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title: 'The Day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, May 06, 1914, NOON EDITION, Image 13',
meta: 'News about Chronicling America - RSS Feed',
Image provided by: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL
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BASEBALL IS THE REAL DEMOCRACY ' .
BY EDMUND VANCE COOKE "
Mulholland, he owns traction stocks,
And so he sits in a grand-stand box.
I'm clever far than he, I think,
For his stock's water, while mine is ink,
But my thin purse can better afford
The soft, warm side of a bleacher board. .
He sits with the mien of a major Fate,
As the Reuben's in-shoots( cut the plate,
While my position can only see
Whether they're shoulder high or knee; 7
But O'Laughlin rules and it's my belief
,' He doesn't care which of us calls him "Thief r
And when the ball toward" the left field wings
And the bleachers rise and the chorus sings
For "Topsy!" Top's legs whirl like spokes
' And the grass beneath him fairly smokes,
And he leaps like a panther toward his kill;
Then let them sit in the stands who will!
Mulholland sits in the grand-stand. Fudge!
That doesn't make him any better judge
Of the game than L And, as for that,
That knot-holed, shrill-piped, foul-fed brat
Is twice as happy as both. Baseball
Is the Teal Democracy, after all.
Sometimes I think it is much the same
In the somewhat more pretentious game
Called life. The man in the grand-stand knows
No more of pleasure, no less of woes.
Wealth (?) is a ticket. Learning (?) is dope.
And the ball coming over the fence is hope!
'(Edmund Vance Cooke in "Basbology." Copyright, 1912, Forbes & Co.)
THE CONFESSIONSOF A WIFE
HOW DICK LOOKS
(Copyright, 1914, by the Newspaper
"Now this is something like it," ex
claimed Dick's friend, Jim Edie, as
he pulled out my chair in the smart
est restaurant In town.
"When a man has been in the wilds
of Alaska for ten months jt makes his
blood tingle and his nerves jump to
find himself in the flower of civiliza
We had been at the theater Jim,
Dick and I and the strain of the
Merry Widow waltz was still singing
itself into my brain and almost mak
ing my feet refuse to keep still.
I looked about at the laughing,
seemingly happy crowd. The orches
tra was playing the omnipresent
waltz; there was the tinkle of silver
against china and the clinking of
glass against glass. There was the"
sight of brilliant eyes, flashing teeth,
snowy shoulders and white throats
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