A One Horse Town

By Earle W. Jacobs

Transcribing from his voluminous notes our main character tells of the many adventures that beset him, beginning with his being orphaned as a teenager, his felonious Uncle Bascombs treachery, Prohibitions Days in Chicago and the local Mob, his special college Pal, Burt and his and their adventures together. The lovely Amanda Richards he meets at the University of Illinois is sure to intrigue you.

Things really start to get interesting when the boys Durant breaks down just outside of Pineville City, Nebraska and they meet Doc Hasberg, Big Ben Collins and other interesting people in that city. Wait til you meet Lord Henry James Augustus Wilton-Smith and his family, Lady Agatha and daughter Pamela. Once you start this book, you might have trouble putting it down, you just know, that in just a few more pages, some other adventure will capture your attention. Enjoy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 18, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468543490

Earle W. Jacobs

Earle Jacobs has been a long time resident of Southern California. He lives’ there with his wife, Alla Mikhaylovna, a native of Kiev, Ukraine and their one-eared cat Barrabashka, a native of St. Petersburg, Russia. Alla is a US Citizen. Barrabashka so far still has only her entry visa. He was an Army Lieutenant during WWII and was awarded battle stars for his ETO Campaign Ribbon for Normandy, Northern France, Rhineland and Central Europe. He has been writing adventure novels since 1989.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Well now, on the off chance there are any family, friends, or neighbors still out there anywhere , I suppose by now you would all be wondering. what the dickens I am doing out here in this place in the hills of Nebraska. Believe me, I find it a little hard to believe I am here myself sometimes. To understand how this all came about let us just go back a little in time and I will see if I can explain. It may appear to be a little complicated but please, bear with me while I sort through my voluminous notes.

The story begins, I guess, about the time I was just finishing high school back in Chicago. This was toward the end of nineteen seventeen. I know, I know, I should have finished in June but a year prior, the family, including me, was quarantined with the mumps; first one of us, then another, ‘til we all had our turn. We had the red quarantine sign on our front door it seemed like forever. I was out of school too long and lost a semester. Maybe one day they will find a cure but I guess we who survived at least are all now immune from further infection. I had done all right in school; not brilliant perhaps but reasonably adequate. Dad was a Certified Public Accountant and had started his own business a few years before that. Mom was teaching seventh and eighth grade classes in Grammar School. You can understand why it would be important to them that I too had a good education.

What I really liked to do was to read. As soon as I had learned how, I was reading all the time. We were lucky to have a Dale Carnegie library within walking distance and I was there frequently as soon as I could get my own library card. I also had acquired a bunch of dime novels by Ned Buntline and others. Everyone knew of my fondness for reading and I always got books for my birthdays and other holidays. I was fascinated by stories of the Wild West and was determined that someday I would go there and maybe live the adventures I had been reading about.

As you know, the Great World War was underway in Europe at this time. The sinking of the steamship Lusitania by German U-boats with great loss of civilian lives served to catapult our country into the conflict on the side of Britain, France and Russia. Dad, I am sure, having his own business and a wife and child, would have been exempt from the draft. In the patriotic fever that was then gripping the country after the declaration of war announced by the president, he however, like many others, rushed to enlist in the armed services. Those terrible Huns must be punished! Mom would continue to teach and care for our home and me. I was an only child. Everyone thought that likely, the war would not last long and he expected he would be home quite soon.

You probably remember also that at that same time the country was in the grip of a terrible epidemic of influenza. Many thousands died. The army, with all those men living in close proximity, was a prime breeding ground for the flu bug. It took a terrible toll and perhaps there more so than among the civilian population. My father was one of the many who caught the dreadful disease. In almost no time at all, he had died in the camp hospital. Perhaps, while home on one of his brief but infrequent leaves, he may have passed on the germ to my mother. By some miracle, I escaped the infection. At the time of her death, my poor mother was so ill I don’t think she really understood that Dad was already gone. It was March 15, 1918. Remember: Beware the Ides of March? I still have an uneasy feeling when that time of year comes around.

I was almost into my eighteenth year; well, O.K., anyway about seventeen and a half, almost. I was now an orphan and I was devastated by the sudden loss of both my parents. We had been a close and loving family. We owned our home, which was paid for but I did not know how I was going to be able to live there by myself. I also didn’t know what should be done about my Dad’s business. There were just too many things, at my age that I didn’t yet know how to handle. I was in one heck of a predicament and didn’t know which way to turn.

Well being a minor with a few years to go before I would be twenty-one, and then free to make my own decisions, the judicial system of the State of Illinois made the decisions for me. The courts decided that a conservator was required to handle my estate until I reached my majority. My only living relative was the older brother of my mother. Abner R. Bascomb had never been particular close to us but had acquired a minor interest in Dad’s company by investing a very small amount of money when the business was getting started. My parents had owned all the remainder jointly.

Good old Uncle Abner successfully petitioned the courts to be able to take over the company and to purchase from me what would have been my company from his operation of that business. These moneys were to be deposited into a trust fund until I reached the age of twenty-one. Payments were to be made into that fund monthly from operations of the business until the purchase price, stipulated by the court, had been paid in full. Our home and the furnishings I did not wish to keep, would be sold and those proceeds too would be held in my trust fund. Inasmuch as I had no other living relatives, Abner R. Bascomb, Esq., was then duly appointed by the court as Conservator of my estate. He would oversee handling of the funds in the trust and would insure that such moneys as were required for my college tuition, room, board and personal expenses were paid monthly from the trust, as required in the court order.

At my dear Uncle Bascomb’s direction, I was immediately enrolled as a freshman at the University of Illinois, down near Champagne, in the southern part of the state. It had taken some time for all these things to be finalized, so it was the month of June before I could commence my university education. Of course, the regular semester would not start now until September; however, I had nowhere else to go so, there I was. Dear old Uncle Abner had no room for me at his house. He was a bachelor and said he had no means of caring for me. I had wanted to go to the University of Chicago, a very good school in my old home town, but Uncle Abner said it was much too expensive and we had to make my money last, so there I was. I decided to start an abbreviated summer session; I had nowhere to go and nothing else to do anyway. Likely, I would go out of my mind sitting around doing nothing.

I had then gathered up the things from home I had wanted to save and my personal effects and was then prepared to begin my strange new life a long way from anything that was familiar to me. I had been allocated an initial sum of two thousand dollars by the court to get me established in my new life. Upon arrival in Champagne, I deposited fifteen hundred of that in the local bank. I put some on deposit at school and kept a hundred to cover my immediate expenses. The belongings I couldn’t house with me I had put in storage until such time as I had a place for them. Upon registering at the school, I was assigned to a room in one of the dormitories.

I was a pretty sad and a very homesick lad of course. It was bad enough to lose both my parents so close together, but to be thrust among a bunch of strangers on top of it all and in a strange environment as well, was very disheartening. Here I was, about to be housed in a bleak old college dormitory with a bunch of others, all strangers. I thought it was really the pits!

Actually, as it turned out, it could have been a lot worse. I was lucky; my roommate, who had checked in just shortly before I had, turned out to be a cheerful, outgoing chap by the name of, are you ready for this? Burton R Burton, Jr., unbelievable! He must be from a family with very limited imagination or maybe they had a terrible problem remembering names. Perhaps this solved any problems. At any rate Burton R. said to just call him Burt, which was fine with me. His father, he believed, may have been a graduate of this school and supposedly had many connections here and in this part of the state. Their home was in Springfield, the state capitol, so he was not too far from home. His father had business there and elsewhere and was apparently quite successful. Burt was such a friendly, outgoing chap that he soon had me considerably cheered. He assured me, now that we were both here, we would have a great time at Old Illini.

I always had a hankering to write so decided to try for an education that would help me get into the newspaper business with maybe some secondary accounting courses, my father’s calling. My first days were busy as I tried to get some courses that I was hoping would help me get employment when I was out of school. From what limited contact I had with my Uncle Bascomb so far, I was fairly certain, he did not anticipate helping me much in that regard.

My new pal, Burt, assured me that there was much more to attending college than studying all the time. He thereafter proceeded to indoctrinate me into college life as he was convinced it should be lived. What a guy! He was an extremely accomplished mentor in that regard. He had an old Ford touring car; with side curtains no less. Are you familiar with them? I found out that fastening these contraptions on the car when it was cold, which it always was when you needed them, was an undertaking to try the patience of a saint. It was quickly determined during the first rain squall that we encountered that I would never be a candidate for sainthood! This noble conveyance, in part however, was to be useful for my indoctrination into life on a college campus.

Although Burt appeared pretty well off financially, my resources were limited by what my uncle sent monthly in care of the school finance department. After paying for my room and board each month, I did not have a lot left over to allow me to indulge in much riotous living. I wasn’t about to tap my bank account and the fact I even had one was information I had determined I should best keep to myself, for the time being at least. The check, which came to the Finance Department monthly covered tuition, room and board with a small stipend to cover my incidental expenses. I could draw on the latter as I saw fit, assuming there were any unused funds therein.

I hadn’t found out for sure, why Burt was also starting in the summer session. As time went by, I began to suspect that perhaps his family thought it might be better for everyone’s peace of mind if he were away from the old hometown for a spell. At any rate, he was a godsend for me. He sure was a live wire and did make my life a lot more interesting than anything I had experienced before. His summer class schedule was even more abbreviated than was mine. It seemed he had not much more than a couple Phys. Ed. courses. He was very good in sports and perhaps he was intending on becoming a teacher or instructor in the physical education field upon graduation. I figured he must know what he was doing, as he appeared to be very intelligent. Well, at any rate, I was now Burt’s pal and we were off in the car to explore the country in this part of the state whenever I could take time off from studying. I was determined to get the best grades I could and knew I would have to really hit the books, if I were to be successful.

It was amazing how many friendly girls there were on campus when you had a car and could drive them about. We therefore usually could find female companionship, when such was desired, for our forays about the countryside. This turned out to be fortunate for my pal, Burt. I couldn’t afford the financial outlay to keep up with my roaming roommate. There seemed to be a sufficient number of the coeds however, who were ready to take up the slack whenever I was not able to ride shotgun for my pal.

We did not have a car when I was at home and I had never driven one. Burt decided this was an unacceptable condition which he was determined must go uncorrected no longer. He assured me he was sufficiently qualified to be my instructor. I was convinced of that also. I did think, this now being the twentieth century, driving a car was a skill I must acquire.

One pleasant afternoon in August, we found a deserted stretch of road outside of town to use for my instruction. Really, the hardest part of the whole operation was learning how to start the darn thing; setting the spark correctly and then cranking the engine. That cranking business was no fun at all! It turned out to be a great way to work up a good sweat if you did not set the control switches correctly or if the beast just decided that day to just be cranky. My instructor pointed out that if the motor kicked the crank handle back and caught your arm, this was a good way to wind up with a broken ulna. He mentioned this after the first time that the crank handle snapped back and caught me and left me with a bruise on my arm that took a month to heal. I guess I was lucky I didn’t have a broken arm. It sure hurt like the dickens!

Well, I did learn to drive and eventually actually became fairly adept at it. Occasionally, when my pal decided to ride in the back with one (or more) of the coeds, I would be pressed into service as chauffeur. As time went by, we took some longer trips on the weekends and would spell each other with the driving. Burt’s father seemed not to mind footing the car expenses, which seemed to me to be mounting astronomically. I surely could not have afforded to pay my rightful share and that bothered me. Burt said to forget it; he would be driving around any way; he was more than glad to have my company. It surely did make my summer a lot more pleasant and more interesting than it might have been otherwise.

One of the things I did accomplish during the summer was to contact the school newspaper. I was accepted to work on the staff when the fall semester started. I was now prepared to become a hotshot investigative reporter. I decided then that it was time to invest some of my cash in the purchase of a new fedora. One needed a hatband in which to tuck one’s press pass when out on assignment, covering a breaking story. I had learned this from movies I had seen! I was sure at least part of being a successful reporter was looking the part. I made the investment. I thought I had picked out a most distinguished looking hat and I couldn’t wait for an occasion to try it out. That no doubt should happen quite soon.

After a rather uneventful summer, other than our trips, the fall semester got under way and I got all my classes lined up and invested in the textbooks and what supplies I would need. I reported to the newspaper office in due course, ready to start my reportorial duties. Unfortunately such assignments, I was informed, were for the upper classmen who had put in their apprenticeship doing what I was now about to commence. I guess I was for now, a glorified pencil sharpener. Actually, what I did mostly was to read stories, checking for errors in spelling and grammar. I had a dictionary and thesaurus at my disposal. All this was supposed to give me a feeling about the way stories were to be written and then were put together into a newspaper. I put my nice fedora back in the hatbox and up on the shelf in the back of my closet; for now, way, way back!

Well, it surely didn’t seem like a very auspicious start for my career but I was learning quite a few things about how a newspaper was run and it was pretty obvious there was a lot more to it than running around and occasionally shouting Stop the Presses. When they were short handed, one or the other of the two photographers we had would sometimes take me as their assistant. That was quite interesting and they would often explain why they were doing what they were doing. Mostly I was there to carry extra film plates and the flashgun. It was another part of the newspaper business however and I was glad of the opportunity to observe it. Using photographs in newspaper stories was a brand new development.

That’s pretty much how the semester went. I was pretty busy most of the time with my studies as I was taking a pretty full load of courses plus putting in a lot of time at the newspaper office, which I had found to be a fascinating place. Most everyone there was very friendly and helpful. I was making some good friends and enjoyed hanging out there when I was not in class or studying. My grades were all pretty good which was important. Without passing grades, I couldn’t work on the paper.

As you know, the war was officially over on November the eleventh at the eleventh hour. I got to read the stories to commemorate the momentous occasion before they were published. My contributions were not of much historical relevance but it was great to be there when all this excitement was taking place. I must confess I was more than a little disappointed when no one had rushed into the office shouting, STOP THE PRESSES, STOP THE PRESSES, THE WAR HAS ENDED! It certainly seemed to me like a golden opportunity, gone to waste. That is life I guess; too many wasted golden opportunities.

The year-end holidays were kind of lonely for me; the first ones without my family. Burt had invited me to go to Springfield with him for Thanksgiving but I just did not yet feel like being with a bunch of strangers. He was a little upset that I had not accepted but I promised I would see if maybe, at Christmas time, I might go home with him. The school cafeteria put on a pretty nice dinner for those of us staying at school for the holidays and it was not too bad being with a bunch of other guys, and a few coeds, who for one reason or another were in this similar situation.

Funny thing, when Christmas arrived, Burt had said he had decided to stay at school over the holidays and celebrate with me. We would go to the hotel in Champagne for a bang up Christmas dinner, go exploring all over in the car during school vacation and for a change of pace, we will rent a nice room at the hotel, and take in the festivities in the hotel ballroom on New Year ’s Eve. His father, he assured me, had provided the necessary funds to make all this possible.

Well, that’s what we did. We really had a good time exploring all of southern Illinois and over into Indiana, even as far as Terre Haute. Not really very far, I guess. I had figured we would spend some time around Springfield, and tour our state’s capital. I had always wanted to visit the home of Abraham Lincoln there, which I knew was now being maintained as an historical site and open to the public for a small fee. Somehow, however the time got away from us before we could do that which was somewhat of a disappointment. Anyway, we got back to the hotel in Champagne and claimed our room in time for the New Year’s Eve festivities.

The semester was over in January, of course, and now it was time to really hit the books for final exams if I was going to maintain my grades and able to stay on the paper. I had really enjoyed my vacation with Burt and thought it very nice of his father to finance our good time. I thought it only proper that I write to him and express my appreciation but Burt insisted that was not necessary. His father was just glad to have someone for him to travel with and to keep him out of trouble.

I made it through the semester and with pretty good grades. The instructor supervising the newspaper and the people running it, mostly seniors with a few juniors, liked me and the paper was becoming my home away from home. I pitched in whenever I could see something that needed doing and was learning a lot about how newspapers were put together. I didn’t see as much of Burt now because I was either in class, studying or down at the newspaper office. I didn’t think he was studying as much as he should and was really taking only the minimum courses to say in school. I was concerned he might get failing grades and be forced to leave. He had been a friend when I really needed a friend and I did not want anything bad to happen to him. His father, he reminded me, was a big donor to the school and he was sure he would graduate at the proper time.

I didn’t have much time, except on some weekends, for our automobile excursions and we still did those on occasion. Burt still seemed to find a pretty girl to ride with him when I was not available and seemed to have money to spend on them. I really felt rather uncomfortable not spending as much time with him as he would have liked. I explained that I knew I was going to have to be able to earn a living when I got out of school so it was important I apply myself while I was here. If not I might be in for some hard times later. Burt, of course seemed certain that his family money would be sufficient to take care of his future when he was through school. He did however understand my position he said; no hard feeling, Old Pal, he told me.

The summer semester was more of the same for me. I was taking as many subjects as allowed. I wasn’t sure how long I was going to be able to stay in school. I had heard not a word from my uncle since leaving Chicago to come here. As I said before, he was never very close to the family, even to his sister, my mother. I decided I would continue to attend through the summer months and get as many courses in as I could manage. If I did not get to stay the full four years maybe I would have enough to get some kind of degree or perhaps some sort of certificate of accomplishment. I had no place to go anyway and surely could not afford a vacation in any event.

My perseverance at the paper had started to pay off–a little. The students doing the reporting jobs were not interested in covering the doings of the various sororities on campus; that sort of thing was beneath them. Guess who got to cover these events? The sororities wanted publicity for their upcoming events and dances and it was my job to contact the chairpersons of these events and write something for publication. I knew some of them as sometime passengers on Burt’s excursions. The fact I was a friend of Burt’s helped me gain entrée with some of the sorority sisters, most of whom had at least a passing acquaintance with my friend. It wasn’t exactly the sort of reporting I had envisioned when I had bought the hat but so what, it was a start.

Actually my write-ups of these events for the sororities and later some of the fraternities, sometimes led to invitations to attend those events so I could better write up these activities for the school paper. Occasionally I attended with one of the sorority sisters, usually one whose date had cancelled at the last minute. Some were quite attractive but mostly the ones with cancelled dates were not the most attractive girls in the school. However, I found them mostly to be very nice girls and I usually had a good time and tried to see that my date did also. Guess it was the way that I was brought up. Later, I even was invited, infrequently, as a first choice date and a couple times double-dated with Burt. The girls liked to be driven to and from the dances and somewhere for a sandwich and a soda afterward. There were a number of advantages having my pal, Burt, for a friend and roommate.

I was somewhat surprised Burt was not even more popular than I thought he would be, what with his own car and all. I heard some rumors he was seen hanging around with a kind of fast crowd off campus when he was not somewhere with me. I was sure that was not very likely. To me he was a pretty nice guy and my good friend. I did worry a little however. I didn’t know how he stayed in school because he didn’t seem to ever study and ever so often would be gone for a couple days at a time. He was a good friend and I didn’t want him to be in trouble. He explained that his father had needed him in his business at times and that was why he occasionally had to take time off from school. He promised he was going to try and hit the books harder and improve his grades. That is pretty much how things went for the rest of the year.

I know, I know; you are saying, Hey, Pal, what has this got to do with being in a small town in Nebraska? I told you maybe it was a little complicated. Well, perhaps more than just a little. Wait.

Chapter 2

The next two years were pretty much a replication (Like that word? Thank that thesaurus I told you about.) of what transpired in my freshman year. I was making some progress however. In my sophomore and junior semesters, I got to go out and do some actual coverage of stories and interview people for articles I wrote, mostly while covering the school’s different sports teams. I also got to travel with the teams occasionally when they had out of town games. That was fun and got me to places I had not been before. I still had not had occasion however to bring out The Hat. To tell you the truth, now that I was a bit more sophisticated about the newspaper business I was afraid to wear it. Surely, there eventually would come an appropriate time. After all, five dollars was rather expensive for a hat, even a good one such as mine, surely it should not go to waste. I vividly remember the old family saying, waste not; want not.

It became obvious about this time that if I expected to contribute very many stories for publication they would have to be submitted in something better than longhand. I had noticed some of the guys using the typewriter employing the two finger approach, obviously being self taught. I figured, if I could take a typing course and learn the proper method, I could do my stories faster and better. I was finally able to get into a typing class the last semester of my junior year.

I was the only male student in the class at the time; it not being considered then to be something a red-blooded lad needed for a well-rounded education. Secretarial work was for girls, you know. It appeared some of the girls thought so too and were inclined to wonder about me and snicker behind my back. So what, this was a skill that I needed to learn.

Sitting across the aisle from me in typing class was a pretty, little, dark haired girl. I found out before long that she was also originally from Chicago but that her family had moved to Decatur, five years previously. (As you see, I wasn’t training to be an ace investigative reporter for nothing.) She was in the second semester of her freshman year and intended to be a schoolteacher. She seemed a rather shy person, which rather attracted me. I was inclined to be a little nervous around some of the "modern" girls on campus. I thought I would like to make her acquaintance but she seemed so reticent and shy, I was unsure just how best to go about this.

Well finally, as luck would have it, we were leaving class around the end of the third week and I was walking just behind when her sleeve caught on the door handle as she was walking past. All her books and papers scattered across the floor. I was afraid she might feel badly when some of the girls snickered and giggled as they walked by. I put my stuff down quickly and told her not to worry; I would help her get her things together in a jiffy, no problem at all. This was my last class of the day and, as I handed the last of her books to her, I suggested, if she had the time, I would be pleased to take her to the cafeteria, for a soda or whatever she might like. She pointed out that obviously, she was already too late to make her next class and perhaps, under the circumstances, a little respite at the cafeteria might be very nice.

And that, my friends, is how I became acquainted with that little, dark haired girl. Turns out, she had the prettiest deep blue eyes. I hadn’t noticed that before. Her name was Amanda. Kind of an old-fashioned name I suppose but it seemed to suit her very well.

I suggested the next day that I would be happy to walk with her to her next class after typing. She allowed as how that might be nice. She was forever dropping things it appeared and it would be nice to know there was someone to help should that again occur. That is how I happened to walk with her each afternoon to her class in English Composition after our typing class. Occasionally I would meet her at the cafeteria after her last class for a chocolate soda. We were becoming good friends and I really enjoyed her company.

I was having a difficult time keeping track of my friend, Burt. It seems he was always off doing something but I finally found him at the dorm one evening and told him of my new girl friend. He really kidded me about that of course and said he thought it was about time I did something like that. He was beginning to think I did not really like girls and was beginning to worry. I told him the only reason I had even mentioned it to him was because I wanted to see if he might rent me the car when he was not going to need it and maybe I could take Amanda to a movie in town and maybe to dinner sometime. He thought that would be great, anything to smooth and promote the "course of true love". I knew then he was going to be kidding me unmercifully from then on. Maybe I should have kept my big mouth shut.

Of course, I could use the car whenever he didn’t need it. He said, just put in a little gas once in a while and then only when I had more cash than I needed for my date. He said he didn’t really need the money but he knew I always felt better when I contributed something. That’s how Amanda and I got to go on a date once in a while; pretty heady stuff for both of us. Neither of us had a lot of experience dating and it was taking some getting used to.

I had squired some of the sorority girls to their different functions and had even had a thank-you kiss or two at the end of the evening. I really, however, had never been dating with a girl friend. The second time we took the car on a date I took Amanda back to her dorm and that is when The Kiss happened. Wow! I didn’t know what had struck me. I didn’t know girls could kiss like that! Actually, Amanda seemed a little confused as well although I am not really sure; nothing was very clear to me right after that happened. I remember mumbling something about seeing her in class next day; however, not how I got back to my room in the dorm. Obviously however I did. I spent a long sleepless night, tossing and turning and wondering what had happened to me.

Wonder of wonders, Burt had been asleep when I had gotten in and had slept right on through my tossings and turnings. In the morning however, he took one look at me and asked, had I been hit by a train, run the car into a telephone pole or had I just now taken up serious drinking? I adopted my innocent, injured look and told him of course not, just a date with Amanda for a movie, nothing to write home about, nothing special. Pal, he said. You sure got it bad and that ain’t good. Of course, then he had to follow up by singing all the rest of the words of the song with a soulful look on his face. I’m sure that must have made Duke Ellington very happy. I sure hope you can pull yourself together before your next class, he said when he finally finished his yodeling. You sure do look like you were dragged through a knothole backwards. I assured him he was grossly overemphasizing a simple date. He laughed and said, Yeah sure, Pal as he left to attend one of his increasingly infrequent classes. I could hear him chuckling as he went off down the hall. Well, as they say, Amanda and I became an Item. Both of us thought that was great. We both had been a little inclined to be loners I guess and we were very comfortable in each other’s company.

As I have explained, I had been to a few of the dances. No one so far however had confused me with Vernon Castle and I didn’t usually have a repeat date with the same girl unless she was really desperate for a partner. Now, if there was a dance with good music, Amanda and I went. She was a good dancer. She was also a good pianist and had a good sense of rhythm and timing. She undertook to improve my terpsichorean prowess, which, believe me, was no small task. It took a while but, thanks to her patience, eventually I didn’t dance like I had been born with two left feet. I suppose there is some incentive, when you are holding a pretty girl, to do a little better than you ever thought you could. I was not ready, however, to enter any of the dance contests or marathons that were becoming the craze of the moment.

Between Burt and the guys at the paper I was sure getting a ribbing. I was always being asked such questions as, Have you set a date for the wedding? Are you going to wait until Amanda graduates? How many children have you decided to have? Stuff like that. Of course, I always got very red at questions like the latter, which of course resulted in more of the same. Amanda confessed some of the girls were giving her a similar treatment. She thought it was funny and kind of enjoyed it; she just laughed. It seemed to me however that many people seemed now to think I was a figure at which to poke fun.

I finally mentioned to Amanda I thought everyone was just making way too much of an innocent, platonic relationship. (As it turned out, not one of my most astute observations.) Her rejoinder, delivered with raised eyebrows was, Oh, Platonic relationship? I see. Girls are strange, don’t you agree? For the next week, Amanda had special class projects and activities with her friends that took up all her free time. I finagled the flivver for a trip into town for a movie but, unfortunately, Amanda pointed out, she had been spending so much time involved in our platonic relationship she must now devote more time to her studies. What had I done?" She sure did seem upset with me.

After about a week and a half I got a note, hand delivered to me, at the paper by some guy I had never seen before. It was from Amanda and the fact that it had been delivered by a courier who was much taller and better looking than I, was somewhat disconcerting.

The note said, Dear, why don’t you look up platonic in your precious dictionary-thesaurus. Perhaps we may thereafter have a small discourse on the subject. A

OK, so I looked up platonic, no big deal. According to Noah Webster:

Platonic: 1. Characteristic of, or pertaining to, Plato, the philosopher. (427 – 347 BC) Well, I could see nothing wrong with that.

2. Idealistic, visionary or impractical. Hmmmm, so what?

3. also-not amorous or sensual but purely practical; as, platonic love. Ah ha!

So that’s why I am in the dog house! It surely doesn’t take a whole lot to get girls upset, does it? Well there is nothing for it now but to bite the bullet, so to speak and to make amends. I sure did miss Amanda and was prepared to sue for forgiveness on almost any terms I could arrange. Remembering her courier, I contemplated getting one of the really good-looking sorority girls that owed me a favor to deliver my note but, on reflection, I thought perhaps that, right at this time, Amanda’s sense of humor might not see the humor that I intended. I explained the problem to Burt and he agreed it would be much better for him to act as my emissary.

I wrote a note explaining I had carefully reviewed my dictionary and I obviously misspoke in using the p word. I will never use the p word again, I promised. I was sorry I had said or done anything to upset her and would like to see if there was not some way for me to make amends. Burt read the note and said it appeared adequate and he would deliver it and we would await results. It seemed like forever but two days later, I got another note that said that if I could get the car I could take her to dinner and we could talk and—It was sweet of me to send flowers with the note. That rascal, Burt, took flowers when he delivered the note. He obviously is a lot smarter than I am where girls are concerned. I thanked him profusely for all he had done and, as I suspected, the car was free for my use the next night. What a guy!

I was all slicked up by the time I started out the next evening. I had gotten a haircut and barbershop shave; my one suit had been cleaned and pressed. I was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rockers when I left to pick up Amanda at her dorm. I swear, as I drove up in front, half of her dorm-mates were lounging about the front veranda or standing at the windows. The walk from the car to the veranda and front entry seemed to be at least over five miles and take an hour to negotiate. I however eventually presented myself at the entrance and rang the bell, of course under the avid scrutiny of the assembled gaggle of dorm sisters.

The housemother eventually appeared and inquired as to the purpose of my visit. I explained that I had come to take Amanda to dinner. She said, Amanda? Oh, I wonder if she has come home yet, I haven’t seen her all day. If you have a moment perhaps I can check and see if she is receiving visitors this evening. Boy! I had already sweated off about five pounds and about now began to suspect a conspiracy was afoot. Well, two can play this little game. Golly Maam, I said, Perhaps it would be better if I were to return at a more propitious time. She grinned at me then and grabbed me by the arm, hissing in my ear, Just play along and everything will be just fine; trust me. She then sat me in a chair in the foyer. It seemed I sat there for a couple hours until every student in the dorm that thought she should give me the once over had an opportunity to stroll