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The Cub: the Neenah High School annual

Humor,   pp. 47-54

Page 48

   Although it was hardly his favor- 
ite book, Charles A. Lindbergh was 
well acquainted with Woolley's Hand- 
book of Composition. The following 
satirical sketch, written while he was 
a student at the University of Wis- 
consin, will, we believe, make you 
  St. Peter was not in a charitable 
mood. During the hours of an earth 
morning spent in viseing passports 
to the celestial realms, far too large 
a percentage of the credentials had 
been tacking in minor points and had 
required careful inspection. 
  Came a mortal applying for admis- 
  "Your former occupation?" ques- 
tioned the saint. "I was an Amer- 
ican clergyman,' replied the inhabi- 
tant of tne earth. 
  "Um," mused Peter. "From       the 
Unitzd States?" 
  "Even so." 
  "Your living was-" 
  "Precarious. I did not survive." 
  "Your passport, please." 
  The minister handed him a weighty 
document, carefully typed. St. Pet- 
er frowned; for the task of reading 
the manuscript was not to his liking. 
  "Was this written by some literary 
syndicate?" he asked. 
  "No, I wrote it myself." 
  The credential began, "I have been 
a good, true and faithful servant." 
  "You have omitted the comma in 
the series of the form, a, b, and c," 
criticized the saint. 
  "I am 40 years old," protested the 
other. "In my day such punctuation 
was correct." 
  "We are progressive," snapped St. 
Peter. "Everything within our juris- 
diction is entirely up to date." 
  He continued reading, "My rela- 
tions with the profiteers and grafters 
were problematical." 
  "Entire lack of coherence," assert- 
ed the saint. 
  "If it please your saintship, the 
conditions themselves were incoher- 
ent. impossible of solution." 
  "No matter. It was your business 
to clear them up." 
  For a few minutes, he read in si- 
lence; then exclaimed: 
  "Bromidic!    Not  even   chlorine- 
tinted. You have written: 'I have en- 
deavored   always to see   myself as 
others see me.' That is as old as 
  "But." protested the mortal, "there 
is nothing new under the sim. How 
am I to avoid old material?" 
  "You are obliged to see things from 
a different angle; to seek a new point 
of view, as it were," replied St. Peter 
  Glacing over the closely printed 
sheets, with all possible speed, he 
came unexpectedly upon the sentence: 
"The question of inherent right; and 
which I had   expounded for weeks, 
was still a puzzle to them." 
  St. Peter mopped the perspiration 
which oozed beneath his halo. 
  "See Woolley, 221B," he snarled. 
  "I am not acquainted    with   Mr. 
Woolley," explained the mortal meek- 
  "No matter," retorted the saint. 
"You ought to be. The book is for 
sale by the D. C. Heath Company, 
Boston, New York, and Chicago; and 
is used by many instructors of note." 
  Followed silence for half an hour 
while the shadows lengthened beyond 
the golden portals. Now and then the 
minister caught glimpses of the hap- 
py throng within, and heard faint, 
sweet melodies from distant harps. 
He pondered. He knew that his work 
on earth had been well done. But 
so confident had he been of having 
earned his everlasting reward that 
he paid little attention to the gram- 
matical form   of his   passport. al- 
though he had verified every detail 
of its substances. Now, as he watch- 
ed Heaven's doorkeeper, his doubts 
accumulated. Perhaps, in spite of a 
life filled with good works, he would 
be found wanting. 
  "Some    excellent touches," mur- 
mured the saint. "Good atmosphere." 
  Again silence while the saint fin- 
Ished the last page: then with a sigh, 
he returned the passport to the min- 
ister. Slowlv shaking his head, he 
gave the verdict: 
  "A pity to permit so many minor 
technical errors to bar good material 
from external   commendation. You 
are not permitted to pass on." 
  Bewildered but rebellious, the mor- 
tal began his downward journey. 
  "And to think," he hurled back at 
St. Peter, "that my brother is a pro- 
fessor of English at Yale." 
  "Another case of need " arisw-red 
the saint, "where practical help from 
one's relatives reaches the vanishing 
  Cop at 2 A. M.: "Hey, you, what 
are you climbin in through the win- 
dow for?" 
   Bill Rather: "Sh'all right (hic), 
the maid jiist washed the    hallway 
floor (hic)." 
Page Forty-Eight 

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