Indianapolis Times, Volume 47, Number 183, Indianapolis, Marion County, 10 October 1935 — Page 17

It Seems to Me linwiil BROUN IN quitting these shores Luigi Pirandello left a promise to return, and yet, somehow, it did not seem to matter much. And that was very strange because almost his last words concerned the outstanding culture *f Italy and her generous desire to share it even with those backwood peoples who had to take It with liquid fire on the side. Pirandello will not do his motion picture now. He feels that he can make a greater contribution to civilization by returning to his country and interpret-

ing her motivation for outsiders. Having to choose betw-een MetroGoldwyn and Mussolini, Luigi Pirandello has taken a fast steamer for Rome. He has chosen to let Hollywood culture remain as is in order to aid in the advancement of Ethiopia. During his 10 weeks in America the former Nobel Prize winner was far from idle. He wrote eight short stories, finished a novel and got a good start on a play. And this information may throw a little light upon that perplexing problem as to why Senor Pirandello ever got a Nobel Prize in the first place.

Jleywood tii'oun

He got it because of the liveliness of the Swedish sense of humor. Those hardy Scandinavians like a good practical .joke a little better than the next one. The foundation from which the annual prize for peace is drawn rests on the fortune of a maker of explosives and very many of the it her awards, such as the one for literature, arc made in a similar antic spirit. tt tt tt His Hi (‘(ilcsl Asset INDEED. I am told that Pirandello has not seen the joke of his award even yet. Everybody played his part, with a straight face. And maybe it isn’t true that in very small letters on the back of the medal the inscription reads, “To Pirandello —for being punctual.” , And that, of course, is Pirandello’s greatest asset as a literary figure. If he promises an editor a piece of two thousand words for the first thing next Monday morning the editor knows he can count on Luigi. But in spite of his promptness editors were sometimes severe with him. He was too good to be true in the matter of punctuality, and editors always like to find something concerning which they can complain. And so, sometimes, across the transom one could hear the big boss talking to the writer and saying, *'Luigi, you were not as whimsical this month as last. I don’t want to have this happen again.” I might explain that in the rough jargon of “the trade” rirandcllo was known as “A. A. Milne with spaghetti sauce.” a tt n Just Too Much Habit OF course, like most protagonists, he has contributed to his own tragedy. If he had not been so docile with so many editors it is quite possible that he would not have jumped so promptly when Benito Mussolini called. But after a man has said, “Yes, boss,” too mnay times he finds it hard to resist the impulse also to answer, “You said it, Duce.” Anri then it may be that the degradation of Pirandello lies partly in the low estimate which the artist placed upon himself. His acquaintances in this country were always remarking on the “inscrutable smile” of the little man with the bright eyes and the pointed beard. They didn’t know what he was laughing at. Now they do. Pirendello smiled because he was fooling everybody but himself. (Copyright, 1935)

Your Health BY DR. MORRIS FISHBEIN

WHEN you have a feeling you’re falling, what do you think about? You may be acquainted with the saying that a whole life passes before a person during his drop from a height. Well, how would you reconcile that with the other belief that a person who is falling from a height loses consciousness after he has dropped about 100 feet, or the idea that death occurs before the ground is reached? Recently it occurred to Harry G. Armstrong of the United States Army Medical Corps to make an actual test and get first-hand the sensations that pass before the mind of a person who falls from a height. u n n HE went up in an airplane to a height of 2200 feet and jumped. He made careful note of his mental and physical reactions and sensations until he reached a height of about 1000 feet, before he pulled the rip cord of his parachute. In his report, Capt. Armstrong points out that his two main mental factors were fear and excitement. The fear was not only the instinctive fear of falling, but also the fear that the parachute might catch on the airplane or that the parachute might be defective. The excitement was natural. As he stood on the airplane ready to jump, he was impressed with the roar of the motor, the sight of the ground below, the roar of the wind past his head. non AFTER he jumped he was quite conscious of everything that was going on. He did rot hear anything after the jump, probably due to the rush of air past his ears. He was not dizzy and had no feeling of fainting. His breathing was not disturbed. The only abnormal sensation he felt was the pressure on the body from the air as he fell. He Was quite able to recognize his position in space and to realize that his body was turning over as he fell.

Today s Science BY DAVID DIETZ

ON the edge of a limestone ledge overhanging the stream, the big snake lay sleeping. He was a five-foot fer-de-lanee, one of the most poisonous snakes in the world. How would you have liked the job of grabbing that snake and transferring him to a canvas bag for eventual shipment to the New York Zoological Garden? How it was done and how other poisonous snakes ns well as such other creatures as the vampire bat. bird-eating spiders, and 14-inch centipedes, were captured, is told in "Snake-Hunter's Holiday,” by Raymond L. Ditmars and William Bridges. tApple-ton-Century publish the book at $3.50.> Dr. Ditmars is curator of mammals and reptiles at the New York Zoological Park. He is famous as an authority upon snakes and as a writer. At the time the book was written Bridges was a reporter for the New York Sun. He was assigned to accompany Dr. Ditmars and Arthur M. Greenhall on a reptile-col-lecting expedition to Trinidad and British Guiana. tt tt tt NOT the least of its virtues is its absence of mock heroics, artificial attempts at the creation of excitement, and the like. You will find no queer adventures, only real adventures. These men have serious business in the interests of science. They are collecting and studying reptiles, insects, and other forms of animal life. Mr. Greenhall clambers into a cave in search of vampire bats. He climbs into a narrow crevice wh°re he believes the bats are and returns with some in his net. A few feet from his face, he relates, was a great mass of spiders hanging to the wall, brown and black ones, making a spot the size of a dinner plate. Does it send shivers up and down your back? It doesn't lor Mr. Greenhall. He picks up the five-foot fer-de-lance with an iron hook upon the end of a pole He seizes the giant centipede with long-handled forceps taking care not to squeeze the wriggling insect too hard. There is nothing foolhardy in the actions of these men and their first-aid equipment includes an assortment of snake poison serums. If you like exciting adventure told in graphic fctyle, you will enjqy “Snake-Hunter's Holiday.”

Full Leased Wire Service of the United Pres* Association

Benito Mussolini

at Sarajevo would, two and a half short years hence, send them whirling into an earthly hell, to give up sons and daughters, to deprive them of civil liberties, to pile upon their unsuspecting shoulders an appalling national debt. It was all so far away—so why worry! tt tt a tt tt YES, and Africa is farther away than was ancient Serbia. But we are just as vulnerable today as we were in 1914 or more so. The industry, science and inventive genius of mankind has progressed immeasurably in the last two decades. The world is linked by the bonds of finance, economics, trade and commerce.

What happens in one country will affect another 5000 miles away. Lemons are up in price in the United States today. Why? Mussolini has laid his hand on every lemon he can get anywhere in the world. Lemons are essential for troops in the field. They keep down scurvy. Therefore, America has already been affected by the beating tom-toms of the God of War in Northeast Africa. It is useless, therefore, to say that the Italian-Ethiopian imbroglio means nothing to America —that it’s too far away, or that it's another one of those European squabbles. There are potential dangers in Italy’s reborn spirit of imperialism which stagger the imagination when laid bare for examination, and contemplation. It is up to us in America to try to understand something of Ethiopia and why Italy persists in defying the world in order to gobble up this most ancient of all Christian kingdoms. To understand is at least 50 per cent of the battle to avoid entanglement. To that end then, this book is written. It is hoped that it will explajn some things, correct false impressions, cause serious thought and forewarn—which, after all, is to forearm, is it not? It is not meant to be a literary gem of irreproachable prose—but just a story, as one man may tell it to another. One might almost call it—thinking out loud! But all thoughts are, in their turn, thought provoking. If the thoughts on the following pages do just half that, then they will have accomplished their purpose. THE AUTHOR. tt o tt . PROLOGUE: TAPESTRY 'T'HE room was large. The ceiling arched high with its curves softened by magnificently carved frescoes. The walls were decorated and the colors were warm. But the bald-headed, paunchy man, seated at the desk at the far end of the room, suddenly shivered. Cold? No, it was midsummer. Perhaps it was some cloud passing over his soul. The world said he had no soul—but in his strange way, it was the fire of what went for his soul burning with the fierce white heat of fanatical zeal, that made him suddenly shiver. Softly, a door opened. A tall, hawk-faced man, an aristocrat to his finger tips and the antithesis of the bunched up bald-headed man, walked quietly forward, with a sheaf of papers in his hand. These he laid on the desk and remained standing, silent. The seated man seized them. Beneath the rays of a lone desk lamp he thrust them and read. His stubby fingers opened and closed. His mouth set in hard cruel lines. The pouches beneath his eyes seemed to grow puffier as the black eyes themselves, bloodshot from lack of §leep, blazed forth anew with fanatical fierceness. With a sudden jerky motion, he flung the papers down, jumped up from his chair and stamped over to the huge marble fireplace. “Damn them!” he cursed. “Damn them.” and his voice suddenly rose shrilly and the veins stood out like whipcords at the temples, as the sudden fit of fury sent the blood pumping through his veins. The papers he flung down were condensations of reports from his underlings in Geneva, London and Paris. O tt tt “JAAMN them,” he repeated a third time. “They will not rest until they have nailed me to the cross. They are hypocrites. They have their own colonies. They have great empires. They went out and stole what they wanted. And when I do the same —when I must do it, when I have to do it—they piously say, ‘No, you will destroy the world. You must not do it.’ Bah!” Sallow face flushed with anger, the stocky little man flung away from the mantelpiece and pointed a thick forefinger at his private secietary. “And I say to hell with the world. It’s either the world or me—and it’s not going to be me. Look—” and he strode over to his desk and tapped the back of his hand on another sheaf of papers—" These show why I must go on. It must be onward. The die is cast. There can be no backward glance. It must be onwa d—onward.” As he turned from his desk, crossed his hands behind his back and with bent head, paced slowly dewn the room. Just then the faint echoes of a military bugle penetrated the room. .It was like the thin, small voice of Fate calling. And it made him shudder again, this time against his will. It sent his mind racing back 20 years—to the horrors of war. Yes. he had been a soldier and he knew what it felt like to have a sliver of steel burn through the

The Indianapolis Times

BLACK SHIRT

(Continued From Page One) too visible and move to step out of its bloody pathway—if we can. Too few in America in 1914 realized that the shot which echoed

flesh. And his mind jumped the years. He, the young, fanatical newspaperman the fighting young radical editor —he was going to make his country, the world, over anew! And he put his theories into practice. At first they had seemed beautiful. But now they were hideous. They had betrayed him. They had led him up the blind alley of absolutism and now, like an ordinary trapped animal of the jungle, he twisted and turned to escape the awful destinies of his own carving. a tt tt 'T'HOSE papers! Why, they burned through his mind every waking hour. They haunted him at night. They mocked him as he struggled for sleep. They told him that he had brought the credit of h ; s country to the brink of ruin. They told him that financial levies were all that remained and he knew they could not last long. His diplomats told him that nations were already withdrawing their credits to his bankers. His imports were still triple his exports and he could not sell enough to make money to buy what he needed. Unemployment still reared its ugly head. True, he had smashed it down temporarily, by ordering the unemployed Into the army—but the army was so appallingly expensive. It was like a giant maw, with an insatiable appetite—money—money—money! My God, where was it coming from? One regiment of conscripts had already mutinied. Thank God. that colonel had had enough sense

Troublesome Cotton Problem Finds Even Most Loyal Defenders Perplexed and Pessimistic About Future

BY DANIEL M. KIDNEY Times Staff Writer. WASHINGTON, Oct. 10.— Each year in Memphis the clans of Dixie gather in a great carnival to pay tribute to King Cotton. Despite wars, weevils and nearfamines, that Monarch still reigns. But today there are revolutionaries who argue that his absolute rule should be abrogated. His long reign, they charge, has been a curse that resulted first in chattel slavery, then in Civil War, and finally in the thraldom of the share-cropper. Even the most loyal defenders of King Cotton's regime, with

'Give Us Jobs/ Say Coal Bootleggers, 'and Well Quit Poaching on the Companies' Lands'

This is the first of a series of dispatches on booUcc coal, a unique outcropping of rugged individualism in a sick industry. BY FRED W. FERKINS Times Special Writer POTTSVILLE, Pa., Oct. 10.— The old American spirit of adventurous, independent pioneering is on picturesque display in the southern anthracite regions of eastern Pennsylvania, where upwards of 12.000 men are supporting their families by bootlegging coal. Bootlegging, the ill-odored term of prohibition days, has come to be almost a respectable word when applied to hard-working men digging in dark holes for an average of $2 a day to keep themselves off relief rolls, or to supplement the meager public dole. They are stealing corporation coa!. In the eyes of the law, they are thieves. But nothing is done about it. Public opinion supports them. Business men, professional men, merchants—even bankers—condone the theft. Public officials, local and state, avert their eyes. nan These men are not anarchists. The most violent radicalism among them is a mild Socialism. Communism has struggled vainly for a foothold. But these men are convinced that something is wrong with an economic system that has thrown them out of jobs. They are looking for some official source of power that will place them again within the law. For a period their gaze was on Washington. It is beginning to shift their again. Competent witnesses agree, and a government commission of inquiry has so reported, that “these problems pr only in part de-pression-made and remedial measures must leek beyond the recovery of general business conditions.” The men. the 12.000 to 14.000 coal bootleggers, have a simple cure. Give them jobs, they say, and they’ll quit poaching on the

INDIANAPOLIS, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 10, 1935

The Story Behind the Ethiopian War

mmwl l Y# *bii i k a u. *

to garrison them and then disarm them, before the news could spread! Still, it was an ominous sign. His fanaticism had been tinged with bitter realities, of equally bitter experience. He had found at last that he could NOT make over anew’ the world singlehanded. So he w r as faced with the soulshattering realization that his experiment was now about to destroy him. And he didn’t w ; ant to be destroyed. He couldn’t be destroyed. Nobody could destroy him, the world’s greatest dictator, the living counterpart of the ancient conquerors of history, whose legions moved at a single command and chopped out great empires across the earth’s surface. His ego still drove him on—the ego that had been the stooge for his fanaticism. tt a a BUT wdth all his ego—this stocky, arrogant man realized that his days of eminence—his days as

| money in their pockets from AAA, j the Bankhead Act and Federal S cotton loans, are somewhat pessimistic about the future. Sharply curtailed exports and increased planting in other countries force them to consider the possibility that American cotton may have lost, and lost for good, its dominance in the world market. To the question “What are the | facts?” must come tha counter- ; question “Whose facts?” Each conflicting group has its own “facts,” and usually its own figures. Since the New Deal has entered ! the picture on the side of the planters, their viewpoints—as pre-

coal companies’ lands and selling the coal companies’ coal. They can do better with regular jobs than with bootlegging. n tt tx WHAT brought this about? A government report on the subject was made by a committee named by Secretary of Labor Frances Perkins. The committee included Carter Goodrich, Columbia University economist; Hugh S. Hanna, labor writer, and David J. Price, government technical man. ‘ The population of the region,” said the committee, ‘‘derives its living from the anthracite industry. The life of individual communities depends in large part upon the operation of the particular colliery or collieries in its neighborhood. “Most of the towns are old . . . with a large substratum of families of several generations’ residence and so firmly rooted that home ownership is the rule and not the exception as it is in the bituminous fields. . . . Company housing is unimportant. “The anthracite mine worker became ‘attached’ to his industry and often to his colliery in a peculiar sense. While the industry assumed no paternal responsibility there developed a feeling of mutual dependence In spite of many internal quarrels.” non “T T p to a few years ago,” conU tinued the committee, ‘‘after an earlier period of excessive competition, the industry itself was extremely stable. The curve of anthracite production had been steadily upward. “Anthracite mining for many years was spared the over-de-velopment and cut-throat competition of bituminous mining, due to the fact that control of anthracite deposits and mining operations was concentrated in relatively few hands. “The change began about 10 years ago. From an annual average of more than 90,000,000 net tons, production dropped steadily

By Boake Carter

BLACK SKIN

The Call to the Colors

one of the makers of world history—were numbered, unless he could divert the attention oi the mob—the sheep, he thought of them contemptuously—from the crash that loomed up before him —the crash of his pet theories and his experiment. Even guinea pigs sometimes turn to bite! And so it was omvard —to war. To conquer in a distant land. To fight for the acquisition of more land—and very Life itself. The bai gain he had made with the copycat across the mountains to the north, w'asn’t bad. At least he would not have to weaken his army by cutting it in half, so as to be on guard against any sudden coup d'etat he might attempt. And even the two of them together might put a crimp in these hypocritical vultures who held up pious hands and said: “No, you must not do this.” But even if they failed, there was nothing else to do. It was either this or the ignominy of admitting failure at home. No, no,

sented in their facts and figures—can be examined jointly. This is the third year of cotton control under AAA. a a a ONE major objective of that program was a decrease in the annual American cotton carryover. This carry-over was 8,863,000 bales on Aug. 1, 1931. It rose to 12,900,000 in 1932. fell to 11,583,000 bales in ’33, to 10,634,000 in ’34, and to 9,909,000 in ’35. Factors contributing to this decrease included the cut in production, some improvement in demand, and in 1934 the drought w’hich made a short crop in the Southwest.

to 74.000,000 in 1929. With the depression, production dropped still more sharply and in 1933 was less than 50.000.000 tons. “The pre-depression decline was due to the inroads of competitive fuels—oil, gis, coke, etc. “The production decline meant a roughly similar decline in w-ork opportunities. . . . However, it was by no means spread evenly over the whole region. “In the effort to secure the greatest efficiency of operation, operating companies with several collieries w'ere naturally' tempted to close their high-cost operations and secure their diminished output from the low-cost ones.” n n u EVERYBODY up here —even the bootleggers—seems to agree with the government report that the temptation was natural. Anyway, the companies yielded. They built huge centralized collieries in places where their engineers said the cream of the coal was to be found. They equipped them with modern labor saving devices. For every labor saving device that was installed, a dozen or a hundred men were told they need not report the next morning. That is why, on a thousand hills, queer toy tipples rear crazily over rabbit holes, with men pick-and-shoveling 40 or 50 feet below, prying from the coal seams the black diamonds that will bring them maybe S2 a day. non THAT is why the papers in the region print as routine such items as this: Chris Rooney, 28. of Ashland, was crushed to death under a fall of coal in an independent mine at Germantown, northwest of Ashland, at 11 this morning. “Rooney was at work in the bootleg operation when the top collapsed and he was buried under rock and debris. Men from other coal holes went to the rescue but is was some time before the badly crushed body was recovered.”

it couldn’t possibly be that. His ego couldn't stand it. So it was to be war. He was a gambler. It was the biggest gamble of his life. His life was the stake. His ego was the more real stake. He couldn’t see that the gamble might turn the rivers of the world red with the innocent blood of the luckless pawns of the gamble. And if he did see, it made no difference. It was I—the ego—that played to win. All else faded from the picture as inconsequential. So the die was cast. It was war or degradation! He stopped at his desk. Seizing a pen and paper, he scribbled furiously. With a flourish he signed his name. His black eyes glinted a dull red glow, as he handed the paper to his secretary. It was an order mobilizing 25,000 more troops to the colors! Tomorrow —The Stage. (Copyright. 1935. by The Te'egraph Press. Publishers. Harrisburg. Pa.i

Ten million acres were removed from production by the first adjustment program in 1933, when plowing under prevented a v ecord crop that might have added 4,000,000 bales to the burdensome American surplus. The 1934 program restricted co-operating planters to 38 per cent of their base acreage. Continuance of the adjustment program is expected to reduce the carry-over to 7,500,000 bales by next Aug. 1. But since in addition to the carry-over the Federal government is holding 4.500,000 bales onwhich the Commodity Credit Corp. made 12-cent loans, and anew policy of 10-cent loans plus a maximum 2-cent cash bounty is in operation, the surplus picture is not so bright as the figures might indicate. The loan policy, which turned out to be a form of price-fixing, is credited with causing further loss of exports and has brought mich criticism to the Administrat'on. It was forced through the White House by Southern Senators and Congressmen over the opposition of AAA officials and Secretary of Agriculture Wallace. Another source of constant criticism of the governmental policy is, of course, the cotton textile manufacturers, who fray the processing tax that makes the crop curtailment subsidy possible. Shippers and other handlers, who prosper when large crops are moving, likewise complain. non BUT the planters generally like the idea of AAA adjustments, of the Bankhead Law, which puts a penalty tax on all production over quotas, and particularly the cash loans. The whole purpose of curtailment was to increase prices and here is how' the cotton farmers have fared: The average farm price of cotton w'as 5.7 cents a pound in 193132. 6.5 cents for the 1932-33 crop, 9.7 cents in 1933-34, and was estimated at 12.6 cents for the 1934-35 crop, i However, since the 12-cent loan was replaced with the 10cent loan plus 2-cent bounty, spot cotton has been selling at 10.5 cents and under.) Farm value of the 1933-34 crop was $717.000,000, compared with $483,912,000 for the preceding year. For the 1934-35 crop it was estimated at $756,420,000. These increased prices are only part of the reason why the planters feel more prosperous. When rental and benefit payments and so on are added, the gross return from the 1933-34 crop was approximately $880,097,000 up about 82 per cent from the value of the 1932-33 cotton crop. For the 1934-35 crop the gross return was estimated at $871,420,000 on Dec. 1. 1934, but AAA Administrator Davis has since predicted it will reach a billim dollars. including seed NEXT: The plight of labor and of textile makers.

Second Section

Entered a* Second ('las* 'latter at I’ostoffiee Indianapolis, Ind

Fair Enough WESTBROOK PEGUE \ r OU may say that it is a political announcement of no great importance, but for whatever it may be worth. I have definitely decided not to run for the office of President of the United States next year or at any future time. Perhaps a greater stir would be caused if Herbert Hoover or Gov. Landon of Kansas were to make the same declaration. Nevertheless, it is my feeling that, with the field so badly cluttered by candidates, any eligible man who decides that he does not choose to run owes it to his fellow-citizens

to say so in so many words. Thus, by elimination, it would be possible to determine who the candidates are and avoid some confusion. I have not yet decided whom I will support, but I can sav pretty definitely that it will not be Roosevelt, because I think he has taken as much punishment as any one man should on behalf of his fellow-citizens. I may support Mr. Hoover out of personal spite. Feeling as I do about him. I wouldn’t lift a hand to defeat him and thus spare him four years more of the headaches

which he suffered when he had the job before You may say that I have a great nerve to speak thus about whom I will support and whom I will oppose. But if a politician or a publisher may sav that he supports this man or opposes that one why" shouldn’t a man who runs a store on the corner or a column in the papers? In this great, free democracy, where one man’s vote is as important as another’s, if I announce that I have thrown my support to Herbert Hoover isn’t that as important as a similar announcement by Henry Ford? Or am I just be-ing naive again? non A ice Job? Ob Yeah? TT will be heresy, but the job of President is much A less attractive now’ than it seemed back in the days when the school teacher looked out over the shiny, freckled, buck-toothed faces of the little pests who sat in straight, orderly rows and said: “A future President of the United States may be sitting among you.” Since that time several presidents have come and gone w’ho did not seem to enjoy their work very much. But Mr. Wilson made very heavy weather of it and died as much from overwork as from other causes. Then Mr. Harding died in office, and it was said that his passing was hastened by the physical strain of hours of handshaking and worry over the mischief which his friends had wrought. Mr. Coolidge did not seem to enjoy being President, and if there ever was a living picture of worry, woe and suffering in public office it was Mr. Hoover. Mr. Frank Roosevelt wears a wide smile, but 7 think it is a definite muscular action rather than the natural beaming of inward pleasure, and I wouldn’t have his job under his conditions of set vice at any salary. He hired out as an executive to run a big business, and he has found that a President is expected to rinnd for criticism of the most personal sort and like it. tt tt tt You Can Have It! a man is elected President and even ▼ ▼ when he is running tor a nomination he discovers that the people gossip about him and his wife and children, if any. and make up jokes about them which are told around saloons and bridge tables. Sojne of the jokes which have been told about Presidents and members of their families in mv time have been distinctly dirty humor, but there is no sportsmanship in such matters, and people blab them around and consider them great fun. The school teacher never told us about this phase of the presidency. Neither did she warn us that a man in the White House may have to submit, to the most dishonest and malignant abuse from political opponents even though his policies at that very moment may be saving the country from some great peril. I think many of the people who are fighting Mr. Roosevelt now are incapable of sound judgment on his Administration. They hate him so furiously that they see pinwheels before their eyes at the mere mention of his name. It was the same as to Mr. Hoover and Mr. Wilson. Experience has filled in the chinks, and that is why one eligible man has decided to withdraw from the race. The presidency! You can have it. (Copyright. 1935. by United Feature Syndicate. Inc.)

Times Books

THE United States is headed straight for trouble with Japan unless it modifies its attitude toward that country, in the opinion of Tom Ireland, author cf “War Clouds in the Skies of the Far East” ‘Putnam). America, says Mr. Ireland, has barred the Japanese from this country, forced her out of Shantung and Siberia and disputes her rights in Manchuria. She insists upon the open door in the Far East but closes her own doors to Japan. That sort of thing, Mr. Ireland writes, can’t go on forever. The two countries must come to some sort of understanding or there will be a clash. Nippon, he continues, can not be prevented from expanding in China. The white races combined can not stop her. She is overcrowded and needs room to expand. She must have raw materials for her factories at home. China provides the answer to these and other problems. And if Europe and America try to block Japan s way, there will be a collision. His conclusion is that White Man and Yellow should strike a bargain—each minding his own business in his own quarter of the globe. Otherwise the war clouds will fetch the storm. ‘By William Philip Simms.) tt tt tt T OU LITTLE, famous coach of the Columbia University football team, has written a timely and entertaining book entitled, “How to Watch Football” ‘McGraw-Hill), and Jimmy Donahue, sports writer, who knows about such things gives me the following review: Little ''writes Donahue) describes in minute detail the inner workings of a modern college football team But most important, Little tells the average fan how to watch the game to get the most out of it. He explains line play in detail, and divulges how the hard-working forward wall paves the way for the ball toters. There is a chapter on the forward pass that is exceptionally interesting. (By Bruce Catton.)

Literary Notes

James M. Barrie's new play written for Elizabeth Bergner will be published in New York in book form by Smith & Haas. . . . Clifford Odets, John Howard Lawson, Sidney Howard, s. N. Behrman, Dr. John Haynes Holmes and Paul Green head a sponsoring committee of playwrights who will tender a symposium and dinner to the New Theater Magazine on Oct. 23, in honor of its having “widened the horizon of the American theater” in its eighteen months of existence A scene from Albert Bein's play, “Let Freedom Ring.” 'adapted from Grace Lumpkin's novel, 'To Make My Bread , which opens in a few weeks, is the feature of the October issue of New Theater, nowon the stands. Robinson Jeffers. whose new book of poems. "Solstice" has just appeared, is one author who doesn t suffer from the melady described by Conrad Aiken in last week's New Republic. Ella Winter, who knows him well, doesn't think he’s ever been to a literary tea.

\\rslbruok Prgler