Newspapers / Salem College Student Newspaper / March 22, 1946, edition 1 / Page 4
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Page Four. THE SALEMITE March 22, 1946. Inheritance by Bcnviee Bunn The front door burst open ad mitting icy blasts of the December wind and a sudden whirl of snow flakes. The silver bells on the Christmas wreath jingled madly as someone struggled to shim the door, and Harl)ie knew her Mother wiis back from New ^^ork. A bit re luctant to leave the cosy warmth of her easy chuir by the fireside, she ]mt her copy of Kenilworth on the coffee table and arose slowly. Then she ran lightly across Iho room into the halt, her mood completely broken. Yes, it was her mother. Closing her eyes, Mrs. Fiarrington leaned back against the door with a sigh of relief. Her mink coat, flecked with snow, had slipped off lier left shoulder revealing a chic brown suit, but the tiny felt hat was still tipped precisely over her right eye. “Three ni.onths h;iven’t changed her at all,” thought Barbie. “Even after nine hours on the train, every hair in place, and her mnke-up is e'.actly right. Oh, why couldn’t I have been tall and slim and beauti ful? H,^-r features are perfect— wide blue eyes, high cheek bones, Roman nose, and full curved lips. And her black hair is the exact com- pletment to the clear whiteness of her skin. She looks like a model ou of Harper’s Bazaar, yet she’s over thirty-five. Sometimes I just can’t believe that she is my mother!” Mrs. Harrington opened her eyes with a shudder. Seeing Barbie she gave a little cry of pleasure and started forward to kiss her. “Barbara, darling! I’m so glad you are home. I had been living for the holidays to begin, and then 1 could not be here with Daddy to meet you. Oh, yes, d,o call James to get my bags—they’re out there in the cab. Then come back to the library, and I can tell you all about my rrij). T am simply frozen now!” When Barbie entered the library, her mother was sitting in the middle of the sofa lighting a cigarette. The firelight from the o)>en hearth flickered through the five o’clock dusk and played acr.oss the glass- topped coffee table before her. “Oh, darling, I had the most won derful trip! I do wish you could have been there. You would have loved the Trents. They are such a charming couple—worth four million dollars, Barbara! Ami you should see their penthouse; ifs just ultra modern. Kverything's all sfreamlin- ed. Of course that means they don’t have the lovely antiques we do. I told Janet she and Bill would have to come down and see ours this spring.” “But, Mother,” “And, Barbara, their daughter. Sherry, was home from Vassar f.or the weekend. She was most attrac tive; if you care for tall, slender, sophisticated brunettes, which 1 do not! But young men kept that tele phone rin,ging constantly. Thju'k goodness we do n,ot have to contend with that! And at least we get to see you when you are home for the weekeml. But Sherry was out doing something every minute—going to luncheons, cocktail parties, dinner ji-irties, and night-clubs. I told Janet she ought to keep her at home once in a while. Why, the child is known all over the city; her picture is al ways appearing in one paper or another. “By the way, one of her young frienils, Jock Bell is coming down to spencl next week with Mrs. Kobert Bell, liis aunt. He has alreadjy asked me if he can take you out New Year’s Eve, and I have given him my permission. In fact, I told him you would be thrilled to death. I have everything planned— I will give you a big party with champagne and everything, and you can wef^r the red evening dress I bought for you in Saks’. It cost a hundred and ten d,ollars, Barbara! 1 know you will like Jock. Sherry says he is a combination of Boyer and Gable, and I think he is one of the most charming boys I have ever met. I do hope you twp will like each other. Try, darling, because his fam ily is one of The Four Hundred.” “But does he care anything about books or poetrj^. Mother? Or art or good music?’’ “Oh, really, Barbara! Don’t you ever think of anything but music, art and literature? Not that it displeases me for you to be well-ac quainted with such things. I want you to be an interesting conver sationalist and a, person of culture . . . Oh, that reminds me, Janet fook me to the Frick Art Museum Friday afternoon. It was exquisite, Barbara! There was the loveliest garden there with all kinds of flowers and beautiful fountains. And there was a marvelous little painting by that Italian you and Daddy like so well. Picaro, I be lieve.” “Mother! You must mean Piero della Francesca! How exciting! You really saw an original? Which paint ing was it?” “Please, Barbara, don’t get so excited. 1 really don’t remember any thing about the painting except that the sky was the same delicate shade of blue that I want for my spring suit this year.” “But, Mother, don’t you remem ber anything about the painting?” “No, dear, but just let me tell you what we did Saturday after noon!” “You went to the opera!! And it was Carmen. I know’ it was because I listened all Saturday afternoon. Oh, Mother! Wasn’t it the most . . .” “Barbara, I did not go to hear Carmen. I went to see Harvey, and I must say I have never been more amused. Of course I might have enjoyed Carmen almost as much. I love hearing Melchior sing “Figaro”, and sometimes I do run into old triends there. ^ our Daddy always likes to go, but he never does any thing but listen to the music!” “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Mother. Daddy called before you came and said he would be here at seven. He is having to bring a Mr. Atkinson for dinner.” “Onod heavens! Have you told Agnes to prepare for four? Yes, I know you have. Well, that means I must go up and dress for dinner. And y,ou better come too in a few minutes. Please, Bjirhara, wear your new black dress, and above all, be nice to Mr. Atkinson. lie’s a very wealthy man and can be of great help to your father.” Mrs. Harrington stretched lang uidly, arose, and left the room. For a while Barbie sat motionless and starcil at the darting yellow tongues of flame that tried to strike the cliimney. Then a whimsical, almost molancholy smile trembled on her lijis as she picked up Kenilworth and began to read. I The ANCHOR CO., Inc. I + The Photographic Department DIAL 6123 2nd Floor Library Has Quaker Hostess by Virtie Stroup Come! It is seven o’clock and the Quaker meeting is about to begin. And thus another night the librar ian o])ens the library door to let in the collected crowd. My rO|Om in Lehman faces front campus and when I am at my desk, frequently I stare at the library door. This scene reminds me of the solemn face of a Quaker lady at a weekly meeting. However, this scone takes on a new air morning, afternoon, and night. About eight fifteen, the librarian plods up the concrete steps to open the door. The small key waddles around in the largo lock but then the sure click, snap is heard. The early morning glare of sunshine floods the door and makes it look like a Dutch Boy paint ad which I interrupt with my peppy shift, shift of feet up the steps to return a book before class begins. As I |)ull the door open, I instinctively feel the deathly coolness of dewy brass. When I come out, the door ^•a'svns open and closes, and I hear the clicking of a heel tap on the metal strip of the door. If, however, I do not return my bonk until nine, I see the sun has made a shadow of a nose on the door. The nose seems to be smelling the odor of old leather books, waxed mahogany tables, musty, closed-up, stiffling steam, the early morning coal dust, and the strong, piercing odor of tobacco. When I look out of my window around one thirty, this Quaker lady looks cold and despondent. In fact she is deserted. More awake to de tails, I notice the brown mat I step on when I go over after lunch. The mat is soft and spongy like ginger bread but instead of a spicy odor, there is only the odor of old dirt and dust. Coming back out, I open the door; my ring makes a tapping sound on the glass ^ilate. As the door closes, I turn around and stare at it. The small cornice on the door looks tempting. I feel if I could pull it up, I would find the answers to the mysteries found in books. Only then do I notice how the keyhold makes an O and I can almost hear the Quaker lady singing “O Come All Ye Faithful” as I slip off down the steps in jerky bounces. At night the pale face of the Quaker lady blends in with the moon drenched scene about her. The library has the quietness of a Quaker meeting. The door has a greyish look of marble—cold and slick. The panels in it look like shelves in a vault—shelves of Shakespeare, Chaucer, Keats, Milton, Milton, and Whitman at our dis posal. As I climb each step with an effort, I see the f ided warmth of the library lights flicker on the cut glass jvanes. From the hood the library porch light hangs as if it were a heavy head hanging from the gallows. As I walk in the door, 1 feel the atmosphere become a part of me and I remain ((uiet and comm£/}c/> pff/nn/iG They go together 33 Noi It Couldn’t Be True! Winston-Salem Coca Cola Bottling Co. Library Contest Needs Entries By Jane Lovelace Girls! Pleez—let’s get on our toes! This year wo almost lost one of the wonderful things which makes Salem what it is. In other words, the library contest was about to be cast over because of the seeming lack of interest in it last year. This, I feel strongly, is not the case. Even though Pop Suavely does run a department store, he certain ly sells a lot of books—and good ones too—to the girls at Salem. Has the taste in books of the present student body deteriorated in comparison to that of our pre decessors of a decade ag.o? Let us hope not. I do not feel that it has. Well, then, girlies, let’s trip our selves over to the library pronto and sign an entrance card to enter the contest before April 10 (that is the deadline)! Unless ten-people sign up before then—there will not be a contest. That would really be tragic. Do you realize that this is the easiest way anyone ever won fromVfive to twenty-five dollars for buying just exactly what books they pleased? It’s true. If you are a junior or senior you merely have to stack up J'our thirty or less books and haul them to the library and then receive maybe fifteen or twenty dollars to buy more with. That’s what happened to me. They just give it away. Now if you’re an underclassman, just make out a “wishing” list of thirty of the books you would like to own with the author, etc. and you can win money, too—from five to ten dollars! This contest has existed around ten to fourteen years giving away each year fifty-five dollars to .girls with which to better their libraries. What a reflection it would be on the four classes here in 194(i if wo let this wonderful thing die! Our successors would certainly find it difficult to forgive us, for we would be depriving them of the right to enter. The purpose of this contest is an impetus on part of the library to stimulate the growth of better libraries among students at Salem. For yourselves, and all concerned, please enter this contest. Remember though, when you sign up to enter. reverent as long as I stay there. At ten when I leave, I turn and say good night to the Quaker lady who is tying the strings to her bonnet. And then the outline and character of the lady, dark and black, becomes just another object in the darkness. The meeting is adjourned until tomorrow!!! COHEN’S Ready To Wear Shop Be Sure To Visit Us Early West rourth Street It is a mysterious creature. W'ho could it be? The Boogie Man who’ll get you if you don’t w^atch out? The Little Red Man? First he’s here. Then he’s there. On your shoulder. In your ear. (Oo,oh! He tickles!) Wliisht! He’s gone. Turn and look around. He won’t be there. But what was that he whispered in your ear? Most coffee? No. Boast toffeysf No. l*ost office! That’s it. Y"ou get up excitedly, sit down again, and slump in the classroom chair in despair. Fifteen more min utes until class is dismissed. The Professor has asked you a question. Fortunately, you know the answer, but as you open your mouth, out comes that—that creature! He con veys to you the w'ord “Hurry.” The professor hears nothing, so he marks X on the grade book and calls on another. Twice in the fifteen min utes, a little strand of hair falls over your forehead. It takes a great deal of energy to push it back in place. The creature had been playing Tar- zan and was leaping from one bump on your forehead to another by means of a vine of woven hair. The bell rings. You dash madly out of the room, dodge between and run past others taking their way leisurely to the post office. With a thumping heart, you twirl the com bination dial and open your box. What! Nothing there! With a long drawn out sigh you try to colse the box door. Something pushes it open again. Darn! There’s that old crea ture again. He’s motioning for you to stoop down. He’s whispering—. “I don’t believe it!” you cry. “Mary Price got sixteen letters in one day?” Jean Dungan gets a letter from Davidson every day, as does Joyce froin Jimmy? Peggy Harrell gets more packages than anyone else at Salem? Garnet gets a letter and cries, “Rabbit,” while Jean Basnight gets one and cries “Wolfe”? “Snookle” Willis receives an epistle every day from the man she loved first? Go on! Creature! Where are you? Oh, don’t go!” you must stick by your word. ('■ome on girls, let’s show them that the generation now at Salem has soni(.‘ interest in good books too! (P. S. Dr. Willoughby, Miss Byrd, Miss Sharnburger and Miss Wible just L-O-V-E for girls to enter the contest.) TWIN IDRY at CITV CUAN1N6 col 312 W. Fourth St. Dial 7106 Winston-Salem, N. 0. HovNs NaaAviaa ni ivhi aoj S.H3000 o} auio^ SALEMITES THE ANCHOR CO. UP TOWN MEETING PLACE “The Shopping Center*’ Fresh Up With y.1 FAT. Off It Likes Ybu
Salem College Student Newspaper
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March 22, 1946, edition 1
4
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