ld swallow them whole. But among our readers was
a square-headed German; and one of the most absurd of our imaginings
turned out, as a result, to be a physical possibility.

"Ever since it was announced, a few days ago, that hazing in a modified
modernized form is to be permitted at West Point," we related, "a
reporter for the _World_ has been busily interviewing people of all ages
and interests to find the latest ideas on the subject.... Some small
boys in Van Cortlandt Park yesterday afternoon, diabolo experts,
suggested 'plebe diabolo.' It is simply diabolo for grown-ups. A rope
takes the place of the customary string and a first year man is used for
a spool. Any one can see at a glance what a great improvement this would
be over the old-fashioned stunt of tossing the plebe in a blanket."

A few months later I picked up a copy of the _Scientific American_ and
chortled to read the account of a German acrobat who was playing in
vaudeville as the "Human Diabolo."

But this sort of thing was merely temporizing, and we finally had to
abandon it for subjects more substantial. By a slow and harrowing
process we learned our specialties and made a few helpful friends in New
York's Fleet Street. The fittest among the many manuscripts turned out
by our copy mill survived to teach us that the surest way into print is
to write about things closest to personal knowledge--simple and homely
themes close to the grass roots. We turned again to middle western
topics and the magazines opened their doors to us. We plugged away for
six months and cleared a profit large enough to pay off all our debts
and leave a little margin. Then we felt that we could look the west in
the face again, and go home, if we liked, without a consciousness of
utter defeat. For though we had not won, neither had we lost. Our books
struck a balance.

When the Wanderlust began calling again in May, I sat many an evening in
the window of our little room, gazing down into the backyard cat arena
or up at the moon, and dragging away at a Missouri corncob pipe in a
happy revery. Some of my manuscript titles of editorial paragraphs
contributed to _Collier's_ trace what happened next:

Longings at the Window.
Packing Up.
A Mood of Moving Day.
From Cab to Taxi.
Outdoor Sleeping Quarters.
Shortcake.

Which is to say that it was sweet to see the home folks again, to eat
fried chicken and honest homemade strawberry shortcake and to slu