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Show HOWE ABOUT j By ED HOWE j iCnpyrtrht by The B-U Syndicate. Tnc When behaving myself I Hin rarely reprimanded by policemen, neighbors or newspapers. . . When 1 am punished I am usually guilty. In one of the magazines I find an essay by W. .1 Henderson on music. Although 1 am fond of music and have heard a good deal of It. 1 had not the remotest notion what Mr. Henderson was writing about on completing his es-say. ... I have read books equally dense, notably Thorstein Veb-leu's Veb-leu's "Theory of the Leisure Class." This author labors and groans and u.-es all sorts of big phrases lamely constructed, and dually does not tell what he believes the theory of the leisure class to be Which may be fortunate. If his Intent Is mischievous mis-chievous he has not been able to get his mischief before the public. In a certain small town there Is a memorial hall. It should never have been built, but after the sentimentalists sentimental-ists hail their way nearly every one Insisted that It be so big it Is now useless for any purpose. The people wanted it to look like the Crend Op era house In Paris, with the result that it is too large fur uuy use m a small town. It will hold several thousand; thou-sand; the average audience In It probably prob-ably does uot exceed two hundred, and no one can hear. The stage Is too large; It cannot be healed. It Is merely mere-ly another monument to foolish American Ameri-can big talk and big feeling. The most worthless human being 1 have ever known was a nineteen-year-old girl. She was what they call "re spectable" ; the gossip about her was that she was Idle and a burden to her parents. Her folks were poor, and she hated them for IL She could dance, and sing a little, and play the piano a little; but many a time I have knowu her to sleep until, noon the morning her mother did the washing. She also had ambition, amhition to marry a rich man. but married a young fellow as worthless as herself. I don't know what became of her, but I am certain she Is still what Is called "respectable"; she had sense enough to take care of herself in that way, but lacked sense In every other. Of the famous outrages we all hear of hourly, I often remark I have never, personally known anything like them. I have no sort of patience with the man who Is satisfied with himself, and doesn't try to do better. Women discount the gallant talk of men, but do not discount It enough. What Is your greatest fault? Mine Is that I put off until tomorrow that which I should do today. And I find a very old maxim about this fault; It seems to have been common a long time ago. |