Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1920-12-19
THE CITY

ever the entertainment was she either
wouldn't or Couldn't make herself
agreeable, but took every little social
tribute soa stelidly mum that it quite
got on HheS nerves. Off the hostess
depression that felt its way to 'alI
those present until somebody saw
the idiocy of it. And then the folks
let the lady be. and had a good time
without her.
One young woman. aHgay and spark
ling girl whom nature must have pat
termed when in an extra enthusiastic
mood, had tried to entertain the honor
guest because she was very fond of
the hostess and wanted, for her sake,
TO see the evening go OF well, but,
having found that Mrs. Midas was as
DULY gray as an oyster. though
evened up by confiding to a companion
or her own age:
That old. Indefinite lump has loads
and loads of money. but we've, my
dear. have YOUTH Compensation, you
observe.
Also she might have added that they
had common sense. And. likewise. YOU
and l, and all of US who have gar
nered lew decades, might put in a
little word to the effect that they pos
sessed the sophisIication which en-
ables youth in these days to assess its
value. which in older times was not
acquired until youth had vanished
good thing for youth.
* *
TT your words won't rhyme and YOUR
meter Jumps like a kangaroo, you
can't call yourself . bard, because
nobody would believe you. On the
other hand. suppose you owned q
type machine that gave itself the airs
Of a ouija board-huh?
a prosaic worker, whose occupation
in life is to dig dimes worth of
ideas out of a nickel-grade brain
she says SO herself. which makes it
polite to mention it. Also. to pass it
on. just as she told it to another
woman:
Excuse me for troubling you, but
will you tell me whether this thing is
poetry or not? 1 know il rhymes, and
that it is about things 1 often think
the day. but thinking might as web
begin a paragraph for tomorrow's
work, put in a fresh sheet and had
kypedtwo lines when the machine
started out on it's own hook and made
me write this. Don't ask me how,
for 1 can't tell you. except that the
words stood out like movie lines as
l fingered them"
The copy showed two typed lines OF
a business article and then the ma
chine slipped a space and tabled
down:
What is the wind and how does it blow? :,
Who 10 the reaper and what does He sow?
Who made love and low
Why am 1 here and gone tomorrow?
And what is life and who is death?
And what is thought and what 10 breath:
And why this world of sea and sod?
And the soul OF me answers: "All is God"
1t was TOO inscrutable for the sec
ond woman-anothe- 2-osaic soul-so
she went to font Of knowledge next
door. And, happily he knew every
thing about it:
"Psychology-thats all. I write my
best articles just that way. / remem-
Der one time I was called on to make
an impromptu address. and was after
ward complimented on my oratorical
eloQuence, but, as i admitted very
frankly. I wasn't conscious of a word
had said. Psychology. that's ALL"
Then the seeker after Information
came back and voiced wisdom:
you've got Psychology. that's all
'Wha. in the mischief has psy-
chology got to do with me and my
work-why, I don't even know how
to spell the thing!'
= And that was all there was to II.
except that the two went out for
a little spree-supper and movie show
and they told an old friend what
the ouija machine had done.
Psychology? Bunk! Your cold
made you a bit feverish and there IL
nothing more inspiring than q fever.
You are in the habit of thinking of
such mysteries and they come to you
In a bunch-that's allr'
which seems to be about enough.
MAMIE LANCASTER