The Argosy, March 27, 1920 — page 90: what you’re looking at

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

seb inge ly Dime Seats ge HAT J anid baadel 240 THE ARGOSY. a dozen times all told; and generally there. was two or three days in between times; and so—lI never noticed.” ‘“ Well,” says Spike, “in case you never noticed somethiag else, the next time you shave yourself take a look in the glass and you'll notice the luckiest stiff in the world!” And Ill admit frankly that I almost be- lieved him. Well, taking it by and large, it’s a kind of complicated thing, when you consider the posstbilities; and I'll let you figure it out yourself, if you can. But, anyway, Pll say this: the contrary-mindeds certainly had everything their own way! And we'll let the rest of that little heart-to-heart talk between Spike and me go, too. J’ll merely say that, to me, it shapes up a good deal like this: as long as I’m manager of the Pink Sox, Spike McGinnis will never have to go looking for a job. Not that there’s any regular understanding between us; but —well, maybe a sort of understanding, you know. And so that’s the story of how I got my start. This year—how I won the World’s Championship—that's another story. So T’ll pass it up except to say that Spike Mec- Ginnis says— but you know what Spike says. Ina splits the credit about eighty- twenty between herself and Professor Aloy- sius X. Beecroft, and me. Of course I’m on the little end. As for me, I’m not say- ing a word—more than this: I’ve learned— and I'll leave it to you to guess where— that the big idea is to decide—and don’t hesitate! And if you go wrong— It’s a poor boss that has ne alibi. DREAMLAND LEAK the winter night without, Cold the hearth within, Loud the gale with roar and rout, Doleful clash and din. Swirling clouds are scurrying by— Restless spirits they; Melting, merging, still they fly; Doom comes with the day, Though the Lempest’s towering arm Rock the flaming skies, ‘There be places, hidden, calm, Where his fury dies, Se my spirit, void of will, Restless, ever flies Round a center that is still, Wherein dreamland lies. Raging storms of passion cease Qn this hallowed shore; Tempest wrath is stilled, and peace Bideth evermore. Wraiths of many another scene— Scenes I hold full dear, And the dearer might-have-been— These in dreams appear. So I, counting storm and strife As but things that seem, Find a richer, sweeter life In the land of dreams. Harold White. ‘Lbhti. 6. sop ged ConmiclooolkS.CGotin