Etaolin Shrdlu

During the past week your correspondent has been going around with a weather eye cocked at the horizon, repentance in his heart, and a sudden feeling of friendliness to all citizens in general.

Your correspondent even went so far as to attend church last Sabbath evening, the first time your correspondent had been in a house of worship during the evening session for well nigh three years, the last time taking the part of a burlap-clothed shepard in a religious pageant. The incident will always stand out in your correspondent's mind because business had been slightly slow and your correspondent had to exert much willpower to keep from carrying the sackcloth home.

In comparing my suit and the burlap, any amateur would place the odds slightly in favor of the aforementioned coarse material.

It was, however, rather long, and your correspondent had to use the utmost care to keep from sticking his No. 10 brogans in the hem and falling on the stage in a manner not exactly like that used in worship.

Now I have been called many things, from a ?'2&)lb@($? by an autoist in the Public Square, to terms such as "Lovey Dovey," etc. (but only occasionally), by my brother.

And I have also been called a Communist, capitalist, Socialist, bolshevik editor, Republican, radical, progressive, conservative, nut, pacifist, liberal, Democrat, lunatic, devil, just plain "screwy," etc.

But never in all my 18 years of life on this fair planet, until one week ago, have I been insulted and called a reactionary. Gosh, what'll I do about it?

Me, a REACTIONARY?

Your correspondent looks for the end of the world.

1935