Letters of the Four’ Years
Emma Wootton
Eugene, Oregon.
December 5, 11)13.
Dear Hank:
Say bo, when I got to this college
I thought that there was the classi
est bunch of girls here outside of
Athena. They were always rushing
around all dressed up with their hair
all combed fine, and smiling all over
their faces. But don’t you be fool
ed like I was. That just lasts for a
week. They try to show all the new
girls just what they aren’t. After
they rope them in and tie them it’s
different. They wear any old thing
and skin their hair tight back and only
talk to the girls in their own bunch.
I joined one too. It’s not the one
I liked best or the one I would have
picked out but, now that I’ve got it,
I’ve decided to keep it. They call
them fraternities, you know. In spite
of the name they are as good as any
old lodge I know of.
A bunch of fellows got me after I
lind |'.'lid my registration money.
When they stuck a button on my lapel
I said "Tluink you” and started to
walk away, thinking it was a tag that
said that I had paid. Hut they got
hold of me and dragged me down to
their house and told me that I could
live there and help eat up the food.
Later they slipped it to me that I
could help pay the rent, sweep floors,
chop and put in wood, get the mail,
tend furnace, and do whatever no one
else wanted to, and eat as little as
possible.
A fraternity house is a place with
a Greek name, but you’ve got to have
an Irish appetite to live there. The
smaller appetite you’ve got, the more
there is for your neighbor. Their
motto is, “Don’t look before you leap,
but shovel it in, for you might change
your mind if you look to close. We
believe in eat drink and be merry for
tomorrow the crook might leave.”
There isn’t a worse one on the face
of the globe, but we are trying to see
liow long our stomnchcs will keep in
their healthy leathern state.
There are other fraternities here
besides the one we eat at. At first I
got them mixed up with ours, their
Greek names got my goat. I told the
boys if they would tell me what they
meant I’d remember them better.
There are two recreations for a
Prosh here—warming eoM water and
bolding on a green cap. The first is
more difficult, and requires so many
bubbles and a hot-hand, while the lat
ter takes a stiff backbone for the lmt
to sit on and a strained expression.
Both involve a more or less damp
feeling. The first because you are
forced to surround a lot of cold water,
either in the tub or in the race, the
•ecoiid because it often rains here in
the fall and winter and summer and
spring.
Speaking of the race. that’s what
you go up on in a canoe amt what you
get thrown into. It’s a nock of water
that projects into the land and doesn't
stop till it has gone all the wav. They
say that it ia pretty, up a ways. I
don’t know. I’ve never been up. My
blanket has and so has my sweater
and my pants and my shoes, in fact
everything hut by green cap. That’s
wihut frats are for, 1 guess, to give
the upperclassmen something to wear.
It gives you an awfully friendly feel
ing to sen four shoes dancing around
the Rainbow when you have to keep
your feet in your pocket. Say, speak
ing of feet, I heard of a college once
where the girls darned all the hoys*
Books. Gee, l wish they would do it
here.
The Kuiubow’s a place where you
pay a nickle for a dance. It’s cheap
at that, but you can’t expect to have
a very good time for less than 15
cents. Some of the faculty don’t ap
prove of it. I don’t bhune them the
floor is kind of rough.
They told me at my frat that I had
to go out for something, so I brought
in a pumpkin and a chicken,1 We had
a good dinner next day. We had girls
thero too besides. But that wasn’t
enough, the fellows said I’d have to go
out for some activity, so I said I’d go
out for dancing. But they sent me
out for football. 1 didn’t last long, at
that. I guess Bezdek didn’t like my
playing. So I got a trombone and
went out for the band and now the
band is out for me. Perfect said I
showed marked ability for a beginner
but he asked me to show a little more
absence. So I’ve gone out for the
Emerald. That’s the paper everybody
writes for and nobody gets. Don’t
look for anything about yourself in it
for it doesn't print news.
We’ve got fraternity songs about
getting sweethearts and wives, but
the only thing I’ve ever gotten is a
post. It’s pretty hard to get anything
else hero. I got drafted for the
freshmen acquaintance party and I
got the kind of a co-ed that has been
a miss so long that the only thing that
sho has missed is the mister. Just
after the party had begun I gave her
a nickle and told her to ride home on
the car for I remembered I had to
sweep my room. She hasu’t spoke to
me since. I’ve never seen her since
so I haven't spoken to her either.
So ioug,
TONY.
Eugene, Oregon.
December 5, lf>14.
Dear Hank:
It’s great being .a soph. You can
wear hats and you don’t have to work
and you get looked up to by all of the
frosh.
Say there sure are some queens in
tho freshman class this year—one
especially. She’s one of those girls
that have eyes and eye lashes and
aspirations. You know that kind of
girls. I put my name in the Emerald
as often as I cun and she sees it every
time. I go over to her house every
afternoon and we sit on the davenport.
Eating used to be my specialty, but
since I met her I’d rather sit on a
davenport. When I first started to
go there to that sorority house they
used to be glad to see me and the
girls all smiled encouragingly, but now
they don’t pay much attention. They
act just like I was a fixture. Hut
time goes awfully fast in the after
noon and in the evening I write her
notes because she can't have any
dates week nights. Gee, I’m glad
there are girls like her.
There are two recreation places
here, the library and the graveyard.
Every week night I go to the library
to get reference books, for she'll be
there too, to do the same thing. I
can do a lot in a short time there, if
some of the library force doesn't use
its force. 1 can help do her French
in the basement, too, and when the
upperclassmen aren’t looking we two
can slip out aud walk home by way of
tho graveyard. We’ll be sure to meet
all of her upperclassmen there, hut
we don’t worry, for they don’t either.
I’m never afraid oif the graveyard at
night when she is with me—and
there is ulwuya a crowd there.
I go out most every night now and
swuh* flowers for her. The people
, of the town don’t seem to mind. Why
should they -when they have such a
nice college? They ought to be glad
that we would come to college here
and not go to Washington.
One of our upperclassmen told me
that if I didn’t get in and work I’d
flunk out of college. I wonder what
they expect of a fellow here. I guess
they expect you to work yourself to
death and then write for the Emerald
besides. I study all the time I have
extra. Some of these profs do noth
ing but ball a fellow out. When they
aren’t talking about Athena they are
talking about your girl.
Just as soon as I can get up enough
nerve I am going to ask Lulu to wear
my pin. I meant to yesterday but I
sat all afternoon and couldn’t get up
enough nerve so I left and am going
to do it today. I thing I’ll get to work
and quit college and get married.
Your friend,
TONY.
Eugene, Oregon.
December 5, 1915.
Friend Hank:
I tell you I am off with the women.
Eulu served me a dirty trick. She got
married this summer and didn’t come
back to school, so I am off with them
all. I write verse low, satyrical stuff
sort of like Bob Service and the kind
Shaw writes. They print most of it
in the Emerald and I hit all the girls
in college without them knowing who
it is.
All of us juniors here in college
wear corduroys and try to look as
tough as we can, it makes the girls
look up to us and respect us. We
stand out there by the library and
smoke between classes and every girl
that goes by sort of ducks her head
and scoots. I guess they are all
afraid we will write poetry about them
or something. Girls and women sure
aren’t needed. I am glad I have out
grown them.
I guess I’ll run fcr some office this ]
year so that I will have something to
stick behind my name in the Ore
gana.
All of us fellows hang around the
club and watch the people go to Rain
bow to dance. I sure am glad that
I am off with the women so that I
don’t have to spend all of my money
on them.
Am going to gym all the time now.
Forgot to do it in ray frosh year so
have to do it now.
Say, the library is some picture
gallery. Sometime I go up there in
the evening and sit at the newspaper
table and watch people come in and
out. I always think of my best verse
there.
Well this is enough,
ANTHONY.
Eugene, Oregon.
Hank:
You should see my mustache. It’s
a beauty. AU of the senior men wear
them, you know. It makes one look
so distinguished. I had to blacken it
with a eyebrow pencil at first, but
then I put some tonic on it. I guess
I got more on one side than on the
other for it’s quite bushy on one side.
Hut I have decided to wax it now.
I tell you they look fine under a som
brero. I have a lig one with a dent
iu the crown.
An taking ten hours education this
year so that I will be able to teach
after I graduate. It’s kind of strenu
ous but when I can sleep about half
of the class hour I don't mind much.
This college stuff is getting on my
nerres. I feel that I have outgrown
it all. It’s all like child’s play to me.
When a fellow has been at a college
for about four years, he knows the
Topes and gets on to all the gags of
the profs. Me for the world and
sohoolteaching after this year.
I’m off with the poetry now. I
write editorials and letters mostly
now. Takes less effort. If it wasn’t
for my mustache I am sure I’d have
not come back this year, but I am glad
I did for I’ve found the girl for me at
last. She isn’t the kind of girl you
read about or the kind fools write
about but she can cook and she’s an':
all-round girl. She is good and sub
stantial and she doesn’t want a car
eer lik most of these.college women.
Well I guess that’s all. I don’t
get much time to write much now with
education and a mustache,
HANK.
Thin Climax.
(Continued from page one)
The net was free, but the engine
had not started. Andrew blundered
at the wheel.
Then the boat rose up and up.
The men held fast; and over and over
and down and down they tossed like
a peanut shell. The boat hit bottom
and went apart. Wreckage, mere
fragments, floated. Near each other
two head appeared. Hard by, jump
ed and bobbled an empty can that had
held drinking water. Both men reach
ed for it. Beneath their weight it
ducked from sight.
‘Take it, Andy. I’ll grab the net.
The corks will keep my head a-float.”
“You’ll tangle up and drown.”
“What matter? I’ve a chance.
Thank Selma, for me, for her love.”
Swearing, he swam into the darkness.
Andrew siezed the can.
On the cliff far above a watchman
had noted a gillnetter’s light close-in
to the danger line. Suddenly it blink
ed fo gleam no more and the thunder
of a surge came up the to him.
A telephone call to the life saving
station below, “A boat gone over on
the edge of the spit. Hard in the
Head.” Seconds later, the “Dread
naught” turned her nose to sea.
They found Andrew safe enough;
his arm over the can, head above wa
ter, tired, but conscious. “Down
there—in the net. My brother.”
They found the net, too,—a long
line of floats that gleamed and sank ^
in the light of the lantern—. In one
place no floats were visible. Pulling
on the web, they dragged a sodden
something over the side. It was Pete.
Meshes bound round and round. His
feet were tangled past kicking in the
slippery flax Arms and hands were
caught. He had drowned bound tight.
As they cut him free, one of the men
took a small obpeet from one hand.
It was a tin box. On the lid was the
word “Climax.”
EARTH WALLS.
Dreamless they lie in their graves
alone.
Under the grasses that sweep in the
snn,
Living and loving and dying are
done,—
And they hear only faint foot-falls,
The far-away, faint foot-falls.
laving is learning to discount the
gleam.
Loving is sailing a shallowing .stream,
Dying is coming at even to dream
In the sheltering warm, earth walls,
The welcoming, warm, earth walls.
—GRACE EDGINGTON. v