COVER ALTERNATES One of the most difficult problems that we as editors must face each quarter is that of selecting a cover for Scribulus from those submitted to us by the Art Department. Each cover must be judged in regard to possibility for reproduction, subject matter, originality, skill shown, and general appeal. Because every member of the staff has his own ideas concerning these points, the selection is often a long drawn-out affair with each speaking lengthily on the merits of his choice. When everyone has been converted to one specific cover and all agree that it will be highly satisfactory, a sigh of relief is heard and the rejected work is put away. This quarter, however, so many outstanding covers were done that we felt they should be presented in some way to our readers. Look them over. Which would you have chosen ? Did They Have Tails? by James Osmond Our professor had been leaning nonchalantly against the blackboard, but now he assumed a stance more suggestive of aggression. His countenance had been intellectually passive, but now it acquired a scarlet tint of a brilliant reflection. He had gazed over his class with an air of mild benevolence, but now he was angry. Quite possibly our professor was contemplating the effect of a whizzing eraser on the head of the boy sitting at the second table from the front, two seats from the end; or perhaps he was reflecting with regret upon his oldest son's ball bat in the closet at home and so far removed from his access. At any rate, his thoughts were not of philanthropy, for he was straining at the stump of rationalization so firmly implanted in the field of scientific instruction that it could easily cause him to snap a tug. In short, our professor was trying his best to convince his pupils of higher education that there really was something to this thing called evolution. "Do you mean to sit there and tell me, as college freshmen and sophomores, that you don't believe in evolution?" asked our professor incredulously. All was silent, except for one or two pairs of nervously shuffling feet, and then from two tables back, two chairs from the end, we heard,"Do you?" The professor emphatically assured the speaker that he did. Students of Biology squirmed behind blank and averted gazes. A boy sitting at the first of three rows of tables began to fumble with a microscope lamp. The instructor had warned that the lamps were not for purposes of entertainment, but who would worry about such a triviality of discipline when the advancement of science was at stake. "Then you don't believe in Adam and Eve," asserted a wee frightened voice of the female gender. Our professor was growing unhappy. "That they were the first human beings on earth? No!" "Then you don't believe in God," stated a masculine rationalist. The suffering man at the front of the class hit the proverbial ceiling. "I didn't say that!" and emphasis was lent to his statement by the solid whack of his fist against the front table. The boy on the first row set down the microscope lamp. "I said that I didn't believe Adam and Eve were the first humans on earth. There are clay tablets in existence today that were written upon before the time Adam and Eve were supposed to have existed." "You can't believe in the Bible if you don't believe in Adam and Eve," said the persistent student of two tables back, two seats from the end. "Then you have never heard that statement that the Bible is believed to be the word of God, as far as it is translated correctly," said our professor with an air of finality. The boy at table one picked up the microscope lamp. "Then science says that we descended from monkeys," said a student at the rear row of tables. "Science says that we, with monkeys, apes, and baboons, descended from a mutual ancestor, and if you choose to hide your heads in the sand and say there is nothing to it, go right ahead. Evolution is still a proven law, whether you like it or not." The bell rang, and our professor ceased his discourse. My, what a trying thing is this age of science. Poor Darwin. Enter the Hero Continued from Page 3 Well, I believe in fate and divine punishment, and the water below doesn't look so good so I walk over to the sidewalk where she is standing and she begins to kick in the direction of my shins, and her aim is pretty good. As I can't see being a cripple the rest of my life, I try self-defense, which gets me nowhere. I'm backing to the bridge again, reasoning as how it's better to die now than go through life walking on my knees when I notice the kid's screaming louder if it's possible for cracked ear drums to hear louder noises and so I turn around. "For gosh sake!" I yell. Doesn't he value his life! That guy has her by the back of the neck and is carrying her like a kitten, or maybe something more ferocious like a bed bug, over to a bench, and is placing her across his knee. Well, she can't scream any louder so I guess she figures what's the use; anyway, she stops after a while, only sobbing once or twice which sounds like a cross between a snort and a seal's bark. He tells her to go on home and she leaves immediately, headed for a white brick house across the street. Well, I haven't time to wonder about that because he comes back and says could he walk me home and I sort of look at the ground on which there isn't anything but a spider running like crazy and says as how he sure could, and then I look up at him as if he was a sort of hero, which seems to please him. He takes my arm and smiles down at me and I forget all about my aching legs which will be in style anyway with the new dark hose. Page Eleven