AThisLandlubber'sNavy
By JULIA WILLIS
DECK is a thing you walk on when you're not on the good green earth. John Paul Jones was the father of the American Navy and the 27th of October has been Navy Day since 1922.
Well, this is a beginning but even for a landlocked civilian it is hardly a thumb-nail sketch of the Navy.
Take this matter of Navy lingo for instance. What would you say to a roommate who interrupted your mid-afternoon nap with an, "Avast, roomie I want you to help me arrange the curtains on the portholes. Don't you think that starboard drapery sags a little? Also I brought a couple of pictures for the bulkheads topside but I left them on the port side of the passage way by the ladder."
About all you could say would be, "Glad to have you aboard. It's 1610. Let's go below for a cigare t. The smoking lights are out permanently in here."
More amazing perhaps to us than the lingo is discipline in the Navy. Men have been going down to the sea in ships for centuries now and I imagine they long ago learned that in the close qua rters of a ship, duties and personalities and jobs to be done must run in perfect harmony. Everyone has heard tales of punishment inflicted in the navies of a hundred years ago for even the slightest lapses of conduct.
Perhaps not so many of us have heard about the young sailor at the airport preparing to return to his ship after a wonderful leave. A young girl rushed up to ask if any one would forfeit his plac e for her as she was rushing to be with her mother who had become suddenly ill. The young blue -iacket gallantly gave up his place only to remember as the plane left that the Officer of the
Deck had ruled that no extensions would be granted. Fearing he would be over-leave, he hastily wired his Captain, "Urgently request one day's leave. Just gave berth to a girl." The unsympathetic reply came, "Congratulations. Extension not granted. Your next confinement will be in brig."
These messages are amusing but they also show the same type of ingenuity and awareness that we find in a message such as "Sighted sub, sank same."
There are many other tales of courage, ingenu ity, and discipline. The discipline can astound us and the lingo may confuse us but we always come away with a feeling of admiration and respect. As a whole we feel that our Navy has produced men the captain of the Bonhomme had in mind when he said, "It is by no means enough that an officer of the navy should be a capable mariner. He must be that of course, but a great deal more. He should be as well a gentleman of liberal education, refined manner, punctilious courtesy, and the nicest sense of personal honor. He should not only be able to express himself clearly and with force in his own language both with tongue and pen. He should be the soul of tact, patience, justice, firmness and charity.
As he should be universal and impartial in his reward and approval of merit, so should he be judicially grave and unbending in his punishment or reproof of misconduct."
Now a Navy officer may try to joke and tell you he's a gentleman by an act of Congress. There's more to it than that just as there's a reason behind the discipline and a history behind the lingo.
Respect and Obey are the passwords and that "great fraternity of sea-faring men know and honor the fact that "men mean more than guns in the rating of a ship."
*To a seaman a ship becomes endowed with human virtues and human faults, she ceases to be a mere inanimate thing.
-Vice Admiral Albert Glea·ves.
To the British Merchant Marine
By LINCO LN BAXTER, II
For four long days the great grey waves Had roared and surged and leapt; For four long nights, while foam rolled by Six men had scarcely slept.
Their clothes were soaked with driven spray That chilled them to the bone. Upon that bare and boundless waste Their lifeboat tossed alone.
A sky like sodden cotton sagged Ahot 'e the weary men.
Their !if eboat like a steed un t rained Tossed , rolled , and pitched again.
Then dimly through the ga t hering gloom
A star shone on the sea.
It blin.ked, wen t out, but in its place
A freighter showed to lee.
"A convoy ho!" a seaman screamed; His voice was cracked and dry.
Re l ief and joy within their hearts
The men began to cry.
They wept buause of trials gone through And life they had regained; They wept because, of all their crew , They only had remained.
Their numbed and trembling fingers tore
The cover from a fiare; The convoy could not fa il to see Its all -enfolding glare.
Then suddenly a seaman stopped And glanced from face to f ace.
To every man t h ere came one thought , One worthy of his race.
L ike sharks about a dying whale, L ike wo l ves about the deer, The dread machines , the submarines, Perhaps were lurking near.
" Bit risk y, " said the second mate; "l/1/e'll use a pocket light " The convoy l ike a silent snake Crept slow l y out of sight.
Again upon the w i n t ry sea
The lifeboat tossed alone, But still no sailor there complained Though every hope had fiown.
A stern and fiery British pride
Gl eamed f orth from every eye, For these were val iant Englishmen Who well knew how to die.
But suddenly a searchlight glared; Their signal had been seen , And grim and tall from the inky pall There clove a f orefoot keen.
The long grey side above them loomed , The men were hauled aboard, And inward l y each sailor thanked
The mercy of the Lord .
I have not skill to praise enough
These men who brave the sea, But w h ile a l and can boast suc h souls, That country sh all be free.
In Autumn
By ELLEN MERCER CLARK
THE Autumn breeze came frisking through the city park, rippling the water in the big basin of the fountain ( one of those ornate affairs with bronze fish pouring water down to live gold ones), tickling the fur of the squirrel that the kneeling sailor was feeding, and dashing off to lift coquettishly the skirts of the girl who came down the path just then The sailor looked up and his eyes whistled appreciatively.
Jenifer Longsdale Macy Rushed slightly under his gaze and held her shoulders a little straighter. She had determined to be very firm at this interview. She was wearing her severest hat (from last year) and a very business-like suit. Her white collars were always the envy of the other secretaries. " Jenny always looks so immaculate," they said. She stopped in front of the sailor now, smoothing her gloves carefully. "Good-morning , John. "
He got lazily to his feet, a twinkle in the back of his blue eyes. "Hi! You sound just like my seventh grade teacher. What's the matter?"
"Last night. " She stopped nervously, then went on. " I dislike scenes. I didn't mind much when you helped the magician with his tricks at the show or the time you directed traffic at the big fire. But there was the time you kept the paper stand for that old woman during lunch hour and you got your picture in the paper for that and for trying to stop a fight, and "
The blue eyes were not quite so amused-looking now. "Jenny, you'd be a nice kid and you'd have a lot more fun if you forgot that you were brought up by an old maid aunt who believed that every lady had to do the same thing all the time and in the same way. There are a lot of interesting people to meet and things to do in the world. I have quite as many 'respectable' acquaintances as you have and a whole lot more less respectable and more fun from my so-called newspaper career."
"But did you have to greet that that ?"
"Strip-teaser?" He was more lazily amused than usual. "I take it you have seen that gem of a headline: 'Ex-stripper Shows Sailor how to Shell 0 ff for lf'' ar Bonds.' "
[ 5]
"And the picture," said Jenifer tightly.
He grinned suddenly. "You wouldn't be jealous? I didn't kiss her. Cherie is the impulsive type; she grabbed me and Jeff clicked the picture."
She was taking off her gloves and didn't answer. Another woman would have knotted them into a ball or twisted them nervously-not Jenifer. She folded them carefully. "I am sorry, Johnny, that it didn't work out. We are just not suited." Her control faltered for a moment as she looked up into his very sober eyes; she glanced away hurriedly and began to take off his ring.
He took the ring when she held it out and caught her hand in a hard grip. She looked up, surprised, for easy-going Johnny Mcinnish was angry with her for the first time since she had known him. Usually he treated her like a notquite bright little girl who had to be taken care of tenderly. "Listen to me, Jenifer Macy, Jenifer Longsdale Macy," he said with a cold anger that was almost frightening. "The trouble with you is not that you ' re a prude or a sheltered darling, but that you·re just afraid of life You've worried all your days about what people would say. What does that matter so long as you are happy and getting and giving the most of life? You are afraid to marry now or after the war because it would mean giving up your easy sheltered routine. You've enjoyed some of the queer things we've done-dinner in Chinatown, moonlight rides, the carnival-and you know I could teach you a lot more about living. We'd quarrel some, yes, and we'd never know where my newspaper work would take me , but we wouldn't starve and we'd get a lot of fun out of life." He stopped and looked down at her a moment, then went on, "You' re not thinking about me or our love or even yourself right now. You' re merely wondering if the people passing by know we are quarrelling and whether some one sees me holding your hand. "
Jenny was still silent, her thoughts in a whirl. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. She had never thought she was a coward. She didn't know what to do. (Continued on page 12)
DearAlice-Sit-by-the-Fire
[From an officer in the Royal Air Force in the Middle East]
November
Dear Doris,
I must apologise for not having written for such a long time, many things have happened to me since last I wrote and I know you will forgive me, I'll just say c' est la guerre and leave it at that. Shortly after receiving your last letter, I was posted overseas. It was something of a surprise to me but I was naturally excited at the thought of seeing a little of the world. Since I left England, I have seen many wonderful things, and I hope to see lots more before return home.
My chum and myself have just returned to camp after spending a most interesting leave in Jerusalem. The journey there, although lengthy, was packed with interesting spectacles, all new to our . . . "laymen's eyes," and my head is still buzzing with the din caused by the chatter of many native tongues. The countryside is inclined to be of an arid nature, though at each station ( which are quite primeaval constructions) there was always a profusion of greenery, in the way of date palms and innumerable unfamiliar shrubberies. Practically all the stopping places were in a native village, and it was amusing to watch the queer lumbering gait of a camel alongside the smooth mechanical per£ ection of a modern automobile.
Jerusalem is a city that has embedded itself in my memory for the rest of my life. I saw so many wonderful things there that to try to describe them all and do them justice is a mite beyond my literary qualifications. However one particular tour filled me with awe so perhaps I may be able to describe a little of it to you.
Being new to the Holy City naturally led us to secure a guide who knew the places of interest, so we hunted around and finally obtained one at the Y.M.C.A It is worthy of a note in passing because it is one of the finest, most picturesque in the world. I believe it was built by Moorish stonemasons. At least it bore the familiar look of their craftsmanship and they certainly excelled themselves.
Our guide led us through the new part of Jerusalem until we reached the really ancient sec-
tion. It is entirely surrounded by a massive wall, and as we entered the city precincts through a gateway called the "Gaffa Gate." Before plunging into the narrow alleyways, we paused to admire the scene on our flank-we were on the upper rim bordering a valley and we could see the Garden of Gethsemane with the Mount of Olives in the background. The panorama was punctured here and there by the towers and domes of numerous mosques, churches and ancient battlements. It was really lovely, but our guide had probably admired the scene on many occasions and not wishing to upset his temper, we turned in through the gateway and entered the old city
I have seen many towns and cities in my life but I am aware now that the total amount of knowledge gained by visiting them was like a tiny drop of water in a vast sea compared with the scene that confronted me on that occasion .
We stood in a narrow street which stretched away and dipped out of sight amongst a positive labyrinth of similar streets. On both sides were tiny shops open in front and showing the most amazing collection of goods. There were the most varied specimens of fruit, obnoxious looking foodstuffs and the most odiferous atmosphere I have ever experienced. At each bazaar stood a few natives arguing and bantering for the goods on sale. I have learnt that time has little or no meaning to these natives, in fact if one wishes to enter into a business transaction with them, it is a wise precaution to take a tent to camp on the spot! Arguing is part and parcel of their lives and although their countenances are often black with wrath and the air is simply splitting with a harsh flow of words, they are probably enjoying themselves to the utmost. I was told that there are thirty-six languages spoken in the city and I am sure that I heard them all used whilst I stood there. the babble and confusing din was terrific, the more so because we could not understand a word of it all. Then of course there were the minor details, such as the crying of beggars, the braying of asses, the occasional grunt of a camel, oh !-and the flies-clouds of them all bent on one objective -to eat us piecemeal. At least that was the impression I gained.
We managed to survive the walk through those [6]
• • "It
was a pleasure to get a letter from you today, and not only because I have an average to keep up. Besides, I was just about to write to you, anyway ,,
markets and native living quarters and eventually arrived alongside "The Wailing Wall." It is actually the only part of the outer wall left of a very ancient sepulchre. I think five different conquerors destroyed the churches built on the same site, and since the wall is the only original part left of the first building, the people look upon it as a very holy place. They approach it with an air akin to awe and after kissing the stones, prostrate themselves against it weeping whilst they pray. Some of them write their prayers down upon pieces of paper and stuff them into the cracks between the stones. There the messages remain in the devout hope that the wish will be granted.
Later we were led to a church on the "Via Dolorosa." Underneath this church is the courtyard where Christ was tried by Pontius Pilate and sentenced to crucifixion. We followed "His" footsteps through the streets until we arrived at the Holy Sepulchre. It is built around the Rock of Calvary and the inside was magnificent. Many golden lamps adorned the beams, shedding their light on works of art far surpassing anything I have ever seen. Most of the pictures depicting the acts of His crucifixion were worked in threads of gold --and each one was set with precious stones, glittering in the yellow light. On some of the walls are Maltese Crosses scratched by the Crusaders, and other warriors. There too we finally ended our tour by visiting Christ's tomb, the most wonderful place of all, bathed in a translucent light guarded day and night by a priest of the sepulchre. It provided a fitting end to our visit of the most holy places in the world.
We were extremely sorry to leave Jerusalem behind, but we are out to do a job and we are now hard at work forging Hitler's coffin.
Please reply soon, mail means a lot to us away from home. It prevents us from getting that isolated feeling that spells the blues! Meanwhile my very best wishes to you and your family for a very happy Christmas and an even happier New Year.
All my best wishes,
KEN.
From a Lt. in the U. S. Army
England, September 43
It has been a long time since I have written to you. How I wish I could be back there looking for an error in one of those 880-yard-dash jobs the Statistical Department puts out. Under present conditions, however, I couldn't and wouldn't want to change places with anyone back in the Home Office.
It seems only yesterday when we all sat on the twelfth floor of the R.C.A. Building and listened to the shocking reports of destruction at Pearl Harbor. From that moment on I knew I couldn't stay with you, as much as I would have liked to remain with Universal. Whether or not I live through this war, or whether or not I have a job after the whole mess is terminated, is inconsequential. This war is so much bigger than any individual our personal feelings, desires and ambitions are bound to be subordinated. What the future holds in store does not concern me except for the fact that we are going to come out on top. We haven't been licked since the Boston Tea Party or the outcome thereof and I doubt if we are going to establish a new precedent at this time.
I hope to have the opportunity to visit the old Home Office one of these days but whether or not I can remains in the lap of old Dame Fortune. I am looking forward to the day when I can walk in and say hello.
Sincerely,
DOUGLAS.
From an Officer Candidate in the U. S. ArmyLittle Passion Flower,
I am wondering how you are coming alongyou with your unplumbed capacity for the higher emotions. Have you reduced it to two, or are you now in love with four or five? That is OK, let me say, as long as you keep them apart, but how the hell-a question which has always interested me--how the hell do you get rid of them? Assum(Continued on page 12)
[ 7}
FRAGMENTS
Ours
It's my moon I want it-please.
It's you
It's my moon And my heart. It's you and I and all we did together. together.
My darling It's yours to give It's my heart for you forever. Keep it Want it Save it For us forever.
-Fran Wolf.
Perdu
Can you know how I miss you? What a lonely place is this my heart. The haunting whisper of your touch, The twisted smile from half-forgotten jests, This emptiness within bids me search beyond the rain Into the make-believe of dreams-yours and mine.
-Betty Muller.
The Lady
I sat one night and watch the queenly disk of heaven
Slip from her leafy frame to meet a childlike cloud, And stoop to grasp the playful hand she yearned to keep But could not. Lonely, sad and old, but ever proud, She let it drift away. · -Betsy Rice. [ 8 ]
---And We DiscussSin
Massive oaks defy the winds. Graceful willows bow to their pleas. Dipping swallows flash in the sun While farmers carve geometric patterns on the hill.
-We discuss the sin of man! I think that God would laugh, Laugh!-in all His MajestyTo think that we Should talk about us even of our faults!
-Ruth Fitts.
Cheeananda
I know a place where white-flecked skies lean on The mountain peaks, and sunlight through the leaves Weaves shifting patterns on the earth; where roads Are deep red gashes in the hills, and slim Green pines cut wedges from the sky; the streams Dash laughing freely through the woods and come To rest in deep old rock-hedged pools. Some days Are filled with strong ripe laughter, others with The smell of fresh-baked bread, and someWhen rain falls gently with the drifting leavesAre edged in gray-but all the days have peace.
-Peggy Clarke.
9 J
WE OF '47
TheNewYorkSubway
By BETH DECKER
It was raining in New York, in late November. The rain slanted across the street and where each drop fell a tiny geyser of muddy water rose . There was a wet, uncomfortable feeling in the air that made all who could , stay indoors and all who could not , resent it. With horns screaming, the vividly colored taxis and cars jammed the wind swept avenue.
Far below in the vaults of the earth , the subways of New York kept up their steady, noisy pace. Thousands moved through the turnstiles like tides of the ocean.
The steps descending at a terrifyingly steep angle ran with murky rain water. The smell of live steam, cigarettes, hot dogs and humans in congestion rose to meet the nostrils, not a repulsive odor, but an interesting one. That graying man at the change booth seemed tired and very bored with life as he automatically handed out the correct change in dull and shining five cent pieces. The turnstile clicked as the nickles slipped in before the tiny translucent window, while with a rushing roar the train came to a stand-still.
A slithering crash, the door opened , and then into the brightly lighted car. The benches looked full, but over there between the little wizened lady in a Polish shawl and the overly fat man with the tremendous cardboard box was a seat. With a violent jerk and agonized squealing the train started up and settling back on the hard seat, the world in a subway train came alive.
"Buy Scatoloni's Spaghetti for better meals," " Come to Carnegie Hall for the music of the hour," "Bromo-Quinine will stop any headache," and so on. The brilliant, gaudy signs that lined the car, caught the eye and brain of the unseasoned traveler with a painful sharpness, but the constant commuters rode on with oblivion for all.
Across the narrow aisle the great world had come together. Two Italian women, dried and brown with age, conversed rapidly with hands
(Cont i nu ed o n pa ge 12)
[ 10]
Past and Present
By CAROLINE MARSH
One sunny afternoon with no particular thoughts or plans in mind, I found myself ambling along a dusty country road. Leisurely gazing at the scenery about me, I suddenly noticed a rustic old gate. When I came abreast of it, I saw that it opened on an avenue of magnolia trees magnificent in their splendor and seemingly endless in number. Pulling myself away from that loveliness, I beheld a bouse at the end of the path, really a mansion, not a house; for this majestic structure could scarcely be classed in that category
Rising upward for three stories it asserted its power with quiet authority. Three massive stone columns against a background of redbrick adorned the front. Old English ivy had almost covered its walls.
Awestruck and somewhat dazed , I opened the gate. As I approached the building, I suddenly realized that it was vacant. I pictured the yard as once being a smooth carpet of green grass, but now it was covered with a mass of tangled weeds. I walked nearer , the weather-beaten shingles on the roof lay in an odd mosaic pattern Here and there were strewn fragments of the broken windows. Impulsively, I went up the steps and put my hand on the door knob. It broke and dropped from my fingers , rolling out of sight beyond a bush.
With a slight push , I entered with a feeling of great expectancy. My first view was that of a huge room entirely stripped of its furniture. As soon as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, I began to grope around and immediately stumbled on a warped plank in the floor. Looking backwards, I saw the shadows that my feet left in the dust. Long forgotten cobwebs hung from the ceiling , for even the spiders had deserted this ghost house. A crumbling stairway originating at the far end of the room had curved its way to the upper floors of the house desperately trying to cling to the scattered remnants of its once proud past.
(C o ntinued on p ag e 12)
ON BOOKS
LISTEN,HANS. By Dorothy Thompson.
Listen, Hans is the newest book by Dorothy Thompson, America's No. 1 woman journalist, columnist and interpreter of international affairs. This book is a battle staged in the strategy of psychological warfare. In the form of letters to Hans, an old friend of the author's in Germany, whom she promised to contact if his country and hers declared that a state of war existed, Miss Thompson makes an "assault on the minds and emotions of the enemy ( the Germans)." Every incident she records is a fact-it actually occurred.
Having spent twenty years trying to understand the German mind and studying the mental and social shape of Europe, Miss Thompson is intimate with the history, geography, social structure, and the culture of the European nationstheir philosophy and art. These are the clues to the mind of a people, she states, and "an understanding of the mind" is the prerequisite of psychological warfare.
The letters were originally broadcasts over the shortwave facilities of CBS in 1942. After the fourth conversation Miss Thompson knew Hans, as well as other circles in Germany, was listening , Her letters are then more fundamental. She tells Hans what Americans know of his country's condition, of his Fuhrer and Nazi broken promises. She reminds Hans of the conversations they have had in person. She cites illustrations of what other prominent Europeans have said. She cites the condition of his country's enemies with their clean aims and inevitable victory.
These letters grip the very heart of the reader. The American rejoices in the evidence of ultimate victory. The German rejoices, too-in the challenge to join again the Commonwealth of Mankind.
The reader is convinced by Miss }hompson be-
cause of her directness, prompted by her supreme faith in her convictions. Her mind and her soul are in her writing . Although Listen, Hans is a message to the people of Germany, it holds a deeper meaning for her people of America. It lacks that cutting sarcasm which frequently stings her column. This time she is rubbing the core of her subject with a deep affection, understanding, sympathy and love.
-Reviewed by LOTTIEBLANTON
A TREE GROWSIN BROOKLYN By
Betty Smith.
This is the novel all the critics are raving about Betty Smith, author of sixty one-act plays and six full-length dramas, has, in her first novel, captured the very spirit of Brooklyn that has, so far, escaped all other authors. With a strange, undescribable winsomeness she has herein told the story of Francie Nolan and her home in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Living in Williamsburg taught Francie that peculiar brand of toughness so necessary for getting along there. Without it, life was a failure. The Nolan family, however, managed to "face up to" the trials and tribulations and the drama of their life, despite their father, Johnny, being a drunkard, and their lovable Aunt Sissy's habit of marrying again and again without bothering to get divorces! Miss Smith tells of junk days, on Saturdays, when the children clutched sweaty pennies in return for their junk-selling; of holidays and their accompanying excitement. She has written a novel brimming with life, tender and strong. This book will without a doubt be remembered in the literary world for its encompassing of humanity; there is goodness, badness, pitifulness, all the emotions of life and of childhood in a town so close, yet so remote, to the world across the Brooklyn Bridge.
-Reviewed by JEANNE ROSENBERG.
I now bid you a short adieu; but should it be the last, you shall have the satisfaction to hear of my good conduct in my station as an officer and as a gentleman.
-William Henry Allen.
[ 11}
In Autumn
(Continued from page 5)
He waited a moment, then let go her hand, and saluted slowly. The solemn effect was slightly marred by the peanut he held in his hand, but Jenny was too bewildered to notice it. "Good-bye, Jenny."
He was going--moving quickly toward the gate of the park. And Jenifer Macy crumpled her gloves together in two frantic hands. "No lady ever runs after a young man" said her aunt's voice in her mind's ear. And Jenifer Longsdale Macy answered flippantly, "Who wants to be a lady?"
Dear Alice-Sit-by-the-Fire
(Continued from page 7)
ing that you would want to. I don't spose you are looking forward to a cozy menage a quatre ....
So I sit here and wonder where the hell these damned people are going to send me from here. Maybe they will be "nice" about it and keep me here as an instructor. I would die as with a disintegrated soul. Such a nice soul, too, until I hit this place.
Well, at least I have a lot of nauseating acquaintances to look back upon, and remember, while my gorge rises like the Empire State Bldg. elevator.
During study hall I wrote a letter and then tore the evening paper into strips and, with scissors thoughtfully provided by a friend, spent the remainder of the first hour cutting out paper dolls. Unfortunately, the instructor came in during the tween-hours break and saw these things lying around all over the floor and festooned on the desks (lovely word, festooned, don't you think?). I was, to put it mildly, reprimanded. I am sure that if they don't give me a Section II discharge (medical) they will give me a Section VIII( traits and habits undesirable, inaptitude, etc.). Also includes immaturity, which probably fits my case. Boredom, really.
Last week they caught me flipping a coin on a two-hour multiple choice exam. I kept flipping the coin and putting down the answers-I was really answering them that way-not just being smart. Hell, I got a 94 on the exam, why should they kick?
[ 12]
This place aggravates me-aggravates my mild insanity. I spose I must quit before I begin to foam on my bedsheets. Such fun, tho. Gnite, little swamp flower.
Love, FLUNX.
* *
Past and Present
(Continued from page 10)
A feeling of despondency had so overwhelmed me that I started as though awakening from a horrible dream. I shuddered, turned and fled, raced down the lane, and did not stop until I reached the gate. Once on the other side, I dared to breathe again, and paused for one last glimpse of the manor. It was a thing of beauty vanishing forever through neglect. With a slight shrug of my shoulders, I turned and started down the road.
* *
The New York Subway
(Continued from page 10) and mouths in their native language. Far down the aisle, swaying with the unbalancing motion of the car, was a man of China. His skin was of pale gold and his sleek, dark hair fitted in with slanting eyes. His face showed character and patience. The character of a student inherited from the lines back to Confucius. The patience of a country continually in torment. Far back in the corner, intently scrutinizing a tabloid paper, was an elderly Jewess. Her curly hair, once black, was streaked with white and her vividly red lips had a line of strange harshness. She seemed hard, and yet, inwardly was she? Perhaps it was a deep resentment or suffering.
What had their lives held for them? One would never know what sorrow, pain, joy and ecstasy had been theirs. Their homes, a tenement or palace, their schooling, their deep passions, their love of God and life, their fears.
The train jerked to a stop. The crowd surged through the doors and up the stairs, into the rainy November afternoon to be lost in the move of humanity. Those richly varied characters of the subway were gone. They were no more.
* *
If a victory is to be gained, I'll gain it. -Oliver Hazard Perry.
I smoke a Kaywoodie
Whe rever you go, you hear them saying "I smoke a Kaywoodie." All over the world. This international opinion is not acc idental. Here are the reasons for it: The re is a difference in the way a Kaywoodie Pipe smokes. And in the way it tastes. This is because of the briar-wood of which it is made, and the way in wh ich this briar-wood is prepared. It comes
from the Mediterranean, and there aren't many pipes made of it any more. It smokes well. With freedom from trouble and perfect satisfaction. It is seasoned and cured with tempering agents that permeate the wood. There's nothing like a Kaywoodie. It is always mild, good tempered and yielding the same delicious Kaywoodie Flavor.
Kaywoodie Company, New York and London In New York, 630 Fifth A venue, New York 20, N. Y.
BUY WAR BONDS
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