Judge — February 11, 1922 — page 6: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

yt ath 4, ' “Do you mean to tell me,” said Al, warming up to the subject, “that in the peculiarly shaped head of our backward roommate there is still the mind of a child of three?” Casual Collegians $6 THINK,” I began— I “Shut up,” said Al, without looking up from his book. “I'm trying to study.” Al was my roommate—or, rather, one of my roommates—at Branford College. The other one—Pete—was lying on the window seat, looking idly out over the campus. “I think,” I continued— “I doubt it”"—this from Pete. “At least, I've never known you to think, and I've roomed with you for two years.” Al looked up at this and grinned. “You're right, Pete,” he said. “The boy hasn’t had a thought since he entered college—” “He hasn't had a thought for seven- teen years,” said Pete. “Didn't you know about our little roommate, Al? Hadn't you ever heard when he was three years old he fell out of a third story window on his head and his mind stopped working? “Do you mean to tell me,” said Al, warming up to the subject, “that in the peculiarly shaped head of our backward rooinmate there is still the mind of a child of three?” “Exactly,” replied Pete. “He's By Donatp OcpEN STEWART Author of ‘‘A Parody Outline of History"’ Illustration by Joun Hep, Jr. really an extraordinary case. You probably didn’t know it—very few of our classmates did—but last week he was Exhibit A in Professor Gooch’s class over at the Medical School. Gooch, you know, has a famous lecture on ‘Arrested Development’ and—” About this time I got sore. “Oh, shut up!” I shouted. “What I was going to say was that I think—” “It really has its pathetic side, too; hasn’t it?” went on Al. “To think that our poor little Tommie will never, never grow up—just like Peter Pan. Do you believe in fairies, Tommie, dear?” “Ask him what Santy Claus brought him,” said Pete, grinning. “But really, Al, we shouldn't joke aboyt this It’s a terrible thing. And it reflects so on our college, too. Think what would happen if it became known that a young man with a three-year-old mind had successfully passed the en- trance examinations—nay—was a pro- minent member of the senior class— at Branford College. Imagine what the daily papers would do with the discovery. Can’t you just see the headlines—‘Idiot Gets A. B. at Bran- ford.’” “Or ‘I Want My Mama—Cries Thomas, three, with Diploma.’” “It’s really awful, isn’t it?” said Pete. “Do you suppose a certain young lady knows about it? Isn’t it our duty to tell her before it is too late? Think of having a child-hus- band all your life?” “Oh, sure, she knows about it,” said Al. “At least she must suspect it. You couldn’t be with Tom half an hour without knowing that something was wrong with the guy’s brain. She probably loves him, anyway.” “Why?"—maliciously from Pete. “God knows,” answered Al. “He looks like a boiled owl—and he can’t dance— At this point I rose from my chair with great dignity. “I think,” I said, in a firm, masterly voice, “that I shall go to the movies. Do you two flatheads wish to accom- pany me?” “Perhaps we'd better, Al,” said Pete, getting down from the window seat. “So as we can explain to him what the titles mean, and why the big man wants to kiss the pretty lady.”