Lycidas

A nervous Manhattan financier snatched at what he thought was his daily Wall Street Journal. What was this? Editor Kenneth C. Hogate, President C. W. Barren were getting after those bummers who undersold him yesterday! He called the fine news across the room to tell his secretary, found her tittering timorously and avoiding his look. Again he looked at his paper. Here was his name in print! What had he done? Dastardly impudence! Oh! . . . This was not the Wall Street Journal. He was reading the Bawl Street Journal, its gay, impish perfect imitation which the Manhattan Bond Club issues for its annual picnic. Now he could settle down to enjoy the neighborhood merriment. . . .

"Florida Water and Fragrance" [article by "C. W. Barren" for C. W. Barren, president of the Wall Street Journal, author of many articles analyzing Florida]. "Those who do not like Gory Cables can go to hell. Fifty million dollars have already been spent on this Elysium. Most of this has been for publicity. ... On the highest point, which is approximately five feet eight inches above mean, low down, dirty sea level, they are going to build a beautiful early Spanish missing-style $10,000,000.35 insane asylum. They got the idea from Dr. [Roach] Straton when he was down here following vice when it moved south for the winter." "

Seaboard Air Line's Florida office will be in charge of Mr. Arthur Brisbane" [after he had acquired 10,000 acres of land there].

" Try Nujol -- you won't dare cough."

"Not a Laxative--Buy it by the Jar--Ford."

"Ask our salesmen to explain what we mean--Dodge Brothers."

"Speedometers Guaranteed to do 80 Miles an Hour--Chrysler."

"Murray Body--Any Body--No Body--Keane, Higbie."

"Announcement--In line with our new policy we will now accept business from persons of recognized social position even if they are not related to the du Ponts--Laird, Bissel & Meeds."

"Opportunity--We have openings for 20 more salesmen, congenial surroundings, collegiate atmosphere. Only Yale and Exeter graduates need apply--Bacon, Whipple."

"The Corn Exchange Bank--60 branches hidden around the city where the gunmen cannot find them --enterprising enough to use time clocks but conservative enough in salaries."

"Millions of chickens pass our door every afternoon, and our corner is the meeting place for many jackasses. The manure lies around in heaps. Open your sweetheart's account with us--Farmers Loan & Trust."

"The Chemical Bank solicits not only your account but that of your ox, your ass and any stranger within thy gates--also your old man's."

"We Have Acquired a Couple of New Companies--W. A. Harriman & Co."

"Where U. S. Steel Dollar Goes-- taxes 4%, wages 7 1/2%, material 1/2%, entertainment 13%, pumpkin pie 4%, annual report 5%, director fees 5%, net for stocks 3%, Bethlehem Steel competition 29%, expert accounting fees 29%. Where U. S. Steel Dollar Comes From-- expert accounting 48%, production 2%, employes subscription fund profits 25%, stockholders 25%."

"I ran across an iceman in a street car who suggested that I take Fleischmann's yeast [for my pimples]. Well, after taking three cakes a day for six months I am a perfect picture of sex ap- peal."

"Bishop Manning, in an abortive attempt to put the Cathedral drive over the top, is canvassing bootleggers for contributions."

"Government Takes Up Oil Conversations--President's Commission Finds Plenty of Stocks in Public's Hands--None in, Companies'."

"Herbert Hoover, Secretary of Something, presided and said in part--I have forgotten the purpose of this gathering, but it is pleasant to see you all here. I shall ask you to please hurry off the steps so that the Commission may be photographed."

Last week, the joy always associated with the Bawl Street Journal turned to sorrow. Its editor, Robert A. ("Smiling Bob") Bould, investment chief of Frederick H. Hatch & Co., able executive, merry wit, was drowned. Wall Street wept its Lycidas.

Bould had set out from Port Jefferson to cross Long Island Sound, with friends aboard his auxiliary cruiser Isolde. Miss Dorothy Smart had clambered into a dinghy that trailed behind, for the thrill of being towed. Up shouldered a burly wave, swamping girl and dinghy. Over the Isolde's rail went Bould, fully clad and no stout swimmer. George Johnstone, the only man left on the Isolde, did not know how to put the ship about. He was far from the drowning couple when he had righted the dinghy, bailed it and set off to paddle back with the one broken oar available.

"I'm all right," gasped "Smiling Bob" Bould as Mr. Johnstone reached them. "Save her!"

Dragging the girl inboard, George

Johnstone turned to save his friend. The waters were empty. Seven hours of searching were in vain. ... A requiem service was held at the head of Wall Street, in quiet old-skyscraper-dwarfed Trinity Church.