UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN
The official paper of the University
EDITORIAL STAFF
Louis L'Accone
Brett Hamer
J.D. Earle Miller
J.D. Earle Miller
Editor-in-Chief
Sporing Editors
Sporing Editors
BUSINESS STAFF
IKE E. LAMMERT... Business Manager
J. LEMBERT... Asst. Business Manager
REPORTORIAL STAFF
L. F. MISSISSAU
ORTHWEST WESTERN
RYSELY CLARK
RYSELY BELL
ROBERT SELLMAN
EWARD HACENNE
JOHN ROSNER
Entered as second-class mail matter
by the Board of Trustees of the
Lawrence, Kansas, under the act of March
Published in the afternoon, five three-quarters.
Raphael from the press of the department
Raphael.
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Phones: Bell K. U. 25; Home 1165.
address all communications to UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSHAN, LAWRENCE.
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 27, 1912.
POOR RICHARD SAYS:
He that goes a borrowing goes a sorrowing.
HALF BAKED KNOWLEDGE
One member of the Washington press has made the statement that half baked knowledge in our colleges is driving business men crazy and that professors should abandon their books for the proper study of man which is mankind.
A member of the faculty of the School of Law has just succeeded in proving that the Washington man's argument cannot hold water. In the case of The State of Kansas vs. The School Board of Lawrence, a University professor entered court against a practicing lawyer, the state attorney, and against a former member of one of his classes. And there he showed the former that he was fully capable of making a practical application of what he teaches, and he showed both that he could give them a quiz that required their best efforts to "pass."
He won his case.
If the chemical engineers who will make a five day inspection trip to the various chemical industries in the vicinities of Kansas City and St Louis, bring back a few new smells not contained in the chemistry building, their trip may be considered highly successful.
ENGINEERS' ESPRIT DE CORPS The committee in charge of the Engineers' Day has at last given up in favor of lingering winter and postponed their function for one month. The engineers have not suffered inconvenience alone, for the late wintry weather has interfered with many other University activities—chief being baseball. However, the university may be sure that, in the end, such a delay in the engineers' big day will make for a more complete and better program than could have been given on the earlier date.
The esprit de corps that is characteristic of the organization of the engineering students, the pride that the several departments have in their school and its accomplishments are influences that will make for as complete a function as it may be possible to give. The engineers are to be commended for their union among themselves. It is the sort of binding influence that gets things done, that gives added interest in the work individuals are doing and that lends a spirit of loyalty to the University.
"All this scientific talk about how to eat candy may be all right," remarked Uncle Nickelous Sulifde, "it may be all right to nibble a box of bon bons for a month with proper irrigation. But, for real fun, that can't compare with the days when mother used to make taffy over the kitchen stove and you'd stand around in the way while she buttered the plates and take turns with your brother in eating the trial tests, when she'd drop a spoonful in a cup of cold water to see if it was done cooking; when it was pulled till white and cut off in little hunks with
the scissors and you'd scramble for the pieces that flew on the floor; when everyone ate till it was either put on a high shelf in the cupboard or was all gone, and there usually was a fight for the last piece.
Word is given out by the ruler of the spring fashions that Easter bonnets will be high. Much of the braid that is used in making straw hats is furnished by China, but since in the past year the Chinese have been so busy upbraiding the Manchus, they have not had time to braid the straw.
A HOT SHOT
That which might be called a radical attitude toward the educators of the country is found in the following editorial from the Washington Post:
When the average man labels himself a scientist, it is safe to wager that he is out of touch with real life and a stranger to genuine human emotions. There is something cold and forbidding about the arctic layer of atmosphere surrounding these bulging-brown gentry which keeps them from warming by contact with the experiences of their fellow creatures.
Prof. Walter Dill Scott, of the Northwestern University, is the latest example. He arises to remark that cold feet are caused by displeasure, but not because of fear. One is displaced, the blood leaves the feet and causes one to lose courage."
The good professor should hasten to get his logic on straight. It is perfectly true that when the blood leaves the feet one loses courage, but we cannot subscribe to the theory that it is displeasure which causes this. Quite the contrary. Nor has the professor carried his investigations far enough. Cold Fear stimulate the memory to a rememable degree. A man who has been struck by lightning with nothing on his mind but stalking, and full houses, and one-card draws suddenly becomes aware that his tooties have been frost-bitten, and instantly he is a changed man. His intellect begins to work.
He remembers that he promised wife that he would be home without fail on the quarter-to-two car. When he has been laughed out of this flash of recollection, his indomitable memory crowds to the front in spite of him, and he remembers that he simply must heat the baby's bottle of milk, put out a wind the clock, and at the office an hour earlier than usual in the morning.
Half-baked knowledge in our colleges is driving business men crazy and filling all the best jobs with chaps who have had to work for a living since they left the second grade. The professors should abandon their books and devote a little time to proper study of man, which is mankind.
JUST LIKE A LEGISLATURE
The late Kansas legislature thought it was making an appropriation of $25,000 to establish a mining school at Weir City as a branch of the state University. It appears now that the law says that the state is to maintain a separate college at Weir City, with a full collegiate course.
The $25,000 appropriated is to be paid in two installments of $12,500 each. The entire amount would not make a beginning for the establishment of such a school as the law says the state shall maintain.
Weir City is in the heart of the coal mining district in Kansas, and the mining school was intended as a trade school for the purpose of teaching the young men of that vicinity how to mine coal. But under the law as drawn by the legislature the boys would be compelled to have a high school education before they could enter the mining college. The law contemplated a preparatory school in connection with the study of mining.
It is to be hoped that in some way the waste of $25,000 of the people's money can be avoided, and that the genuine trade school, proposed and needed, will be established by the next legislature—Kansas City Star.
AN EDITORIAL BY MR. AESOP
I happened that a fisher, after fishing all day, caught only a little fish. Pray, let me go, master," said the fish, "am much too small for eating just now. You put me hack into the river I shall. When you can make a fine meal off me."
"May, may, my little Fish," said the
child. "Maybe you now. I may not
catch you hereafter."
A little thing in hand is worth more than a greater thing in prospect.
THAN A SER- PENT'S TOOTH
By Sol H. Lewis
Margaret opened and closed the chapter house all afternoon.
It was a busy post. Every few minutes, the bell would sing above the bustle and Margaret would wug the great door back and dimple at the cloaked visitor.
Then Margaret's deep blue eyes would leap along with the guest as she bowed past the receiving line, moved tortuously to the tea room in the rear, and finally wound back to a seat in the parlor. The house mother, primly pouring; the girls, darting trays about nervously; and the women, talking almost too pleasantly—all were new to Margaret. For this reception to the mothers was her first formal affair, and many things about it puzzled her. The girls did not kiss their mothers on meeting, but simply clasped hands coldly. She wondered why the company did not take off their hats and coats; they only stayed for a few minutes, too.
At her own upstate home, where visitors brought their sewing and talked all afternoon, customs were very different she remembered. What a gasp there would be if Mrs. Blaine, who sat among the gay cushions as stiff and chill and white as a marble Corinthian column, should sweep into the little sitting room! Or if old Mrs. Watkins, who always talked about diseases, should flaunt her worn Astrakan cape into the polished atmosphere of the city parlor!
"You must come and visit me some time," Mrs. Blaine was saying from under her cold plumes, "and when others come, you must bring her, too."
Somebody was going, and Margaret awoke to her duty.
Her mother! Margaret had never thought of having her mother down so soon. But it would be splendid, she decided, for she could meet the girls, and there were so many things that Margaret wanted to tell her.
"It was a little different from the parties at home," she explained. "The people are different. Imagine old Mrs. Watkins telling what she did for her Tom when he had the mumps to all the rich ladies that were here this afternoon—"
That night she started a letter, and with a stroke demanded that her mother come at once. Then she told of the reception, of the guests, of the dresses, of the excitement.
Margaret's pen stumbled and stopped. Her mother wasn't unlike Grandma Watkins. Her mother was as fat and her hair, too, was as gray. But it was a beautiful gray, Margaret recalled. She could never get clothes to fit her, though. What would the girls say to her? Margaret frowned doubly over the thought that they might laugh when her mother called her "Margerie."
All that autumn, she was hurried about in the whirlpool of college life; a whirlpool which edded and seethed and roared, and rested not at all. Dances, dinners, operas crowded one upon the other, glaring high lights against the drab classroom.
Perhaps she had better not ask her down for awhile yet. Besides she was going home over Thanksgiving and would see her then.
Slowly out of the fog of the future loomed the Christmas vacation, and in Margaree's house the girls planned to celebrate and party for some of the mothers.
So Margaret tore up the letter into little pieces.
"I was foolish before," she complained to herself, "for it was an injustice to the girls to suppose they would think less of mother because she didn't wear plumes. Of course, they'll be nice."
"Mother will be glad to come," Margaret had told them. And once more she seated herself to write, this time with her teeth pressing hard together.
And with one breath, she scratched and mailed the invitation. A week of civil war dragged slowly out for Margaret; a war in which the primal woman, with batteries of natural love for the mother, fought against the new Margaret with her troops of pride. Fanned by contradictory sources, the firing never stopped. The sight of a black dress overly stout would send Margaret flushed to her room, while a trim colored one would strike as powerful a blow. But each time, a gray-haired woman with a round face would smile at Margaret from behind a gold-circled glass and send her back strengthened
"Father disgraced us again last night," giggled a blonde midget. "We were out for dinner, and when we came back, there were three forks and two spoons left over."
and ashamed—strongened until the next attack.
In the gust of laughter that whipped around the room, Margaret alone was silent.
It was at the luncheon table that the last shot was fired.
"Mother might act just the same," she winced to herself. "I don't think she'd ever manage more than a single set right. And the girls—they would talk about it later—and they laugh-I couldn't bear that. I say couldn't! But it's too late now, for she'll be here tomorrow. A letter wouldn't reach her any more—unless—unless I telegraph—"
"I couldn't do that; it would frighten her," she determiner, recalling the country community where a tangerine envelope bears with it a tang of death.
The blonde girl was continuing—"And then Dad fished for the lemon in his finger bowl and ate it—the lemon—not the bowl."
Margaret gulped hard and left the happy room.
"Party postponed," she wired; "we must study during vacation. So sorry."
In a feverish attempt to conceal the self-revulsion which crept over her at night, she thrust herself into the merriment of the holidays with forced gayety. But in the dark, no shield spread before her.
"I am ashamed of my mother; I am ashamed of my mother," she would moan over and over, and throw herself back and forth trying to cool a fever face in the pillows. Again and again she promised repa-
"I'll give up college," she cried,
"and I'll go home. I'll withdraw from the sorority and I'll go home.
I can take charge of the house and let mother rest—I'll go home."
She a troubled sleep would senser her suddenly and harry her with grotesque visions. She would walk into a college ballroom and stand thinking for a time with the lights poucing down upon her, before she discovered that she was barefooted and wore the old blue gingham apron of her country days. With the crowd sneering about her, she would attempt to run and would discover that she could not move. By some peculiar swirl, her mind would leap off in another direction with results as disastrous.
Once Margaret dreamed that her mother had died. She found herself crying in the darkened front parlor, while upstairs, she knew the body was sheeted. Gradually, she remembered that she had been ashamed of her mother—her mother who could never kiss her again. And she awoke with a fear which pressed on her heart and cried joyously, "It's only a dream! It's only a dream!"
The rebirth of college at the opening of the year, freshet-like, swept away all her pledges and left only a few floating regrets. These, too, were carried off by the brisk eddy of the semester examinations, followed by the mystery of her initiation; and there was left little time to think in the burden of dates under which the spring calendar staggered. Just before noon on an April day, the blonde wisp of a girl danced into Margaret's room.
"There's a fat old lady with a red nose and the funniest hat down-stairs," she tittered. "She called you 'Maggie.' I took her in the hall and told her you'd be down."
"A fat old lady—with a red nose—and the funniest—hat—why, that’s mother," Margaret faltered to herself. "But she hadn't written. What would the girls say? She laughed when she told me—they'd all do that—yes, they'd all do that, and perhaps, they'll joke about it afterwards. I can't keep her waiting—I wonder how long she'll stay; maybe only between trains; that'll give her till four. And we can eat lunch at the restaurant—she won't know the difference. But I must hurry—the girls will be coming."
She snapped on a hat and scurried down the stairs.
"Mother," she said breathlessly, holding out her hand as she had seen the other girls do. In quick succession, she hurled a nervous volley of questions about the vist and the people at home, together with a poor lie about the lunch.
"I was just going to the cafe," Margaret explained. "Our cook is sick; and you must come with me"
down and you must come with me"
"Down a side street, they walked,
Margaret talking continuously and
pausing at times to cast furtive
glances up and down the streets.
A brace of men she knew passed, and
"I'm so happy that you finally came, mother," she said. "I wish, though, you had come when I had more time and you could stay longer. We're having exams now—and then with the cook ill, the house is all broken up. You didn't intend to stay over night, did you, mother?"
"Why-er—no, Maggie," was the slow answer. "It was just to shop a bit that I came and to see you for a few minutes. Your pa expects me home tonight."
On the train that went north that day, a gray-haired woman rode with an empty heart. Down a very red nose, a tear moved from wet eyes, which were deep blue. For she had meant to stay a week.
They spent the afternoon together
and separated with a kiss at the depot at four.
In the sorority house, the girls were circleing the dinner table when Margaret entered.
"Well, Maggie, who was your fat friend?" a mass of yellow hair shouted.
Margaret colored.
"Why, she—she—was my old nurse," said Margaret.
Big Special Feature
GRAND FRIDAY and SATURDAY
AT THE
"UNDER BURNING SKIES." Special Release Biograph.
THE DIAMOND "S" RANCH
Bringing into play the Champion Lady Broncho Buster of the World.
PATHE'S WEEKLY—No. 7,1912 The latest release.
JOHN BUNNY—Vitagraph. Four Reels of Selected Feature Subjects.
AURORA--Always Good
"Let's see, you're away from Lawrence now?" inquired one man of another, the other day.
"Not entirely," was the reply, "Nobody who has been in Lawrence ever quite gets away from the town, you know. It is a place that one does not grow indifferent to through the intervention of mere miles or years. There's something fascinating about it—the long stretches of unbroken lawns bordering deepshaded streets, the clean, wide pavements and walks, the atmosphere of health and cheer. All this, along with the spirited commercial activities that distinguish Lawrence citizens, go to make the ideal town for a home—the town that a man may leave if circumstances require, but may never forget."
The remarks of this man express the Lawrence feeling and spirit. It's a town well worth considering as a home, as a place for educating the family, or as a place for business investment. Let us hear from you. We will try to answer questions fully, promptly, and sincerely.
The Merchants' Association Lawrence
Send the Daily Kansan Home
TRACK MEET Kansas vs. Missouri Kansas City, March 29th Santa Fe Offical Route
SUS
Team will go in a special car on train 114 at 2:22 p.m. Band and a big bunch of rooters will go in TWO special cars attached to train No. 10, leaving Lawrence at 3:51 p.m.
Prof
SPECIAL TRAIN
Returning leaves Kansas City 11:30 p. m.
Turn out, ginger up, and help K.
U. bring home Missouri's scalp.
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