The Tomahawk. [volume] (White Earth, Becker County, Minn.) 1903-192?, 1917-01-04


life might have been without having
her with me to wade into me every
night and assault me with her entire
large and well-chosen vocabulary while
irving to persuade me to revise my
language and squeeze the hot air out
of it or to stop holding Peter Ether
bridge Simmons, Jr., up by one leg or
to admit that I am entirely wrong IN
nv claims concerning the weight OF
Queen Anne, hold up my hands and
bless Siwash college, which gave her
to me.
Ouarreling with Martha is more ex-
hilarating than shooting the chutes.
And it's a perfectly harmless pastime.
I've uuarreled with her for about eight
wears now-three of them in SiWash
and five more since then, and as far
rs 1 remember we have never settled
a single quarrel or quarreled over
subject that was worth settling. l am
very proud of our system. Sometimes
I think we ought to patent it. NO mat
fer what l really want to quarrel with
her about, or no matter what reason
she has for locking up The Hague trl-
bunal and calling out her reserves
against me, we always quarrel about
English history. It's bully idea. You
can put all the enthusiasm and ia
basco you please into the discussion
but you never get anywhere--most
especially you don't get around to
what you would really like to quarrel
about. That's why all of our quarrels
together have never panned out drop
of brine. If l ever made Martha cry,
I think should go out to Lincoln Park
and feed myself to the lions.
| suppose we choose English history
to row about because it was English
history which first brought us together
when | was bowling young nuisance
at Siwash and she was a compendium
of useful information with twinkle
In her talk. / got acquainted because
of English history-dOn't tell me
college education hasn't its advan-
tages. And most of our quarrels end
up with a discussion rs to when l
fell in love with her. She maintains
that it took three years Of steady eff
fort on her part to land me. l claim
that it was a case of love at first
sight; that she won me by declining
to become acquainted with me, and
that long after I was her slave she
tried to give me away to lat girl
who wore No. g shoes. She always
shudders at this, and so do l. 1t
wasn't a pleasant experience for me.
Martha and I went through college
practically hand in hand, and only
parted long enough afterward to en-
able me to sandbag Il Chicago bank
into paying me living salary. But
there was a time-in my freshman
year-when if
Oh, we'll, for that matter, the whole
affair is full Of ifs. If l had gotten
as mad as I should have gotten at
her indifference-if 1 hadn't taken up
study to amuse myself that spring; II
+ hadn't seen that Martha's hair would
be beautiful if she tlu1fcd it up instead
of tying it in a hard knot that pulled
her eyebrows out of shape; and, most
particularly, if 1 hadn't gotten a tire
mendous crouch in the spring OF my
freshman year, never would have
rotten Martha. It's fun to figure out
all the ifs. Think of winning a wife
by getting an acute case of dark blue
cOllywabblcs If that wasn't Il top
heavy reward for foOliShness, I'll give
1t up.
Now, I am not going to tell it all.
because, while I'm perfectly willing to
discuss other peoples love affairs
simply can't seem to care to take the
lid off and let the world peer into ours.
How I persuaded Martha to look upon
me as a pleasant diversion, and how
I persuaded her to come down about
a thousand miles and decorate exist
ence for me-those are secrets. But l
don't mind telling you how it all start
ed. After all, that's the important
part Of these college affairs. It's just
like rolling SNOWFALL down hill-start
Il and YOU don't have to worry about
It. It will take care Of itself. That's
all I really did about falling in love
with Martha. l started the affair; but
I didn't mean a thing by 1t, either.
Neither did she mean anything. In
fact, she was lot meaner than 1
about it.
It was the calendar that really be-
gan it all. One Of the most mysteri-
| BUS things in college life is the way
the year slips by under you and goes
away before you are half through with
it. This never failed to surprise and
grieve me. A year is such confound-
eddy long affair when you look it in
the face-particularly college year.
When you consider, along in Septem-
Der, that before June you have to go
to chapel 200 times, read through sew
eral books written in decayed lam
gunges, and figure out chubby vol
ume of trigonometry problems that
look like airplane wrecks when they
are put on the blackboard, the year
seems like a quarter-section of eter-
nifty. But suddenly, just after you've
made lot of friendships, have be-