MODERN BEANSTALK

134 XXVIII VOLSTEAD AND CONVERSATION 137 XXIX LIFE, THE COPY CAT 143 XXX THE ORTHODOX CHAMPION 149 XXXI WITH A STEIN ON THE TABLE 153 XXXII ART FOR ARGUMENT'S SAKE 159 XXXIII NO RAHS FOR RAY 165 XXXIV "AT ABOY!" 170 XXXV HOW TO WIN MONEY AT THE RACES 174 XXXVI ONE TOUCH OF SLAPSTICK 178 XXXVII DANGER SIGNALS FOR READERS 183 XXXVIII ADVENTURE MADE PAINLESS 188 XXXIX THE TALL VILLA 197 XL PROFESSOR GEORGE PIERCE BAKER 202 XLI WHAT SHAKESPEARE MISSED 207 XLII CENSORING THE CENSOR 222

PIECES OF HATE

I

THE NOT IMPOSSIBLE SHEIK

Women must be peculiar people, if that. We have just finished "The Sheik," which is described on the jacket as possessing "ALL the intense passion and tender feeling of the most vivid love stories, almost brutal in its revelations."

Naturally, we read it. The author is English and named E. M. Hull. The publishers expand the "E" to Ethel, but we have a theory of our own. At any rate the novelist displays an extraordinary knowledge of feminine psychology. It is profound. It is also a little disturbing because it sounds so silly. After all, whether peculiar or not women are round about us almost everywhere, and we must make the best of them. Accordingly, it terrifies us to learn that if by any chance whatsoever we happen to hit one of them and knock her down she will become devoted to us forever. The man who knows this will think twice before he strikes a woman no matter what the provocation. He will be inclined to count ten before letting a blow go instead of after. Miss Hull's book deserves the widest possible circulation because of its persuasive propaganda for forebearance on the part of men in their dealings with women.

Seemingly, there are no exceptions to the rules about women laid down by Miss Hull. To state her theory concisely, the quickest way to reach a woman's heart is a right hook to the jaw. To take a specific instance, there was Miss Diana Mayo. She seemed an exception to the rule if ever a woman did. "My God, Diana! Beauty like yours drives a man mad!" said Arbuthnot, the young British lieutenant, in the moonlight at Biskra. More than that, "He whispered ardently, his hands closing over the slim ones lying in her lap." Those were her own.

Still, Diana was no miss to take a hint. With a strength that seemed impossible for their slimness she disengaged her hands from his grasp. "Please stop. I am sorry.