Saturday, March 21, 1931.
THE SALEMITE
Page Three.
HIDEY - HOLE
?as quite the most delightful
;o hide in—or^ rather, upon-
that you can possibly imagine, ai
you would never guess what it w£
I'ou see, quite a long while ago,
lived on a big plantation in South
Carolina, and riglit in the middle
of this plantation was a rambling
white I'.ouse—that is, once upon
time it was white, but then it was i
ready beginning to show its age and
its aeeumulation of dirt. In a corn
er of the high-ceilinged living room,
there was a tall old-fashioned book
case. I guess not many of you have
ever seen bookcases exactly like this
one. It, too, was once white, and
had lots and lots of wide shelve .
was shaped like a V and the back
of the V fitted into the corner of the
room. On the very top of this book
case there was a flat shelf which was
about three feet from the stained old
ceiling, and it made a most lovely;
hidey-hole. It was plenty wide
enouo-h if you were careful, and i‘
was way up above everybody. Pic
ture if you can a small child with
very skinny legs, queer grey green
eye's (like a eat), straight nonde
script hair (like a mouse) and
quantities of enormous chocolate^
and-milk freckles (like a turkey egg,
my daddy used to say), and there
you have" me at the tender age of
nine. Almost every day when i
mother was busy somewhere else, _
would select the two fattest sofa
pillows in the whole room and carry
them one by one to my enchanted,
albeit dusty and somewhat precarious
perch. To climb up those shelves
and get yourself up there was a
job, but to do it with several apples,
some picture books, and a sofa pil
low was an art. You had to know
exactly how to put one big toe be
tween Shakespeare and Ruskin, and
the other big toe between Harold
Bell Wright and Whittier (my mo
ther just loved Whittier because he
was a Yankee, too). It has just been
within the last few years that it
has dawned on me that had I been a
few pounds heavier it is extremely
likely tha-t Hie whole business, in
cluding the several hundred books,
would have toppled on me much to
my—confusiotn, I slu>uld imagine.
But it never did, and I live to tell
the tale. Once en.sconced on my
perch, and curled rapturously up on
my pillows, nothing short of dinner
could drag me down. For the long
est time nobody knew, or rather no
body noticed, that the dusty top of
the old bookcase was living a dual
life, and all this time I had the most
“beautiful fun.” Have you ever
noticed how wickedly interesting it
is to watch other people when they
think they’re alone, or at least when
they think that you’re not there?
Of course, grown-ups call that eaves
dropping, but my young innocence
allowed'me rare privileges. Tlien
one day my mother found me up
there. I lionestly thought she was
going to have a convulsion before I
got down though she was dead quiet
and didn’t say much of anything—
till I did get down. To make a long
story sliort, I went to bed. (I for
got to say before that this was about
ten in the morning). I didn’t gefc up
till the next day. Of course, I was
only punished because my mother
could see how dangerous all that
climbing had been . . . but I never
could understand. The old bookcase
still stands, and I suppose that the
dust is feet thick by now for that was
very long ago when I was nine and
skinny. ^
“Sweet friend, believe me it is better
To part while love finds yet no
cause for grief
In slowly waning faith, lest haply
you
Should one day find some flaw in
me you knew
Not of, and I thru’ tears shall watcli
you go
Knowing your soul in mine had lost
belief.”
—Anomyous.
ONE GOOD POINT
Angry Client: The first time I
wore this coat it split down the back.
Tailor: Ah, that shows you how
well we sew our buttons on.
THE WHITE KNIGHT AND
THE LYRE
(Continued From Page Two)
taking up his jeweled dagger and
snapping his fingers in the face of
the slender youth the yellow knight
swaggered forth into the niglit.
He too, strode up and down the
beach where the water lapped the
sands. Loudly did he call Elai
and his cries sent back ringing echoes
from the rocks. At the third hour,
he saw the white foam rippling from
tlie further edge of the sea towards
him. On it came until the bright
surface became a boiling, seething
mass of foam, but the Yellow knight
did not move. Then there came f:
the depths of the teeming se;
rumbling sound. It seemed as if a
great wind was blowing through the
caverns of the deep. Louder and
louder it grew until it shook the
shore. Such terror seized the yellow
knight that he flung his jeweled dag
ger into the foam and disappeared
among the shadows of the rocks, and
has never been seen until this day.
At the banquet the following night
the King was bowed with grief. He
did not even move when the white
knight raised his goblet and cried,
“O King, by the great God Orphi
I shall return witliin three days with
your daughter and my bride!” For
him there was only the jeers of th&
royal guests, but smiling, he swung
the lyre over his shoulder and de
parted into the night.
At the third hour when the foam
began to roll from the rim of the
starry sky and the water, the white
knight settled himself upon a great
rock by the shore. When the thun
derous wind began to blow, he be
gan, tuning his lyre. Then, after a
little while, even the rumbling of
the wind was stilled.
Out of the sea there arose a great
monster, with his mouth opened
wide that the fair youth could not
; the I
r the s
1 the
heavens. Softly he played upon the
lyre a melody that sounded like the
voice of a beautiful siren, woven with
moonbeams. As he played the
ster e.eased moving toward him, and
slowly the great gulping mouth
closed. The sea beast listened to the
music, and finally it spoke, “What
see you, O youth with the lyre ? You
have charmed my soul, and I would
reward you.”
The white knight stood up boldly,
and shoute^d to him, “O mighty dwell
er of the deep, I would have the fair
Princess Elaine, whom you have
taken from her grieving father. If I
find her, she is to be my bride.”
A shudder passed through the
frame of the beast, and there was
a roar of thunder as it replied, “If
you will step into my mouth I will
carry you to the Princess.”
Without fear the youth stepped
into the dark cavern of the mouth,
and leaning against an immense
tooth, he began to play upon his lyre.
With a swift dive the monster reach
ed the bottom of the !
for many leagues through the cities
of the sea folk—listening all the
while to the melody of the lyre.
Soon it arrived at a coral bower
under which the Princess Elaine was
sleeping in a rainbow shell. The
white knight stepped out as the beast
opened its mouth, and beheld with
wonder the beauty of the sleeping
Princess. Going to her he kissed her
gently, and immediately slie awoke.
This time there were two passen
gers in the dark mouth, and the
Princess cried with joy when at last
they stood on the shore
father’s castle. The knight played
a farewell song to the monster, who
sank into the sea with tears in his
great eyes and has never been seen
to this day.
Loud was the rejoicing at the
castle, and King Gwain joyfully
gave his daughter to the fair youth,
with many blessings.
—English Theme.
SURE TO BE
Motorist’s Wife: What lovely
fleecy clouds. I’d just love to be up
there sitting on one of tliem.
Motorist: All right. You drive tlie
SAD THOUGHTS
’Tis a woeful thing to witness the
passing of the old landmarks—just
another evidence of the fleeting
elusiveness of time. One moment
are serene in the knowledge that
things are as they should be and
now remain so—and the next i
world totters and crumbles about
you and in vain you search for you
old familiar standbys. I refer to M;
McDonald’s mustache—that which I
depended on seeing each morning
with as much confidence as I looked
for the light of day. But alas—nc
even it stood firm before the scyth
of time (perhaps I should have said
us mourn . . . Did you ever go to the
picture show in the afternoon—and
waste most of the night away in
sport and riotous living—and then
go blissfully to sleep—and wake up
to attend breakfast and chapel with
glee, all bubbling over with the joy
of life—and at- the tolling of the
nine o’clock bell see the professor of
your hardest subject write the ques
tions on the board for the mid
semester which you thought was as
signed for next week ? Did you ever ?
—well, neither did I—but it would
be tough, wouldn’t it?—Believe it or
not —Dr. Rondthaler has had a hair
cut—but it takes a detective like me
to find it out ... I bet Mr. Vardell
reads “Whiz Bang” when he so
gracefully withdraws to that little
room during Y. P. M. — or maybe
he plays solitaire . . . It’s funny to
watch the expressions of the girls
who by mistake walk into the music
appreciation class in the Alice Clew-
ell living-room — the littlest girls
shake the locked door the hardest . . .
Just s«¥eirty-tTTO days left between
the Seniors and the buffets of the
cold cruel world .-,-t -Wonder if Ade-
seek you, O youth with the lyre? You
ever got Pierced — or if Eleanor
ever Idolized — or if Kitty ever got
Moore — or if Winifred makes a
good Fisher — or if Leo will get
much Wilder — and wliy Lizzie gets
poor Marx? Those are pretty bad
aren’t they? I promise I won’t do
any more . . . The little green willow
tree seems to shiver these cold days
—it otrght to know better tlian to
peep out this early ... The rising
bell has the most rudely impertinent
tone I’ve ever heard—and the dinner
bell the most alluring . . .Ray, ray
for Pat Holderness — she’s Miss
North Carolina now, you know . . .
Daffodils are chips off the sun—
and periwinkles are drops of blueing,
spattered down when the clouds were
washed out. . . . One disadvantage of
living on first floor is that visitors
have a habit of walking in to see your
room when to say the least you’re not
prepared . . . I’ve often needed a
Murad at such times—but unfor
tunately have always lacked it ... I
did have another thought but some
how it escaped me—just another one
of Life’s sad disasters.
CONFESSIONS OF A
TYPIST
(Continued From Page Two)
voice inquires expectantly. Back at
it again to the tune of “Yankee
Doodle.” What a life, did I say?
Then I repeat it, “What a Life.” Ho-
hum, and I would like to know what
Napoleon said when he found that
mistake.
—Mary Louise Mickey.
(Continued From Page Two)
unappreciative world. She went in.
That beauty had become a living
part of Tier. As she entered her
thoughts rested illogieally on the
prints of dirty hands on the door.
Did the beauty of this flower clutch
the hearts of others, or were flowers
to them just a matter of decoration
for which one must pay. Pay—even
for a white hayacinth one must pay.
The sweet fragrance drifted across
the shop to Iier.
For the sc'eker there is alw.iys
death.
The
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