Houston, Texas Established 19Z8
Publishd semi-month'.y during the college year. Subscription $1.00 per year.
Single copies 10 cents.
Editor-in-Chief R. Willard Nesmith
Issue Editor Maurine Keach
Literary Editor Dorothy McGraw
Feature Writer Zelda Osborne
Sports Reporter Martin Lowe
Alumni Editor Margaret Boyett
Humor Editor _...Genevieve Weldon
Intercollegiate and Exchange
Editor Feme Sweeney
Faculty Advisor Fred R. Birney
Managing Editor....Everett H. Kendall
Circulation Manager Harry Seaman
Jane Wltherspoon and
Kenenth C. Phillips, Maxwell
Ludtke, Maurine Edminster
Pauline Ault, Frances Baty, Opal
Beane, Lucille Cafcalas, Evelyn Cochran, Milton Cohen, Gordon Davis,
Ruth Dermody, Lois Duff, Chapell
Freeman, Beatrice Hamilton, Lois
Harrison, Scott Hild, Montford Inman,
A. C. Irwin, Fay Laurence, Ethel
Mercer, Llewellyn Ross, Ruhye Tun-
nell, Harold Wood.
These Terrible Young People
"Vice, if we may believe the general complaint, ripens so fast nowadays, and runs up to seed so early
In young people, that it is impossible
to keep a lad from the spreading
tagion, if you will venture him abroad
in the herd, and trust him to chance
or to his own inclination for the
choice of his company at school.'
Sounds like the babbling of some
pessimist of the generation to which
our parents belong, does it not? But
no, It is the remark of John Locke.
He wrote not of the present generation of bobbed-haired, cigarette-smoking flappers and flask-toting cake-eaters whose manners and morals it is
fashionable now to deplore, but of
the favored, pampered English vouth
Two hundred and, thirty-eight years
seem not to have diminished the
pleasure which grown persons experience In berating the oncoming gener-
Like so many of our present day
critics, however, John Locke did not
feel any serious concern over tbe
younger generation. For the wise old
philosopher had the wit to realize in
even that remote time that children
do not create the conditions in which
Ihey are reared.
The truth of the matter Is that tbe
ihildren of every age imitate their
ilders If the ways of the young have
changed it is because tbe elders them-
slves have created a new mode of life
and themselves adopted new habits.
The pocket flask is not an invention
of young people nor is the bootlegging
business in the hands of infants. No
more are the loose manners and morals of our time a product of juvenile
philosophy. We believe and practice
what we are taught.
We believe in a different age; life
has undergone a revolution since
1900. Wealth and luxury have- In
creased with miraculous rapidity. At
the same time the code of approved
morals has itself been altered.
Life was harder and more limited a
generation ago. Electricity, the auto- I
mobile, and the marvelous develop-j
ment of the Machine Age have made
the diferrenece. We are children of
tho Machine Age.
We can not be blamed for being I
born in an age which does not need
to wring toil from human hands.
We are not to be censured if our
parents provide automobiles and money to satisfy our momentary desires.
We take the things of lifer as we find
We have accepted the code which
our elders have provided. The right
to self-expression has been preached
by novelists and philosophers. Increased wealth has made practicable
the application of these new teachings.
The marriage and divorce evil that
has been thrown upon us by our forbears is an example. Marriage has
been made to look like only a trial, a
A NIGHT OF TERROR
A Hallowe'en Story
BY EVERETT KENDALL
(Prepared in Journalism 213 Class)
Decidedly handsome is BERT
FREIDBERG, and is every whit a
man's man—(or is it a ladies' man?)
Petite NEWLYN TURNER, coyly
vamping every one's fellow. Big
things often come in small packages.
At this po'nt we will "pay our tributes" to JOHN MARASEK and
"FROG" MARZIZA. They do not
play fast and loose; in other words,
slow but sure.
A countenance which beautifully
expresses a deep interest in all collegiate activities belongs to none other than our vigorous "Frosh" president, WARREN LEMMON.
;—4—6—8—etc.", quoth 111' winsome DOT LASKY as she was requested (?) to count accurately all
the planks that composed the per adjoining Camp Casa Del Mar for being
considered "the laziest freshman" In
the Pep Club.
Find 'em. fool 'em. and forget 'em,
is CLIFFORD WHITEHEAD'S motto.
A good one, considering tbe source.
In pink of perfection is VANDALIA
MAE NECCO (with apologies to Richard Hudnut). But she knows the art.
Witty and clever Is A-l Freshman
FRED AEBI who has the gift of
clothing his opinions in piquant dress.
"Why, come to think i
Hallowe'en. The scene out there cer
tainly Is in keeping with the spirit
of the occasion," I remarked, idly,
to a tall, gaunt, scholarly-looking man
who sat near me. He leaned toward
the window, gazed Intently at the
Hying landscape for a few moments,
then said: "As long as I live I'll never
forget a frightful experience I had
one Hallowe'en in country that looked
just like this." I thought I saw a
slyly humorous expression momentarily cross his face: it may have
been a wisp of ctgar smoke that
caused tbe impression.
"It was about 15 years ago," the
scholarly looking man began, when
my friend. Dr. J. Q. Stanley, suggested that we make a trip to a lonely
spont near the Canadian border
he could carry on certain
scientific exepriments and I could finish writing my masters' thesis. 'We
could not find a better place for our
friend told me. "There
are two comfortable, one-room cabins
up there; we can work there as long
as we please without interruption,
and without disturbing each other."
this is I "And at night there are fireflies,
And the yellow moon.
And in the ghostly palm trees
The sleepy tune
Of a quiet voice calling me
The long, lowcroon
Abruptly, the song ended in the
middle of a line. As I look back on
that night now, it seems to me that
tbe last word o fhte song was a sort
of choking gasp. But I was so intent
on. my writing that the meaning of
that strange sound escaped me. I remember, however, that I was vaguely
aware of a growing sense of unrest,
—a feeling of chill fear that caused
my scalp to tingle. I drew my coat
tighter about me.
Suddenly, Stanley's light went out.
I thought I heard breaking glass.
"What/s wrong,, Stanley?" I called
out. There was no answer. The
dark forest echoed back my voice.
There was no other sound save the
sigh'ng of the night wind through the
pines, and the wash of the waves on
the shore at the foot of the cliff.
"Strange, he doesn't answer," I
thoughts "Perhaps he's had an acci-
thought." Perhaps hes had an accident wtib his test tnbest and is busy
see over the week-
Who should w
end who were
Texas game and the "lades of their
choice," GENEVIEVE WELDON and
MACRINE EDMINSTER,—but those
inimitable inseparables, HOWARD
BRANCH and TERRY RUSS.
"So my proud beauty, you would
repulse me, eh?" barked BOBBY MCCULLOUGH, as he nonchalantly lit
a Murad.—(Paid advertisement).
Whole-heartedly JACK THURMAN
agrees that he is noble of mind and
(Continued on page 4)
Dr. Stanley had gained considi..
able fame because of his investiga- cleaning up his work table,
tion into the cause of crime and in- The]l tnere came ft £aim rusUe in
sanity; and during the progress of the d s ^^ imQer wjn.
his research he had actually lived , dow ,<Ia t]m ^ stanleyr , asked.
lnd .There was silence. 1 stopped writing,
and turned my eyes toward the
with criminals, insane
other social misfits, and had visited
jails, penitentiaries and asylums.
"I consider any risk worthwhile, if
it will enable me to benefit the race,"
the doctor had remarked to me that
fall as we traveled in a rickety automobile up the winding forest trail
that led to our secluded retreat In
the north woods where we were to
work. Our nearest contact with the
outside world was a small mountain
village about 35 miles form our cabins.
We were soon comfortably located
to see the Rice- | in our cabins which we found were
momentary thrill, a bizarre theory.
Preference controed our teachers and
we of the younger generation observe
this and use it as a precedent.
This is not a melancholy view intended to stir up the minds of our
clan, but is really a typical characterization of the mental attitude of the
younger generation presented to show
th unfairness of the light in which we
Tbe generation from which we are
descended can at least do better than
to the dark stories of our extravagances and follies. John Locke was
all for going but and meeting us on
our own ground. That's not a bad
idea now. The civilization which has
been provided for us is certainly difficult enough at best. A little friendly
understanding between the two generations will do no harm. And, too,
it might remove some dangerous illusions.
The truth is that in every age children are what their gneration makes
them. The human race learns chiefly
by imitation. When fathers and mothers patronize bootleggers, sons and
daughters se little evil in the pocket
Youth is conservative. Youth observes and listens and, despite the
tumult of its new strength, it is inclined to believe what the old folks
say. Wouldn't it be Just as well to
give a little more thought to the behavior of the elder genration? If our
example were better, our words might
be more convincing. For too often
it Is true that what we are speaks
so loudly that our neighbors can not
hear what we say.
surrounded by heavy pine timber.
About 100 yards to the northward
from them, the ground broke off
sharply at a cliff, dropping from that
point almost straight down 300 feet
to the rocky shore of a mountain
lake. From the brow of this cliff we
had an Inspiring view of the lake
whose clear waters reflected the surrounding forest and mountain peaks.
The doctor had taken his test tubes,
specimen jar3, reference books and
other equipment to his cabin which
was located about 50 yards from
mine. We were to take our meals
together in my cabin, while the rest
of the time we would spend at work
in our separate cabins,—ideal conditions for the highly concentrated now
mental labors we had planned. Very
soon we became so absorbed in our
work that we often missed our meals
and at times we would work an entire night through without stopping.
We did not take the time to cut our
hair or shave; within a few weeks we
began to look like a couple of cave
men. Then came the Hallowe'en, I
mentioned before, with its frightful
On that Hallowe'en night I had
been so busy that I took no notice
of the passing hours. Since the
n'gbt was unusually warm for that
season of the year, I sat writing at
a small table near my cabin window,
which I had thrown wide open. Stan-
been equally busy. I
bad not talked to him since our early
morning breakfast, at which time he
had remarked that he expected some
Important results, and for this reason he might work continuously until
the following morning. I gave his
words little thought at the time: they
came back to me later, poignently.
I could hear the steady wash of the
aves against the rocky shore as I
sat writing at my window that night.
Through the gloom of the forest I
could see the dim lightof a kerosene
lamp in Stanley's window, and at frequent intervals his form was silhouetted against the light as he moved
about his room. It was his habit,
when he was most intent on his work,
to sing; and I could hear his voice
softly crooning his favorite melody—
the song of the trade wind:
dow which framed the blackness of
the night outside. Something about
that black void held my gaze as if by
a spell. Then I saw it. Sliding slowly up over my window sill, there came
a clutching, claw-like hand. Before I
could rise from my chair, something
leaped out of the night through my
window, scurried across the floor, and
then erouehed in the shadows at the
far corner of my dimply lit room.
The only weapon within my reach
was a walking stick which I leaned
against the table back of me. The
creature began slowly creeping along
the further wall of the room, never
once taking those horrible eyes from
my face. Evidently, It. was trying to
set behind me. Turning to face it, I
reached behind me for my walking
stick. My groping hands struck the
lamp chimney. There was a crash of
glass, and the room was swallowed up
in inky darkness.
Instantly the creature was upon me.
Clutching hands reached for my
throat. I felt the hot breath and
fcam from those slavering jaws upon
my face. In a frenzy or fear, I fought.
I stumbled and fell. Th thing wai
upon me, crushing me. Desperately,
I struggled for breath, but I
was no match for those gorilla-like
arms. 1 felt my sense leaving me.
Then with a shriek, the creature released me, leaped through the window, and—just as I lapsed into Unconsciousness — I heard it go crashing through the undergrowth in the
direction of the cliff.
For hours, I must have lain unconscious upon the cabin floor. When I
'finally opened my eyes, I saw the sun
rising over the feathery tops of the
pines. As its warm beams came
through my window, the affair of the
night seemed like a horrible dream;
yet there were the evidences of the
struggle. My throat was lascerated:
my clothes were ripped to shreds.
Painfully I got to my feet. Under
my bunk I found my suitcase, opened
It, and took from it my automatic
pistol. What secrets those dark
woods held, I knew not; hut I was
determined to be prepared for anything that might happen in this
strange land. Stiff and lame, I made
my way to the brow of the cliff and
looked down. There, directly below
me, crushed among the rocks at the
edge of the lake, lay the body of my
assailant, its limbs sprawling about
Descending to the lake shore by a
roundabout path through the brush,
1 clambered over the rocks to where
the body lay. I looked at it and
started in dismay. It could not be . . .
yes . . . the clothing was familiar.
I leaned over closely, examining the
features. Hardly believing my eyes,
PRESIDENT OF FRESHMAN CLASS
Warren Lemmon, pres'dent of the
freshman class, has been untiring in
his efforts to make a bigger and better class than ever before. He is a
graduate cf M lby Senior High School
and held many responsible positions
there last year.
I saw that it was, indeed, the body of
Dr. Stanley. Yet, what a change!
The body appeared shrunken, shivel-
ed as if by a long wasting illness.
Even in death, the face still held the
expression of mad ferocity I had seen
the night before, a madness so terrible that—had it not been for the familiar clothes—I would have hardly
My mind began to grope for a solution. What had happened to my
friend? Shocked almost beyond the
point of reasoning, I clambered back
up the steep pathway and entered
Stanley s cabin. There I found a scene
of wild disorder. The room was littered with broken glass, and the
leaves of books that had been ripped
from their bindings. Stooping, I picked up a sheet of paper upon which I
found, in Stanley's familiar handwriting, these words:
"I have made my discovery. I have
found the bacillus that causes
crime and madness in mankind.
A skeptical world will not
believe without absolute proof,
therefore I have innoculated myself
w.th the germ. In case of my death
or disappearance, full data concerning my discovery will be found in
my wall cabinet. The world can no
longer doubt ... my ... "
The last words of the message were
mere scrawling lines, as if written by
one who was struggling, vainly, for
self control. Mechanically, 1 turned
to the wall cabinet, but I found that
it had been ripped from Its moorings
as if by a mighty hand. Among the
debris scattered about the cabin, I
searched for the cabinet, hut found
only a few blackened nails and
charred bits of wood in the dead ashes
of the fire place. True to his theory,
Dr. Stanley, or, rather, the thing that
had been Dr. Stanley—bad destroyd
that which he most cherished.
As the speaker ended his story,
theer was silence for a few moments
.in the smoking compartment. The
listenrs started nervously, then looked sheepish, when a porter suddenly
thrust his head In tbe doorway to
announce: "We's gettin' into Ogden
where we change engines. Does any
of yo' gemmun want to get out and
stretch yo' laigs?"
The fat traveling salesman arose,
lighted a cigar, and as he strode down
the aisle I heard him mutter: "I reckon it might have happened, at that.
Still ... I dunno."
TAKEN FOR A RIDE
his ship swings
low over a fa
Where am 1?
Farmer: Heb! Hell! Can't fool
You're up there in that fool ba!
big boy, an1
ything to me,
make yon eat yo'
mpl'n', hot bis