South Bend news-times. (South Bend, Ind.) 1913-1938, 1919-01-22
BOYS AND SHINGLES
BY Ada Patterson

There was an ancient and honor
able custom, practiced by fathers,
of taking their sons back of the
woodshed and firmly administering
repeated applications OF single.
where they would do the most good.
1 should like to see that custom
revived in the case of a boy 1 know
/ saw him this morning in the
waiting room of a publishing house.
While / waited to see the busy man
I talked with the office boy. Office
boys are men in the making. Ii has
always interested me to forecast
the men in them.
This one was loose jolnted and
amiable He lounged in his chair
and swung one leg over its arm. A
habit that must be vigorously cor
rected but he is not yet far enough
nor long enough from the east side
to know it. His olive skin has
splotches that will disappear when
he learns through acute indiges-
ton that fruit and water are greater
friends Of his alimentary canal than
is candy. His eyes are bright and he
has a smile that comes readily.
which are assets for personal sue
cess. Moreover his clothes were
clean, which may mean 90 percent
credit for his mother and 90 for his
own habits On the whole he repre-
sented the average immigrant boy
growing up. or the son OF an immi-
grant. There was little more fault TO
find with him than with most boys
except what he said.
II was a day when the news Of the
situation in Europe was like the
breaking up Of the ice after long
winter.
To faces that had not smiled for
months the sunshine came. Two
men crossing City Hall park waved
their hats at each other in joyous
greeting. 1t was as though the world
was awaking after a long night
mare.
at seems as though peace were
very near" I said to my own heart
and to the boy.
He swung his loose-jointed leg
from the armchair.
His smile broadened Il hope
not" he said.
You don't look like a Prussian."
I'm not" he responded But I
want to go to France. l hope the
war won't end until I can go over.
I want to see the country"
The selfish little sinner. While I
talked with the great man at his
paper-heaped desk the grinning boy
with the swinging leg sat between
us. In the subway that sped shuttle
like between express stations his
grin Illuminated the underground
gloom. Along the brown paths Of
Central park accompanied me. the
grin, the swinging leg, and the dire
words. And all the while l heard the
resounding slap of the descending
shingle. Would that I had been that
boys mother, if only long enough 70
provide a father TO thoroughly ap-
ply the punitive single
The boy had not imagination ca
pable Of grasping, or a heart capa-
BILE of feeling. the mammoth mis-
cry of the war. He hoped that it
would go on until he could see
France. Thousands Of Americans
and their allies killed. hundreds Of
women tortured and children MAIN
ed and murdered, that he might see
France Towns burned, harvested
grain stolen or destroyed. churches
desecrated. lives and fortunes sacri-
feed that he might appease his
yearning for travel
Some persons there are who have
pin point eyes. Their vision turns
inward They can see the world only
in its relation to themselves, never
themselves in their relation TO the
world.
If parents neglect their duty I
wish that every community would
appoint a public spanker and &C
quire town wood-shed for such
cases as this.
BY all means let the imagination
be trained in the way it should go,
even if some splinters are left in the
flesh In childhood begin 10 develop
the citizen. Better that ne should
see stars in the process than that
he should long for travel at the
price Of wholesale murder.
In the name of good world citi-
zenship. a wood-shed, a single and
q conscientious correctori