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THE MAROON TIGER
Page 9
WHAT RADIO DOES TO WONDERFUL
CONSELLAR HILL
It was 10:55 P. M. Wonderful Consellar Hill and I
were in Harper Bryan’s room listening to his radio.
Rudy Vallee and his orchestra were playing “Poor But
terfly.” Wonderful, putting aside his Bible, yawned
and said: “Well. I am tired and sleepy; I think I will
hit the hay.” He rose and walked sluggishly out of
the door. As he shut the door behind him he mur
mured, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” In about three minutes
after Wonderful had gone ,1 heard, over the radio, an
orchestra playing a song with that jungle-like rhythm;
the rumble-tumble beat of the tom-tom. At this time
the announcer began announcing Cab Callaway and his
Cotton Club Orchestra. Hearing the wild cry of Cab’s
hi-de-hi-de-ho, Wonderful dashed madly down the hall,
and knocked loudly upon Harper’s door. When the
door was opened, Wonderful came slowly into the room
“snakehipping” (imitating Cab Callaway). He was
full of life. When Cab Callaway signed off, Wonderful
also signed off—he went to bed. The effect the radio has
on Wonderful is directly propositional to the type of
program he hears. Give him grand opera or classical
music, and he is a subtle, sublime individual. Give him
jazz, and he is life and personality personified.
—William Hayden.
SCIENCE
C. E. Ray
Why you couldn’t hear anything if you lived on the
moon:
In the first place, you never could live on the moon,
even if you could manage to get there, because there is
no atmosphere, and without oxygen, as you know,
you could not live more than a few minutes. But sup
pose you and a friend did get to the moon and started
to talk with each other. You would open your mouth
and say, perhaps, “How do you feel after your long
trip, Bill?” Now Bill would see your mouth open but
he would hear nothing, and he might say, “What did
you say, Tom?” Then it would be your turn to see
Bill’s mouth open, and hear nothing. Then you would
both probably say to yourselves, “Why, I must be deaf
and dumb; I can’t either speak or hear.”
Why is it that you and your friend could not talk to
each other on the moon? You probably do not suspect
when you are talking every day that if it were not for the
air around you, you could neither make anyone else hear
nor could you hear anything yourself. Sound is made
when a series of air waves set up. When you talk the
larynx in your throat and your palate start vibrations
that spread all around you through the air and reach
the eardrums of those listening. It is because there is
no air on the moon to marry these sound waves that
you were unable to hear your friend Bill when he talked
to you up there on the moon.
Customer—I hear my son has owed you for a suit
for three years.
Tailor—Yes, sir; have you called to settle the ac
count?
Customer—No; I’d like a suit myself on the same
terms.
“Isn’t it remarkable how Alice keeps her age?”
“Yes, she hasn’t changed it for ten years.”
THE PRAYER OF AN IDIOT
Dear Lord and Father of us all:
Lacking wisdom and foresight, and needing the sober
ing of some sane power, I have come to Thee. All my
life I have sought vanely in an attempt to discover Thee,
define Thee, and learn what Thou wouldst prescribe as
a true mode of life. Thy servants here who make a
business of preaching what they claim is Thy Word have
so twisted things with complicated theology and manu
factured authority that Thy “Word” has become the ques
tionable instrument for proving whatever parasites might
conspire for the betterment of their own ends. Further
more, they are an exceedingly sorry lot who do not even
agree with each other, and who by their conduct reveal
the very antithesis of the belief they profess. I thank
Thee for the amusement they afford me on some occa
sions, although I have no words of praise for the bore
dom they create on other occasions. They are a smart
lot who tell me that Thou art that which is close enough
to us, Thy servants, to comfort and inspire us, but far
enough away from us to allow us to be ourselves. How
ever, in giving their definition they forgot to say further
that by such a definition Thou art ambiguous to be mean
ingless and equivocal enough to be confusing. I am
happy, Lord, in finding a satisfactory explanation to
account for the fact that Thou art unseen. The explana
tion is very simple. If I had been all-powerful enough
create a world, put people on it, and then allow the
Devil, my own creation, to get among the people who
were my own creation, and forthwith condemn the people
who had no power other than what I had given them
because they were sinful enough to worship the Devil—
the rest is quite obvious, Lord, and, as I set out to say,
if I had made such a mess of my business, I should
not desire to be seen either. It is a pity Thou madest
such a bungle in handing down such precious doctrine
in so confusing and questionable an instrument as the
Bible, bearing all the earmarks of human weakness and
inconsistency, and which is so incredibly incompatible
with the amazing consistent Science of Thy own creation
that one is forced to believe the doctrines to be forged
instruments of those bent upon exploiting gullible peo
ple, or of those whose imagination has played them a
clever trick.
I would beg assistance for a neighbor. This faithful
servant has apparently taken too literally the command
to “be fruitful and multiply,” for the unfortunate man
is trying his hardest to offset the declining population
of America. Didst Thou intend it to be one man’s job
to replenish the earth? Please send him bread, and
drop a bug in his ear.
Forgive my apparent impudence. I have no desire to
burlesque the truth but rather the imitation of it. Since
Thou knowest ail thoughts, it would be useless to at
tempt to conceal what I cannot avoid thinking.
Finally, for life, health, and prohibition repeal, I give
Thee thanks.
Your humble servant,
Deacon Bailey.
I almost forgot.—We could use a few tennis court*.