Chivalry And Be Hanged We turned off the main road at an old weather-beaten sign which read "Camp Alpine." After twelve hours of solid driving and four breakdowns we had reached our destination. I steered our pickup toward a cabin that was in very much the same condition as the sign. One of the windows was open and that enabled me to see a blonde head bob up and down as if a person were very busy with the day's chores. Mr. Kelly honked the horn impetuously and the head disappeared from sight. The door to the cabin opened and there stood before us the epitome of feminine pulchritude. In order to describe this creature I'd need a dictionary which deals only with the charms of the female sex. Her face had the wholesome down-to-earth look of Doris Day. I think that even Jane Russell would be jealous of this girl's anatomy from shoulders to her hips, and Betty Grable had nothing on this female when it came to legs. As you can plainly see, this girl that I have been so eagerly describing to you is a three-in-one threat. I just couldn't believe it. What was a girl like this doing here at a boys' camp? Mr. Kelly nudged me lightly in the ribs with his elbow and told me to get out of the car. I climbed out hesitantly. I could feel the girl's eyes on me scrutinizing every feature. Mr. Kelly beckoned me to come closer to her. It was then I realized that this creature was much larger than myself. He introduced us and I told her I was very glad to meet her. She didn't say a word, but instead just stared at me. I broke out into a cold sweat. Suddenly I saw her mouth twitch, and then she spoke in a very low tone to Kelly. "What the hell did you hire this little runt for? He's too small to do the work around here." I then began to sweat blood. Oh, why wasn't I clever with words? Why couldn't I have said something that would have been just right for the occasion? My mind went, as usual, very blank. The days that followed were long and arduous because I was trying to show Donna (that was her name) that I could handle this kind of a job competently. I chopped wood, painted the cabin, put up tents, fixed the water line, and did many other similar jobs. All during this time she and I hadn't spoken a word to each other, but I could always feel her eyes burning holes through me. Finally my work at getting the camp fixed up was all done. Soon after boys from all over the state came to it with their minds Continued on page 7 By GLENN DICKSON Some females like their woo pitched with soft words, touch and lights, but this man's woman preferred her affairs flavored with he-man. "Why, you little devil, do you think you can lick me!" 2 The "Guiding Hand" At the Wheel By DALE FACKRELL What is behind the woman behind the wheel? Answering this perennial puzzle is one of Scribulus' staff of experts, who ranks as such, not because he is a man, but because he is a married man, and because now and then he drives a car when he can summon up the courage to venture out among female dominated traffic. It has always been understood that women drivers are inferior to men drivers. Many people, most of them women, will argue this point, but all things considered, it must be acknowledged that women are many times not the charioteers they like to consider themselves. The reasons for this are numerous and usually not a reflection on the intelligence of the female but merely proof that her training and practical experience are not as extensive as those of the average man. To evaluate the field of driving, one must ponder not only the operation of the vehicle forward on a hard surfaced highway, but also the mechanical knowledge necessary to know what is going on inside the working mechanism of the automobile, enabling the driver to develop a technique of operation that will not only make the car last longer, but also make the driver safer on the road. Lack of these little techniques often causes a driver to become befuddled at a crucial moment and causes traffic to be tied up at a busy intersection, or perhaps even worse, causes an accident. While driving home from a vacation in California this past summer, the irresponsible attitude of some drivers was brought forcibly to my attention. We were cruising down one of the straight stretches along Lake Tahoe at a comfortable sixty mph, and since there was no opposing traffic close enough to interfere, I pulled into the left side of the road and prepared to pass without slackening my speed. Even though I had alerted myself for possible difficulty due to the difference in our speeds, I was certainly not ready for what happened, for just as I was approaching the spot where I would no longer be able to stop before passing her. out came a feminine arm in a perfect signal for a left turn. Instantly we were grinding off four expensive tires and, as we slowed to her speed within inches of the back bumper, I again rehearsed the folly of ever trusting a woman, with the addition of a few choice words and phrases. At this point, as I sat waiting for the signaled intention to be executed, the arm was retracted and she continued down the road, obviously quite unaware of the incident she had caused, and of the lecture I was getting from my wife. After a short distance and after some-what regaining my composure and resources, I pulled out and sped up for another try, certain this time that nothing could go wrong because there was not even a side road to the left onto which she could turn. But do it again she did, and this time as I recovered from a much slower speed I was able to recognize the cause of our dilemma, for that femi- nine hand held, with little finger aloft, a partly eaten, lush, dripping peach. In her own mind, no doubt, even if she had known what happened, and she showed no signs of awareness, I would have been condemned for even questioning the logic of her action. Such is the attitude of women! I find this example to be somewhat typical of women drivers, though some will show statistics which supposedly prove the infallibility of the female. These statistics are, I believe, as deceptive as the various public opinion polls proved to be before the Dewey-Truman election. The logic behind this is that all drivers, including women, generally speaking, will show a car driven by the weaker sex a great deal more consideration than one piloted by a man. You don't follow as closely and you don't take anything for granted. As the worn cliche goes, when a woman's arm comes out of the car window, you know for certain only that the window is open. 3