NEWSREEL XXX 1 страница

MONSTER GUNS REMOVED?

Longhaired preachers come out every night
Try to tell you what's wrong and what's right
But when asked about something to eat
They will answer in accents so sweet

PRESIDENT HAS SLIGHT COLD AT SEA

Special Chef and Staff of Waiters and Kitchen Helpers
Drafted from the Biltmore

Every Comfort Provided

Orchestra to Play During Meals and Navy Yard Band
to Play for Deck Music

You will eat bye and bye
In that glorious land above the sky

the city presents a picture of the wildest destruction espe-
cially around the General Post Office which had been totally
destroyed by fire, nothing but ruins remaining

Work and pray
Live on hay

Three Truckloads of Records Gathered Here

eleven men were killed and twentythree injured, some
of them seriously as the result of an explosion of fulminate of
mercury in the priming unit of one of the cap works of the
E. I. duPont de Nemours Powder Company; in the evening
Mrs. Wilson released carrier pigeons . . . and through it all
how fine the spirit of the nation was, what unity of purpose
what untiring zeal what elevation of purpose ran through all
its splendid display of strength, its untiring accomplishment.
I have said that those of us who stayed at home to do the work
of organization and supply would always wish we had been
with the men we sustained by our labor, but we can never be
ashamed . . . in the dining room music was furnished by a
quartet of sailors

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You'll get pie
In the sky
When you die

GORGAS WOULD PUT SOLDIERS IN HUTS

800 FIGHTING MEN CHEER BOLSHEVIKI

All the arrangements were well ordered but the crowd
was kept at a distance. The people gathered on the hills near
the pier raised a great shout when the president's launch
steamed up. A detour was made from the Champs Elysees to
cross the Seine over the Alexander III bridge which recalled
another historic pageant when Paris outdid herself to honor
an absolute ruler in the person of the czar.

ADDRESSED 1400 MAYORS FROM PALACE BALCONY

BRITISH NAVY TO BE SUPREME DECLARES
CHURCHILL

THE CAMERA EYE (37)

alphabetically according to rank tapped out with two
cold index fingers on the company Corona Allots Class
A & B Ins prem C & D

Atten -- SHUN snap to the hooks and eyes at my
throat constricting the adamsapple bringing together the
US and the Caduceus

At Ease

outside they're, drilling in the purple drizzle of a
winter afternoon in Ferrièes en Gatinais, Abbaye founded
by Clovis over the skeletons of three disciples of nôtre

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seigneur Jésus-Christ 3rd Lib Loan Sec of Treas Altian
Politian and Hermatian 4th Lib Loan Sec of Treas must
be on CL E or other form Q.M.C. 3⁸ now it's raining
hard and the gutters gurgle there's tinkling from all the
little glassgreen streams Alcuin was prior once and mill-
wheels grind behind the mossed stone walls and Clodhilde
and Clodomir were buried here

promotions only marked under gains drowsily clacked
out on the rusteaten Corona in the cantonment of O'Riel-
ly's Travelling Circus alone except for the undertaker sol-
diering in his bunk and the dry hack of the guy that has
TB that the MO was never sober enough to examine

Iodine will make you happy
Iodine will make you well

fourthirty the pass comes alive among the CC pills in
my pocket

the acting QM Sarge and the Topkicker go out
through the gate of USAAS base camp in their slickers in
the lamplit rain and make their way without a cent in their
OD to the Cheval Blanc where by chevrons and parleyvoo-
ing they bum drinks and omelettes avec pornmes frites and
kid applecheeked Madeleine may wee

in the dark hallway to the back room the boys are
lined up waiting to get in to the girl in black from out of
town to drop ten francs and hurry to the propho station
sol viol sk not L D viol Go 41/14 rd sent S C M

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outside it's raining on the cobbled town inside we
drink vin rouge parlezvous froglegs may wee couchez avec
and the old territorial at the next table drinks illegal
pernod and remarks Toute est bien fait dans la nature à

la votre aux Americains
Après la guerre finee
Back to the States for me

Dans la mort il n'y a rien de terrible Quant on va
mourir on pense à tout mais vite

the first day in the year dismissed after rollcall I went
walking with a fellow from Philadelphia along the purple
wintryrutted roads under the purple embroidery of the
pleached trees full of rooks cackling overhead over the
ruddier hills to a village we're going to walk a long way
get good wine full of Merovingian names millwheels
glassgreen streams where the water gurgles out of old
stone gargoyles Madeleine's red apples the smell of beech
leaves we're going to drink wine the boy from Philadel-
phia's got beaucoup jack wintry purpler wine the sun
breaks out through the clouds on the first day in the year

in the first village
we stop in our tracks
to look at a waxwork

the old man has shot the pretty peasant girl who looks
like Madeleine but younger she lies there shot in the left
breast in the blood in the ruts of the road pretty and plump
as a little quail

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The old man then took off one shoe and put the
shotgun under his chin pulled the trigger with his toe and
blew the top of his head off we stand looking at the bare
foot and the shoe and the foot in the shoe and the shot
girl and the old man with a gunnysack over his head and
the dirty bare toe he pulled the trigger with Faut pas
toucher until the commissaire comes proce's verbale

on this first day
of the year the sun
is shining

NEWSREEL XXXI

washing and dressing hastily they came to the ground
floor at the brusque call of the commissaries, being assembled
in one of the rear rooms in the basement of the house. Here
they were lined up in a semicircle along the wall, the young
grandduchesses trembling at the unusual nature of the orders
given and at the gloomy hour. They more than suspected the
errand upon which the commissaries had come. Addressing
the czar, Yarodsky, without the least attempt to soften his
announcement, stated that they must all die and at once. The
revolution was in danger, he stated, and the fact that there
were still the members of the reigning house living added to
that danger. Therefore to remove them was the duty of all
Russian patriots. "Thus your life is ended," he said in con,
clusion.

"I am ready," was the simple announcement of the czar,
while the czarina, clinging to him, loosed her hold long
enough to make the sign of the cross, an example followed by
the grandducbess Olga and by Dr. Botkin.

The czarevitch, paralyzed with fear, stood in stupefac-
tion beside his mother, uttering no sound either in supplication

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or protest, while his three sisters and the other grandduchesses
sank to the floor trembling.

Yarodsky drew his revolver and fired the first shot. A
volley followed and the prisoners reeled to the ground. Where
the bullets failed to find their mark the bayonet put the finish-
ing touches. The mingled blood of the victims not only cov-
ered the floor of the room where the execution took place but
ran in streams along the hallway

DAUGHTER

The Trents lived in a house on Pleasant avenue that was
the finest street in Dallas that was the biggest and fastest
growing town in Texas that was the biggest state in the
Union and had the blackest soil and the whitest people and
America was the greatest country in the world and Daugh-
ter was Dad's onlyest sweetest little girl. Her real name
was Anne Elizabeth Trent after poor dear mother who
had died when she was a little tiny girl but Dad and the
boys called her Daughter. Buddy's real name was William
Delaney Trent like Dad who was a prominent attorney,
and Buster's real name was Spencer Anderson Trent.

Winters they went to school and summers they ran wild
on the ranch that grandfather had taken up as a pioneer.
When they'd been very little there hadn't been any fences
yet and still a few maverick steers out along the creekbot-
toms, but by the time Daughter was in highschool every-
thing was fenced and they were building a macadam road
out from Dallas and Dad went everywhere in the Ford in-
stead of on his fine Arab stallion Mullah he'd been given
by a stockman at the Fat Stock Show in Waco when the
stockman had gone broke and hadn't been able to pay his
lawyer's fee. Daughter had a creamcolored pony named
Coffee who'd nod his head and paw with his hoof when he
wanted a lump of sugar, but some of the girls she knew

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had cars and Daughter and the boys kept after Dad to buy
a car, a real car instead of that miserable old flivver he
drove around the ranch.

When Dad bought a Pierce Arrow touring car the spring
Daughter graduated from highschool, she was the happiest
girl in the world. Sitting at the wheel in a fluffy white
dress the morning of Commencement outside the house
waiting for Dad, who had just come out from the office and
was changing his clothes, she had thought how much she'd
like to be able to see herself sitting there in the not too hot
June morning in the lustrous black shiny car among the
shiny brass and nickel fixtures under the shiny paleblue big
Texas sky in the middle of the big flat rich Texas country
that ran for two hundred miles in every direction. She
could see half her face in the little oval mirror on the mud-
guard. It looked red and sunburned under her sandybrown
hair. If she only had red hair and a skin white like butter-
milk like Susan Gillespie had, she was wishing when she
saw Joe Washburn coming along the street dark and seri-
ouslooking under his panama hat. She fixed her face in a
shy kind of smile just in time to have him say, "How
lovely you look, Daughter, you must excuse ma sayin' so."
"I'm just waiting for Dad and the boys to go to the exer-
cises. O Joe, we're late and I'm so excited. . . . I feel like
a sight."

"Well, have a good time." He walked on unhurriedly
putting his hat back on his head as he went. Something
hotter than the June sunshine had come out of Joe's very
dark eyes and run in a blush over her face and down the
back of her neck under her thin dress and down the middle
of her bosom, where the little breasts that she tried never
to think of were just beginning to be noticeable. At last
Dad and the boys came out all looking blonde and dressed
up and sunburned. Dad made her sit in the back seat with
Bud who sat up stiff as a poker.

The big wind that had come up drove grit in their faces.

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After she caught sight of the brick buildings of the high-
school and the crowd and the light dresses and the stands
and the big flag with the stripes all wiggling against the
sky she got so excited she never remembered anything that
happened.

That night, wearing her first evening dress at the dance
she came to in the feeling of tulle and powder and crowds,
boys all stiff and scared in their dark coats, girls pack-
ing into the dressing room to look at each other's dresses.
She never said a word while she was dancing, just smiled
and held her head a little to one side and hoped some-
body would cut in. Half the time she didn't know who
she was dancing with, just moved smiling in a cloud of
pink tulle and colored lights; boys' faces bobbed in front
of her, tried to say smarty ladykillerish things or else were
shy and tonguetied, different colored faces on top of the
same stiff bodies. Honestly she was surprised when Susan
Gillespie came up to her when they were getting their
wraps to go home and giggled, "My dear, you were the
belle of the ball." When Bud and Buster said so next
morning and old black Emma who'd'brought them all up
after mother died came in from the kitchen and said,
"Lawsy, Miss Annie, folks is talkin' all over town about
how you was the belle of the ball last night," she felt her-
self blushing happily all over. Emma said she'd heard-it
from, that noaccount yaller man on the milk route whose
aunt worked at Mrs. Washburn's, then she set down the
popovers and went out with a grin as wide as a piano.
"Well, Daughter," said Dad in his deep quiet voice, tap-
ping the top of her hand, "I thought so myself but I
thought maybe I was prejudiced."

During the summer Joe Washburn, who'd just gradu-
ated from law school at Austin and who was going into
Dad's office in the fall, came and spent two weeks with
them on the ranch. Daughter was just horrid to him, made
old Hildreth give him a mean little old oneeyed pony to

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ride, put homed toads in his cot, would hand him hot
chile sauce instead of catsup at table or try to get him to
put salt instead of sugar in his coffee. The boys got so off
her they wouldn't speak to her and Dad said she was get-
ting to be a regular tomboy, but she couldn't seem to stop
acting like she did.

Then one day they all rode over to eat supper on Clear
Creek and went swimming by moonlight in the deep
hole there was under the bluff. Daughter got a crazy
streak in her after a while and ran up and said she was
going to dive from the edge of the bluff. The water looked
so good and the moon floated shivering on top. They all
yelled at her not to do it but she made a dandy dive right
from the edge. But something was the matter. She'd hit
her head, it hurt terribly. She was swallowing water, she
was fighting a great weight that was pressing down on her,
that was Joe. The moonlight flowed out in a swirl leaving
it all black, only she had her arms around Joe's neck, her
fingers were tightening around the ribbed muscles of his
arms. She came to with his face looking into hers and the
moon up in the sky again and warm stuff pouring over her
forehead. She was trying to say, "Joe, I wanto, Joe, I
wanto," but it all drained away into warm sticky black
again, only she caught his voice deep, deep . . . "pretty
near had me drowned too . . ." and Dad sharp and angry
like in court, "I told her she oughtn't to dive off there."

She came to herself again in bed with her head hurting
horribly and Dr. Winslow there, and the first thing she
thought was where was Joe and had she acted like a little
silly telling him she was crazy about him? But nobody said
anything about it and they were all awful nice to her ex-
cept that Dad came, still talking with his angry courtroom
voice, and lectured her for being foolhardy and a tomboy
and having almost cost Joe his life by the stranglehold she
had on him when they'd pulled them both out of the
water. She had a fractured skull and had 'to be in bed all

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summer and Joe was awful nice though he looked at her
kinder funny out of his sharp black eyes the first time he
came in her room. As long as he stayed on the ranch he
came to read to her after lunch. He read her all of Lorna
Doone and half of Nicholas Nickleby and she lay there in
bed, hot and cosy in her fever, feeling the rumble of his
deep voice through the pain in her head and fighting all
the time inside not to cry out like a little silly that she was
crazy about him and why didn't he like her just a little bit.
When he'd gone it wasn't any fun being sick any more.
Dad or Bud came and read to her sometimes but most of
the time she liked better reading to herself. She read all
of Dickens, Lorna Doone twice, and Poole The Harbor;
that made her want to go to New York.

Next fall Dad took her north for a year in a finishing
school in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. She was excited on the
trip up on the train and loved every minute of it, but Miss
Tynge's was horrid and the girls were all northern girls
and so mean and made fun of her clothes and talked about
nothing but Newport, and Southampton, and matinée idols
she'd never seen; she hated it. She cried every night,after
she'd gone to bed thinking how she hated the school and
how Joe Washburn would never like her now. When
Christmas vacation came and she had to stay on with the
two Miss Tynges and some of the teachers who lived too
far away to go home either, she just decided she wouldn't
stand it any longer and one morning before anybody was
up she got out of the house, walked down to the station,
bought herself a ticket to Washington, and got on the first
westbound train with nothing but a toothbrush and a night-
gown in her handbag. She was scared all alone on the train
at first but such a nice young Virginian who was a West
Point Cadet got on at Havre de Grace where she had to
change; they had the time of their lives together laughing
and talking. In Washington he asked permission to be her
escort in the nicest way and took her all around, to see the

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Capitol and the White House and the Smithsonian Insti-
tute and set her up to lunch at the New Willard and put
her on the train for St. Louis that night. His name was
Paul English. She promised she'd write him every day
of her life. She was so excited she couldn't sleep lying in
her berth looking out of the window of the pullman at the
trees and the circling hills all in the faint glow of snow
and now and then lights speeding by; she could remember
exactly how he looked and how his hair was parted and
the long confident grip of his hand when they said goodby.
She'd been a little nervous at first, but they'd been like old
friends right from the beginning and held been so cour-
teous and gentlemanly. He'd been her first pickup.

When she walked in on Dad and the boys at breakfast
a sunny winter morning two days later, my, weren't they
surprised; Dad tried to scold her, but Daughter could see
that he was as pleased as she was. Anyway, she didn't care,
it was so good to be home.

After Christmas she and Dad and the boys went for a
week's hunting down near Corpus Christi and had the time
of their lives and Daughter shot her first deer. When they
got back to Dallas Daughter said she wasn't going back to
be finished but that what she would like to do was go up
to New York to stay with Ada Washburn, who was study-
ing at Columbia, and to take courses where she'd really
learn something. Ada was Joe Washburn's sister, an old
maid but bright as a dollar and was working for her Ph.D
in Education. It took a lot of arguing because Dad had set
his heart on having Daughter go to a finishing school but
she finally convinced him and was off again to New York.

She was reading Les Misérables all the way up on the
train and looking out at the greyishbrownish winter land-
scape that didn't seem to have any life to it after she left
the broad hills of Texas, pale green with winter wheat and
alfalfa, feeling more and more excited and scared as hour
by hour she got nearer New York. There was a stout

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motherly woman who'd lost her husband who got on the
train at Little Rock and wouldn't stop talking about the
dangers and pitfalls that beset a young woman's path in
big cities. She kept such a strict watch on Daughter that
she never got a chance to talk to the interesting looking
young man with the intense black eyes who boarded the
train at St. Louis and kept going over papers of some kind
he had in a brown briefcase. She thought he looked a little
like Joe Washburn. At last when they were crossing New
Jersey and there got to be more and more factories and
grimy industrial towns, Daughter's heart got to beating so
fast she couldn't sit still but kept having to go out and
stamp around in the cold raw air of the vestibule. The fat
greyheaded conductor asked her with a teasing laugh if
her beau was going to be down at the station to meet her,
she seemed so anxious to get in. They were going through
Newark then. Only one more stop. The sky was lead color
over wet streets full of automobiles and a drizzly rain was
pitting the patches of snow with grey. The train began to
cross wide desolate saltmarshes, here and there broken by
an uneven group of factory structures or a black river with
steamboats on it. There didn't seem to be any people; it
looked so cold over those marshes Daughter felt scared
and lonely just looking at them and wished she was home.
Then suddenly the train was in a tunnel, and the porter
was piling all the bags in the front end of the car. She got
into the fur coat Dad had bought her as a Christmas pres-
ent and pulled her gloves on over her hands cold with
excitement for fear that maybe Ada Washburn hadn't got-
ten her telegram or hadn't been able to come down to meet
her.

But there she was on the platform in noseglasses and
raincoat looking as oldmaidish as ever and a slightly
younger girl with her who turned out to be from Waco
and studying art. They had a long ride in a taxi up crowded
streets full of slush with yellow and grey snowpiles along

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the sidewalks. "If, you'd have been here a week ago, Anne
Elizabeth, I declare you'd have seen a real blizzard."

"I used to think snow was like on Christmas cards," said
Esther Wilson who was an interestinglooking girl with
black eyes and a long face and a deep kind of tragicsound-
ing voice. "But it was just an illusion like a lot of things."
" New York's no place for illusions," said Ada sharply. "It
all looks kinder like a illusion to me," said Daughter, look-
ing out of the window of the taxicab.

Ada and Esther had a lovely big apartment on Univer-
sity Heights where they had fixed up the dining room as
a bedroom for Daughter. She didn't like New York but it
was exciting; everything was grey and grimy and the
people all seemed to be foreigners and nobody paid any
attention to you except now and then a man tried to pick
you up on the street or brushed up against you in the sub-
way which was disgusting. She was signed up as a special
student and went to lectures about Economics and English
Literature and Art and talked a little occasionally with
some boy who happened to be sitting next to her, but she
was so much younger than anybody she met and she didn't
seem to have the right line of talk to interest them. It was
fun going to matinées with Ada sometimes or riding down
all bundled up on top of the bus to go to the art-museum
with Esther on Sunday afternoons, but they were both of
them so staid and grown up and all the time getting
shocked by things she said and did.

hen Paul English called up and asked her to go to a
matiné with him one Saturday, she was very thrilled.
They'd written a few letters back and forth but they hadn't
seen each other since Washington. She was all morning
putting on first one dress and then the other, trying out
different ways of doing her hair and was still taking a hot
bath when he called for her so that Ada had to entertain
him for the longest time. When she saw him all her thrill
dribbled away, he looked so stiff and stuckup in his dress

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uniform. First thing she knew she was kidding him, and
acting silly going downtown in the subway so that by the
time they got to the Astor where he took her to lunch, he
looked sore as a pup. She left him at the table and went
to the ladies' room to see if she couldn't get her hair to look
a little better than it did and got to talking with an elderly
Jewish lady in diamonds who'd lost her pocketbook, and
when she got back the lunch was standing cold on the
table and Paul English was looking at his wristwatch un-
easily. She didn't like the play and he tried to get fresh in
the taxicab driving up Riverside Drive although it was still
broad daylight, and she slapped his face. He said she was
the meanest girl he'd ever met and she said she liked
being mean and if he didn't like it he knew what he could
do. Before that she'd made up her mind that she'd crossed
him off her list.

She went in her room and cried and wouldn't take any
supper. She felt real miserable having Paul English turn
out a pill like that. It was lonely not having anybody to
take her out and no chance of meeting anybody because she
had to go everywhere with those old maids. She lay on
her back on the floor looking at the furniture from under-
neath like when she'd been little and thinking of , Joe
Washburn. Ada came in and found her in the silliest posi-
tion lying on the floor with her legs in the air; she jumped
up and kissed her all over her face and hugged her and
said she'd been a little idiot but it was all over now and
was there anything to eat in the icebox.

When she met Edwin Vinal at one of Ada's Sunday eve-
ning parties that she didn't usually come out to on account
of people sitting around so prim and talking so solemn and
deep over their cocoa and cupcakes, it made everything dif-
ferent and she began to like New York. He was a scrawny
kind of young fellow who was taking courses in sociology.
He sat on a stiff chair with his cocoacup balanced uncom-
fortably in his hand and didn't seem to know where to put

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his legs. He didn't say anything all evening but just as he
was going, he picked up something Ada said about values
and began to talk a blue streak, quoting all the time from
a man named Veblen. Daughter felt kind of attracted to
him and asked who Veblen was, and he began to talk to
her. She wasn't up on what he was talking about but it
made her feel lively inside to have him talking right to her
like that. He had light hair and black eyebrows and lashes
around very pale grey eyes with little gold specks in them.
She liked his awkward lanky way of moving around. Next
evening he came to see her and brought her a volume of
the Theory of the Leisure Class and asked her if she didn't
want to go skating with him at the St. Nicholas rink. She
went in her room to get ready and began to dawdle around
powdering her face and looking at herself in the glass.
"Hey, Anne, for gosh sakes, we haven't got all night," he
yelled through the door. She had never had iceskates on
her feet before, but she knew how to rollerskate, so with
Edwin holding her arm she was able to get around the big
hall with its band playing and all the tiers of lights and
faces around the balcony. She had more fun than she'd had
any time since she left home.