Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1929-11-17

and all just for fun and amending
hilarity. Splendid.
WINGS ON MY FEET: Black ulysses
at the Wars. BY Howard w. Odun,
author Of Rainbow Round My
Shoulders" indianapolis: The Bobbs-
Merrill Co.
THIS is no story. This is the real
thing itself-life. A black mans
life in the war Talking, always talking
to himself as he marches or digs or car
ries or fights-or whatever war thing
may be engaging the hands and feet OF
this fellow, forever telling himself the
story as It comes along with every day
of lighting or getting ready to tight.
Here is war seen through the eyes.
rather felt through the skin and exud:
ing from It's pores in a mutter ana
humble Of words such as this man
would use. A long soliloquy. q child's
self communion-matter OF fact rs Il
there were nothing around but the
make-believe with which children ana
innocents engage themselves. But 1t Is
tremendous in effect, terrifying in the
badness Of its truth. Truth has to be
decorated to make it endurable. Here
it is stark naked and frightening.
war an me is buddies. fightin's my
middle name. What you see in the
hooks an papers I can tell you bout
an mo-, cause I was there. Yes, Lawdy,
Lawd, I was there, comm an. gon'
startin' an fallin', diggin' an ngntln
unloadin' an haulin' an LaWd, Lava
stayin' there, too. I'm magic BLACK noy,
rainbow round my shoulders, wings on
INV feet. War never got me, never Will.
Got nv buddies, never got me-" Ana so
the things runs from beginning to END.
No word save that Of the black boy.
After :. while you viii tire OF this me
dunn. so monotonous, so unusual TO the
eve. I'm going to put this book down
is what you say. But, you 40 not put
it down. You keep right on with the
monologue. Rather. you keep rignt on
with the war, and the muo, ana sr,s
fellow at your elbow. Great! Haunt
ing, besides.
THE MAN WHO RANG THE BELL.
Bv Milward Kennedy. New YORK:
Doubleday, Doran d CO.
THE elsewhere proved, the alibi
i cinched and criminal accusation
becomes legally innocuous. Here Is 2
mystery tale, Murder in an apartment
house Alibis are the historical pur-
s1Iit of the inmates Of that mouse: Inns
narticlllar kind Of abode huddle OF
petty iealousies suspicious. resent
ments-r1ust be the despair OF the de-
tectiye when crime centers there: Wen.
as for me I was all right. That very
night I was alone, reading under the
best of shaded lamps, and there seemed
to be an unusual quietude through the
halls and neighboring fats. Tnen my
telephone rang. Speaking to q friend
nv way of It, she interrupted with:
''There goes your door bell" Hold the
line a minute" said las went to the
door. There, slumping down at my feet
was a man. Sick? Tainted? ] couldn 7
tell. but taking hold of him, found
the answer. The man was dead. In
stantly 1 called for help. and the help
came. But who rang my bell? surely
not the dead man. Then who? That
was the question which for days TOOK
possession of the house and the neigh
borhood and the officers OF the law.
well, I could not fail to smile in relief
at the clear case in my favor-provided
eny case could arise against peace
ful resident like myself. I was talking
to a friend over the wire when the bell
rang, That cleared me--ff had needed
clearance. You will find it most inter-
estinS to discover the one who did
murder the man, set him against my
door, ring my bell and then make his
getaway. 1t was completely engrossing
to me, making this discovery, and 1t VIII
be to you.