THE MICHIGAN DAILY

f

First Assignment....

By GEORGE I. HOBART, '8
The lanky student with the prom-
inent ears paused uncertainly be-
fore a classroom door in old Univer-
sity Hall. His left hand fished out
from his vest pocket a crumpled
newspaper clipping which his squint-
ing eyes carefully re-read. "Tryouts
for the Daily Staff, 10 a.m., Room
4, U. H." He glanced up once more
at the black figures painted on the
door "Yes, it's the right room," he
mumbled, then tugged at his leather
fob from which dangled a brass
plate boldly exhibiting his class num-
erals. "Ontime, too," he added,
carefully replacing the watch and
straightening the fob. Unable to pro-
long the delay, he gingerly turned
the knob, pushed open the door and
sidled into the room, latching the
door behind his back. Seven pairs of
inquiring eyes turned toward him
as he hastily lowered his gaze to his
feet, shoved one hand into a trousers'
pocket and slid into a vacant chair.
Behind the table on the rostrum,
a thin-faced lad with a high forehead
fumbled among slips of paper with
long, nervous fingers, then resumed
his drawling instructions to the six
student reporters. Each jotted down
his assignment. Some asked questions
as to the time or place. "That's all
today," came the low, resonant voice
of the news editor and six young
newshounds scurried out to report
the vital events about to occur on the
college campus.,
Tryout Tremors
There was a moment's silence after
the exodus. The deep-set, puzzled
eyes above the table stared across
the room at the remaining youth, who
sat with legs crossed and fingers
twiddling the brass plate at the end
of the leather fob.
"Hello," ventured the editor.
"You're not on the staff, are you?"
"N-no," came the hesitant reply,
"but I want to try out."
"Oh," grunted the editor with a
yawn, and the silence thickened as
he looked aimlessly from one slip of
paper to another, scattered before
him on the table.
"Tell you what," he growled, fin-
ally, "One of the big guns has just
got back from Europe. Go see him
and ge a story." Then he tossed
off the name of one of Michigan's
famous professors.
Consternation wrinkled the brow of
the newest cub reporter. A flood of
doubts entered his mind. How could
a mere undergraduate burst in upon
such a great personage? What should
a reporter ask? How on earth was he
to know what to put into the story
for The Daily? Say, was it fair to
hand a greenhorn a tough job like
that for his first assignment? But
the editor's instructions had an air
of finality which prevented the utter-
ance of such questions. Furthermore,
he gathered up his slips of paper and
was nodding a goodbye.
First Big Chance
"Turn your copy in by eight, down-
town," heard the cub, as the retreat-
ing footsteps echoed down the cor-
ridor.
For a moment he sat motionless,
gazing at the blackboard. Then he
uncrossed his legs, reached into his
side coat pocket for his sack of Bull
Durham and book of rice paper and
thoughtfully rolled a cigarette. Un-
seeingly, he arose, found his way down
the empty hallway, stopped at the
door to light his "coffin-nail," and
headed slowly for the diagonal walk.
Some time later, the plain-featured
little wife of the prominent professor
answered the hesitant pressure of the
doorbell and confronted a flustered
youth. She ushered him into the
study, and, in the light streaming
through high windows, he watched a
heavy-browed figure hoist itself from
a low, wicker chaise-lounge, to offer
a chair, on the edge of which the
youth nervously perched.
"I-uh-ah-I'm a reporter for The
Michigan Daily, Professor. Could you,

-would you-tell me something
about your European trip?"
Shrewd, twinkling eyes immediately
sensed the situation. A cordial voice
sought to put the visitor at ease.
Puffing at his long cigarette, the
professor waited for no prompting,
but launched rapidly into a ready-
made newspaper story.
A Reporter's Dream
"Gee, that sounds important,"
thought the boy. "I won't have to
ask him any questions. But, Holy
Smoke, how'11 I ever remember all
those high-powered words? Got to
get them down someway." Intent on
this new problem and ignorant of
all interviewing technique, he search-
ed wildly through his coat pockets,
produced a bright yellow pencil from
one and a brown covered notebook
Ralph Stone Tells
earlyExperienees
(continued from Page 3)
sorbed a great deal of time and ef-
fort of the editors. How we, with our
limited facilities for gathering the
news and getting out the paper, man-
aged to wheedle our degrees out of
our respective faculties, I never could
understand - unless it were upon the
thV~nr,, that- . ei l, nxrr r nnc' in U-onlf

from another, and proceeded furiously
to jot down the flow of words in
shorthand.
A smile lingered under the heavy
brows of the professor as he waited
for the pencil to catch up, then the
one-sided interview proceeded with-
out a break.
"There, will that do?" concluded
the pleasant voice.
"Thanks, Professor. It's wonderful."
Joy Of Achievement
With difficuly the lad kept him-
self from running down the veranda
steps. He strode rapidly to his room
and labored long at transcribing his
notes and typing off a perfect manu-
script, double-spaced one side of the
paper, with carefully lettered "Finis"
at the end. It was in the Daily office
long before eight o'clock, but the rest
of the evening dragged wearily. Who
would read over his article? How
much vgould it be cut? How long
would it take to get the type set?
When would the presses start? What
if they didn't print the piece? Why,
they couldn't throw it out. Those

were the professor's own words.
The next morning he was up ear-
ly in blue dresing gown and moccasins
to snatch The Daily from the front
porch. Eagerly he started looking,
one column at a time, left to right.
He gasped as he spied it. There it
was, his own story, or rather the
professor's, front page, center. He
read exultingly down the full column
and came to the words, "Continued,
page 3." Over the page he found the
rest of the piece, a column and a half
in all, without a change from his typ-
ing. Reverently he folded the paper
and padded back to his room to shave.
Bloody nicks from the old-fashioned
razor were ignored. Nothing mattered.
His first news story was in print. He
had covered his assignment. He was
a full-fledged reporter now.
That was thirty-four years ago, and
today I'm turning in another assign-
ment, - not so well done as the first
because "he" isn't here to dictate it.
But the inspiration for both stories
was, of course, Professor Robert M.
Wenley.

Coed Etimon9'

ust Assignment..

PowIer Of Pen 2'1'


I

P remattire' Armistie' Tbrills
Millions On November 7,1918

By Lieut.-Col. JOSEPH R. DARNALL,
'18M, Medical Corps, U. S. Army
Millions of men and women, the
world over, will recall the exultant
hysteria and revelry of November 11,
1918. Armistice Day! But to many a
doughboy and to others in the com-
bat zone the celebration of Novem-
ber 11 was an anti-climax, robbed
of its emotional glamour, because the
wild thrill of victory and peace had
come to them, prematurely, on the
night of November 7, 1918.
The years of war along the West-
ern Front bred nights of darkness,
illumined only by tallow lights in
the depths of hidden dugouts, or by
star-shells and parachute flares over
Huber Relates
Hopes Of New
Puck Players
Rookies, Veterans Create
Impression That Recalls
Real Life Experiences
By FRED A. HUBER, Jr., '34
The first faint crispness of October
and a blue haze (There always seems
to be one on Monday morning) filled
this particular second Monday in Oc-
tober. The World Series had moved
back to Cincinnati and three much
needed days of rest had interposed
themselves between the deadline of
our program and the contemplated
hockey campaign. We stepped into the
drugstore for that cup of coffee that
was as much a ritual as the opening
of the morning mail, the same drug
store on the corner of the Olympia
Hockey Arena that had seemed bar-
ren and empty when fifteen transient
members of our World Series pro-
gram crew departed the preceding
Tuesday. But this crispness that pre-
saged hockey was only a preliminary
to a greater manifestation.
54 Candidates
There were were - 54 eager-eyed
noisy candidates for the fifteen places
on a major league hockey club-a
colorful group, the veteran players
nonchalantly having breakfast and
occupying the counter-seats, the
youngsters resplendent in leather
jackets, still obviously awed by
the size of the city and the size of
their task. A few older men wore their
crimson Red Wing jackets, a hand-
ful, the deep purple of Indianapolis;
but most colorful were the thirty odd
boys whose sole hockey had been
played either deep in the small Cana-
dian towns that are the very backbone
of the game or in the least of the
lesser minor leagues, the green and
brown worn by the boys from the
Omaha Ak-Sar-Ben Knights and ev-
en more colorful red and white worn
by the boys from Oshawa - the
Oshawa Generals who had for two
years been Canada's outstanding
hockey team.
Glory Of Kilrea
But what a far cry an actual major
league candidacy was for these boys
whose rinks were millponds, whose
equipment depended upon the finan-
cial success of the team of the preced-
ing season. Boys still in their teens,
with their country haircuts, who
found English a difficult tongue
against their native French-Canadian.
Through it all moved Hec Kilrea,
whose followers are legion, whose
years in hockey are almost as many
- the oldest of the candidates, greet-
ing each younster and making him a
friend. Hec, the eldest of three
brothers, member of one of hockey's
royal families, whose legs would nev-
er skate for a major league club again,
but whose heart would go on the ice
with each one of those youngsters.

In thirty minutes they were gone

tents of evacuation hospitals, pushed
forward to within a dozen miles of
the front trenches, electric lights
blazed, powered by portable genera-
tors. But these interior lights did not
pentrate the gloom without, as all
tent openings were tightly covered
to prevent egress of light which might
draw artillery fire or air raids.
Unlighted munition and supply
trucks rumbled along the back high-
way from Clemont, through Neuvil-
ly and Varennes, to the Front. Un-
lighted ambulances sped swiftly for-
ward and returned to Varennes
heavy laden with wounded. Unlighted
staff cars,motorcycles, and artillery
jostled along the uneven road at
good speed, their chauffeurs long ac-
customed to driving in darkness.
All is silent at the Fleville cross-
roads.
The sun has crept over the hills
to the westward, leaving the upper
reaches of the Argonne Forest dark,
gloomhy, and cold.
Two medical lieutenants in Amer-
ican uniforms hop off an empty mu-
nition truck. I am one of these of-
ficers. The truck has brought us from
the front lines near Grandpre, a few
miles to the north, and now it turns
off the main highway to follow a
side-road toward an artillery em-
placement at the battered little ham-
let of Qornay.
Lull In Artillery
We wait at the crossroads for trans-
portation towards our evacuation hos-
pital at Varennes. There is an unusual,
lull in the artillery fire on both sides
of the line. There is also a lull in the
traffic.
The November dusk is chilly and our
cramped muscles are stiff. We slosh
impatiently back and forth, waiting
for a ride, fearing to be late for the
night <operating shift at the hospital.
Another empty munition truck
clatters along, from the direction of
St. Juvin and Grandpre. We halt it
and climb aboard. The road towards
Varennes follows the general course
of the Aire River, which slides sin-
uously through the darkness on our
right. Its murky waters are now again
visible as the straight highway
touches the bulges in the stream.
The truck driver is sleepy and un-
communicative so conversation lags.
Suddenly, the three of us become
alert.
Powder Dump Fire
To the southward, in the direction
of Varennes, the sky becomes aglow.
The light wavers, and in less than
a minute it dies out. This is repeat-
ed several times, but there are no
accompanying detonations.
"Powder!" hazards the driver.
(Continued on Page 6)

Brewery Ads
President Angell 'Regrets'
Van Benschoten's Story
PublicizingThe Event
By WILLIAM A. VAN BENSCHOTEN,
'03
In my days on the "Michigan Daily"
-- and that was close on thirty-eight
years ago - we used to put out. once
a year, a "co-ed edition 7We very
properly named it "The Women's
Edition."
At that time I happened, also, to
be University of Michigan correspon-
dent of two Detroit daily papers. As
conducted by the regular staff, the
"Daily" carried no signs or advertise-
ments.
Of course this was long before the
days of prohibition and the famed
Friars' Club flourished in all its glory.
When the Women's Edition came
out that year, its advertising columns
bristled with a line that we mere
men had never touched -- brewery
advertisements.
Well, I made that the feature of
my story for the Detroit papers. "Wo-
men of the University of Michigan
outdo the men in getting advertise-
ments for the Michigan Daily: they
capture the brewers of Detroit." And
I included in my story, verbatim, the
wording of the "ads" and the names
of all the brewers.
An Ominous Courtesy
Next day I received one of those
polite, form notes which were used
in those days of our great, late Prexy,
Dr. James B. Angell, to summon of-
fending students to the august pres-
ence - at twelve noon!
When I entered Dr. Angell's office
he greeted me, as he always did, with
all the august dignity of a famed
and trained diplomat - for Dr. An-
gell had not only been, in earlier
years, a newspaper editor, but he also
ranked as one of our nation's most
honored foreign ministers.
And then he reached for a clip-
ping that lay on his desk, handed it
to me, asked:
"Did you write that?"
"Yes, sir."
Dr. Angell shook his magnificent
head and said:
"It is very regrettable."
Reporter's Explanation
"Dr. Angell," I put in, "my duty is
to pass out the facts. I am not an
editorial writer and it is not for me
to decide whether a thing is regret-
table or not. You are a former edi-
tor and you know that it was the duty
of your reporters to write the facts,
and not withhold anything that they
might, of their own opinion, hold to
be regrettable - and so suppress
them. If it be needful that I be pun-
ished for the good of the University
I concede that freedom of the press
need not be inucked in my behalf -
because I am first a student of this
university and secondly, and only be-
cause I am a student, a newspaper
reporter."
The Angell Way
Dr. Angell reached over, with a be-
nign smile, took the newspaper clip-
ping from my fingers, laid it on his
desk, and said:
"Young man, I grant all you say
about truthfully publishing the facts,
but" -- and here his wonderful smile
fairly lighted up the entire room,
there in the central part of old Uni-
versity Hall - "but, there are times
when no lack of truth is involved in
NOT publishing certain facts. Good
day, sir!"
I may add that those were the days
when we revered our noble Prexy
And I can still see him, in memory's

eye, as he came walking along the
diagonal walks of the campus, bow-
ing alike to women students and men,
and always removing his shining
beaver high hat - as. we always did
to him with our caps.

I did not write much for newspa-
pers after having served my connec-
tion with the U. of M. Daily. In fact,
one news story was all that I ever did.
From a newspaper man's standpoint
that was about all that a news story
should not be. It contained not one
word of truth and the names of only
two places that were not fictitious.
Yet, from a true human interest
standpoint it vas the best and most
effective thing I ever wrote.
It happened a few years after I
started to practice law in Duluth.
Lumbering was a big industry then,
and I had spent several nights on dif-
ferent occasions in a nearby logging

By GEORGE E. SIMONS '29
Probably there weren't many who
noticed the omission, but the Michi-
ganensian for 1929 was one of few in
which there was no mention of
Sphinx - no picture, no membership
list. For, officially, there was no
Sphinx that year.
And behind the temporary demise
of the Junior Honor Society was a
story involving one of the few remem-
bered instances in which The Michi-
gan Daily was accused of "suppress-
ing the news" - a novel situation for
a newspaper sometimes charged with
printing more than enough.
It all came about on a chilly af-
ternoon near the first of December.
As ten Sphinx neophytes, tied to
planks, were hauled on their wagon
under the Engineering Arch, flakes of
snow settled down among the folds of
their sweaters. And they were due for
a thorough drenching at the hands
of Triangles who were initiating the
same afternoon.
Sphinx Versus Triangles
Eight of the ten active Sphinx
members ceased their ministrations
to their newly-elected . companions
and turned their attentions to the up-
turned trouser seats of the new mem-
bers of Triangles, while the junior
engineers prepared for their part of
the show. Strangely, Triangles were
swept with a wave of pity, and de-
cided to use warm water with which
to wash naway the sands already col-
lected by e baby Sphinxes.
Meanwhile, the other two active
members of Sphinx, tired by the mon-
otony of imitating the effects of
burning desert sands on initiates' feet
with husky paddles, went on ahead to
pay affectionate honor to co-eds
gathered on the Library steps. They
were in hilarious mood'- a state ofj
mind sometimes attributed to con-
sumption of strong drink - but doing
nothing more than entertaining an
assembly of giggling girls and attract-
ing the attention of the campus cor-
respondent for a Detroit newspaper.
Was The Water Cold?
Ceremonies having been completed
under the Arch, the procession moved
on to the basement of the Beta house,
where it was discovered that the
drenching water had been too warm.
There they left slightly injured
Fred Bouchard, of the neophyte
group, while the more severely in-
jured Harry Wallace began a lengthy
stay at University Hospital.
Next morning, The Daily carried its
customary story of the.initiation, en-
larged somewhat with details of the
Leonard Hall, '26, wrote The Daily
that the last time he visited the pap-
er's offices was when they were still
on the second floor of the Ann Arbor
Press building. He is now working in
the New York offices of the Associ-
ated Press.

accident - all under a 14-point two1
line head. Not so the Detroit paper
whose reporter had witnessed the go-l
ings-on in front of the library steps.
It was front page news under a bigt
bold head, for in a writer's imagina-
tion, at least, there was a direct con-
nection between the boisterous mirthf
of two wandering Sphinxes and an
accident that took place half a block
away.
That was only the beginning - the
chance to make something of the
campus drinking situation was seized
upon, and a newspaper investigation
threatened unless University author-
ities took action. The Daily, still con-t
sidering the whole affair as an un-
fortunate accident, confined its sec-1
ond story to a report of the improving
condition of the injured boy, while
the Detroit Times came out with ant
eight-column banner: "Probe Rum In1
Frat Scalding."t
Daily Suppressing News? 1
That and following stories, some
of them picked up by other metro-
politan papers were enough to set offl
the tirade against Daily editors, four
of whom were or had been membrsk
of Sphinx. Suppressing news, cover-
ing up, using their pull - were the
accusation tossed toward the press
building; scandalmongering - came
the answer.
And so went the affair until The
Daily announced, in its report of ac-
tion by the Senate Committee on
S udent Affairs, the suspension off
Sphinx as a campus organization;
while once more the city papers had
a fling, listing the names of members
of the suspended organization butE
failing to make clear the difference1
between suspension of individual stu-
dents and suspension of an organiza-
tion. Peace and quiet were restored
when frantic wires and telephone
calls from ,twenty pairs of parents
were answered by explanations of the
difference.
In the spring, with no more space,
no bigger headlines than it had used
the previous fall, The Daily an-
nounced the reinstatment of Sphinx
following favorable Senate Committee
action on a petition submitted by the
two Daily editorial representatives in
the suspended organization.1
New Stadium '
Made $ubject
Of 1927 Extra
By T. STEWART HOOKER, '29
In connection with The Michigan
Daily's 50th anniversary celebration,
it may not be amiss to recall another
date which was a landmark in the
University's history, as well as a mem-
orable occasion for those of us who
served The Daily at that tim'e - Oc-
tober 22, 1927. On that date Michi-
gan's new football stadium was ded-
icated, an event which was appropri-
ately observed by The Daily with the
publication of a pre-game "dedica-
tion" extra, and the usual final ex-
tra after the game.
The lead sentence in that issue of
The Daily, which the writer had the
pleasure of editing, read: "Ohio State
today sought to repay its dedication
debt of five years ago." The reference
of course was to the Ohio-State-Mich-
igan game in 1922, dedicating Ohio's
huge horseshoe stadium. Michigan
won that day, and Ohio, although
favored by pre-game odds, failed to
repay its debt, for the Wolverines
won again on October 22, 1927, there-
by making Fielding H. Yost (to whom
the Stadium then and now stands as
a monument) and a majority of the
87,000 spectators extremely happy.
This was Captain Benny Oosterbaan's
last year, and his contribution was
a first quarter touchdown pass recep-
tion which gave the Wolverines a
lead they never relinquished, the fin-

al score being 21-0. Dr. Wilce was then
coaching State and Tad Wieman was
head coach at Annm.Arbor.

town where, in the absence of a ho- the visitor had left, the husband, for
tel, I had stopped in the home of some reason not explained to his
a prosperous logging contractor. He wife, started to sell off his teams,
was an industrious, hard working, sleighs and other logging equipment.
apparently hard headed man of ma- Her suspicions having become arous-
ture years. He had many teams of ed, she watched his mail and discov-
horses, many logging sleds and a large ered a fully developed plot for the
amount of logging material with errant husband to convert all his
Horseplay In Sphinx Ini tiation
Of 1929 Recalled-By Simons
{7

which he carried on his work during
the logging season. His wife was a
sweet-faced, motherly womaA of his
own age. They both seemed quite
elderly to me at that time.
A Tale of Woe
One day the little woman came into
my office. Her eyes were dull. The
corners of her mouh turned definite-
ly downward. She was the picture of
despair.
Her story was that during the pre-
eediiig sun-niei a woman cousin of
her husband had picked out their
home as a nice place to spend the
summer, away from the heat of the
South. A strong attachment had ap-
parently developed between her hus-
band and the visitor. Shortly after

property into money, with which he
and the fair cousin had agreed to
elope. Beirg kind and probably very
wise, my visitor had not faced her
husband with the proof of his guilt,
nor had she upbraided him for his
perfidy, but she felt desperately- in
need of help.
Mission of Mercy
It developed that her husband was
one of those peculiar individuals who
believe everything they read in print.
He subscribed for the Daily Minneap-
olis Tribune, brought it home every
afternoon from the postoffice and
read it in the evening. "If he might
read something in that paper that
might scare him out." I sent my visi-
tor home.and sat down to my last
assignment.
I laid my story in a small town,
not too far away, that did not exist.
My villain deserted his wife and ran
away with his sweetheart, very much
as the husband and his cousin had
planned to do. But in my story the de-
serted wife called in the Federal
Agents; they traced the run-away
couple to Alaska, where there was a
manhunt reminiscent of the one des-
cribed in Stewart Edward White's
"The Silent Places." The culprits
were brought home in chains. I left
the man serving a long term sentence
in Leavenworth for violation of the
Mann Act. I have forgotten where I
left the woman. Anyhow it was a story
to make the evil-doer quake in his
shoes. Then I sent the story to the
Minneapolis Tribune with the assur-
ance that it was wholly fictitious, ask-
ing that it be published and explained
why.
Happy Ending
A few weeks later my friend again
walked into the office. Her eyes ,were
sparkling. Her face was wreathed with
smiles. She explained that after re-
turning home from her first visit she
had watched her husband carefully
for several days., One evening she ob-
served him intetly poring over an ar-
ticle in his newspaper, after which
he surreptitiously rolled it up and
took it upstairs where she heard a
bureau drawer.
The next morning he was hardly out
of the house before she was at the
bureau drawer. There was the Min-
neapolis Tribune. She opened it up.
My story was printed under heavy
black headlines in the center of the
first page. I was told that the husband
read the paper until it was almost
worn out. Then one day he told his
wife he had purchased a new team
of horses, and the first thing she knew
he had more axes and saws and
other logging equipment then he had
ever had before. She had come in to
report to me that the episode was
over.
The husband died a few years lat-
er, happy in the belief that he was
taking to his grave the secret of his
single escapade of its kind. The wife
died a few years later, and this story
may now be told without hurting the
feelings of anyone.
'Student Paper
Can Pioneer,
Las her States
By GEORGE S. LASHER, '1
While I had had considerable ex-
perience both in the city and small
town fields of journalism before en-
rolling-at the University of Michigan
in the fall of 1907, I found in the
four years of association with The
Michigan Daily much of very real
value, experiences and problems that
have aided greatly in my then unan-
ticipated role of an university teach-
er of journalism. Combined with the

acquiring of this background was the
formation of treasured friendships.
It was, I believe, in my undergrad-
uate days that Dr. James B. Angell,
venerable president of the University
of Michigan, wired the New fYork
Times a single word in answer to that
publication's query, "What is the
greatest contribution the university
gives its students?" That single word
was "friends." The wisdom of that
answer has become more real as
years have given these friendships
made in the Michigan Daily office
and on the campus a richer meaning.
As director of the School of Journ-
alism at Ohio University, I have many
times been grateful for my experien-
ces on The Michigan Daily, especial-
ly because my duties include the
chairmanship of the Committee on
Student Publication. I am confident
that my experience as an undergrad-
uate in wrestling with sonie of the
problems that face student editors
today has made me more sympathet-
ic, if not more intelligent in deal-
ing with those who are placed in
charge of campus publications.
It has always been my belief that
student publications offer an oppor-
tunity for experimentation that can-
not wisely be carried on by commer-
cial newspapers. Yet I have found
few student publications which have
accned this challenge Bcausep there

t

Saga Of The Canine That Fell In The Well,
He Did Not GetWet, And He Lived To Tell!'

By ENGENE P. LYLE, Jr., '94M
He mouthed whines against all hu-
manity. Nobody escaped. He distorted
anything, everything, into grievance,
with reason or without. He was lud-
icrous rather than tragic or pitiful.
He was just plain nuisance where-
ever he frothed and raved. He was
as surly a bum as ever snarled back
at a householder's dog. When he
worked, in order not to starve, the'
ferment in his soul worked also, like
maggots. The necessity was a yoke
that galled. He toyed with the idea
of freeing himself, as though his
imagainary tyrants were concerned
and would free badly.
Start Of A Plan
"Rot 'em, I'll bump myself off!"
If he had been a snake, he would
have bitten himself to death. He
was that poisonous. Being, however,
of the human variety, he had to de-

drinking water after his bloated body
were found there. The thought recon-
ciled him to the arduous trek.
Trudging on the edge of the high-
way in the dark, lurching, muttering, ,
he recognized at last a shadowy em-
bankment as the sloping wall of
the resorvoir, but he broke into sput-
tered curses as though a mortal wrong
were done him, for a high fence sur-
rounded the reservoir. The city was
denying him his self-given right to
befoul its drinking water.
"A guy can't even bump himself
off!"
Oh, Woe Is Me!
Well, ht'd fool 'em. He'd find a
garage to sleep in on one of these
rich men's estates round here, and
by daylight next morning he'd try
again to find a gap in the resor-
voir stockade.
Across the highway, farther along,

in a deep pool the stars were reflec-
ted up to him.
"Water!" he exclaimed. "And plen-
,, .
Well, he'd spoil the water for these
rich people. He wanted to be as mean
about it as he could.
That was incentive enough -
enough to keep him from hesitating.
He climbed to the top of the well-
head and jumped in. -
He expected a long swift rush down-
ward. He fell not more than six feet
instead of perhaps thirty -or forty.
Heels first he struck jagged glass,
and down he sat among points and
edges. Here was no deep pool that
had mirrored the stars. It had been
a mirror mirroring the stars - a
damn looking glass to look like water
at the bottom of a deep well.
Yelps he ripped out, ripping the
night into tatters. Voices at last -
footfalls cruching on the gravel walk