Page 10 Scribulus "I was just finishin' the usual mug of beer when I noticed that all of the rumpus in the card room had stopped. I knew something was up. It was either a Federal or Ben headin' my way. I stood here facin' the bar and watchin' both doors in the mirror. In a minute Ben lumbered through, spotted me, and stood there scowling at me, with his black brows pulled down over his blood-shot eyes. He looked like he'd been soused for two or three days. He picked up a bottle from the table and lunged at me. I sidestepped him as he shattered his bottle all over the bar. Then I rapped my beer-mug against the bar, leavin' the handle and a big jagged chunk gripped in my right hand, and I turned and socked him in the mush. Of course he went down in a heap and I, seeiif he was cut pretty bad, cleared out. "His old lady beat it, took his insurance and left him flat. Every once in a while now, I find myself up on his corner droppin' dimes and quarters in his cap. You know I ain't got no use for pencils. I guess I'm gettin' kinda chicken." FOR "PAT" I would not mar with words so fine a thing As these years have given us. Words somehow Cheapen thoughts much rather left unsaid. Sing If they will, friendship's lengthy hymn, no vows Of deep regard told out like beads a young Nun slides along a chain can quite recall The varied shades of feeling that were strung Along each hour's shared enjoyment. Not all The words in books or mouths can ever bring Windy nights of talk or midnight cake and Music running swiftly through the singing Darkness. I would not set a rigid band Of words about this lovely thing. For such A subtle bond as this it means too much. Marjorie J. Wood. Spring Issue Page 11 FOR LIFE IS WHERE YOU FIND IT By Frank McQuown I'm at Joe's quite a bit. I've been walking the docks for the D. & M. Lines two years now, and Joe's is a stopping place between beats. Joe's isn't much different, but somehow it's restful. I can study life there; it's fun to study life. Lots of things happen at Joe's. Ever since the Gold Rush (Joe's father got started back in the early days of San Francisco) it's been the gathering place of all seafaring men. Joe's father brought the first gambling outfit to California. There's still some "wheels" and stuff in the back room relics of the boom days. There are things suggestive of the fair sex, too, for, always, there have been women at Joe's. Every one along the coast has heard of Dolly McGuire "Big Blonde Dolly," they called her famous for her rich clothes and flashy jewels. The story goes that she hated men until she met a tough hombre by the name of Red Barnaby. She fell hard for Red and later killed him, when she found him with another woman. I tell you those were the days. There's an old stairway runs out to the landing back of Joe's, where drunken gobs were shanghaied. (I think the old sea-captains used to pay Joe's father so much per head.) One morning they found a man at the bottom of those stairs with his head bashed in. No one knew who he was or where he came from, and it was all hushed up in a hurry. But there was a rumor around that the guy was a Federal man, sent out West to clean up the gambling "hells". Sometimes, when there isn't much doin', Joe and I have long talks in his office. He is bald, and quite fat, and sociable as they make 'em. When he talks he fiddles with a gold watch chain, or strokes his long white moustache. Somehow I can't help believing what he tells me, it all seems so on the up-and-up. Joe thinks a lot about life, too; that's why I'm for him I guess. He thinks that women are all gold-diggers, and also that the real he-men of the old West just don't exist nowadays. I agree with him about the first idea, but as for the red-blooded, two-fisted men I think there are just as many now as there ever have been take Chick and Sam Lee and Moroni Christensen. Life nowadays isn't quite so fast and furious as it used to be, but there's just as much going on and Joe's is the place to find it. Like last week for instance. I was sitting at a table at Joe's, enjoying my drink and listening to the talk and laughter, when a stranger, a seafaring man from all appearances, came in, slumped down at a table, and called for a waiter. I don't know where he came from, never saw him before in fact. I had a hunch he was the new guy that had been working down on the new pier. He was youngish looking, had dark hair and eyes; a lean, pale face; glistening teeth, and he might have been good looking spruced up. His shoulders sagged, long arms dangled, his shirt wasn't tucked in all around. He sort of drooped like a piece of dead sea weed. I wished he'd take a deep breath; he'd be over six feet then. From my place at the bar near the phone, his eyes appeared watery, glistened a little in the light. It was depressing to look at him. The way he gulped his liquor made me think he must need it awful bad. When Joe brought him his second drink, Joe, always kidding, asked him if he had been disappointed in love or something. He laughed, it was sort of a mocking laugh; it sighed out of his mouth like he didn't have much strength. He glanced up suddenly at Mazie (she's the head girl at Joe's). I thought there was something oddly significant in that look. I recalled that she, too, had drifted in like that, a few weeks before. Joe fell for her right away. She had class and looks and the way she could dance, it wasn't long until he had made her head girl. It seemed to me that it was funny, those two just drifting in like that, one so soon after the other. I noticed that "Droopy" kept his eyes on her, and she seemed to be annoyed. She was staring down into her glass and frowning.