WE HAVE never been able to work ourselves into a lather of enthusiasm over people who set
out to create useless records by sitting on the top of flagpoles, swallowing a hundred raw eggs or driving a car backward from Halifax to Vancouver.
Particularly do we make faces at those who gloat over doing things backward.
If they’d only fall over backward, it would be all right with us.
To prove a rule, one must, of course, have an exception. And it has taken us a long time to find an exception. The name of our exception is David Gregg. Mr.
Gregg isn’t a backward author. In fact he is coming well up in front. But he has written a story backward and it doesn’t make us bristle even a little bit.
The title, naturally, is “The Backward Lady.’’ Our Old World courtesy just won’t let us followup the idea by putting it on the back page. So it appears on page five.
HAD YOU walked into that African native store and met Lalu you would have had some grounds for believing her to be another sort of backward young lady. She was white and of English parentage. Yet she couldn't speak English and she was convinced that if the natives made a mark on the ground and she dared to cross it, evil spirits would kick up no end of a fuss. But Jim Alston knew her history. And, native dialect or no native dialect he fell in love with her. Did that cause trouble! The answer will be found in “White Magic,” M. I. Robertson’s atmospheric story on page ten. Mrs. Robertson, now of Toronto, lived in Africa for a nunv ber of years.
We can't very well give the plot away, but if, after reading the story, any of our readers should try walking on red hot embers in their bare feet, we'd be interested in hearing how they got along. Which statement won’t be a bit confusing when you know what we mean.
SOME DAY when we get around to it, we are going to inaugurate something along the lines of a Hall of Fame. It will be a Gallery of People We’re Glad We're Not.
If we had it ready now, we should have a place for Mr. E. G. Odette. Mr. Odette is Chairman of Ontario’s Liquor Control Board and as administrator of that province’s new beer laws, he is the centre of a storm of controversy.
The issue is one of such importance, particularly from the point of view of parents and the younger genera' tions, that Maclean s decided to survey the situation.
It engaged Erland Echlin because of the unbiased nature of previous surveys made by him on liquor conditions in the United States and in various European countries.
Mr. Echlin covered the province.
On page eight we present the first of a series of articles in which he writes of what he actually saw and heard. His report may aid you to cement, modify or alter whatever opinion you may have on the matter. (jr GOLD IS an extraordinary thing. People undergo hardship or expend vast sums of money and energy to get it out of the bowels of the earth. Having got it they sell it to authorities who immediately lock it up in vaults in the bowels of the earth. After that it lives on its reputation as a backing for cur' rency and debts and goodness knows what. And then someone figures out that there isn’t enough of it in all the world to back more than the tiniest part of all the currencies and all the debts. That results in more speeches and lec' tures and editorials. And the whole thing, to us, is very discouraging.
This can’t be the reason why most sailor men are a bit jumpy when they dis'
cover that their ship is going to carry a cargo of gold. In the case of the old “Saracen,” even Captain Aikinson considered such a cargo just a plain invitation to trouble. It came. In the form of mutiny and pirates who, at this very moment, are boarding pages sixteen and seventeen, aided by Artist H. W. McCrea, who usually is a very mild man with nice eyes. You’ll find “Precious Cargo,” by W. A. Breyfogle, exciting fare. Mr. Breyfogle lives in Peterborough.
| SO FAR as the population of Val d’Or, Quebec, is concerned, reading “Precious Cargo” isn’t going to take anybody’s mind off his work. If it wasn’t for the discovery of gold there wouldn’t be any work. There wouldn’t be any population at Val d’Or. There wouldn't be any Val d’Or. But here we have a new tc wn popping up like a mushroom, and all kinds of pio' neer activity, described with some zest by Leslie Roberts on page nineteen.
THE PHRASE “worth her weight in gold” was first used by someone who had got hold of a good cook. And to this day folks like Johnny and Phyllis Petrie use the gold standard as a valuation of cooks like Mrs. Murphy. Not only was Mrs. Murphy a stove magician, but as an impersonator of celebrities she saved the social bacon of the Petries. You must meet “Guest of Honor,” on page twelve, through Elisabeth Sanxay Holding.
NEXT ISSUE will be our Christmas issue. We don’t want to spoil your fun by undoing all the packages now, but on the cards and labels we see among the “Froms” such names as Agnes Sligh Turnbull, Ellis Parker Butler, A. W. Smith, J. E. McDougall, Sprague Cleghorn and others who can be counted on
for good entertainment. There’s one very large package containing a surprise of equal size. Not a small surprise pack' ed round and round with paper and excelsior. It will demonstrate that when we said that Maclean's at five cents would be bigger than it was at ten
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