In the Editor's Confidence

In the Editor's Confidence

September 1 1935
In the Editor's Confidence

In the Editor's Confidence

September 1 1935

In the Editor's Confidence

T

'HE POETS have had a lot to say about man’s inhumanity to man, but if one has ventured to put in a word about woman’s inhumanity to man, he has escaped our notice.

Perhaps you read the other day of the survey taken of several hundred United States ladies whose ex-husbands languish in jail because of their inability to earn sufficient to pay alimony. The majority of them blandly admitted that they didn’t care so much about not getting the money, but they did relish most heartily the idea of their one-time partners being kept cooped up. They just loved it.

In case that doesn't prove anything, consider the case of Cornelie Bancroft.

A sweet girl in many ways, no doubt.

But what did she do when she got a little weary of the acute athleticism of Tommy Armour, who, mind you, was an otherwise commendable chap, and he simply adored Cornelie? We’ll tell you what she did. She inveigled the lad into promising to box in a charity bout; then she went forth and hired a professional pugilist to smear him all over the canvas.

The very astute reader will at once surmise that Mr. Armour, amateur that he was, turned the tables by knocking the glowering Joe Brant into the middle cf next week. Well, he didn’t. Edward Shenton fooled us, too, with “In This Corner,” which is offered on page seven. And to add to his punishment, didn’t Thomas go and marry the wench !

Hamish, the composing room messenger, who read the proofs while conveying them from one floor to another, spoke to us about this dénouement. “If you want to know what I think,” said Hamish, “I think he was nuts. That’s what I think.”

(| AFTER SOME years of comparative immunity, Montreal has baseball fever. As this is written, the Montreal team is on top of the International League heap, and the turnstiles at the ball park are wearing out with incessant clicking. The person responsible for what is a phoenix-like spectacle is Francis Joseph Shaughnessy, known far better as “Shag.” The same Shag Shaughnessy who used to be very much in the public eye as coach to McGill football teams. The fact that Shag should become general factotum and chief purchasing agent for the Montreal Baseball Club astonished a lot of people who didn’t know he knew the difference between a pitcher and a jug. Now the only astonished people in Montreal are visiting baseball players who can make no headway at all against Mr. Shaughnessy’s protégés. On page eleven, Leslie Roberts explains the reasons.

(j SOME TIME has elapsed since we decided we were fed up with transAtlantic airplane flights. This didn’t have any effect at all on water-minded airmen and airwomen. They kept right

on taking off, or falling in, or making happy landings and escaping from crowds of people who wanted pieces of them for souvenirs. We weren’t very much interested when we learned that Eddie Hammon and Alice Fontanne were going to fly the Atlantic together. But we did perk up when we heard of Eddie’s deep-laid plot to head out over the ocean and then sneak back to the peaceful sanctity of a hidden cove. His motive was born of a deep and abiding love for the headstrong Alice. But it didn’t work out that way because of Alice’s very headstrongness. “Romance in the Air,” by Len Arnold, is what editors call different, and we think you’ll enjoy it.

ANOTHER THING with which we are fed up is war. The day we pick up a newspaper and find that nobody is trying to start a war we shall have another glass of tomato juice. Garnett Radcliffe did a lot of fighting in the last war. Since then he has done a lot of wondering. The other day he wondered just what would happen were an invaded nation to do nothing whatever about it. Around his conclusions he wrote a fiction story. Entitled “Sweet Peas,” it is presented on page twenty of this issue. And if you should think the outcome ridiculous, pause a moment to contemplate what has happened as a result of the 1914 unpleasantness.

q LIEUT.-COL. GEORGE A. DREW, through his many articles in Maclean's, has dene a lot to show how wars are cultivated. He has just returned from a tour of Europe and on the basis of “where there’s smoke there must be fire” he isn’t very optimistic as to the future. The first of a new series by Colonel Drew appears on page ten.

(jr WHATEVER HAPPENS we suppose the world ^ will go on dancing. The only differences will be in the way dancing is done. For instance, the chastening influence of hard times is evidenced in the greater decorum now found on dance floors. Smitten with this profound thought we summoned George Patton and said unto him: “George, why don’t you take a poll of the leading dancing instructors and orchestra leaders and find out what they think will be the terpsichorean trend this coming season?” George did so. And on page fourteen he records the answers. They’re good.

(]j THEN ON page nineteen, Helen ™ Gay describes how our grain is handled at the head of the Great Lakes; on page twenty-four Harris Turner, himself a blinded war veteran, tells how Canada’s sightless men and women have re-established themselves—and a stirring story it is; and on page twenty-seven Merrill Denison has something to say about the attitude of Canadians toward our admirer across the line.