THE YOUNG .AMERICAN
March
Step by Step
Concluded from page 3
The next visit that Jack paid to Ethel was on
a bright moonlight night. The weather was warm
with a pleasant breeze that stirred through the
trees. He suggested that they take a street car
ride out to Green river. She at once consented to
go—in fact she had mentioned such a trip before
that night. As they rode along in the summer
car they decided to take a walk out to the river
before coming back.
They could keep straight on down the highway
to the river but there was a nearer cut through
the woods. Ethel suggested that they go through
the woods and they did. A little later they were
seated on the bank of the river in a place where
people seldom ever sat. The moon and stars were
the only light; the trees making a shade.
They were playing hands. Thd^^ were exchang
ing kisses. Their arms were about each other.
(Jack knew there was no real love attached to
it.) His lips were buried in hers. Jack would
have made another move—when the one he had
in his arms, spoke with a voice that sounded ex
actly like Harry Norton, “Maybe you could, but
don’t risk yourself too far.”
A Snapshot at Harding
(Concluded from Page
began thusly ^ '
“The present exigencies demand a dynamic
hand I am intent on utilizing emergistical prompti
tude in their solution, and though the United
States is indissoluble—”
Just here Mr. Wilson interrupted with a call
for me to come to his side of the lav/n, which I
did, not^wishing to be the object of his disfavor.
He took up Mr. Harding’s speech right where
he left off, (so it apeared to ^e) ; but I called an
immediate halt . ‘
“Pardon,” said I, apologetically, “I can get that
speech from the Associated Press. What I want
is something unique about yourself.”
But Mr. Wilson told me that he himself was a
self-conscious man and that he preferred not to
talk about himself. He stated, however, that he
could give me a complete summary, in a nutshell,
of Mr. Harding.
He began by telling me that Mr. Harding was
a very vain man. This was evidenced by the fact
that his wife had voted her ticket Republican in
the recent election. He further stated that Hard
ing was not, a true American, as he ate gooble
peas pgirched by a GREEK on the street corner,
and that he tiid not favor the workingman’s get
ting a decent living, since he had not paid a sin
gle one for his vote in the last election.
Just here I was summoned by Mr. Harding. I
went over and reoccupied my brickbat. The pres
ident-elect took up the set speech where the ex
president left off. I cut him off, asking him to tell
me more about himself: how often he took a bath,
what kind of pie he ate most, and how often he
changed socks.
He refused to express himself on such domestic
affairs, as he feared that Mr. Wilson might refute
him. Then, we fell to discussing the possibilties
of High Point and North Carolina, and the out
look of High Point hoboes during the year 1921.
I told Mr. Harding that everbody is well in High
Point and described in detail what a time I had
the four years I spent in Thomasville one day.
I took my leave as a bell rang out in the stillness
of the night, signifying that it was time for the
new president to take his chair, and as Mr. Wil
son was thrown off the premises by two husky
accomplices of Mr. Harding’s. I lifted the ex
president from the gutter, and arm in arm we
strolled down the street. I tried to comfort him
b y repeating the well-known saying: “To the vic
tor belongs the spoils.”
I shall not undertake to describe my return
trip. When I left the city, it seemed that every
body was feeling decidedly Republican in Wash
ington. They all send their love.
MY DREAM GIRL
My Dream Girl, My Dream Girl,
My mind you have set in quite a dizzy whirl;
I dream-pf you in the morning
I dream of you in the night
And I never feel quite right
Unless you’re in my inner sight.
My Dream Girl, my Dream Girl,
Your hair a lovely curl.
Your face, an angel one I knov.'
And teeth a pretty pearl.
Your lips a cherry red—
I know you never wash them off
Before you go to bed.
My Dream Girl, my Dream Girl,
My thought’s with vou all day.
My thoughts all follow you
And seldom go astray.
Little Dream Girl, though it may never be,
I HOPE some day, not far away.
That you’ll belong to me.
—Vernon Snyder.
THE CIGARETTE
A boy’s a man he thinks
When he’s with you.
But the kind of men you make
Is the kind that’ll never do
Many a heart have you rent ;
And the dollars you have spent
Are forever gone in smoke.
Some poor stiflling heart to choke.
Oh! little weed so slim and white
Goodness knov/s vou are a fright.
You have a most innocent look.
But oh your power, you little crook.
—By Verncn Snvdei*.