It Could Happen Anywhere by Ira J. Markham THE following excerpts are from the diary of a young man who might be called by any name. January 1 Began work at my new job today. Can hardly wait until pay day. Just think what I can do with $30 per week. January 15 Bought a car today. Very easy terms. Sure has power. Has two windshield wipers, and a heater. Not many young men in town have a car like mine. Should finish payments in eighteen months. February 2 Became engaged last night. Think it was the new car that did the trick. Lucy said she was proud of me. It was a beautiful ring and she liked it. Payments will be small and weekly. February 10 The new radio set for the car works like a top. Can get stations as far away as Chicago. The first payment was hardly anything. They gave me six full months to pay. February 18 A little late with car payments this month. Will have to let the radio payment go over until next week as I bought a set of books and paid $10 down. Very fine books. Everyone should have this set. March 1 Am to be married today. Lucky fellow. Everybody envies me. A fine job with prospects for the future, a new car and the best looking girl in town for a wife. From a good family, too. Well respected. The boss gave me a week off for a honeymoon trip. March 16 Thank goodness all our furniture is bought. Was surprised to learn how much you can get for a little. They said my father has a very good credit standing in the community. The salesman was so nice. Borrowed $50 from the boss to meet the car payment and the weekly payment on the ring. April 17 Borrowed $100 from my insurance policy, to pay the $50 I borrowed from the boss and make the payment on the furniture. The radio man came to take the radio but we put out the lights and weren't home. The chump hung around all evening and we couldn't listen to the radio or read the books. May 21 Borrowed $250 from the finance company to meet the payments on the ring and car and a little on the furniture. Couldn't pay all the furniture bill as I had to make a $50 down payment on a real estate development. This land ought to jump in value then I can sell and pay off everything. The loan is only three percent per month interest and the principal payments are monthly. Had to get Uncle Tom to sign with me to get the loan. July 18 Somehow I don't miss the radio much. And you can get plenty of books from the library. Am trying to arrange a character loan at the bank for $350. If I could only borrow that much I would be in a fine shape. July 25 Bank says they investigated and found I have no character. What a bunch of crooks. Am trying to sell the land. September 30 The garage man is holding the car for a labor and repair bill. What right has he to hold the car it doesn't belong to me. October 18 It isn't any use. I had to let the car go. Anyway I would rather have the piece of land. If I could only raise $30 to meet the payment on the piano. Bought a second hand automobile today on the "pay out of income" basis. November 21 Income stopped. The creditors just wouldn't wait any longer so they garnisheed my wages. Our company doesn't like an employee whose income is garnisheed. Uncle Tom certainly raved when he had to pay my loan of $250 at the finance company. Whoever thought he would be like that! I used to be his favorite nephew. December 15 Lucy to have a new baby soon. Am I proud. The doctor said he would wait for his bill but I must raise cash somewhere for the hospital. January 15 Lost everything but wife and baby. Glad the baby didn't come on the installment plan. The Mermaid and the Prince (Continued from Page 16) things that Necile understood, for the sea was home to her. "Oh dear prince," she breathed, "hold me and do not let me go, for I will be tempted to leave even love and return to my ocean caverns, where the waters are healing and the soft green moss carpets my floor. Do hold me close!" "I could not let you go back now, Necile," the prince told her. "You are my whole life. Where you go, there I must always be. What you do, that I must do. Anywhere, anything but I must have you. Love is the greatest thing in life." "Do you think so?" Necile said, thinking of her pain that made her almost willing to forget love. "Is it love or could it be that pain is the strongest? Oh, what shall I do? With you, dear Abibdul, I have both love and pain, and one cannot conquer the other. Back in my blue waters I would not have your love, but there my pain also would be gone." The prince held her close, and in his embrace the mermaid was happy. Then the agony that was with her constantly dominated her again, and she winced. "I cannot choose, I cannot choose!" she cried. "Pain and love are both so strong, neither one will let me know peace. Pain tortures my brain and love my heart. What difference is there between them? I do not know; and so I cannot choose. There is only one thing greater than these." Remembering the one admonition the Queen of the Ocean Depths had given her, and thinking of its import, Necile raised her face and planted full upon the lips of the prince Abibdul her kiss of death. "You said, dear prince, you would go anywhere, do anything, to be with me. I too love you so much I cannot be without you. We will meet now together the one thing in life that is stronger than either pain or love. I have kissed you, and so you must die." "Dear strange mermaid," Abibdul said, "did you not know that pain is love and love pain, and that both are death? Forgive me for not telling you that you courted death for loving me just as I did for loving you." The mermaid and the prince then lay together where the water lapped the sand's edge. It may have been the sunset's glow that tinged the water a blood red; but at any rate the two bodies had been washed into the water when morning came. The Reader by Louise de Wit Her head sank lower, her chin in her hand, As if she had found some forgotten strand The bourn of infinity, bounded by a book; Her eyes, amber-flecked, held an ethereal look She was Ulysses. Lost in the glory of ancient Greece, Or gathering, with Jason, the Golden Fleece; Romping in Titania's forest glades, And dancing with Oberon in fairy shades Her dreams adrift Dreams of slopes burdened with pine, Or hills made horny by the hand of Time; Searching adventure and pirate lore, Evasive Romance on a desolate shore Her heart aglow. The last page in view, her book was done; Fantasy and reality were merged into one. Far away had her senses flown; Borne by her book to lands unknown-She was lost. page twenty-two On Women by Eugene Allen GENERALLY speaking, women may be compared to piece, or rather pieces, of cloth that is, they possess the same fundamental structure, but their patterns, shades (in hair, primarily) and brightness differ. Some are as smooth as silk; others, as soft as wool; a few, as coarse as burlap; but the general "run of the mill" are synthetic, like rayon. Webster defines "synthesis" as: "The composition or putting of two or more things together." Result: by the time woman reaches maturity eighteen, twenty-one, or whenever she ceases to take notice any longer of her birthdays she represents nothing more than a well-put-togther cosmetics counter. A woman's hair is something that causes a man a great deal of wonderment and no little expense. It is difficult to recognize the girl that one day was a blonde with a page-boy bob and the next day became a redhead with her hair piled on the very top of her head. You never knew before what big ears and a long scrawny neck she had, did you ? How any woman ever got one of those dinky little hats to stick on after an "up-sweep hair-do" is something I have often wondered. Hats have been made primarily to protect the head heretofore, but now it seems that a hat is originated solely for effect and that the utility is provided by a silk kerchief or bandana and even with these, the more colorful and striking they are, the better they are liked. A woman's fingernails provide her with no end of amusement. For hours she sits painstakingly painting them with bright rose or carmine polish (bearing some new and different name for an old color), making her hands look like something that woke you up out of a bad dream. Then she straightway spends almost an equal number of painstaking hours scraping it off. Truly, woman is a perverse creature. There has been many a man abruptly awakened to the fact, after it was too late, that the dream girl with the wonderful figure he married is nothing more than something she didn't eat. A man may find himself beset with either one of two predicaments under such conditions: either his wife ceases her diet altogether and waxes large by dimensions proportionate to her increasing indulgence, or she continues with her food moratorium and forces her husband either to starve on lettuce and wafers or "eat out." There are several different classes into which women may be grouped: wives, career women, and old maids. Wives are that genus of the species who enter into the state of matrimony and feel called upon to wear the pants in the family. Recently this "wearing" has come to have a literal as well as a figurative meaning. It is a psychological marvel that man can be bossed around by a soft, fluffy, violet-scented thing as woman. The career woman is the modern type, the advanced and independent woman who feels she has a place to fill in this man's world of business and so gives her heart to no one. She seldom enters into matrimony, but has "affairs" with some one else's husband. The old maid is usually found surrounded by more old maids. The college girl, while possessing qualities potential to become a member of any one of these three classes, is a type in herself. She generally goes to college for a degree, falls in love with a football hero, and ends up getting a degree. Her success in school is computed, more often than not, by standards of the style, quality, and quantity of her clothes, her ability to dance, and the number of boy-friends she has. A Romance in Pink (Continued from Page 11) your face in it smiling at me. I have wanted to talk to you for so long," Michael told her. "But you have talked to me before. Don't you remember?" she reminded him. "Oh, yes, but I didn't say what I really wanted to. I want to make you love me. Do you think I have a chance?" She smiled. "But what about Julie?" "Julie? Oh, Julie, what about her? She is a nice girl. I like her, but not the way I care for you. You are not like the other girls that I know. You have noticed me. You have known I was alive, haven't you ?" She answer coyly, "Yes, Michael, I have noticed you. Shall we go back to the ballroom now ?" "Not yet. I have so much to tell you. Please wait," he coaxed. "You are a queer fellow," she mused. "Why did you choose to talk to me when there are so many pretty girls who would love to be dancing with you ?" "I should rather be here with you," he replied. Time for Michael sped by. He was fully unaware of the dancing couples a few yards away. As the evening wore on, Michael gained more confidence. He believed that the lady gave him encouragement. He began to really make love to her. Michael's heart leaped and pounded. The dancers disapparead. The orchestra became the soft voices of birds in springtime. He took her into his arms, and crushed her small body to his. She raised her lips to his. For a mad moment the world about him reeled and spun. "Will you marry me, then ?" he exclaimed. "It is nearly midnight, the time that everyone must unmask," she ventured. "Will you wait until then for my answer?" Reluctantly Michael agreed. They returned to the ballroom. At twelve o'clock the lights went out. Michael clung to his pink Martha Washington so that she would not be lost in the crowd. When the lights came on again, everyone removed his mask. The lady in Michael's arms looked up at him. He stared at her, gasped, and dropped his arms to his sides. His face was pale. Julie turned and hurried tearfully through the crowd towards the door. Mediocre Millions (Continued from Page 15) have to be designed not only to inform but also to teach people to work with, not against, each other. Curricula would have in their design more than preparation for a job or profession. They would help make us ready to live wisely and peacefully. An intelligence examination would not serve as admission to advanced study without there being evidence of the applicant's having acquired some of the unmeasureable traits of quality that distinguish intellectuality from mere mentality. Would there be an excess of dull students and a slowing down of academic progress? No, only a weeding out of overbearing egotists, a decrease in the number of poll-parrot brains who pass examinations and can't raise a family wisely nor manage an income effectively. There would be more Pasteurs and Washing-tons, more Emile Zolas, and Andrew Carnegies, and Biats, and Ehrlichs; there would be less oppression and fewer dictators and unscrupulous "businessmen" who become rich in war time; there would be fewer politicians whose clever brains get them in a position to vitiate the very institutions built to give happiness to everyone both superior and mediocre. Feast of Ashes By Norine Call Before you went away, I prayed for some little incident: The touch of your hand, Or of your lips, That would send a thrill To be put in store for use When you left, as I knew you would. Now you've gone, And I have begun to draw Upon my stock of memories. I wonder: How long will it be Until I am weary Of feeding Upon the fragments of broken dreams? page twenty-three