LITERARY JP By RALPH KRAMER JT was hot and kind of noon dayish, but a successful breeze was wheeling- gulls from across the slow-rolling green breakers. The breeze had also whipped up a salt air tang that solidified about ten miles out into a glary torizon haze. With the gulls, the Jveze, the sun and the sea—ev erything added up to a swell day -—almost a vacation day. One of the two guys from Jer sey was groaning with semi-ec stasy as he stood and stretched himself. He twisted until some place a joint or two snapped, then he hopped onto a sand bag, lit a cigarette and surveyed the beach. “This could just as easy be At lantic City as not.” He spoke down at the beach and across the breakers. Seme of the guys looked at him thinking “so what to Atlantic City?” “Ya’ know it, Joe?” He con tinued, still looking away. The other guy from Jerseys City’s name was Joe. He was lying o-n his belly next to the gun. His eyes were closed and his mouth f^s open against the sand. He smed asleep. “Ya’ know it, Joe?” “What!” Joe’s voice had the bite of sleepy irritation. “This place reminds me of At lantic City.” Joe took a while to answer. “It hasn’t got a boardwalk.” “Cape May or Barenagt Bay, maybe.” “Maybe.” The guys were quiet—kind of wanting the Jersey chamber of commerce to dry up. He did for awhile, but before the easy breaker noise could put Joe back to sleep, he began again. “Boy, Joe, wouldn’t it be nice if we could walk through those palms into a place like; Casey’s and tear into a real sea food dinner—filet of sole, oyster, horseshoe crab?” m^'Yeah,” said Joe, his eyes still closed. “Boy, I wish I was back in Jer sey right now.” Everybody wanted to say it, but the dry wag, Corporal Lei sen won out. “So do I, buddy.” 'T'HEY were 'stretched around in various stages of bored stupordom—half asleep. Too tired to do anything, yet with enough nervous tension and pinging sand lice to keep them awake. It was Joe’s turn to stand up; hairy-armed and swarthy. He too grabbed a cigarette, lit it indif ferently, and blew smoke Scar face style; out of the side of his mouth. He climbed up onto the 4nd bags; squatting like an In ian, even to the hand shading his eyes. He gazed at the other sandbagged crews down the line. A few guys were moving around, but as far as h£ could see every thing was as quiet as it was around here. Then some guy down the way began with a har monica; he couldn’t catch much except that it was a harmonica, but it sounded pretty gcod. He lis tened idly, not because he wanted to too muclr, but because his ear s were hungry for a little tonal des sert. The cracks were few and far between; talk of women was •rmehow less salacious, and Sometimes irritation got the best of them. Sand was in everything; when they chewed, it crackled; when they scratched, it stuck in their fingernails. They rubbed it out of their eyes, their ears, their armpits; it was part of their feet. It wasn’t so bad when the sun was up, and the sand was kind of toasty, so that when you lay in it half naked, it kind of tickle burned. But then when you had to face the same sand as you ate, as you tried to sleep, and when it got clammy and damp, then it was pretty punk. Leisen was sort of looked upon as the host, or at least he felt that way when the sergeant was n’t around. Perhaps to end his own boredom he began thinking hard to keep alive the show of interest. “You should have joined up with Gene Tunney, Joe. You could have thrown a baseball around Norfolk, and had' a rating to boot.” Joe was either naive or net par ticularly ironical. “I used to be a pretty fair ball player. Caught for a semipro out fit for a good while,” he mod estly admitted. “Never did go far with ball though. I had a big pay in’ defense job and a dame.” “Then why did you join up, Joe?” asked Vince Quentin, scratching his groin. “Guess I was a sucker for “the Halls of Monezuma.” “What about the dame?” Vince liked to talk about women and Joe had been pretty silent about his love life to date. "Her too.” “Her too what?” “Her too—I was a sucker.” “A fool there was,” put in Art Reese, who hadn’t gotten over his days at Marquette yet. He was about to continue the verse, when Phil broke in, "Wasn’t that the girl from Hackensack?” Phil was on the limited back to Jersey again. “Yeah,” answered Joe. “She was OK.” “Yeah.” Elsa Maxwell Leisen saw how close Phil was getting to Jersey, and threw the switch over to the big kid from Texas. “How come you got in, Tex—” “Well,” the kid had a clean grin—“Ah’ll tell ya'—Ah saw a picture once with that li’l gal Maureen O’Hara, a rompin’ aroun’ an’ lovin’ fer me.” He paused with a shy likeable laugh. “Boy, when ah got down there to San Diego ■—those ole’ boys never let me out of camp long enough to see anything but a few sailors.” “Them San Diego women did n’t know what they were missin’.” Corporal Leisen said, appraising the Texas boy, who smiled dumb ly with an “aw shucks” expres sion. He was big shouldered, and brown. The sun had whitened his eyebrows and his arm fuzz. His hair was clipped and soft; like well-used tooth brush bristles. His face was strong and cheek bonish, but hi9 eyes were friendly. They all admired him here in the world of men, where they’d be plenty jealous of him if a bunch of women were hanging around. He was the big, unpro tected sort of guy that can make women feel as though they were kissing him, instead of him them. /CORPORAL Leisen stood up, ^ shrugging sand all over the place, “I've heard so much about you guys and your dames ever since we been here, I feel almost like I been along with you.’’ “I like to make ’em crawl,” Vince said, ignoring Leisen and Art. “Get ’em to ‘I love you’ and then give them the works. It burns ’em up but they like it. Isn’t that how you do, Tex?” “Well, ah don’t exactly do much. Ah jest kinda—well—ah don’t exactly know what I do,— Mu li'l ol’ brunette don’t crawl, though.” “Try what I told you when you get back home,” continued Vince. “Why if I had your looks, I’d devote my life to makin’ dames miserable. Why back home right now, I’ll bet there’s a cool fifteen girls lookin’ at my picture.” Joe was looking at Leisen with a half smile and knowing eyes. Phil and the Texan acted as though they believed it, while Art Reese sat staring at his shoes. Vince was undaunted. “There was one little gal I went with that almost had me floored though—What a pip she was, too—Told me she loved me, and all that kind of rumble-seat malarky. So I got my ring back from that Mexican babe I was tellin’ you about yesterday, and I jammed it on her finger only to find there were two rings on there already.” “Was she married ?” asked Phil. “Married as hell—and givin’ me all this bull about “you’re the only one”—you can imagine how that affected a young kid like me who believed in institutions like marriage—so there I was, double-crossed by a floozy!—But ijobody gets the best of Vince Quentin, and this dish was no exception. So I ups and fixes a date with her and a pal of mine. They got parked and begin Wijje Boyd Cameron, man about the tpwn, Up when the rest of us were down, Forehead, like Shelley's cluttered with curls, Squired in turn the Trenton girls; And met the village talk with scorn Suitable to “the manor born.” Boyd Cameron was brought to bay In the Episcopal church one May; And man and boy stood staring by To see the glint in Andea’s eye. “He'll tire of Andrea,” women said; But Andrea's head was a smart proud head. The years have passed and time grown thinner. But the Camerons entertain at dinner, And the Camerons entertain at tea, And Andrea sits by quietly. Wives call Andrea Cameron smart; But Andrea's art is a subtle art. When Boyd’s glance strays to another girl, Andrea straightens a falling curl; When Boyd’s eyes grow too cordially warm; Andrea brushes against his arm; And when Boyd smiles at dimpled knees, It's “Boyd, dear, fasten my sandal, please.” So, every crisis is met calmly. With Andrea’s practised sophistry. And the chains on Boyd are the kind of chains A woman fastens with skill and brains. And Boyd never feels the tightening links. Of the Camerons, only Andrea thinks. ■—By Barbara Hampson. Literary page staff: Editor: Carol Greening Contributors: Ralph Kramer Barbara Hampson Typist: Lorraine Gillard smoochin’, and I arrive with the husband.” His voice broke with laughter. ‘‘Gosh, was that a scream! Any way, it taught her to mind her P’s and Q's, what I mean! “What about your pal?” asked Art Reese. “Oh, he was about the size of Tex here, and the husband was a little shrimp. In fact, the husband apologized to this guy for his wife—“She’s just a little fickle, Mister,” he said.” HE kid down the line with harmonica was pretty hot now, and it was fairly easy to tell that “floneysuckle Rose” was the tune. “Yeah,” said Joe to no one in particular. “It’s a funny world. I mean the way they get us from all over the country. Knowing different people, different women, different things; and they stick us down here on some flea-bitten beach together, and we get to talking and shooting the crap, and finding out that life's pretty much the same all over—” “Yeah.” Corporal Leisen’s face wrinkled wisely. “Here we’ve been for about ten days, laying around with not a blasted thing to do * * * Geoffrey Discovers America i nurtur AtUi ay cmrisiopner Morley, Harcourt, Brace. This is the story of Geoff, a lit tle boy who left a Victorian Eng land to discover the New World. He became Jeff, learnt about Lexington and Concord', and al ways had to be Cornwallis and Braddock when Yorktown and the Indian wars were refought. Christopher Morley has come a far cry from “Kitty Foyle” with “Thorofare.” But there is the same richness and flavor to the book; he gives a de lightful picture of the times and an even more winning pic ture of Jeff, or Geoff, who al ways spoke his mind, and what happened to him in America. The boy isn’t the only charm ing character; his uncle, Dan, and English professor who intro duced Uncle Remus and Brer KaoDit to ms nephew, is a prom inent person in the book. There is Aunt Bee, who found America so strange and yet so familiar, and Aunt Allie, who stamps her self on the reader’s memory with the epigram, “Virtuous women don’t wear hats;’’ (They wear bonnets). Aunt Elm lived in a glass cupola and was said to have the evil eye. Her bad temper was genius. Then on the crossing to Amer ica Jeff and Uncle Dan met some more individuals that only Chris topher Mcrley could dream up: Professor Friedeck, an eminent philologist, who said that the English language was “simply emotional helter-skelter” and liked privacy while searching for his collar-buttons. Miss Shau graun was an Irish lady with a Dooming voice wno iorgot that the ship’s ventilators were excel lent voice conductors. There is a host more of characters, each as delightful as the next. There is something of the whimsey of “Where the Blue Be gins’’ in this bock; at least it veers closer to that than to “Kit ty Foyle.’’ Every now and then the book becomes uproariously funny; every now and then it be comes’ serious and philosophical. You can’t put your finger on Morley’s intrinsic quality; it is indefinable. If you are a Morley addict, you can take this book and sink into a comfortable chair with a sigh of bliss. This is your meat. If you don’t like his work, this book will not convert you. for it is characterized by his per sonal style in every line. but shoct the breeze and get. sleepy. And this is just bein’ around guys, listenin’ to them; like old' “make ’em crawl’’ over there, well, it kind of gives you a feelin’ you can’t put into words, but it makes you know how good a bunch of guys really are, and how good livin’ is, too. I guess X mean that things as a whole are (Please turn to pase six) BETTER ASSURANCE —of— WINTER FUEL by calling 651 With your cooperation on the fuel situation Manerucl-Huntinggton will do everything possible in fulfilling your order Manerud Huntington 997 Oak. CaH 651. CLASSIFIED ADS 9 Lost Gold Queen’s College ring, blue stone, Chapman wash room Mon day 1:00. Reward. Ext. 301. Mistaken Identity—Tan crava nette top coat gone, in McAr thur Court Saturday night. Coat left in place with cleaning mark 2408L ND. Phone Dick Maier, 324. €> Room for Rent Furnished for light housekeep ing for one or two men for tend ing furnace. Phone 2882J meal time.