WINGS OF IMAGINATION

The bleachers are crowded. noon of the Big Six contest.

It is the afterTo the north is the

North Pole. To the east is China. To the west is China. To the south is the Equator. The track meet is almost over. The crowd is impatiently awaiting the finish of the five-mile cross-country run.

There is a cry. A pause, and then a runner comes into sight. He is running desperately. He isn't singing or talking — just running. Nearer and nearer to the finish does he come with each step. His head is thrown far back. With difficulty does he make his weary muscles respond to his will. He knows that he must win. Since he is the only runner in the race, we suppose he will. Let's leave him alone and turn our attention to another scene.

This is a fit night for a tragedy. The rain is not over; in fact, not yet begun. However, it is predicted. The night is comparatively so. A dark form may be seen slinking along the edge of the grass, if our eyesight is in fair condition, if there is a dark form present, and if the grass has an edge. What is that shiny instrument

34

WINGS OF IMAGINATION

that flashes? Is it a knife? We don't know;

do you?

Our next hero is Amos Kito. He is swimming in the Olentangy River. To explain: he fell from a convenient bridge. He never swam before, and perhaps never will again. In other words, he cannot swim. Therefore he despairs of ever reaching the shore. The food supply being limited, owing to the lack of bread cast upon the waters, Amos will probably drown. He thinks he will. He has swallowed several gallons of water. He struggles desperately and cries for assistance. He starts to go down for the third time. Down, down, he goes. Then he finds that the stream at that point is only four feet deep. He stands upright and walks ashore.

This is an editorial. We are running a race herein against no competition. The only thing that flashes is the metal on our typewriter. The editorial is less deep than the Olentangy. We fell from the bridge of imagination. We probably never will do so again. Is there nothing consoling about this editorial? The answer is there is something consoling: we have not pointed out a moral. We will not try. haps you can find one sionist.

if

Per

you are an impres

THE STARS ARE COMING OUT

"You remember the smoke of burning leaves, as in dripping football togs you ran up the graveled path to the gymnasium. You remember the red and green of autumn hills and the crunch of snow beneath your feet. Most of all, you remember the last spring evening, when as seniors you sat singing as the sun faded in the west and the stars came out, until at last it had to come, and, bareheaded, you sang to the Alma Mater. These are memories of little things, but for some reason they refuse to be forgotten."

So writes one college graduate in after years. What will your memories be as you sit as seniors in the college of life, as the sun is fading in the west, as the stars are coming out, and What will you carry away with you from college that will grow dearer with the passing years?

all?

Do you remember the first week of college, as with humble and timid spirits you started along the road that ends in commencement? Do you remember the happiness that filled your heart when you discovered the "buried treasures" that were in the hearts of your companions, when you found friends that have remained faithful

36 THE STARS ARE COMING OUT

and true? Do you remember the tears of joy that came to your eyes at certain evidences of these friendships? Our eyes are filled with tears just now and a gulping sensation is with us as we try to write these lines.

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Perhaps you remember even before you are graduated, some certain chum, some certain girl or boy whom you loved and still love. Ah, the joy of it all! The wonderfulness of life and love and happiness! Star-bright, star-bright," in yonder clear sky,- I wish, I wish that dreams might come true! Home, sweet home of the future! Away in the distance, shining clear, like the coming of a perfect year, is the land where dreams come true. We will carry with us precious memories of our college days, and we will strive to achieve that happiness that comes when dreams come true.

TAKING OTHER PEOPLE'S DUST

It's human nature to hate to take other people's dust. Your car may be small; it may have a bark like the yipping of a Pomeranian poodle, or it may emit a deep, whiplike crack with each explosion; it may be geared to take all the grades at express-train speed, or it may climb as though it would fall apart before the top of the incline is reached; but all drivers are similarly affected with the common desire to keep ahead of the car behind.

Are you taking some one's dust in college? Is some one passing you right now, sliding along while you appear to be standing still or in reverse? What are you doing about the matter? If you cannot take the grades,— which in college is synonymous to getting the grades, it is time to put yourself into a mental repair garage and go over your engine and transmission thoroughly.

Perhaps you have a bad mixture! That is a common automobile trouble. Too much recreation, side attractions, and idleness destroy the efficiency of your machine. On the other hand, you may be trying to run on pure gasoline,—