University of Minnesota - Gopher Yearbook (Minneapolis, MN)

Page 32 text:

iT buzz and buzz and buzz. I he victims — erslwhile entertained, now hustle from the Registrar ' s window to Enrollment Committee, from weary waiting line to weary waitmg Ime. bewildered, uncomprehending, un- happy — the victims glance helplessly at one another and watch, palely, while with businesslike zeal their conductors jot down dates in expens- ive little books. And as the hot, jostling, noisy, confused day draws to a close, they are led off one by one. and the hearts of all are wildly beating. This is called: DIS- CRIMINATION. ' Me.nntime, their brothers are not idle. Many young gentlemen stand in line also, and automobiles wait outside the door. Two young men hover about a group of other young , T men, and at Ust one says: How v ' K.-. - do, Jones? I ' d like to meet your friend. And with a furtive, tri- umphant grin the other replies: Ah yes, Jackson: all right Bill, want you to meet Mr. Jackson — Bill Hobbcs, one of our fellows from I ' ale. A MISCALCULATION. Another young man is a center of interest. He is entertained by inter- ested friends at luncheon, with an- other circle of same he walks the , grounds of the scat of learning, dur- ' mg the afternoon, and in the evening he goes to dinner with the third group. He does not get home till morning. This is EDUCATION. But when the sun rises on the new day — ah! then comes REVELATION ! For the battle is not to the strong, nor the race to the swift. ,„- i i;. 5i ' v- A Miscalculation '

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SoAlilM , ' -■ I ' fb f M .; fc %. -.fe. ' vi ' - ' i. ' ' : ' ? ., Jiusltinii HE batlle is not to the strong, nor the race to the swift. The trumpet calls, the battle is on, the race is begun. Two charming young ladies put on their white kid gloves and go to call on an- other young lady, who receives them blushingly. They converse correctly; the two white-gloved young ladies are intensely interested in the in- terests of the at-home young lady, and the at- home young lady is deprecatingly interested in the broad, intellectual interests of the white- gloved young ladies. Their mutual friends are good for all of fifteen minutes of animated con- versation. The two young ladies rise to take their leave, and one, holding the hand of her little hostess, says; Now, you will let me help you register, won ' t youP The hostess blushes again, and murmurs a shy assent. Outside the door, they of the white gloves congratulate one another. Made a hit, says one. Isn ' t she a dear? exclaims the other. IMPLICATION. Summer comes. The weather grows very warm. They of the white gloves are very busy. They spend their mornings sitting at the telephone, most unconventionally attired, talking — yes even to the point of hoarseness — to the butcher, the baker, the candle-stick maker — and the alumnae. They spend the afternoon in a hot, steaming kitchen spreading sandwiches; between remarks as to the quality of the butter ihcy exchange excited comments on the characters, personalities, histories. and prospects of their last evening ' s guests. They spend their evenings entertaining. They pass around sandwiches and coffee and ice cream and salad, though their souls sicken, and their hearts grow faint within them. They sing, though their throats be dry. and their tongues cleave to the roof of their mouths. They converse, though their intellects dry unto dust and the founts of their wisdom trickle away. And they perform — oh yes, they perform though their col- lars do melt, and their laugh- ter is hollow. And the en- tertained sit by and eat and eat, and smile, and say th;y had a lovely time, and go home, and change their dress- es and go out and are enter- tained further. And this, some one has called by the name of Rushing. But it is. in truth. ABOMINATION. The weather is no longer warm. It is hot. September has come; matriculation week commences. Many, many young ladies stand in line, and lie in wait. Twos and threes put their heads together and ■■ ' =• ' ' - --

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. J«r; ' ■ § llpliftina tlie JJublii ITHOUT a loophole of doubt, the play ' s the thing. The Dramatic Club fully realizes its golden opportunity, nay, its solemn duty to the public, and presents lor your edification some worthy drama of an educational type. Not one of the participants but tries out for his role with a high minded zeal for this end; not one of the chosen few who make up the cast but faithfully attends rehearsals with a sense of benevolent virtue. The players keep constantly before them that ideal, the reason for being such an organ- ization as the Dramatic Club: the uplift of the public. Long and arduous is the work of selection of a vehicle; long and arduous the selection of dramatic talent for the various roles; and thereafter, longer and more arduous is the rehearsing. Let no young gentleman not well endowed with car fare and a strong right arm think to take part in a production such as this. All the ladies in the cast must be seen home. All the ladies in the cast live on Fifty-second Street North East, or Minnehaha Avenue, or the farther side of Lake Harriet. When the play has reached the point where it can be played with deep and proper feeling by its interpreters, it is put on, and you come to see it. If your particular pal plays the leading juvenile, your buncti squanders its substance and takes a box. If you are of a thrifty disposi- tion, you invite your lady and sit with the rest of the fellows and their ladies in the parquet. If someone else had asked her before you got a chance, you sit in the gallery and hobnob with the poverty-stricken whose ladies are in the play. The curtain rings up promptly and discloses that tall girl who wears a red suit around college, arrayed in servant ' s costume, dusting a piano stool. Anon appears the man who sat next you in German last semester — you never knew he could act. He can ' t. The leading lady comes on and you applaud madly. Her family, in the third row, sit with strained expressions, as though they had each a toothache. The play plays on till suddenly there is an awful silence on the stage; the players look at one another with frightened glances, the leading man ' s expression is one of agony; there is a sepulchral voice muttering from the wing; the play goes on; you never know what happened. Between acts you look at the rest of the audience, and crane your neck to see who that girl with red hair came with, and who the man is that brought Nellie King. The couple in front of you act dis- gracefully and giggle at all the pathetic parts. The families of the per- formers read their programs over and over, nervously, and clap very little. The waits between acts are endless, but at last the curtain rings down on the fourth act, and then up again, and there they all are, smil- ing and clutching their flowers, and the curtain comes down again, and it is over. You go home, and read the criticism in the paper the next day, and shake all the performers by the hand and shout at them in the postoffice how well they did; and they clench their teeth and thank you, and if they are ladies you glance at the flowers they are wearing and they blush; and next week it ' s forgotten. But it all happens again next year; for the business of uplifting the public cannot be allowed to rest, and the play ' s the thing.