THIS IS a brief but moving story of simple heroism; a story of suffering endured for a friend; a story of chivalry in flower.
We tell it so that the names of Ralph Lepper and Bob Gole may be revered by all who strive for artistic perfection, and engraved in the memories of all Maclean's readers.
In order that you may capture the spirit of it all, perhaps you will be good enough to look at the illustration accompanying I. A. R. Wylie’s short story, “Ends Meet,’’ on page fifteen of this issue.
When Eric Aldwinckle, the artist, brought in the original drawing, we were struck by its realism.
“Eric,” we said, “that's a fine piece of work. There isn't any doubt at all that those two figures have been immersed in deep and cold water. They're dripping. How did you get such an effect?”
“Well,” said Eric, “I got two friends of mine to pose for me on the front lawn. I turned the garden hose on them until they were soaked through. Then I sketched them. A lot of people stopped to watch us. They seemed to be quite interested.”
We asked the names of these two, who, for the sake of a pal, risked pneumonia and ignored gaping curiosity. He told us—Ralph Lepper and Bob Gole.
We stood up. “Eric,” we said, “we shall salute them in Maclean's."
“That will be a gracious act,” said he. “And furthermore, if you don't mind me mentioning it, when you make out my cheque you might remember that I had to pay for cleaning and pressing their clothes.”
0 WE MUST not, of course, allow the lustre of Lepper and Gole to blind us to the fact that we have I. A. R. Wylie in this issue. Through her brilliant novels and short stories, Miss Wylie has achieved high fame both in her native England and in the United States. A few weeks ago we happened to be in the office of her New York agent when a long distance telephone call came through from a Hollywood movie studio which was dickering for screen rights to the latest Wylie novel. We sat, and sat and sat, ticking off the dollars which the conversation was costing and marvelling at the utter disregard of Hollywood for expense. We couldn’t help thinking of the Scot who cured himself of stuttering by putting in a threeminute transatlantic telephone call.
On page fifteen, in “Ends Meet,”
Miss Wylie tells of Steve Britten who knew where he was going. He was going to jump into the river. Bill Sanders didn't know where he was going; he was so drunk. But he wound up in the river and, being fished out, taught Steve Britten a lesson never to be forgotten.
There is no London Letter in this issue. Instead, Beverley Baxter has written a Canadian Letter. It appears
on page eleven, and contains a candid appraisal of things Mr. Baxter discovered on his recent visit home. There are many phrases that will arrest attention. For instance, “There is a spokesman for everything in Canada except Canada.”
(J WHEN, IN August, President Roosevelt and Prime Minister King dedicated the new Thousand Islands Bridge spanning the St. Lawrence, the President’s speech about an alleged conspiracy of big interests filled tVic newspapers to such an extent that the bridge itself was almost overlooked. There were a lot of things we wanted to know about the bridge, or rather the series of bridges, so we sent Frederick Edwards down to find out all about it. On page twenty-three, in his article, “Five-in-One Bridge,” Mr. Edwards goes a long way toward satisfying our curiosity. We hope that you also have been curious, about the bridge, and that you, too, will be satisfied.
(| JUST AS swing music fans have had to invent a new language through which to express their emotions, so various industries and trades developed vernaculars peculiar to themselves. The title of Raymond O. Turner's story on page seven is "Roughneck. ” It is a story of the oil fields and of the men who work them. And a “roughneck” is a man who works around the derricks, “slamming drill pipe around,” as the author puts it. Gusher Evans was a roughneck, and the girl he was crazy about just didn't go out with roughnecks. Nothing less than a driller would do for her. It seems that there is a sort of caste system among oil workers. However, it is hard to keep a gusher down, and Mr. Evans certainly lived up to his name. The scene of Mr. Turner’s story is Texas, hut oil men tell us that oil men are oil men whether they be in Texas or the Turner Valley.
There is a lot of humor and a touch of pathos in “Fool Kid,” Beryl Gray’s story on page sixteen. Miss Gray lives in Vancouver.
And Bernice Brown (the ladies seem to have it all over the men these days in the fiction world), in “Talked About,” on page twelve, has written a drama of tangled loves which has what we call quality.
For some time, Great Britain has been campaigning for a higher physical standard for its people. The campaign has had its ups and downs because a lot of Englishmen sense a form of regimentation in it. On page fourteen Brian Meredith presents all sides of the case.
On page eighteen, W. Sherwood Fox, president of the University of Western Ontario, gives his answer to the question, “Why are so many educational reforms ineffective?” On page nineteen, Dink Carroll, former football star, explains why it is that Sarnia has achieved its prominence as a football town.
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