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Meyer, Ernest L. (ed.) / Wisconsin literary magazine
Volume XVII, Number 1 (October 1917)

Knowlton, Gertrude
Bitter sweet,   p. 18


Page 18

WISCONSIN LITERARY MAGAZINE
October, 1917
I did not feel like escaping. Before I could reply a
word, her hands were busy playing with the lapel of
my coat, her golden hair blown by the morning breeze
was brushing my face. I did not want to escape, and
said:
"I'll see if I have change."
I pulled out my pocket book slowly, and searched
inside long thus giving the girl a chance to fasten the
tag on securely.
"Nothing but dollar bills," I lied. "No, here is a
dime. Will a dime do?"
Bitter
H    E WAS going down town with his mother. But
what was more glorious was the fact that he
was going to stay out of school. Hardly ever was he
allowed to do this, and so today was a red-letter day.
He was all dressed up in his Sunday suit. He hated
to wear it on Sundays, but that was because it was
Sunday. But to be dressed up on a school day was
quite a different matter. He thought it queer to be al-
lowed to stay out of school, just to go shopping with
his mother; as he sat beside her in the car, however, he
asked no questions. His little fat legs with their white
socks stuck straight out from the seat. He was so
happy! He was going down town on the street car
with his mother, on a school day. They got off at a
toy shop and to Dick's surprise, his mother took him
by the hand and they went inside. Immediately Dick
ran to a little horse that trotted when it was wound up.
How he had wanted that horse! If he could only
have it, he would be good always!
"Do you want that little horse, Dick?"
Dick nodded and held the horse tight. He did not
wait for it to be wrapped up; he immediately sat down
and set it trotting.
Beauty and Ideals
I CAME down the hall and saw her bending over
a pail, her worn hard hands wringing dirty wa-
ter out of a dirty mop. She was forty-five or fifty per-
haps,-for her hair was thin and streaked with dull
gray. And short uneven strands of it fell about her
thin, wrinkled, yellow neck.
I passed her and went into a class-room. The in-
structor came in and closed the door. At once we be-
gan a discussion of Keats' ideas of Beauty as compar-
ed with Shelley's. And all the while that we were say-
ing "Beauty is the means by which we can realize an
ideal"-"Beauty is an ideal in itself",-I could hear
the sound of a mop splashing through dull muddy wa-
ter; I could see the old woman with the hard worn
hands bending over her pail.  BEATRICE UTMAN
"Why certainly," came her reply.
"Thank you, Sir," both added simultaneously, as I
parted with my only dime.
Having walked off a few steps I turned around to
get another glimpse at the two girls. They were gone.
They had disappeared just as mysteriously as they ap-
peared. I could see only the two elderly charity la-
dies, who stared at me with a sarcastic smile on their
faces.
PHILIP ADLER.
Sweet
"Come, Dick, let's go and get some ice-cream."
"O, can I? Mother, can I have chocolate?"
"Yes, dear, anything you want."
Dick's curiosity passed all bounds.
"Mother, why are you getting me so much today?
it isn't my birthday, is it?" Dick looked up at his
mother and smiled. But he saw her turn away and
when she didn't answer, he said nothing. After all,
he was going to have some chocolate ice-cream.
He ate his very slowly, because he didn't want it
to go so fast. He made figures out of the little mound
and didn't spill any; whether this was because, as he
was so happy, he did not want to displease his mother
or because he didn't want to lose any, I don't know.
"Now, let's go and do some errands with mother.
Shall we?"
Yes, he was willing. They went to a store and up
a flight of stairs between two stores. Dick was out of
breath when he reached the top and they opened the
door at the head of the stairs!  He looked at his
mother, at the dentist's chair, with its white head-piece
and red plush cushion and started to cry. His little
horse fell to the floor.  GERTRUDE KNOWLTON
'rhe Little Things
It is the little things that count, but it is exceedingly
difficult to count the little things. It has been estimated
that if Adam had started to count the nematod worms
in his back yard and had counted 5,000 a day every
day in the year, he would, at this day, still be standing
in his cabbage patch, forty feet from where he had
started.
Some men try to fool people into the belief that they
are thinkers, or philosophers, or poets, and not mere
receptacles for food and drink, but the nematod worm
shuns deception. He consists merely of a mouth and
an intestinal canal, nothing else. No one has ever met
a nematod worm who wears horn goggles and unculti-
vated hair in the attempt to prove that he does not con-
sist merely of a mouth and an intestinal canal.


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