Evening Star Newspaper, March 21, 1926, Page 91

A\ Edltorlal Machinery, Truth About Music and the Coming of Spring Spring Signs About the Same This Year, Including Speed in the Various Leagues| ! BY NINA WILCOX PUTNAM. S _General Cleanup, the grea teacher of that famous mod- ern dance, the Hygiene, once wrote in my Aunt Eata's guest book, n the Spring a young man's fancy urns toward the income Through his wife's Spring-cleaning pants he ! While she’s making nasty cracks.” | And how true that lovely postry <. come home to me this 21 inst. of March when George, that's my hus- band, asked was there anvthing he could do to help me with my Spring- leaning that I was gonner start to- rmorrow. He says this from the little island his chair made M the middle of the room and the morning papers, #nd without any doubt he expected where T would Radio back to sign off, 1 didn’t need him. But not me. Well, 1 thought, for reying out loud! Here he actually asks to help, why not give him the shock of his life and take him up «n his own proposition, I know his | tieart isn't strong, but nothing rnl‘ed| nothing doing, as the feller s believe that Sunday or mnot I w n commence the house-cleaning right this minute. I guess I felt that way | 'm account the Spring was certainiy the air. In fact, the spring off | our bed was out in the vard at | nat very minute on account that | new laundress of ours had sent them | home fn the sheets it you get what | | mean, and heavens knows I never | had such a thing in the house be- fore. It certainly give me the spring I was scratching to death all Then there was other signs of the ~eason around the house. For a sample, all about the outside of the | house, from under the last rema- nents of the fast melting snow could he seen coyly peeping the modest newspapers and used oranges that had been shyly sleeping there all winter. While around the inside of the house a few early golf balls were blooming on the mantel-shelf or manteling on the blooming shelf, or what have you? Tender shoots of young bamboo fishing-poles of George's own rais- Ing had commenced to sprout in the hall, and his old fishing clothes had walked out of the attic—apparently by themselves, heavens knows that was no task, they were strong enough. Wherever a person stepped eround our house they could easy Imagine they was out in the great open, public beaches where sands are stones and feet are tender, the mar- bles which Junior had dropped around was 80 thick. On Geo.'s desk the nature lover's eye could easy spot the new, tender, crumpled leaves of the vernal income tax return, and the first faint odor of garden fertilizer filtered gently in through the open window, which all day so far had been one of these open and shut propositions that you hear so much about from the big butter- and-cheese men of the country. As for the birds, their music was wonderful, one bird was playing “I wanner go where you go” on a phono- graph with a broken spring, another further down the street was killing AMendelssohn's Spring Song by inches, another, a cuckoo, I guess, had drag- g~1 a plano-organ in its dotage out to enjoy the sunshine, and the darned thing was wheezing about Sweet Rosie O’Grady in a asthmatic volce. The neighbor’s cat had chased their gold- flshes up a tree in our yard, where they sat on a branch making angry, swishing noises with their tails, while the cat sat below giving out a pre- digested purr. * TAKE it all in all and so forth and fifth, Spring wae certainly right with us, and the craving to mess up the house, turn the furniture on its head, disturb the Winter slumbers of the carpets, and send the song of the vacuum-cleaner loud upon the air, was sure strong in me, So I says to Geo., well, dear, ‘would be great if you would help, I just as soon start house-cleaning today as tomorrow, sooner in fact, a whole day sooner. And then Geo. seeing he was, as the saying goes, hoisted with his own petard, or would of been if he wore one, well anyways, he “Mus it BY SAM HELLMAN HY won't you go to the concert with me?” asks the frau. “Don’t you like good music?” “What's good music?"” “The kind you like or 114 T comes back. the kind I like “Certainly,” replies the misses with dignities, “my taste is better than vours. T suppose you think ‘Bam- Bam-Bammy Shore' and ‘Has Any- hody Seen M 17" that you're al- 8§ gcmng over the radlo are good 15102 “They are,” says I, prompt. tunes ploas» my ear, while that Wag. © blah-blah which you pretend to | like glves me a pain in the medulla.” “What do you mean, ‘pretend to like?' " snaps the wife. “What makes think 1 don't like Wagner?" “I know you don’t,” T tells her, “be- cause nobody really does. It's like spinach. You take it because it's sup- posed 1o be good for you and your so- | cial standing. I don’t belleve there's anybody living that really ever had a swell time spending an evening listen- ing to Wagner. Anyways, what makes you think that Wagner wrote better music than Irving Berlin? “What a silly question?” sniffs Kate. Tn 10 years from now nobody will know that such a song as ‘Remember’ was ever written, while— “Those | er,” stammers the frau. 'lhlng he wrote." - hdl makes you 80 sure says I, ‘that in & hundred vears everybody won't be going to Berlin concerts and giving Wagner the snow and ice? 1ks's tastes change, don't they?” “Maybe,” remarks the wife, “but they’ll never get low enough to keep up with you.” “Let's stick to harmony,” T sug- gests, “and pass up the discords. AsI gets it, you figure that anything peo- pxa like today can't be as good as something people liked yesterday Is that it?"” “I didn’t say anything of the kind,” flares up the misses, “but music that experts have called great for a hun- dred years or so is certainly better ihan the stuff they turn out nowadays for jazz bands.” “That’s your opinlon,” says 1. “How do you know that in @ hundred ve: saxophone music will 1ot be consi ered much better than the stuff you ! et out of fiddles. Besides, that argu- | ment about stuff being good because it has lasted a hundred years is the bunk. If the stuff about a thing being | ace high because it's been carried on through a lot of centuries is good, you svomen would be in a swell fix.” “How do you mean?” inquires Kate, | { { { . | “WE WOULD DO JUST A FEW THINGS, SUCH AS TAKING THE FURNACE OUT IN THE BACK h\RD AND GIVING IT A THOROUGH BEATING.” crawled out from under the Sunday newspapers and stretched himself and says, oh well dammit, all right, what do. u want me to do first? Why dear, I says, I don't really need to do much this year, the house is pretty clean, so I thought we would do just a few things such as taking the furnace out in the back yard and giving it a good thorough beating. And Geo. says couldn’t .1 beat it down cellar? The neighbors could hear it just about as good. And I says now Geo. the minute I come down to brass knuckles about your helping me around the house, especially to beat something, the beat it part is all you think of, no, that furnace is gonner bLe cleaned right, Hot Bozo! All I'm asking for you to do today is shake that sullen look and the furnace, help me hang Uncle Will, you know he framed up that portrait on us, and it's got to go someplace, the attic is full. Then I want you to merely wrestle with the parlour carpet, try a little catch-as-catch-can with the spiders in the attic, fight the dirt in the cellar to a finish and paint a few chairs and tables. You can just dash them off between times, see, it won't take you a minute. Then I'd like to have you scrape the carbon out of the icebox, dry-clean the goldfish bowl, beat the nursery rug until it’s good and light, add a dash of elbow-grease, season to taste, and set out in the sun for 20 minutes. Well, at that Geo. give me a look that a little Spring-cleaning would not of hurt, I mean it was a dirty one, and he says that last is the most intelligent thing you have sald so far, come on, let’s go out on the back porch and soak up a few quarts of this sun before we actually get down to work, what say? So what I sald was uhuh, and out we went, just for a second to find our place in the sun the same as the ex-kaiser or anlbody, and set down where old Sol, as we playfully nicknamed him, could smile on the two of us, the just and the un- Just alike, meaning I and Geo. LI LL, from where we sat, on the edge of the coal bin, the view was _principally of the garments which that Joe Bush of the Haw- thorne Club, his wife and that aw- ful child of theirs, liked best next to themselves, if you know what I mean. In other words, their back yard showed up good if not to their advantage, and I neverd before knew that Mabel wore red flannel -ones, and heaven and earth, she sure left “Well,” says I, “up to about a hun- dred years ago women didn’t have as much standing in the house as a good hunting dog. Do you think that was a good idea—remember, it lasted for thousands and thousands of years?" “Don’t be silly on Sunday,” comes back the misses. “People are learn- ing more all the tim Because there weren’'t any bathtubs for a million Vvears I8 no reason for believing that washing in a creek is better than bathing in & tub.” “Exactly,” T agrees. “Why. then, Lif the habits of the people about their wives and baths change, why shouldn’t tastes in music change? 1 imagine the first guy that started to treat his wife like a=human being got the razzberry from all his neigh- bors. Today if a bobo says he likes jazz better than opera the highbrows give him the laugh. A hundred years from now they may run you out of a decent place If you're cuckoo enough to say you like opera. As a matter of fact, somebody was telling me that your friend Wagner was 84g her darning from week to weak. Also our view included all the colorful landscape of the full gar- bage pail, that bountitul evidence of our prosperity, a few aunt-hills made by Aunt Eata dumping the ashes from the stove in the yard when she thought 1 wasn't watching, and an fold case of vacant gingerale bottles. And perhaps a person from the de. scription as per see above would think the view wasn't 8o much. But the funny part is, that it looked lovely. Some ways or another the sun made it all beautiful and any- ways, I didn't see it much, on ac- count that sitting there I got to thinking about 8pring in the more poetic way, And Iot Bozo! Ain't it remark- able what wonderful advertising Spring has had all these years? 1 mean the way Spring has appeared to artists, and etc. To one and all Spring appears to be a young lady with a old-fashioned nightie and a taste for classic art-dancing. She is against shoes and conventions and so far hasn't bobbed her hair. I dunno where them artists got the original model. From all the portraits I've ceen of her I take her to of been a flapper of the days of Julius Caesar. Then there are the poets. I can't help it, there they are, and what can anybody do about it or the measles? Have 'em and get it over, I suppose. And what the poets have done to Spring is enough to ruin the social standing of any lady. The names they have called her is pretty bad, but the words they have practically wore out rhyming with her is even worse. Why some of them poor words—and poor is correct-—are %o worn to tatters through use in Spring poems that they ain't fit for common wear and tear any more. Take fling. bring, sing, wing for a few examples. Take them, but do it gently, on account otherwise they might fall to pieces from old age and hard wear. Honest, when I was breathing in that Spring air today and thinking of them pitiful, abused rhymes, 1 wondered why somebody didn’t invent something to take in the fourth, fifth and sixth months of the year as a precaution against poets, the same as they give kids sulphur and molasses as a precaution against pimples. Not that around our neighborhood they exactly keep the neighbors awake baying at the moon, but you gather !ha“ idea, I guess, and pucker it, as well. ‘Then there is that kind of dropsy that a whole lot of folks get in Spring. kidded to death when hs first pulled that stuff called music.” “That's true,” admits the wife, the best proof that it's good.” “And you're not willing to wait,” I remarks, “to see If jazz will last long enough to be good?” “It never will be good,” snaps the frau. “Nobody but low-brows care for it. Did you ever hear a first-rate musician play it or speak well of 1t?" “Did you ever hear of any high- rate musician talk well of Wagner' wild noise when it was firet sprung I asks. “‘Anyhow, just what is good? You'll admit that the mere fact that @ thing has lasted a hundred years don’t make it good.” “No,” says the wife. “You've last. ed nearly that long.” “'All right,” 1 comes back. “And you wouldn't say & thing was good because 90 per cent of the people think it 0d, would you?” “Well,” hesitates the misses, “I =TI might—" “No, you wouldn't,” I cuts in. “If “Q DonT HEAT—N MAYBE - = F 7' LODIES IN “THE MELODIES T{lfl?’l’ GIVE ME PLEASURE ARE THE GREATEST v THE WORLD. ” Declares “Twin,” “Is Good In Proportion to Your Dislike of It” “but the fact that it is sung todfly is | States would prefer Wagner to jazz Poets are comparatively dormant the rest of the year, and burst Into action when the trees commence to do the same. But take the general public, now, it seems to effect the most of thern just the exact opposite. They get this dropsy to the extent they drop everything and just sit. They get dopy. kinda sleepy like, maybe it is the hot air the poets are breathing out such a lot that dooll it % osT peoplo, I hl\? noticed, w 111 sit looking at nothing when they ought to be doing something else. The most important business can go chase itself during the first few days ‘of Spring, and T have even known ste. nographers to forget to powder their nose, and strong men to play with golt balis like little children while dust collected on the dotted line of important papers where the signa- ture was due. There may be the League of Nations waiting and ready to be signed up, but believe you me if it was and the base ball suddenly burst into bloom, it would be the na- tional leagues would get the high sign instead. Well anyways, as 1 was sitting there in the sun staring at a second-hand tomato can that I didn't really see at all, and think how terrible that Spring laziness is, and how people hadn't| ought to give in to it when they had a whole lot to do, and what a silly waste of time it was to sit around dreaming over nothing while there was work to be done, why all of a sudden I felt a touch on my arm and with a start I all at once realized it was George, and that he was there, and so was the tomato can. For the luvva tripe! he says, say, Jennte, do you realize what time it i8? It's pretty near 4 o'clock p.m. Here the whole day has slipped by and we haven't got a thing done? 1 says Hot Bozo! Ia that so? Well, what of it, there is other things in the world besides work, did you ever think of that, dear, I mean art and poetry and flowers and dreams, the Spring the sunlight cf second-hand tomato can a ice trimmed with ruby patterns? Whatter I care for work? Anybody ‘can work! Shut up, I want to dream! Well, at that Geo. looked real anxious and felt of my pulse. Where do you hurt the worst? he says, have you any fever, do you think it will be fatal? And I says it will be fatal to you, if you don’t quit kidding me about the serfous side of my thought, I says. (Copyright, 1626.) you said that you'd kill your case in a minute. It's a cinch that not one person in a hundred in the United for a pleasant evening. ‘‘You're not supposed get a to pleasant evening listening lo clas- sics,” shoots in Kate. “No,” says I. surprised. interesting. “This is ‘What are you supposed ing to Wagner?" comes back the frau, “you wouldn't understand, but you feel edu- cated and uplifted after hearing a fine opera.” “And,” I grins, “according to your statement, you don’t get any pleasure out of being educated and uplifted. That right?” ‘Refined folks,” sniffs the wife, “get other things than pleasure out of life.” “Blah, blah!” I sneers. “Anything ! you don't ’et any pleasure out of lm‘t worth doing. As a matter of fact, | to o] 8 because you think it's l e swell thing to do, and outside | ot a few thousand people in the;| United States who get real pleasure from the classic music, the rest are the same kind of sheep that you are.” “What's your idea,” queries the wife, “of what makes music or any- thing else good?” “The ear of the listener,” I returns, “the eye of the beholder, the tongue of ‘the taster and the fingers of the feeler. In other wards, I think the idea of saying this kind of music or that kind of music is good for you or bad for you is the bunk. The melo- dies that give me pleasure are the greatest melodies in the world. The noise that pleases a Wagner fan is the greatest music in the world—for him. I knew a feller once who used to hang around sawmills. The screech of the buzz-saw cutting through logs was the sweetest sound in the world to him. , You could have argued your head oft with him trying to convince him that a violin made much better music than a saw with- out chl.nllnt his mind. Wasn't he right?’ 2 ere’s no argument ubout insan- ty,” replies Kate. “He Just nutty in that direction. You 've got to consider the taste of a large num- ber of people to geét an fidea of what's good.” “No, you don't,” I argues. ‘“You like to eat onion skins. You're may- ho the only person in America that That makes onion skins a m-t treat—to you—and who else counts?” “What's the connection between onions and operas?”’ snaps the wife. “They both gives me the weeps,” sa; e (Copyright, 1926.) Tooet ilay on the table. 19,000 words. +more than 6.000. 1 In the BY STEPHEN LEACOCK. { ES,” said the editor, leaning [ back in his chair with my manuscript in his hand, “I am very glad to tell you that we are accepting your story. In fact, we are deughted with it."” I need hardly say that joy broke out on my face. It was my first experi- ence of this kind of thing. Up to then I had never known how it felt to have a real editor, of a real magazine, ac- cept & story and be prepared to pay real money for it. “But, on the other hand,” continued the editor, “there are certain thinge. certain small detalls, which 1 should to change.” es?” I sald thnidly. “In the first place, I don't like your title. ‘Dorothy Dacres, or, Only a rgyman’s Daughter.’ It is too T shall change it to read ‘Dor- othea Dashaway, or, The Quicksands of Soclety. | “But, surely—-—" 1 be‘m\n. | “Don't interrupt me.” said the edi- | |tor. “In the next place the atory is | much too long.” Here he r ed for | a large pair of tailor's scissors that | “This story contains | We never care to use | must, therefo out some of it off.” Ho measured the story varefully with a pocket tape that lay in front | of him, eut off 3.000 words and handed them back to me. “These words,” he sald, “you may keep. We make no claim on them at all. You are at liberty to make any use of them that you like.” “‘But, please.” I protested, “'you have cut off all the end of the story; the whole conclusion s gone. The readers can't possibly tell— He smiled at me with something ap- proaching kindness. “My dear sir,” he said, “they never get “llhln 8,000 words of the end of a magazine story. The end {8 of no con- sequence whatever. The beginning, 1 admit, may be, but the end! Come! Come! “And. in any case. in our magazine we print the end of each story sepa- ‘Turning on a Literary Light, As Seen Busy Magazine Editor’s Workshop {to Switzerfand and make it Winter tme to allow for the breaking of steampipes. Such things as chese, however, are mere details; we can easily arrange them.” He reached out his hand. “And now,” he said, I wish vou & good afternocon.’ 1 plucked up some conrage “What about remuneration’ 1 faltered. The editor waived the question gravely aside. *'You will, of course he duly paid at our usual rate. You wili receive a_check two years after pub Id(‘huuh It will cover all your neces. sary expenses, including ink, paper. string, sealing wax, and other inci dentals, in addition to which we hope to be able to make you a compensa | tion for your time on a reasonable | basis per hour. Good-by: He Lowed me politely out of his of fice. And a few days later I read in his magazine the advance notice -of my t ran like this: MONTH'S NU IBI “ 'JF 'IH! LOMANIA N WILI. A THF ORY LLI\A. SHAWAY. Ol THE O SOCIETY. The & Iready leaped ints | immediate recognition as the greates: * of the short story in the Amert . Mis style has a brio, a polse I R aasol quoi., which “THE EDITOR CUT OFF 3,000 WORDS AND HANDED THEM BACK ‘\&A«num all l‘u; N ml W ‘ihe n‘";h;la;:' Nt & e erary sup! his . ___TOME ‘THESE! HE SAID, YOU MAY REEP:™ "7 | Merary muweriel, e S, Yo A is said to be the iargest paid for a sin rately, distributed among the adver- | end could you want? She sank into a | gle Ms. R fil tisements to break the typs. But just | chair and-you leave her. Xothing| “Every pake paipitates with intel at present we have plenty of these on | more natural.” ost, and at the couclusion of this re ative the reader laye utt hewilderment to the #most equally markable down the page i hand. “You see,” he continued, T was again about to protest. But he there | stopped me. for was something in my manner that| “There {s one other small thing,”|to turn perhaj el perhaps touched him, “all that is need- | he said P coming number is ( “M‘:]N bvmn ed 13 that the last words printed must [he a Plumbers’ and Motor Number. i b Device Exposition whi ne number of the great Lver since that experience known why it is that ln:\"ume edi tors. d such big salaries. (Copyright. a look of finali That's all. | must ask yo to introduce (l‘!’wlll \o\\ let me see,” and he turned the | amount of plumbing into yéur story.” piace where the story was cut. “what | He rapidly turned over the pages. are the last words here—'Dorothy | [ s he said, “that your story as sank into a chair. There we must | written is laid largely in Spain in the lewve her! l.‘((‘llflnv What Irr(im I Summier. 1 s 1 ask you to (\I!(‘x lhl' “Brains Before Bravery,” Motto Picked By One of the Modest Young Lardners BY RING LARDNER. O the editor: Tt looks like 1 and the little woman had gone train crazy like the dame in Frank Craven's “First Year” and we don't no sooner get off of one rattler when we climb a board of another, nor does it seem to make much difference where the: are headed for or why. ASs these line: s written, which is u long wile befor they will be read if at all, we are stopping off at home 3 days to get a good meal and a clean shirt asj traveling raises havioe with shirts and besides which 1 have been in the throws of a shirt famine ever since my favorite garment of that ilk de- clded to settle down in Pittsburgh. (Great Neck seems to of continued to thrive during our absence and 8o far they ain’t been no meeting of pro- test vs. our golng away again so the only ones that is libel to find fault is those of my admires who likes to hear news and gossip of the heavily mortgaged love nest that I call jome and the queer people I call neighbors. To pacify same I will set down the LUCKY IN CARDS, LUCKY IN LOVE, WAS NEVER MORE TRULY SPOKEN THAN IN THE LITTLE WOMAN'S CASE.” bm\eu * The choice of Bill, aged 10, had forgotten whom she was. 1t may| Bill and Jin and reported that thex {18 “Die Rache ist suess.” meaning re-[as well be exclaimed that Amy Bemak | only had 3 sticks, o that David had venge is sweet. Maybe it is just as|is 4 yrs. old. The ages of the other |to play without a stick but they didn’c well that his general silhouette is|3 is not necessary to the plot. The|seem to think that affected his same. such that his nurse has ordered him [ selection of Mrs. Hammond will be no| This jittle upstart may be a chip of to Jay off sweets. mystery to those acquainted with that | the old block, the last named hat ing plaved bridge without cards ever since the game was invented. Speaking about which the Winter in Great Neck has been marked by more or lest of a quietus in bridge circles, most of the experts having so journed 2 or 3 months in the Ritzier nortions of Fl¢ at my expense and that of the madam, who holds even fewer cards than her old man Un- lucky at cards, in was never more tri \ than in her but for ‘the benefit of those that will state she has often referred nd our mort- Another pastime in which John and Bill appears to of been engaged is selecting their favorite so and sos, ady, ain't been who everybody case. Well pretty near [ dast write about h: just like us and friends of the Gene Bucks, who was in Palm Beach most of the Winter, reports that Gene made a big mistake not leasing his living rm. for the six-day bicycle r the mew Madis could not begin te devotees of this soul-stirring pastime Gene wired that he wanted to keep the rm. neat for the Olympic games n( 1 Gene, jr.. is entered in the athon that and is all ready a top heavy favorite, having circled the rm. practice in 2 days 4 b . with 2 stops & and milk. Of course they was a big mail wal ing me on my arrival home and a feature of the stack was 6 or 7 of these here unendless chain letters which it Is suppose to be bad luck to break the chain. Well it must be that some of my readers has remeni- bered how I stand on this subject and they being too superstitious to break the chain themselfs, they have for- warded them on to me and I beg to assure one and all that your confi- dence ain't been misplaced and each and every one of the eunning little | for i who start these things going wouki DoRGH address them to the undersigned first, 3-21-2C as 1 know just what to do with them al support of mail and postai clerks all over “WE DONT SOONER GET OFF ONE RATTLER WHEN WE CLIMB _ABOARD ANOTHER.” few items I been able to glean be- tween trains you might say and will begin with a wd. or 2 in regardl to my orphaned kiddies. ‘Well it seems that 3 of the 4 has bLeen amusing themeelfs by choosing mottos or slogans and the motto se- lected by John, age 13, Is “Quanti est sapere,” which he says means “It is great to be wise,” but his brother Jim, aged 11, says the real transla- tion is “It is great to be a sap.” Jim himself has a motto, “Brains before like for e\ample each of them has picked out their 3 favorite men who they consider the 3 greatest men of all time. John's 3 is 1. Geo. Washington and b Bill's is himself, Lincoln and Kipling. Jim tipped us off that John also had a list of the 5 greatest women nml’ | gage as the perfect wife, not only Ly the undersigned but by as many as a dozen of those who I laughingly call my boy friend listened in on the elders, Jim said he would announce his fa- vorite men at some later date and when urged 1o choose his fave women replied that he hated them i and John may of conversation of his and devices has found repose in the depths of my ash bbl. It would he a big the U. the subject of Great Neck for this time and as I you can't gather up many items when you ain't only home 3 days in 3 most forgot 1o mention that my they's 2 girls that rides in on the and also the night after T got here the lights didn’t quite go out, but got so dim that I could not see who was saving for the gen. public if the boys Well T guess that ahout exhausts 3 months, but 1 all friend Jim Browning reports that $:20 that still does cross wd. puzzles setting acrost from me at the dining en asked to name them the big Nordic said_they were Mrs. Percy hat is about all T could learn in re- | rm. table but suppose as the same Hammond, Marjorie Rambeau, Suz s to the little ones except that | party that has bLeen ¢ these 14 anne Tenglen and Amy Bemak. He|fthey had played considerable hockey |vrs. and you wou refused to name the 5th. saving he!with David, age 6. on John's side vs.!of had enough to e Are BY ED WYNN EAR MR. WYNN: Can you tell me the origin of the cus- tom of hanging paintings on ‘walls? Yours truly, ART STUDENT. Answer. In 612 B.C. there ruled in Egypt a very vain king. He heard of ! an artist who could paint his picture on canvas. The King, wishing to leave behind him his likeness, ordered the artist to paint his picture. When it was completed the King did not like the painting. He sent his soldiers out to catch the artist, but they couldn't lflnd him, so the King hung the paint- ng. Dear Mr. Wynn: My wife is always picking on me because I let her take in washing and support me. She says I'm lazy and calls me a *“hydroplane.” I admit everything, but I don't get that hydroplane. What does she mean ’ by calling me a "hydroph.na" Yours truly, TIRED. Answer. She simply mecn- “you're no good on earth. Dear Mr. Wynn: I have just been | convicted and sentenced to jail for 20 | years. I understand a prisoner has his choice of jobs when he is sent to! prison. Twenty years is a long time. ' Can you tell me what position I should pick out? Yours truly, | A. ITZTUFF. Answer: When the warden asks you | what you want to do tell him \oul want to be a sailor. Dear Mr. Wynn: I own a cafe v«hlchi only does a small business. I can't INew Questions From Ingenious Readers Answered by “The Perfect Fool” afford a cabaret and do not know how to entertaln my customers. Can you ing a term in Sing Sing Prison. 1 What shall I do” was thinking of going up to see him. Truly yours. SOL. 00TION suggest any way of me giving my |Can you tell me the “fare’ there? Answer. Write yvour words in great customers some qnjoymvnt ‘While din- Yours truly, 1. ROB. TOO. big letters. urs ti 3 e O INGPLACE, | Answer: The “tare” s the same as'] Dear Mr. fs it that Answer Sl adtte: wamce| S Jjust bread and water. i traveling salesmen never want to take ‘an upper berth when they're traveling Dear Mr. Wynn: For the past week on a train? Yours truly, | T have been annoyed by a cat singing M. A. SALTSELLER. |in my back yard. I chase him but mple. If they d. and alphabet soup and they can make up their own cross-word puzazles. Answer. Dear Mr. Wynn: Can you tell m2|he comes back. Shall I get u six-|that they would have to get up befor why a giraffe’s neck is so long? shooter and kill him?” they went to bed. Yours truly, ARCH. OLOGIS'T. Sincerely, WILLIE DIE. + & Dear Mr. Wyn hear five police men had a criminal cornered in th | railroad station. Yet he escaped. How vdlxl he do it? Yours truly, . | “TIVE Dear Mr. Wynn: I want o write a b Dear Mr. Wynn: I live in Newark, | letter to an aunt of mine; ehe is de. | (AREVEr, 116 probably jumped on J. Iknow a boy who is now serv- | spondent because she is very deaf. ___F | _Dear Mr. Wynn: If Answer. My dear chap, the reason a giraffe’s neck is so long is merely because its head is 8o far away from its body. Answer: Sure, kill him. But as it is a cat, a six-shooter will do no good. | Get a nine-shooter. ‘Mississippi wears her “New Jersey” what will I“Dellwlre”'.’ Yours truly, ". NITEDSTATES. | Answer next week. THE PERFECT 'EOOL :d Wynn. as he ha ! ot Tho Wi e i he knows hlm with a send it | {fts Savera i Mental Tests. M TAL tests applied’ to high i school freshmen serve to indi- |cate what sort of grades the siu dent will make in abstract subjects, Ibut in subjects dealing principally | with mechanical actions and material | (hmf! they do not predict so well, ac- cording to Prof. J. C. Peterson of the Kansas State Agricultural College. “CAN YOU TELL ME WHY A GIRAFFE'S NECK IS LONG?'