THE BATTALION
S
BIG LEAGUE CALIBRE
Fellow Sophomores, has it occur
red to you that we alone have the
peculiar opportunity of comparing
our college life to a nine inning
game of baseball? Three terms in
our Freshman year and two each in
our Sophomore, Junior and Senior
years make nine terms or nine in
nings in all; however, the anology
can be extended further. We are
now, as you know, in the last of the
fifth. It’s time to wake up before
the game’s over and the umpire
gives the fatal decision. It’s bad
business to wait until the last of the
game to make all the runs.
Suppose we take a look at the
scoreboard. Does it tally up or
does it show that we are becoming
tailenders in the race? We will
make a brief resume. In the first
three innings, although we suffered
some severe attacks and were often
rattled, yet with a grandstand play
we prevented any scoring. In the
fourth we note a marked rise in our
batting average; but no scoring. And
now for the fatal fifth, there is no
mistaking it, we have a score chalk
ed up against us. How did it hap
pen? Well, all we know is that be
cause of a hit, “a very palpable
hit,” a man was ushered across the
alley to the muchly sought-for
plate.
Did we make any bungles, costly
errors, or bone-head plays? Per
haps we did and we had a worthy
foe to take advantage of them. But
all that is past and now is the time
to cover ground, to scoop up every
thing, to hit the ball on the nose,
and to make some grandstand plays.
And remember that the lucky sev
enth is coming. Do you fully realize
that the fifth is not yet over?
The game is now half way over.
Hereafter we are going to be noticed
on the paths and when we get on the
paths let’s show the old vim and
vigor that will wake up the corps
into seeing that we are big league
stuff and not bushers. We’ve got
to have the spikes sharp, slide feet
first with Ty Cobbian plunges and
make them all get out of the way.
We must get the decision, win the
game, and get the applause. And
remember, remember, that the game
is never over until the last man’s
out.
’22
JUNIOR POETRY
A Sophomore has discovered that
some Juniors have poetic instinct.
The discovery was quite “acciden
tal” Several weeks ago—the week
of the Junior Banquet, to be exact
—two Sophomores had occasion to
inspect, with the purpose of ascer
taining the location of certain very
desirable documents, the personal
belongings of that well known in
mate of Leggett, Red Thompson.
The bottom of the trunk was reached
and there in the lowest corner was
found a piece of carefully folded
paper. From its mass the Sopho
mores knew that it contained
weighty matter. Accordingly, it was
tucked away and a silent retreat
made to a light. We admit we held
the sack that time! But we’re good
holders and just to show you the pill
that we drew, we handed this docu
ment to The Battalion hoping that it
will be printed.
Red Thompson’s famous speech
last fall just before Thanksgiving,
on the beauty that he first saw when
he broke down in a car in the Brazos
bottom and whom he pursued to
Arkansas or somewhere, and finally
succeeded in enticing down to the
Thanksgiving Hop—who doesn’t re
member his eloquent description of
that comely maid in her rustic sur
roundings! It is believed that Red,
under the stress of waiting for the
Sophs to abduct him, gave vent to
his feelings and his mind, with poetic
license, went back to that late eve
ning on the Brazos. He had evi
dently been reading Kipling:
By a weather-beaten farmhouse,
where the Brazos winds her way.
There’s a dark-eyed girl a-sitting—
and I’m going there some day;
For the sun’s behind the tree-tops,
and the bugle seems to call
“Come you back, you Farmer love ’,
come you back from Milner
Hall.”
Come you back to where I dream
and the evening dusk’s a-gleam
With a million fireflies dancing,
where the moon shines on the
stream.
Oh, I miss her very frown,
In her country evening gown,
Where the bull-frogs croak like Dur-
hams in the Brazos ’cross the
way.
Hei' petticoat was yellow and her
hair was out of gear,
And her name was Mary—but that
doesn’t matter here.
And I saw her first a-playing with a
dog whose hair was red,
And a-wasting Christian kisses on
that nigger cur dog’s head—
Just a low down nigger cur dog,
And he wagged his tail at her.
Oh, I miss her very frown,
In her country evening gown.
Where the bull-frogs croak like Dui’-
hams, in the Brazos ’cross the
way.
When the night fell on the bottoms,
and the sun was dropping down,
She looked up as a sun’s ray, slant
ing, shut her eyes into a frown.
She couldn’t see me standing with
my feet stuck to the ground,
And my heart up in my thorax, with
a funny thumping sound.
I couldn’t move or speak
And my knees were sorta weak,
As she hugged that nigger cur dog,
and kissed him on his beak.
Oh, I miss her very frown,
In her country evening gown,
Where the bull-frogs croak like Dur-
hams in the Brazos ’cross the
way.
Ship me somewhere ‘way from Col
lege where there ain’t no O. D.
shirt,
And there ain’t no Sunday chapel,
and a man can chase a skirt!
For that dark-eyed girl is calling,
and ’tis there that I would be,
By the weather-beaten farm house
with her brown eyes fixed on me;
Eyes that speak to me of heaven
And a home built just for—
seven—■
But I’ve got my half demerits, and
no pass to me is given!
Oh, I miss her very frown,
In her country evening gown,
Where the bull-frogs croak like Dur-
hams in the Brazos ’cross the
way.
’22
Caruso Crawford, the silver-
throated sliphorn artist of the band,
states that electricity sells for $10
a quart in Mt. Pleasant. We wonder
if he means the white “lightning”
variety.
’22
In Fort Worth recently, a paid
choir singer was arrested forf work
ing on Sunday. At that rate, the
band breaks the law five times every
Sunday.
’22
He: Now my brother is just the
opposite of me.
She: How I’d love to meet him!
The College Boy
After all, the College Boy is your keenest critic of
clothes.
He knows what’s what in correct fashion. His in
stinct intuitively tells him the difference between real style
and sham style.
We consider it a distinct tribute to our clothes-judg-
ment that
Ka/w
IL Measure
the clothes we have selected as our style-leaders, are the
ones that are in great favor with college men all over
America.
And these good clothes have more than style—they
have the wearing ability that comes only from pure wool
ens, the finest hand-tailoring, and the most perfect of made-
to-measure fit.
We’re ready to measure you for those new Kahn
Clothes you need.
Brandon & Lawrence
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