UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN The official paper of the University of FORMAL VOCATION Lucie LCOHN Lecturer in-Tech Editors-in-China EARLY POTTER Professor High School Editor EARLY POTTER EDITORIAL STAFF BUSINESS STAFF REPORTORIAL STAFF E. IRELAM... Business Manager J. LEMOUR... Assistant, Business Manager APPEARANCE STATUS STANLEY PINVIRTON RICHARD GARDNER L. M FAMINE CLARK JOHN MADDER EDWARD HACKENY ROBERT SELLERS JAMES HOUGHTON Entered in second-class mail matter Lawrence, Kansas, under the act of March 1945. Published in the afternoon, five three-quarters pages, by James R. Bannas, from the press of the department Subscription price $2.00 per year, in inches. Subscription price $2.50 per year, in inches. Subscription price $1.25. Phones: Bell K. U. 25; Home 1165. Address all communications to UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN, Lawrence. TUESDAY, APRIL 16, 1912 POOR RICHARD SAYS: POOR RICHARD SAYS: Those have a short Lent who owe money to be paid at Easter. EVERYONE ENJOYS THEM One of the chief features of any college town is the theater and the character of the productions that are secured is of first importance. A high class theater in a university town is desirable in somewhat the same degree as a close-fitting "lid." The drama offers a means for a part of the student's education. Through the influence of the new theater building in Lawrence and through the efforts of the local theatrical manager, some of the best dramatic productions have been secured to play at Lawrence, where the students of the University have been able to take advantage of some of the really good things in the theatrical field. The favorable comment upon the excellent series of productions that have been played at the opera house is well deserved. The management of the theater is doing a service for Lawrence people and the patrons appreciate these efforts. The students at the University of Indiana and Purdue University are considering the organization of walking clubs, membership for which three cents and lots of determination are required. Certainly they have no Adams street hill to climb to classes, else all determination would have been gone and the fee would have been ten dollars payable to the registrar at the first of the year. KEEP THE SOPHOMORE FARCE Two years ago, the members of the sophomore class gave their first farest at the Prom for the upper classman of the University whose ranks they were about to join. At that time, the junior Prom, was the great social function of the year and had become one of the University traditions. Since the inception of the sophomore Prom, or Hopp as it is termed now, and the class face, it has become like the junior Prom one of the traditions of the classmen at the University. It has always been a social function conducted by the bona fide members of the sophomore class. Now, however, steps are being taken by the management of the farce this year to open the cast to the students of all the classes. This is an act in itself insulting to the members of the entire class and one destroying a University tradition of longer standing than any one of the members of that class. In the first place, when the sophomores first gave a Prom and farce, many people questioned the advisability of such a feature. However, since it was strictly a class affair, it was permitted to continue. Now, when the cast of the farce is thrown open to the students of all the classes, their objection will become valid again. What will be the use for such a farce that merely represents one more dramatic production of the students of the entire University and that requires their time and energy? Has it not lost all its significance as being the efforts of If the Hopp and face remain one of the traditions of the student body at the University, they must never be opened to the members of the other classes for participation in the entertainment. It must maintain its only distinctive feature. the members of the sophomore class? Moreover, the class should never permit its own management to make the accusation that not enough good material is contained within the class for the presentation of a farce. Certainly a cast may be selected from the large number that tried out, people who have talent and ability, without enlisting the aid from either of the upper classes or the freshmen. To let the manager of one force step forth and change the custom of all sophomore classes, alter a University tradition, and insult his own class, is not right. The class itself should see that "i" is not done. If one of the small number of traditions here, that have been established by such strenuous efforts, can be changed and destroyed so easily, then indeed, the work of all the other classes has been in vain. THE OUTSIDER'S VIEW In an editorial enlargement upon a statement made by President Lowell of Harvard concerning the famous "rich men" of his university, the "New York Sun" denies the existence of "rich men's colleges," and then it draws its picture of the typical undergraduate. Some of us who are one of him might see him from a different viewpoint, but we would probably not be fairer, even if treating such a personal matter. Poor old higher education is traveling a rough road nowadays always the highway of public opinion. And when the "Sun" does thus hold out for the undergraduate a ray of hope to take its place with the collection of "knocks," there is reason enough for reproducing some of the ideas: "There are snobs in colleges as there is almost every other kind of social type, but the undergraduate, bubbling with independence, and the intolerance of youth, jeers and abatimates them. Rich men as rich men have to be examined, and if they have the virtues worshipped at colleges, manliness, athletic prowess, good manners, good fellowship, skill in song or at acting or playing the violin or what not, they "pass." There is no necessary relation between poverty and scholarship. Worthy poor lunkheads occur, and we have known rich men to "lead" their class. The rich student today who prides himself on his plutocracy, fawns for social advancement or distinguishes himself by excessive dissertation or dissipation will be the loneliest man in college unless he can find a toady or two, who will be despised just a little more than he is. "They are a queer enough set of healthy young savages, the undergraduates, with their customs, prejudices, clothes and slang and ritual, including their magical chorus of "yells"; collectively they are sometimes something of a trial to the public, though individually usually modest and agreeable; morality and even religion flourish among them, many opinions to the contary notwithstanding; good form in their little republic has a mighty sanction and frowns upon vice; they loathe the pretense of goodness, but are really honorable, if occasionally a little loud; they will be ostracized otherwise; a strange tribe." -Cornell Daily Sun. Brown University dropped Michigan, West Point and Virginia from the baseball list this year and substituted Cornell, Holy Cross, and Notre Dame. AN EDITORIAL BY MR. AESOP It happened that a Fox caught its tail in a trap, and in struggling to release himself lost all of it but the stump. At first he was ashamed to show himself among his fellow foxes. He then stood on the wall, bolder face upon his misfortune, and summoned the foxes to a general meeting to consider a proposal which he had to place before them. When they had assembled together the Fox, who had been standing tall with their tails. He pointed out how inconvenient a tail was when they were pursued by their enemies, the dogs; how much it was in the way when they wanted to sit down and hold up the fence, which will陪 other. He failed to see any advantage in carrying about such a useless encumbrance. "That is all very well," said one of the older foxes; "but I do not think you would have recombinated your armourment if you had not happened to lose it yourself." Distrust interested advice. EDITOR'S NOTE-Apropos of the investigation that has been ordered by the Pope at Rome into the untimely report of his death when he was very much alive, print Monsieur D'Andreau's short-story entitled "The Pope Is Dead." The rumor started in 1930 and in less than an hour the news was flashed over the world that Plus X had died. THE POPE IS DEAD PASSED my childhood in a large provincial town cut in two by a much trawled, very restless river, where I early acquired a taste for wandering and a passion for life on the water. There was especially a corner of a certain wharf near a foot-bridge called St. Vincent, of which I never think, even today, without emotion. I see again the sign nailed to the end of a yard: Cornet, boats to let; the little ladder going down into the water, slippery and blackened with moisture; the fleet of little boats, freshly painted in bright colours, lying in a line at the foot of the ladder, swaying softly from side to side, as if made buoyant by their pretty names painted in white letters on their stern: The Hummingbird, The Swallow, and so forth. And then, among the long oars gleaming with white lead, which were drying against the bank, Father Cornet walking about with his pail of paint, his long brushes, his tanned, furrowed, wrinkled face, with a thousand little dimples, like the river on an evening when the wind is fresh! Oh! that Father Cornet! He was the Satan of my existence, my sorrowful passion, my sin, and my remorse. What crimes he has caused me to commit, with his boats! I stayed away from school, I sold my books. What would I not have sold for an afternoon of boating! With all my books in the bottom of the boat, my jacket off, my hat thrown back, and the pleasant, fanlike breeze from the river in my hair. Suddenly the wheels of a steamer would beat the water near me; or else a heavy shadow would fall upon me; the foresail of an apple-boat. I ling tightly to my oars, drawing my eyebrows together to give myself the aspect of an old sea-wolf. As long as I was in the town, I kept to the middle of the river, at an equal distance from both banks, where the old sea-wolf might have been recognised. What a triumph, to mingle with that great procession of boats, of rafts, of logs, of steamboats which glided by, skilfully avoiding one another, separated only by a narrow streak of foam! There were heavy boats, which turned in order to make the most of the current, and thereby displaced a multitude of others. "Out of the way, you little brat!" a hoarse voice would shout; and I would struggle and sweat, entangled in the caeseless going and coming of that life of the stream, which the life of streets constantly crossed, on those bridges and foot-bridges which cast reflections of omnibuses under the strokes of the oars. Among the current that was so strong under the arches; and the eddies, the famous hole of La Mort-qi-trompe! I tell you that it was no small matter to guide one's self through that, with arms of twelve years and no one to hold the tiller. Sometimes I had the luck to meet the chain there. I would quickly hook on at the end of those long lines of boats which it was towing, and with my oars idle, reaching out like soaring wings, I would let myself go with that silent swiftness which cut the river in long ribbons of foam, and made the trees on both banks and the houses on the quay hurry by. Before me, far, very, verbose boating of the screw, a dog barking on one of the tow-boats, where a thin thread of smoke rose from a low funnel; and all that gave me the illusion of a long voyage, of real life on board ship. Unluckily, these meetings with the chain were rare. Generally I had to row, and in row in the hours when the sun was hottest. Oh, that noonday sun falling perpendicularly upon the river! It seems to me that it burns me now. Everything glared and glistened. Through that blinding and sonorous atmosphere, which hovers over the waves and vibrates with their every movement, the short strokes of my oars, the tow-lines rising from the water all dripping, would cause vivid flashes of polished silver to pass. And I would row with my eyes closed. At times, on account of the vignour of my efforts and the rush of the water under my boat, I imagined that. I was going very fast; but on raising my head, I always saw the same tree, the same wall opposite me on the bank. At last, by tyring myself out, I would succeed in leaving the city, all dripping and flushed with heat. The uproar of the cold baths, of the laudress' boats, of the land-floats, diminished. The bridges stretched across the broadening river here and there. Suburban gardens, a factory chimney, were reflected in the water at intervals. Green islands trembled on the horizon. Then, unable to row any more, I would draw up against the bank, amid the reeds all buzzing with life; and there, overcome by the sun, fatigue, and the heavy heat that rose from the water studded with great yellow flowers, the old sea-wolf would bleed at the nose for hours at a time. My voyages never had any other end. But what would you have? I called that delightful. But the terrible part was the return to the town and home. I vain would I row back with all my strength; I always arrived too late, long after the school was dismissed. The impression of the falling night, the first jets of gas in the fog, all augmented my fear and my remorse. The people who passed, returning tranquilly to their homes, aroused with excitement along with an aching head, full of amusement and water, with the roaring of shells in my ears, and on my face the blush for the lie that I was going to tell. For I had to tell one every time, to meet that terrible "Where have you been?" which awaited me at the door. It was that question on my arrival that frightened me most. I had to reply on the spot, on my feet; always to have a story ready, something to say, and something so surprising, so impressive, that the surprise cut short all the questioning. That gave me time to go in and to take breath; and to attain that end, nothing cost too much. I invented terrible tales; revolutions, a whole quarter of the town on fire, the railway bridge fallen into the river. But the worst thing that I invented was this: That evening I arrived home very late. My mother, who had been expecting me for an hour, was stand-ing at the top of the stairs watching 'or me. "Where have you been?" she cried. Tell me what deviltry a child's head may not hold. I had thought of nothing, prepared nothing. I had come too fast. Suddenly a wild idea passed through my head. I knew how hard it was very pious, as fevered a Catholic she and I answered in the breathlessness of intense emotion: "O mamma! If you knew!" "The Pope is dead." "The Pope is dead!" exclaimed my poor mother, and she leaned against the wall, as pale as death. I hurried into my room, a little frightened by my success and the enormity of the lie. But I had the courage to maintain it to the end. I remember a dismal but pleasant evening; my father very serious, my mother crushed. They talked in undertones at the table. I lowered by eyes, but my escapade was so entirely buried in the general desolation that no one thought about it. They vied with one another in citing some instance of the virtue of poor Pius IX; then, little by little, the conversation strayed back through the history of the popes. Aunt Rose spoke of Pius VII, whom she remembered very well to have seen in the south, in a post-chiase, betweengendarmes. Somebody recalled the famour scene with the Emperor; Comediante! tragediate! It was fully the hundredth time that I heard that terrible scene described, always with the same intonations, the same gestures, and the stereotyped formula of family traditions which one generation bequests to another, and which never change, as childish and as purely local as convent stories. I listened with hypocritical sighs, frequent questions, an assumed air of interest, and all the time I was saving to myself: However, it had never seemed so interesting to me. "Tomorrow morning, when they learn that the Pope is not dead, they will be so glad that no one will have the courage to scold me." Thinking thus, my eyes closed in spite of myself, and I had visions of little boats painted blue, with little corners of the Saone made drowsy by the heat, and long claws of water-spiders darting in every direction and cutting the glassy river like diamond-points. The engineering students of the University of Nebraska have placed on exhibition a love-knot tied in structural steel, 12 feet long and $1 \frac{1}{2}$ inches in diameter. Prof. Charles E. Merriam will be the Convocational orator at the graduating exercises of the University of Nebraska in June. His subject will be "The Professor in Politics." INTRODUCING OUR NEW GOLF GOODS THE largest assortment of high grade clubs, bags and balls ever seen in the town----two lines to choose from----Spalding and McGregory. Do not select your club before inspecting this new merchandise at this exclusive athletic store. Have you seen "Foozle," the golfer's mascot? He's in town and visiting here. SMITH'S NEWS DEPOT CARROLL'S Phones 608. 709 Mass. Street If a river has feelings and is human enough to dislike work, the Kansas river has no friendly regard for J. D. Bowersock of Lawrence. It was Mr. Bowersock who put the Kaw on the job of turning out light and power for Lawrence and her industries. His is the only power plant on the river. In considering Lawrence as a location for business, look into its advantages in the matter of power. Everybody knows what waterpower means to a town. Lawrence is a flourishing example of the benefits that flow from a big river hooked up to a big dam and a power plant. The Merchants' Association Lawrence A. G. ALRICH Binding Copper Plate Printing rubber Stamps PRINTING Engraving Steel Die Embossing Seal Badge Home 478, Bell 288. "The House of Quality." 744 MASS. STREET KODAKS Kodak Supplies. Raymond's Drug]Store Fancy Perfumes. AND Shoe Shop 1023 Massachusetts St. Protsch Suits ED ANDERSON RESTAURANT Oysters in all styles vsters in all styles Take 'em down to OVERGAGE Household Handled Moving FRANCISCO & CO. Boarding and Livery. Auto and Hacks. Open Day and Night Carriage Painting and Trimming. Phones 139 808-812-814 Vermont St. Lawrence, Kansas. Fancy Groceries R. B. WAGSTAFF DC College Where all the students go. Barber At the foot of the hill. Shop ED. W. PARSONS, Engraver, Watchmaker and Jeweler, 717 Mass. Street Lawrence, Kan A Fine Line of SPRINGSUITINGS KOCH THE TAILOR. HARRY REDING, M. D., EYE, EARS, NOSE, THROAT GLASSES FITTED F. A. A. BUILDING Phones—Bell 513; Home 512 LAWRENGE Business College Lawrence, Kansas Write for our beautiful illustrated catalog of books, stories and classics. In a school room bookshop, shows students at work, and as small售书处 for a good position. And as business college lecturer. Writ- Lawrence Business College, Lawrence, K