The Fish Man
if -
(Continued from Fafjc One)
time ago. She tried something of your
own game, but somethin’ just naturally
happened to her.’’.
.“Ha, ha, ha,” Finny tried to laugh.
“She said she was goin' to die, and
She got crowds, too, but she couldn’t get
away with it.”
“Well, what happened to her?” Finny
asked against his will.
“God killed her for trying to fool Him.
She kept pretending she was goin’ to
die. so He made her.” With that, the
two men went slowly into their shacks
and left Finny to mull over the conver
sation in his mind.
Aw, hell, that stuff about God’s just
plain put up. Nothin’d happened to him,
had it ? He was gettin’ along, wasn’t
he? Still, they’d seemed so .damn sure.
Aw well, he was goin’ to get out of the
racket anyway, soon as he -could break
his contract with the scenic railway and
merry-go roun’ people. He made the
dough, but there was lots of .things
wrong. The hours was long, especially
on Saturday nights when the police let
’em stay open 'til one, and he didn t
dare close earlier than the other guys.
Besides, ya had to rush yer meals, and
ya couldn’t get enough time to enjoy
yer drinkin . Naw. uoa damn n.: nc u
stick and show them guys. But it wasn't
like ya could stand up to God and knock
Him down .... aw hell, it was twelve
thirty and he had ta get ready to go in.
"Finny took his place In the hard chair
with the glass of water on the. stand
beside it. He bawled to the callers, and
the crowd came pouring in. There W'as
a big one today, there’d been a hundred
already, and the afternoon was hot, and
lots of the gulls ud be down. And he’d
sure like to see this God and give him
a sock!
As the afternoon wore on, more and
more spectators came. They crowded
around him, their breath hot, ■ their
bodies perspiring and stinking. They
looked down on Finny’s tortured face
with the perspiration running over his
arms in streams, and pitied him. For
the first time Finny noticed, and hated
this pity, hated the crowds for fools and
yokels, hated their cool appearance in
their white flannels and printed silk
dresses, and most of all he hated those
two jackasses and their Sunday-school
God.
14- cunnpr
jftUUUl live Lilli - *
time, "Iron Foot" and "Strong Teeth"
dropped in, side by side. They whispered
together and began taunting him.
"Hello, Elkins. Hot with those scales
on, ain't it?" "Funny thing about that
dancer .... trying to fool God." “Ya
don't remember her do ya, but ya will
. . . , someday."
Finny stood it for five minutes, then
he wiped the sweat from his face and
neck, and told his few remaining cus
tomers to come back later. That night
Finny slugged his two neighbors and
got drunk.
For two months the two men ha
rangued Finny, for two months they
took their inevitable beatings, and every
night after eleven o’clock Finny got
drunk. ‘He became more sodden as July
wore on. He shook and shivered even
during the hottest part of the day. He
lost his temper even before his custom
ers. and for three days in succession
raved so that his "callers" were forced
to close up the place. Finny’s business
began to fall off. and by August third
he had barely a hundred spectators a
day.
Finny took his chair that morning
with the idea in his mind that he was
goin to choke off them two blabbin’
fools for good. He brooded over it dur
ing the morning, even while he wiped
the sweat from his neck, and tried to
keep the heat waves from hitting him
in the face. The air was stagnant, and
stuffy with the perspiration of specta
tors. He hated them, damn ’em. Hated
the heat .... the popcorn smells . . . .
white dresses .... red arms .... heat
waves .... more and more of ’em . . . .
the God person .... cheap perfume
heat waves .... burnt noses .... all
gawking gulls.
At four thirty Finny sat down for his
last fight against the heat waves.
A doctor called in to examine him
pronounced it a case of "dissipation and
lack of perspiration." and asked for
... .f -i —i — ~ ~~^aintance3.
* THE CAMPUS BARD
THREE SONNETS FOR A LADY
I
With dreamy hands and contemplative
eyes
You build around yourself a high white
wall
Wherein in utter quietude there lies
Your spirit’s loveliness, serene and tall.
Your wall is made with subtle stones
of scent
Laid one by one with such fine sym
metry
That they would seem ecstatic verses
meant
To build a singing bit of poetry.
Within your shining wall your spirit
dwells
Aloof and tranquil in its perfumed peace.
Untroubled by the world that buys and
sells
And, battling evil, cries for its surcease.
In odorous aloofness thus you walk,
Having no need to bow or smile or talk.
II
With proudly lifted head and poised,
slow gait
You walk the ancient highroad to the
sea,
Knowing full well that dark death lies
in wait
And draws you to himself, inevitably.
Across the sky the sun’s descending rays
Make of your hair a burnished copper
casque
And lay a golden light upon your face
Revealing, calm and still, an ivory mask.
Inscrutable, you look at sea and sky
And lift your hand to signify assent.
With one sure gesture, insolent and shy,
To the dark lover’s understood intent,
While your proud spirit, sensitive and
free,
Looks at its captor imperturbably.
Ill
Yours is the poised assurance of a bird,
The delicate precision of a flower;
You are the melody no man has heard
Save in his most exalted, lonely hour.
Yours is the gesture, proud and arro
gant,
Of any woman born to be adored;
And your long fingers, slim and elegant,
Strike on the heart a swift, responsive
chord.
Strange that to you whose beauty none
may guess,
Whose burning hair is spark to fire the
mind,
Whose ivory flesh men lusted to possess,
Who are elusive as the vagrant wind,
Desire should be an unremembered flame
And passion but the shadow of a name.
.—Margaret Ormandy.
TO THE LOTUS
In an azure pool
A single flower;
Sheer blossom
Of exquisite whiteness.
Ora mani padme hum.
A pure crystal
Of morning dew
Reposes radiant
As a jeweled heart.
Ora mani padme hum.
—John Fletcher Post.
SOPHOMORIC
Weary—
I loiter through stupid moments.
The sluggard second's endless pace
Creeps on and on;
Indolence is a murky cloud,
Dejection, somber and dismal cheerless
ness.
Wraps me in melancholy.
From a languid haze I watch the world.
A stupid drudging world, insipid and
dull.
Its vital thrilling spirit is tamed for
me—
Its joy long since hung a leaden head
"Iron Foot" and "Strong Teeth” stepped
forward with a guilty look. When the
doctor turned his back “Iron Foot” and
"Strong Teeth” bent over the prostrate
body. “Say," hissed Iron Foot. "Ya
don’t suppose there could be anythin’ in
this God ideal- after all, do ya!’’—Cleta
McKennon.
And drooping, slouched away.
Stolid, I dully hear the slow droning
cadence
Of interminable hours,
Plodding their sluggard way to infinity.
-—John Eliot Allen.
WATER OUZEL
Wary, fairy water ouzel!
Sleek and slaty brooklet elf—
How you revel in the ripples
Lipping round your timid self!
How I wish I was an ouzel—
Brownie bird, your joys I lack.
I can dream of a corrousel
When my shiny head is tipping,
Underneath the surface dipping,
With the swift clear water slipping
Over my smooth oily back.
—John Eliot Allen.
AN APOLOGY FOR CUBISTS
Love is like a bedsprings
Rusted if left in the woods overnight
When stars hide in shame
Rain water washings cleanse
Their green-eyed jealousies
Jealousy is rust of over-secretion.
—I. Q.
A CHINESE TRAGEDY OF LOVE
She sang a song under the peach blos
soms,
And I, passing beyond the wall,
Fell enamoured of the lute-like voice.
Shamelessly, I looked over the stones
And saw the fairest flower of Spring,
Cherry-cheeked and glowing—
In the arms of another man.
—John Fletcher Post.
Collecting the First Editions
(Continued from, Page One)
Americana is good, nor are all first edi
tions of books good.
The first publication or impression of
a book from type is known as its first
edition. The type is usually then dis
tributed. Any second printing from
different type is known as a second
edition. If, however, a second printing
is made from the same type it is called
a second issue, a third printing, as the
third issue, etc.
Rarity is, of course, the main factor
in determining the price of a first edi
tion. Rarity, and then the desire it ex
cites in the average collector’s breast.
A dry volume of moral precepts, even
if older and rarer than, say, a first
folio of one of Shakespeare’s plays,
hasn’t a fraction of its value. Age is not
necessarily a criterion of value. Many
modern editions no older than thirty or
forty years sell for more than a hundred
times their publication price. Some of
these will be discussed in a later article.
Why collect first editions? There
really isn’t any answer. Like the
measles, you are either susceptible or
you are not. Opportunity, money, and
leisure certainly have a great deal to
do with it.
People who have no particular love
of books are turning more and more to
the valuable book as an investment.
With wise buying, there is seldom de
preciation. The history of book collect
ing shows steadily mounting prices, and
then there are no troublesome income
taxes to pay. Even criminals wdio used
to keep their ready money supply in the
form of jewelry are turning to book
collecting as a safe method of keeping a
reserve fund.
Even with a small income, and a cer
tain amount of good luck and knowl
edge, collecting first editions can be
done successfully. A later article will
describe how to tell a first edition and
some desirable books to collect.—Thorn
ton Gale.
Bicycles and Wars
(Continued from Page One)
shoot the minister and give his king an
opportunity to preserve the national
honor.
So Count Von Straskhoff arrived in
the capital of Halkania. Michael sold
many papers that day. The people of
Halkaria were excited because of the
visit. They did not know what it meant.
They entertained the count royally, as
befitted a minister of the powerful King
of Wulmatchia. Several times every
day he rode through the streets, his
carriage drawn by two black horses.
The sale of papers gradually decreased
to the usual number. The bicycle was
still a dream.
Michael, being old beyond his years,
realized that if he were to attain a
bicycle, he would of necessity have to
sell more papers. To sell more papers
he must have words of vast importance
to shout. To have important words,
something exciting would have to hap
pen. If something exciting didn’t happen
soon, he would have to commit some
violent deed himself.
That was it. He would create news, so
that he could sell it. He might shoot the
Count Von Straskhoff. But he somehow
didn’t like to think of that. It would be
almost as exciting if someone shot the
two black horses that drew his carriage,
and it would be much more unusual.
Michael had already learned that the
unusual was what interested people.
So, being a newsboy of action, he hired
an older friend to shoot the horses from
a window above the bakery. It was a
big business gamble. Michael had prom
ised the man two dollars for hi3
trouble—the money to be paid after the
newspapers got the story.
The occasion was very exciting. The
shots came suddenly and accurately.
The horses dropped in their harness, al
most overturning the carriage. It was
an embarrassing situation for the
Count Von Straskhoff, who was laboring
under the impression that the shots had
been fired at him and had only accident
ally hit his horses.
The King of Wulmatchia was dis
appointed in that the count had not been
killed, but he made the most of his op
portunity. He sent some very carefully
chosen words to the president of Hal
kania. The words were published in the
newspaper and Michael shouted them.
Then the president sent some carefully
chosen words to the King of Wulmat
chia, and Michael shouted them. There
were some more words, and then
Michael found himself shouting ‘‘War
Declared.” He had sold many millions
of words before, but he sold enough
that day alone to pay for his bicycle.
When the troops marched out of the
city toward the boundary of Wulmat
chia, Michael rode along beside them as
far as the city limits. There were can
non following the procession and trucks
of ammunition and bombs. Probably no
one realized that the bicycle with the
red spokes was the most deadly of the
instruments of war.—Beatrice Bennett.
For Your Room
Clever Book Ends
Unique Cigaret Boxes
— also —
Bridge Sets
Party Favors
ALADDIN GIFT
SHOP
41 West Tenth
Books Reviewed
On These Pages
Can Be Obtained
at
COE
STATIONERY CO.
941 Willamette St.