SPRING . 1952 --*-- 3 Ll

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SPRING . 1952 _ --*-- 3 ll

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SPRING L95Z vol,. v No. I

filunuscript

THE LITERARY MAGAZINE OF VILKES COLLEGE

VILKES-BARRE . PENNSYLVANIA Copyright I95Z by Wilkes College TABLE OT'CONTENTS

The Angels of Beaver County, Pa. .W'ende1l Clark...... 5 'W'arrnouth. The Red Roosterts Destiny. Dale ...... 9

Caatt Sit Still. Constance P. Srnith. . . 10 TheNighfuare...... JarnesM. Neveras....ll Pitter Patter. .Willard E. Crirnrnins. .15

Sunday School. rritrlillard E. Crirnrnins- .16

The Duck \tl/ho'W'anted toSwirn the Ocean. .... Dale Warrnouth,...... 17

14rillrs 1tray.. . 'Richard Ridge...... ZO Propinquity ...l/llendeIlClark...... 23

A11 inVain.. ..DickBush...... 24

Wonders of the ltlirephoto. Chuck Glornan...... 26 Editor -in-chief WENDELL CLARK

Mernbers of the Staff

SANDY FUREY

ESTHER GOLDMAN

ELEANOR PERLMAN

DALE WARMOUTH The Angels of Beaver County, Pa. Wendell Clark

Ir;-L825, everysalt lick settlernent had its share of tran- sients, all of whorn, with one hope and purpose, followed the downward path of the sun. Many of these rnen died, with faith in their hearts and pain in their eyes, and were covered over with carelessly piled rock which would rnark forever the route of the western trails. This tlde of hurnanity, roll- ing westward, carried on its crest the debris of a nation. Men, worrren, and babies jolted across the wagon-rutted trails, driving their pigs, carrying their Bibles, and taking kindness, violence, and indifference with them. Against thia tlde, Father Rapp, a tall, patriarchal man with abundant white hair, led a srnall gray-coated following towardthe distantblue hiUs of Pennsylvania. There, in sorne qulet valley, flowing with rnilk and honey, he hoped to build a wayof lifewhich the foreigners of Indiana had denied hirn. The cltlzens of New Econorny, Indiana, had stopped up their ears and hardened their hearts until Father Rapp realized that happiness would have to be sought elsewhere. tr'ather Rapp was a strange tnan. An angel had talked t<> hlrnandhadgiyen h1m vision to see the true way of life. The angel revealed to hirn that the day of the trurnpet was near at hand, and the walls of the world, and of Indiana, would shatter and fall. Only the wlse would be saved, the angel had said, and hehadgivenwisdorntotr'ather R"pp, who would live to hear the terrible call of the trumpet and to see the angelic host descending, sickLes in hand, to reap the har- rrest of tJle world. Father Rapp had gathered around hirn a chosenfew and forrned a religious Utopia: a gort of Biblical cornmunisrn withparadige as theultirnate end. These people, the Rappites, also called thernselves trHarrnonists," becauge harrnony, achieved by celibacy, econorny, and a sharing of rnaterial wealth, would perrnit thern to live like angels until heaven and earth passed away and only paradise rernained. The trail to Pennsylvania was long and weary; rabbits scuttled to the underbrush in dusty pairs and stopped, fear- ful andquivering, towatch in rnoist-eyed wonder the labored progress of the Harrnonists. Father R"pP, following a pillar of cloudandapillar of fire, led the srnall band into the haven MANUSCRIPT Spring 1952 of a srnallr green valley in Beaver County. Here he paused and surveyed the rich land and the shelteri.ng hills and found it good. Here was lodging for the angels for the short tirne rernaining to the earth. Until the end, however, there was workfor the earthty angels to do and wealth to be gained and shared. Accordingly, the city of Old Econorny was planned and constructed. The valley brought forth a ternple, cornrnunity gardens, orchards, fields and factories; and, under the startled trees, a city of geornetric streets and celibate life aros e. Old Econorny prospered in the aew Land. Father Rapp, whose gift of heavenly vision had apparently sharpened his earthly vision, had an eye to the possibilities of production by free labor. Under his guidance, the fields poured their yellow treasure into the granaries, increasing herds of sheep drifted like clouds over the pastures, and, in the rnuddy depths of the pigsties, pigs ate voluptuously, under a dirn c ornpuls ion, and grunted a chorus e I indiffer enc e to their fate. The factories spawned great quantities of broorns and hats. Father Rapp lookeduponhis handiwork and found it both good and profitable. A good deal of the weaLth passed through his hands and into his horne, a large pretentious building called rrThe Great House, " which had dining tables, good china, heavy silverware, portraits, and a servant. During the long days, the Rappite workers toiled in the fields andfactories to hastenthe death of tirne. In the golden duskof the evenings, theywalked in the flowering cornrnunity gardens, around the silver rnoat of the garden Ternple, and talked of paradise, while, in the trees overhead, the gray rnourning doves huddled together and spoke so{tly to each other in rich pagan tones. At night, the workers slept in the crowded warrens, breathing the crarnped, odor-packed air, and drearned of love which was not all angelic. Celibacywas a difficult ideal in a cornrnunity rnade up of rnarriedpeople, vowed to celibacy, andhealthyyoung people, whose eyes were filled with the sights of the ardent wooing of Nature, andwhose ears were ful1 of talk about the prolific Morrnons and the free-lovj.ng Owenites. Feeling the ernphasis of nature on f ertility, a f ew daughters of Babylon walked frorn the path of wi.sdorn. When their sins swelled inside their rninds and bodies and becarne evident to heaven and earth, the condernning eyes of the Harrnonists arrayed thern in purple and scarlet and burned the narne on their foreheads. Spring 1952 MANUSCRIPT

Father Rapp threatened and punished the fallen angels; he rnolded them on the wheel of instruction and taught them to crush the evil underfoot. However, their heels rernained bare, and the serpent hid in the garden, under the pollen- laden flowers, occasionally tasting of flesh. The striving of the Harrnonists for the irnpossible was the cause of rnany disturbances within the bounds of Cld Econorny andrnany a laughwithout. The outside world rnocked the little colony and stoned it with words. Even Lord Byron. the Prince of Cynics, wondered aloud in his poerrr, 'Don Juan,tt how a state without wedlock could be called "Har- rnony. " Seasons gave birth to seasons, and, in spite of their problems, the Rappites flourished. Father R"pp, aging, drearned of the tirne of reaping of the ripe harvest of the earthandof the shining city where ernerald and jasper wal1s sparkledandglowed, as lurninous as Mosesr face, and where the streets were a crystal-clear gold. And sornetirnes his drearns altered, like reflections on rippling water, and he saw Moses, encircled by swaying, chanting dancers, kneel-- ing before the rnolten calf; or, he stood with the elders, whose narrres he could not recall, and listened to thern tell of the great flood, while the child Noah played in the sand at hisfeet. After a period o{ drearning, Father Rapp died, with a curious wonder on his face TheRappites, shakenbythis obvious neglect of God, who had prornised thern paradise within their lifetirne, tried to rernain true to their ideals. But the flarning spirit of Father Rapp, ignited by the burning bush, was no longer there to restrain the rnagnetic forces of nature and rnany of the younger Rappites deserted the colony. The older ones, un- able to reorder their faith, rernained. The years passed. The Rappites withered and declined and carne to the only possible end for a celibate group in which there was no outside i.nterest. They perished, by ones and twos and threes; {oreign hands took over their factories; a steel corporation took over their lands and a fieryfurnacernighthave flarned where rnen once worked and drearnedofangels, hadnot a historical society stretched out a protective wing and sheltered the rernaining buildings of Old Econorny. Today, tlee Great House, the Garden Ternple, and the Cornrnunity Gardens are kept in good repair as rnonuments 8 MANUSCRIPT Spring 1952 toa social experirnentwhich failed by reason of its success. At least, Father Rapp was a success, and, as far as the rnonurnent is concerned, he rnay have preferred the fiery furnace; undoubtedl.y he would have considered it rnore ap- propriate. The Red Rooster's Destiny DaIe Warrnouth

The red roosterts destiny is holiday dinner. The honey of his lecherous throat with which he addressed his harern will rnake his browned flesh sweet-- the brass of his cocksure throat witJ: which he flung his verbal gauntlet down at four orclock each rnorning will rnake hirn glitter brightly on the platter. He is surprised to find hirnself swinging spurs upward in the air as he writes graffiti cursively with his blood upon the snow.

By permission of National Poetry Association, 32 l0 Selby Avenue, Los Angeles 34, California. Published irt America Sdzgs, 195 I Anthology of College Poetry' Can't Sit Still Constance P. Srnith

'Want to rnake rny hands move all the tirne Canrt sit stiU! W'ant to play a tune or write a rirne Canrt sit sti1l ! Want to draw, cook, knit, or sew Rake the leaves, weed a garden row Do sornething, keep on rnoving--ohl I canrt sit still ! Sit in class and scribble, page on page Throw things when Ifrn in a roaring rage No rnatter what I do-- Itrs sirnply hopeless to--even try-- Sitting Still !

By perrnission of National Poetry Asgociation, 3ZlO Selby Avenue, Los Angeles 34, California. Published irt Am e ri c a Sizgs, 195 I Anthology of College Poetry. Reprinted frorn a previous issue of the lt aouscript. The Nightmare Jarnes M. Neveras

A knock on his cabin door awakened hirn frorna rniserable drearn. "0515, sir. " "Thank you, " he replied, as he slowly threw back the covers and crawled out of his bunk. A rainy, foggy dawn, still srnelling of the long darkness, seeped through the open port above his bunk. The Captain of the destroyer U. S. S, Atkinson shuddered, notfrornthedarnpneas of thenightbut to shake off the lingering nightrnare. This sarne horror had haunted hirn for the past sixteen years. He stood there in his cabin listening to the sounds of the ship that rneant a rough sea--the pounding of stern plates clashing with the waves, the fog horn with its weird groan, the engines slackening with several slow jerks noticeable only to a true searnan. -W'e11, here it was, that long-dreaded rnornent. They would be running past the Point, that ghostly graveyard, in thirtyrninutes or so. The Point. . . the old f ear was gradually creeping over his entire body rnore than ever before, for this tirne he would not be able to dodge cornrnand of his vessel as it rounded the Point. He began dressing rapidly, trying to escape the haunting rnernories lingering in his weary rnind. He hadbeen a junior officer when it happened, the gunnery officer of the old Barbara Ann. The Barbara Ann had, followed four sister ships to the beating rocks of the Point. Bri1l had been thrown out of his bunk when she struck. Darkness, rnoans of injured rnen, cries of the drowning, screarns of the firernenas the boiler burst, the one lifeboat--these were the hauntedrnernories of the Point. Each nightrnare had brought back these rnernories rnore clearly, The desperate ex- pressions onthefaces of his fellow searrlen were driving hirn ctazy. Several tirnes since, he had rounded the Point. Each tirnebefore, hehadinventeda satisfactory excuse to turn the cornrnand of navigation over to sorne other off icer. This tirne, this tirne he had to face the terrors. Captain Brill shrugged into his uniforrn and slipped on his hat as he closed the cabin door behind hi.rn. None of hi.s 12 MANUSCRIPT Spring 1952

officers suspected his fears, his nightrnares. Before, he hadrnerely allowed the watch officer who happened to be on the bridge to keep charge of the ship. This tirne his watch officer, OrDonnell, hadbeen on duty for six hours and there was no one but hirnself to relieve Helferty. Each tirne before, the Atkinsoz hadrun past the Point in fair weather. This tirne a sticky fog was increasing Brillrs rnisery. The {og siren sounded agqin. Brill shrugged his shoulders in despai.r. This tirne there would be no dodging. Perhaps the shi.p was on her course, well to the west of the Point; perhaps nothing would happen, as nothing had happened rnanytirnes before. But the thought of being in cornrnand as the destroyer iounded the Point caused his heart to quaiL. He clirnbed the ladder to the bridge, his knees shook, and his lips trernbled. Would he see the sharp, pointed rocks, the scene of his extended nightrnare again? The drizzly fog rnade his face stiffen, andhis lips ceased trern- bling. Thefogwas dangerously heavy and the sea treacher- ously rough. The wind was dead ashore. Just the sort of weather. . . ! ilGood rnorning, sir.rl t'Good rnorning. " rrNastiest weather werve run Iately.rr rrTerri.ble.rl ItBe damn glad when we run through, sir.rl rrHurnph.rr He was on the bridge. He stood there, afraid to look to the east. He noticed the helrnsrnan intent at the wheel, the lookout on both wings, and quarterrnaater Smith checking the charts. His first rnatets face startled hirn... such a youthful face...not realizing the danger of the rnornent. rrl.ittle nasty, Caprn, t, Mr. Stephenson said, rtbut the fog is breaki.ng slowly. " rrTooslow, Mr. Stephenson,tr saidBrillin a tone weaker than usual. "Ir11 take over, Stephenson.rt He wondered if his voice had betrayed hirn. Stephenson began reciting the routine data: course, speed, drift, messages. The boyrs voice was respectful and obedient. He rnentioned that Lieutenant OtDonnell, the ex- ecutive officer, had just turned in. rrNo bearings ?'r Brill cried sharply. rrNotsince 0145, sir. Mr. Bachrnan had a star sight and gave a bearing from her. We were right on it, Captnlr

r- Spring 1t52 MANUSCRIPT 13

Speed twelve knots; course 036 degrees true, The fog was breaking, but it was still too thick for bearings. The off-shore wind, the seaward drift. . .no danger, They would clear the Point by seven rniles. . . standard course, and they were right on it...four hours ago! "You can turn in, Stephenson.tr t'Aya, aye, sir. Thank you, sir. " Quarterrnaster Srnith was very talkative. Brill listened abstractedly. He looked at the chart and the night order book. He rnoved to the starboard wing and peered out at the sea. Daylight was seeping through patches of the fog. Visi.- bility less than half a rnile. Dirty weather. Just the sort ofweather..,! ltrhat was that sound? Breakers ? He half turned, then conquered hie panic. He tried not to look east, just to keep his eyes straight ahead. But an irresistible force, born of long years of secret dread, forced his head around. The choppyrnotion of the ship rnade hirn sway a little. Huge roll- ing banks of the oceanrs swell broke occasionally, and his eager, straining eyes could see low rollers. trWerre off the Point, sir ! 'l He tried to answer but could not. The salty winds through the open bridge strained his eyes. He blinked. What was that out there? The fog banks had parted. A shipl A ship! It was a ship...wait! Werentt there rnore ships... one, two, three..,four on the rocks ? rrShips off the starboard bow!" He heard his voice, loud and false. They were there! The dead ships. . . dead rnen, his old friends ! Their cries echoed in his ears ! rrShip, sir ?rr A lookout spoke. tt'Where, sir ?tl Quarterrnaster Smith ran over. t'I donrt see a ship, sir.tt Captain Bril1 straightened up. It was now or never. He would prove it to hirnself . He would ki1l his fears. ItRight ten degrees rudder,it he ordered. rrRighttendegrees rudder, sir, rr the heknsrnan repeated. The Atkinson heeled over slightly as she responded. Lookouts and quarterrnaster peered into the fog. They said nothing and looked questioningty at Brill. "Slow speed to eight knots, t' Brill said. rrSlow speed to eight knots,trthe order echoed. He watched the destroyerrs sharp bow point steadily at T4 MANUSCRIPT Spring 1952

the spot where. , . rrlt is a ship, sir.rl "Small yacht in distress, sir. There goes a rocket. I' Brill spoke again. "Stop engines. Lifeboats rear of the watch stand by!" At the Officersr Club, a friend congratulated Captain Brill. ttltrs the Navy Cross for you, Torn, and damn well de- served. But te1l rne, how did you happen to sight the yacht when no one else could?" rrlt was the nightrnare,'r Bri1l slowly replied. rtlt was the nightrnare. t' Pitter Patter

Willard E Crirnrnins

("The pitter-patter of little feet.'r I suppose all "newly- weds" include such thoughts in their drearns. Wewereno exception. )

The house is quiet when I return frorn work, and rrry thoughts of a rnornentrs rest, along with the relaxation of a few pages of My Antonia, lead rne to the sofa. Muscles, tensedbythe dayts work, unbend, and rny rnind starts to absorb the novel by Willa Cather when all is dis- turbed by the pitter-patter oflittle feet. Pitter-patter ! I try hard to appreciate the sentirnent intended by the crea"tor of those irnrnortal words. The onl-y connection I can rnake betweenthe sayingandrny irnrnediate thoughts is the sicken- ing feeling in the pit of rny stornach when I hear the patter of six Iittle feet pounding down the stairs. Their naps (poor innocent babes consider thern chores)a.re over and their energy is concentrated and ready to burst like a t'Bikini blast. " There is one hope of salvation; they rnay not notice rne and tear on through the house and i.nto the yard. I close rny eyes, hold rny breath, and wait. My hopes are shattered when the heel ofa shoe presses down hard on my head and I arn engulfed by an arrrry of arrns, legs, a1d questions. Sunday School Willard E. Crirnrnins

(We can not attend church as a farnily group. Our children are too young. l{e do, however, see that our boys go to Sunday School regularly. )

I have always looked forward to Sunday as a day of rest and relaxation. Lately I have changed rny drearns'of this wonderful day, because it adds to the week a few rnore hours of work. I have three little boys to bathe, dress and take to Sunday School, while Mother prepares dinner. Three little boys in a bathroorn canrnake a terrible trress, It is difficult to explain to one child that I can not safely handle rrrore than two in the tub. A child's rnind thinks only of the present, so the idea of, "Itts your turn next week, ir doesnrt work. I arn sure of at least one boy crying continu- ously. I do (I donrt know how) eventualty get thern dressed and ready to go. The next battle loorns as we get into the car. They all want to get in the front seat. I suppose this could be rnanaged if there were sorne way of nailing the door on their side and erecting a barrier between thern and rne. The argurnent is rnomentarily stopped when two of their little friends arrive and ask for a ride to church. Now they all fight to get in the back seat. They win; I ride alone in the front. The short trip to church is uneventful but noisy. I donrt know what they do to rnake such a racket; Itrn afraid to look. As we enter the church school, a strange change takes p1ace. The children very rneekly greet their teacher with a polite "Good rnorning, It and quietly take their places. Why they change so cornpletely, Irll never know. ltrhen I leave, I rernernber the picture they rnade with their heads bowed reverently, while the teacher offered a childrs prayer, and I feel that the ordeal of getting thern ready every Sunday is worthwhile. The Duck Who Wanted To Swim The Ocean

Dale Warrnouth

Once there was a young duck whose greatest arnbition it was to swim all the way across the ocean. But the ducks who knew better had never heard of such a thing. They sneered whenever he brought up the subject. They scoffed and pooh-poohed him with zeal. Beingyouthful, evenwhenone is a duck, is a great asset, andsowilly-nilly, the duck heldfirrnly to his dream. Month after rnonth, he practiced earnestly. He would go out in secretwhile the others still hadtheir bills tucked under their wings, andhe swantrand swarn until his legs were as hard as iron. His lungs becarne powerful frorn all the wind sprints he took,. and he even developed a secret stroke. One day, however, a kindly elder arnong his flock took hirn asideandsaid, "My child, you do not know what you are thinking. In order to fulfill your drearns, you would have to swim out of the pond, down the brook, down the river to another river, down that river to the bay, and over the bay before you even get to the ocean. Once on the oceanyouwould be at the noercy of hit-and-run steamships, Portuguese rnen- of-war, flotsam, jetsam, rip tides, williwaws andsharks." The damage was done. The young duckts arnbitions faded. He fired his press agent. He began to train down. His ears were openedatlast to the derision about hirn. He heard the others }aughing behind his back and calling hirn "that young foolwhothinks thathecanswim the ocean. " The young ducklings were throwing stones at hirn. Flarning youth finally died down to a mere sizzLe in the duck's heart. Eventually, he thought thatdiving to the bottorn of the pondandsquatti.ng there for thirty seconds was pretty darn daring. tle was one of the gang then, and he began to courtapretty young Muscowy duck. In fact, he was so rnuch like tJre otherfellows thathe was ternpted sometirnes to scoff at an up-and-coming drake whose ambition it was to swirn down to the bay and back. Onecooldayhepaddled languidly about the pond, drearning of his little Muscovy and her charms and the possibility of a cozy little nest for two. He fell to rhapsodizing, and I8 MANUSCRIPT Spring 1952 before he knew it, he had swurn out of the pond, down the brook, down the river to another river, down that river to the bay, overthe bay right out into the ocean. Time passed, and he escaped the hazards of hit-and-run stearnships, Portuguese rnen-of-war, flotsarn, jetsarn, rip tides, williwaws and sharks. Suddenlyhe tookedup frorn his rhapsodizings and he saw that shore was far off. He saw a flock of ducks and rnade for thern. As he approached, he realized that they were not his ethnic group, but strangers. They were quacking in a nasal accent, and he soon realized that they were French ducks. "We11, what do you know ? " he said to hirnself, kicking the top off a whitecap with joy. "I{ere I've swurn out of the pond, down the brook, down the river to another river, down that river to the bay, over the bay and clean across the ocean ! " He scudded rapidly for shore, quacking dizzily, "I have escaped all the hit-and-run stearnships, Portuguese rnen-of- war, flotsarn, jetsarn, rip tides, williwaws and sharks !" He followed the French ducks up to a Norrnan farrnyard where the farrner fell to feeding his poultry. And so with his heart fulI of rejoicing, the adventurous duck joined in and gobbled corn with gusto. "I have succeeded, " he queeled between gobbles. "I arn a hero!" He knew it for sure when the farrner carrre around and gathered up the finest of the flock and put them in a crate. Heput the triurnphant duck in the crate too. He put the crate on a cart, a horse to the cart, said 'rHeu, heu,rrwhich is French for giddap, and they clattered down the road. rrWhere are we going?" the proud duck asked another. "We are going to Paris, " his cornpanion replied. The duck's heart leapt with joy. He was going to Paris, anachievernentbeyond even his drearns. Monsieur le Maire would give hirn keys to the city! He would pass beneath the Arc de Triornphe arni.d the huzzahs of rnany! The Pretty French girls would leap frorn the sidewalks to kiss hirn soundly on both cheeks ! He felt a hot flush of pride and turned his head modestly that his companion rnight not note hirn. The cart rattled on, and the ducks napped, and the ducks quacked, andthe horse switched flies, and the farrner naPP- Sprins 1952 MANUSCRIPT L9 ed onhis seat, andthe ducks quarreledandtold spicy stories, and the farrner took pul1s of cognac frorn his flask; and the horse plodded on, until they reached Paris. .'rlfow exciting! How colorful!"the duck chortled, filling his lungs deeply wi.th the rnaddening Parisian atrnosphere. And the farrner sold the duck in the rnarket to a civil functionary with large rnustaches and a red face. And the civil functionary and his buxorn wife and their nine children ate the duck for Sunday dinner, which certainly put an end to his holiday spirits. Wilfs W.y Richard Ridge ;l I Flyers are an inarticulate lot; they make good fishing companions. John Wainwright, an old and trusted friend of mine, was typical of his breed. 'We sat, lostinour ownthoughts, on the bank of a rushing strearn in Scotlandrs Trossachs. A dragonfly hovered over the sparkling water; I picked up a srnooth round pebble and shied it at him. "Burn shot, " said John. I tried again. "Not enough deflection, " suggested the critic We resurned our silent inactivity. A speckled trouthadbeen trying, .for ten rninutes, to leap the falls; in one final flashing arc, he triurnphantly wiggled his tail and disappeared into the upper waters. "Where therers a will there is a way, " I said. "Uh uh, " said John. He stared absently into space for awhile, knocked out the dottle frorn his pipe, and rnuttered, "Yes sir, he was quite a card. " "W'ho was ?'l "My old skipper on Eighteen Squadron, Willy Williams. rWillr we called hirn; twhere therers 11Ii11 therers awayt, we used to say. " I sensed a story corring, so I sdttled back on the grassy bank while John got his pipe back into service. "I joined the sguadron on the fifth of Novernber, in r43. Gibson was the C. O. at the time--you know, the boy that did that dam-busting job. He gave rne the usual pep-talk and I assignedrne to O for Orange as co-pilot to Flight-Lieutenant lrri/illiam Williams, D. F. C. , R.A. F. (Volunteer Reserve). I "Ifound rWillr hidingbehindarnug of beer, inthe Officersl Mess. He was about five-foot-two in his flying boots, had coal-black hair, greeneyes--one of those fiery Welsh t1ryes. "Will had a way with him. On joining his crew, a new member was told, rNow look you, rnan, I have a way of doing things and the Air Force has another, so learn rnine and forget the other. i Then he would detail instructions and spend hours of practice with the fledgling to establish lYillrs lrVay. Spring I95Z I.{.\NUSCRIPT ZL

ItEven Rupert Brooke had to bow down, for often in the calm of straight and level flight we heard, rlf I should die, think only this of me: I That thererE some corner of foreign'field That is forever Wales ....1 I trDuring the Berlin blitz wE carried one of those 12,000 poundblock-busters in our bornb-bay. And one night, as we were making a delivery, I listened idly to the interchange of instructions for the target approach: rAltirneter fifteen angels. I rWilco fifteen angelsl rAirspeed two zero zero. I rlllilco two zero zeto.r ttAnd after a period of pregnant silence, tleft, Ieft-- steady, stead--st-ea-dy. .. .. I "Every mernber of the crew instinctively held his breath, andtensedhirnself for the resultant lift of the aircraft when itwas releasedfrorn the bornbrs weight. Then, car-r-rumff ! An entirely unwelcorne factor entered into our well-laid schemes; an anti-aircraft shell exploded under our starboard wing. I looked into the gates of He1l; I felt its hot breath on my face. I was upside down, hanging frorn rny shoulder straps. I was right-sideup again, rnythighs crush- ing into the seat. I'was face forward, being tossed frorn side to side. We were in a spin. Instinctively, I looked downatthe turnandbank indicator and saw the needle point- ing a maximurn turn to the left; the ball registered a skid in the.opposite direction. This uas it. I was scared stiff . ttAs I stared at the face of Death, I becarne aware of sorneone praying, rOh rny God I am. . . . . I "That was Paddy Green, the rnid-upper gunner. 'rI yelled, rAbandon aircraft, rknowing the irnpossibility t as I said it. ttA sharp authoritative voice took cornrnand, rCaptain to I crew--Ihave control. Captain to co-pilot--throttle off starboard engines--fu11 throttle port engines--bornb doorg closed. I ttAs wefoughtandprayedour way down that spiral stair- case, I toldmyself thatitwas crazy totryto pull a Lancaster out of a spin. But we did, or rather, Will did. And whatrs more, we went back and dropped the bomb; that was Willrs way. tt John sighed deeply; I sensed his relief at the airing of 77 MANUSCRIPT Sprins 1952 his ordeal. rrEver hear frorn hirn?rt I said. trHets dead, It said John; t'dead.as a door-nail.rl There was a slight catch in his voice. "Died on the way horne frorn that trip. The blighter had a hunk of shrapnel in his guts. rl Propinquity 'l4Iende1l Clark

I stood on a hill and touched a star; (How warrn to rny hand it was, how high!). It slipped frorn rny grasp and sped afar and left rny arm sunk in ernpty sky, (How near to rny hand it was, how high!).

I knelt by a strearn and touched ( How warrn to rny hand it was, how" "t.r; near!). It dripped frorn rny hand, a sparkling fire, And left rny hand deep in night and fear. (How hot to rny hand it was, how near !).

By perrnission of National Poetry Association, 3ZLO Selby Avenue, Los Angeles 34, California. Published im Am e ri c a Sizgs, 1951Anthology of College Poetry.

4 All in Vain Dick fJush

It was the night of the big, indoor track meet which was held annually at Madison Square Garden. The best of track and field men would be there competing for honors. The contest was scheduled to start at 8:00 p. rn. but already at ?:00 p. m. the arena was filled with eager spectators. Jarnes Carltonwas the main attraction. Hewas a charn- pion pole vaulter. True, he was past his prime since today was his thirty-fourth birthday, but stitl he was favored to win his event. Jirn was an honest, handsome man. His frame of better than six feet was packed with solid muscles. He was trrore than a mere entry; he was a tradition in this trackrneet sincehe had cornpeted in all of the previous ones. The fans loved him. They had followed hirn since he first entered athletics when a young rnan of seventeen, and they had seenhim gain glory for his.miraculous feats. His perfect coordination, his never tiritrg body, his will to win, all rnade hirn the greatest athlete alive. Unknown to the loyal fans or the other competitore, Jirn hadlookedforward to tonight's games. He knew too well that tonightrs track meet would be his last. He had trained hard for the meet. He had decided to rnake hie exit frorn the sport worlda mcrnorable one, for tonight he intended to break the world's pole vault record of fifteen feet and three inches. Jirn realized thathe wouldhave to use every ounce of strength inhis body to accornplish this task. That was the reason for his diligent training. Pinally, at 8:00 p.rn., the announcer blared over the arnplifying 6ystern, "Our National Anthern. " The crowd rose from their seats while the organist played. After the crowd had settled again the rnayor officiatly opened the track rneet with a short address. The first event was the hundred yard dash. Jirn began to limber up, exercising for a while. and then made a few practice jumps. Meanwhile two judges had come over to the pit, inspectedtheapparatus, andsetthe crossbar at ten feet. The other three participantg were much younger than Jim. He didn't worry about winning his event, but rather about breaking the record. His main ambition in 1ife was to hold

i I rl Spring 1952 MANUSCRIPT 25

a world's record. A11 four men cleared the crossbar on their first turn. Tensionrnountedas the crossbar slowly clirnbed. At thirteen feet the first rnan failed to clear the bar. Six inches later the second rnan faltered. A silence fell upon the arena as the two rernaining par- ticipants neared the fifteen-foot rnark. I.t was a spectacle to see Jirn sailthroughthe air and over the crossbar. He acted rrrore like a machine than a hurnan being. Finally, at fifteen feet and two inches, Jirn subdued the rernaining contestant. A. cheer arose but it was broken abruptly by the announcer. rrJarnes Carlton will attempt to breaktheworld's record. The crossbar now rests at fifteen feet and four inches.tt This was it. Jirn was nervous, but he was sure of hirnself. The silence was awesorrre as he stood at the distant endof the runway. Twenty yards in front of hirn on the other side of that crossbar lay the answer to his prayers. He gripped the pole and started down the path. The pole dippedand then slipped into the trough. Jirn pushed with his feet and soared into the air. Every rnuscle strained as he neared the top, He arched his body in order to clear the bar, buthis foot nicked it and a groan arose frorn the crowd as the crossbar fell to the turf. The judges placed the bar in position and measured the distance frorn the rniddle of the bar to the ground. The second time Jirn crashed into the bar and fell with it to the sawdust-filled pit. Jirn had one rrrore chance. Everyone was silent. The ticking ofthousands ofwatches could be heard throughout the vast arena. Could he do it? Jirn said a short prayer while he was otanding at the distant end of the runway, He gripped the pole and sprinted downthepath. Thepole slipped into the trough and in a flash Jirn was in the air. At the top he desperately strained his rnuscles in order to arch his back. A great cheer arose frorn the crowd as Jirn fell into the pit. Hehad broken the world's record. He thanked God and tried to get up, but he was too weak. He had exhausted his strength. The fans were still wildly cheering as the judges checked the rneasurernents. Then, as if lightning had struck, the rtDue announcer bellowed, to a faulty measurernent. . .rl Wonders of 'The Wirephoto Chuck Glorrran

The din of clattering typewriters, teletypeand linotype rnachines stopped abruptly as the door of the darkrootn swung shut. Phil Sarno, head photographer at 7'he Plain Speaker , dailyafternoonnewspaper of Hazleton, said, "Now, of course the first thing you do is click off the regular light. " He snapped a nearby switch and the srnall roorn was en- closedi.ndarkness. Then he pulled a tiny golden chain and a yellow filter larnp cast a dirn glow across the roorn. "Thatrs the onlylightyou can have on when you take pic- tures over the wirephoto, rrhe said. r'Otherwise the sensitive ernulsion on the 8 x I0 photo paper will be ruined. I'1I turn on the rnachine so you can see how it works. " One twist of a knob and the wirephoto rnachine began to hurn, while a srnall red light on the extrerne left indicated that it was ready for use. Suddenly a shrill sound ernerged frorn a wire-covered loudspeaker about three inches in diarneter, on the upper right of the rnachine. "Good, " he rnurrnured, half to hirnself . t'Oners corning over now. tt Adeepvoicecarnefrorn the loudspeaker: "Herers a good quality print for all points ready to receive; itrs WX15, a clear 8 x I0 picture out of Washington showing. . . .rt As the voice described the picture about to be trans- rnitted, the photographer reached into a cabinet just a few feet frorn the rnachine and rernoved an 8 x 10 sheet of sen- sitizedphotographic paper. He lifted the top of the rnachiners front cornpartrnent, revealing an eight-inch steel cylinder through which extended a thi.n axle. Raising a srnall, black rnetalbar he slidthe sheet under and wrapped it once around the cylindrical disc, then set the bar down on the paper, holding it firrnly in place. I rF{e I r e s your pr elirninary. " the loudspeaker was say- Ing. Another shrill sound pierced the roorn. "Now, " said the photographer, "you start the disc re- volving with this button. '' He pushed the first of three control buttons at the left

l l t*-=I Spring J.952 MANUSCRIPT LI of thernachine and with a soft hurn the disc around whi.ch the paper was wrapped began to revolve. t'If erets your final frorn Washington. . , . " the voice blared and then briefly described the picture again. Another shril1 sound carne frotrr the loudspeaker and as the photographer pushed the second control button the disc stopped for a few seconds, then clicked on again, while the shrill faded into a soft, rhythmic beat. Sarno pointed to an alrnost unnoticeable light bearn that was flashing as the disc turned. "This ray," he said, "is getting irnpulses frorn the transrnitting set at Washington and flashing thern on to the paper. tl "How long does the whole operation take?rt I asked. trJust eightrninutes, " he replied, and then went on. 'lYou know, only ten newspapers in the state have a rnachine like this. The others have to use rnats the A. P. sends out later in the day. " Soon the rhythrnic beatf rorn the speaker becarne weaker, finally dying out. " WeIl, thatrs it, " the photographer said. t'In just eight rninutes we can get a picture frorn any point in the United States. Kindarnakes you stop and think, doesnrt it? Here we are -- gettingslarnrnedall the tirne about what a destructj.ve bunch we are -- how our inventions are killing people and rnakinga total wreck outof theworld, but yet werve got 1ittle things that people seern to forget about -- a srnall gadget thatlets everybody on one side of the country know and even SEE what happened on the other side in just a rnatter of rninutes. rr Mr. Peeble and The Ghost Carlie Jane Thornas

Mr. Peeble awoke to find the roorn still dark,and the unreality that cornes with waking in a strange room. was with hirn. He had slept soundly, forhewas in his own bed, and as his eyes accustorned thernselves to the faint light, farniliar articles of furniture irnpressed thernselves. The roorrr was different, of course, but after locating the win- dows he orientated hirnself, and now his rnind sought the reason for his sudden awakening. It had alrnost seerned that sorneone spoke. He raised hirnself slightly and looked at the bottorn of the bed. There it was. A figure yet not a figure; a sort of pale lurninosity without substance, that seerned to be sitting on the bed, wavering ever so slightly as if its lack of rnass rnade the act of sitting a triurnph over gravity. It1l close rny eyes, he thought, and it will go away. When he opened thern it was still there. Irrn drearning, he decided. Very well, he would speak, even if in a drearn. ttI{e11o. " "Oh! | thought you were awake,,, the figure replied in a voice strangely thin and without body. Mr. Peeble sighed. So it roos true. Not for a rninute had he believed the stories told by the real estate agent. "Yourre the ghost, I suppose, rr he rnanaged tirnidly. He sat upright and squinted hard at the bottorn of the bed. "I am, although I detest that terrn,,, said the spectre with what looked like a shudder. Mr. Peeble mentally noted that it was usually people who shud.dered in thepresence of a ghost. "We11, then. . . apparition, " replied Mr. Peeble. "Thatrs a little better. Arenrt you frightened?tt "Irrn not sure. I grress not. Maybe Itrn drearning and yourre not really there at alL. ,t "Oh, Irrn here, and yourte not drearnlng. Not afraid. either, I guess. Most people are. It rnay be a problern getting rid of you. ,' "Yourre not getting rid of rne, " replied Mr. peeble, his courage returning. ''Irve leased this house and I intend to Spring 1952 MANUSCRIPT zg stay here, " "Didnrt the agent tell you about us ?" "Yes, he did, but since rrry company transferred rne here, and I had to have a horne, I took this p1ace, I don't suppose you know about the housing shortage.'! Mr. Peeble was faintly sarcastic. "Dear rne, y€s, " replied his spectral visitor. rtlrtrl acutely aware of the problern. trVell,. lease or not, we were here first. Irrn afraid yourll have to go. " ttWhy, thatrs ridiculous, t' said Mr. Peeble heatedly. "In all rny fifty years I have never heard such apreposter- ous. . . Did I understand you to say twer? You rneanthere are. . . that youtre not the only one who haunts here ?,' "Oh rny, yes; there are five or six of us.', Mr. Peeble groaned. The apparition floated over and sat on the side of the bed. Mr. Peeble drew back instinctively but spoke up firrnly. "No rnatter how rnany you are, youtll have to go.,, Now that his nocturnal visitor had rnoved nearer, he rnade a closer study of it. He could not rnake out anything resern- bling a face. What rnight be terrned arrns were so forrn- less that, when rnoved, they were a rnere separation of the rnainethereal rnass. Itrs just like a blob of fog, he thought, except tJ,.at it speaks. "Are you a man-apparition?r' he asked curiously. "You could call rne that, I' said the spectre chuckling. rrOr you could say I zoas a rnan. I' "Your friends, too? And where are they? Why don't I see thern ? rr troh, theboys are downstairs... or upstairs... or some- p1ace. You couLdntt see them anyhow, unless they wished it. It depends on our whirn. I can be invisible or not, as I choose. See?'t And at the words the figure vanished. "But Irrn still here. " Mr. Peeble jurnped., for the words were whispered in his ear. "W'ell, corne back where I can see you," he replied testily. The whitish figure re-appeared on the side of t]:e bed. "StartJ.ed you, didnrt I? But I must say, yourre all right. Itrn beginning to forrn a fondness for you. " Mr. Peeble shivered. r'Letrs get back to the subject. Are you vacating the prernises or not?rr I' We1l, as I said before, we have been here for a long 30 MANUSCRIPT Spring I952 tirne. Yourre the interloper. It's all very well to talk of housing shortages it your world. We have thern in ours too. You people havenrt been building enough new houses, and you're fixing up rrrore and more of the old ones, and now yourre crowding zs out.'t "I have a lease...I' began Mr. Peeble firrnly. "Tirne was when there were a lot of old houses around. Itrs got so now that you have to hunt foranoldhouse thatrs fit to haunt. Oh, there are sorne o1d shacks in the country, but Irrn anurban dweller, I guess Like to be where therets a little life. " The spectre chuckled and Mr. Peeble winced at his rnacabre touch. "So you see, we have housing prob- lerns too. You donrt suppose for a rninute that so rnany of us would share this one house if there were enough togo around?" The spectre fluttered as though seeking a rnore cornfortable position. "Tell rne something about yourself . Are you rnarried ?'r trThere is a Mrs. Peeble. " "Does she know about the conditions here ?rl "I didntt telI her, " replied Mr. Peeble uncornfortably. "I persuaded her to stop off and visit her rnother until the rest of the furniture cornes. I thought it would give rne a chance to sleep here a few nights and convince myself that there were no other.., ah... occupants.'l "And now youtll have to te1l her. " "Look, " said Mr. Peeble desperately, "your11 sirnply have to go before rny wife gets here. Go find a new house to haunt. " "Poof !" said the apparition. 'tA new house wouldnrt do for us at all. No background..no tradition..rr From downstairs carne a loud crash. "Whatwas that?" asked Mr. Peeble, startled. "It sounded like glass breaking. " "One of the rnore buoyant spirits having sorne fun, " it said "Irrn sorry to say he knocked over that fancy old oil larnp and broke the top shade. " Mr. Peeble laughed. "I always hated that thing. One of Mrs. Peeblets antiques. " "I told the boysthat youtre quite a regular fellow, " said the spectre. "Theyrre corning uP to eee you in a rninute. " Mr. Peeb1e yawned. 'tlrrn very tired, and I know we havenrt settled our problern, but I don't think I can stay awake rnuch longer. " He closed his eyes and was aknost Sprins 1952 MANUSCRIPT 31 asleep when he heard his visitor say, "Here theyare. WetlL go now and ItII talk to you tornorrow night. rr Mr. Peeble opened his eyes. At the foot of the bed six wavering shapes were lined up in soldier-like precision. Although there were no faces, he knew they were solernnly inspecting hirn. He laughed quietly to hirnself . "You 1ook, " he said sleepily, 'rlike the weekly wash hanging on the 1ine. " Mr. Peeblers work suffered next day. His rnindwas on the problern of how to evict a band of ghosts who evidently were deterrnined to rnake his new horne uninhabitable. The problern of Mrs. Peeble arose too. How could he explain the situation to her? FinaIIy he cornposed a telegrarn ad- vising his wife to check in at the Bond Hotel the following day using as an excuse that the house was not ready to live in. The day finally dragged to its close, and after a meal hardly touched, Mr. Peeble started for horne. He was not without rnisgivings, but the house was silent when he entered, and he soon busied hirnself with unpacking boxes and arranging the contents as best he could. He was presently surprised to note that it was ten o'cIock. Nothing had occurred to indicate the other "occupantsl were about. He was weary and decided to retire. He had just climbed into bed when a now-farniliar voice said, "Good evening, Mr. Peeble. Since you are retiring ear1y, I thought we would continue our talk now so that you will not lose any sleep Iater. !r "Yourre very kind,ttsaid Mr. Peeble with faint sar- casrn. Peering about, he located his spectral visitor on the left side of the bed. rrSince we rnust talk, whatrs your narne? I canrt just call you tapparitionr. tl "I donrt wish to give rny narre, " replied the spirit. ttlt rnight lead to cornplications. I' "Then I shall calL you tAppyt.'r said Mr. Peeble. "Short for rapparitiont. Have you come to tell rne you are leaving the place ?rt "Oh no, " said Appy. "I thought you rnight have corne to that decision yourself, although I enjoy our little talks so much Itd hate to see You go. rl Mr. Peeble sighed and was silent. "Whenis Mrs. Peeble arriving?" continued the spectre. 3Z MANUSCRIPT Spring 1952

I'Tomorrow. rt 'rWell, perhaps we shall all get along verynicely. Y es, that rnay be the ideal solution; we'll a1l live like one h"ppy farnily.'t Mr. Peeble shuddered at tJle thought. Appy bounced off the bed. rrWe wonrt bother you. Pleas - ant drearns ! " and he was gone. Thefollowingday found Mr. Peeble no nearer a solution of his problern. Late in the afternoon he talked briefly with his wife when she checked into the Hotel, rnade arrangernents to have dinner with her, and hung up before she could ask toornanyquestions. Atthe end of the day he rnade a hurried trip home to change clothes. He bathed and shaved, went back to his bedroorn, and found a ghostly shape squatting in the center of the bed. rrls that you, Appy? You all look alike, you know. tl "Ah, yes, I suppose we do.tl rrl do recognize your voice,tt said Mr. Peeble. ,,Sorry I cantt talk. Irm meeting Mrs. Peeble at the Hotel. She arrived today.rl 'rYes, I know, " said the apparition. ItShe was here.'r "What? Dear rne,rt said Mr. Peeble. "I hope nothing untoward occurred.tr "Spare yourself,'i replied Appy, waving a ghostly hand. rrWe were rnost decorous. Although Elrner, one of rny friends, took exception to the way she rooted around in the attic, and forgot hirnself for a rnornent. She was rnerely rnaking an inspection of the place and he shouldnrt have... " rrWhat happened ? " "\[e11, nothing rnuch. You see, in the daytime we like to relax...restup... sit quietly and rneditate. We just cantt stand a lot of noise. Mrs. Peeble wasbangingthings around so rnuch that Elrner. . . well. . . he pinched her. " "Where?" dernanded Mr. Peeble. "Oh, in the. . . ah. . . rnost accessible place. She gave a little ye1p, but she evidently thought it was her girdle for she gave a little twitch to. . .tl i'Never rnind ! ,' 'rWell, I restrained hirn, and that was all. Oh yes, she saw the broken Iarnp.'l Mr. Peebte was disrnayed, i'Look, Appy, you can see how irnpossible it is for you and your friends to get along with Mrs, Peeble and me. Why donrt you prornise to leave ?

t _) Spring 1952 MANUSCRIPT 33

Irll rnake up a story about the 1arnp.. . tell her I knocked it over.ll rrlt canrt be done. I think werll get along very well. In fact I think Ir11 go along to the Hotel withyou and rneet Mrs. Peeble again and get better acquainted. She seerrls very nice. tt 'rYou...you...cantt. No...I forbid it. You cantt.,' Mr. Peeble was horror-stricken. "Corne, corne, Mr. Peeble. I shall be very discreet. Itd love to go to a hotel and watch the people enjoy thernselves. I shanrt be any trouble. t' rrBut people will see you!rl "Oh, no. I sha1l be visible only to you. Itts perfectly safe. tr Mr. Peeble sat down weakly. "But theytll hear rne if I say sornething to you.'l "You will have to be careful about that. If you prefer, I shall be totally invisible. " "No, no! If you rnust corne, I prefer to see what you are doing. " rrlt will be a real pleasure for rne,'t said Appy, rrand I shall be eternally grateful. . . " At the hotel they entered an elevator and were whisked aloft. Presently they alighted and walked down the hall. As he knocked at the door Mr. Peeble said, "Youtd better stay out here. Mrs. Peeble rnay not be dressed.tt "Pshaw, she wonrt see rne. Besidesr,t he added slyly, trlrrn only a spirit.rt Furthertalk was cut off by the opening of thedoor. Mrs. Peeble stood there- t'Edward. I' She ernbraced Mr. Peeble, and Appy scooted into the roorn. While they talked he pried inquisitively about theroorn. He sat on the bed, looked out the window, inspected the clothes closet, and in generalannoyed Mr. Peeble so that he hustled his wife outside and down into the dining roorn, not, however, without his ghostly cornpanion. W'hen they were seated, Appy hovered at Mr. Peeblers shoulder. While they talked and the dinner was being served, Appy crltically inspected each dish. Mr. Peeble did not enjoy the rneal. Presently, his wife asked the question he had dreaded. t'Dear, why isnrt the house ready? I went out there today and it looked all right to rne. Of course, things are not exactly in their proper places- . . and what happened to 34 MANUSCRIPT Spring 1952

my larnp ? " To Mr. Peeblets intense relief, Appy seized this rnorrrent to swirl away on an exploration of the cocktail bar. "C1ara, I'rn going to tell you the queerest tale you ever heard. " And he told her the entire story, ornitting only the fact that his spectral friend was in the irnrnediate vicinity. Mrs. Peeble was durnfounded. "Edward, are you sure ? Of course, yourve never lied. . . I would never believe such a story frorn anyone else. Wha.t can we do ? 'rI donrt know, tt he sai.d dejectedly. "They appear Per- fectly harrnless but obviously we cantt live under such conditions. 't ldly, he questionedher about her trip and inquired about her rnother. "Motherts fine. I had a hardtirne talking her outof corning along. You know how she wants to be a party to everything. I' "Yes, I know. t' A glearn appeared in Mr. Peeblers eye. "Perhaps thatrs the answer!tthe exulted, "Look, dear, cart you call your rnother and ask her to corne ? Rernernber today when you were in the attic creating what Appy called a disturbance? He told rne later how they liked peace and quiet in the daytime, , . " Mrs. Peeble bristled. I'Youtre not irnplying thatrny rnother. . , " "No, no. Listen. Your rnother is a rernarkable wornan. Irve said rnany tirnes that shets not afraid of rnan nor beast. She wonrt be afraid of these spectres either, but frorn what Itve seen and heard, shernighthavean effect on thern!" His wife was dubious and inclined to be resentful, but finally agreed to the idea. ''Ir11 call her now, and sherll probably be here in the rnorning. " "Fine. Now say no rnore.rr ffe was afraid Appy rnight be present though not visible. Soon he caught sight of his spectral friend returning. 'rI was in the bar with the rest of the spirits, r'Appy to1.d hirn wi.th a giggle. "Very funny, " Mr. Peeble said tartly. r.What did you say?" inquired his wife. rrEr--nothing. Thinking out loud, I guess. rt'He was still reluctant to disclose that he had brought Appy witn hirn. Still, hehadbetter get hirn out of the way. Soon he rnade his

h l-- Spring I952 MANUSCRIPT 35 departure, assuring Mrs. Peeble he would rnake one rnore atternpt to persuade the spectres to leave. ttltwonttdoyouanygood, It said Appy as they crossed the lobby. I thinkyour wi{e is very charrning, and Irrn sure now that she will not be a disturbing influence to rne or rny friends. It Mr. Peeble rnade his plea. rrNow see here, Appy, canrt you be reasonable and find another place? Mrs. Peeble and Icanrt have any privacy with you and your friends around. I like you, but itr s jus t an irnpos sible s ituation with spirits and hurnans in the sarne house, " His spiritfriend replied, ttYourre fretting too rnuch. Irrn sure everything will work out very nicely. And I coultl be quite helpful to you at tirnes.rl rrBut,'r said Mr. Peeble, "if it werenrt for this whole ridiculous situation I wouldnrt have rny wif e staying at a hotel; we would be very happy; I wouldntt need any help frorn any- body. Appy! are you listening?" APpy was gone. Mr. Peeble was pleased to receive a telephone call from his wife the next rnorning. "Motherrs arrived, " she said, "And Irve explained everything to her. Hurry horne tonight. " Mr. Peeblernade aferventwishthat his plan would succeed. Mrs. Peeble rnet hirn at the door that night. He winced atthe blast of rnusic that carne frorn the interior. 'rMotherrs cooperating beautifully, " said his wife. 'rOnce or twice we, we saw those...vague shapes you rnentioned, but Mother carriedonsothey soon vanished. Shers in the kitchen now. " Mr. Peeble accornpanied his wife to the kitchen where he greetedhis rnother-in-law. Shewastedno tirne in inforrn- ing hirn that she considered his vacillation responsible for the present condition. Living with Mrs. Swagger was not a rnild experience, as Mr. Peeble had discovered in the past. She dorninated a roorn or a house by her very presence. She was aggres- sive, physically and rnentally. She could perforrn a sirnple feat like wiping the dust frorn a table top and leave you with the feeling that it wouLdnrt dare be caught there again. A.y problern she faced was not attacked; it was overwhekned. Also, she was a radio fan in its fullest sense. Her waking hours were a succession of soap serials, give-away pro- grarrrs, and ball garrres interspersed with swing rnusic, aI1 at a volurne level that she considered adequate, rneaning it could be heard in every roorn of the house. 36 MANUSCRIPT Spring 1952

After a tasty rneal, Mre. Swagger announced she would do the dishes, and this staternent being tantarnount to a de- cree, Mr. and Mrs. Peeble retired to the living roorn. !!I do hope, " said Mrs. Peeble, i'That all this is having the desired effect on our ghostly intruders. And soon!" The Peebles were in bed and alrnost a sleep before a wraith-like figure appeared on Mr. Peeblers side of the bed. lrls that you, Appy?" "Yes,tt the wordswerealrnost a sob. 'rMr. Peeble, what rnade you bri.ng this . . this. . other woman into our hous e ? And why didnrt you warn rne ?rl rrWhat is he saying?rr inquired Mrs. Peeble surveying the figure apprehensively. t'IrIl tell you later,tt prornised Mr. Peeble. rrYou know how rnothers-in-Iaw are, tr he said to Appy. ttHow could I forbid her corning?" "Itrs a dirty trick.rr wailed Appy. "My friends arefran- tic. She rnade our lives unbearable today. She was all over the house; radio going all the tirne; serials, swing rnusic-- and her singing!rr Mr. Peeble grinned to himself. rrShe went through the attic like a cyclone. She brought her radio with her. Itrn afraid this isthe end,rt he continued bitterly. 'r'W'e cantt stay while she rernains. She has a pe- culiar effect on us. ,t ttl know what you rnean, believe rne,rt said Mr. Peeble. tlBut you didnrt haoe to listen to all that radio noise. rt rrNo, but therers no fun in being a deaf ghost,tr rnourned Appy. 'rAnd if we stay rtuned inr we hear what we heard today. Will she be here very long?'r ttWho knows !tt The apparition was silent for a long tirne. rrYou win, rt he said final1y. "We just canrt put up with her. Iive enjoyed our own contact very rnuch, and I regret that you bad to use such extrerne rneasures to get rid of us. Werll go. tt Mr. Peeble felt a trifle guiLty. trwhere?r' 'r'Werve located a place today. The rnan who lives there has alotonhis conscience and he wonrt be hard to get rid of. It wonrt be as nice as here, though,rr he said sadly. "Why donrt you te1l Mrs. Swagger yourre leaving?t, suggested Mr. Peeble. ilYes, I suppose thatrs the thing to do. Surrender rI1y sword, as it were, I shall return.tr He drifted through the

I I !- ) Sprins 1952 MANUSCRIPT 37 doorway. Mr. Peeble joyfully acquainted his wife with the developrnents. Frorn the next roorrr carne the vibrant voice of Mrs. Swagger. rrGetout of rny roorrl, you rniserable hunk of ecto- plasrn!" Then follow'ed several rninutes of silence broken occasionally by the now softer rnurrrrur of Mrs. Swagger. Appy returned presently and spoke sorrowfully. rrWell, thatrs that. I told her we were leaving. I donrt think I was successful in convincing her that we were going for good. Maybe I didnrt try toohard, I' he finished alrnost rnaliciously. ttWhat do you rnean?'t Mr. Peeble was faintly alarrned. t'Shers going to stay here a rnonth or two to be sure we donrt return. " Mr. Peeble was disrnayed. r'Thatis a dirty trick! " he said accusingly. trPerhaps, t' said Appy. "Goodbye, and perhaps we shall rneet again. It "I hope not, " saidMr. Peeble fervently. Appyvanished. Mr. Peeble dolefully told his wife of this latest turn of e- vents. She was silent awhile. trWell,tt said Mrs. Peeble, r'So long as they go. Dear, Mother rnay stay abit longer than we expected, and I know she can be a trial, but she did get rid ofthosehorrible spirits, anyway. " ttA Pyrrhic victory, " rnurrnured Mr. Peeble. ttWhatrs that?rr t'Nothing. t' ItWe11, aren't you glad? How do you feel?rr t'My feelings canbe surnrnarizedvery briefly, It said Mr. Peeble sighing. "Irrn dispirited!r'

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