The Washington times., 1917-07-19
Mary MacLane fSR TIE G GOF Mb BS5HR
She Says: "LI Had a Broken Arm or IF There Vas
Burglar in the House, Should Disregard Each
If Had Also Cold Boiled Potato"

AOTy AdCL0uog inc o1tH"ooo "
many personalities, IoTites q unique
chapter IN her book, 81, AGry Mac,
Lone" on the Impressions produced
upon Aer versotils mind BY eating q
cold potato at midnight.
Most Of Us haze eaten a cold
potato, but perhaps not at midnight
Mss KaeLdHe heads this particular
chapter Of this book, published By p,
4. Stokes Co., "God Compensate Me-"
IT'S q Sunday midnight and I've
Just eaten q Cold Boiled Potato.
shall never be able to write
One-tenth OF my fondness for Cold
Boiled Potato.
A Cold Boiled Potato is always
an unprecedented episode which
L. its chief charm.
It's nice to happen on q book OF
poetry on a windowsilL It's nice
TO surprise q square of chocolate in
q glove box. It's nice to come upon
q little yellow apple in ambush.
It's nice to get an unexpected let
ter from Jane Gilmore It's nice
TO unearth a reserve fund OF silk
stockings under q sofa pillow. And
especially it's nice to find a Cold
Boiled Potato on q pantry shelf at
midnight
like cavlare at luncheon. And
/ like venison at dinner-dark and
bloody and rich. And like cham
payne bubbling passionately in a
hollow-stemmed glass on New
Year Day. And like terrapin
turtle. And I like French-Canadian
game pie. And artichokes and
grapes and baby onions. And none
Of them has the old gnome-ish
charm OF q Cold Boiled Potato at
midnight
1t Has It's Pedestal.
I can imagine no circumstances
in which a Cold Boiled Potato would
not take precedent with me at mid
night II I had a broken arm; II
had a husband lying dead in the
next room; II were facing abrupt
worldly disaster; II there were a
burglar in the house; IL I'd mad
day full of depression; II God and
opportunity were knocking and
clamoring at my door, should dis
regard each and all some minutes
at midnight II had also a Cold
Boiled Potato.
I love to read Keats "NighIin-
gale" in my hushed life. 1 lore
to remember Caruso at the Metro
politan singing Celeste Aida"
love to watch the bewitchingly
blond Blanche Sweet IN a moving
picture. 1 love to feel the summer
moonlight on my eyelids. And it's
disarmingly contented am with
Cold Boiled Botato at midnight.
Content is my rarest emotion, and
! get It at midnight out OF Cold
Boiled Potato.
Some things IN life thrill me.
Some drive me garbledly mad. Some
uplift me. Some debauch me. Some
strengthen and enlighten me. Some
hurt, hurt, hurt. But I'm not
thrilled nor msddened nor uplifted
nor debauched. nor strengthened nor
enlightened nor hurt, but only fed
up and fattened in spirit by a Cold
Boiled Potato at Iidnight-
Say, "Gee, It's GOOd!-
stand in the pantry door lean
ing against the jamb, with a tiny
glass saltshaker in one hand and
the sweet dark pink Cold Boiled
Potato in the other. And sprinkle
It with salt and I nibble, nibbIe.
nIbbIe. And I say aloud, Gee, it's
good"
liked Cold Boiled Potato at
four-and-twenty. I liked It at sew
enteen. I liked II at twelve At
"hree I climbed on cake boxes in
search OF one. And now in the deep
bloom OF being myself am made
roundly replete at midnight with a
Cold Boiled Potato.
A Cold Boiled Potato!-it tastes
Of chestnuts at midnight, the FIRST
ost-kissed chestnuts in the
woods; and II tastes OF rainwater
and of salt and OF roses: It tastes
Of young willow bark and OF earth
and Of grass stems: It tastes Of the
sun and the wind and OF some
nameless relishinEness born of the
summer hillside that grew it: II
tastes at midnight so like q Cold
Boiled Potato.
A precious peach-colored orchid,
an antique spider-web-Iike lace
handkerchief. a delicate purple but
terdy, an emerald bracelet: I'd
strive for each OF those in an
eagerly casual way. But it's like