THE HUMAN mind is an extraordinary thing, don’t you think?
A few minutes ago we were gazing out of the window, watching the rain pelt down and groping for an idea with which to start this column, when Horace, the composing-room messenger, strolled in with a proof.
“Horace,” we said, “what, if anything, does this deluge arouse within you?”
“I wish,” said Horace, “I had an umbrella.”
“Ah!" we exclaimed. “Have you ever considered the ups and downs of the umbrella? Do you know that in Eastern countries from the earliest times the umbrella was one of the insignia of royalty and power? Do you know that the Mahratta princes of India had among their titles ‘Lord of the Umbrella'? Have you ever stopped to consider that among the Greeks and Romans the umbrella was used by ladies, and that the carrying of it by men was regarded as being a sign of effeminacy?' “No,” said Horace.
“It was, of course, used in the East as a defense against the sun,” we went on, “but in the seventeenth century the English began to use the umbrella, or, as it was later called, the gamp, as a protector against rain.” “Is that so?” said Horace. ”
We said: “Perhaps it never occurred to you that the umbrella is often a means of disorganizing household telephone communication. But that is a fact. The umbrella is an ancient enemy of the telephone troubleshooter.”
"You don't say!" said Horace.
“We do say," we insisted. “Many telephone subseri bers, forgetful of the fact that water is an excellent conductor of electricity, will stand a wet umbrella in a corner where it can come in contact with a telephone cord. The dampness soaks through the insulation and short circuits arise.”
“Is that so!" said Horace.
“It is so," we said. “And if you would like to learn a lot of interesting facts about the telephone troubleshooter, just you read ‘Looking for Trouble,’by Arthur Lowe, on page nine of our April 1 issue.
“It won't be there,” said Horace, “if you don’t get a move on and O. K. that proof.”
“Is that so?” we said.
“Yeah,” said Horace. “That's so.”
Tigers and Blue Eagles
(T WHEN LILY Pons, the diminutive and fascinating ^ French opera star came to Toronto recently, she brought with her a small leopard, which she handled just as other and larger ladies handle a Pekingese. Courtney Reilly Cooper, the author, has ? weakness for elephants. It is only because he is a passionate angler that he doesn't take an elephant around with him. Elephants are a bit awkward in a canoe. But can you imagine an old man tramping through a continent with a tiger at his heels? On page ten, you will see John Clymer's picture of the old man, the tiger, and a good-looking Mexican girl. And .is Eleanor Griffin tells the story of ‘‘My Fren', the Tiger" it all seems quite reasonable.
There may, of course, Ixr differences of opinion about the matter, just as there are in the matter of the Blue Eagle. On page twelve, Raymond Clapper, who has been for many years an independent press association correspondent in Washington, tells us just what the aims and objects of Mr. Roosevelt's National Recovery Act are, and to what extent it is succeeding. This article is the first of a series in which Maclean's will set forth what other countries have done, are doing and hope to do in the way of piecing together the great Economic Jig-Saw Puzzle.
(T BECAUSE OF its varying climate, there is probably no country on earth in which more steady, hearty nose-blowing is done than in Canada. In season, it is an important part of our daily life, but few people really know how important it is. On page eight, Dr. Hugh Grant Rowell presents a great deal of information that is bound to increase your respect for the nose, a very much abused organ. Our cartoonist, “Hal,” has cunningly revealed the processes that are brought into play whenever you gently sniff an appetizing aroma. It is with some pride we tell you that “Hal’s" illustrations for Dr. Rowell’s articles were recently borrowed for display at a medical gathering in New York State.
WHAT WITH one thing and another, in the course of a year Maclean's places a tremendous amount of information at the disposal of its readers. But, so far as quantity is concerned, we take a back seat with the Departments of the Dominion Government right up on the platform. As Grant Dexter shows on page sixteen, the King’s Printer at Ottawa turns out between nine and ten million copies of various publications each year, at a cost of close to $2,400,000. There are two sad things about it all. First, the cost to the taxpayer. Second, the fact that so much of the output goes straight into the waste basket without being read. This is due to either the uselessness of the information or to the extremely dull manner in which useful information is delivered. ¿Something ought to be done about it.
Stage and Green
(f AN INGENUE, of course, in theatrical terms, is ” an actress who plays the part of an ingenuous or naive young woman. In Julie Croy’s stock company, the ingénue was Fan Howard. Offstage, Fan wasn't what you could call naive. She had played on Broadway and in the sticks, and she knew her way around. Consider then what happened when she fell head over heels in love with an aristocratic young man who thought the stage cheap and tawdry and who got up before the dawn in order to go into raptures over the sunrises. In order to consider it, it will he necessary to turn to page five, whereon is presented Reita Lambert’s second complete story in the short series “Summer Stock.”
On the fourteenth tee, when you get up to it, you will find young Stacpoole Junior, addressing the ball in vigorous terms, not because he can't hit it, for he is of championship calibre, but because he wants to get married and Stacpoole Senior is very much opposed to the idea. Somehow or other, Joseph Dwyer gets us all back to the clubhouse in the most amiable frame of mind.
(If NOW THAT “Murder in the Police Station” has been brought to a sensational conclusion, there is no harm in mentioning that in our April 15 issue we shall commence a new serial by Bertrand W. Sinclair— ‘‘Bay of the Big Killing." In this case the bay is beyond the Arctic Circle and the killing had to do with a bumper crop of walrus tusks. The story itself concerns the race of rivals for considerable buried wealth. Which is far too tame a description. It is a fast-moving action yarn that will lift you out of your stuffed chair and wing you to frozen wastes where adventure beckons.
A new and complete Kent Power, Detective, story by Benge Atice, and other stories by Allan Swinton, John Holden and Jack Paterson, will be there. R. T. L. will snapshot Sir Robert Borden and a wide variety of brisk articles will set you up nicely for the rest of the spring.
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