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Page 24 text:
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22 LIFE IN THE COUNTRY Kenneth l ining. ' 41 T HERE are times when I hate everything about the country; times when I wish myself in the heart of New York City or on the pink beaches of Bermuda. I complain bitterly because there ' s nothing to do, not that I have any particular thing in mind, but the country seems a dull, monotonous, uninteresting place, fit for the old and infirm perhaps. 1 consider the people — the same few day after day — nothing exciting or glamorous about them certainly! 1 think about distances, miles to the movies, miles to school, miles to the next town. 1 feel anchored to the littleness of Egypt. I hate everything about it. Of course in the winter when the moon was pure silver and immenseh bright, and the stars were cold and brilliant and almost near enough to touch, we could walk to the nearest pond late in the evening and skate for hours, our skates ringing bell-like in the clear silence of the country. True, I ' ve met three young lads from England who are giving me vivid pictures of their lives in that gallant island. I know now that a law- yer ' s a barrister; I know lemons are worth their weight in gold; that only royalty can af- ford having teeth straightened; that jackets button higher; that cottage roofs are thatched and gleaming; glistening bathrooms are not too numerous. Mv own home is warmer, hear- ing stories of theirs; my own mother, dearer for being here with me. True I ' ve been horseback riding with my neighbor, and discussed subjects from life in the Panama Canal Zone to what education means, with another, that business-like girl that has traveled practically e ery where. I know the boys near me. what there are. and the girls down the road. True, when I amble along the streets of the little village and the larger town, I know that one and this one in a friendly, pleasant way. There seem to be no sides of the railroad tracks in Egypt. We ' re neighbors and friends. At times the tree-outlined curve in the road, bare, thin branches etched against a pale sky, the line of an ancient stone wall, the long, low rolling of the booming waves on the nearby shore, give me a sudden and quick-passing feeling of the beauty of the country. Then take my pig. He ' s a great, grunting creature, the source of constant complaint on the part of my father. But I like that pig. I ' ve had him since he was small and clean and pink. I ve scrptched his ears until he knows me. Beasis. I have a feeling, understands more than ou d think. Now if I lived in a city apartment again. I d never know the sorrow of sending a pig to slaughter, but I ' d never have the fun of watching him grow either. Consider my summers. If ambition over- comes me. I can find a chore here or there that nets me a neat little amount. I can mow a lawn or weed a garden in the fresh, clean air and sun of the country, and not in the drv dust of the city. I have the health and the money. What could I do in Boston? There may be things. And then down the road a jog or two there pre benches. Oh! they ' re not palm-fringed like Nassau, or powdery-white like Barbados; the water isn ' t warm like the Pacific, or clear deep down to the bnttcm like the Caribbean ( as thev say I . They ' re full of pebbles that grew gradu- allv into boulders. The water congeals the blood practicallv all summer long. But the people on the beaches are quite often friends, and the water is clean and most refreshing. Early in the autumn come the huge tides and with them quite often crashing, foaming breakers that roll in — in — in and rush out with a vast hiss. To dive through the breakers is breath- taking and most exciting. And this is just down the road. Not just fifty miles from the city. Perhaps I ' ll take it all back, about hating the countrv. Probably it ' s a black mood brought on by midseason boredom. Perhaps it s because there i= a blizzard raging. Perhaps, after a blizzard or two. spring will come, and jjerhaps. — well, will I like it. or hate it. this little couiitrx town where I e with m famih ? A man walked into a restaurant and ordered evervthing on the menu, from hors d ' oeuvres up to fried chicken, and consumed it all with gusto. A waiter beamed. You like your food, sir? The man repli?d. No. 1 hate the stuff, but I love bicarb of soda! Officer: Now tell me what is our id ' a of strategy. ' Draftee: It is when i u don t let the enem know vou re o ' jl of ammunitii)n but k°ep right on firing.
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Page 25 text:
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23 DOUBLE TROUBLE Betty Mclntyre, ' 42 HEY were twins, Barry and Murray Thornton, eighte?n vears old. Some W ' l ' brothers never get along very well to- i wk m gether but these two did. They had 1 been inseparable companions from the ! ■ - I cradle up, always sticking together. But now all was different. They were drifting apart. The reason — a girl ! Janet was petite, blonde and brown-eyed, with a smooth, creamy, complexion that blushed profusely at times. She was a smooth dancer, athletic, a good conversati(jnalist, looked as if she had been poured into anything she put on. and had a personality that was considered dynamic. Altogether — a pleasing combination. Naturally with these assets she was popular, very popular, and she seemed to favor the two Thornton boys. But she was either with one, one minute and the other the next, or she was with both of them at once. Therefore the rivalry, each one trying to outdo the other but to no apparent avail. That last night, the night before she left, the three of them went for a walk on the beach. Never was nature so flattering. The moon made the rippling waters shimmer and glow and clothed the white sands in silvery iridescence. The night was still and cool. Now and then the silence was broken by the rushing of the incoming waves as they rushed and danced along the beach. The moon flattered more than the natural beauties — for tiny lights sparkled and glittered and seemed to make Janet ' s hair even more golden. Her eyes were large and luminous and her skin looked to be made of ivory. The three of them walked along in silence. Suddenly it was Janet who broke the stillness, Let ' s sit here for a while. After a few unsuccessful attempts at con- versation Murray broke out impetuously, You can ' t go — that ' s all. What do you mean — I can ' t go? this from Janet. You ' ve got to choose one of us, chimed in Barry. Look, said Murray, if it ' s Barry, I ' ll step out of the |)icture, and I think the matter stands vice versa. For once you ' re right, Brother! remarked Barry. As the bewildered girl sat there, a frown on her lovelv face, it did, indeed, seem hard to choose, one so handsome and lithe and upright and fine, — and the other his exact replica. Finally she broke the suspense. Barry — Murray — please trust me and wait until Satur- day. Then FU be down to spend two weeks. I think by then this can be straightened out, she said with an amused laugh. Next Saturday! ! they exploded. Why that ' s four whole days away! I know — I know, she said, but at least — if you both care for me — you can have the patience to wait. We ' ll do it, they said with grim, resolved looks on their faces. The next morning at 9:04 they could be seen ctanding on the station platform, waving at what was now a wisp of a girl, standing on the observation platform, away off in the distance. Without one word they just looked at each other, and with hands in their pockets and disconsolate expression on their faces they walked home. This attitude remained for three days. Mr. and Mrs. Thornton exchanged covert, amused glances at one another whenever the opportunity offered. Saturday morning all was different. The Thornton household was very busy. At 9:30 the two boys emerged from their respective rooms, each impeccably dressed. They didn ' t eat much that morning for some unknown rea- son. At 10:30 they were on the platform. Finally the train chugged in. Then the most bewildered expression came across the faces of the two boys — for emerging from the train were two Janets! ! ! ! Then it broke — they looked at each other. Twins! ! they exclaimed. Hurrying forward they greeted Janet. Hello — Barry — Murray. I want you to meet my twin sister, Jeanette. Jeanette, Barry and Murray Thornton. Then they all spoke at once. The ice was broken and everybody was beaming. You never told us you had a twin sister, Barry said. (Continued on page 26)
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