Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1919-04-05
II Statesmen We're Watched
Like Baseball Players

TOSSIP in the training camps has it that
VI Davie George. Britain's stumpy little
portsider, is holding back some real stuff
until the Big Time starts. Ever since
Davie came out of the Welsh bush league
those on the inside have buzzed him as a
mound artist with unusual class. In some
of the warming-ups he has put over gilt
edged filings that moan through the ether
like dangerous business. Big Wood Will
son. the lanky catcher, has to vaseline his
mitten to domesticate some of those snaky
shoots. Dave has real stuff, and. is also
there with the willow.
Big Wood is in fine form, and with the
careful grooming he has had all spring
should be able to swallow up anything that
comes over Some of Geo. Clemenceau's
salivaries wriggle queerly, but Wood just
smiles at them and they plunk right in the
little old hollow mitt. Eddie House is pretty
noncommittal these days. and seen in train
ing quarters he didn't calculate anything
much but bits of toothpick; but inside
gossip says that he was heard talking in
his sleep to the effect that Woods wing
was better than ever, and that any man
promenadng the base-paths would need to
hasten.
. Vic Orlando is still the dark horse in
this outfit. Some of the early dopesters
figure that Vic is lying down on his game
because Manager House wouldn't come,
across with the right kind Of dotted lines
in the contract, but that doesn't sound
likely.
Old Geo. Clemenceau is still in the game
and his arm isn't crystallized by any means.
He can still clout them over the bleachers
when they come the way he likes them,
and he can make snoots at players twenty
years his Junior. His fast bali is said to-
have considerable whisker
Ig Paderewsky has turned up at training
quarters and after he has been to the
barber he will undoubtedly make good on
the third corner i is bit Temperament
tal but the fossy Pole has genuine brand
of goods Wood was winging some at him
across the green and Ig scooped them in
like netting herrings.
Social Chat
Our friend Dave Yablock, who sells pa
pers and magazines and pepsin comfits
under the statue of Ben Franklin at Sixth
and Chestnut claims to look like Marshal
Foch. He has a portrait of Foch clipped
from this months Ladies' Home Journal
posted up over his stand to prove it, and
indeed, after carefully comparing the pic
ture of the generallssimo with Dawes fea-
lures we are bound to admit that there's
something in what he says. But Dave will
have to let his mustache grow little
longer.
Speaking of likenesses, John French
Wilson is in town from Cleveland, and we
take this opportunity of informing him
that vachel Lindsay is trespassing on his
face Both these facial estates look de-
| lightfully alike. They both happen to be-
| long to poets, too, John being the most
| realistic bard that ever came out of West.
| town School. John Wilson's nickname at
| that. pious Quaker academy was BEER;
| we are wondering whether he will be able
| to retain It after the 1st of July. John
| Wilson Is sensible kind of poet he
| earns his living by being a lawyer In
| Cleveland. He speaks with gentle sorrow
| of an essay he wrote recently "On the Ma
| ture and Requirements Of Poetry" the
| manuscript OF which was accidentally de-.
| stroyed during the spring housecleanine IN
| his home Now II John had been merely 4
/ poet that would have blighted his life: but
| as It Is he can soon make some plaintIm
| heal the wound.
| Another caller at the sanctum OF tbe
| Chanlns pish was Eugene spauldinr. 1
/ rhlladelphtan}W W9p new lives on - iulnr6