Hello Yourself, Sherwood!

JOHN RIDDELL

Some Parody Reminiscences in the Manner of Mr. Anderson, and Other Literary Notes of the Month

I AM not a writer. I am a writer. If I were a writer, I would not know what to do ivith myself. I would sit in a study all day long like a pansy, catching flies with my hand, or pulling down the shade and letting it run back ivith a snap, or turning out books like this. I could not write for other people.

"All right, then," I said. "I will let other people write for me." I was driving along a country road in Virginia with the lady "Q".

I have to keep my ladies card-indexed and filed under their initials so that I can keep track of them. I am not a business-man either.

1 saw a newspaper office. I went in. "How much is your newspaper?"

"Two cents," he said.

"No, the whole thing. The office, and the typewriters, and the pot of paste, and the free telephone, and the green eye-shades, and the dramatic editor, and all those nice sharp pencils. Do you ivant to sell it?" He did. "How much?" He told me.

"Too much." Pansies make love among the branches of trees. They do not have to worry about money.

But you are not a pansy.

7 always have this supreme faith about money. I cannot tell where it comes from. When I reach in my pocket I always find something there, such as my hand.

"I am Sherwood Riddell," I told him. "Who?" "Sherwood Riddell." "Diddle?" "No, Riddell," "Riddell?"

"Sherivood Riddell, the writer, you poor damned fool."

"It must be ideal to be a writer," said the editor.

"I am not a writer" I said. "I am an editor."

He looked at me.

"I have fust bought your newspaper."

That's how it is done.

FIRST WEEK OF JULY

FROM THE PAPER

Your new editor took charge yesterday. He hopes you will all be good and wash behind your ears. He does not want to have to scold.

Your editor's name is Sherwood Riddell. He has bought both the Carrion (V a.) Republican and the Carrion (Va.) Democrat. These two papers will be combined at once.

They will be known henceforth as "that newspaper Sherwood Riddell bought."

Public Library Notes

BY A CORRESPONDENT

Our library has just been presented with a lot of nice new books by an anonymous donor who particularly requested that we do not mention his name, as he is the editor of a local paper here.

The books which were donated include Too Many Marriages by Sherwood Riddell, Schnuppsburg, Ohio by Sherwood Riddell, and a number of other books by Sherwood Riddell, including all the rest of them.

AN EDITOR'S THOUGHTS

An editor's thoughts—not published. Terror. These people. Suppose they do not know who 1 am.

Every week the pages of the paper to be filled. The new editor, who is also a writer, rolls up his sleeves. Blank pages. Space. He has never had so much space before in his life.

The town of Carrion nestles among the spacious hills. "There are all these people walking up and down the streets. Do they know me? Have they read my books?"

And now he is walking along the street. People are pointing him out. "That is our new editor. His name is Sherwood Riddell. He writes books."

I wonder how they found out?

The New Carrion

AN EDITORIAL

Well, folks you have a pretty good town here. I just want to suggest a few changes in it, here and there, then everything will be all right. Nothing to worry about.

Life in a town goes on, just so. You know how it is. Spring, summer, winter, fall. People getting married, always the same old thing. Terrible.

Just suppose now, in our town, we are visited by some great man. Suppose one of my friends comes down. Hurrah now, let's give him a big day. The big drum is booming. Boom, boom, big drum. The horns are going. Music. Zipp. Everybody goes down to meet the train at the railroad station, waving their flags. And no railroad station. Pshaw. What a frost.

The first thing Carrion needs is a railroad station.

They also need a railroad.

I think that while we are at it there are a couple of other changes that might not be so bad. This morning while I was coming down to the office I tripped over the sidewalk in front of the Post Office and barked my shins. I think it would be a very good idea to remove that sidewalk. And perhaps it would also look better if we moved the Post Office over to the other side of the street, under that big elm. The first Presbyterian Church can be shoved up the block a little ways, or else maybe we can squeeze it in the space where the Bank Building is now standing. Folks around here don't really need a bank. Farmers are poor. They don't have any money.

And I think it would also improve the looks of the town if we picked up the old newspapers and cracker boxes that are in the Square before the City Hall, and also built a new City Hall. This present one is terrible. Of course, it's all right. You country people may even like it.

The people of Carrion owe it to their town to give it the heartiest kind of support. Get back of it. We, in Carrion, have a corking good newspaper. Let's make the town worthy of it.

SECOND WEEK OF JULY

What jolly fun running a newspaper. I am having the time of my life.

The people in this town—how nice they are. When I walk past them on the street they stand back at a respectful distance. They let me pass.

They are very quaint. Real local characters. I think I shall write a book about them. Very easy.

I wonder why no one ever thought of doing this before.

Mr. Stoop's Black Eye

NEWS

Mr. T. Llewellyn Stoops, of 67 South Hickory Street, is the victim of a badly discoloured optic this week, having received same last night. He reports his right eye is doing nicely. It is his left one that was hit.

Mr. Stoops says he got up to go into the bathroom, and the door was open, and when he leaned over to pick up a penny he had lost, the handle of the rake flew up and he was kicked by a horse.

These things will happen.

(Continued on page 106)

(Continued from page 67)

Looking to the Future

AN EDITORIAL

You people in this town are very quaint. Your editor is very fond of you. He likes to make notes about you for his books.

People in a small town are sometimes real characters.

You say very funny things. You are good copy.

Already your editor has gotten a lot of stories about the people in this town, and he will write them, and publish them in some big magazines up north. Won't you be proud?

And later he will run them here in his newspaper so you can all see them.

You people of this town should get behind your newspaper. Your editor is behind you. Now if the newspaper could only get behind the editor, and we all crouched down, what a swell game of leap-frog we could have together.

Discord

A STORY

It was dark. He was coming home alone. The man was coming home alone.

He came to the door of his home, 67 South Hickory Street, and he took out his key. Such a time. He could not find the lock. That is, he could not find which lock. There were between one hundred and seventy-five and two hundred locks on that door. You know how it was. Besides, he had the wrong key anyway.

He knocked at the door.

He said: "Oh, Ethel dear."

His wife, Mrs. Stoops, opened the door. "Llewellyn!"

Years of bitterness welled up within her. Years of struggle. Years of pain. No, tears of pain. Tears of pain and bitterness. Why had he stayed so late? Where had he been? "Where have you been?" "Nowheres, m'dear." "Oh, yeah?"

Years of desertion. That time he was playing the swell blonde, for example. Sometimes he didn't come home for a week at a time. Said he was working at the office. "I've been working late at the office, dear, and I won't get home tonight." Sure, sure. A likely story. She thought of that, too.

"Let me in, dearest."

He had been drinking. She could smell his breath. Suddenly she hated him. Her fist swings out. She hits him.

Then they go inside.

God knows, God knows.

THIRD WEEK OF JULY More Improvements

AN EDITORIAL

Several people have complained about the name of the town here, which is called Carrion. "Do you like the name?" they asked.

I said no. "No, I don't." "Neither do I."

I have decided to change the name.

I have decided that from now on we will simply call the town Sherwood Riddell. This is shorter, and easier to say, and in addition it makes it much easier for my friends to address my letters. They just have to put a ditto. It saves ink. Ink costs money.

I also think it might be nice if we moved the town over to the other side of that big hill. As it is, I don't get the morning sun at all.

Sunshine is the greatest medicine in the world.

A LETTER TO THE EDITOR

67 South Hickory Street, Carrion, Va.

Editor Republican-Democrat,

Carrion, Va.

Dear Sir: I seen your little story deporting to describe my affair with my wife which never took place, and wherein I got my black eye, also contusions which you did not so much as mention in your esteemed paper, and I would beg leave to state that the entire story is false and has made a hell of a lot of trouble, and you damned old snoop why can't you mind your own business. Respectfully,

T. LLEWELLYN STOOPS

AN EDITOR'S THOUCHTS

Hot diggety!

I have been going ahead fine with those Small Town Notes I have been writing. Most of them have appeared already in VANITY FAIR and elsewhere, and I just heard they are going to put them into a book.

Me. A book. Can you imagine?

In the meantime I shall publish them here in my paper. They are making quite a sensation. I have published a couple more about the town judge, and the local doctor, and I have a swell story about Miss Sarah Bleepley, the town milliner, which I am collecting notes on right noiv. I go out at night with my notebook, and take a walk around and make these notes about things, about people.

You can find out lots of interesting things in a small town.

COURT NEWS

Divorce proceedings were filed today by Mrs. Llewellyn Stoops against her husband, Llewellyn Stoops, of 67 South Hickory Street, in this city. Mrs. Stoops charged her husband with infidelity and cited a story which was published in the local newspaper here, describing Mr. Stoops' affair with a swell blonde. Mr. Stoops had nothing to say which could be printed.

Sarah Bleepley's Lovers

A STORY

She was only the town milliner.

She was plain, nay, ugly. Her hair was stringy. Her shoes sagged at the heels. She had no appeal for men.

But men came. Night after night men came to visit her house. There was a different man almost every night. There was the town banker last Thursday. Yesterday there was the minister.

What do they see in Sarah? neighbours asked.

Her dining-room window is on a level with the street. Once she forgot to lower the shade. She was sitting in the lap of the local grocer, in her chemise, with her arms around his neck. He was kissing her.

(Continued on page 108)

(Continued from page 106)

Is this the Sarah we know? people asked. They wondered what her secret was.

"Sarah, I love you," said the grocer. He had forgotten his wife, his children, his home. She had charmed him like a Lorelei. "I love you not for your charm, not for your beauty, God knows. I love you because—"

People stood on tiptoe.

Then he noticed that the shade was up, and he pulled it down. No one knows why the town grocer loves the milliner. It is just life.

Shooting on Main Street NEWS

A dramatic shooting occurred today in the office of the Carrion (Va.) Republican-Democrat, when an unknown person or persons fired the contents of a double-barreled shotgun through a window at the person of the Editor, Sherwood Riddell. Fortunately the editor was not hurt, having ducked behind a copy-boy in the nick of time.

It is not known what prompted this mysterious assault.

Those under suspicion include the town grocer, the town banker, the minister, the fire department, the local Y. M. C. A., the Carrion Band, and Mr. Stoops.

Inasmuch as the town judge and the entire police force are also under suspicion, there will be no investigation.

FOURTH WEEK OF JULY

FROM THE PAPER

Your editor wishes to announce that his new book, Goodbye Towns, will be published tomorrow. A copy will be presented to the Public Library by an anonymous donor.

The book is a collection of the stories which have been published in this newspaper, and will also contain several new stories which have never appeared previously in print. There will also be some amusing photographs of the local fauna.

The book will probably be over the heads of you farmers, but you might like to look at the pictures.

TOWN MEETING

There will be a mass meeting of all citizens tomorrow in the Village Square, T. L. Stoops announced. The subject of this meeting is not known.

Public Library Notes

BY A CORRESPONDENT

Our Library has just been presented with an autographed copy of a new book. The title of this book is Goodbye Towns by Sherwood Riddell. Sherwood Riddell is also the Editor of the local paper here. The book was in great demand at once.

A Humorous Incident NEWS

One of the most amusing parties in some weeks was held yesterday, when the editor of the local newspaper, a Mr. Sherwood Riddell, was tendered a surprise farewell by the entire township of Carrion. Mr. Riddell was

dressed very simply in a becoming suit of tar and feathers. After the celebration he was escorted to the edge of town on a rail, amid the best wishes of all his former friends and associates, for a speedy journey.

As a parting gift Mr. Riddell was presented with a copy of his book and a one-way ticket to New York.

A good time was had by all.

FROM THE PAPER

FOR SALE: One slightly used newspaper. Can be remodeled to suit. Former owner will sacrifice same at low price, owing to unforeseen complications which have arisen. Address Sherwood Riddell, New York. Advt.

HELLO TOWNS, by Sherwood Anderson (Horace Liveright).

IN LESS WORDS

In his A Preface to Morals Walter Lippmann has exercised to its fullest advantage his wise and humble humanism. In the quest for a workable code of "truths" for the modern man he has not disdained to begin with the most elementary concepts of morality, to consider them with the utmost seriousness, to weigh their final validity and utility for his purposes, and to construct by implication a coda that carries the more weight by the humility with which it is arrived at. Mr. Lippmann's just and perceptive mind has never produced a work more profitable, and indeed necessary, to the twentieth-century man.

A PREFACE TO MORALS, by Walter Lippmann (Macmillan).

TO ME, IT SEEMS

In my parody entitled Rockabye Joan in last month's issue of Vanity Fair, I was so careless as to include an unfortunate paragraph referring to Heywood Broun, which seemed to indicate that he had not read The Cradle of the Deep. I do not need to point out that I am perfectly aware Mr. Broun read this book and judged it fairly; and that my comment was neither serious nor, to be frank, very intelligent criticism. The remark was all in the spirit of good clean fun, and pretty darned dumb.

Yet I am glad it happened; for in tendering Mr. Broun herewith my sincere apologies if my thoughtlessness caused him any embarrassment, I can sieze this opportunity to say something which I have long been wanting to say. For it seems to me that Mr. Broun's position in American writing has become a more and more important one. His column in The Telegram has developed him tremendously in the past year; whereas on The World he was entertaining, provocative, varied, always readable, now he has mellowed and matured and broadened his viewpoint until his daily comments are profoundly valuable and wise. I hope they will be preserved between the covers of a book; for they represent almost the only sane contemporary newspaper criticism of what I must call the American scene.

There are two articulate voices today in the wilderness of American hypocrisy; and I should rather read Broun than Mencken.