Illustration Commons^™

Old Fib, M. R. Huntzinger

Manuscripts

That's a mighty fine lookin' mare you're drivin' there, mister. You say she throwed a shoe about a mile from here? Well, I guess we can fix that soon as I run down some tools...

Time! Time!, Anne Mcdonnell

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Time! Time!

Destiny Squeaks, N. Umbenhower

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Rat adjusted his spectacles and flipped the pages over and over. This was really a windfall. Since clean-up week last year he had found only scraps of news. True there were newspapers, but they were concerned mostly with local news, and they were quite often gathered up by the garbage collector before Rat had had time to read them. When accounts of national or international events of momentous significance to Ratdom were printed, they occasionally were found by Rat; but as likely as not the succeeding issues could not be found anywhere along the entire alley.

Voyager, George Fullen

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A lonely voyager leaned against the rail And scanned the sea and sky...

Swift's Attack On Pedantry, James P. Lawson

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It may seem to the modern reader that Jonathan Swift fell short in his attempt to ridicule pedantry, for Swift's most sarcastic illustrations of the follies of learned men might well find their parallel as commonplace news items in the magazines or newspapers of today. Swift must have felt that he was exaggerating to absurdity the follies of the learned of his time in the fields of science and the arts; and in order to accord him the proper credit, we must look at his works in the light of historical perspective.

Remembrance, Anne Mcdonnell

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Remembrance puts celestial tints on the black and white of every day...

The Way And The Wayfarer, Margaret Lanahan

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The air in the confessional was dry and unsatisfying with the mustiness associated with old wood, heavy drapes and dull black cossack cloth. In the dim light which shed its mellowness into the narrow corners and over the grills to right and to left, the aging priest studied the scriptbook of prayer that he held in open hands.

Voyage, George Fullen

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When the last sure sight of land is gone, The ship rides in the ever changing point Of an inverted blue crepe coolie's hat...

The Kitten In The Wolfs Den, Tom Wagle

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You are beautiful aren't you Jean? And you know it. You are dressing for tonight with precision unusual even for you. When you finish you will be lovely, won't you Jean. Your clothes and make up will create the effect you are now building for. But there is one thing that bothers you through all your sureness. Where are your prospects Jean?

Lucky, John J. Miller

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The heavy oak bar looked solid enough, but the short, slight man at the end, face loosely cupped in his hands, was holding it down with his elbows. The tic on the right eye of the pale-faced bartender twitched slightly as he flicked a dirty towel across the top of the bar.

Finesse, N. Umbenhower

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Mrs. Brooks flipped the pages of her cook book back and forth. The lemon pie would be easier; but it wouldn't take much longer to make the spice cake that Martin liked. Yes, it would be the cake, she decided, because that was Martin's favorite dessert. She was a little tired of it; but, as long as Martin insisted that each cake was better than the last and that nothing else compared with it, he should have spice cake, all he wanted of it, every week, all summer too. September would come soon enough when he would have to go …

Mr. John Doe---Public Hero?, Donald Emrick

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(First prize in the essay, Butler literary contest, 1948.)

Have you ever wondered how many tons of paper roll daily out of the nation's thundering presses to imprint the legendary and statistical status of Mr. John Doe upon the hearts of the masses? Neither John Gunther, the World Almanac, nor the "Fact and Fiction Department" of the Kremlin could cast any light upon this ponderous query. Although this matter seems to have escaped momentarily the attention of "Renegade Joe," I am certain that Moscow will waste no time in ferreting out the requested statistical lore.

Poems, Ruth O'Mahoney

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(First prize in poetry, Butler literary contest, 1948.)

Cancelled Flight, George Fullen

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(First prize in the short story, Butler literary contest, 1948)

The smell of gas was sickening.

"It's all your fault, Jane," he thought he could hear his own voice saying in a distant room.

It sounded so strange that he forced his eyes open, against the nausea, and tried to focus them. The lurid, dirty wall-paper focussed, receded and focussed again. It only increased his nausea. He had been sick when he turned on the gas.

Front Matter

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No abstract provided.

Volume 15, Issue 3: Full Text

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No abstract provided.

Excerpts From The Life Of Mr. P. Pixie Dash, Barbara Dearing

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"Get away you nasty thing! Who asked your help on this theme?"

"Really, I wasn't aware of what a sour drip you actually are. Funny how you reject me. Me, the only key to security you have. Some people just can't see beyond their noses."

Mr. P. Pixie Dash, senior member of the firm, "Dash, Parenthesis, and Bracket," was lolling against the third line of page three orating on the latest dividend offered by his company.

My Girl, Richard H. Graham

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I jumped onto the fleet landing, jostled my way through a horde of happy, swearing sailors and made my way to a gate that meant freedom after thirteen months of navy routine. I paused momentarily at the gate to determine which good old American street I should follow. With no objective in mind, other than to absorb some clean U.S. air, I chose a street which ascended to a high bluff overlooking San Francisco Bay.

Stop, Look, And Remember (An Impromptu), Thornton A. Klos

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In our every day life we miss seeing many things that would prove of interest to us. An example of how little we are aware of what happens about us until we find things brought into sharper focus is the sudden discovery that a new house or building exists where only an empty lot full of weeds and trash had been.

Abandon Ship, Glenn Johnson

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The clear notes of the bugle sounding chow call came over the loudspeakers throughout the ship. I stood waiting in the mess line, formed topside on the main deck aft. The last rays of the sun caught the signal flags flying - gave them a brilliant cast of red, green and yellow. The new cruiser rolled in the huge swells, leaving a foaming white trail behind her.

The men stood silently gazing at the horizon. The ship gave a slight shudder each time one of the swells crashed into her.

The sharp clanging of the ship's general-alarm bell, followed by …