New-York tribune., 1922-11-07
The Tower
Cepr., Esw York Tribune Ine., Is2a


III Cepr.. Nsw York Tribune Ine ls2a
A. e. Thomas, our favorite
American playwright, says it takes
a major operation to get money out
Of minor poet.--The Chair
woman of the Parent Teachers As
sociation of New Jersey or some
where wants to rid the world of the
F'lapper.
"a study in contrasts is what the
Flapper needs" the official lady is
reported as saying. "Show upon
the screen pictures of the typical
Flapper enjoying herself in the
manner typical of Flappers. Then,
by way of contrast, show the girl
Of refinement enjoying herself in a
refined manner. Which brings on
more talk.
Cannot Flapper be refined and
still be Flapper?
"Bc refined, o Flapner!
Don't let young feltoaos pet you"
But nchat," inquired the Flapper,
"Does this refinement get you?"
! But the discussion does little JUS
tice to the Flapper.---We insist that
there are really just as many kinds
Of Flappers as there are girls who
fap.-Somc of them flap in per-
fectly refined way, and some Of them
flap in less refined way.--There
is no typically Flappian Way
Nor do all roads lead to Rum
Investigators in that Jersey murder
case are still looking for finger
prints.
Why not go out on dark nights
and listen for hoofbeats?-Mu-
nicipal, State and County authori-
ties should maintain Motive Bu-
reaus.-Any one knowing of any rea-
son why he or she should or may be
killed should file, once a year, a full
statement of the case with the Mo-
tive Bureau.--And yet we don't
know that Motive is necessary for
q murder.-Sometimes an inviting
place may have as much to do with
it as motive.
The only murder we ever COM
mitted came about through a COM
bination of motive and place.
The time, the place and the girl
were all there.-We wrote a poem
about it, which we printed once be-
fore, and which still reads, in part,
as follows:
The Heart of the Swamp
The coiling creeks are dark and
slow,
Are tortuous as the thoughts Of
men,
Unstable, twisting, black and slow;
But bright among the draggled ferns
The jeWeled rattler basks and burns,
And dull along the waterside
The stealthy moccasins abide,
And brood and glide and go.
The swamp, throughout the chang
ing day,
T, oh f,,1 4Ho IL ~ IS
It changes with the changeling day;
At morn the bayous stir and CLEAN
And strive to veil their evil dream. . .
They cloak their secret thought at
noon.
But midnights, underneath the
moon,
Frank, monstrous moods have
sway.
I crept that way through lowering
mist
That wavered like the faith of
men,.
At moonrise, through the silver
mist
| heard an eddy whimpering there
As if some trapped thing in despair,
Dreading the vast uncovered sky,
Were covering in the reeds to die,
AS l stole to that tryst.
w
The moon her herded vapors drove
AS helpless as the tribes Of men,
Her herds of cloud she swayed and
drove...
But now she bends, unveils her face
And peers and glitters on that
Her madness shook and searched me
through,
My soul turned fire and glittered,
too,
On her thst was my love. q
The living vines I pushed apart
Caught at me with the hands Of
men
And clung to me. I flung apart
The clutching vines... I struck, in
| stabbed again, for love forlorn
And trust betrayed and desolate. =.
But my third blow was edged with