THE WEBER LITERARY JOURNAL Mary, The Flapper. BEFORE starting to tell the story, some explanation of the title is necessary. In the first place, Mary is spelled with one "r", and there is a comma after it. In the second place, no one that was in his right mind would ever think or ever give such advice as "Marry the Flapper." A stream of light came from within the Forrest home and played across the dazzling snow while within Mary played over many times a difficult scale on the piano. Don stood at the front gate kicking it with violent action and as he did so, he threw his violin case on the snow and growled, "Same old piece, dog-gone it. It's the last night I'm going to hang around and play serenades and rhapsodies. The gang's all down to Slim's place and here we are playing the Maiden's Prayer, Silent Night, and such things as that." Don picked up his violin and had the desire to break the thing into a thousand pieces. The white street lined with yellow streaming lights looked inviting. The sixth lamp down was in front of Slim's place. Don was undecided as to which course he should take. Why had he come home for Christmas and to this town anyway? He might have known that the first thing on the program would be to start for Mary's home with his violin packed under his arm. He finally managed to get up to the front door and knocked. Mary answered the door. She was glad to see Don and to ask about his health, his school, and his mother. She smiled sweetly and looked exceedingly charming. Her hair was braided and pinned neatly around her head. Her face carried no powder or rouge and she was dressed in dark blue serge. Mary was "just right" according to mothers, grandmothers and the books of 1900. It was this fact that made Don feel out of place. When they went to school together in the grades, he found pleasure in teasing Mary by pulling her braids, but now oh, well, things had changed. "School's grand," he said, in answer to her questions concerning school. "I made the freshman squad and we've had some sseason. It's a swell class. When it comes to speed and endurance, our sqaud is the snake's hips. The upper classes have been put to sleep knocked out entirely." 14 THE WEBER LITERARY JOURNAL "What subjects are you taking in school Don?" Mary asked making an effort to produce talk on a more gentle standing. "I'm taking a lot of required subjects. No electives this year. I've got some profs. Easy feed and all that junk. More pep on freshman day. We raised heck and painted everything green while the old boys stood by helpless." Mary could see that talk was hopeless so she suggested playing some music. She noticed that Don played well although he had now become an exponent of "Old Man Jazz." When he went to high school he had practiced long hours and his weekly visits to Mary's place were filled with pleasure. Mary had played with ease and could accompany Don without the slightest mistake. After the music, had followed the real treat of popping corn and roasting chest-nuts. But now came the Christmas holidays and Don, whom the crowd had claimed and Mary had lost. After finishing playing the serenade of Driego's, which Don had always liked, he asked, "Do you ever see Nell Smith?" "Sometimes, on the street. She is a rather disgusting person." "I wouldn't say that about Nell. Boy! she's popular. If she would open her eyes wide enough she could even sell dictionaries to Noah Webster himself. She's some baby and she can jazz the old music box." "Don! I think Nell's playing is disgusting. Her mother had her play for the Ladies' Aid and she played 'Baby-Eyed Blues' with some kind of shoulder movement." "Don't be slow, Mary. I'll bet the old ladies liked it. Lot's of people can play 'Somewhere A Voice Is Calling' and 'Holy City', but unless you can jazz you're just an odd number. How'd you like me to bring Nell over some night? She could show you how to play in no time." Mary's face turned red and she said, "I'll be busy all week. You know I'm to play on the program for Christmas Eve." Mary tried to change the subject by asking, "Should we play over this folk song?" "I'll go to sleep if we do. Haven't any popular music, have ya?" "You know I never play it." "Well, I'm tired anyway. Guess I'll go home. Mom would probably like to see me for a while." 15