The Prodigal Son written by William West illustrated by Farrell Collett Behold a certain man had one son, and a son he was. One day this son spake unto his father, saying, "I'll take what's coming to me, dad I would fain invest it." And the father gave unto his son his substance and the son departed into a far country and proceeded to invest the "long green" that was his portion. He played the races, but never picked the winner. His favorite would lie down at the quarter-pole, or go lame at the finish, and the bookmaker would take his money, whereat the bookmaker would be exceedingly glad. The son dallied with the slippery poker chip and monkeyed with the hot bird and the cold bottle, and thusly got on him a head that was exceedingly full of ache. Thus it befell that one morning the son woke up without one shekel in his wallet. Thereupon he girded up his loins and went forth to borrow of those upon whom he had wasted his substance. But when he asked them for money they spake up to him saying, "skiddoo." And after that they passed him upon the other side of the street. Now it came to pass in this extremity that prodigal remembered his dad and decided to return to the parental shingles and negotiate another loan from the governor. And when the son saw his father from afar off, he ran forward and fell on his father's neck, and spake, saying: "Father, I have blown all the dough that thou gavest me and need more. ... I am no longer worthy to be called thy son. I would fain partake of the husks that the swine do eat." Then said the father unto his son, "All right, John; go thou to the cornfield and help thyself." Thereupon the son went behind the barn and kicked himself until he was exceedingly sore, saying. "Who wants to eat husks?" Page Four When, in dreams, the tired mind wanders. Though the dreamer never stirs. Restless men become explorers. Action forms from fancy's worth. Perfect worlds become created. Goals in life are realized. Sobbing hearts become contented. Limpid pools reflect blue skies. Eternities of peace and laughter. Countless years of joy pass by. Time can never be a master In lands where mortals never die! Each desire of wishful thinking. Every pleasure reality brings. All are known by staunch explorer. Experienced in the lands of dreams. Page Five