Photoplay Magazine Cover — page 110: what you’re looking at

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

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Carbon Paper A hisid jor EUIEIYY Ptapuse First Aid For cuts, burns,scalds and allitchin skin troubles Soothing and Healing it Ervecy ailvertisement in PHOTOULAY MAGAZINE ts puarantecd, | men didn’t.” sss PHOTOPLAY MAGAZINE-—-ADVERTISING SECTION Ten Years from Now—Edison (Coneluded from page 40) perform some simple chemical experiments, We went through them very carefully, before the camera. Then we brought the pictures in here and showed them to an audience of children. They understood the experiments perfectly—although 1 think some of my office Edison enjoys a bit of sarcasm. “Then we went down to Long Branch and made a picture showing and explaining the undertow, “Then,” continued Edison, “we showed the pictures to a group of teachers, They saw the point. They liked the pictures and wanted them.” Edison smiled broadly but with a wry face under it, by way of illustrating the temporary, flecting character of his satisfac- tion at this point. “And then we got the Board of Educa- tion over from New York. “They were enthusiastic and said the pic- tures should be introduced in the public schools at once. “They returned to New York. “I have never heard from them since. “There evitently was some influence that caused them to drop it. “That was about ten ycars will take ten years more. “But the pictures are the thing. You can make an educational picture just one hun- dred per cent effective. “You can make the picture and try it— keep trying it on the dog—until it works a hundred per cent. You can show it to the same audience time and again and locate exactly the places that they do not all understand, and then make those over until they all do get it.” nzo—and it R. EDISON was warming to his subject by now. He has opinions about the educational institutions of the day that are perhaps rather well understood. “Are you a newspaperman?” question with evident purpose. “No—not now—but still a reporter.” “Not the university kind, are you?” “No—tnginecring student gone wrong.” “T sec.” Edison nodded. “Journalism in the Hard Knocks School, I've had some He shot the dealings with the professors and the phys- icists myself,” he continued. A reflective light came into his eyes. I wondered if be was thinking of the days when the physicists were firm in agreement that a dynamo could not possibly have a greater efficiency than fifty per cent. They contended that it was an axiomatic certainty that the internal resistance of the generator had to equal that of the external circuit where work was being done. They proved it neatly on paper and wrote their proof into a flock of cquations in abstruse calculus. Then Edison went inte his workshop and started the work that has brought the dynamo up to an efficiency of about 08 per cent. Edison brought me back to the present with another shot. “Have you heard about my question- naires?” He laughed as he put the question, He has enjoyed the storm that his new em. ployment test has raised. He knew hk ques- tion was about like asking, “Have you heard of the late war in Europe?’ “The schoct people,” remarked Edison, “the professors, have put up a defense that they do not try to teach a lot of ‘isolated facts,’ but that they teach their students where they can find them. “Well, the other day Mr. Hopkins, over on the Scientific American, went up to Co- lumbia with a questionnaire and they pre- sented it to a batch of students. He said, ‘Here are the questions and here is a Uni- versity full of reference books—go to it.’”' Edison treated himself to another laugh. “The result was just the same—they couldn’t find the answers in the books, They didn’t know where to look.” That was the end of that for Mr. Edison. He dismissed the subject with a gesture of finality, leaning back in his chair with one of his frequent interludes of relaxation. “I have just run on to a great book, just published—Mme. Bleucher’s story—she was on the inside of things over there in Ger- many in hes day and she was a smart woman—it's great stuff. I was awake until four thig morning reading it,” Edison is still getting his education. Petrova’s Page (Concluded from page 50) On this side of the ring are the “common” people, But it is they, Uke the gallery of olden times, that are loudest in their appro- bation or in their disapproval, It & really they that are the makers or breakers of the matador’s popularity. Many of them have removed their hats and have covered their heads with brilliant handkerchiefs. They patronize the lemonade merchants with princely magnificence, As my eye travels around the ring, my at- tention is attracted by the president’s box. There is a huge shawl embroidered with _ vivid crimson and blue flowers pendant be- fore it, The royal princess sits beside the president. She wears a black mantilla. As I try to distinguish her features with the aid of an opera glass, a great shout goes up. [I turn, A gate to my left and almost directly opposite opens. The music blares forth. There is a tremendous rustle of ex- citement and craning of necks to get the first peep as the procession begins its march into the arena, First come the matadors (the actual killers of the bulls) on foot. Then the banderillos (they that stick the banderillas into the necks of the bulls), Then the ptcadors on mere apologies for horseficsh. These horses have a red handkerchief tied over one eye, sometimes over both eyes. Behind them come the mule team, consisting of eight splendidly caparisoned beasts, dragging the litle carriage which is later destined to carry off the slaughtered bulls. The procession makes a grand tour of the ring, saluting under the president's box as it passes. Az it draws near the gate again it disappears, leaving behind only the steel armored picadors that are to engage with the first bull. They take up their stations. Another blast of brass and wind; another shudder of animal magnetism passes through the crowd; a sense of the primeval lust of kill- ing still at the subconscious bottom of most humans is borne in upon one’s consciousness. I hold my breath. The excitement is tense_ My eves are glued to the little white door, It opens and the bull rushes into the ring. Heavens! again over. space’ ~ Until next month, Jeannette chérie, (E(0) EGomichbooks