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<h1 class='c002'>Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang Vol 1 Issue 11</h1></div>
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<p class='c003'><span class='xlarge'><i>Announcement</i></span></p>
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<div><span class='large'><i>WHIZ BANG YEAR BOOK</i></span></div>
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<p class='c003'>With the October issue, Captain
Billy’s Whiz Bang will
start on its second year. In celebration
of the event, the editor
will dish out to the readers his
choicest morsels from the first
twelve issues. Since the inception
of this little journal of uplift,
the circulation has increased
so rapidly that it has been difficult
at times to keep up with
the procession. With a view to
giving the thousands of new
readers the best poems, jokes
and stories from the previous
12 issues, the first annual “<i>Whiz
Bang Year Book</i>” will make its
appearance in the form of the
October number. There will be
plenty of new material, also,
mixed in with the cream of the
first 12 copies.—<i>The Editor.</i></p>
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<div><i><span class='c005'>Captain Billy’s</span></i></div>
<div><i><span class='c006'><b>Whiz Bang</b></span></i></div>
</div></div>
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<div>OUR MOTTO:</div>
<div>“<span class='xlarge'><i>Make It Snappy</i></span>”</div>
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<td class='c009'>August, 1920</td>
<td class='c010'>Vol. 1. No. 11</td>
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<td class='c009'><span class='small'>Published</span></td>
<td class='c012'><span class='large'><b>W. H. Fawcett</b></span>,</td>
<td class='c013'><span class='small'>at Robbinsdale,</span></td>
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<td class='c009'><span class='small'>Monthly by</span></td>
<td class='c012'><span class='small'>Rural Route No. 2</span></td>
<td class='c013'><span class='small'>Minnesota</span></td>
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<td class='c009'><i>Price 25 cents</i></td>
<td class='c010'><i>$2.50 per year</i></td>
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<div>“<i>We have room for but one soul loyalty and that is</i></div>
<div><i>loyalty to the American People.</i>”—<i>Theodore Roosevelt.</i></div>
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<div>Copyright 1920</div>
<div>By W. H. Fawcett</div>
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<p class='c001'><i>Edited by a Spanish and World War Veteran and dedicated
to the fighting forces of the United States, past,
present and future.</i></p>
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<h2 class='c015'><span class='c005'><b><i>Hollywood Heart-Breakers</i></b></span></h2></div>
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<p class='c016'><i>The following article is the first of a series that
will depict the more intimate life of the movie actors
and actresses who make their headquarters in the
vicinity of Los Angeles. This series is in no sense
to be considered “press agent dope.”</i> <span class='sc'>The Whiz
Bang</span>, <i>in this series, proposes to tell its readers of
the little romances of their favorite screen star—of
lives strewn with mobilized immoderation, fickle faithlessness
and dark desolation. As an actress once told
me: “Our step is pep; our creed is speed.”</i>—<span class='sc'>The
Editor.</span></p>
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<div>BY MARION</div>
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<p class='drop-capa0_2_0_65 c017'>HOLLYWOOD, beautiful little suburb of Los Angeles
and famous as America’s leading movie
hot-house, is running pretty nowadays with its
many wondrous autos and, Oh! those numerous and
naughty little, palpitating bungalow intrigues.</p>
<p class='c018'>The Mary Pickford-Doug Fairbanks romance, is
almost old stuff with Mary and Doug on a bit of a
honeymoon in New York and London, while forty
eleven representatives of the daily papers accompanied
them as far as Arizona to watch the Moki Indians get
their first glimpse of the screen.</p>
<p class='c018'>One of the merriest rumors just now extant regards
another member of the Pickford family, to-wit,
Lottie. Lottie is a live wire in the parlance of the country
clubs and cafes. In southern California, until the
“prohis” bore down, the word “country club” meant
one of the nightly places of revelry, stretched all the
way from Vernon to the beach. These places are somewhat
on the blink now, but it has been known that a
stray “shot in the arm” has been seen to take effect.
In fact a wagon load recently was taken to the police
station from Vernon.</p>
<p class='c018'>But getting back to Lottie. For a considerable
number of moons the night black eyes of Mary’s sister
beamed favorably upon a certain handsome Apollo of
the screens. It wasn’t a case of, wherever Mary went
the boy was sure to go. It was a case of, wherever
Lottie went she took the boy along. At ball games,
country clubs, bungalow dances, midnight revelries,
Lottie and her lad were together. Then came dame
rumor, and she is a busy dame in these parts. Lottie’s
man was playing with another. So far as the public
was concerned that was about all there was to it.</p>
<p class='c018'>But know ye, that Fatty Arbuckle, Roscoe he
wishes to be called of late, rented the handsome home
on West Adams street, formerly occupied by Theda
Bara. In fact it is said that Fatty sleeps in the vampire’s
bed, which may or may not, weave his dreams
with vampires and their dangerous moods.</p>
<p class='c018'>Fatty recently gave a party. He gives a lot of
them. There were picture girls galore and the wine
flowed red and every other way, for Roscoe is no derelict
of a host.</p>
<p class='c018'>It didn’t take twenty-four hours for Dame Rumor
and her children to scatter the news that “there was
some ruction among the ‘Janes’ out to Arbuckle’s joint
last night.”</p>
<p class='c018'>Just how it started was lost in the hurry of getting
down to the absolute certainty that Lottie Pickford
and another girl staged one of the prettiest scraps seen
since Charlie Chaplin tried to lick his wife’s manager
at the Alexandria hotel recently. In fact the efforts of
Charlie as a pugilist are said to have been nil compared
with the flavor that Lottie and her rival put up.
It wasn’t exactly Lottie’s rival either, so the story
goes.</p>
<p class='c018'>Seems that Lottie and another girl were talking
in one of the bedrooms regarding the “cat” who had
vamped the temporary affections of Lottie’s former
beau. A third girl was lying, supposedly asleep. She
arose suddenly and challenged, in behalf of her vamping
friend what Lottie had said. Then the riot started.
One of our well-known artists stated next day that it
was the best he had seen since Young George and Steve
Dalton first met at Jack Doyle’s. Anyone taking a good
look at Lottie would opine that the girl, when angry,
might be worth a bet in the real money book.</p>
<p class='c018'>Not much has been heard of Jack Pickford since
he became mixed up in the war time mess. It was no
Hollywood secret that Jack was not an over welcome
visitor at the home of Mary and her mother for some
time. Things may have been calmed over since Mary
settled down with Doug, or rather tried to settle down
with him.</p>
<p class='c018'>Olive Thomas, Jack’s wife, recently returned from
New York and Jack met her with a Whiz Bang of a
new car. Jack claims it cost him bucks to the number
of ten thou. Speaking of automobiles, Roscoe Arbuckle
recently received a specially designed motor car that
is a humdinger. The price is reported at $25,000. If it
didn’t cost that much it sure looks it. Thousands of
people viewed the monstrosity for a week in the windows
of the motor works where it was turned out.</p>
<p class='c018'>Of course the machine is simply to be used as an
ad for the prolific Fat. Some of the last words in autos
have been seen around here, but they all faded to a
sickly, measly brown when Arbuckle’s came into prominence.
Arbuckle says he intends dazzling Broadway
with it. What may help some, if he uses it in New
York, is the license number, which was displayed while
the car stood on exhibition here. The number was
“606.”</p>
<p class='c018'>“United Artists,” the “Big Four” and “Associated
Directors” are familiar terms here. Speaking
of United Artists, we must pause at mention of Charlie
Chaplin and Mildred Harris. They are not united, not
so anyone can notice.</p>
<p class='c018'>Shortly after their marriage last year, the doll-like
little Mildred and her mother were the observed
of all observers at the fashionable St. Catherine hotel,
the Wrigley’s island palace at Catalina. Wistful indeed,
appeared the little girl as she sat day after day
gazing across the Pacific blue whence fly the famous
Chaplin hydroplanes from the mainland. The hydroplanes
are a venture of Sid Chaplin. Charlie is not
in on the deal, though he makes the air trip occasionally.</p>
<p class='c018'>But never did Charlie appear to the knowledge of
the vastly interested hotel habitues. Ever with her
slender, keen looking mother, the bride waited in vain
for her Lochinvar. Occasionally she danced with a
visiting picture personage. But Charlie—he came not.</p>
<p class='c018'>Friends—friends always spread bad news—whispered
that something was wrong. The St. Catherine
seemed a haven, welcome or not, of disconsolate women.
On the broad veranda sat the woman discarded
by Earl Williams. Inquisitive society dames raised
their very proper eyebrows as they passed and the
mournful looking girl appeared as lonesome as any
girl could feel, even though Earl had, through his
lawyers, handed over a settlement admitted to be at
least $40,000.</p>
<p class='c018'>Charlie Chaplin has all the earmarks of a rather
distraught young man. He lives at the Los Angeles
Athletic club. From his studio comes the word that
though he finally is working at another picture, his people
never know whether it will be a week or a month
before he shows up to don the old derby and the familiar
shoes.</p>
<p class='c018'>The fight between Chaplin and Manager Young of
Mildred Chaplin was funny. Young is fat and the idea
of Chaplin trying to use his fists is funnier than anything
he ever did in pictures. Just what the real cause
of combat was hasn’t been thoroughly dissected by the
scandal mongers. Young says he was trying to protect
Mrs. Chaplin from annoyance by her husband.
Chaplin says Young is a big stiff and that he (Chaplin)
certainly never annoyed his wife. He hasn’t—in public—because
they never appear together.</p>
<p class='c018'>Just how the divorce proceedings will work out
nobody knows. It is true that Chaplin wishes he was
out of it. It is believed that Mrs. Chaplin’s mother is
somewhat of a business woman and will have considerable
to say before the bones of the affair have rattled
their last.</p>
<p class='c018'>Fairbanks and Chaplin are very close friends.
One of the newspapers recently published a picture of
Mary, Doug and Charlie, purporting to be one taken immediately
after the marriage, when Chaplin went to the
train with them as they left for an alleged brief scurry
to some quiet haunt. As a matter of fact the picture
was one taken at the time the trio were leaving on their
famous Liberty Loan jaunt, upon which momentous
trip Doug and Mary are supposed to have “fallen”
for each other good and hard.</p>
<p class='c018'>Poor Owen Moore has become a public goat. The
former husband of Mary is a likable enough fellow,
quiet and with a winning way that can’t restrain the
undoubtable sadness which lurks in a pair of wistful
eyes. By the way, ninety-nine women out of a hundred
probably would “kotow” to Moore so far as looks are
concerned, rather than to Fairbanks. Moore is well set
up and handsome in a masculine way. Doug never
could be called a thing of beauty and most of his cowboys
display better physical form than the agile laugh-maker.</p>
<p class='c018'>All the testimony given by Mary at Minden would
tend to indicate that the hour in which Owen did not
inject a lot of booze into himself, was a rare hour indeed.
If Mary asked Owen to come back to her as
often as she says she did, figuring he was the lusher
as she sets forth, then indeed Owen, if he loves the girl,
hasn’t much of a kick coming.</p>
<p class='c018'>The general opinion appears to be that Moore had
the love of Mary very much at heart but through his
tendency for liquor, finally lost out. Those who really
know Mary Pickford swear by the character of the girl.
Those who really know Moore can’t dislike him. They
simply figure he was his own worst enemy and that in
the desperate moments of her mental torture the girl
grew to care for the light-hearted Fairbanks and his
blithesome way.</p>
<p class='c018'>Poor Owen is just now figuring in a suit for damages
brought by someone from whom he rented a house.
The owners claim that everything was in a mess when
they came back and that an overflow of booze has considerably
depreciated the furniture.</p>
<p class='c018'>Another Hollywood “Secret” has been shattered.
It seems that a perfectly good married man went on a
visit to his “Secret” and before the evening was done
he was driving a joyful bunch of other men, with their
“Secrets,” in his latest buzz wagon.</p>
<p class='c018'>Everything would have been O. K. but for the fact
that the happy hubby permitted his own “Secret” to
sit in the back seat while helping the other revelling
benedicts to deliver their “Secrets” home. It appears
that the “Secret” of the car-owner went to
sleep in her recess in the rear of the car.</p>
<p class='c018'>The night was foggy. So was the brain of this
“perfectly good” married man. He parked the car
in his garage, forgetting all about the “Secret” lying
asleep in the back seat. Next morning a “perfectly
trusting” wife was surprised, when she stepped onto
the bungalow rear, to see a “perfectly wild Secret”
dashing madly out of the garage, clad in anything but
up-to-date morning garb.</p>
<p class='c018'>The betting in Hollywood is 100 to 1 that Nevada
prosecutors or politicians do not break the Fairbanks-Pickford
marital relations. Los Angeles herself—that
is the heart of it—says, “Let them alone. They’re
married, aren’t they, however they managed to do it?”</p>
<p class='c018'>Maybe Los Angeles prognosticators are wrong.
Maybe Nevada means business. But the prevalent sentiment
is that, unless their love-ship hits the rocks
some other way, Mary and Doug may woo and coo
until dooms-day—except at such times as they see fit
to invite the newspapers en masse to dinner or load
down autos and Pullman cars with scribes who would
fain not invade their privacy.</p>
<p class='c018'>Hanging and wiving go by destiny. For every
Jonathan Wild there is somewhere an adequate John
Ketch; from the ends of the earth, noose and neck rush
to meet each other. For every Jack there is some compliant
Jill; from all the plains and valleys the couples
scramble up to the difficult ark of matrimony. Sheba
travels to Solomon and the event is set down in the
book of Kings. Caesar rules over Rome and Cleopatra
over Egypt, but the wet sundering leagues cannot separate
them.</p>
<p class='c018'>Nat Goodwin, it is true, never married Lillian Russell,
but the universe felt that something had gone
amiss. So says an American journalist—one of the
kind who knows everything. He continues: Destiny
had fallen down. How then should Mary Pickford and
Douglas fail to swing into the orbit calculated from
the beginning? If she is not queen of her particular
Sheba, Sheba never had a queen. If he is not the
gayest of Solomons, at least he has written a book,
and unquestionably he rules his jovial dominion in his
own right. In this wedding the royal line crosses. It
is as expected and as gratifying as the conclusion of a
feature film.</p>
<p class='c018'>Obstacles have kept the prince and princess apart,
but obstacles do not last forever. After the conflict
there must be peace, and before the final curtain there
must be a happy ending. How evil are those dispositions
which interpret this amalgamation of splendours
in economic terms; which hint that the joint revenue
of the pair—to judge by figures made elaborately public—will
be three times what he earned before; which
calculate that his income will actually pay her income
tax.</p>
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<div class='line'>Beneath her feet a trace of sleet,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Alas, she seemed to slip,</div>
<div class='line'>She tried to stop, she fell kerflop,</div>
<div class='line in2'>We heard a startling rip.</div>
<div class='line'>A saint might cuss and make a fuss,</div>
<div class='line in2'>By righteous anger stirred,</div>
<div class='line'>But oh, to think, a maiden pink</div>
<div class='line in2'>Would use that awful word.</div>
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<h2 class='c015'><span class='c005'><i><b>French Convict Curse</b></i></span></h2></div>
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<p class='c016'><i>Rev. “Golightly” has favored</i> <span class='sc'>The Whiz Bang</span> <i>with
another able article for the September issue. It is a story on
the practice of witchcraft, with its revolting rites, throughout
the West Indies and the three Guianas. The story holds the
reader’s attention from start to finish and gives an exposé that
would put the ouija board and clairvoyant mysticisms to shame.
Get the September number and read Morrill’s story of the
human hyena which kidnaps children, the goat without horns,
and the “loupgarou.”</i>—<span class='sc'>The Editor.</span></p>
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<div><span class='xlarge'><b>BY REV. “GOLIGHTLY” MORRILL.</b></span></div>
<div><span class='small'>Pastor of People’s Church, Minneapolis, Minn.</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='drop-capa0_2_0_7 c017'>POOR devil! He was an escaped convict from
French Guiana—haggard, half-starved, barefooted;
his shirt torn as if to show his torn heart,
his trousers ragged; bareheaded, blue eyes, a mat of
brown hair, and a neat mustache and beard, reminiscent
of the Parisian boulevards. He didn’t look half so
ferocious as his black, British gorilla of a guard, who
dragged him on our boat, and later transferred him to
the train bound for Georgetown, Demerara, to languish
in jail till the French mail steamer arrived to take him
back captive to Cayenne. I took pity on him, gave him
some fruit, chocolate and money, wished him a bon
voyage, and was sorry I couldn’t give him his liberty as
well.</p>
<p class='c018'>French Guiana is a penal colony, a prison of 35,000
square miles, bounded by Dutch Guiana, Brazil and
the Atlantic ocean. Out of a population of some 40,000,
10,000 are convicts. While there are exports of balata
and phosphates, the principal ones are gold, cocoa,
hides, rosewood and rosewood oil, the last shipped to
France as a substitute for attar of roses. But the glitter
of the gold is dimmed by the shadow of the prison,
and above the fragrance of the rosewood rises the
stench of political putridity, convict crime and corruption.</p>
<p class='c018'>From her earliest history, Cayenne has furnished
an inspired chapter for the Devil’s Bible, written with
finger of fire in ink of blood. In the first of the seventeenth
century the settlers not only had before them
the interesting fate of being massacred and devoured
by the cannibal Indians, but a providential blessing in
the form of their mad commander, Sieur de Bretigny,
who, not satisfied with torturing the 400 colonists with
gibbet, gallows and wheel, amused himself by instituting
pleasures called “Purgatory” and “Hell,” in
which he forced them to relate even their dreams as
to a father confessor; if he were displeased, he maltreated
and killed them. The next batch of settlers
mutinied en route from France, and on arriving here so
angered the Indians by enslaving and plundering them
that the natives forced them to take refuge in a fort
where Famine and Disease were the red man’s best
allies.</p>
<p class='c018'>Succeeding colonization companies were failures.
Mismanagement and Misfortune were president and
vice-president of the ventures. For example, in 1763,
12,000 volunteer colonists came to French Guiana, with
the promise of free lands, which proved to be free
graves. By 1765, 11,000 died. They landed and lived
in mud and water; there were no tools for tilling the
soil, yet they had a shop to make skates in this equatorial
clime; drinking water there was none, probably
because they thought it would rain or they might be
able to get wine; rivers rose, and not knowing how to
dike them, those who lived through the fevers died from
the floods. Such colonial schemes are finely satirized
by Daudet in his “Port Tarascon.” At best, the French
are the worst colonizers, whether here or in Tahiti,
Marquesas, Caledonia, Panama, Algeria, Canada and
Martinique. Cayenne next became the criminal cesspool
of France, costing the lives of hundreds and 800,000
livres.</p>
<p class='c018'>During the French Revolution men were arrested
in Paris, paraded before the populace like wild beasts
in cages, then shipped to Cayenne, the white man’s
grave. Of 600 Royalists transported here and landed
on the Sinnamaire River without shelter or food, two-thirds
perished. Often they were brutally murdered
before reaching there, according to De Vigny’s story
of “Laurette or the Red Seal.” The country was
dubbed the “dry guillotine,” and it is said that a prisoner
who had the choice between it and the blood-wet
one in Paris, chose the latter.</p>
<p class='c018'>In 1852 free transportation was offered as a “favor”
and more than 3,000 accepted. In 1854 Napoleon
III, that third-class Napoleon, made Cayenne a penal
colony for his political enemies, as if he hadn’t already
enough crimes to atone for. Between 1852 and 1867,
18,000 exiles were brought over, although New Caledonia
for the next 20 years became the ticket-of-leave
tourist resort. In 1885-7 confirmed criminals, and
those with more than 8-year sentences to hard labor,
were shipped here. However, they have proved unfit
for government employment. Convicts formerly sent
to Caledonia had such lease of long life, that they are
now sent to Guiana to reduce living expenses. Grave-digging,
next to gold-digging, is the principal occupation.</p>
<p class='c018'>In Cayenne, the majority of the prisoners are negroes,
Arabs and Annamites. Now most of the outcasts
are sent to unsaintly St. Laurent. Formerly they were
herded at Cayenne, the three Iles du Salut, on one of
which Captain Dreyfus was imprisoned, and the Kourou
River, La Mere being reserved as a home for the old
and sick. The convicts have trades, and are bakers,
carpenters and tanners, etc. They make curios, such
as balata boats, whips with Kaiser and dog heads on
the handle, separable tables, fibre vanity bags, and
cigar-cutters in the shape of a guillotine. They are
employed as balata-bleeders and in gold-camps, and
have built some thrifty miles of road in the country
where there is little agriculture or cattle-raising. The
little money made is spent on rum and tobacco, and the
franc notes saved are tightly rolled up in a small cylindrical
receptacle which they use as a suppository to
prevent robbery—nevertheless, horrible murders and
mutilations are common. There is the cut-throat class
sent here from Paris for life. Inhabitants tell you that
if they boldly and insultingly beg you for gold, you
should give them lead. Then there is a harmless class
made up of those convicted three times for some petty
offense.</p>
<p class='c003'>Cayenne twice a year. The culprits had steel-cage
cabins to prevent them from jumping overboard and
swimming home across the Atlantic. As the Athenians
sent youths and maidens to be devoured by the Minotaur
every year, so this monstrous country eats up
2,000 convicts annually. In the old days, when a prisoner
died, the corpse was sewn in a sack, taken to the
water and a bell tolled. The sharks knew the sound
and instantly rose to the surface, making it black with
their fins as they hastened to the funeral meat. Felons
with sentences for more than five years are compelled
to serve an additional term of the same period as settlers
in the colony. When a contractor wants convict
labor, he gets it from the government for so much
money if it can be spared. The “liberes,” though having
served their term, are not free to leave the colony,
and since the work is done by the regular prisoners, it
is hard to land a job. Accordingly, many starve to
death, unless they steal provisions. They may be skilful
artisans, but have no tools, are not wanted in town,
so they go to the country to loaf or pilfer, where they
are arrested and punished as tramps. Often for petty
theft an overseer ties his victim to a tree and beats him
with a balata whip. When they do procure work it is
big with little wages. It is impossible for the white
man to work in the sun or stand like a black man all
day in the water. Many convict camps are abandoned
on account of unhealthy surroundings.</p>
<p class='c018'>Poorly fed, the prisoners stalk around like
spectres. They receive scanty rice rations for the
amount of work they do, and are compelled to beg from
everybody. Their murderously-minded Corsican keepers
look like fiends in human form, provoke to kill,
and like the followers of Marquis de Sade, take a mad
pleasure in torture, gloating over the suffering of the
wretches they starve and flog. As companions I prefer
the thief and assassin convict to the jailer with his
white cork helmet jammed down over a low forehead,
his shaggy black brows and lashes from which flash
heartless glances, his long, bandit-like mustachios,
framing a savage slit for a mouth, and his brutal jaw.
Far from the restraint of civilization he becomes a
beast in fury, and loves to torment his charge. Hearts
as well as stones are broken in these prisons. The convict’s
complaint is useless, for his letters are censored,
doctored and amputated before they reach home.
There was one American down here for stealing. He
told a friend of mine he could be trusted up to $500,
but any amount over that he would steal. Escaped
prisoners taken back to Cayenne are often chained to
the deck, lashed and kicked by ruthless black guards,
and left to wallow in their excrement. The mouths of
the rivers are well guarded, and all told there are
about 700 police who set the springs to this death-trap.
Camps are insanitary and full of disease, insects and
vermin. After work the exiles are thrust into dark
cells of decaying barracks. Still they have some privileges
besides death and torture. They are furnished a
piece of ground with necessary tools to work it; allowed
to send home for their families, or to have a contract
marriage if they have been here two years and shown
good behaviour.</p>
<p class='c018'>If the convict escapes, the French officials don’t
care much. He prefers the savage jungle to his savage
keeper, fleeing to the bush not half so wild, through fen
and flood to Brazil, Dutch and British Guiana. With
no weapons for game or hook for fish, they grow mad
with hunger, kill each other and have cannibal feasts,
for which they are guillotined if captured. To avoid
ambush they go in gangs, and when they eat or rest
watch the four points of the compass. Just as America
had an underground railway between the North and
South to aid the fugitive slaves, so in Paramaribo,
Dutch Guiana, there are agents of a society formed in
France who provide food, clothes and money to aid the
convict’s escape. There I was informed that the American
Bauxite Company engages escaped convicts, and
gives them a chance. However, in holy British Guiana,
if caught, they are sent back or given so many days to
leave the colony, in which case they often fly to Venezuela.
Recently there was a frightful murder in the
bush, a man’s head was chopped off and placed in a
canoe to shoot the falls in order to cover traces of the
crime. But as in Eugene Aram, guilt could not be hidden,
for the canoe went over the rapids and falls without
spilling its gruesome cargo; it was beached, discovered;
the assassins were tracked; and an aeroplane
was sent from the penal colony which swooped down
on the murderers like a bird of prey and carried them
off to prison.</p>
<p class='c018'>Paradoxical as it may seem, the salvation of Cayenne
is the convict—he does the work. I talked with a
man who employs convicts and he said they were all
“good” workers. Many of the other inhabitants, who
sweat to get balata and gold, are just as bad outlaws,
their life being one guilty round of drink, seduction,
cruelty and crime.</p>
<p class='c018'>The colony is full of physical as well as moral
lepers. Like the other Guianas, elephantiasis, leprosy
and filthy diseases scurf and scourge. The jungles are
full of envenomed serpents. As for heat, the country
is a few degrees above the equator and many above the
boiling point. This dirty land is washed by the Atlantic,
although the ocean does not, as Euripides says,
wash away the wounds and stain of the world, but
rather washes them here from France. Like a New
York garbage boat carrying refuse to the sea, French
convict ships dump the offal of humanity on these
shores. The Pilgrims came to America with religious
convictions, somewhat different from the convictions
criminal and otherwise those Frenchmen held who settled
Canada, Caledonia and Cayenne. Climate here is
one long season of sorrow. Guiana is an outlaw country,
a jumping-off place of the world, a back-door to
perdition; a dominion of dolour, despair, mud and
blood, where Death is the jailer who frees. The cities
of Cayenne and St. Laurent are cities of dreadful day
and night where spread</p>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Infections of unutterable sadness,</div>
<div class='line in1'>Infections of incalculable madness,</div>
<div class='line in1'>Infections of incurable despair.”</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c021'>Faith, hope and charity are banished the colony,
and the prisoners are the saddest and weariest of men.</p>
<p class='c018'>La Belle France has succeeded in establishing and
maintaining a hell on earth in French Guiana. Dante
says, “There is a place within the depths of hell called
Malebolge.” His prophetic eye must have seen this
colony accurst, for he peoples the ten gulfs of that
eighth circle of the “Inferno” with seducers, thirsters
for gold, grafters, thieves, peculators, hypocrites, robbers,
forgers and counterfeiters—and punishes these
lost souls with terrible heat, horrible leprosies, poisonous
serpents, filth and scourging demons!</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><span class='large'><b>Bold Bad Willie</b></span></div>
<div><span class='small'>(From the Imperial Review)</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'>The teacher was explaining to her class the difference
between concrete and abstract.</p>
<p class='c018'>“Concrete,” she said, “is that which can be seen,
abstract that which cannot be seen. Now, Willie, give
me an example of the concrete.”</p>
<p class='c018'>“My pants,” said Willie.</p>
<p class='c018'>“Good,” said the teacher. “Now give me an example
of the abstract.”</p>
<p class='c018'>“Yours,” replied Willie.</p>
<table class='table1' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='50%' />
<col width='50%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<th class='c012'>Anticipation:</th>
<th class='c013'>Realization:</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>An olive drab uniform</td>
<td class='c023'>An olive drab uniform</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>That fits as snugly as a glove,</td>
<td class='c023'>Made to fit a fat man,</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>Bringing admiring glances from the girls.</td>
<td class='c023'>Bringing smiles and giggles from the girls.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>Parades in which he would proudly march,</td>
<td class='c023'>K. P. at which he toiled and sweat,</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>Cheered and applauded by the patriotic crowds.</td>
<td class='c023'>Cursed and reviled by the army cooks.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>Honors, won on the battlefields of France,</td>
<td class='c023'>Tortures endured in the S. O. S. in France,</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>For heroic deeds in action.</td>
<td class='c023'>From battling sergeants, M. P.’s Looies.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>Promotion and bars for following duty’s call.</td>
<td class='c023'>Demotion and the brig for duty dodging.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>And medals pinned upon his manly chest for valor.</td>
<td class='c023'>Cooties biting and tickling his manly chest.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>His triumphant return home, a hero.</td>
<td class='c023'>His return home, a doughboy who didn’t get to the front,</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>Worshipped by the town folks.</td>
<td class='c023'>Greeted warmly, nevertheless, by the town folks.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>His old job back with increased pay,</td>
<td class='c023'>His old job held down by a slacker;</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>The girl he left behind him for his wife,</td>
<td class='c023'>The girl he left behind him, the slacker’s wife,</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>Installed in a cute little cottage, built for two.</td>
<td class='c023'>Installed in a cute little cottage with a pair of twins.</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'> </td>
<td class='c023'>—H. A. Perrill.</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Mary had a little ruffle,</div>
<div class='line'>I discovered it by chance;</div>
<div class='line'>Just a dainty little ruffle</div>
<div class='line'>On the bottom of her underskirt.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><span class='large'><b>Sayings of the Famous</b></span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'>Billyus Plutocrat—“Rave on, Red Raven, you
shall not split tonight.”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c014' /></div>
<div class='box'>
<div class='chapter'>
<h2 class='c015'><span class='c005'><b><i>Formation of Women</i></b></span></h2></div>
</div>
<p class='drop-capa0_5_0_7 c017'>ANCIENT mythology and folklore contain innumerable
stories of the creation of the world and
of man. Most of them have this in common that
they relate that, when it came to the creation of woman,
the being who had the task in hand experienced immense
difficulties. According to a supposed legend,
for instance, this is the origin of woman:</p>
<p class='c018'>“Twashtri, the god Vulcan of the Hindu mythology,
created the world, but on his commencing to
create woman he discovered that for man he had exhausted
all his creative materials, and that not one element
had been left. This, of course greatly perplexed
Twashtri, and caused him to fall into a profound meditation.
When he arose from it he proceeded as follows.
He took:</p>
<div class='lg-container-b'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'><b>The roundness of the moon.</b></div>
<div class='line in1'><b>The undulating curve of the serpent.</b></div>
<div class='line in1'><b>The graceful twist of the creeping plant.</b></div>
<div class='line in1'><b>The light shivering of the grass blade and the slenderness of the willow.</b></div>
<div class='line in1'><b>The velvet of the flowers.</b></div>
<div class='line in1'><b>The lightness of the feather.</b></div>
<div class='line in1'><b>The gentle gaze of the doe.</b></div>
<div class='line in1'><b>The frolicsomeness of the dancing sunbeam.</b></div>
<div class='line in1'><b>The tears of the cloud.</b></div>
<div class='line in1'><b>The inconsistency of the wind.</b></div>
<div class='line in1'><b>The timidity of the hare.</b></div>
<div class='line in1'><b>The vanity of the peacock.</b></div>
<div class='line in1'><b>The hardness of the diamond.</b></div>
<div class='line in1'><b>The cruelty of the tiger.</b></div>
<div class='line in1'><b>The chill of the snow.</b></div>
<div class='line in1'><b>The cackling of the parrot.</b></div>
<div class='line in1'><b>The cooing of the turtle dove.</b></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c003'>All these he mixed together and formed a woman.”</p>
<p class='c018'>This is widely accepted as an ancient Hindu legend
and nobody would suffer very much for continuing to
believe such to be the case, but a gentleman, in answer
to a query the other day, completely destroys the foundations
for this belief. He says: “The legend of the
creation of woman is the creation in English of an English
mind; its author is F. W. Bain, and it is to be found
in his charming book, ‘A Digit of the Moon.’”</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><span class='large'><b>They Answered Him</b></span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'>He had only ten dollars left and thought he would
have a tour on the railway. So he hied himself to a big
ticket office where there was a host of booking clerks
and inquired:</p>
<p class='c018'>“Here! Can I go to Halifax for ten dollars?”</p>
<p class='c018'>“No,” answered the booking clerk.</p>
<p class='c018'>“Well, can I have a return to Montreal?”</p>
<p class='c018'>“No,” replied the clerk again.</p>
<p class='c018'>“Well, where can I go for ten dollars?” Then in
a chorus they all answered him.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c014' /></div>
<div class='box'>
<div class='chapter'>
<h2 class='c015'><span class='c005'><b><i>Havemeyer and Harriet</i></b></span></h2></div>
</div>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c014'>
<div>BY NEMESIS</div>
</div></div>
<p class='drop-capa0_3_0_7 c017'>IT is the old, old, story. Sporty married man, trustful
or maybe designing girl, wool over her optics, girl
finally gets wise, recriminations, breach of promise
suit, and—?</p>
<p class='c018'>Hector Havemeyer and Harriet Hearn comprise
the alliterative couple in the calcium effulgence this
time. Havemeyer is a scion of the sugar magnate; one
of whose stunts was to ruin a competitor by bribing a
workman in the rival plant to run a pipe from the syrup
tank to the river and waste fifty or a hundred barrels
a day. We mention this to show that Hector did not
inherit a high standard of principle or regard for the
rights of others.</p>
<p class='c018'>Harriet eked out her truce with profiteering landlords
and dry goods stores by digging muck from under
the claws of such customers as presented themselves
for the purpose. Her modest shingle swung in a barber
shop in the Grand Central Station, Graftopolis-on-the-Harlem,
generally known as New York. Hector
came, he saw, he—well, you can guess the rest. Of
course he proposed marriage. And of course Harriet
sprung the old song and dance about it being “so sudden.”
But when Hector offered as lagniappe to blow
her to a whole slew of diamonds, a kolinsky cape and a
trip South, his suddenness compared to hers as she
Pisa-towered on his caoutchouc and celluloid, mooning:
“Hector, I am thine!” was even as Congress controlling
the trusts to a terrier kyoodle with a turpentine
enema.</p>
<p class='c018'>The fair Harriet was soon installed in a seven-dollar-a-day
suite at a no-questions-asked hotel. Manicurists
seldom can afford such things out of their own
earnings, and we will give our readers three guesses
as to who signed the checks for the rent. As long as
Hector paid he naturally was entitled to call as often
as he darn pleased, which was about once a day and
then some. Not contented with that he would telephone
so often to her at her place of business that her barber
employer ultimatumed that she must either cut it out
or take the gate. Hector also sent flowers and candy
galore. His progenitor had acquired coin in the manner
quoted above; a manner both easy and honorable,
and passed it on to Hector to blow. Hector also pined
for special messages from his Dulcinea del Toboso, and
would employ the red cap porters at the station to go to
her and beseech for him a missive of love to ease his
near ruptured cardiac.</p>
<p class='c018'>The strange part of it all is that at first Hector
was too bashful to go like an avuncular just arrived
from Canajoharie and have Harriet extract the Graftopolis
real estate and microbes from the nether side
of his hive-scratchers. Instead he sought the services
of a New York Central detective as his John Alden,
the fair Harriet states. But she fell for the detective
presented proposition and consented to the introduction.</p>
<p class='c018'>The promise of marriage, which Harriet claims
was made, might have been either the last resort of a
man dealing with a near-Pamela and cute minx combined,
or else a gratuitous piece of calorified atmosphere.
But as she had to know some day that he could
not keep his word without committing bigamy, Hector
preferred that it should be from him rather than from
his vindictive investigating storm-and-strife, or the
serpentine lollypop-licker of Mrs. Grundy. Having had
preliminary practice in another way, he screwed up his
courage and broke the news, although he let her down
easy with the hoary classic bucolic cataplasm about
his wife not understanding him, there would soon be a
divorce, and then his Harriet would be <b>IT</b>. That was
all Harriet wanted to hear. She flew the seven-dollar-a-day
coop whose manager, as there were several times
seven dollars of arrears, was so unkind as to retain her
powder-rag, her tooth-brush, and other feminine impedimenta
which we forbear to catalogue.</p>
<p class='c018'>Harriet went back to finding her own rent-money,
but nevertheless she did not break with her Hector.
Instead she kept Hectoring him with special delivery
letters and telegrams; ditto his wife, although she
charges that in the latter case Hector had fixed all the
apartment house help so that none of her retaliatory
revelations would strike home. She says, too, that
her Lothario had the St. Vitus dance even when she
was not in proximity to him. Seeing that he had taken
her all and given her in return nothing but candy,
flowers and broken promises, she is going to try very
hard to make him pay, and has brought suit for a hundred
thousand dollars. She exults that she did not sell
or give away all her old clothes and resign her position,
as he urged her to do, and says she would not be
in a Gehenna of a fix if she had.</p>
<p class='c018'>Hector claims that Harriet, like himself, is married
to somebody else; a certain Garry Hearn being the
man. But Harriet denies the allegation and defies the
alligator. Hector lives with his wife at 375 Park avenue,
New York. He seems to take it all as a joke, but
his Harriet evidently does not. She alleges that he
wooed and won her under the name of Palmer, and also
that he ungallantly refuses to pay the rest of the rent
so that she can get her needful belongings out of hock;
and, to make matters worse, he will not see her any
more. But she protests her undying love for him in
spite of the way he has wounded her poor, tender little
feelings, which ought to be easy for her, seeing the size
of his saccharine bank-roll. Heads she wins, tails she
loses. Harriet figures she stands to get a slice of it
if he doesn’t make good about divorcing his wife and
marrying her; or, in the other event, she will have the
spending of most of it anyhow. So why shouldn’t modest
little Harriet sue? And echo answers, why?</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><span class='large'><b>The New Supper Menu</b></span></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>No more liquid glances,</div>
<div class='line in2'>No more pretty speeches;</div>
<div class='line'>No more stewed live lobsters,</div>
<div class='line in2'>No more pickled peaches!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c014' /></div>
<div class='box'>
<div class='chapter'>
<h2 class='c015'><span class='xlarge'><b><i>Questions and Answers</i></b></span></h2></div>
</div>
<p class='c025'><b>Dear Captain Billy</b>—How will I head a story about
a prominent Boston society girl marrying a Providence
socialist?—<b>Cub Reporter.</b></p>
<p class='c018'>Just say: “Plymouth Rock chicken marries
Rhode Island Red.”</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Old Wheezy Bill</b>—My landlord has raised my rent
because I have a case of whisky in my apartments.
Now, I don’t like to move and I don’t like to pay rent
and then again its against the law to move the whisky,
so what the’ll shall I do?—<b>Oberst.</b></p>
<p class='c018'>Your “case” has undoubtedly been disposed of by
this time.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Dear Bill</b>—To settle a dispute, please tell me what
disease is caused from the microbe of a kiss?—<b>June
Bugg.</b></p>
<p class='c018'>Palpitation of the heart.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Dear Bill</b>—The ocean side seems so different this
year. Why does it seem to make me feel so blue?—<b>Flo
Waters.</b></p>
<p class='c018'>I do not know, Flo, unless it’s the wind blowing the
froth over the bar that reminds you of olden days.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Dear Captain Billy</b>—Why won’t they allow army
aviators to take up women passengers in airplanes?—<b>May
Wheat.</b></p>
<p class='c018'>I am told that too many of the pilots went blind
while looping the loop.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Dear Editor</b>—Can you give me the technical name
for snoring?—<b>Al McGluek.</b></p>
<p class='c018'>Sheet music.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Dear Billy</b>—Don’t you think the short skirts the
girls are wearing make us look lots shorter?—<b>Daisy
Fields.</b></p>
<p class='c018'>Yes, Daisy, but they make us men look lots longer,
so what’s the difference?</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Dear Billy</b>—As you were in the United States
army during the recent war, I wish you would inform
me as to the principal ailments the boys got from
abroad.—<b>Prophylactic Pete.</b></p>
<p class='c018'>I am unable to answer your question, Peter, but
have referred it to Private Iodine Ike of the Cotton
Batting corps.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Dear Captain Billy</b>—I am lame, halt, nearly blind
and 85 years old. What job do you think I should work
at?—<b>R. J.</b></p>
<p class='c018'>Would suggest you apply for the position of gardener
in a young woman’s seminary.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Dear Cap.</b>—I’ve just composed a song for my 1920-21
“Record Breakers” show, entitled “The Stockyards
Rag.” I’m enclosing a copy to get your opinion of it.—<b>Jack
Read</b>, the “Information Kid.”</p>
<p class='c018'>Dear Jack: The words of your song are all right,
but I don’t like the “air.” It doesn’t smell just right.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Dear Captain Billy</b>—What is your opinion of regulated
public dance halls and do you believe there is a
cure for the alleged dance evil?—<b>Ichabod Iliad.</b></p>
<p class='c018'>I say, on with the dance, let joy be unconfined,
there is gladness unabated since Maggie Murphy
dined. Did you, my dear Ichabod, ever see a teakettle
bubble, dance, sing and boiler over? Well, that was
the effect. The pep, fire and energy underneath it was
the cause. You can’t put out the fire by removing the
teakettle to a cooler spot. Therefore you can’t cure
evil thinking by doing away with dancing. Fire, pep,
energy is the natural results we get from the disgusting
habit we have of eating. Consequently if we remove
the cause, which is eating, evil thinking or dancing,
which is the effect, will cure themselves.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Dear Editor</b>—Please help me. I was out with a
young lady for the first time when she saw some jewelry.
She said she wished to buy some but had left
her pocketbook at home. What should I have done?—<b>Troubled
Tom.</b></p>
<p class='c018'>You should have lent the lady five cents to go home
and get her pocketbook. Always be a gentleman.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Dear Billy</b>—Is it essential that a “movie vamp”
have dark hair and eyes?—<b>Blondie.</b></p>
<p class='c018'>No, Blondie, you still have a chance. A vamp
doesn’t have to have dark hair and eyes. I know of
lots of blond ones, with big blue eyes, and several red-headed
ones.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Dear Whiz Bang</b>—Is there any truth in the
rumor that Douglas Fairbanks is already considering
getting a divorce from Mary Pickford?—<b>Ima Darby.</b></p>
<p class='c018'>I don’t believe it’s true but only an idle rumor
gathered from the story that Doug was peeved because
Mary talked in her sleep and cried out the name
of her first husband too often.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Dear Editor Whiz Bang</b>—I am a civics instructor
at a high school, am 45 years of age, but act like any
spry young man. I am deeply infatuated with the
pretty young school secretary. I went with her a few
months this year and then for a spell lost my liking
for her. Now for some reason or other I am again in
love with her, but am afraid to make any advances to
her because she has recently purchased a car and I am
afraid people will think that there is “method in my
madness.” Remember that I love her and then tell
me what to do.—<b>Ad Noid.</b></p>
<p class='c018'>You’re not acting like “any spry young man” if
you’re withholding your declaration of love for fear of
what people would think. Tell her and don’t lose
any time about it.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c014' /></div>
<div class='box'>
<div class='chapter'>
<h2 class='c015'><i>Whiz Bang</i><br/><i><span class='c005'>Editorials</span></i><br/> <span class='small'><i>“The Bull is Mightier Than the Bullet”</i></span></h2></div>
</div>
<p class='c025'>The Whiz Bang desires to call the attention of its
readers to the latest book published by the Reverend
“Golightly” Morrill, famous author-traveler-preacher,
who has been a regular correspondent to this magazine.
Mr. Morrill is one of America’s most forceful writers
and his varied experiences as a social worker and globetrotter
fits him to deal trenchantly on varied subjects.
The editor is not personally acquainted with Mr. Morrill
but has been an interested reader of all his works
for the past 20 years. Read his ad on page 64 of this
issue and add his latest book to your library.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'>Tangier Island, in Chesapeake Bay, is where the
natives still vote for Andrew Jackson. The island is
nothing if not religious in the narrowest and most reactionary
sense of the word. Only one church is on the
island, and those who run it think that hell’s hottest
fires are burning specially for all who do not agree with
each and every religious dogma they have. The minister
is almost qualified to butt into the Trinity and
make it a Quartette. It is against the law to hold or
attend any religious service not under the auspices of
the local church monopoly. It is also required by law
that you attend the church every Sunday, and as if
that is not enough, you are not allowed to be out of
your house on Sunday, not even on your own porch,
except to go to and from church services. It is frankly
claimed by the powers that be, that without such stern
compulsion the natives would desecrate the Sabbath by
congregating at stores or elsewhere, and then, if the
devil should happen to come to claim his own, he might
scoop up the whole island population as a consequence.</p>
<p class='c018'>Roland Parks, a young man 17 years old, a resident
of Tangier Island, was wicked and audacious enough to
cut church service one Sunday and to take the air on
the porch of his house while the meeting was in progress.
Officer Connorton got on the job and ordered him
to come to church. Young Parks refused, Connorton
tried to arrest him, Parks fled, Connorton drew his revolver
and shot Parks, dangerously wounding him.
The inhabitants of the island regret the shooting, but
hold that it would be better for such as Parks to be shot
and killed rather than the law, which they approve,
should be violated.</p>
<p class='c018'>Among the other Puritan blue laws of Tangier
Island are those prohibiting music anywhere during
church service, even though the instrument may be far
away and no sound come through the walls; playing
ball at any time on Sunday, etc.</p>
<p class='c018'>It may be a shock to learn that such archaic conditions
exist anywhere in the world, let alone in our own
country. True enough, we are the most backward
people on earth to control landlords and profiteers.
But it seems that the same may be said of us in regard
to religious tyrants and persecutors.</p>
<p class='c018'>Admitting, for the sake of argument, that things
taboo on Tangier Island displease God, why can’t his
agents safely leave it to Him to enforce His will and
punish those who violate His law? God needs no
human avengers. It is an axiom that the only call for
human legislation is tangible wrong or harm to some
member or members of society.</p>
<p class='c018'>Just here we stopped to look over some exchanges,
and find that the ministers of Lynnbrook, near New
York City, have forced the Sunday closing of a local
amusement park. This will not be allowed to open on
Sunday, not even at hours that do not conflict with
any church services of the day. Give these reverend
gentlemen credit. They did not find shooting necessary
in the process. But give them debit for a senseless
piece of business. With Coney Island and Rockaway
Beach near by, the Lynnbrook people will simply
take a short trolley ride and get what they want much
better. What was accomplished, what could have been
accomplished, to help keep the Sabbath day holy? A
zero with the circle erased. Any sensible man could
have seen this in advance. But who has less sense than
a tyrannical religious fanatic? Only a man who
expects one such to have any sense at all.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'>Woman is creation’s best and last work and should
be the most attractive thing in the universe.</p>
<p class='c018'>Clothes are the index of character. A woman is
known by the dress she wears. A standard of a country’s
or century’s mind and morals is known by its
fashion-plate.</p>
<p class='c018'>Some women are as long in dressing as Caesar was
in marshalling his army. They go to church to show
their clothes, spend more money for hacks than for
Bibles, strut home like peacocks, forgetting that
clothes are but the reminders of lost innocency and that
to be proud of rustling silk is to be like the madman
who laughs at the rattling of his fetters. They only
think of dress, and were you to steal their clothes you
would rob them of the only valuable thing they
possessed.</p>
<p class='c018'>Skirts have been bloated like a balloon and long as
a crocodile’s tail, but now they are meagre as a mummy
and docked like a horse’s tail, for Fashion is a foolish
and freakish goddess.</p>
<p class='c018'>A short skirt is said to be economical in material,
sanitary because it is not a street or sidewalk cleaner,
and comfortable for locomotion—but when art sacrifices
utility in attempt to show the figure, as Venus
before Anchises or Medea before Jason, it is a matter
not only of comment but censure. Too often on leading
thoroughfares we fine a godless model of fashion
which is an insult to sex and an outrage on decency.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'>The first short skirt was made in the Garden of
Eden of fig leaves because there were no Parisian
dressmakers present.</p>
<p class='c018'>Skirt styles today are going back to the original
fig-leaf fashion.</p>
<p class='c018'>Mother Eve ate the apple, became “wise” and her
first thought was of dress, and that is all some of her
daughters have thought of since.</p>
<p class='c018'>American women are willing to wear any skirt
that bears a Paris label, but would they if they knew
it was a French fashion to advertise demimondaine
charms?</p>
<p class='c018'>If good women, who wear the suggestive short,
close-fitting and diaphanous skirt, knew what bad men
said when they went by, they would fall dead or call
for a taxi and break the speed limit to get home and
hide in the cellar.</p>
<p class='c018'>Men are a bad lot and women should help them
to be better and not worse.</p>
<p class='c018'>There are men in hospitals and hell who owe their
damnation in time and eternity to the skirts of some
bad, beautiful woman.</p>
<p class='c018'>Fashion is the world’s undertaker and often
charges a woman a big bill for a body with diseased
functions, a mind with dwarfed faculties, and a soul
with a future damned.</p>
<p class='c018'>Girls, whose altar is a looking-glass, and their
Bible a fashion magazine, might well pause to ask
themselves how they will look in their coffin-shroud
when the prevaricating preacher tries to offer some
word of comfort to the mourners, and what they will
say to the great Judge when they stand “naked and
ashamed,” because on earth they wore the skirts of
sin instead of the robe of Christ’s righteousness.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'>With the October issue, Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang
will start its second year. This little publication was
created with the idea of giving the former service men
in the vicinity of Robbinsdale and the Twin Cities a
continuation of the pep and snap we got in the army.
The first run of the press was 2,000 copies. They went
like hot-cakes and “seconds” were necessary. For
several successive months it was necessary to double
our monthly press order. We sincerely tender our
heartfelt thanks for your loyal support and shall
endeavor more than ever to merit your patronage.</p>
<p class='c018'>For the benefit of new readers, as well as the old,
The Whiz Bang will publish its first annual year book
with the October issue. This “Year Book” will contain
in part the livest selections from all previous
issues. The back copies of The Whiz Bank have been
“mopped up” so that it is not possible to fill any orders
for previous issues. The demand for back copies
brought forth the idea of an annual review. The
editor will aim to compile the choicest poems, jests,
jingles and stories from the previous 12 issues into
this October Year Book.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'>One often hears wonder expressed that reputable
persons find apparent pleasure in visiting cafes, road
houses, country clubs or other places of amusement of
questionable character. Yet the psychology of the
matter is not so far to seek. The “young person,” and
many persons continue to remain immature in mind
long beyond the normal period of unripeness, likes to
feel that he is very wise in the ways of the world. A
young man likes to have his actions show that he is “a
man of the world,” even though he may not make the
claim in words. The fact that he is nothing of the
kind urges him on to become better acquainted with
“the primrose paths.”</p>
<p class='c018'>Hence it often results that an innocent young person
will go with others to a restaurant with a shady
reputation, either in the spirit of bravado or to discover
what the secret is. Often enough the place, on
the outside of the life shown there, seems innocent
enough and the visitors wonder at the secrecy, innuendo
and charm draped about the place.</p>
<p class='c018'>The real “man of the world” knows the taste of
the “dead sea fruit” well enough.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><span class='large'><b>The Footpath of Peace</b></span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'>To be glad of life, because it gives you a chance to
love and to work and to play and to look up at the
stars, to be satisfied with your possessions, but not
contented with yourself until you have made the best
of them; to despise nothing in the world except falsehood
and meanness, and to fear nothing except cowardice;
to be governed by your admirations rather than
by your disgust. To covet nothing that is your neighbor’s
except his kindness of heart and gentleness of
manners; to think seldom of your enemies, often of
your friends, and every day of Christ; and to spend
as much time as you can, with body and with spirit,
in God’s out-of-doors; these are little guide-posts on
the footpath to peace.—Henry Van Dyke.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><span class='large'><b>Why the Editor Left Town</b></span></div>
<div><span class='small'>(From the Rochester, Minn., Bulletin.)</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c026'>Miss Isabel Jones returned yesterday from Chicago, where she
visited her son, Dick, and attended the Republican convention.
Miss Jones also visited at the National Kindergarten College, which
she formerly attended.</p>
<hr class='c024' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Free Verse</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>When a girl walks</div>
<div class='line'>Down the street</div>
<div class='line'>With hardly enough</div>
<div class='line'>Clothes on to make</div>
<div class='line'>A tail for a kite</div>
<div class='line'>You can’t expect a fellow</div>
<div class='line'>To have prayer meeting</div>
<div class='line'>Thoughts.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<p class='c018'>Little Johnnie rushed home from school, through
the house and into the yard where he had a pen of pet
rabbits. Picking one up he began to shake it violently,
repeating with each shake and in a rather rough tone:
“Two and two; two and two.”</p>
<p class='c018'>Johnnie’s mother heard the noise. She ran to the
window and yelled at him to stop abusing the rabbit.
“Stop that, Johnnie,” she admonished. “You’ll kill
poor bunny.”</p>
<p class='c018'>“I don’t care if I do,” Johnnie replied. “Teacher
told me a lie today. She said rabbits multiplied faster
than anything and this one can’t even add.”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c014' /></div>
<div class='box'>
<div class='chapter'>
<h2 class='c015'><span class='c005'><b><i>Smokehouse Poetry</i></b></span></h2></div>
</div>
<p class='drop-capa0_25_0_65 c017'><i>HAVE you ever sighed for the good old days before the
Great Drought? I have—many, many times. Oh!
Gentle Readers, how my mouth has filled with juicy
cotton at the thought of a nice, large, cooling glass of lager.
You know, the kind we got before the war—the amber fluid
that would almost make you side-slip into a tail spin and
flop on your fusilage. In the September issue, I want you to
read “Sherry,” and then eat an egg so as to complete the
illusion.</i></p>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>Oh, ’tis so. Don’t I know?</i></div>
<div class='line in2'><i>You’re in for it, once you begin it.</i></div>
<div class='line'><i>As with wine, so with love, you’d better go slow,</i></div>
<div class='line in2'><i>For the devil himself is in it!</i></div>
<div class='line'><i>She’s a “darby” poem for the old-fashioned Bohemian.</i>—<span class='sc'>The Editor.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c014'>
<div><span class='large'><b>The Worldly Way</b></span></div>
<div><span class='small'>By Monroe H. Rosenfeld.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Come back, my child,” said the father fond</div>
<div class='line in2'>To his boy who had gone astray</div>
<div class='line'>Out in the bitter world of sin—</div>
<div class='line in2'>Out in the sorrowed way;</div>
<div class='line'>“Thou hast erred, my child, yet what of that?</div>
<div class='line in2'>And Frailty’s name is mine,</div>
<div class='line'>Thy path of sin is naught to me,</div>
<div class='line in2'>For repentance is divine!”</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>And so it chanced that the lad returned</div>
<div class='line in2'>One night, when the low’ring day</div>
<div class='line'>Of Life had cast its dark’ning gloom</div>
<div class='line in2'>And lured him from his way;</div>
<div class='line'>And wine and song and kindly hands,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Like the dream of the prodigal son,</div>
<div class='line'>Were lent in humble, sweet embrace</div>
<div class='line in2'>To welcome the erring one!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in11'>––––––––</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>A maiden fair in tattered gown,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Aweary and sad at heart,</div>
<div class='line'>Passed out in the rabble of the street</div>
<div class='line in2'>With penance for a part.</div>
<div class='line'>Hers was the fate of Passion’s love,</div>
<div class='line in2'>And she a thing of scorn;</div>
<div class='line'>“Thou hast erred and sinned,” cried the bitter world,</div>
<div class='line in2'>“’Twere better to be unborn!”</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Thou art not my child!” the father said,</div>
<div class='line in2'>As he closed the mansion door—</div>
<div class='line'>“Passion and sin go hand in hand,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Seek thou another shore!”</div>
<div class='line'>And the girl went forth forever, aye,</div>
<div class='line in2'>A penitent child of shame—</div>
<div class='line'>One of the millions wandering on</div>
<div class='line in2'>For woe and Death to claim.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in11'>––––––––</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Ah! this was many years ago,</div>
<div class='line in2'>When life was a youthful dream;</div>
<div class='line'>And yester eve I saw two graves</div>
<div class='line in2'>In a churchyard near a stream;</div>
<div class='line'>The glittering waters rippled soft</div>
<div class='line in2'>Their cadence for a song</div>
<div class='line'>Of the sinner and sinned who buried lay</div>
<div class='line in2'>Apart from the madding throng.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>The same sweet carol of the birds</div>
<div class='line in2'>Overhead, that sang their strain;</div>
<div class='line'>The same sweet zephyrs lingering by</div>
<div class='line in2'>Made dirges for the twain.</div>
<div class='line'>One forgiven! The other spurned!</div>
<div class='line in2'>Both in the depths of clay.</div>
<div class='line'>Yet each again to rise, despite</div>
<div class='line in2'>The cross of the worldly way!</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in11'>––––––––</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Here’s where I prove an artist</div>
<div class='line in2'>Without a brush,” he cried,</div>
<div class='line'>As he drew a lovely maiden</div>
<div class='line in2'>Up closer to his side.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Hell</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Sometimes we say—</div>
<div class='line in6'>It’s colde’r’n Hell;</div>
<div class='line'>Sometimes we say—</div>
<div class='line in6'>It’s hotter’n Hell,</div>
<div class='line'>And when it rains,</div>
<div class='line in6'>’Tis Hell we cry;</div>
<div class='line'>It’s also Hell</div>
<div class='line in6'>When it is dry.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Married life’s Hell—</div>
<div class='line in6'>So they say;</div>
<div class='line'>You get home late—</div>
<div class='line in6'>There’s Hell to pay;</div>
<div class='line'>I suppose it is Hell</div>
<div class='line in6'>If babe cries all night,</div>
<div class='line'>And doctor bills—</div>
<div class='line in6'>They’re Hell all right.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>But still there’s “Hell, yes”; “Hell, no,”</div>
<div class='line in6'>And “Oh, Hell,” too;</div>
<div class='line'>“The Hell you don’t”</div>
<div class='line in6'>And “The Hell you do.”</div>
<div class='line'>Now, how in the Hell</div>
<div class='line in6'>Can anyone tell,</div>
<div class='line'>What in the Hell</div>
<div class='line in6'>We mean by Hell.</div>
<div class='line in14'>—By Numatic, Akron, O.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Learning.</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I used to be old-fashioned,</div>
<div class='line in2'>I never came to town,</div>
<div class='line'>But now, by gosh, I’m lickity-split,</div>
<div class='line in2'>I love the girls around.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I hug ’em, I kiss ’em,</div>
<div class='line in2'>I’m a regular up to date.</div>
<div class='line'>By gollys I’m getting wild,</div>
<div class='line in2'>But you city ginks just wait.</div>
<div class='line in14'>—Bill Bancroft.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Maud Muller</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Maud Muller, on nice summer day,</div>
<div class='line'>Raked in meadows sveet vith hay.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Her eyes ban sharp lak gude sharp knife;</div>
<div class='line'>She ban nice girl, ay bet yure life.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Before she ban dar wery long,</div>
<div class='line'>She start to senging little song.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>The Yudge come riding down big hill</div>
<div class='line'>In nice red yumping ottomobill.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Maude say, “Hello, Yudge,—how ban yu?”</div>
<div class='line'>The Yudge say, “Maudie, how y’ du?”</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>He say: “Skol yu tak little ride?</div>
<div class='line'>Ef yu skol lak to, yump inside.”</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>So Maude and Yudge ride ’bout sax miles,</div>
<div class='line'>And Yudge skol bask in Maude’s sveet smiles.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>The Yudge say, “Skol yu be my pal?”</div>
<div class='line'>Den ottomobill bust all to hal.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Den Maude ban valking ’bout half vay</div>
<div class='line'>Back to meadows sveet vith hay.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Ay luv yu still, dear,” said the Yudge;</div>
<div class='line'>But Maude she only say, “O fudge!”</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Of all sad vords dat men skol talk,</div>
<div class='line'>The saddest ban, “Valk, yu sucker, valk!”</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Girls! Read This One</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>A girl may laugh, a girl may sing;</div>
<div class='line'>A girl may knit and crochet,</div>
<div class='line'>But she can’t scratch a match</div>
<div class='line'>On the seat of her pants,</div>
<div class='line'>Because she’s not built that way.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Girls</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>With girls you should not get too free,</div>
<div class='line in2'>You’ll find my words are true;</div>
<div class='line'>Tell her she is a bird, and she</div>
<div class='line in2'>Will want to fly with you.</div>
<div class='line in14'>—Cincinnati Enquirer.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>With girls you should not get too free,</div>
<div class='line in2'>You’ll find my words are right;</div>
<div class='line'>Tell her she is a bear, and she</div>
<div class='line in2'>Will want to hug you tight.</div>
<div class='line in14'>—Hastings (Neb.) Tribune.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>With girls you should not get too free,</div>
<div class='line in2'>And this thought don’t forget;</div>
<div class='line'>Tell her she is a deer, and see</div>
<div class='line in2'>Her run you dear in debt.</div>
<div class='line in14'>—New York World.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>With girls you should not get too free,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Just that in mind please bear;</div>
<div class='line'>Tell her she is a peach, and she</div>
<div class='line in2'>Will grab you for a pair.</div>
<div class='line in14'>—St. Paul Pioneer Press.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>With girls you should not get too free,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Be careful, don’t get rash;</div>
<div class='line'>Tell her she is a lamb and she</div>
<div class='line in2'>Will fleece you of your cash.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>In a Friendly Sort o’ Way</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in1'>When a man ain’t got a cent, and he’s feeling kind o’ blue,</div>
<div class='line in1'>An’ the clouds hang dark an’ heavy, an’ won’t let the sunshine through,</div>
<div class='line in1'>It’s a great thing, O, my brethren, for a feller just to lay</div>
<div class='line in1'>His hand upon your shoulder in a friendly sort o’ way!</div>
<div class='line in1'>It makes a man feel curious; it makes the teardrops start,</div>
<div class='line in1'>An’ you sort o’ feel a flutter in the region of the heart:</div>
<div class='line in1'>You can look up and meet his eyes: you don’t know what to say</div>
<div class='line in1'>When his hand is on your shoulder in a friendly sort o’ way.</div>
<div class='line in1'>Oh, the world’s a curious compound, with its honey and its gall,</div>
<div class='line in1'>With its care and bitter crosses, but a good worl’ after all;</div>
<div class='line in1'>An’ a good God must have made it—leastways, that is what I say,</div>
<div class='line in1'>When a hand is on my shoulder in a friendly sort o’ way.</div>
<div class='line in14'>—James Whitcomb Riley.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>The Troop Train</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Higgledy, piggledy, we tumble in,</div>
<div class='line'>Rats in a cage, fish in a tin,</div>
<div class='line'>In evil dreams I travel again</div>
<div class='line'>In a clanking, clattering French troop train,</div>
<div class='line'>“Chevaux” eight, “Homme’s” two score</div>
<div class='line'>Is the legend inscribed on the box-car door.</div>
<div class='line'>All things considered, I cannot but feel</div>
<div class='line'>That the horses get the best of the deal.</div>
<div class='line'>We stop with a jerk and start with a wrench,</div>
<div class='line'>And the driver gets cursed in both English and French.</div>
<div class='line'>We start, we stop, we start once more</div>
<div class='line'>And shunt back to where we were before;</div>
<div class='line'>When it’s time to sleep down you flop</div>
<div class='line'>With two men beneath you and three on top.</div>
<div class='line'>Higgledy, piggledy, here we lie,</div>
<div class='line'>Lice in a shirt, pigs in a sty.</div>
<div class='line in14'>H. J. Smith.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>When I’m Among a Blaze of Lights</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>When I’m among a blaze of lights,</div>
<div class='line'>With tawdry music and cigars</div>
<div class='line'>And women dawdling through delights,</div>
<div class='line'>And officers at cocktail bars,—</div>
<div class='line'>Sometimes I think of garden night</div>
<div class='line'>And elm trees nodding at the stars.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I dream of a small firelit room</div>
<div class='line'>With yellow candles burning straight,</div>
<div class='line'>And glowing pictures in the gloom,</div>
<div class='line'>And kindly books that hold me late.</div>
<div class='line'>Of things like these I love to think</div>
<div class='line'>When I can never be alone:</div>
<div class='line'>Then some one says, “Another drink?”</div>
<div class='line'>And turns my living heart to stone.</div>
<div class='line in14'>—Sassoon.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>When the whole blamed world</div>
<div class='line'>Seems gone to pot</div>
<div class='line'>And business on the bum,</div>
<div class='line'>A two-cent grin and a lifted chin</div>
<div class='line'>Helps some, my boy, helps some.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>The Modern Version</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Smile, and the world smiles with you;</div>
<div class='line'>Weep, and you weep alone.”</div>
<div class='line in14'>—Ella Wheeler Wilcox.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Spend, and the world spends with you;</div>
<div class='line in2'>Save, and you save alone.</div>
<div class='line'>Tho’ fast be the race you’ve got to keep pace,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Till you’ve spent every nickel you own.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Jazz, and the bunch jazz with you;</div>
<div class='line in2'>Dance, and you’re by yourself;</div>
<div class='line'>The mob thinks it’s “jake” to shimmy and shake,</div>
<div class='line in2'>For the “old-fashioned stuff’s” on the shelf.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Have a “case,” and your friends will adore you;</div>
<div class='line in2'>Have a thirst, and they all pass you by;</div>
<div class='line'>For men want full measure of all your treasure,</div>
<div class='line in2'>But never come ’round when you’re dry.</div>
<div class='line in14'>V. V. M.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>The Longing Search</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I wonder if we’ll ever meet again.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Upon a golden day thou came’st to me,</div>
<div class='line'>And beautyless were other maidens then,</div>
<div class='line'>Nor was it night nor day when near to thee,</div>
<div class='line'>But carefree floating through the yielding air.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Oft in the crowd, I’ve seen thee hurry on,</div>
<div class='line'>With wistful smile and look so sadly fair,</div>
<div class='line'>But when the head was turned, ’twas not the one.</div>
<div class='line'>And my sad heart fed on its grief again.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>So runs my song. The sea, in other days,</div>
<div class='line'>Broke on the shores of time encircled men</div>
<div class='line'>And maids, whose hearts, like ours, sang such sad lays.</div>
<div class='line'>Are those souls happy there, who here found pain?</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I wonder if we’ll ever meet again.</div>
<div class='line in12'>—Norman McLeod.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Ananias Outdone</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I’d rather drink water than beer;</div>
<div class='line in2'>I’d rather drink milk than champagne,</div>
<div class='line'>A “gingerale high” always makes me feel queer,</div>
<div class='line in2'>A “claret cup” gives me a pain;</div>
<div class='line'>I’m really a buttermilk fan,</div>
<div class='line in2'>For whisky I don’t care a slam;</div>
<div class='line'>Soft drinks are my joy,</div>
<div class='line in3'>I’m so happy! Oh, Boy!!</div>
<div class='line'>What a wonderful liar I am.</div>
<div class='line in14'>—By Betty.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>So Touching</span></b></div>
<div>By John Bowen, Jr., S. T. C.</div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>At first she touches up her hair</div>
<div class='line in2'>To see if it’s in place,</div>
<div class='line'>And then with manner debonair,</div>
<div class='line in2'>She touches up her face;</div>
<div class='line'>A touch of curls behind her ear,</div>
<div class='line in2'>A touch of cuffs and collars</div>
<div class='line'>And then she’s off to hubby dear</div>
<div class='line in2'>To touch him for ten dollars.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<table class='table2' summary=''>
<colgroup>
<col width='50%' />
<col width='50%' />
</colgroup>
<tr>
<th class='c012'>When You Marry Her</th>
<th class='c013'>When You Marry Him</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>When you marry her, love her;</td>
<td class='c023'>After you marry him, study him;</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>After you marry her, study her;</td>
<td class='c023'>If he is secretive, trust him;</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>When she is blue, cheer her;</td>
<td class='c023'>If he is sad, cheer him;</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>When she is talkative, by all means listen to her;</td>
<td class='c023'>When he is talkative, listen to him;</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>If she dresses well, compliment her;</td>
<td class='c023'>When he is quarrelsome, ignore him;</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>When she is cross, humor her;</td>
<td class='c023'>If he is jealous, cure him;</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>If she does you a favor, kiss her;</td>
<td class='c023'>If he cares naught for pleasure, coax him;</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>When she is jealous, cure her;</td>
<td class='c023'> </td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>If dinner is cold, eat it, not her;</td>
<td class='c023'>If he favors society, accompany him;</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>When she looks pretty, tell her so;</td>
<td class='c023'>When he deserves it, kiss him;</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>Let her feel how well you understand her—</td>
<td class='c023'>Let him think how well you understand him—</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class='c022'>But never let her know she isn’t boss.</td>
<td class='c023'>But never let him know that you manage him.</td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c014' /></div>
<div class='box'>
<div class='chapter'>
<h2 class='c015'><span class='c005'><b><i>Pasture Pot Pourri</i></b></span></h2></div>
</div>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c014'>
<div>I didn’t like her apartment so I knocked her flat.</div>
</div></div>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><span class='small'>A parson in London, England, has been unfrocked for kissing a
servant girl. This smacks of intolerance.</span></p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Give It Up</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'>If big feet, knock-knees and bow legs won’t make
a girl wear long skirts, what chance has modesty?</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>An Ambition</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'><i>I’ve mortgaged the house and mortgaged the cow,</i></div>
<div class='line in2'><i>And mortgaged the things that are,</i></div>
<div class='line'><i>And all the things I expect to have,</i></div>
<div class='line in2'><i>To purchase a motor car.</i></div>
<div class='line'><i>And when I first roll out in it</i></div>
<div class='line in2'><i>My joy will be sublime</i></div>
<div class='line'><i>If I can run over my brother-in-law</i></div>
<div class='line in2'><i>And get away in time.</i></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<p class='c018'><span class='small'>A man in Brandon, the other day, was fined one thousand dollars
for selling a bottle of whiskey, and a man in Humboldt, found
guilty of seduction, was let off on suspended sentence. Uplift is
making great advances.</span></p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><span class='small'>Clothing dealers think that it’s all over with the overall.</span></p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><span class='small'>The man who does not possess a private cellar is in a fair way
to possess a private cell.</span></p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'>Bohemia! Bohemia! The world of hopes and fears,
Of themes and dreams and cigarettes, free lunches, beers and tears.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>A recruiting officer says soldiers make good
husbands because all they want is plenty to eat and
beans once a week. Hm! And we imagined beans were
something to eat.</b></p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>A Good Excuse</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'>Flooterpush gazed sadly upon Jane Emily the
handmaiden.</p>
<p class='c018'>“Jane Emily,” said he, severely pointing to a half-empty
bottle of the fluid which cheers and occasionally
inebriates, “somebody’s been at this whiskey.”</p>
<p class='c018'>“Well, I’ve never touched your whiskey,” retorted
the girl.</p>
<p class='c018'>“Are you sure, Jane Emily?”</p>
<p class='c018'>“Sure! O’ course I’m sure! Why, the blessed
cork wouldn’t come out!”</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>My Hosiery, My Hosiery</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'>Silk stockings coming down, is the joyful scream
that hits up from the headlines.</p>
<p class='c018'>’Smatter, garters going up?</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'>See where the girls are putting wings on their slippers.
That ought to speed up the high flyers.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c014' /></div>
<div class='box'>
<div class='chapter'>
<h2 class='c015'><span class='c005'>“<b><i>Friendly Insults</i>”</b></span></h2></div>
</div>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c014'>
<div>By CAPTAIN BILLY</div>
</div></div>
<p class='drop-capa0_2_0_6 c017'>THERE is something almost amusing about the
violent agitation in Canada and England against
the publications of a well-known American.
The Britishers are working up a boycott against these
periodicals, declaring their pages contain many bitter
insults to old John Bull.</p>
<p class='c018'>Those acquainted with the tribe of England soon
recognize their proud and haughty demeanor. Blood
and lineage cut deep into their flesh and cranium. I
often wonder if the English realize a possibility for
pride in the American people. From my observation
through a wide exchange of British publications, I
have noted 10 insulting stories regarding the Americans
to every one story contained in our newspapers
and magazines of a nature detrimental or slurring to
British cousins.</p>
<p class='c018'>Permit me for a moment to regale you with a few
old stories gleaned from the English:</p>
<p class='c026'><b>Story No. 1.</b>—A teacher asked one of the
class to tell her what the British flag stood
for. “Truth, honor and justice,” replied the
child. “Right,” said the teacher. “Now
Willie, can you tell me what the French flag
stands for?” “Liberty, fraternity and equality,”
piped Willie. “Good,” commented the
teacher. “Reggie, you tell me what the
American flag stands for.” “I don’t know
what it stands for now,” replied the knowing
youth, “but it stood for a devil of a lot during
the first two years of the war.”</p>
<p class='c027'><b>Story No. 2.</b>—One of the first American
soldiers arriving in England went into a public
house and ordered a glass of beer. He was
not used to the non-sparkling English beer
and casually remarked to the barmaid: “Isn’t
this beer a little stale.” “No wonder it’s
stale,” rejoined the lady, “it has been waiting
for you three years.”</p>
<p class='c027'><b>Story No. 3.</b>—“Why are American Tommies
called ‘Doughboys’,” asked a kind lady of an
English soldier. “Well,” theorized the English
soldier, “I suppose it is because they
were kneaded in 1914 and did not rise until
1917.”</p>
<p class='c027'><b>Story No. 4.</b>—A prize was offered at a children’s
entertainment for the lad who could tell
the biggest lie. “I went up in an aeroplane
so high that I could hear the angels sing,”
said the first child. “I went down in a submarine
so far that the water was boiling,”
said the second. “The Americans won the
war,” said the third, and carried off the prize.</p>
<p class='c027'><b>Story No. 5.</b>—An American soldier met a
British soldier in New York. “What mob
did you go over with?” asked the Britisher.
“The Rainbow Division,” responded the
American. “Never heard of it,” laconically
remarked the Britisher. “What,” ejaculated
the American; “never heard of the Rainbow
Division, the famous Rainbow Division.”
“Ah, let me think,” pondered the other; “let
me think; ah, yes, bah jove, that’s the one
that came out after the storm was all over.”</p>
<p class='c021'>The Englishmen admit their insulting stories
about the Americans, but defend the practice by
declaring the stories to be of a friendly character. On
the other hand they declare the American insults to
be bitter. Our “friendly insults” appear to be “a
horse of another color.” What chance is there for
permanent peace?</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>The Soapy Wiggle Shimmy</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'>There are ways and other ways, but——</p>
<p class='c018'>“How do you wash your back when you bathe?”
queried one fair maiden of her companion on a streetcar,
as they rode to work one morning last week. “I
just can’t seem to get a satisfactory job on that part
of me.”</p>
<p class='c018'>“Why—wash my back?” came the instant and
ready reply. “Why, that’s easy. I just soap my back
all over and then lie down in the tub and shimmy.”</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'>He: “Are you free tonight, dearie?”</p>
<p class='c018'>She: “No, I was last Friday but not tonight.”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c014' /></div>
<div class='box'>
<div class='chapter'>
<h2 class='c015'><span class='c005'><b><i>Limericks</i></b></span></h2></div>
</div>
<div class='lg-container-b c028'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>There was a young lady of Tottenham,</div>
<div class='line'>Her manners—well, she had forgotten ’em.</div>
<div class='line in4'>At tea at the Vicar’s</div>
<div class='line in4'>She took off her knickers,</div>
<div class='line'>And said she was too jolly hot in ’em.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in12'>––––––––––</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>There was a young man in Drumheller;</div>
<div class='line'>An ornery sort of a feller.</div>
<div class='line in4'>He had cracks in his dome,</div>
<div class='line in4'>But folks flocked to his home,</div>
<div class='line'>On account of the crocks in his cellar.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in12'>––––––––––</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>There was a young man from Bordeaux</div>
<div class='line'>Who loved a young lady I kneaux;</div>
<div class='line in4'>She was charming and fair,</div>
<div class='line in4'>But she died in despair</div>
<div class='line'>For the chap from Bordeaux was too sleaux.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in12'>––––––––––</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>A maiden with stockings of lisle</div>
<div class='line'>Passed a man and she gave him a smile.</div>
<div class='line in4'>The lisle he could see</div>
<div class='line in4'>All the way to her knee,</div>
<div class='line'>And he followed her almost a misle.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in12'>––––––––––</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>A Cannibal King saw his Mrs.</div>
<div class='line'>Kissing a guard called Ulrs.</div>
<div class='line in4'>The wicked old king</div>
<div class='line in4'>Fricasseed the poor thing,</div>
<div class='line'>And Ulrs. now Mrs. her Krs.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in12'>––––––––––</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>A young man named Christopher Gunn</div>
<div class='line'>Once married a girl “just for fun,”</div>
<div class='line in4'>But soon a boy came</div>
<div class='line in4'>Now dad’s not the same</div>
<div class='line'>For the kid’s a young son of a Gunn!</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c014' /></div>
<div class='box'>
<div class='chapter'>
<h2 class='c015'><span class='c005'><b><i>Classified Ads</i></b></span></h2></div>
</div>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c014'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Some Lady</span></b></div>
<div><span class='small'>(From South Side Star.</span>)</div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'><span class='small'>Wanted—To buy buggy by lady that is double seated and has
patent leather top.</span></p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Ballad of the Brand</span></b></div>
<div><span class='small'>(From St. Peter News.)</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'><span class='small'>Strayed or Stolen—Young heifer from farmer living east of
town with XXXX branded on hind leg.</span></p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Where Do They Get It?</span></b></div>
<div><span class='small'>(From the Lake County Times.)</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'><span class='small'>For Sale or Trade—A big paying hotel and boarding house; 45
roomers, always full.</span></p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Competing With St. Peter</span></b></div>
<div><span class='small'>(From the Clinton, Ia., Advertiser.)</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'><span class='small'>Do you know W. L. Boyce? If not, you should, as he is the man
that marks the mistakes of the doctors. The Monument Man.</span></p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Wealthy but Thrifty</span></b></div>
<div><span class='small'>(From the Muskogee Phoenix.)</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'><span class='small'>Beautiful farmer’s daughter with 425 acres of land, very
wealthy, would marry. Send stamp for a reply. Box ——, Tallahassee,
Fla.</span></p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Nature Faker</span></b></div>
<div><span class='small'>(From the Leal Leader.)</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'><span class='small'>For Sale—A cow will have calf soon, also some hogs.</span></p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>A Bully Job</span></b></div>
<div><span class='small'>(From Minneapolis Journal.)</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'><span class='small'>Girl for general housework; no laundry work; pleasant room,
private bath; $10 a week. Mrs. B. S. Bull, Ken. 1898, 1627 W. 26th
street.</span></p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Forecast: Continued Cool</span></b></div>
<div><span class='small'>(From the Gary Tribune.)</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'><span class='small'>Wanted—Lady to sleep nights for company. Would allow use
of kitchen if necessary. B-232</span></p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Regular Leap Year Ad</span></b></div>
<div><span class='small'>(From Vancouver Province.)</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'><span class='small'>Middle-aged widow lady (girl six) wishes light duties, $10
monthly, country preferred, with respectable, good living man
having nice, healthy home, piano.</span></p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>How About a Middle-Aged Widow?</span></b></div>
<div><span class='small'>(From the Marion, Ind., Republican.)</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'><span class='small'>To whom it may concern—Some men advertise for fine stock,
but not the case with me; I am looking for a wife. I am a lone
man keeping house. I work every day and do not have a chance
to find a wife. Any lady wishing to marry will please address me
at Johnston City, Ill. Very respectfully, W. C. South.</span></p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>The Gentle Osteopath</span></b></div>
<div><span class='small'>(From the Osteopathic Physician.)</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'><span class='small'>Wanted—An assistant. Must be good mixer. Lady of good
appearance and one with the goods would do. Address ——, care</span>
The O. P.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><span class='small'>A concern advertises in The Chicago Tribune for an “office boy,
16 years old, with large corporation.” Isn’t that asking a good deal
of one so young?</span></p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c014' /></div>
<div class='box'>
<div class='chapter'>
<h2 class='c015'><span class='c005'><b><i>Jest Jokes and Jingles</i></b></span></h2></div>
</div>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c014'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Father Said So</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'>Tommy: “Do you go to bed very early, Mrs.
Peck?”</p>
<p class='c018'>Mrs. Peck: “Yes, Tommy, sometimes—when I
feel tired.”</p>
<p class='c018'>“You wouldn’t go so early if you were married to
my father, would you?”</p>
<p class='c018'>“Oh, Tommy, you funny boy! Why not?”</p>
<p class='c018'>“’Cause my father told mother that if he were
your husband he’d make you sit up and take notice.”</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Cause for Joy</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Old King Cole</div>
<div class='line'>Was a merry old soul,</div>
<div class='line in2'>Don’t doubt it for a minute,</div>
<div class='line'>He called for his pipe</div>
<div class='line'>And he called for his bowl,</div>
<div class='line in2'>And that bowl had “something” in it.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>A Stag Party</span></b></div>
<div><span class='small'>(From the Highland Park Press.)</span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'>Mr. and Mrs. George D. Stagg, of San Bernardino,
Calif., are the proud parents of a baby boy. Mr. Stagg
is still in the military hospital.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Listen To ’Em Rave</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'>A recent robbery disclosed the fact that large
quantities of whiskey have been sent to insane asylums
for “medicinal” purposes.</p>
<p class='c018'>Men wishing to take the examination for insanity
will please leave their names at the front office. The
line forms to the right—don’t crowd.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='lg-container-b'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“I’d like to get some soap,” she told the clerk.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“Would you care for toilet soap?” the salesman asked.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>“No,” she replied. “I want it for my face.”</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='lg-container-b c020'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Adam was a wise guy,</div>
<div class='line'>So they say;</div>
<div class='line'>He shoved his rib against the fence</div>
<div class='line'>And Eve came to next day.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<hr class='c024' />
<p class='c018'>One of our Robbinsdale farmer boys who was
active in the big blowout in France was explaining the
mysteries of a barb wire entanglement to a sweet
country miss. Using the pasture fence and county
road ditch to simulate trench conditions, our farmer-doughboy
“went over the top” at the zero hour, much
to her delectation. She joined in the second attack,
but our friend said the entire battle effect was spoiled
when her skirt caught in the barbs, and she exclaimed
in a very unmilitary manner: “Move over, kiddo,
until I blow my nose.”</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c014' /></div>
<div class='box'>
<div class='chapter'>
<h2 class='c015'><span class='c005'><b><i>Lights Out, and Then</i></b></span></h2></div>
</div>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center c014'>
<div>By JANE GAITES</div>
</div></div>
<p class='drop-capa0_35_0_65 c017'>ELEVEN o’clock p.m.—a dainty little ankle
adorned by the lace ruffle of a silken pair of
pajamas is drawn under the warm, crisp
covers. A little brunette head is nestled more comfortably
on the soft pillows—two sleepy gray-blue eyes
glance demurely but searchingly around the room. A
tired yawn is suppressed by tiny rosy finger-tips—a
small round arm reaches upward, and, presto—the
lights go out.</p>
<p class='c018'>A moment of struggling is encountered in the
gloom,—follows a turning over, and suddenly the
shapely little head is jerked breathlessly under the
covers. Part of a minute elapses, then—“Ow, help,
murder, police, oh—oh, oh, my God!—a man!”</p>
<p class='c018'>A frantic struggle to turn on the lights commences,
but the poor frightened little slip of a girl
can’t find the switch.</p>
<p class='c018'>An anxious pater rushes in amidst the hysterical
screams of his exceedingly excited wifie who just
knows that she will collapse!</p>
<p class='c018'>Two minutes later, with the lights well on, daughter
is snuggled securely in pater’s protecting arms,—but
where is the man?</p>
<p class='c018'>A faint sound arises from under the blankets, at
which daughter Fanchon screams, and mother, true to
her prediction, faints.</p>
<p class='c018'>Oh! how terrible is the suspense of that fateful
night! Presently, the “sound” is converted into an
unmistakeable mew—Tabby innocently emerges from
the covers, and demure little Fanchon very conventionally
cries, “Oh, Hell—it’s only the cat!”</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Billy Noonan’s Sunshine</span></b></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'>The sad part about fishing trips this year is that
the fisherman will have to fish.</p>
<p class='c018'>It is next to impossible to get a drink in St. Paul—unless
you have the price.</p>
<p class='c018'>John Smith, Cass Lake, Minn., Indian, says he
fished on the Rainy river 115 years ago. There’s a
mark for some of you fish liars to aim at.</p>
<p class='c018'>Thrift advocates are advising wives to discard all
useless things around the house. It looks bad for a lot
of husbands.</p>
<p class='c018'>Villa supported the rebels until they got into
power, but now he is “agin” them. There must be a
strain of Irish in him.</p>
<p class='c018'>They are still selling beer in England at three
cents a glass. The fare to England is only $179.75.</p>
<p class='c018'>The daily papers are running articles about the
great slashing in wearing apparel. They must refer
to the laundries.</p>
<p class='c018'>Price slashing continues. Snow shovels, ear muffs
and overcoats are coming down in price.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c000' /></div>
<div class='box'>
<div class='chapter'>
<h2 class='c015'><span class='c005'><b><i>Our Mail Bag</i></b></span></h2></div>
</div>
<p class='c025'><b>John</b>—I think you must be speaking of pickles;
olives are never warped.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>C. P.</b>—Use one end of the fork, only.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Agnes</b>—The male should buy the tickets—at least
his own. Would suggest that you send me your picture.
After all I may be wrong.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>L. M. & C. D.</b>—“You are both wrong.” Question
1—It was Richard B. Sheridan the lady was speaking
of. Phil Sheridan took the ride and it was Martin
Sheridan “who threw things,” as you so aptly put it.
Question 2—She must have thought you a couple of
mutts.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Mr. B.</b>—I am sorry but I know of no way to keep
the ears from flapping. Is Jessie your wife or your
horse?</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>T. U.</b>—You cannot lay the blame to your hostess.
One should not expect the chicken to be nailed to the
plate.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Maggie</b>—No, tea is not tackled nor is it lapped.
Sip perhaps is the word you seek.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Henery</b>—If you must speak of them, use the word
“Suspenders.” “Braces” are doubtful, while gallowses,
well, you strike me with horror. Gallowses are
obsolete in good society. Yes, an old-fashioned man is
one who wears suspenders.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Percy</b>—No, you are not expected to kiss the girl
in the vestibule. It is not being done these days.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Bill Grabb</b>—If you think you have a good chance
with the lady and are sure about her income, hire a
taxi. Life is a gamble, anyway. Take a chance; Steve
Brodie did.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>H. G. P.</b>—We thank you for the two following
items. They’re “birds”: A young man and girl
eloped and when they reached Pensacola he wired the
girl’s mother as follows: “Married Gladys in Pensacola
today. Am going to Tampa with her tomorrow.”</p>
<p class='c018'>You can lead a mule to water, but it takes Bull
Durham Tobacer.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Mae</b>—The skins of potatoes become jackets upon
leaving the kitchen.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Ed.</b>—Yes, it would be best to use your handkerchief.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Miss Sylvia</b>—If you are unfamiliar with the artichoke
turn it down. No book can help you. It is one
of the most treacherous traps that a newly-rich-society-climber
can fall into. I dare not advise you.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Frank D.</b>—No, Frank, trap is not the correct expression
to use in speaking of a lady’s mouth, unless—unless
she is your wife.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Harry P.</b>—I am no lawyer. However, I believe
that you have no grounds for a law-suit. You didn’t
have to hold the baby.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Miss Dorris M.</b>—Please mention the kind of a
breath your dancing partner had. Also give his name
and address.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>James P.</b>—Grapefruit is always uncertain. Write
a letter to “the lady on your left.”</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Louise</b>—Charles Dickens’ “Curiosity Shop” is
a book, not a store. Give up hunting downtown and
try a library.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>E. O.</b>—A is right. Trousers; not pants.</p>
<hr class='c019' />
<p class='c018'><b>Cleo</b>—Yes, your touching poem, “Why Should I
Suffer and Die,” is very good, but you should practice
what you preach.</p>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c000' /></div>
<div class='lg-container-l c004'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>TO: CAPTAIN BILLY’S WHIZ BANG</div>
<div class='line in4'>25028 South Vermont Avenue</div>
<div class='line in4'>Harbor City, Calif. 90710</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line in4'>$3.00 Per Copy</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Please send _____ copy/copies of Captain Billy’s Whiz Bang.</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Name ______________</div>
<div class='line in4'>(PLEASE PRINT)</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Street _____</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>City _____</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>State_____ Zip _____</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>I enclose my remittance in the amount $ _____</div>
</div>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>X ___________</div>
<div class='line in4'>Signature</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c014' /></div>
<div class='box'>
<p class='c025'><span class='small'>“Golightly is a writer who handles delicate subjects without
gloves. His style is fearless, unique, forceful.”—<i>Chicago Blade.</i></span></p>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><span class='c005'><b>“<i>The Curse of the</i></b></span></div>
<div><span class='c005'><b><i>Caribbean and the</i></b></span></div>
<div><span class='c005'><b><i>Three Guianas</i></b></span></div>
<div><span class='c005'><b><i>(Gehennas)</i>”</b></span></div>
</div></div>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><b><span class='large'>Rev. “Golightly” Morrill’s New Book</span></b></div>
<div class='c000'><span class='small'>Uncensored Photos, 250 Unexpurgated Pages.</span></div>
<div><span class='small'>$1.25 Postpaid</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class='lg-container-b'>
<div class='linegroup'>
<div class='group'>
<div class='line'>Breezy as the Hurricane, Blistering</div>
<div class='line'>as the Equatorial Sun, Eruptive as</div>
<div class='line'>the Volcano, Jarring as the Earthquake.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div>Address G. L. Morrill, Pastor People’s Church,</div>
<div>3356 10th Avenue South,</div>
<div>Minneapolis, Minnesota, U. S. A.</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class='c029'> </p>
<div class='box'>
<div class='nf-center-c0'>
<div class='nf-center'>
<div><span class='c005'><b><i>Everywhere!</i></b></span></div>
</div></div>
<p class='c018'>WHIZ BANG is on sale
at all leading hotels,
news stands, on trains,
25 cents single copies, or
may be ordered direct
from the publisher at
30 cents single copies;
two-fifty a year.</p>
<div class='figcenter id004'>
<ANTIMG src='images/bull.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /></div>
</div>
<div class='pbb'>
<hr class='pb c014' /></div>
<p class='c029'> </p>
<div class='tnbox'>
<ul class='ul_1'>
<li>Transcriber’s Notes:
<ul class='ul_2'>
<li>Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected.
</li>
<li>Unbalanced quotation marks were left as the author intended.
</li>
<li>Typographical errors were silently corrected.
</li>
<li>“derflop” was changed to “kerflop” on page 11. A dictionary search showed no
instances of “derflop”
</li>
<li>Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were only made consistent when a predominant
form was found in this book.
</li>
</ul>
</li>
</ul></div>
<SPAN name="endofbook"></SPAN>
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