THE WEBER LITERARY JOURNAL "If it rains hard we'll have to wait till tomorrow to dissect that body," remarked Tiny Tim. "Can't, we gotta be back by tomorrow so rain or no rain, it'll have to be done." The next twenty miles found them in Glenberry, with the weather as yet, not having made good it's threat. They went immediately to the cemetary and in order to be through before the storm began in earnest, began the dissecting at once. "You know, Glenberry'd raise hell if they caught us at this," George grunted. "Yah". They had hardly completed their work when the storm started in furious earnestness. Hurriedly they packed their instruments and started down the road, hoping to find some place of shelter for the night. They had driven but a short distance when they came upon a rudely constructed cabin. At their knock a man of some sixty or seventy years opened the door. "I haven't much", he told them when they had made their request, "but you are welcome to what I have got". They sat before the fire drinking coffee and talking to the old man for some time before retiring to the small clumsy room, spoken of as a "bedroom". After crawling into the old blankets, George lay staring ahead of him for some time; then to his dismay it suddenly occured to him that he couldn't go to sleep. Try as he might he couldn't shut out the picture of the casket containing the remains of what had once been a man. The sunken eyes covered with a thin coat of mold, the lips drawn back in a sort of mirthless grin over the yellow teeth, the damp deathlike smell about him all came before him vividly. It was certain that the wind moaning around the house and the rain beating against the broken window didn't help matters any nor did the fact that Tim was sleeping peacefully in another corner of the room. Once again he shuddered and turned over, but as he did so there came to his ears a sound that made the cold perspiration stand out on him. It was a soft regular sound coming from some other part of the house. From time to time it would get louder and then die down to become almost inaudible, only to burst out again twice as furious. 12 THE WEBER LITERARY JOURNAL It semed to George that he must have lain there a lifetime when his attention was attracted to the far corner of the room by a slight noise. He sat up part way in bed and like one paralyzed he saw the curtains that separated the rooms slowly part and an object in white step out. The figure stood as though uncertain for a few minutes and then TURNED IN THE DIRECTION OF GEORGE'S BED! Slowly it approached the terrified George who after a choking swallow whispered hoarsely, "Who is there?" The figure didn't answer for a moment until it was beside George's bed when it turned to him and exclaimed, "My God, but that man can snore." It was then that the whole truth came to him. The old man had given a room to two other men, also caught in the storm, but had failed to mention it to either of the boys. It is needless to say that the sound that had attracted both George and the occupant of the other room was the snoring old gentleman across: the hall. Sara Finch. Initiative and Silence OMETIMES I think that the greatest ability in any man or woman is initiative. From what I understand about initiative, it means to take things into one's own hands and accomplish them without being told to do so. People of initiative rule the world. They father circumstances and master the environment which surrounds them. The other night I chanced to glance through my high school history books, and I was surprised to find that nearly all great men had initiative and used but few words. Napoleon was not a talkative man. General Grant was known as the silent President, Marshall Field left with his memory one notable phrase: "He talked little". Edison and Lincoln were men who did things without much talking about them. Columbus was a man of few words, but he used initiative when he commanded his sailors to "Sail on and on and on!" The same was true of Admiral Farragut. "Damn the torpedoes! Go ahead!" Few were his words when in a crisis, and initiative was all essential. Burrel Rubenstein. 13