Washington Seminary - Facts and Fancies Yearbook (Atlanta, GA)

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Wcismuller, talks like Bing Crosby, and looks like no other man. He beats 'em all. He must, Mary said without en- tliusiasm. Wait a minute, and I'll tell you what happenedf' I said reproachfully. You see, he was on the same Pullman, and he was the only man in that huge bunch of girls. I am telling you they ran him raggedln And you? Mary exclaimed reproach- fully, with a lift of her left eyebrow. Listen, Mug, I answered with with- ering scorn, 'twhen I run after a man, it will be something else. I hope so, she chimcd in. Mary can be very sympathetic at times, but at other times she just runs a one-track mind. Oh. be patient, will you? I begged her. While those girls nearly suffocated that lonely man, I remained very subdued and stand-ofhsh, as if he never existed. But when they went to the dining car for a late breakfast, he and I stayed in the car alone, and I did very well by myself. He began talking to me, and I played the clinging-vine type. Mary began to powder her nose. Mary's nonehalance is provoking at the wrong time. I donit even know his name, Maryf, I complained with exasperation, but he seemed to think that was unimportant. I just called him 'Prizoi with a long i if you please, as the other girls did. You see, he's been in Valpairaiso- that's in South America, ,couse you'd never know-where his father is doing some construction work in a big way. He fell for my line, and said he would like to see the rest of my family if I was a fair samplef, Mary viewed me with mock compos- ure until I had finished my say. He had to dash to look after his baggage before I had a chance to Hnd out where he is staying in Atlanta. But he has my address, all right, all right. That,s good. Now let me talkf, Mary launched off into a description of Mrs. MacGossip's nephew, Curt Newton, whom it seemed Mary had just caught a glimpse of, and for whom Mrs. MacGossip was giving the swimming party that after- noon. It seems he is wonderful, too. But I knew that before I could reach him Mrs. MacGossip would have told him all about my bathing suit and all else about me that she thinks is too brief. She'll never be on the unemployed list, that woman, not as long as I live. She'll al- ways have something to talk about. I was going with Harry, as I always do somehow, and Mary was going with Wiinpy. All four were going in Harry's Model T.', But the mouse had to come along and I began to have my doubts. Beep! There Harry and Wiinpy were, honk- ing their old horn, around in the back yard. What'll I do, Mary?,' I asked fran- tically. I haven't found that damn mouse yetlv Oh, come on, Mary encouraged, You and the mouse have both been pun- ished enoughf, Come in, boysf' I heard Mother say. I scrambled out from under the bed, changed my dress, fixed my face, grabbed my bathing suit out of the closet, stuffed it in a bag with everything else, and dashed Out. 'QGet in, Small-Change, Harry said, pushing me through the door. We have been waiting an hour on you. Oh shut up, Insignificant! I re- torted. If I am not worth waiting for, I am not worth taking. This checked him. Nancy had a mou-us. She didn't have it long,,' Wimp began singing. Big game hunter goes to a swimming party, Harry teased. Have your fun, childrenf' I said sweetly, but remember that he who laughs last-la-aw, who cares anyway! There's a funny thing about Harry's Model T, as there is about all of them, I guess. It has no low gear, so every steep hill we came to we had to turn around and back up. As this is the usual pro- cedure, it is of no consequence to us, but it always causes some eye-strain on the part of others who think we are going about it in the wrong way. With less than no trouble at all we reached Mrs. MacGossip,s. By this time I was de- termined to make her nephew in the same way I had made that Wonderful fConcluded on page IZSJ

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4 ff., Q Xp ' lx lx gs X.. X ' 'X fri. Q lil. A MoU E I Q, f X Nxillii' liiiV.Ds - M 2 it M? i I O SY O X ll' I H H1 R I - 'I dll llll lllllillkfl 7XQSsf J l fl A MA A lil will f X 5 fs f f I ' 'I gk, ,yfif '51 - 'lf li if I 'V irst Place in the Short Story Contestj 3 ,5 H X S xx By NANQ' Bk.xNx'oN i X I I7 I 'nff y i I iX33f'fQX tl nys, il ,.-, ll egg ,N - marry e 1 1 !,, 2 ' ' f 'W QQ ln Oh, for goodness sake. I backed out from under the bed on my hands and knees, a look of disgust, anger, and utter helplessness on my face. Hey, where are you, and what are you doing? Mary called as she came through the house to my mother,s room where I sat, chin in hands looking like a tire with all the air let out. XVhat is the matter with you? You look like you were on your last round- up, she greeted me. A w, I hope I am, I answered peev- ishly. W'ell, whatever it is, donyt let it get you dow n. Mary is one of these girls who can't be subdued at a crucial moment. Her enemies call her fat, but I, being her best friend, say she only has a good Mae West figure. Did Mama say anything to you when you came in? I enquired. She told me you were gunning for a mouse. Now, darlingf' she said sweetly, you have been gunning for men for sometime, but why pick on a defenseless creature like a mouse! It's like this, I began to explain. The cat brought in a mouse, just the tiniest little one, and while she was torturing it and even Mamma scolding her, I calml f walked over and made her turn it 3 loose. You what?', Mary screamed at me. She can't even bear the thought of a mouse. I made the cat turn the mouse loose, I answered patiently. And now Mother is having spasms because one teeny-weeny little mouse is left free to roam in this house. So, I have to hunt for it. She says I can't go out this afternoon 'till I find itf, With that I made a dive into the clothes closet, a sort of daily-dozen dive, if you know what that is. Is there insanity in your family? Mary inquired in an awed whisper. Or have you bumped your head too hard? Silence, while I banged around the closet. As I came out and went under the bed again, Mary began to ask ques- tions. Wl1i1t time did you get in this morn- ing? Did you have a good time? Did you meet anybody on your trip? The trip was my return from school. Listen to me, honey, I called from under the bed. I met the I110St gor- geous creature this morning! He is abso- lutely perfect. He is built like johnny

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TI-IE NEW AGAINST TI-IE OLD By M The taste for modern poetry is acquired with effort and patience. Appreciation of the older poets seems to come much more naturally. Possibly it is because every school child, even from the first grade, is taught that such men as Milton, Chau- cer, and Shakespeare are geniuses and whether or not he enjoys reading the classics he must recognize them as such and say he likes them. This is apt to be very harmful as it tends to develop the attitude that because certain things are said to be good they must be accepted as a matter of course. Nothing is stronger than the force of the majority-especially to the unformed mind. Through the freshman and sophomore years in high school the older poets are stressed. Modern poetry to a boy or girl of that age is usually some little verse the newspaper prints and the page of Current Poetry in the I.i.'c'rui'y Digrxf. Neither of these ever makes an impres- sion. Suddenly like a bolt from the blue the names of Henley, Bridges, Noyes, and Maseneld are hurled at him. The first reaction is one of surprise to think that men of this age are important enough to spend valuable time in studying. Next a feeling of annoyance develops over the newness of the whole thing. And finally there appears actual antagonism toward men who have dared to upset well- formulated ideas of years' standing. Wlhat is to be done about this unfortu- nate situation? And it ix unfortunate. There is absolutely no reason for wor- shipping the past to the point that one cannot appreciate the present. There are just as many fine things being written today as there were yesterday. Until the victim of such a sad delusion can be con- vinced of the narrowness of his view nothing can be done. But once his be- fuddled brain is cleared, let him not begin with the extreme in strange, exotic crea- tions of the present day, but, rather, with IRIAM MOON M Oh moon, Mother of artists, Vflhy do you cradle only those few Nlflho first saw life from The silvery radiance of your smile? Wliy' have you breathed Only into your children The joy and ecstasy of expression? Bow the conservative expressions of the modern. Rupert Brooke might be the first selection. His was a healthy yet fasci- nating personality which shines through all his work. His poetry reaches one through the imagination. lt is gentle, thoughtful, beautiful, and normal with- out being pessimistic. Rudyard Kipling would be an excellent second attempt. He is modern in that he is realistic. His writing is vivid, strong, and appealing. The heart-stirring Buffuzl of flu' Eaxf uml flu' Wr'.vf and the simple tribute to a faithful soldier, Cillllgll Din, are probably the best known of his poems and the most enjoyable to a person just encoun- tering realism in poetry. George W Russell will do well as a little advance- ment into the realm of spiritual and im- pressionistic verse. He writes exquisitely beautiful descriptions of nature which have a higher significance. They are symbolic of religion. As a dessert for this light diet, try Stephen Phillips, who is noted for spectacular lyric poetry and a dramatic and highly eloquent style. Mzliywxsa is the most beautiful of his works in spite of the too ornate, often artificial diction. A Dream and Beuulifzzl Lie flu' Dvarf will bring tears to the eyes of the hardest hearted. Approach this strange creature known as modern poetry with an open mind and a firm determination to conquer it at any cost. It is nothing to fear: it is merely a sympathetic reflection of life today. Read every word, no matter how dull, meaningless, and boresome the com- position may seem. Soon you will find yourself getting something out of it- enjoying it. Perhaps I ought to go back and read it again, you will say. Do it. Beauty will seep into the lines. In the end you will be as ardent an enthusiast for modern poetry as the writer. A G l C Oh moon, Step-mother of dreamers, Is there no love, no understanding Left for your step-children? Those who know beauty, Yet, knowing, must always Watcli and listen while Your favorite children play? -Emily T1lll1Il1t'l'lllLlll.