuously  in  a  way 
that  has  never  before  been  known  to  Wash- 
ington folk. 

New  government  buildings  have  sprung 
up  everywhere.  Large  office  buildings  and 
hotels  have  been  commandeered.  Govern- 
ment offices  are  not,  however,  confined  to 
large  buildings  and  you  are  surprised  to 
find  many  former  barrooms,  which  were 
closed  last  fall,  now  occupied  by  employees 
of  Uncle  Sam.  One  of  the  largest  banks  in 
the  city  has  been  turned  over  for  govern- 
ment office  space  and  even  the  lofts  of  liv- 
ery stables  have  been  pressed  into  service. 

A  series  of  buildings  put  up  in  record 
time  have  recently  been  completed  in  which 
are  offices  of  the  United  States  Food  Ad- 
ministration, The  National  Council  of  De- 
fense, and  the  United  States  Fuel  Admin- 
istration. These  new  quarters  have  con- 
crete foundations,  with  walls  of  lathe  and 
stucco.  On  the  inside  the  rooms  are 
divided  by  walls  of  beaver  board  and  other 
pasteboard  combinations,  but  to  the  pass- 
ing eye,  they  present  all  that  could  be  de- 
sired in  the  way  of  housing  workers,  and 
are  unique  in  forming  a  little  colony  all 
their  own. 

Since  the  beginning  of  the  war  there  has 
been  a  great  extension  of  the  Ordnance 
Department  of  the  Army  and  this  branch 
now  occupies  a  new  home  of  its  own  con- 
taining approximately  twenty-five  acres  of 
floor  space.  The  Aviation  Section  of  the 
Signal  Corps  is  located  in  buildings  all 
over  the  city  in  addition  to  occupying  the 
oft'ice  building  containing  the  largest  floor 
space  of  any  similar  structure  previous  to 
the  entrance  of  the  United  States  in  the 


war. 


The  work  of  the  Food  and  Fuel  Admin- 


istration is  more  or  less  familiar  to  all  of 
us  and  we  can  understand,  though  we  do 
not  see  the  actual  working  of  these  depart- 
ments, that  the  work  which  they  have  to 
do  is  enormous  and  calls  for  the  employ- 
ment of  many  willing  hands.  We  know  also 
the  work  of  the  National  Council  of  De- 
fense, but  there  is  another  branch  which 
has  sprung  up  during  the  past  year,  the 
War  Trade  Board,  that  has  developed  to 
proportions  of  which  few  of  us  probably 
realize.  At  the  present  time  this  depart- 
ment occupies  eleven  buildings  but  is  soon 
to  move  into  a  new  home  of  its  own. 

Under  a  series  of  proclamations  Presi- 
dent Wilson  has  provided  that  licenses 
must  be  issued  for  the  passage  of  all  goods 
out  of  this  country  going  into  any  country 
except  Canada,  and  in  fact,  for  many  ar- 
ticles that  pass  over  the  Dominion  line. 
Each  day  about  8000  applications  come 
before  the  War  Trade  Board  for  the  is- 
suance of  trade  licenses.  Each  one  must 
be  passed  on  by  an  expert  in  the  particular 
commodity  in  question  and  all  are  care- 
fully examined  for  the  possibility  of  enemy 
interest  either  in  the  American  shipper 
or  the  foreign  consignee. 

For-rent  signs  are  a  thing  of  the  past  in 
the  capital,  though  only  a  few  years 'ago 
they  were  plentiful.  Accommodations  are 
hard  to  get,  and  in  an  effort  to  remedy  this 
condition,  the  Department  of  Labor  is  now 
constructing  buildings  of  a  temporary  na- 
ture to  help  house  the  employees  who  are 
expected  to  arrive  in  the  city  during  the 
course  of  the  next  few  months. 

Employees  on  the  government  pay  roll 
are  not  the  only  ones  who  are  busy,  how- 
ever, for  the  women  of  Washington  are 
giving  hours  of  their  time  daily  to  Red 
Cross  and  other  humanitarian  work.  In 
all  parts  of  the  city  these  Red  Cross  work- 
rooms may  be  seen  and  the  women  are 
hard  at  work  plying  their  needles  and 
other  instruments  turning  out  necessities 
for  the  boys  over  there.   And  so  it  goes, — 


246 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


every  one  is  plugging  along  and  everyone 
is  working  tirelessly  and  unselfishly  in  the 
one  cause,  that  of  giving  their  all  and  all 
to  back  up  the  aims  and  needs  of  the  na- 
tional government. 

With  all  of  its  business  the  capital  has 
a  military  bearing,  all  parts  of  Washing- 
ton being  dotted  with  the  uniform  of  Uncle 
Sam.  The  forts  along  the  historic  Potomac 
river  with  their  quota  of  troops  have  been 
accentuated  by  the  training  camp  at  Fort 
Meyer,  Virginia,  just  outside  of  Washing- 
ton, and  the  new  camp  for  men  of  the 
national  draft  army  which  has  been  erect- 
ed on  the  northeast  outskirts  of  the  city, 
Camp  Meigs.  In  addition  to  the  warriors 
of  this  nation,  many  foreign  officers  are 
seen,  and  especially  is  the  blue  uniform  of 
the  French  conspicuous. 

As  the  eye  wearies  from  gazing  at  so 
many  faces — strange  to  Washington — and 
at    seeing    this    unusual    activity    on    the 


streets  of  the  nation's  capital,  it  may  turn 
skyward,  and  there  among  the  clouds  an 
airplane  may  be  seen.  Over  Washington, 
around  the  famous  monument  and  the 
dome  of  the  capital  probably  .some  of  the 
most  daring  and  fancy  flying  done  in  the 
United  States  is  a  daily  occurrence.  And 
strangely  enough  these  flights  are  made 
chiefly  by  men  from  the  battle  fronts,  for- 
eign officers  who  have  been  called  to  Wash- 
ington, and  who  bring  to  Washingtonians, 
the  manner  of  flying  over  the  battle  .swept 
fields  of  France  and  of  maneuvering  in 
conflict  with  the  enemy  planes. 

Washington  has  truly  changed,  but  in  its 
new  robe  it  presents  a  picture  worth  .see- 
ing; a  picture  which  every  true  American 
may  be  proud  of;  a  picture  of  a  people  put- 
ting their  shoulders  to  the  wheel  .so  that 
every  cog  of  the  government's  war  ma- 
chine may  turn  in  place  and  continue  a 
smooth  and  forward  course. 


A  woman  will  forgive  a  man  any  crime  if  she  believes  he  committed  it 
for  love  of  her. 

U 

Acting  differs  from  living  in  that  the  actor  has  learned  his  lines,  and 
there  is  a  prompter  behind  the  wings. 

The  only  ways  some  people  can  get  their  names  in  the  paper  is  to  be 
lynched  or  electrocuted. 

It  is  not  conceited  to  think  you  are  going  to  be  great  but  to  think  that 
you  are  already  great. 

It  is  a  distinct  necessity  for  a  man  to  feel  that  the  husband  of  a  woman 
he  admires  is  a  mutt. 


247 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


THE  MOTIVE 


The  author  of  the  prize 
winning  epigram 

Is  a  man 

Who  wears  a  dark  gray 
suit 

And  carries  an  umbrel- 
la when  it  rains. 

His  disposition 

Is  scholarly  and  slightly 

Pessimistic. 

He  never  wears  over- 
shoes 

Because  the  street-car 
advertisements 

Get  on  his  nerves. 


Susan    Shaffer $5.00 

Marcelle  Laval,  -J.  W.  Arnold, 

"Ish" Honoj-able     Mention 

Through  a  multitude  of  vicisi- 
tudes,  the  ill-fated  five  dollars  has 
at  last  found  an  owner.  Miss  Susan 
Shaffer  '19,  with  a  poem  which  we 
have  christened  "The  Motive",  best 
described  the  elusive  contestant, 
according  to  the  decision  of  the 
judges,  Mrs.  Alta  G.  Saunders, 
Solton  Engel  and  Bruce  Weirick, 
all  of  the  department  of  English. 
The  letter  writers  were  equally 
divided  in  their  opinions  as  to 
whether  "Unknown"  was  a  man  or 


remains   for   us   to   hope 


woman. 

It  only 
that   he,    she,   or   it   will    read   the 
following    description,    and    regret 
the  impulse  which  caused  him,  her 
or  it  to  spurn  our  fiver! 


He   likes   to   take   long 
walks 

In  the  spring, 

When  he  meditates 

On  the  woman  who  turned  him  down. 

He  remembers  the  last  words 

She  said  before  she  left  him : 

"When  love  is  a  pastime, 
"It  is  well  to  remember 
"That  one  of  the  players 
"May  tire  of  the  game. 

Although  it  is  fifteen  years 


Since  his  undergradu- 
ate days 

When  she  said  it,  it  still 
rings 

In  his  ears. 

He  will  find  no  relief. 

Until  he  tells  someone 
else. 

But  whom? 


One  day  he  glanced  over 

The  Illinois  Magazine 

By  mistake. 

He    noticed    the    chal- 
lenge of  the 

Living  to  the  dead. 

"Surcease",   he   sighed. 
And  straightway 
With  feverish  pencil,  he  .seized 
Clean  white  paper, 

Inscribed  thereon  the  hot  burning  words 
Carved  in  his  brain. 

The  next  day  he  saw  the  announcement 

That  he  had  won  the  prize. 

But  not  even  for  five  dollars 

Would  be  acknowledge  those  cursed  words. 

Peace 

Is  worth  more  to  him 

Than  fame  or  fortune. 


248 


THE  ONE-TRACK  MIND 

VVARNEK  GKENVELLE  RICE 


^■^^ijHERE  are  two  general  classes, 

>S.  v»U  vil  ....„    distinct    varieties    of    the 


^5  ^!  two    distinc 
fk?^  Iii^^W   one     track 


^m 


k  mind.  President 
Wilson,  the  originator  of  the 
term,  first  applied  it  to  himself  in  describ- 
ing his  attitude  toward  the  Mexican  crisis 
of  1913-14,  and  in  spite  of  the  adverse  crit- 
icism which  the  phrase  brought  upon  him, 
it  suited  admirably.  No  national  policy 
has  ever  been  more  straightforward,  no 
course  of  action  more  direct  than  that 
which  the  President  followed  during  the 
stormy  months  from  November  to  May 
when  the  press  was  bellowing  at  the  policy 
of  "watchful  waiting",  and  letters  were 
pouring  in  from  thou.sands  who  wished  to 
enter  Mexico  by  armed  force  "to  protect 
American  interests".  Mr.  Wilson  had  de- 
cided not  to  intei'vene ;  he  stood  equally 
firm  in  his  refusal  to  recognize  as  the  chief 
executive  of  the  struggling  countiy  a  dic- 
tator who  at  best  had  the  support  of  a  bare 
fifth  of  the  people  whom  he  wished  to  rule 
under  the  ironically  presumptuous  title  of 
"President" ;  and  it  is  significant  of  his  one 
track  mindedness  that  he  did  not  waver 
in  the  execution  of  his  plan.  The  oppo- 
sition was  powerful  and  active;  news- 
papers appealed  to  the  Administration  to 
save  the  honor  of  the  country  by  aban- 
doning the  policy  of  w^atchful  waiting,  to 
vindicate  America  before  the  world  by 
recognizing  Huerta.  The  Honorable  Theo- 
doi'e  cursed  and  ranted,  labelling  the  con- 


"The  President  is  morally  obstinate," 
wailed  the  Hartford  Courant.  "He  is  too 
proud,  too  narrow  and  too  weak  to  admit 
he  has  erred!"  Ob.stinate  he  surely  was; 
but  obstinacy  was  the  only  force  that  could 
have  saved  the  situation.  The  recent  reve- 
lation of  German  intrigue  in  Mexico  has 
shown  that;  and  his  more  or  less  mys- 
terious reticence  was  necessary  for  obvious 
reasons. 

The  President's  course  was  indeed  the 
course  of  a  one  track  mind,  a  course  which 
pei-niitted  no  deviation  and  no  movement 
in  more  than  one  direction  at  a  time.  There 
was  a  definite  aim  to  be  attained,  a  feas- 
ible way  to  attain  it.  Mr.  Wil.son  had  a 
target  as  well  as  a  gun ;  and  his  one  track 
mind  was  not  only  broad  gauge,  it  was  on 
the  main  line  as  well. 

But  the  attitude  of  the  press  gives  an 
enlightening  example  of  a  second  type  of 
the  single  track  mind.  Editors  were 
doubtless  sincere  when  they  condemned 
the  policy  of  the  Administration,  but  too 
often  they  wasted  good  powder  and  .shot 
before  they  quite  knew  what  they  were 
trying  to  hit.  To  be  sure,  they  were  on  a 
direct  line  somewhere,  but  unfortunately 
they  lo.st  themselves  on  sidetracks  which 
led  into  regions  which  they  could  not  ex- 
plore ;  and  doubtless  many  of  them  are  still 
regretting  that  they  acted  as  such  admir- 
able catspaws  for  Germany  without  get- 
ting the  advantage  of  the  liberal  subsidies 


duct  of  the  whole  afl'air  disgraceful;  Vox  which  that  country  would  willingly  have 
Populi  overflowed  with  threatening  cla-  offered  for  the  enthusiastic  aid  that  they 
mor.  donated  so  freely.   Their  minds  were  nar- 

249 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


row  gauge ;  and  to  this  class  belong  the 
great  majority  of  one  track  minds,  the 
common  or  "university"  variety. 

It  is  not  at  all  uncommon  at  the  Univer- 
sity of  Illinois,  where  it  exists  in  the  fac- 
ulty and  in  the  student  body.  It  is,  in  its 
most  perfect  form,  the  sort  of  mind  which, 
in  a  professor,  regards  a  text  book  as  a 
complete  and  perfect  medium  for  convey- 
ing all  the  true  and  immutable  truths  per- 
taining to  a  subject  and  at  the  same  time 
considers  the  introduction  of  more  or  less 
radical  ideas  into  the  class  room  as  quite 
improper  and  completely  valueless.  It  is 
the  kind  of  mind  which,  in  a  student,  is 
content  to  believe  almost  anything  that 
appears  in  print,  to  accept  as  the  law  of 
the  universe  whatever  proposition  may  be 
put  forth  in  the  class  room,  be  it  excellent 
or  absurd ;  to  take  upon  faith,  without  any 
demonstration  whatever,  the  soothing 
statement  that  all's  right  with  the  world, 
or  to  accept  with  equal  ease  that  all's 
wrong  on  earth  and  in  heaven,  and  which, 
when  it  believes  the  latter  statement,  has, 
of  course,  to  be  quelled  by  firm  and  un- 
hesitating methods. 

It  is  evident  that  knowing  where  to  look 
for  material  is  essential  for  the  success- 
ful acquisition  of  ideas.  But  it  does  not 
follow  that  this  business  of  tagging  things 
should,  therefore,  be  particularly  empha- 
sized. It  is  the  minor  part  of  education, 
the  part  which  may  be  understood  by  a 
study  of  the  Encyclopaedia  Brittannica. 
The  ability  to  think  is  the  only  completely 
satisfactory  object  and  reward  of  a  col- 
lege education ;  and  it  would  appear,  if  we 
accept  this  statement,  that  the  primary 
concern  of  a  teacher  should  be  to  direct  the 
ideas  of  the  young  men  and  women  with 
whom  he  works  into  fairly  safe  and  navi- 
gable channels  of  thought.  Most  instruct- 
ors have,  it  is  to  be  supposed,  some  such 
idea  in  mind,  but  their  attempts  to  solve 
the  problem  consist  in  pouring  the  turbid 
masses  of  ideas  that  the  average  student 


has  somehow  obtained,  into  a  kind  of  filter- 
ing funnel,  from  which  they  should,  per- 
force, emerge  in  a  clear  and  steady  stream. 
An  excellent  theory !  But  the  funnel  often 
becomes  clogged,  and  the  entire  process 
stops ;  the  diff'iculty  being  glibly  explained 
by  the  puzzled  professor  as  due  to  unavoid- 
able impurities  which  contaminated  the 
substances  he  put  in  rather  than  by  the 
more  usual  truth  that  the  funnel  itself  was 
too  small,  or  that  it  was  imperfect.  Almost 
always  the  inconvenient  stoppage  could  be 
prevented  if  the  teacher  would  use  a  few 
ideas  of  his  own  to  dilute  the  mixture. 
Every  instructor  worthy  of  the  name  does, 
it  is  true,  attempt  some  critical  comment, 
but  too  often  his  judgment  is  simply  a 
condensed  version  of  something  which  has 
been  said  before.  Such  criticism  is  doubt- 
less valuable ;  but  the  really  vital  ques- 
tion, "What  do  /  think  about  it?"  still  re- 
mains. It  is  quite  possible  to  find  out  what 
Henry  James  thought,  what  Matthew  Ar- 
nold thought,  what  Nietzsche  or  Abraham 
Lincoln  thought  by  reading  books.  The 
only  advantage  in  having  them  interpreted 
is  the  introduction  of  original  and  per- 
sonal, even  if  not  absolutely  new  ideas  in 
regard  to  what  they  meant.  To  this  end 
there  should  be  more  discussion,  less  of 
question  and  answer  pedagogy.  Is  not  the 
examination  of  the  policy  of  Henry  VIII, 
and  its  effect  on  our  modern  life  as  well 
as  upon  England  of  the  16th  century  more 
important  than  the  simple  memorization 
of  the  dates  of  his  several  marriages? 

The  answer  can  be  furnished,  at  least  in 
part,  by  our  professors.  "What  do  you 
think  about  religion,  about  ethics,  about 
politics?"  we  ask.  And  if  the  answer  comes 
wholly  in  dead  terms  of  what  someone  else 
thought  years  ago,  if  no  new  vista  is 
opened  by  a  personal  view,  we  know  that 
we  are  in  the  presence  of  the  most  exasper- 
ating model  of  the  one  track  mind. 

The  fault  does  not,  however,  lie  entirely 
with  the  faculties  of  our  colleges.    If  stu- 


250 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


dents  were  really  anxious  to  discuss  quos-     elusion  ol'  some  of  the  real  problems  of  stu- 


tions  of  moment  they  could  surely  tind  op- 
portunities in  plenty.  The  conclusion 
which  must  be  drawn  is  that  most  of  us 
are  enveloped  in  a  lethargic  haze,  from 
which  we  can  be  extricated  only  by  con- 
siderable prodding.  Most  of  the  young 
men  are  interested  primarily  in  the  young 
women,  and,  therefore,  in  the  matters  with 
which  the  latter  are  concerned.  Unfortun- 
ately the  young  women  as  a  rule  do  not 
care  for  serious  thinking;  an  active  brain 
.seems  fatal  to  the  complexion.  Ribbons 
defy  reason.  And  thus  we  are  occupied  so 
much  with  the  details  of  living  that  we 
have  no  time  to  formulate  opinions  of  our 
own  and  must,  therefore,  adopt  them  on 
faith.  "I  should  worry"  as  the  national 
motto  beautifully  supplements  "In  God  we 
trust"  to  round  out  a  perfect  philosophy. 

Let  those  who  take  exception  to  this 
statement  look  around  them,  let  them  at- 
tend a  student  conference  such  as  a  North- 
field  group,  a  body  organized  especially  to 
promote  discussion,  and  let  them  observe 
the  attitude  of  indifference,  a  bored  desire 
to  "get  it  over  with".  Let  them  visit  a  few 
classes,  and  observe  the  keen  interest 
shown  in  the  subject  matter  of  the  aver- 
age course.  Some  classes  are  dull,  no 
doubt,  but  where  should  the  blame  be 
placed?  "The  insti-uctor  is  hired  to  make 
things  interesting",  you  say.  But  no  man 
can  be  expected  to  pour  stimulating  ideas 
into  the  minds  of  students  if  he  first  has 
to  force  an  entrance  with  a  crowbar  and 
hold  it  with  a  wedge. 

Perhaps  the  men  and  women  of  the  Uni- 
versities express  themselves  through  stu- 
dent publications.  As  the  nearest  example 
we  may  take  the  self-confessed  "Greatest 
College  Daily"  which  is  only  surpas.sed  in 
banality  by  its  prototype,  the  W.  G.  N.  For 
the  past  year  the  editorial  policy  of  this 
paper  has  been  concentrated  on  a  trivial 
and  not  particularly  successful  tirade 
again.st  the  Boneyard  to  the  practical  ex- 


dent  life.  Such  my.steries  as  the  fate  of 
the  Junior  Prom  receipts  have  been  gently 
dismissed,  the  disgraceful  indifference  of 
the  Senior  class  to  the  Chimes  Fund  has 
been  passed  by  without  more  than  a  mur- 
mur of  disapproval.  Righteous  indignation 
against  the  condition  of  the  seats  in  228 
Natural  History  and  the  spirited  White 
Crusade  for  towels  in  washrooms,  two 
subjects  kindly  left  by  a  former  editor, 
have  done  valiant  duty  in  filling  the  in- 
terims between  editorials  which  practically 
impeach  the  President  and  the  entrances 
of  the  Bell  Boy  of  Fate.  Worst  of  all,  few 
seem  to  notice  or  to  care  whether  anything 
worth  reading  is  printed  or  not.  But  how 
can  common  mortals  be  expected  to  per- 
ceive that  things  are  not  all  they  should 
be  when  the  company  of  the  elect  takes  a 
year  to  do  justice  to  a  former  editor  of  the 
mini  who  at  least  made  the  .sheet  a  howl- 
ing success? 

But  there  are  other  matters,  which  must 
appear  in  a  more  favorable  light.  Every 
college  man  and  woman  is  interested  in 
college  athletics,  of  course.  So  deeply  in- 
terested, in  fact,  that  some  thirty-five  hun- 
dred of  them  are  perfectly  willing  to  slouch 
on  the  bleachers  and  gain  their  only  exer- 
cise by  cheering  the  efforts  of  the  noble  one 
hundred  who  so  gloriously  uphold  the  ath- 
letic traditions  of  the  school.  As  a  further 
improvement  on  this  .scheme,  it  seems 
probable  that  in  the  near  future  a  corre- 
spondence-school system  of  mass  athletics 
will  be  in.stituted,  in  which  ca.se  it  will  be 
unnecessary  to  leave  the  wicker  chair  on 
the  front  porch  to  get  the  thrills,  provid- 
ing that  a  freshman  be  placed  in  a  strate- 
gic position  at  the  telephone.  Under  these 
conditions  the  body  will,  to  change  the 
Greek  phrase  a  little,  become  a  fit  temple 
for  the  mir.vl. 

Another  subject  of  peculiar  importance 
toward  which  there  is  a  surprising  indif- 
ference is  that  of  a  career.    The  average 


251 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


college  man  doesn't  think  about  that  so 
very  much.  "Oh,  a  job  will  turn  up,"  he 
says  easily  and  so  dismisses  the  matter. 
But  that  sort  of  answer  explains  why  a 
B.S.  in  agriculture  spends  the  first  three 
years  of  his  post-collegiate  life  gauging  car 
wheels  in  a  locomotive  works  from  neces- 
sity rather  than  choice.  Trained  men 
ought  not  to  be  wasted ;  but  they  are,  and 
all  efforts  to  materially  change  conditions 
so  that  every  college  man  will  plan  a  career 
have  been  ineffectual. 

It  must  be  admitted,  too,  that  the  Uni- 
versity itself  has  not  adopted  an  altogether 
encouraging  attitude  toward  those  who 
have  proposed  improvements  on  the  pres- 
ent system.  The  tendency  has  been  toward 
coddling,  toward  keeping  the  surface  of 
things  untroubled ;  and  the  policy  of  codd- 
ling has  this  peculiar  advantage:  It  prac- 
tically prevents  the  proposal  of  a  serious 
question  and  thereby  eliminates  the  neces- 
sity for  an  answer  which  might  sometimes 
be  embarrassingly  difficult  to  frame.  Yet 
the  Administration  has  not  forgotten  us, 
but  as  an  inspiration  paternally  pours 
upon  our  bowed  heads  a  series  of  war  lec- 


tures, which  in  the  main  are  delightfully 
soporific,  but  which  illustrate  both  the  be- 
nign martyrdom  which  the  lecturers  are 
willing  to  undergo  to  be  of  service,  and  the 
patience  of  the  undergraduate  in  the  face 
of  what  amounts  to  intellectual  insult. 

The  remedy  for  all  this  is  not  hard  to 
find.  It  lies  simply  in  the  encouragement 
of  liberal  discussion  by  the  adoption  of  a 
broad  and  sympathetically  tolerant  atti- 
tude by  the  administration  of  the  Ameri- 
can University ;  by  the  introduction  of 
vital  and  personal  ideas  into  the  classroom, 
and  by  the  emphasis  of  mind-training  in- 
stead of  mind-stuffing.  Many  mistakes 
will  at  once  come  to  light  under  such  a  re- 
gime, many  wild  and  foolish  opinions  be 
expressed,  many  a  fantastic  viewpoint 
taken.  Yet  there  will  be  no  real  danger, 
no  real  loss.  The  radicals,  the  mental  Bol- 
sheviks will  always  remain  in  the  minor- 
ity ;  and  they  can  be  best  coped  with  if 
there  exists  a  large  and  intelligent  class 
which  is  able  to  think  clearly  and  confi- 
dently enough  to  define  the  boundary 
■vhich  separates  reasonable  doubt  from 
doubtful  reason. 


YOU 

ROBERTA  WAGNER 


People  are  colors. 

Saffron-colored,  you  are, 

Like  a  pine-rimmed  lake  at  sundown, 

With  the  gold  sky  shining  in  its  depths ; 

Like  shimmering  Indian  summer,  and  maize; 

Like  desert  poppies,  holding  the  sun ; 

Like  topazes ; 

Like  the  great,  amber-orange  moon,  rising  behind  the 

black  trees. 
Saffron-colored,  you  are. 


252 


Cliaractcr-hiiliciitiinis  ux  contained  in  Individual  and  Aii/ilinl 


HUMMING 


{Twenty-fifth  lecture  delivered  by  Pruf.  IIikiki  Doreiinliisi)  iit   II, v  ■<iiiii i>i»>iiiiii  lirlil  tni 

the  Amalgamated  Pxiicholoyistx.) 


I. 

IF  we  are  to  trust  the  evidence 
of  the  history  of  evolution,  the 
great   philosophical   fact   upon 
which  to  base  our  present  ex- 
periments is  indubitably: 

MONKEYS  HUMMED 

Let  no  one  seek  to  shake  our  faith  in  this 
monumental  belief  which  has  come  down 
through  the  ages  as  a  social  inheritance  to 
the  present  generation.  Many  scientists 
would  refute  the  theory  upon  the  grounds 
that  monkeys  do  not  noiv  liiiDi.  Plainly 
this  is  a  fallacy.  The  fact  that  I  am  bald 
now  does  not  prove  that  I  at  no  time  had 
hair  upon  my  head.  Neither  can  we  say 
that  because  monkeys  have  abandoned 
humming  in  the  present  age,  they  have  at 
no  time  employed  it. 

All  civilization  is  built  upon  this  colos- 
sal truth  and  were  we  to  abandon  such 
an  absolute,  we  have  all  reason  to  believe 
that  the  disruption  of  society  would  result. 
Once  let  custom  release  her  firm  grip  upon 
mankind  and  the  ensuing  situation  will 
resemble  that  described  by  the  great  pan- 
theist, Lewis  Carroll,  in  his  theodicy, 
"Through  the  Looking  Glass  and  what 
Alice  Found  There": 

"The  slithy  toves  did  gyre  and  gimble  in 
the  wabe. 
All  mimsy  were  the  borogroves  and  the 
nome  wraths  outgrabe." 
We    must    be   conventional,    gentlemen. 


We  must  accept  the  teachings  of  by-gone 
generations.  We  must  light  the  pipes  of 
our  deductions  by  the  safety  matches  of 
the  past,  rather  than  trust  to  the  fire- 
brands of  our  own  imaginations.  Our 
souls  are  like  canton  flannel.  Let  us  keep 
them  away  from  gas  stoves.* 

n. 

The  moment  at  which  one  first  indulges 
in  humming  is  strange  beyond  compari- 
son. Will  my  colleagues  pardon  a  per.sonal 
relation  just  here? 

I  distinctly  remember  standing  in.  the 
L  C.  station  at  Paris,  Illinois,  when  I  was 
seven  years  old.  I  am  convinced  that  no 
stimulus  calculated  to  produce  musical 
sounds  had  been  offered  me.  There  was 
present  neither  score  nor  instrument.  Sud- 
denly, as  I  stood  contemplating  a  bit  of 
dirty  cracker-jack  on  the  floor,  the  neu- 
rones in  my  brain  ceased  to  hold  hands. 
They  had  previously  been  joined  much  as 
children  playing  "London  Bridge  is  falling 
Down".  There  was  no  longer  any  synaptic 
resistance.  Whether  volition  proceeded  ac- 
tion or  action  volition  we  must  trust  the 
interactionists  to  say. 

The  upshot  is — I  hummed. 

A  faint  buzzing  sound  proceeded  from 
my  lips.  Becoming  bolder,  I  began  to  form 
strange   syllables — ^^•hich    I   swear   I   had 


*Saintc  Beauvc,  the  eminent  Ki'ench  t-ritic  has  lieclareil 
this  passage  to  be  the  most  rhythmie  and  iiowerful  in  the 
Knelish   laniruapEc. 


253 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


never  heard  before  in  the  present  exist- 
ence— syllables  such  as : 

"Twa  Dwa  Dwa  Dwa  Dwa,  mm — dwa !" 

in. 

Having  prepared  ourselves  carefully  by 
the  consideration  of  the  philosophical, 
taxonomical,  generical,  and  individual  as- 
pects of  our  question,  we  proceed  to  the 
study  of  applied  humming. 

The  well-known  scientist,  Dr.  William 
J.  Burns,  invented  the  most  noted  system 
of  tests  whereby  individual  humming- 
units  can  be  a.scertained.  The  investiga- 
tor, equipped  with  a  dark  lantern,  and  a 
dictograph,  seats  himself  outside  the  room 
in  which  the  patient  has  been  establi-shed. 
A  jazz  band  in  an  alcove  plays  "Sweet 
Little  Buttercup"  or  "Oh  Min !" 

B  stealthily  withdraws.  Five  minutes 
later,  A  commences  to  hum.  By  means  of 
the  dictograph,  Dr.  Burns  has  thus  se- 
cured 9,577  samples  of  individual  hum- 
ming events* 

I,  myself,  have  made  humbler  experi- 
ments on  this  our  native  campus.  The  re- 
sults will  be  found  at  the  end  of  this  thesis. 
I  have  made  greater  attempts  to  discover 
the  significance  of  humming-units  as  per- 
taining to  character  than  any  other  living 
psychologist. 

A  uniformity  of  syllable  has  invariably 
accompanied  a  consistent  character.    For 


•Published    by    Hmishton.    Pifflo    and    Co.     "9.; 
dard  Hums". 


Stan- 


example,  one  patient  who  hums  without 
exception,  "La-La-La-La"  has  not  missed 
brushing  her  teeth  at  7  o'clock  every  morn- 
ing for  seventeen  years.  She  is  an  in- 
structor in  this  very  university — a  woman 
of  high  integrity,  an  owner  of  three  lib- 
erty bonds  and  a  thrift  stamp. 

A  dissimilarity  of  syllables  with  two 
short  hyphenated  syllables  recurring  at 
calculated  intervals  usually  indicates  a  lik- 
ing for  such  jokes  as  "Don't  Fi,sh  Here" 
— in  short,  a  nature  lacking  in  refinement 
but  with  a  certain  propensity  for  social 
intercourse.  A  janitor,  having  been  tested 
for  humming-units,  responded  invariably 
with  "Faddle  Faddle  Foo-da". 

The  same  janitor  is  known  to  be  an 
anonymous  contributor  to  such  publica- 
tions as  the  "College  Widow",  the  "Purple 
Cow",  "The  Jester"  and  had  even  ascended 
higher  in  the  scale  of  humor  during  the  life 
of  the  "Siren". 

*The  editor  of  one  of  the  pamphlets 
named  above,  who  may  be  characterized 
as  highly  individual,  versatile,  but  never- 
theless astounding,  has  borne  out  the 
theory  that  inconsistency  of  syllables  in- 
dicates unconventionality,  extreme  energy 
and  love  of  excitement.  To  resolve  the  rule 
into  technical  terms,  "Your  character  is 
to  your  humming-syllable  as  the  jazz-band 
to  its  saxophone."  What  more  striking 
proof  of  our  law  could  we  have  than  the 
remarkable  table  below? 


Occupation  of  Patient 

L.  A.  and  S.  student 
Household  Science  student 
Instructor  in  Bugology 

City  business  man 

Housewife 

Methodist  minister    / 
English  instructor     \ 

Alfalfa  cultivator 

Editor  humorous  college 
paper 


General   CJuiracteristics 
Affable,   studious,  neat 
Anxious,  nervous,  untidy 
Fond   of    dancing,   joyous,    gen- 
erous   with    A's,    inclined    to 
em-bon-point 
Moneyed,    suave,   popular   mem- 
ber of  country  club 
"A  nice  girl" 

To  be  inferred 

Slow,  honest,  humble 
*As  described 


254 


Humming-unit 
Tra-la-la-la 
Sizzle-swing! 
Chinkety-cheek   ge-lank   ge-lank 

Oi-yoi-ikey-ikey 

Hum-de-da-la 
\  Glump-glump- 
/  Glump-Glump 

Baa-baa-baa-moo 

Google  -de  -  bang  -  bang  -  chu- 
whangedy  zow  -  gling  -  google-de 
whompety-cing-clang-z-r-r-r- 
(with  variations) 


BIGGER,  BETTER  POODLES 


GERALDINE  DALY 


j|OR  the  Lord's  sake,  Peg,  I'm  not 
in."  John  E.  tJridley,  his  coat- 
tails  spread  like  a  fan  tail  pig- 
eon, vaulted  over  the  low  rail- 
ing protecting  the  business  office  of  the 
Toboygan  Evening  Free  Press  from  the 
onslaught  of  almanac  agents  and  calendar 
salesmen  and  flopped  into  a  reporter's 
chair. 

"I  just  connected  with  a  fellow  who 
looks  like  a  collector  and  I  told  him  he 
passed  me  going  down  stairs,  cause  Pd 
just  stepped  out."  Gridley  ceremoniously 
inserted  his  index  finger  in  his  hat-band 
and  slowly  turned  his  derby  around  his 
head.  The  door  opened  and  Gridley,  other- 
wise known  as  "Jack",  sent  his  hat  revolv- 
ing around  his  cranium  and  viciously 
assaulted  his  typewriter. 

"Mr.  Gridley  you  wanted?"  asked  Peggy 
Peele,  assistant  in  the  newspaper  office,  as 
she  studied  the  warts  on  the  china  pickle 
suspended  from  a  black  cord  around  her 
neck  and  let  her  gaze  creep  up  to  the  Irish 
eyes  of  a  copper-haired  lad  who  stood  be- 
fore her  with  a  pad  in  his  hand. 

"Mr.  Gridley  you  wanted  to  see?"  Peg 
repeated.  "Well,  he's  out."  Peg  swept  the 
room  with  her  sparkling  dark  eyes  and  ob- 
served only  one  person  in  the  room  besides 
the  little  bill-collector. 

"That?"  Peg  arched  her  eye-brows  co- 
quettishly  and  tossed  her  head  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  lone  occupant  whose  derby 
at  that  moment  was  traversing  a  precipi- 
tous path  around  his  head. 


"Oh.  that's  only  the  owner  and  manager 
of  the  paper,"  she  added,  counting  the 
humps  on  the  pickle. 

"Well,  here's  a  bill  for  two  dollars  and  a 
half  for  five  jars  of  Stickhams  Pa.ste,"  said 
the  auburn  tinted  collector  as  he  flipped 
an  engraved  card  to  Peg,  adjusted  his  ver- 
dant green  cap  and  whistled  out  of  the 
room. 

A  .soft  feminine  whistle  made  the  "own- 
er and  manager"  stop  beating  x's  on  the 
paperless  cylinder  of  his  machine  and  peer 
cautiously  over  his  collar.  Then  with  boy- 
ish hilarity,  he  sent  the  well-trained  derby 
spinning  in  the  air  and  slid  across  the 
room  to  Peg. 

"That's  the  time  I  caught  myself  out. 
Miss  Margaret." 

Margaret  pushed  back  her  curls.  They 
would  wind  round  her  ears. 

"His  name's  Jimmie,"  she  announced, 
reading  the  card.   "P.  James  Murphy." 

Gridley's  face  sobered.  "I'm  in  a  bad 
way.  Peg,"  he  began  seriously.  "You  don't 
mind  if  I  call  you  Peg,  do  you?" 

"Not  if  I  may  call  you — Jack."  Peg 
stuck  the  china  pickle  saucily  into  her 
mouth  and  laughed  at  the  perplexed  boyish 
face  above  hers. 

"I  don't  know  what  I'm  going  to  do  for 
the  boys,  the  printers,"  continued  Jack. 
"They  held  chapel-meeting  this  afternoon. 
Old  Woods  called  it  to  make  a  final  decision 
about  their  walk-out.  They've  been  work- 
ing for  four  months  now,  and  have  had 
only  three  and  one-half  month's  pay."  The 


255 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


derby  began  to  circulate  to  the  tune  of 
Yankee  Doodle,  whistled  softly  and  wor- 
riedly by  Gridley. 

"Our  advertising  contracts  won't  be  due 
for  another  month  and  I  ve  raised  all  I  can 
on  our  equipment." 

"Well why  don't  you  ask  me  what 

to  do?"  suggested  Margaret. 

Jack  threw  his  hat  forcibly  on  the  floor. 

"Well,  I'll  be  darned!    That's  yv't  what 
I'm  getting  at.  You  have  to  tell  me  how  to  . 
raise  one  thousand  dollars  in  a  week !" 

Margaret  fingered  the  plaited  frill  down 
the  front  of  her  transparent  Georgette 
waist.   Her  dimples  deepened. 

"All  right,"  she  promised. 

"The  boys  have  been  mighty  white  about 
it  all,"  Jack  continued.  "They've  stuck 
even  though  the  ghost  hasn  t  walked  for 
two  weeks,  but  the  printers  just  have  to 
quit.  They  can't  afford  to  work  any  longer 
without  pay,  and  called  the  meeting  to  tell 
me  they  were  quitting."  Gridley's  face 
grew  troubled  and  he  looked  appealingly 
at  Peg. 

"What  did  you  tell  them?'  she  ques- 
tioned. 

"Why,  I  talked  to  the  boys,  told  them  we 
were  an  infant  industry;  that  the  paper 
was  young  and  hardly  on  its  feet  and  that 
when  our  advertising  contracts  came  due, 
we'd  have  all  kinds  of  money." 

Peg  knit  her  brows  and  pulling  a  bilious- 
looking  pad  toward  her,  drew  hordes  and 
hordes  of  dizzy  sail-boats  on  a  waveless 
sea,  methodically  counting,  meanwhile,  the 
seven  strokes  of  her  stubby  pencil  which 
traced  the  pictured  fleet. 

Jack  buttoned  and  unbuttoned  his  grey 
pinch-back  and  waited  for  Peg  to  speak. 
It  was  his  voice  which  finally  broke  the 
silence. 

"Woods  spoke  for  the  boys.  He  said  that 
for  my  sake,  they'd  willingly  work  a  month 
without  wages,  but  that  most  of  them  had 
families  to  care  for  and  they  had  to  get 
out. 


"Then,  Peg,  I  climbed  up  onto  that  old 
roll  of  press  paper  and  told  those  printers 
I  was  with  them  and  I  knew  their  troubles, 
but  if  they'd  stick  another  week,  I'd  have 
over-fed  pay  envelopes  for  them  next  Sat- 
urday night.  You  should  have  heard  them 
cheer.  They  actually  hoisted  me  upon  their 
shoulders  and  yelled  just  like  in  the  old 
Standforth  gridiron  days.  They're  with 
me  every  one,  but  Peg,  I  haven't  a  bug  of 
an  idea  and  have  to  raise  a  thou.sand  dol- 
lars by  a  week  from  tonight."  Gridley 
rattled  some  loo.se  change  in  his  pockets. 
Then  he  picked  up  the  yellow-ruled  bill 
lying  on  the  desk. 

"Paste!"  he  shouted.  "Well,  I'm  sure 
stuck !" 

Peg's  ships  had  accumulated  into  quite 
a  navy. 

"By  all  the  powers  of  Jove,  Peg,  I'm  get- 
ting sea-sick  from  watching  you  nailing 
seven  lines  into  a  ship.  From  the  size  of 
this  one,  it  must  be  the  seventh  son  of  a 
seventh  son !" 

Amid-ships,  Peg  jumped  to  her  feet. 

"I  feel  a  germ.  Jack." 

"The  dickens  you  do,"  and  he  just 
missed  her  hand  as  he  reached  for  her 
pulse.  Peg  was  adjusting  an  attractive 
mustard  colored  Bo-Peep  bonnet  with  a 
coquettish  Robin-Hood  feather  cocked  on 
the  side. 

"Gosh,  but  you're  a  whiz,  Peggy.  You 
can  raise  a  thousand  dollars  in  sail-boats, 
find  alibis  for  every  occasion,  dispatch  dy- 
speptic, curious  old  creditors,  diplomatic- 
ally receive  stockholders  and  discreetly 
show  them  only  the  contracts,  still  un- 
paid." Jack  stuck  his  thumbs  into  his  poc- 
kets and  leaned  against  the  desk. 

"You're  a  1920  Model,  Peg." 

"Come  over  to  my  house  at  three  tomor- 
row. It's  Sunday,  and  I'll  give  you  a  bona 
fide,  copyrighted  idea,"  laughed  Peg  as  she 
left  the  oft'ice. 

The  guaranteed  hole-proof  idea  germin- 
ated with  Monday  morning  when  Peg  was 


256 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


hot  on  the  trail  of  the  local  garages.  Her 
first  attack  was  on  the  agent  of  the  Stutson 
Six  car. 

"Ah.  ha,  Miss  Peggy!  And  how  is  the 
charming  young  lady  this  bright  Monday 
morning?"  The  mellow,  bald-headed,  be- 
spectacled old  automobile  salesman  bowed 
over  to  Margaret  Peele. 

"Catch  me  if  you  can !  '  Peg's  eyes 
snapped  fire  and  she  skipped  past  the  horn- 
rimmed spectacles  to  a  luxurious  limousine 
panting  in  the  big  garage. 

"Oh,  I  say "  His  trousers  bagging  at 

the  knees  and  one  end  of  his  watch  chain 
handing  limply  out  of  his  vest  pocket,  he 
hobbled  rheumatically  after  the  dashing 
figure  in  scarlet. 

"I've  come  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Bowers,"  be- 
gan Margaret,  disapprovingly  sniffing 
gasoline,  "that  we're  going  to  give  your 
car,  the  Stutson,  father  says  it's  the  best  in 
town  (Peg  conscientiously  crossed  her  fin- 
gers)— first  place  in  our  Bigger,  Better 
Poodles  movement." 

"In  your  what?"  The  fussy  old  salesman 
excitedly  put  his  hand  on  the  door  to  climb 
in  with  Peg,  when  she  nonchalantly 
slammed  it  and  securely  fastened  his  coat 
sleeve  in  the  jamb. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  laughed  Peg.  "How 
awkward  of  m.e."  and  she  leaned  back  upon 
the  soft  upholstery  without  making  an  ef- 
fort to  liberate  the  enmeshed  bait. 

"I  said  I  wanted  to  enter  your  car  in  our 
automobile-kennel-ostentation,  you  know, 
an  animated  bench  show  for  Pellins  Food 
Puppies;  a  grand  right  and  left  with  your 
Stutson  Six  leading  with  Lady  Excelsior 
de  Luxe  III  in  the  front  seat." 

"Great  goodness.  Miss  Peggy,  that 
sounds  like  a  twin  six  idea,  but  would  you 
mind  telling  it  to  me  in  one  cylinder 
words?" 

Margaret's  merry  laugh  rang  through 
the  building. 

"Stupid!"  she  mocked.  "Can't  you  see 
that  Toboygan  is  going  to  head  an  inter- 


national movement  for  bigger,  better  and 
eugenic  dogs,  a  credit  to  their  nation  and 
a  foundation  for  the  future  race  of  can- 
ines!" Margaret's  elo(iuence  reached  its 
height  and  she  suddenly  turned  off  the  gas, 
quieting  the  machine  so  that  only  her  voice 
was  left  to  ring  in  the  old  man's  ears  in  the 
impressive  silence. 

"Mrs.  Novus  Aureus  Erick.son,  of  Silver 
Heights,  and  Mrs.  Alexander  Van  Wallett 
are  going  to  enter  their  prize  Pomerani- 
ans. Then  the  Sumner-Suckers  and  Mark- 
strom-Shields  kennels  will  be  represented 
with  Peckinese  Spaniels  and  Boston  Bulls, 
not  to  mention  the  Sickem  Spaniels  of  Dr. 
Archibald  McCormick.  The  Bonnes  and 
Johnsons  will  scrub  up  their  Fidos  and 
Rovers  and  enter  them  in  the  Cann  Car. 
The  caravan  will  nose  around  the  loop  and 
end  at  the  court  house  square  where  the 
machines  and  their  canine  cargo  will  be  re- 
viewed by  the  public  spirited  citizens. 

"You  say  you  want  the  Stutson  to  play 
'Lead  the  Leader'  ?"  Bowers  edged  as  close 
to  Peg  as  the  poli.shed  limousine  door 
would  permit. 

"Sui-ely,  Mr.  Bowers.  Don't  we  want  the 
town's  best  foot  forward?"  Peg  flattered. 
"My  paper,  the  Free  Press,  will  give  this 
humanitarian  idea  publicity.  We  cater  to 
all;  politics  for  father,  fashions  for 
mother,  sage-tea  horrors  for  grandma, 
funnies  for  the  children,  and  motors  for 
Fido." 

"Indeed,  Miss  Margaret.  I'll  be  plea.sed 
to  be  a  booster,  particularly  since  it's  you 
who  have  asked  me.  You  know  you're  so — 

"Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Bowers,"  Margaret  meas- 
ured her  distance  and  with  almost  careless 
accuracy  intercepted  his  hand  enroute  to 
her  chin  and  pushed  it  instead  against  the 
siren  button. 

"Bah-h-h-"  bawled  the  horn. 

"Jingoes,  Mi.ss  Peele.  You're  a  most  un- 
usual young  lady.   "You're  .so violent." 

Margaret  diplomatically  picked  up  the 
wrecked  thread  of  conversation. 


257 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


"We'll  run  a  special  Automobile  Advei'- 
tising  Section  this  week,  beginning  Wed- 
nesday and  ending  Sunday.  The  ads  will  be 
directly  proportional  to  the  size  and  stand- 
ard of  the  car.  Now  I  have  the  center  sec- 
tion already  marked  for  your  car,"  beamed 
Margaret,  who  had  her  sections  marked 
for  any  emergency.  "Oh,  I'd  say  a  cut  of 
your  car  and  a  nice  little  write-up  for  three 
nights  would  be  worth — $.500".  Margaret 
broke  it  gently. 

"Whew  !"  The  salesman's  lips  puckered 
a  long  good-bye  to  the  exclamation.  Mar- 
garet's deep  flashing  eyes,  just  suggesting 
the  color  of  her  scarlet  coat  looked  straight 
into  his.  There  were  faint  indications  of 
two  dimples. 

"You're  irresistible,  Miss  Peggy.  Feat- 
ure ads  are  paid  spot  ca.sh.  aren't  they?'  , 
and  the  smooth  old  Stutson  agent  produced 
a  check-book. 

"Five  hundred  down  and  five  to  go," 
breathed  Margaret  once  outside  the  gar- 
age, "and  four  fingers  cros.sed.  Wonder  if 
I  can  continue  to  lie  consisently?  A  little, 
a  very  little  truth  is  relished  by  the  most 
of  men  and  old  Bowers  certainly  appre- 
ciated my  call.  His  purse  is  lined  with 
gold,"  mused  Peg  as  she  .skipped  back  to 
the  off'ice.  "And  I'll  line  his  car  with  the 
cream  of  canine  society." 

Margaret  found  Jack  seated  at  his  desk, 
his  hat  propelled  by  his  inde.x  finger  slowly 
taking  a  survey  of  his  head. 

"Say,  Jack,  are  you  trying  to  create  an 
aura  or  what's  the  idea  of  the  revolving 
chapeau  ?" 

"Just  encouraging  a  halo,"  Jack  re- 
assured her  as  he  off"ered  her  his  seat. 
"How  goes  it  with  the  poodle  fancier?" 

"I'm  on  my  way  to  'Millions  Through 
Dogs',"  laughed  Peg  as  she  deposited  her 
order  from  Bowers  and  darted  out  on  an- 
other tour. 

The  girl  successfully  tackled  all  the 
motor  hostleries  and  each  time  played  the 
Stutson  against  any  averse  owners. 


"Oh,  of  course,  if  the  Stutson  car  can 
aff'ord  to  be  represented,  we  can,"  each 
willingly  bamboozled  automobile  repre- 
sentative would  tell  her. 

At  the  end  of  the  day,  Margaret  met 
Jack  in  the  office. 

"What  are  you  doing,  little  girl,  playing 
tick-tack-to  on  your  fingers?"  queried  Jack 
as  Peg  soberly  ran  the  fingers  of  her  right 
hand  over  the  palm  of  her  left. 

"No,  I'm  counting  lies,"  the  girl  admit- 
ted. "I  have  father  swearing  by  the  Stut- 
son, mother  'just  doting'  on  the  Cann 
Limousine,  and  all  our  kith  and  kin  bear- 
ing the  responsibility  of  favoring  one  car 
or  another  and  the  whole  family  is  about 
as  familiar  with  the  makes  of  cars  as  they 
are  with  the  makes  of  mouse-traps,  and 
now  I  know  that  mother  will  paper  the 
pantry  shelves  housecleaning  time  with 
motor  circulars." 

"Never  mind.  Peg,"  sympathized  the 
editor  and  manager.  "The  old  boys  paid 
dearly  to  have  you  kid  them  a  long  a  bit 
and  we'll  square  it  all  up  after  this  infer- 
nal dog  seance  is  at  an  end.  Gee,  I'll  be 
glad  when  you  get  puppies  ofl"  your  mind 
long  enough  to  give  me  a  sitting.  I'm 
afraid  that  you'll  soon  be  prescribing  raw 
beefsteak  for  me  if  you  keep  this  gait  up 
long." 

The  second  morning  of  the  week,  Peg  be- 
gan a  telephone  canvass. 

"This  is  Miss  Peele  at  the  Free  Press," 
she  began  to  Mrs.  Erickson  of  Silver 
Heights  fame  and  finance.  "Oh,  no,  Mrs. 
Erickson,  I'm  sure  that  the  Sumner-Suck- 
ers  haven't  issued  invitations  to  the  Prim- 
rose Tea  Tanzen  yet.  Of  course  they'll  in- 
vite you.  You're  so  intimate,  you  know. 
Besides,  they're  asking  only  the  elite,"  .she 
sweetly  dribbled  over  the  wire. 

"That'll  get  the  near  society  eagle,"  she 
slyly  winked  to  Jack  and  made  a  wry  face 
into  the  transmitter. 

"Mrs.  Erickson,"  continued  Peg.  "The 
Free  Press,  knowing  that  Toboygan's  so- 


258 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


cial  set  is  second  only  to  that  of  Newport, 
and  confident  that  many  of  our  ideas  are 
directly  copied  by  society  farther  east,  is 
asking  some  of  our  leading  women  to  enter 
their  prize  poodles  in  an  exclusive  bench 
show  and  motor  page  to  be  given  next  Sat- 
urday afternoon.  The  Stutson  Six  and 
Price-Shadow  cars  will  carry  the  canine 
aristocracy."  Peg  jotted  down  sail-boat  af- 
ter sail-boat  on  her  green  pad  as  Mrs. 
Erickson  plied  her  with  questions.  From 
time  to  time  she  would  balance  a  bird  peri- 
lously near  the  water's  edge  and  leave  him 
there  as  she  sweetly  simpered  through  the 
phone  to  the  society  upstarts. 

"The  mistresses  of  these  dogs,  we  are 
asking  to  ride,  too,"  charmed  the  modern 
Circe,  "And  we  want  you  and  your  Queenie 
— Maud  Isabel  II,  isn't  it,  to  occupy  one  of 
our  cars." 

"Wear?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  think  that  wine-colored 
panne  velvet  would  be  adorable,"  Peg  crin- 
kled her  nose  painfully.  "Shades  of  Ma- 
dame Erickson  in  red,"  she  groaned 

"Mrs.  Sumner  Sucker?" 

"Black  crepe  de  chine,  I  believe." 

"Yes,  do  get  her  a  new  blanket.  The  day 
might  be  inclement."  Peg  hung  up  the  re- 
ceiver. "No,  .Jack,  I  haven't  imported  any 
Indians  for  the  occasion,"  laughed  the  girl 
to  Jack.  "Just  concentrate  on  dogs  for  a 
week  and  blankets  wnll  cease  to  suggest 
Wild  West  Shows  or  upper  10  in  a  through 
express." 

That  Mrs.  Erickson  and  Mrs.  Sucker 
were  going  was  sufficient  for  Toboygan's 
'four  hundred',  with  their  social  appen- 
dages, to  take  an  active  part  in  Toboygan's 
fats  dogs,  whiskered  dogs  and  shaven  dogs 
ed  and  Fostered  by  the  Toboygan  Evening 
Free  Press." 

Innocent  terriers  and  spaniels  blew^  bub- 
bles in  the  garden-hose  shower  bath  as 
their  mistresses  removed  alley  grime  and 
substituted  manicures.  Brindle  and  Bull 
pups  wallowed   in   soap-suds   preparatory 


to  liieir  ilebut  into  Toboygan's  social  set. 
Spots  and  Sheps,  Tigers  and  Tow.sers  were 
fantastically  combed  and  clipped  for  the 
Debutante  Doggerel  Tea.  All  were  har- 
nessed into  intricate  straps  and  blankets 
and  wheeled  about  in  second  ward  homes 
in  dress  rehearsal  for  the  display. 

Meanwhile,  Peg  busied  herself  at  the 
business  houses  of  dog-fanciers,  veterin- 
aries  and  apothecaries.  The  night  before 
the  parade,  Peg  and  Jack  surveyed  a  lay- 
out of  paid  advertising.  Two  pages  were 
filled  with  automobiles,  dogs,  drivers,  and 
narrative  concerning  all.  Jack  clutched  a 
drawing  pencil  and  laboriou.sly  visualized 
big  dogs,  little  dogs,  corpulent  dogs,  anti- 
fats  dogs,  whiskered  dogs  and  shaven  dogs 
until  his  entire  pad  fairly  bristled  with  the 
species  canis  domesticus. 

"Gee  whiz.  Peg,  if  it  takes  seven  lines  to 
make  a  sailboat,  how  many  does  it  take  to 
make  a  dachshund?  This  specimen  cer- 
tainly isn't  a  speaking  image  of  any  dog  I 
ever  saw,  but  then,  we'll  call  it  a  new- 
variety." 

Jack  watched  Peg  rush  off  to  the  job- 
printers  with  signs  to  be  printed  for  the 
morrow's  celebration  and  impatiently 
awaited  her  return. 

"I'll  be  doggoned  if  I  ever  draw  another 
dog,"  he  greeted  Peg  as  she  entered  the 
room.  "I've  ti'aced  whole  pounds  of  them 
and  I'm  through." 

"That  screw-tailed  bull-pup  certainly  is 
the  last  word  in  dogs,"  surveyed  Peg  cri- 
tically. "His  tail  is  marcelled  in  the  wrong 
direction,  but — he  satisfies  this  dog-catch- 
er," and  she  hurried  the  pictures  off  to  the 
electro-typers. 

It  was  "half  after  two",  according  to  the 
society  editor,  when  Toboygan's  "best"  be- 
gan its  dog-trot  through  the  city  thoro- 
fare.  Forming  in  front  of  the  Free  Press 
and  led  by  the  purring,  barking  Stut.son, 
carrying  Milday  Queen  Maud  Isabel  II  and 
her  maroon  swathed  mistress,  the  serpen- 


25U 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


tine  formation  moved  among  the  crowds 
of  pedestrians. 

Placards,  "Be  a  Booster  for  Bigger,  Bet- 
ter Poodles,"  "Bunyan's  Biscuit  for  that 
Canine  Indigestion",  "Sample  Havemore's 
Hair  Tonic",  "Swat  the  Flea",  "Push  for 
Perfect  Poodles",  and  "Getsem's  Electric 
Dog  Massage"  prepared  the  spectators  for 
the  dog  campaign  following. 

Peg  and  Jack  dutifully  scratched  poo- 
dles' backs  and  rubbed  their  ears  (the 
poodles')  as  they  boosted  dogs  into  wait- 
ing cars.  Jack  even  circulated  muzzles  for 
some  of  the  seemingly  carnivorous  entries 
and  suggested  from  time  to  time  that  muff- 
lers on  the  cargoes  as  well  as  on  the  cars 
would  be  acceptable. 

Banners  pasted  to  the  motors,  "We've 
Never  Tasted  Meat,"  "I'm  a  Model  Dog", 
"Haven't  Scratched  Yet",  "Yours  For  Pup 
Perfection",  "We've  Never  Had  Adenoids" 
and  "On  With  the  Pellins  Food  Puppies", 
were  reminders  of  the  purpose  of  the  dis- 
play. 

Suddenly,  among  the  crowd.  Peg  detest- 
ed a  familiar  green  cap  beneath  which 
twinkled  a  pair  of  Irish  eyes. 

"It's  Jimmie,"  she  decided  and  com- 
manded the  parade  to  wait.  She  stopped 
only  a  moment  in  conversation  with  the 
lad  and  then  skipped  into  the  office.  In  a 
minute  she  returned  and  pasted  to  the  last 
car,  "Stickham's  Paste  Stuck  All  These 
Signs." 

The  mechanical  serpent  wound  through 
the  loop  and  stopped  in  circular  formation 
in  the  public  square.  Maud  Isabel,  in  all 
her  queenly  Airedale  majesty,  sat  in  her 
royal  robes  of  purple  blankets  surmounted 
by  a  brass  collar,  and  with  perfect  poodle 
poise  passed  judgment  upon  her  common 
neighbors.  Her  nose  high  in  the  air,  and  a 
sniff  of  absolute  scorn  upon  her  face,  she 
deigned  not  to  see  the  mongrel  members  of 
the  merry-go-around.  Certain  Prince 
Togos  daintily  licked  their  chops  from  time 
to   time   and   looked   askance   at   kindred 


members  of  the  royal  family.  In  the  back- 
ground, Tiges  yelled  and  Rovers  roared, 
bull-dogs  growled  and  terriers  snapped. 
Mingled  with  all,  were  the  shrill  klaxons 
of  the  cars.  The  citizens  .surged  in  and 
around  the  machines.  Toboygan's  society 
was  being  reviewed. 

Suddenly,  Snips,  the  unpedigreed  half- 
breed  Scotch  terrier  of  Mrs.  John  Sneezle, 
second  ward,  took  exception  to  Maud  Isa- 
bel's shining  brass  collar  and  tip  tilted 
nose. 

"Gr-r-r-r-.   You're  a  cat,"  began  Snips. 

"Br-r-r-r-.  You're  a  cur,"  responded 
Maud  and  the  fight  was  on. 

Over  the  side  of  the  Cann  roadster  bolt- 
ed Snips,  straight  for  the  Stutson  limou- 
sine. Burdened  with  her  canine  suit  of 
mail.  Lady  Maud  Isabel  slid  from  her  front 
upholstered  seat  to  the  arena  formed  by 
the  cars.  Viscount  Sapizney  III,  Lord 
Francis,  Duke  of  Albemarle,  Tricks,  Spot, 
and  Jip  reinforced  by  a  whole  regiment  of 
canine  street  products  jumped  from  car  to 
car  in  a  dizzy,  seasick  motion,  uttering  last 
struggle  yelps  with  every  jump. 

Trailing  maroon  velvet  and  black  crepe 
in  the  mire,  Mrs.  Erickson  followed  by 
Mrs.  Sumner-Sucker  loped  from  tonneau 
to  tonneau,  just  catching,  successively,  the 
tail  of  the  last  dog  in  the  race. 

Out  from  under  the  cars,  scurried  mi- 
lady, egged  on  by  ever  increasing  poodle 
independents,  until  she  gained  the  street. 
Past  shop  windows,  each  bearing  a  ban- 
ner, "Push  For  Better  Poodles",  down  side- 
alleys  and  finally  into  a  blind  court,  rushed 
Queenie  Maud. 

Lungeing  after  her,  veils  and  furs  flying, 
was  Toboygan's  society  and  near  society. 
Whizzing  past,  "Caldwell's  Soothing  Syrup 
for  that  Dog  Distemper,"  signs,  the  women 
tracked  their  pets  into  the  court  where  the 
plaid  and  the  fur  were  hopelessly  mixed  in 
a  renewal  of  Bannockburn. 

First  emerging  from  the  bottom  of  the 
pile  came  Snips,  proudly  carrying  in  his 


260 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


mouth  the  oli'ensive  colhir  ami  such  parts 
of  Maud  as  adhered.  Pouncinjr  upon  her 
darling,  Mrs.  Sneezle  cuddled  him  to  her 
bosom.  Mrs.  Erickson  swooned,  revived, 
and  dragged  St.  Bernards  and  Dachshunds 
off  Lady  Maud.  One  by  one,  owners 
claimed  the  remnants  of  their  exhibitions 
and  chattered  back  to  the  square.  Little 
knots  of  women  stepped  into  every  door- 
way to  buy  lotion,  canine  cold  cream, 
poodle-pacifiers  and  condensed  milk  for 
the  strained  nerves  of  the  pedigreed  prizes. 

The  Sunday  Morning  Free  Press  con- 
tained a  full-page  illustration  of  the  prize 
winners,  among  whom  were  Lady  Maud 
Isabel  and  Snips,  who  claimed  the  distinc- 
tive title  of  "leader  of  dogs'. 

"We've  got  them  all  in.  Jack,  ma.s(iuer- 
ading  as  bellefists  or  pacifists,  and  now 
everyone's  happy,"  announced  Peg. 

Sunday  afternoon  found  Peg  and  Jack 
alone  in  the  office. 

"I  know  we're  queering  the  third  com- 
mandment, Peg,  but  good  lord,  aren't  we 
pulling  our  ox  out  of  the  pit?" 

"There,  that's  the  last,"  said  Peg,  whose 
pretty  face  was  flushed  from  sorting  bills 
and  checks,  the  fruits  of  her  canvass. 

"Heavens,  Peg,  you  count  'em.  Do  you 
get  $3,895  ?  Gosh,  do  you  mean  I  have  that 
in  cold  cash?" 

Peg's  dimples  deepened.  She  intently 
contemplated  the  china  pickle.  Jack  spun 
his  derby  in  the  air  and  never  noticed  that 
it  settled  in  the  waist-basket. 

Peg  and  Jack  both  jumped  to  their  feet, 
confusedly,  a  few  moments  later  when  a 


squeaky  male  soprano  announced  thai  Hill 
Timble  was  with  them. 

"Well,  Miss  Peggoty,  just  thought  I  v! 
drop  roun'  to  tell  you  me  and  the  old  boys 
roun'  town  town  sure  are  pushin'  any  more 
o'  them  dog-festivals  ydu're  givin'.  Fred 
Smith's  tellin'  me  he  can't  make  brass  col- 
lars fast  enough  and  my  business  is  perkin' 
up  remarkable.  I'd  like  to  run  a  little  per- 
manent ad  about  my  veterinary  services, 
too. 

"What  say?  Better  drop  in  tomorrow? 
I  see  you  are bu.sy." 

A  half  hour  later  another  ligure  entered 
the  room  in  time  to  see  Peg's  deep  blush, 
a  surreptitious  parting  of  hands  imd  of 
lips  and  an  embarassed  Jack  Gridley. 

"Well,  if  it  isn't  Jimmie,"  greeted  Jack 
almost  cordially.  A  blush  stole  up  to  Jim- 
mie's  ears  when  he  looked  at  Peg  and  then 
back  at  Jack. 

"Came  to  pay  the  three  dollars  we  owe 
you  for  our  paste  ad  in  yesterday's  snake 
dance,"  blurted  out  the  boy.  "The  boss  is 
just  handin'  it  to  Miss  Peele  for  wakin'  up 
the  town." 

Jack  picked  a  fifty  cent  piece  out  of  the 
money  the  boy  pushed  toward  him. 

"Now,  we're  square,  Murphy.  Your 
paste  sure  sticks — permanent." 

Jimmie  picked  up  his  hat  preparatory  to 
leaving,  but  in  passing  leaned  over  to 
Jack's  ear: 

"Guess  you  won't  need  any  more  paste. 
Looks  to  me  like  you  and  her  might  be 
.stuck  on  each  other." 


261 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


THE  LATEST  VOLUNTEERS  IN 

[What  the  Four  Hundred  is  doing  to 


The  Van  Allington  boys,  sons  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Van  A.  of  Westchester  County,  New 
York,  have  courageously  consented  to  at- 
tend college  this  year  in  order  to  study  the 
economic  problems  for  reconstruction  af- 
ter the  war.  Throughout  the  long  days, 
they  remain  in  steadfast  concentration  be- 
fore the  old  frat  fireplace. 


Mrs.  Stuyvesant  Pike's  latest  photograph  (which  the 
government  is  thinking  of  engraving  on  the  Fourth  series 
of  Liberty  Bonds) ,  is  distinguished  by  its  spirituelle  expres- 
sion— due  to  her  recent  brave  sacrifice.  "I  prefer,"  she  says, 
"not  to  let  my  right  shoulder  know  what  my  left  is  doing — 
but  sh-h !  For  the  good  of  the  Cause,  I'll  whisper:  /  have  re- 
duced the  size  of  mjj  beaut])  patches  one-half!" 


The  smartest  couple  in  Washington  (names  cen- 
sored by  the  lUini  Board  of  Publishers)  was  seen  by 
our  press  correspondent  in  that  city  demonstrating 
conservation  of  clothing.  The  gentleman  has  adopted 
Washington's  famous  device  for  saving  cloth  by 
wearing  knee-breeches,  and  the  lady — (censored 
again  !   Hang  it  all !) 


262 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


THE  CONSERVATION  CORPS 

make  the  world  safe — and  all  that] 


"Down  with  the  marcelle"  is  printed  in  a  delicate 
mauve  upon  the  calling  cards  of  Carol  Quelquechose. 
She  has  a  neat  plan  for  adorning  evening  wraps.  The 
Great  War  has  put  maps  off  the  map  so  to  speak,  there- 
fore Carol  utilizes  the  gayly  colored  pictures  of  con- 
tinents and  pastes  them  on  her  theatre  cloak.  Pretty 
chic,  eh? 


You  didn't  expect  to  .see  Harold  Broki-Tagain,  the  fam- 
ous pol6  champion,  in  these  pages,  did.ja  now?  Strange  as 
it  may  seem,  Harold  knows  there  is  a  war.  And  Harold  is 
conserving.  With  magnificent  determination  he  keeps  rig- 
orously within  the  allowance  of  four  packages  of  violet 
Smilos  a  day.  "It  can  be  done,"  he  observed  laconically,  "if 
a  fellow  has  any  will-power  at  all."  Apropos,  he  has  named 
his  $2,000,000  pony.  Will.  He  is  also  laboring  to  revive  the 
old  styles  in  .soup  and  fish.  "So  easy  to  put  on,"  he  told  us, 
"so  sanitary !   So  cool !" 


When  the  harsh  newspapers  began  to 
grumble  about  the  practice  of  keeping  expen- 
sive pets,  little  Buttercup,  a  South  Orange 
debutante  had  an  Idea!  Why  not  preserve- 
dogs  until  after  the  irar?  She  is  seen  here 
canning  her  imported  Pomeranian  which  re- 
cently took  the  red  ribbon  at  the  Mu.scatine 
dog  show.  We  have  been  fortunate  to  secure 
the  recipe,  but  write  quickly  for  only  a  lim- 
ited number  are  on  hand.  Address  "Dog 
Canning  Department,  Illinois  Magazine". 

263 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


A  PARADOX 


N  the  mellow  glow  of  the  fire 
ccnild  be  seen  some  twenty  men 
seated  on  benches  and  chairs 
flanking  the  square  room.  At 
the  end  opposite  the  fireplace,  sat  the  min- 
ister who  was  to  lead  our  discussion  group. 
He  had  been  talking,  introducing  himself, 
outlining  the  purpose  of  the  informal  gath- 
ering. Now  he  paused  before  plunging  in- 
to the  task  of  leading  these  men  to  think- 
ing. They  were  the  usual  types  of  students 
to  be  found  in  an  organization.  Over  there 
were  two  men  whose  names  had  often  been 
heard  echoing  over  the  Illinois  field  as  a 
run  was  scored  or  a  touchdown  made. 
Nearby  was  one  whose  name  more  often 
echoes  within  the  walls  of  womens'  frater- 
nity houses.  Campus  politicians,  engineer- 
ing students,  unmistakable  as  though  a 
slide  rule  protruded  from  an  outside  poc- 
ket, leading  men,  uniforms — all  were 
there. 

Already  two  or  three  were  nodding. 
Blank  looks  predominated.  It  was  not  an 
encouraging  prospect.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Black 
was  silent  a  moment  or  two. 

"Hopeless,"  he  mused,  sighing  at  the 
thought  of  the  gruelling  hour  before  him, 
"absolutely  hopeless!  Those  who  hatched 
this  scheme — did  they  ever  see  these  men? 
I'd  better  talk  about  smoking  cigarettes. 
It  is  certainly  fortunate  that  I  prepared 
an  outline.   I  shall  lecture." 

The  minister  began  aloud. 

"Now,  young  gentlemen,  I  expect  to  do 
none  of  the  talking.  This  is  your  affair. 
We  will  discuss  whatever  you  bring  up. 
What  problems  do  you  suggest  as  the  out- 
come of  this  war?  What  hope  do  you  have 
for  good  results?" 

There  was  silence  as  he  looked  about  the 
room.    Those  two  or  three  were  nodding 


very  noticeably  now.  The  enthusiasm  in 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Black  silently  stole  away.  It 
must  be  a  lecture  all  right.  Then  there  was 
an  interruption.  It  came  from  a  corner  of 
the  room  in  which  shadows  sheltered  some 
supposed  slumberer. 

"I  think  we  can  look  for  a  broader  De- 
m.ocracy  after  this  war — a  Democracy  of 
which  we  can  be  truly  proud,  and  which 
we  can  conscientiously  recommend  for 
world  consumption." 

These  were  the  exact  words.  The  Rev. 
Mr.  Black  was  never  more  startled.  Had 
some  professor  got  in  with  the  boys  ?  An- 
other was  speaking. 

"We'll  have  to  do  more  than  look  if  we 
want  to  get  that  kind  of  a  Democracy.  My 
idea  is  that  our  wartime  tendency  towards 
centralized  government  will  have  to  be 
met,  it's  eff"iciency  recognized  and  main- 
tained, its  autocratic  forces  matched  by 
Democratic  checks.  That's  what  we've  got 
to  do." 

"The  background  of  all  that,"  volun- 
teered a  third  with  gusto,  "is  the  economic 
and  social  status  of  the  country.  There,  at 
the  foundation,  all  this  change  must  come." 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Black  was  astounded.  His 
outline  would  never  be  needed  about  this 
fireplace.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  looked 
doubtful  as  to  whether  he  would  have  much 
to  say.  It  would  be  a  considerable  task  to 
even  guide  this  discussion.  Why,  what  did 
it  mean?  These  men — familiar  with  such 
questions — ready  to  express  themselves — 
advancing  arguments.  An  explanation  for 
it?  The  minister  started  at  the  wild  sug- 
gestion which  came  to  him.  No,  THAT 
could  not  be  true.  Never!  And  yet,  was 
it  possible — is  there  a  chance — The  Rev. 
Mr.  Black  took  a  deep  breath — do  you  sup- 
pose that  these  men  really  think? 


264 


FROM  THE  POETRY  SOCIETY 


SPRING  NIGHT 


Now  with  sad  rain  about  the  nearest  eaves 
This  night  seems  left  alone  with  all  the  years, 
And  life  is  but  the  ashes  of  old  fears 
Burnt  out,  which  the  night's  sullen  urn  receives. 
For  something  never  known  the  faint  soul  grieves 
For  love  that  never  lived  the  heart  repines 
As  years  run  backward  into  spectral  lines 
And  seasons  run  from  green  to  fading  leaves. 
There  is  no  grief  like  joy  that  might  have  been. 
Dull  retrospects  of  days  are  no  delight 
Though  lawful  all  and  all  with  order  bright 
And  gone,  white-robed,  beyond  all  reach  of  sin. 
There  shall  be  sackcloth  nights  before  the  fire 
And  vigils  with  the  ghost  of  young  Desire. 


CLYDE    UVKON    BECK 


THE  MESSAGE 


Why  did  a  thrill  of  tender  sadness  shake  me 

And  bless  this  last  time  when  we  kissed  and  parted? 

Never  before  did  parting  kisses  make  me 
So  strangely,  throbbingly  grave-hearted. 

Was  it  perhaps  love's  subtle  premonition 

Of  things  to  come  unrealized  but  fated ; 
That  happy  plans  would  never  reach  fruition 

Though,  hoping  on,  our  love  so  long  had  waited? 

I  cannot,  will  not  read  a  hint  .so  tragic; 

Rather  this  message  in  the  painful  sweetness; 
Love's  divination,  through  its  pre.scient  magic. 

Our  dreams  will  -soon  find  substance  and  completeness. 

E.   SUTCLIKKE 


265 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


THE  TRICKSTER 


How  could  I  know  that  it  was  Love  ? 

He  never  came  before. 
He  came  in  the  night,  and  "Who  /«  there?" 

I  bantered  from  the  door. 
How  could  I  know  that  it  was  Love 

A-laughing  in  the  gloom? 
He  came  with  a  smile  and  never  a  care, 

And  I  bade  hiin  enter  the  room. 
And  how  the  fire-glow  lit  his  face, 

Though  I  thought  the  embers  slept, 
When  he  said,  "/  hare  yearned  to  find  this  place" — 

And  he  ceased  to  smile  and  wept! 
Then  did  I  know  that  it  was  Love, 

Yet  now  that  he  has  been. 
If  he  came  again  with  his  trickster  face. 
Knowing  his  tears  and  his  want  of  grace, 

I  should  bid  the  rogue,  "Come  in !" 


L.    F.    s. 


A  WAIL  IN  THE  NIGHT 


De  hoot-owl'  mo'nful  sighin' 

Fum  his  nes'  in  de  big  gum  tree 

Down  in  de  swamp  wha  de  night  mist's  flyin' 

Comes  er  driftin'  up  ter  me. 

De  'gater's  shiftin'  lodgin' 
Slippin'  in  de  bayou  with  er  splash ; 
Loup-garou  he  mak'  he  soft'-foot  dodgin', 
Swingin'  on  de  win's  whip-lash. 

Dead  souls  in  de  shadder, 
Hidin'  out  fum  de  full  moon  beam, 
Obi,  caint  yo'  tell  me  whuts  de  matter? 
Caint  Ah  lose  dis  awful  dream? 

Obi,  mak'  a  cha'mah, 

Dat'll  mak'  all  de  ghos'  be  still, 

Keep  me  away  fum  de  debbil's  ha-mah 

Twell  de  sunup  cleahs  de  hill. 

Massa  ob  de  Hoodoo 
Call  yo'  hants  to  come  out  ob  de  night. 
Mak'  me  er  spell  ob  de  bones  an'  Voodoo, 
Dat'll  save  me  twell  de  light. 

PAUL  COLEMAN   MOUSER 

266 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


A  SKETCH  FROM  MEMORY 


Local. 

The  side  entrance  of  a  saloon. 

Two  crazy  flights  of  foetid  darkness. 

A  lodge  room,  lit  by  a  flaring  gas  jet. 

The  stained  paper  shreds  from  the  wall. 

Portraits  of  Grand  Masters  of  Something 
in  frock  coats. 

Decrepit  chairs.    We  gather. 

Comrade  Chairman  fumbles  with  the 
printed  order  of  business. 

Committees  are  elected. 

So  many  committees,  and  nothing  ever 
done. 

I  watch  the  little  Cockney  comrade  beside 
me  smothering  his  cough,  devoutly 
attentive. 

A  few  months  at  most — but  even  if  he 
could  live  to  be  as  old  and  gray  and 
weary  as  his  own  London,  he  would 
see  nothing  done  by  all  those  commit- 
tees. 

Reports  of  committes. 

Reports — 

The  air  is  heavy  with  the  presence  of  the 
unwashed.  I  drowse,  until  a  row  be- 
gins. 

Comrade  Raskowitz,  Slavic  and  eloquent: 
'What  will  we  do  to  help  the  white 
goods  workers'  strike?' 


We  exhaust  the  Marxian  metaphysics  in 
a  dozen  dialects. 

I  count  the  spla.shes  of  tobacco  juice  on 
the  nearest  wall. 

The  Bourgeois. 

It  appears  their  women  are — 

The  speech  becomes  naively  ob.scene. 

Comrade  Chairman  raps  for  order. 

Celtic  lightnings. 

Not  Women — priests! 

He  curses  the  Church. 

He  curses  God  by  the  Holy  Name. 

Idly,  I  watch  Comrade  Bertoni.  Excom- 
communicated.    But  he  still  believes 

Heaven  or  the  Party?   He  chose. 

(But  could  even  Heaven  be  as  useless  as 
this?) 

Comrade  Olson's  heavy  Scandinavian  flst 
on  the  table! 

The  Platform! 

Oh,  yes !   We  mustn't  di.scu.ss  religion. 

It  isn't  worth  di.scussing,  anyway. 

What  shall  we  do  for  the  white  goods 
workers? 

We  vote  a  weekly  tax  on  everybody  who 
has  a  job. 

Chuckles.  If  our  bosses  knew  we  were 
here  tonight,  not  many  of  us  would 
have  jobs. 

Oh,  Comrades!    Comrades! 


267 


Throughout  Any  Discussion — 

Dry  theorems.  Angular  diagrams.  A  debris  of  wooden,  mathematical 
conclusions.  From  the  dull  page,  a  pair  of  terms  arose,  shook  themselves, 
addressed  each  other — the  Constant  and  the  Variable. 

"You  .see,"  said  the  latter,  "my  plan  is  this :  if  I  find  myself  in  an  equa- 
tion that  doesn't  square  up  with  the  answer  I  am  working  for  I  adopt  new 
values  so  that  everything  comes  out  all  night." 

"Shocking!"  said  Mr.  Constant.  "Answer  or  no  answer  I  never  de- 
viate from  my  old  definition.  'A  constant  remains  the  same  throughout  any 
discussion'." 

Who  has  not  personified  the  pair?  Who  has  not  wondered  which  would 
lend  him  a  fiver? 


Is  There  a  Dead-line? 


Most  of  us  have  been  taught,  "So  far  thou  shalt  think  and  no  farther." 
Behind  the  dead-line  lie  the  precepts  that  concern  our  living  to  the  greatest 
degree.  The  majority  of  men  and  women  believe  the  line  to  be  real  and 
sacred.   The  few  who  are  fortunate  awaken  some  day  to  hear  Galileo  cry, 

"Who  is  willing  to  set  limits  to  the  power  of  the  human  intellect?" 

Then  do  they  know  that  the  dead-line  is  imaginary,  after  all. 

Those  who  have  insisted  on  the  barrier  become  terrified  lest  their  wis- 
dom be  questioned. 

"We  have  lived  longer,"'  they  deprecate,  "And  our  judgment  is  based 
upon  race  experience.  We  say  there  should  be  limits  to  human  thought. 
You  dare  not  question  the  truth  of  the  ages." 

Again,  if  we  youth  are  brave,  we  reply,  "Simply  because  you  have  lived 
longer  your  opinions  are  not  new  enough  for  a  changing  world.   We  shall 


respect  them — but  we  must  subject  them  to  the  test  of  rational  thought  be- 
fore we  accept  them." 

Crossing  the  deadline  without  acknowledging  its  existence,  men  and 
women  who  think  on  all  subjects,  ask  ultimately,  "Is  there  a  truth  of  the 
ages?" 

The  Variable  says  no.   The  Constant  says  yes. 

Scientifically,  the  question  should  become  "Whose  opinion  is  the  more 
rational?"  Here,  however,  the  Constant  refuses  to  be  scientific,  denying 
that  conduct  should  be  thoroughly  rational.  He  would  trust  to  rules  of  life 
that  have  been  established  for  him  by  past  generations,  hoping  blindly  that 
the  virtue  of  obedience  will  guide  him  along  the  unblazed  trail  of  conduct. 
The  variable  knows  that  the  sage  who  called  obedience  to  rules  a  virtue 
was  he  who  formulated  the  rules.  The  pertinent  act  is  to  examine  the  falli- 
bility of  the  sage. 


The  inquisition  is  inevitable — 

Sages  have  acquired  a  non-logical  prestige  which  cau.ses  society  to 
waive  them  from  the  inquisitions  which  youth  seeks  to  conduct.  If  one  is 
nevertheless  cornered,  he  repeats  the  old  philosophy,  "It  is  right  to  remain 
constant  throughout  any  discussion."  By  this  he  means  that  men  and 
women  today  should  adopt  a  code  which  past  ages  found  good.  Why?  Be- 
cause the  code  is  Truth. 

Is  it  right?  Is  it  Truth?  If  we  are  intellectually  unafraid  we  dare  ask 
these  questions.  We  dare  be  rational.  We  dare  start  the  great  adventure  of 
life  unencumbered  by  useless  safeguards.  We  are  not  travelling  the  same 
road  the  sage  trod.  We  must  not  say,  "It  is  right  to  take  this  staff  because 
an  old  hermit  who  talked  with  a  man  who  travelled  a  road  very  similar  to 
this  one,  says  it  is  right."  We  have  only  to  go  on  our  way  freely,  joyously, 
until  the  road  itself  shows  that  a  certain  staff"  is  necessary  to  us  as  thinking 
journeymen.   Our  actions  should  be  relative  to  each  new  situation. 

And  to  the  Philistines, — 

If  we  meet  a  cumbered  individual,  well-satisfied  with  his  load  of  old 
values  becau.se  a  sage  believed  it  was  the  proper  load,  we,  like  the  Variable, 

will  say : 

"Our  plan  is  this :  finding  ourselves  in  a  situation  that  doe.sn't  square 
up  with  our  goal — happiness  for  the  greatest  number — we  adopt  new 
values,  thereby  achieving  the  goal." 

Assuredly  the  cumbered  individual  will  reply, 

"Happiness  or  no  happine.ss,  I  never  deviate  from  my  old  code,  "  'A 
constant  remains  the  same  throughout  any  discu.ssion'." 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


^ 

Between 
You  and  Me 

q 

Cleopatra  of  Egypt,  Illinois 


The  Other  Girl 

I  hate  her  snippy  way, 
That  woman  makes  me  sick! 
She  surely  is  a  stick. 
He  walked  with  her  to-day — 
I  hate  her  snippy  way ! 
Somehow,  her  clo'es  are  chick, 
Somehow,  her  laugh  gets  by; 
I  overheard  Him  say, 
"Your  laughter's  very  gay — 
It  clears  the  clouded  sky." 
Somehow,  her  laugh  gets  by. 
I  hate  her  snippy  way, 
I  hate  her  floosey  hat. 
I  held  my  head  up  high, 
But  still  I  heard  the  guy : 
He  never  told  me  that — 
I  hate  her  floosey  hat. 
How  does  that  girl  get  by? 


The  Other  Man 

I  guess  it  is  the  spring — 
The  woolly  skies  and  trees. 
The  sort  o'  slinky  breeze, 
The  way  the  robins  sing — 
I  guess  it  is  the  spring. 
It  starts  this  love-disease, 
It  makes  you  never  care 
About  a  single  thing 
The  Other  Man  can  bring 
Or  even  what  you  wear — 
It  makes  you  never  care. 
I  guess  it  is  the  spring. 
I  guess  when  all  is  said 
The  Other  Man  is — air; 
And  honest !   You  would  swear 
That  He  is  near  instead. 
I  wish  the  rest  were  dead, 
And  He  was  smiling  there.  .  . 


The  Logical  Solution 

"Thinking  makes  you  cold,"  you  said, 
"Come  along  and  sin  with  me; 

All  too  soon  our  love  is  dead, 

Think  no  more  of  piety." 
Yes,  your  logic's  worth  the  giving! 
I  can  understand  it  well — 
Loving  keeps  us  warm  while  living, 
Thinking  keeps  us  cool  in  hell. 


270 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


Sporific  Religion 

He  was  an  elder,  a  pillar  of  the  church. 
His  contribution  envelope  was  always 
heavy.  He  was  an  inscrutable  man,  for  the 
light  shining  upon  his  spectacles  concealed 
his  eyes  from  our  view.  This  impressive- 
ness,  however,  served  only  to  make  him 
look  more  pious  and  devout. 

When  he  sang 
or  read  the  psalter, 
his  voice  twanged 
louder  than  the 
preacher's ;  and  he 
never  quit  praying 
under  twenty  min- 
utes. And  when 
the  sermon  began, 
he  sat  down  with 
his  chin  on  his 
hand  and  looked  at 
the  preacher.  We 
could  not  see  his 
eyes,  but  we  kne\\' 
that  they  were 
shining  with  the 
holy  light  which 
comes  from  holy  thinking. 

But  one  day  this  worthy  man  began  to 
sing  while  the  preacher  was  in  the  midst 
of  a  terrible  dis.sertation  on  the  fires  of 
hell.  This  time  he  was  singing  not  only 
through  his  nose  but  with  it,  and  we  knew 
that  he  had  been  sleeping  in  his  padded 
pew  for  all  these  long  years. 


"Dad,  why  do  you  use  a  cigarette  holder?   It  looks 
so  effeminate!" 


Impression  in  a 
Railroad  Coach 

The  heat. 

The  overburdened  racks. 

The  coat  which  falls  from  the  rack  upon 

the 
Man  in  front  of  you. 
The  accompanying  giggle  of  the 

Girl  next  to  you. 
The    whirr   of   an 

electric  fan. 
The  man  who  sells 

salted  peanuts. 
The  small  children 

who  eat  them. 
The  conversational 
buzz. 
Magazines. 
The  glaring  lights. 
— "L  i  g  h  t  read- 
ing". 
The  three  large 
men    who   play 
cards. 

The  insistent  cigar 
smoker. 
The  .snoring  groan  of  the  train  wheels. 
The  groaning  snore  of  the  lady,  with  the 
five  boys,  from  Kalamazoo,  Michigan. 


Look  not  on  the  wine  when  it  is  red  lest 
thou  be  in  no  condition  to  look  upon  the 
book  when  it  is  blue. 


Progress 


A  hundred  years  ago  when  a  woman  was  thwarted  in  love  she  became 
a  nun.   A  man,  rejected,  entered  a  monastery. 

Fifty  years  ago,  the  woman  pined  away.   The  man  killed  himself. 

To-day,  a  woman  thwarted  in  love  knits  nine  pairs  of  socks  per  week, 
joins  the  association  for  the  Relief  of  Belgians,  sings  "Keep  the  Home- 
Fires  Burning"  at  the  bi-weekly  bazaar  of  the  Liberty  Loan  Encourage- 
ment Association.   A  man,  rejected,  answers  his  questionaire  honestly. 

271 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


Clock  and  Sun 

H.  J.  ORR 


ISTORIANS  of  the  future  will 
please  record  the  fact  that  we 
of  the  Twentieth  century  go  too 
fast  for  the  sun.  The  sun-dial 
is  but  an  ornament,  a  useless  memoir. 
Clocks  we  still  have,  regulated  by  Congress 
instead  of  Science,  and  electrically  oper- 
ated to  make  them  keep  our  pace.  Some 
such  passage  as  this  might  be  worked  out 
by  the  next  Macaulay. 

"During  the  first  score  of  years  in 
the  Twentieth  century  these  interest- 
ing peoples  have  attained  such  mo- 
mentum in  their  lilliputian  endeavors 
that  it  was  necessary  in  1918  to  move 
ahead  one  hour  every  clock  in  the  re- 
public. Various  explanations  are  oflf- 
ered  for  the  action.  Some  claimed  that 
the  capitalists  had  a  hand  in  the 
thing;  others  branded  it  merely  one 
of  those  outbursts  against  convention. 


so  common  at  the  time ;  but  a  major- 
ity opinion  seemed  to  be  that  thoughts 
and  actions  were  too  far  advanced  for 
the  clock." 

Barney  Oldfield,  Liberty  motors,  eigh- 
teen hour  trains,  concrete  ships,  Luther 
Burbank,  George  Bernard  Shaw,  Bertrand 
Russell,  and  Billy  Sunday  have  proved  too 
much  for  that  old-fashioned  firm.  Clock 
&  Son.  It  appears  that  these  ancient  coun- 
selors have  marked  time  too  long,  while 
we  have  been  pushing  ahead.  It  is  now 
Clock  &  Sun,  Limited. 

Of  course,  there  is  the  war.  We  blame 
everything  on  the  war.  We  walk  our  ladies 
to  the  theatre:  we  order  an  increased  al- 
lowance; we  never  study.  It's  the  war. 
But  the  present  must  suspect,  and  the  fut- 
ure will  know  that  President  Wilson's  com- 
mand to  move  all  clocks  ahead  an  hour  is 
the  result  of  our  mighty  progress. 


The  Master 


"Down  Fido !"  said  the  Soul  to  his  Body. 

"You  are  a  mangy  creature. 

And  you  distract  my  thoughts 

From  Heaven. 

How  can  I  think  of  new  harp-tunes 

With  you  pawing  at  me? 

All  day  long  you  tug  at  your  leash, 

Or  muddy  my  vestments 

With  your  great  feet." 

So  the  Master  la.shed  Fido. 

One  day  Fido,  weary  of  his  mistreat- 
ment 

Lay  down  and  died. 
Strange ! 
There  was  no  longer  any  Master — 


Fish  Philosophy 

This  gasping  fish  thinks  I  am  God. 
He  knows  of  no  time  when  life  was  not. 

He  feels  death  in  my  grasp  and  his 
fins  pray. 
See,  I  open  my  hand  and  give  life. 

I  am  God. 

But  who  caused  this  lake  to  be? 

I  am  a  Fish. 
Is  my  God  too  a  fish  to  some  higher  God? 

I  pray  with  my  fins. 
Who  opens  his  hand  and  gives  me  life? 

Am  I  a  fish? 


272 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


'I  exist — /)OT0  often?      oAs  often  as  I  think-"  — Descartes 

ACCORDING  TO— 


H.  F.  Hairiiujtoii — 

"There  is  nothing  like  publicity  for 
making  a  man  ashamed  of  himself." 

"A  man  advertises  tooth-paste  so  that 
his  name  may  be  in  everybody's 
mouth." 

Prof.  R.  C.  Tnlman— 

"To  e.xplain  a  failure : 
Cherchcz  la  femnie. 
To  e.xplain  a  success : 
Cherchez  les  femmes." 

Tecumseh — 

"If  all  the  girls  that  get  married  knew 
everything  about  their  fiances  there 
would  be  no  marriage." 

Dr.  Shepherd — 

"  'Sensible'  means — 'You  believe  as  I 
do'." 

Dr.  Ruchmich — 

"Bumps  are  found  in  many  skulls 
with  practically  nothing  under 
them." 


M.  J.  Curl— 

"A  college  .student  has  no  right  to 
be  stumped — ever!" 

Prof.  Sherman — 

"If  the  world  irritates  you,  go  to  bed." 

"If  you  set  up  no  inner  authority  in 
the  place  of  outer  authority  the  re- 
sult is  anarchy." 

"The  farther  behind  the  times  you  can 
get  the  better." 

Dr.  J.  G.  Stevens — 

"Believing  outworn  traditions  is  com- 
fortable but  it  gives  us  no  entrance 
into  the  kingdom  of  character  and 
intellect," 

"Theory  is  formulated  principle 
founded  upon  tried  practice;  if  it 
won't  work  it  isn't  theory." 

Prof.  Bode— 

"All  opinions  are  relative.  If  an  ant 
walks  upon  a  cake  of  butter  in  .lanu- 
ary,  he  cries,  'Come  on  fellows!  It's 
hard  as  rock' !" 


yf  |\    f 

^3/    'f 

^ 

if' 

=/ 

J^^ 

"Over  the  To) 

)!" 

THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


Art:J>o,U<^^ 


A  PLEA  FOR  MASS  ATHLETICS 

AT  ILLINOIS 

GLENN  W.  FREDE 


RITIGISM  of  our  present  sys- 
tem of  inter-collegiate  athletics 
Y  "^i<sp^  have  been  made  ever  since  the 
L'^^^'^^y  system  itself  has  been  in  vogue. 
Inter-collegiate  athletics  have  offered  cer- 
tain definite  advantages,  but  in  some  re- 
spects they  have  failed  to  provide  for  the 
bulk  of  the  students  who  are  unable  to 
make  the  varsity  teams.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  this  criticism  is  the  only  one  that  has 
survived,  and  we  must  admit  that  inter- 
collegiate athletics  have  grossly  failed  in 
this  respect. 

Coaches  Zuppke  and  Gill  have  recently 
submitted  a  plan  to  the  Big  Ten  coaches 
whereby  three  hundred  students  of  each 
school,  regardless  of  class  or  scholarship, 
will  compete  on  the  same  day  in  the  fol- 
lowing events :  bomb-throwing,  broad 
jump,  high  jump,  and  hundred  yard  dash. 
It  is  planned  to  hold  the  meet  on  the  sev- 
eral local  fields,  and  to  telegraph  results 
to  the  other  competing  schools  in  a  series 
of  six  telegrams. 

The  plan  is  the  most  democratic  ever 
proposed,  and  as  such  should  receive  the 
endorsement  and  co-operation  of  every 
student  at  Illinois.  It  will  greatly  increase 
the  number  of  students  engaged  in  ath- 


letics, and  at  the  same  time  the  number 
allowed  to  participate  is  not  so  large  that 
the  event  will  be  slow  and  tiresome  from 
the  spectator's  point  of  view. 

Physical  fitness  and  mental  fitness  are 
closely  related.  Compulsory  military  train- 
ing and  physical  training  courses  have 
done  a  great  deal  toward  keeping  the  stu- 
dents physically  fit,  but  neither  of  the.se 
reach  the  students  after  the  completion  of 
their  sophomore  years.  The  proposed  sys- 
tem of  mass  athletics  would  take  a  step 
in  advance.  It  would  be  open  to  students 
of  every  class  regardless  of  scholarship. 
A  substantial  betterment  of  the  physical 
condition  of  three  hundred  students  should 
result  in  better  work  in  the  classroom. 
Moreover,  the  participants  will  gain  a 
much  better  view  of  athletics  fi'om  the 
athlete's  point  of  view. 

Mass  athletics  would  have  a  decided  ad- 
vantage over  intramural  or  inter-class  ath- 
letics, because  the  question  of  school  spirit 
is  involved.  The  team  of  three  hundred 
would  represent  Illinois  as  truly  as  does 
our  football  team.  If  there  were  no  other 
reasons,  loyalty  to  the  alma  mater  should 
unite  the  students  of  Illinois  into  firm 
supporters  of  the  new  order  of  athletics. 


274 


BEHIND  THE  FOOTLIGHTS 


"Words  are  so  dam'  silly  7ohen  you're  try- 
171  cj  to  say  icliat  ynii  mcaii" — 

Seven  Chances. 

"I  must  have  a  wife,"  decided  Jimmy 
Shannon.  And  the  fight  was  on.  It  was 
waged  with  all  the  odds  against  Jimmy. 
Who  could  expect  to  win  when  he  is  fight- 
ing against  the  vagaries  of  seven  women? 
The  battle  was  worth  it — to  the  tune  of 
twelve  clanking  million.s — and  with  that 
gorgeous  end  in  view,  Jimmy  finally  won 
out,  only  to  find  that  true  love  had  been 
betting  on  him  all  the  time. 

Megreu,  of  course,  should  have  been  im- 
paled before  he  perpetrated  the  crime  of 
writing  another  of  those  grandfather-says- 
I  -  must  -  marry  -or-  I-cant  -  have-his-money 
plots.  Since  he  lived  to,  however,  Megreu 
seemed  to  have  felt  it  worth  while  to  sin 
well.  The  result,  "Seven  Chances",  is  fri- 
voling  its  way  through  the  world  with  un- 
deniable success.  Its  first  amateur  pro- 
duction was  given  in  the  Illinois  theatre 
May  22  and  23  by  Mask  and  Bauble  with 
no  little  professional  finesse. 

The  cast  was  what  is  known  as  "well 
balanced" — meaning,  to  be  sure,  that 
everybody  was  sane  and  in  his  or  her  right 
mind,  that  everybody  respected  everybody 
else's  lines  and  nobody  tried  to  filch  the 
honors  from  F.  W.  Meyers  (alias  Jimmy 
Shannon),  who  starred  without  rivalry 
from  the  other  glittering  constellations. 
Without  giving  Friend  Knappenberger 
food  for  his  department,  "Lives  of  Great 
Men",  it  is  safe  to  say  that  few  leading 


men  who  appear  in  the  Twin  City  theatres 

leave  as  favoral)le  an  impression  of  their 
personalities  as  did  Meyer.  But  I  should 
like  to  see  him  in  a  play  with  a  heavier 
theme — in  a  play  offering  ample  oppor- 
tunity for  character  portrayal.  He  was 
forced  by  his  lines  into  a  tire.some  repeti- 
tion of  mood  and  conversation.  Sercn 
Cluuiccs  gave  him  more  than  his  share, 
and  by  the  same  token,  the  audience  would 
have  applauded  the  omission  of  several  of 
tho.se  gambles.  The  sameness  of  the  scenes 
.stretched  my  credulity  to  the  snapping 
point.  I  was  sure  that  no  man  could  get 
himself  rejected  by  as  many  women  in 
real  life — seven  within  a  year  rather  than 
an  hour,  in  which  to  accomplish  it. 

"Good  leading  women  are  scarce  on 
Broadway,"  writes  Channing  Pollock  in  a 
recent  dramatic  criticism — and  for  Broad- 
way might  be  substituted  the  name  of  any 
college  community.  Especially  is  a  univer- 
sity community  inclined  to  levy  unreason- 
able demands  upon  its  leading  women.  It 
e.xpects  them  to  be  charming  in  all  re- 
spects, and  at  the  same  time  evince  some 
evidence  of  character;  to  be  interesting, 
yet  not  risque;  to  attain  professionalism 
without  originality.  I  wonder  if  some 
campus  actress  will  ever  electrify  some 
campus  audience  by  a  bang-up  perform- 
ance— unhampered  by  conventions,  unin- 
fluenced by  what  her  particular  public 
wants,  but  thoroughly  imbued  by  the  spirit 
of  arti.stry,  by  vivaciousne.ss  and  the  joy 
of  acting? 

It  would  be  exercising  more  unroason- 


275 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


able  a  demand  than  any  college  audience 
ever  entertained  to  insist  that  Miss  Hough 
should  have  attempted  a  real  character 
portrayal  in  Seven  Chances.  Megreu's 
play  would  not  have  permitted  it  for  a 
minute.  It  called  for  types  in  each  role 
and  Mask  and  Bauble  consistently  supplied 
types  and  types  alone. 

"Doc"  Morton  as  Jimmy's  friend,  and 
Mary  Caldwell  strayed  as  far  towards  the 
danger  line  of  personality  as  their  parts 
allowed,  and,  in  the  exuberant  phrasing  of 


the  Orpheum-goer,  "got  away  with  it". 
Harriett  McCormick  in  a  role  which,  in 
itself  approached  character  portrayal,  got 
away  with  it  but  carried  it  a  bit  too  far. 

Fortunately,  the  actresses  were  gowned 
becomingly,  the  scenes  were  enchanting, 
the  love-making  was  carried  on  with  an 
excellent  regard  for  technique.  And  those 
details  are,  after  all,  the  important  layers 
which  combine  to  make  up  the  iced-cake 
sort  of  comedy  that  the  audience  with  a 
sweet-tooth  demands. 


THOUGHTLESS  DRAMA 

MARCUS  SELDEN  GOLDMAN 


i|H  E  R  E  is  no  question  that  in 
drama  we  are  better  off  than 
we  used  to  be.  If  the  nineteenth 
century  was  blessed  with  a  gal- 
axy of  actors,  it  was  cursed  in  its  plays. 
We  still  talk  a  great  deal  about  Jefferson, 
Booth  and  Ada  Rehan  and  declare  that  no 
comedian  nowadays  is  so  droll  as  Sothern, 
nor  any  emotional  actress  so  effective  as 
Clara  Morris,  but  when  does  the  literary 
conversation  turn  upon  Rip  Va)i  Wi)ikle, 
or  The  Gilded  Age,  or  Alixe,  or  Article  47, 
unless  it  be  incidental  to  the  actors  whose 
fame  was  great  in  those  plays?  Against 
Bronson  Howard,  Steele  Mackaye,  Gillette, 
Heme,  and  Thomas  of  the  older  generation 
we  may  balance  Fitch,  Sheldon,  Moody, 
Percy  Mackaye,  Middleton,  and  Knob- 
lauch, and  feel  a  just  pride.  In  literary 
value  and  enduring  quality  our  plays  have 
prospered,  so  that  they  begin  to  fill  the 
shelves  of  our  libraries  and  pass  into  the 
hands  of  our  students. 

The  change  is  a  sign  of  good  cheer  to 
the  patriot  who  longs  in  his  heart  for  the 
day  when  America  shall  offer  to  the  world 
plays  which,  however  different  they  may 


be  in  their  elements  from  the  drama  of 
Europe,  may  in  their  way  reach  to  the 
heights  of  the  great  foreign  masterpieces. 
Yet  a  survey  of  this  year's  output  of  plays 
confirms  the  reasonable  fear  that  the  mil- 
lenium  is  still  far  oft".  It  surely  is  not  mo- 
rose carping  to  assert  that  out  of  all  the 
elements  which  go  to  the  making  of  the 
world's  great  plays  we  have  learned  well 
only  one — skill  in  story  telling.  If  that 
were  all  there  is  to  the  dramatic  art.  as 
some  critics  seem  disposed  to  believe.  I 
should  not  hesitate  to  say  that  we  have 
plays  as  good  as  the  best.  But  I  find  there 
are  deeper  qualities  necessary  to  greatness, 
such  as  thought,  insight,  and  enthusiasm, 
and  in  these  we  are  deficient.  Even  a  warm 
admirer  of  The  Great  Divide,  The  Nigger. 
and  The  T)-nth  may  safely  deny  that  these 
excellent  plays  have  the  degree  of  thought, 
insight,  or  enthusiasm  which  reaches 
greatness.  The  faults  of  our  drama  are 
many  and  diverse,  and  come  froiTi  many 
and    diverse    sources.     For   me   they    are 


EniTOR'.s    NoTR — Goldman,    who    is    now    in    France. 
Illinois  Maicazinc   Editor  in   '17. 


276 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


summed  up  in  the  one  ominous  fuel  that 
we  have  no  tragedy. 

The  apologists  for  American  drama  have 
been  active  enough.  One  group  maintains 
in  sum  that  what  we  have  is  good  as  its 
kind,  excellent  entertainment,  and  that  he 
who  yearns  for  more  is  hyper-esthetical. 
Another  group  is  fond  of  e.xclaiming:  "We 
are  a  young,  growing  country.  Do  not  ex- 
pect of  us  the  mature  culture  of  a  mature 
civilization.  Be  patient  and  thank  the  gods 
for  what  they  send  us."  Was  it  Shaw,  or 
Chesterton,  who  observed  that  America 
has  laid  claim  to  being  a  young  country  for 
three  hundred  years?  The  hint  that  we 
ought  to  be  growing  up  carries  force.  In 
drama,  especially,  we  are  far  from  neo- 
phytes. The  active  history  of  our  stage 
goes  back  a  hundred  years;  it  was  in  1850 
that  Mr.s.  Ritchie's  Fasliion  was  hailed  as 
the  dawn  of  a  strong  native  drama;  and 
we  have  lived  through  the  Ibsen  battle  and 
the  whole  modernist  movement.  No,  I  feel 
that  our  drama  is  like  the  young  hero  of 
The  Magistrate,  whose  mother  represented 
him  to  the  world  as  a  boy  of  fourteen  when 
he  was  in  reality  a  youth  on  the  edge  of 
manhood,  contemplating  marriage.  What- 
ever faults  may  e.xist  in  our  plays  are  more 
likely  to  be  the  settled  tendencies  of  ma- 
turity than  the  growing  pains  of  adoles- 
cence. Such  an  opinion  necessarily  com- 
plicates the  problem  very  considerably,  for 
it  means  that  our  avoidance  of  tragedy  is 
something  characteristic,  and  deep-seated. 
The  greater,  therefore  will  be  the  difficulty 
of  removing  it. 

One  searches  almost  in  vain  through  the 
annals  for  American  tragedies — not  closet 
drama  written  by  native  authors,  but  plays 
dealing  tragically  with  themes  belonging 
to  our  own  civilization.  One  recalls  .several 
plays,  like  The  Girl  with  the  Green  Ei/es 
and  Bought  and  Paid  For,  which  lean  de- 
ceivingly toward  tragedy ;  one  agrees  that 
The  Nigger  does  not  compromi.se  its  tragic 
theme  with  a  happy  ending;  one  admits  a 


few  bitter  epi.sodes  by  recent  young  writ- 
ers like  The  Clod  and  Trifles;  and  one 
comes  inevitably  back  to  one,  The  Easie.'it 
Wai/,  as  the  clo.sest  approach  to  a  really 
tragic  play  in  our  commercial  drama.  Hut 
with  the  utmost  stretching  the  list  remains 
a  scanty  one.  And  as  my  eye  runs  down 
the  theatrical  page  of  the  .V.  Y.  Times  I  .see 
Tnrn  to  the  Right  ,  Captain  Kidd  Jr.,  The 
Little  Ladii  in  Bine,  The  l.ith  Chair,  Old 
Ladij  31,  The  Harp  of  Life,  and  Nothing 
hut  the  Truth.  It  is  no  e.xaggeration  to  say 
that  our  dramatic  world  guides  its  orbit 
between  Peg  '0  Mij  Heart,  On  Trial,  and 
Fair  and  Warmer.  The  closest  we  dare 
venture  to  tragedy  is  in  the  melodrama  of 
Captain  Shoals,  and  Lilac  Time. 

For  my  part,  I  cannot  regard  that  civili- 
zation as  artistically  high  which  is  incap- 
able of  tragedy,  and  to  me  the  .shrinking 
from  tragedy  is  far  more  a  confession  of 
weakness  than  an  evidence  of  .strength.  It 
.neans  that  instead  of  facing  .squarely  the 
dark  riddles  of  life  and  declaring  bravely 
our  common  mortality,  we  are  comforting 
ourselves  with  a  perpetual  dream  of  things 
as  they  should  be.  Must  we  always  pre- 
tend that  there  is  no  failure,  no  crime,  no 
disea.se,  no  error  in  life?  Surely  we  have 
as  little  reason  as  any  nation  for  ignoring 
the  tragedy  which  threatens  us  from  every 
side.  I  speak  not  of  wai's  from  without, 
but  of  our  own  weakne.sses  and  sin.s.  A  de- 
votion to  comedy  might  be  pardonable  in  a 
nation  quiet,  secure,  prosperous,  happy 
and  I  might  add  virtuous;  but  in  view  of 
the  terrible  convulsions  of  labor  which 
shake  us  periodically,  in  view  of  the  cor- 
ruption which  one  can  .see  everywhere  in 
the  police  court,  the  business  office  and  the 
legislative  chambers,  in  view  of  the  slums 
of  our  cities  and  the  Spoon  Rivers  of  our 
country  it  is  a  serious  commentary  on  our 
drama  that  it  goes  on  lightly,  merrily,  suc- 
cessfully manufacturing  sweetmeats  for 
stomachs  that  need  a  do.se  of  bitters  far 
more.  It  argues  a  disconnection  between 


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our  plays  and  the  vital  problems  of  the 
country  that  frustrates  genius.  Our  drama 
is  popular  in  the  largest  sense ;  probably  a 
larger  percentage  of  our  people  visit  soine 
form  of  playhouse  than  any  other  people. 
Yet  our  drama  rarely  ventures  upon  any- 
thing resembling  a  criticism  of  life;  it  is  a 
dream  and  a  digression.  And  I  cannot  help 
feeling  that  its  faults  are  not  self-genera- 
tive, but  are  responsive  to  certain  traits  in 
the  national  characters  which  are  antipa- 
thetic to  any  kind  of  highly  serious  drama, 
of  which  tragedy  is  the  noblest  type.  The 
most  essential  of  these  traits  I  have  al- 
ready suggested ;  they  are  lack  of  insight, 
of  thought,  and  of  enthusiasm. 

In  regard  to  the  general  shallowness  of 
dramatic  characterization,  enough  is  said 
by  our  reviewers  to  make  an  extended  ar- 
gument necessary.  Mr.  Montrose  J.  Moses 
in  his  excellent  book  on  American  Drama- 
tists has  characterized  our  plays  as  jour- 
nalistic, and  thereby  suggests  a  profitable 
comparison.  There  is  a  parallel  between 
our  stage  and  the  columns  of  a  great  news- 
paper. No  doubt  the  reader  of  such  a  jour- 
nal is  presented  with  a  vivid  picture  of 
American  life  from  the  top  to  the  bottom, 
crammed  with  incident  of  every  kind.  It  is 
a  brilliant  summary,  unquestionably  true 
to  the  outer  appearance  of  life.  But  how 
rarely  one  finds  in  the  trained  reporter's 
write-up  of  a  trial,  a  runaway,  a  marriage, 
or  a  bank  failure  the  true  nature  of  the 
scene  or  the  people !  The  trained  eye  sees 
innumerable  effective  details,  which  the 
trained  mind  rejects  in  favor  of  those 
which  shall  administer  to  the  three  nation- 
al cravings,  for  melodrama,  for  farce  and 
for  sentiment.  So  in  our  plays.  From  jour- 
nalism our  writers  have  learned  the  art  of 
writing  headlines,  for  our  busy  and  care- 
less public  must  be  startled  into  attention. 
From  the  journalist  they  have  acquired  the 
eye  for  salient  incident  and  details,  with 
much  of  the  journalist's  indifference  to  the 
deep-lying  significance.    Our  drama   pre- 


sents to  us,  just  like  our  newspapers  a 
broad  and  remarkably  vivid  picture  of  the 
outside  of  American  life.  But  if  the  colors 
are  fresh,  they  are  crude,  and  they  reveal 
only  what  any  keen  eye  may  see  anywhere. 
The  work  is  showy,  hasty,  superficial  and 
temporary.  I  remember  seeing  a  few  years 
ago  a  very  entertaining  play  called  The 
Strange  Woman,  starring  Elsie  Ferguson. 
This  play  depicted  just  such  a  provincial 
community  as  attracts  the  satiric  pen  of 
Masters,  and  undertook  likewise  to  satii'- 
ize  the  narrowness,  curiosity,  jealousy, 
hidden  lust,  and  outward  godliness  which 
do  exist  in  God-forgotten  towns  of  the 
glorious  Republic.  To  a  certain  degree  the 
picturing  was  true,  as  it  was  beyond  ques- 
tion dramatically  vivid.  But  the  author 
fell  short  of  his  theme,  for  he  gave  us  not 
the  souls  of  men  and  women  but  their  out- 
ward appearances.  The  various  characters 
were  hardly  less  types  of  hypocrisies  than 
the  frankly  allegorical  personages  of  Ex- 
perience, only  they  had  a  deal  more  collo- 
quial coloring. 

Constitutionally,  it  seems,  our  drama 
does  not  think.  Review  our  theatrical  lit- 
erature from  A  to  Z  and  you  will  not  col- 
lect enough  original  ideas  to  equip  a  single 
play  by  Shaw.  We  cannot  pretend  that  our 
most  serious  plays  like  The  Great  Divide 
and  The  Easiest  Way  have  added  to  the 
thought  of  the  world.  One  may  reply,  of 
course,  that  original  thought  is  not  a  neces- 
sary component  in  tragedy,  which  is  true 
enough.  But  tragedy  is  inconceivable  with- 
out a  basis  of  long  and  earnest  thinking 
upon  the  deepest  riddles  of  human  destiny, 
and  such  a  basis  we  lack.  Whereas  Europe 
has  for  the  past  50  years  poured  out  her 
most  radical  thought  in  drama,  and  the 
names  of  Ibsen,  Strindberg,  Welekind, 
Brieux,  Shaw,  and  Barker,  to  go  no  far- 
ther, are  representative  of  deep  and  bold 
thinking,  our  drama  has  been  content  to 
paint  pictures  and  tell  stories.  It  is  not 
that  we  lack  subjects  for  thought  in  great 


278 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


plenty,  or  that  those  subjects  have  not  ap- 
peared again  and  again  upon  the  stage,  but 
to  take  a  single  case,  whereas  the  problem 
of  labor  and  capital  has  for  years  torn  our 
hearts  and  strained  our  laws  and  has  called 
forth  volumes  of  debate  and  serious  pon- 
dering, who  can  recall  a  single  play  of  the 
many  which  have  dealt  with  this  fruitful 
subject  which  has  struggled  with  the 
issues  any  more  successfully  than  it  has 
used  the  great  tragic  emotions  generated : 
— the  conflict? 

Our  unspeculative  drama  is  a  reflection 
of  our  unspeculative  life.  I  will  not  say 
that  we  cannot  think,  or  that  we  do  not 
think  when  we  are  obliged  to,  or  that  we 
have  not  produced  men  of  deep  thought, 
but  rather  I  mean  that  we  are  reluctant  to 
think,  especially  about  disagreeable  things, 
and  we  do  so  only  under  compulsion.  We 
are  so  used  to  the  modern  industrial  sys- 
tem of  a  division  of  labor  that  we  are 
tempted  into  relying  upon  our  ministers, 
our  professors,  our  judges,  and  our  legis- 
lators to  do  our  laborious  mental  tasks. 
Serious  enough  when  the  facts  are  forced 
on  us,  I  doubt  if  any  nation  is  so  easily  and 
serenely  oblivious  of  unpleasant  facts 
when  they  are  removed  from  our  direct 
line  of  vision.  What  dense  ignorance  the 
average  intelligent  American  youth  hugs 
to  his  heart  on  all  sorts  of  vital  matters  of 
race,  and  state,  and  religion  so  long  as  they 
do  not  actually  enter  into  the  routine  of  his 
life,  let  anyone  say  who  has  taught  a  year 
or  two  in  our  universities. 

The  results  of  our  habits  of  mental  lais- 
sez-faire upon  our  drama  is  that  the  aver- 
age audience,  unless  it  be  a  sophisticated 
metropolitan  one,  will  swallow  almost  any- 
thing which  is  presented  to  it  impressively 
enough.  It  will,  for  example,  swallow  any- 
thing which  goes  forth  in  the  name  of  re- 
ligion, for  it  is  in  the  character  of  our  un- 
speculative population  that  it  accepts  its 
religion  all  in  one  piece,  and  has  a  high  re- 
gard for  whatever  is  called  by  the  magic 


name  of  morality.  1  call  to  mind  two  no- 
table instances  in  the  past  year  of  the  pow- 
er of  the  .sermon  in  our  theatrical  life.  It 
seems  to  me  that  a  very  little  thinking 
would  show  an  intelligent  adult  that  Ihu 
moral  play  Experience,  is  a  very  cheap  col- 
lection of  pulpit  platitudes,  untrue  to  life 
and  actually  dubious  in  its  moral  implica- 
tions. Yet,  though  I  believe  that  it  has 
avoided  Broadway,  it  has  travelled  the 
great  mid-section  of  our  country  with  ap- 
plau.se  and  success.  The  other  instance  con- 
cerns the  film  play  Ciriliz(iti())i,  a  mon- 
strous tissue  of  gory  horrors  and  impu- 
dent thefts  from  the  Passion  of  Chri.st, 
weltering  in  .sentimentality.  Yet  this  play, 
while  it  is  pla.stering  our  walls  with  scenes 
of  battle,  has  successfully  po.sed  as  a  dra- 
matic sermon,  and  has  won  testimonials 
from  maj^ors  and  bishops. 

It  is  a  natural  result  of  our  carefree 
ways  that  we  are  a  nation  of  optimists. 
One  often  hears  the  fact  announced,  and 
always  with  pride,  as  though  to  be  an  oji- 
timist  is  to  have  engaged  a  seat  in  heaven. 
And  there  is  no  question,  I  suppo.se,  that 
it  is  better  for  us  to  be  a  nation  of  optim- 
ists than  a  nation  of  pessimists.  Yet  we 
had  better  pause  before  claiming  the  crown 
to  see  on  what  basis  our  claim  rests.  That 
man  who  upon  facing  the  worst  in  life 
maintains  yet  a  vigorous  confidence  in  the 
best  has  won  a  proud  victory.  But  I  sus- 
pect that  most  of  our  boasted  buoyancy  is 
only  a  part  of  our  national  sen.se  of  humor. 
We  think  well  of  life  because  we  are  con- 
tinually on  the  lookout  for  the  amusing  in 
life,  and  it  is  proverbial  that  one  finds 
what  he  is  in  search  of.  We  have  estab- 
lished a  reputation  as  a  nation  of  humor- 
ists, a  nation  that  loves  above  most  things 
in  this  vale  of  sorrow  a  good  joke.  And  we 
deserve  our  reputation,  Artemus  Ward. 
-Josh  Billings,  Mark  Twain,  and  George 
Fitch  voiced  common  hunger  of  the  nation. 
And  sometimes  I  feel  that  B.  L.  T.  in  the 
Chlcayo  Tribune,  .searching  the  life  of  the 


279 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


country  for  precious  grains  of  salt,  is  of 
all  our  institutions  closest  to  the  nation's 
heart. 

It  is  to  be  feared  that  we  must  yield 
penalties  for  our  humorists.  A  sense  of 
humor  is  not  always  a  blessing;  it  may 
sterilize  as  well  as  enrich.  That  conversa- 
tion flows  best  among  us  which  is  built  of 
humorous  reminiscences,  and  the  man  who 
can  tell  a  good  story  need  no  other  recom- 
mendation to  our  hearts.  And  to  return  to 
di'ama,  whatever  benefits  may  arise  from 
our  good  nature,  this  result  may  be  seen 
again  and  again,  that  if  our  supersensitive 
nerve  of  humor  is  touched  we  respond  in- 
stantly and  whole-heartedly  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  most  things  else.  It  is  no  difficult 
task  to  verify  the  frequency  with  which  a 
trivial  play  is  saved  to  a  long  career  by  the 
success  with  which  this  expedient  is  work- 
ed. We  do  not  swallow  nowadays  such 
tra.sli  as  The  Gilded  Age  or  Our  Avierican 
Covsln,  but  we  still  generously  pardon  lap- 
ses of  thought  and  insight  in  a  play  which 
shall  have  the  prime  virtue  of  amusing  us. 

Nor  is  it  of  comedy  or  farce  that  I  am 
speaking,  where  the  first  duty  is  certainly 
to  amuse,  but  of  a  number  of  serious  plays 
by  competent  dramatists  in  which  a  seri- 
ous, even  a  tragic  plot  is  distorted  by  cater- 
ing to  the  national  hunger  for  fun-plays, 
for  example  like  Bought  and  Paid  For. 
And  no  doubt  that  play  which  I  have  cited 
as  our  nearest  approach  to  tragedy.  The 
Easiest  Way  was  saved  to  a  long  life  on 
the  stage  by  the  needless  but  comic  char- 
acter of  the  circus  showman.  Whenever  I 
venture  into  a  vaudeville  theatre  I  am 
struck  with  the  immediacy  of  reaction  on 
the  part  of  the  audience.  When  the  act  is 
good,  the  audience  is  in  a  ecstacy  of  ex- 
pectation, its  thousand  mouths  relaxed  per- 
petually in  a  "wide  universal  grin" ;  hy- 
sterical chucklings  break  out,  before  the 
comedian  has  begun  his  quip,  as  though 
the  spectator  had  psychically  received  and 
appraised  it.   The  eflfect  on  actor  and  audi- 


ence is  enormously  exhilerating.  But  do 
we  not  push  our  taste  in  jokes  beyond  the 
limits  of  reason?  Certainly  it  seems,  to 
judge  by  our  journals  and  our  most  popu- 
lar comic  paper,  that  real  salt  and  origin- 
ality are  minor  constituents  in  a  popular 
jest.   A  joke  is  a  joke — God  bless  it! 

The  qualities  of  insight  and  wisdom  may 
do  much  for  a  literature,  but  I  doubt  if 
they  alone  can  produce  the  crown  of  liter- 
ature, tragedy.  To  them  must  be  added  the 
virtue  of  enthusiasm,  of  the  ardent  belief 
in  one's  wisdom  and  the  earnest  desire  for 
the  highest.  It  is  a  virtue  which  carries 
with  it  various  other  virtues,  of  which  the 
most  important  is  self-sacrifice.  The  Eng- 
lish critic  and  manager  J.  T.  Grim  tells  us 
that  for  producing  Ibsen's  Ghosts  before 
the  London  public  he  suffered  ten  years  of 
social  ostracism.  It  is  inspiring  to  know 
that  a  man  would  face  persecution  for  a 
play  which  he  believed  in.  It  is  a  species  of 
heroism  .sadly  absent  from  our  theatres. 
One  searches  the  records  of  Daly,  Belasco, 
and  Frohman  for  it  in  vain.  When,  indeed, 
one  may  ask,  has  an  American  manager 
dared  to  go  counter  to  the  public  voice,  or 
when  has  a  dramatist  raised  the  storm? 
One  recalls  that  The  Easiest  Way  brought 
a  ripple  of  clerical  protest,  and  there  were 
letters  to  the  Mayor,  but  the  general  pub- 
lic was  friendly.  It  is  sad  to  think  that  in 
our  theatre  we  have  fought  no  battles,  that 
we  have  taken  always  the  safe  road,  that 
there  have  been  no  adventurous  spirits 
chopping  at  the  props  of  our  smug  conven- 
tions. And  it  is  still  more  sad  to  think  that 
in  all  our  drama,  from  the  beginning  to  the 
present,  no  one  has  been  fired  with  holy 
zeal  for  any  cause,  so  that  his  sincerity  and 
enthusiasm  shook  the  heart.  I  have  all  the 
respect  for  the  earnestness  of  a  Moody  or 
a  Middleton,  that  burns  like  a  steady  flame 
of  a  lamp,  but  I  cannot  give  their  earnest- 
ness the  greater  name  of  enthusiasm.  Such 
enthusiasm  as  Ibsen  had  when  he  flung  The 
Enemij  of  the  People  in  the  face  of  the 


280 


THE  ILLINOIS  MACAZINE 


world  or  Brieux  had  in  writing  La  Robe 
Rouge,  or  Masefield  in  writing  The  Tray- 
edy  of  Nan — this  is  a  (luality  unknown  to 
us.  The  stranger  visiting  our  theatres 
would  conceive  an  opinion  that  we  are  a 
snug,  domestic,  joyous  people  unconcerned 
with  God  or  devil,  amusing  ourselves  with 
endless  telling  of  stories.  No  lambent 
flames  play  about  our  plays ;  they  ai'e  effi- 
ciently and  safely  lighted  by  electricity. 
Until  enthusiasm  seizes  upon  the  soul  of 
the  dramatist,  until  he  burns  to  tell  all  the 
world  of  his  discovery,  if  need  be  in  defi- 
ance of  all  precedent  and  morality,  until  he 
thinks  more  of  himself  and  his  prophetic 
calling  than  of  the  man  at  the  box  office 
window  we  cannot  expect  that  tragedy 
which  from  Aeschylus  to  Synge  has  puri- 
fied and  gladdened  the  spirits  of  men. 

The  Swedish  Strindberg  in  the  valuable 
preface  to  his  most  tragic  play  expresses 
a  philosophy  of  life  which  is  the  reverse  of 
our  own.  He  says:  "Everybody  is  clamor- 
ing arrogantly  for  'the  joy  of  life,'  and  all 
theatrical  managers  are  giving  orders  for 
farces,  as  if  the  joy  of  life  consi-sted  in 
being  silly  and  picturing  all  human  beings 
as  so  many  sufferers  from  St.  Vitus'  dance 
or  idiocy.  I  find  the  joy  of  life  in  its  violent 
and  cruel  struggles,  and  my  pleasure  lies 
in  knowing  something  and  learning  some- 
thing." And  the  same  thought  is  expressed 
with  more  poetic  enthusiasm  by  the  Eng- 
lish Masefield :  Tragedy  is  at  its  best  a  vi- 
sion of  the  heart  of  life.  The  heart  of  life 
can  only  be  laid  bare  in  the  agony  and  exul- 
tation of  dreadful  acts.  The  vision  of 
agony,  or  spiritual  contest,  pushed  beyond 
the  limits  of  the  dying  personality,  is  ex- 


alting and  cleansing.  It  is  only  by  such  vi- 
sions that  a  multitude  can  be  brought  to 

the  passionate  knowledge  of  things  exult- 
ing and  eternal.  There  is,  in  these  modern 
expressions  of  the  old  and  .sound  doctrine 
of  katharsis,  food  for  our  optimism  more 
stalwart  than  the  optimism  <jf  comedy  be- 
cause founded  on  emotions  and  experiences 
more  profound.  It  is  sorrow  which  fructi- 
fies the  seeds  of  wisdom  in  man  and  l)rings 
out  in  him  the  nobler  (lualities.  And  so  it 
is  with  the  literature  of  a  nation,  which 
mirrors  its  soul.  Until  it  has  faced  death 
and  sin  and  risen  above  them  it  is  a  dillet- 
tante,  a  clubman,  a  go.ssip  in  the  country 
store.  The  spectacle  of  a  mature  nation 
devoted  to  the  consumption  of  comedy  is 
disturbing,  like  the  .spectacle  of  a  grown 
man  devoted  to  the  romances  of  his  boy- 
hood. There  is  in  it  something  of  the  ab- 
normal and  the  unhealthy  something  not 
quite  manly. 

How  long  are  we  to  wait  for  our  g>-eat 
drama?  How  long  is  Moody  to  remain  our 
be.st  dramatist?  Having  progres.sed  to  the 
rank  of  Sheldon,  are  we  not  to  rise  above 
it?  Not,  it  seems  to  me,  until  we  begin  to 
put  into  our  drama  (lualities  which  are  now 
alien  to  it,  the  qualities  of  thought,  insight, 
and  enthusiasm.  Then  we  may  expect  the 
great  tragedies  which  are  throbl)ing  in  the 
nation  to  set  the  strings  of  our  drama 
aquiver.  Then  to  its  present  virtues  of 
spirit,  pathos,  and  racy  vigor,  our  drama 
.shall  add  dignity,  aspiration,  and  confi- 
dence in  sorrow.  Then  shall  we  begin  to  ac- 
quire "the  passionate  knowledge  of  things 
exulting  and  eternal".  Then  we  shall  have 
tragedy. 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


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How  about  your  baseball  outfit?     If  it  is  not  up  to 
standard,  you  can  make  it  so  at 

ILOYDES 


TWO    STORES. 


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Tell  the  .Advertiser  you  saie  his  Ad  in  The  Illinois  Magazine — He'll  apjirceiate  it 

282 


THE  ILLINOIS  MACxAZINE 


"Pour  le  philosophe  .  .  .  H  ne  dolt  pas  ij  avoir  dans  la  comluite  ini  siid 
element  dont  la  pensee  ne  cherche  a  se  rendre  conipte.  .  ." — Guyao. 

WHAT  DO  YOU  THINK? 


Editor  Illinois  Magazine: 

The  annual  inspection  of  the  military  estab- 
lishment at  the  University  of  Illinois  has  just 
been  made  by  Major  L.  R.  James  of  Fort  Leaven- 
worth. Just  what  he,  as  federal  inspecting  offi- 
cer, shall  see  fit  to  include  in  his  report  to  Wash- 
ington is  subject  for  conjecture,  but  there  can  be 
no  doubt  as  to  some  of  the  items  a  thoroughly 
honest  summary  of  the  situ- 
ation here  should  include. 
The  University  of  Illinois 
Cadet  Brigade  is  no  more 
worthy  of  the  designation 
as  a  military  organization 
than  the  Bolshevik  regime 
in  Russia  deserves  the  name 
of  government.  Just  what 
the  faults  are,  and  just 
where  the  blame  should  be 
laid  are  matters  of  essential 
import. 

But,  lest  any  ardent  mili- 
tarist on  the  campus  think 
this  article  hasty  or  ill-con- 
sidered, it  is  no  more  than 
just  to  say,  in  the  begin- 
ning, that  the  fault  does  not 
rest  with  Major  McCaskey, 

or  altogether  with  the  cadets  of  the  university. 
The  commandant  is  a  thorough  soldier,  efficient 
and  up-to-date  in  his  information  and  ideas.  The 
students,  officers  and  men,  are,  for  the  most  part, 
loyal  and  hard-working  in  spite  of  great  disad- 
vantages.   The  fundamental  fault  is  elsewhere. 

The  military  department  of  this  university  is 
a  monument  to  an  unkept  trust.  As  a  land  grant 
school,  the  university  receives  the  income  of  cer- 
tain parcels  of  land  in  return  for  instructing  its 
students  in  military  theory  and  practice.  The 
university  is  certainly  doing  no  more  than  to  ob- 
serve the  letter  of  the  agreement,  letting  the  spirit 
thereof  shift  for  itself.  Totally  inadequate  meas- 
ures have  been  taken  to  insure  a  thorough  ground- 
ing of  its  students  in  the  profession  of  arms.  The 
single  point  at  which  this  criticism  falls  down  is 
that  of  the  Armory.  A  splendid  new  armory  was 
erected  to  house  the  brigade,  but  other  measures 
long  in  force  guaranteed  that  the  brigade  should 


be  unworthy  of  such  an  expenditure.  The  Ar- 
mory situation  is  that  of  a  piece  of  beer  bottle 
in  a  Tiffany  setting. 

The  other  measures  referred  to  were  these. 
Military  was  established  as  a  department  of  the 
university  and  five  hours  weekly  of  all  under- 
classmen's time  were  given  over  to  it.  Truly  gen- 
erous! But  consider,  of  those  five  hours  weekly, 
four  are  designated  as  drill 
periods,  and  drilling  in  mili- 
tary formation  is,  as  anyone 
knows,  inerely  a  form  of 
physical  exercise  and  train- 
ing. It  is  fundamental  and 
necessary,  of  course,  but 
what  other  lab  course  in  the 
university  can  give  the  stu- 
dent a  full  comprehension 
of  its  subject  matter  in  so 
short  a  time?  One  hour 
weekly  is  left  for  theoretical 
training  in  the  classroom. 
There  are  advanced  classes 
of  one  hour  a  week  for  the 
student  officers.  The  mili- 
t  a  r  y  science,  embracing 
such  subjects  as  subsistence, 
paper  work,  military  law, 
field  service,  tactics  (major  and  minor),  and 
many  others,  is  thrown  the  mere  morsel  of  one 
hour  weekly!  The  wonder  is  that  the  cadets 
learn  anything  at  all.  In  point  of  fact,  it  is  very 
little  that  they  learn  any  way,  but  of  that,  more 
is  coming. 

In  addition  to  making  totally  inadequate  steps 
toward  insuring  anything  like  a  bona  fide  depart- 
ment in  the  university  of  military,  the  depart- 
ment has  been  hamstrung  by  making  its  actions 
subject  to  the  vise  of  the  civil  government  of  the 
university.  Presumably  a  commandant  is  a  com- 
mandant, holding  authority  from  his  orders  from 
proper  sources,  the  boss  in  his  own  field,  the  court 
of  last  appeal,  except,  through  proper  channels, 
when  the  matter  is  taken  over  his  head  to  his 
superior  officer.  Not  so  here,  however.  The  com- 
mandant is  a  figurehead  who  is  sent  here  by 
Washington  to  do  as  the  Council  of  Administra- 
tion tells  him  and  as  the  Dean  of  Men  will  let  him. 


The  opinions  expressed  by 
our  correspondents  are  not 
necessarily  our  opinions.  At 
times  we  may  disagree  vio- 
lently— and  we  may  say  so. 
Likewise,  if  you,  Mr.  Reader, 
disagree  violently,  it  is  your 
prerogative  to  say  so.  We  in- 
vite wholesome  discussion  of 
all  subjects, — not  excepting 
the  magazine  and  its  new  pol- 
icy "  A  student  magazine  for 
students  by  students". 


283 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


There  is  an  appreciable  lack  of  co-operation 
between  the  university  and  the  military  office.  It 
might  be  supposed  that  Major  McCaskey  could 
render  expert  opinions  on  matters  strictly  in  his 
own  field,  but  apparently  this  is  not  the  case,  for 
in  at  least  two  instances  the  major  has  been 
thwarted  in  the  execution  of  his  office  by  inter- 
ference from  the  powers  that  be  hereabouts.  And 
what  is  the  result  of  all  this? 

The  brigade  is  a  monument  of  gross  ineffi- 
ciency. Discipline,  without  which  no  organization, 
military  or  civil,  can  ever  hope  to  accomplish 
anything,  is  a  byword.  The  regulations  issued 
from  time  to  time  are  without  proper  sanction 
because  suitable  penalties  are  not  provided  for 
their  infringement.  In  the  military  establishment 
of  the  United  States  courts  martial  try  cases 
under  the  Articles  of  War  involving  such  offenses 
as  disobedience,  insubordination,  neglect  of  duty, 
absence  without  leave,  and  inflict  sentences  of 
fine  and  hard  labor,  or  both,  in  degree  with  the 
seriousness  of  the  crime.  Here,  however,  a  cadet 
may  tell  his  superior  to  go  to  hell  and  literally 
get  away  with  it.  The  cadet  may  do  almost  as 
he  sweetly  pleases.  He  favors  his  officers  with 
compliance, — some  times. 

Instruction  is  a  matter  of  student  teaching 
student.  Apart  from  the  educational  fallacy  in- 
volved, let  us  see  what  the  system  does.  The 
commissioned  officers  teach  the  non-coms  and 
privates  the  theoretical  part  of  the  work.  The 
percentage  of  competent  cadet  officers  is  so  low 
that  one  hesitates  to  estimate  it  even.  Imagine, 
if  you  will,  a  cadet  officer  instructing  his  class  of 
freshmen  that  contour  lines  on  the  map  mean  the 
depth  of  water  over  the  area.  This,  and  other  re- 
markable pieces  of  advice  are  typical  and  have 
been  actually  heard  in  the  tactics  classes  here. 

Instruction  here  is  fragmentary  and  superfi- 


cial. Military  science  does  not  consist  in  knowing- 
how  to  do  squads  right,  or  drilling  in  close  order 
with  skirmish  work  and  theoretical  patrolling 
thrown  in  for  relish. 

Insofar  as  investigation  has  been  made,  it 
shows  that  Major  McCaskey  has  been  the  first 
commandant  to  insist  in  teaching  pi-actical  work, 
such  as  street  and  riot  formations  at  drill,  and 
paper  work  in  class.  Yet  in  the  time  allotted  him 
he  can  no  more  enable  his  cadet  officers  to  dis- 
tinguish between  a  ration  return  and  a  muster 
roll  than  this  article  will  convince  certain  people 
that  it  is  dishonorable  to  take  money  unearned. 
Out  of  ten  cadets  asked  to  distinguish  between 
an  outpost  and  a  picket  line,  but  one  was  found 
who  had  the  haziest  of  ideas  what  a  picket  line 
might  be,  and  he  was  mostly  misinformed. 

The  present  system  is  self-perpetuating. 
Without  a  complete  new  start  on  some  other 
tack,  five  years  will  have  elapsed  before  the  bri- 
gade can  be  whipped  into  any  thing  like  combat 
shape  for  example,  and  then  the  work  will  be 
up-hill  because  of  the  absence  of  capable  student 
officers. 

Some  one  will  say:  We  do  not  want  militar- 
ism, here,  or  We  do  not  pretend  to  be  a  second 
West  Point,  or  No  students  would  come  here  if 
we  made  any  change  to  make  the  regime  more 
strict,  or  We  arc  ranked  as  oh  honor  school  by 
the  War  Department. 

All  of  this  is  beside  the  point.  We  are  what 
we  are.  We  do  what  we  do.  Tlie  complaint  is 
that  we  are  not  what  we  ought  to  and  might 
easily  be,  and  that  ive  do  not  do  a  lot  which  we 
ought  to  and  might  easily  do.  As  to  our  ranking 
as  an  honor  school,  one  might  ask:  What  is  an 
honor  school,  and  if  we  are  one,  is  not  the  term 
a  misnomer? 

von  Hindenburg,  '18. 


MONOTONE 

My  .ioys  like  common  sorrows. 
Harder  than  pain  to  bear, 
Turn  dead  sea-fruit  and  ashes 
Because  you  have  no  share. 


284 


MINUTES  OF  THE  A.  M.  C.  F. 


i"HE  forty-ninth  annual  conven- 
tion of  the  A.  M.  C.  F.  (Asso- 
ciation of  Modern  Characters 
of  Fiction)  met  in  the  Boston 
Public  Library  at  two  o'clock  a.  m. — that 
is,  two  astronomically,  three,  legally.  The 
roll  was  called  to  which  five  hundred  and 
thirty-six  men  and  women  responded  with 
a  quotation  from  the  story  which  bore 
them.  The  national  president  of  the  Asso- 
ciation, Mr.  Britling,  threw  the  meeting 
open  for  discussion  of  current  events. 

The  first  speaker  was  a  modern  young 
chap,  Noll  Winsor,  whom  few  of  the  older 
members  had  met,  but  whose  remarks  were 
received  with  approval. 

"I  tell  you,''  said  he,  "times  aren't  what 
they  used  to  be  for  fiction  characters. 
Authors  have  no  mercy  for  a  chap  these 
days.  Take  Rupert  Hughes : — flung  me 
into  a  perfect  hell  of  war  and  whatnot; 
running  all  around  Europe  takes  no  little 
time,  believe  me!  And  all  to  prove  the  un- 
pardonable sin  was  committed  by  a  bunch 
of  Germans.  I  have  a  perfectly  helpless 
girl  on  my  hands,  too;  he  should  have 
picked  somebody  older.  It's  a  deuce  of  a 
mess.  I  managed  to  get  over  here  merely 
between  installments.  I'm  off  again  after 
the  convention  to  pep  Dimny  up  again." 

The  Virginian  and  the  Gentleman  from 
Indiana  started  to  their  feet  at  the  same 
time,  but  the  gentleman  from  the  Hoosier 
state  deferred  to  the  gentleman  from  the 
West. 

"I  can  understand,  suh,"  said  the  Vir- 
ginian, "that  it's  a  mess.  A  dam'  mess,  if 
the  ladies  will  pardon  me.   Yuh  know  I'm 


too  old  to  be  drafted,  but  yuh  never  can 
tell  what  an  author  will  do.  He  may  lop  of! 
a  few  of  my  yeahs  or  make  me  volunteer 
in  the  radio  corps  or  anything  for  royal- 
ties. I  reckon  Molly  would  have  a  fit  if  I 
tuhned  fighter  again.  It's  so  long  since  I 
killed  Trampas  that  I  wouldn't  know  how 
to  handle  a  gun.  You  know  I  went  into  the 
lumber  business  and  left  ofl'  foolin"  around 
with  cows." 

"Talk  about  Molly  having  a  fit,"  said  the 
gentleman  from  Indiana,  "wouldn't  Shir- 
ley just !  By  jove,  I'm  too  old  to  be  drafted 
too,  but  Booth  keeps  toting  Willie  Baxter 
and  Penrod  right  along  and  first  thing  you 
know  they'll  be  in  the  war ;  as  you  say,  my 
friend,  authors  will  do  anything  for  royal- 
ties." 

"It  is  the  law  of  demand,"  interposed 
Mr.  Britling,  gently. 

"Demand!"  shouted  a  loud  voice.  "It's 
the  demand  of  the  man  higher  up  and 
that's  no  law.  I'll  send  money  when  I  can 
afford  it  to  help  the  Belgians,  though  my 
opinion  is  that  they're  getting  theirs  for 
what  they  did  out  in  the  Congo " 

"That  is  exactly  what  Mary  Robert.s 
Rinehart  made  you  say  in  the  Amazhiy 
Interhuh'.  Harvey,"  interrupted  Henry 
Calverly,  a  self-conscious  figure  in  his 
white  trousers  and  blue  coat;  he  toyed 
with  his  tiny  moustache  as  he  continued, 

"I  feel  that  it's  about  time  I  was  get- 
ting into  this  war  and  if  Sam  Merwin 
doesn't  give  me  a  chance  pretty  soon  I'm 
going  to  start  .something.   See  if  I  don't!" 

"Well,  times  are  rough  now,  I  can  .see 
that,"  said  Denry  the  Audacious.    "Good 


285 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


,{,, — 


— . +. 


Bell  Phone  6}8  ^p        AyT        R  A  (^OlSJ      f^     ^ONf  '^•"o  P'">"^  '3^1 

Corner  Walnut  and  Taylor  Stteets 


Quality 
IVall  Taper.  'Taints,  glass,  "Brushes 


1  'Just  as  you  will  do  on  the 
exams,  we'll  be  on  hands 
with  the  same  old  line  next 
semester,"  say  Mr.  &  Mrs. 
Jimmy. 

Good  luck  on  the  exams, 
— hit  'em  hard! 


Thornhill's  Confectionery 

Bradley  Arcade 


■+     ■i 


1 


Watch  for  the  Bigger,  Better 
Illinois  Magazine  Next  Year 


.}..- 


Tell  the  Advertiser  you  saiv  his  Ad  in  The  Illinois  Magazine — He'll  appreciate  it 

286 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


Lord,  when  I  was  a  young  cliap,  I  was  al- 
lowed to  dance  and  know  Duchesses  and 
buy  pleasure  boats  and  houses  and  a  thea- 
tre and  anything  I  chose;  now  you  have 
to  shoulder  a  gun  and  go  over  the  top  and 
maybe  even  get  killed  as  poor  old  Jules  did 
in  John  Taintor  Foote's  "Toiiii  Les  Ca pi- 
tains  So)it  La" — and  then  have  the  bally 
author  call  it  the  best  thing  he  ever  wrote ! 
It's  outrageous  and  I'd  like  some  definite 
movement  taken." 

"Is  there  some  sort  of  motion?"  inquired 
Britling  mildly. 


A  motion  was  made  and  carried  that 
Tarzan  of  the  Apes,  Robert  Chamber's 
characters,  all  the  tea-broken  men  from 
Harper's,  the  polo-players  from  Smart  Set, 
the  low-brows  from  La  Parisienne, 
Young's  Magazine,  the  Black  Cat,  and  any 
of  their  as.sociates  be  .sent  over  to  fight  the 
Kaiser,  thereby  protecting  superior  char- 
acters of  modern  fiction — at  least  those 
who  had  paid  their  dues  to  the  association. 

Mr.  Britling  read  an  e.xtract  from  the 
new  British  Labor  Platform  and  the  meet- 
ing was  adjourned. 

Secretary — Queed 


BUBBLES 

CATHARINE  NEEDHAM 


I  was  wandering  down  in  the  garden  one  day. 
When  whom  should  I  see,  a.s  I  paused  in  the  way, 
But  a  dear  little  girl,  blowing  bubbles  as  gay 
As  the  May. 

Now  each  bubble  that  mirrors  a  buttercup's  gold, 
A  warm-glowing  rose,  or  a  lily-bell  cold, — 
(For  thus  'tis  decreed  by  the  fairies  of  old. 
We  are  told)  — 

Can  keep  in  its  heart,  till  its  journey  be  done. 
As  it  floats  with  the  wind  and  melts  in  the  sun, 
Of  the  pictures  that  over  its  bright  surface  run, 
Only  one. 

When  your  bubbles  I  watched,  to  see  what  .should  endure 
Of  their  shimmering  hues,  the  same  image  demure 
Was  imprisoned  in  each :  'twas  your  miniature, 
I  am  sure. 


287 


THE  ILLINOIS  MAGAZINE 


i 
i 


Just  tlie  Drink 
After  Drill 

— or  any  other  stiff  bit  of  work. 

Keeps  army  and  navy  men  fit  and  ready — 
and  college  men,  too — breaks  the  routine  of 
training  without  breaking  the  rules. 
A  sparklinc,  healthful,  true  cereal  beverage 
prepared  from  choice  grains  and  imported 
Saazer  hops. 

Served  at  best  places  every-where,  in  the 
quaint  Bevo  bottle,  hermetically  patent- 
crowned  to  insure  original  purity.  Families 
supplied  by  grocer* 

Manufactured  and  bottled  exclusively  by 

Anheuser-Busch,  St.  Louis,  U.  S.  A. 

Should  be  ser\'ed  cold 

•'The  all-year-'round  soft  drink'* 


£a3gg.*'  -W'.^-ir^»s=:o^^»C:.tJJ^* 


288 


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