Radio Digest (Oct 1926-Jan 1928)

RADIO DICES T—ntustrated 7 <70RCH of q/OUTH "/CONSCIENCE Is Only a Habit of Thinking," Says \y Karl Boescher, "and Law Is But a Convenience. " He Laughs at Garden's "Compunctions" About Crime IVANHOE UNIVERSITY, on the southern shore of Lake Michigan, has been founded to cultivate a new school for the education of educators. Only superior students are admitted. "Wanda Nevens and Babe Garden, football hero, are enrolled from Minnesota. Wanda is the leader of a group of free thinking girls who call themselves the Lady Pinks, at first dubbed that because of their alleged Bolshevik tendencies. Wanda gave an interview to a newspaper in which she said old fashioned ideas about the limitations of love making would have to go and she said there should be no limitations so long as there was sincerity. Her concern has been aroused over the growing influence of a mysterious student by the name of Karl Boescher over Babe. While she has been called to account for her interview by Mathilde Matthews, the dean of women, and the dean has been called to account by President Blake of the university, Babe has been confronted with a proposition to assist Nate Weiss, a prosperous bootlegger, to steal a load of alcohol from the university laboratory. He makes an appointment to come back later and bring his friend. He leaves for the fraternity house. Wanda passed him unseen, except by Weiss in his sedan, to meet some of the Pinks at the usual rendezvous in the Sugarbowl, a tea room on Shoreway, the business Street of Dunevale. CHAPTER III. "What Does It Matter?" OLD JOSEPH GRANT himself came up the stone steps with Dr. Henry Dykeman as the result of an urgent call sent out by President Blake for some of the more influential counselors. He was a blunt man, had made his millions out of steel and was the financial cornerstone of Ivanhoe University. "Blake is a good man but he takes trifling things too seriously," he said to the distinguished psychologist of whom he was particularly fond, as they strode through the hall to the president's office. "His particular horror is newspaper type," observed Dykeman. "It's a form of stage fright. The whole pride of his exist-' ence is in Ivanhoe. One printed word that reflects on the dignity or prestige of the institution he takes as a personal affront. It burns him like the prick of a hot needle. This girl's freely expressed opinion of her own notions of life, I can well imagine, have just about set him wild." Old Mr. Grant screwed up his mouth in a way that was characteristic when things that had not to do with steel production invaded his well grooved cogitations. They entered the ante-room and were immediately shown into the private office of Alexander Blake. "Sit down, please, gentlemen," said Mr. Blake as he came forward in a dazed manner and grasped their hands perfunctorily. "These gentlemen are from the newspapers and I suppose it is scarcely necessary to introduce Mr. Grant and Dr. Dykeman." "Hello, Frazer, what the devil you piddling around on this piffle for?" said the financier to one of the reporters. "How are you Hunter? I never did thank you, Miller, for that picture you got of me helping Queen Marie into the car. And to think, after showing her all through the mills at Gary with special escorts and everything she should turn around on her red plush throne back in Roumania and spit at us like a silly cat! Ha! Ha! Well, we all had a lot of fun out of it, didn't we? I suppose Dykeman here can tell us all about it, the kind of kick we democratic Americans get out of flouncing these old world royalties around our show-off places." :'W< 'E had a little argument up to the office," smiled Frazer, "whether that silk hat wasn't the same one you wore at the Roosevelt inauguration." "Tut! Tut! I want you to know *I bought that hat at Field's especially for Marie and it cost me the extravagant sum of $27, but the folks insisted — and— but what's all this hullaballoo anyway?" "To begin with, Mr. Grant," Hunter got up from his chair and lit a cigarette. "These loony students who have been killing themselves off for such reasons as 'being too tired to live,' and 'I've seen everything worth while, so what's the use of hanging around?' and 'I'm curious to see what happens after death, so I'll kick off, find out and come back at half past twelve Thursday and let you know,' and stuff like that has stirred the public By (^RISWOLD q/^AER imagination. Everybody wants to know what's wrong at the schools that there should be such an epidemic of suicides and crime among the students. What's got into them? What are they thinking about? Now this girl, Wanda Nevens, comes along and gives us a lead. It fits in with theories recently advanced by some of our best thinkers concerning the motives for human behavior. "Mr. Blake seems terribly worried about it. There really isn't much more to it. right now unless we can get this girl to come through with some more of her theories and he tells us he can't find her. "0 H, well, let's forget it," counseled Mr. Grant, "let's all go over to the Deacon's for a bite. Tou can't blame the poor girl for being hungry. It's time and I'm hungry myself. And what's more, I'll tell you what I think about this business and my ideas are just as good as this Nevens girl's. What's her name, Wanda Nevens1? Pooh! Pooh! Who is she? Oh! Oh! I got a complex, I feel it comin' on now. It's one of these visceral stimuli Dykeman tells us about. What you say? Come on." Dr. Dykeman wore a short, gray pointed beard and was one of the most sedate ap PRETTY LITTLE BEBE LOVE BROADCASTS TINKLE AND SPARKLE OF GAY BALLROOM Wanda had turned at the oorner after passing Babe Garden while he was engaged in an important conversation with Nate Weiss, the bootlegger. She had proceeded at once to the Sugarbowl, one of the show places of the town. It was a three story structure in the shape of an old fashioned sugar bowl. The facing was white terracotta and Delft blue. The entrance seemed to be through a triangular break in the old bowl. For a moment she stood in the entrance scanning across the dimly lighted room with the cozily crude old fashioned Dutch hand made benches, tables and chairs. The service came from a central fountain and circular counter. Girls in Dutch caps and aprons waited on the tables and there were quaint Dutch paintings hung about the octagonal walls. A winding stair case ascended to a balcony around which were little private booths and these were served by way of narrow bridges to the center of the big bowl. > "There she is! There she is! Hurry, come on up, Little Corp!" Half a dozen girls with pink silk skull caps were leaning over the narrow balcony rail and waving to her. She quickly ascended the stairs and was escorted to a seat of honor in one of the booths. Don't you think it would be a good plan, Mr. Grant, for us to talk to the girl here in Mr. Blake's presence — ■" "But she isn't here. It wouldn't do, anyhow, without our talking to her first, because she doesn't necessarily represent the thought of the sudent body of the school at all," interrupted Mr. Blake. "Where do you think Miss Nevens is?" asked Dr. Dykeman. "Miss Matthews is trying to locate her. She was told not to leave the campus, but some of the young women told her roommate, Stella Gwynne, they had seen her turn off Diana avenue toward Shoreway and she's probably in one of the Lakefront candy shops or tea rooms." pearmg members ot the racuity out ne stood in the doorway after the others had filed out and as President Blake slipped an arm into the silk lined sleeve of his overcoat, he observed one corner of the solemn Dykeman mouth elevate to meet a crease from a very palpable wink of the left eye. "I wish I knew as much about putting into effect practical psychology as old Joseph Grant," he said. Diana avenue flanks Shoreway in the modern little city of Dunevale. One block over and you are on the beautiful crescent drive that looks down on the lake. There isn't a building over five years old in the corporate limits ' and the code is very strict. L OOK! How do you like our Bolshi Pink caps?" asked Dorothy VonRoesh, a pretty little sophomore whose smiling brown eyes always contradicted the serious expression of her lips. "But you really won't dare wear them out. Let me see one. Where did you get them? I want one too." Wanda eagerly removed Dorothy's cap to examine it. "We made them ourselves," laughed Dorothy. "Stella is making one for you with a special insignia for your rank as the Little Corporal. And, why, I'd like to know, shouldn't we wear them outside? Aren't we the Pinks whose motto is, 'Be yourself at all times?' " "Where is Stella?" demanded Katherine Lyons, daughter of a wealthy New York manufacturer who had finished two brilliant years at an exclusive girl's school. Katherine was fair and, next to Wanda, was Stella's dearest companion. "I did not go up to the room, because I thought she would be here. Maybe something is wrong — " "There was a call for you just a few minutes before you came in." "Trouble; I'll bet she is stalling them off from me. I just came from the dean's office and some big council was on in Blake's sanctum, directors and everything. Really, I'm almost scared. Somebody said thej' had sent for Old Uncle Joe Grant — and all on account of Little Me. Miss Matthews warned me not to leave the campus. Reporters are up there stepping on each other's feet to talk to me. We Pinks are important, if you please. But let's order. Stella will be here pretty soon. I'm not going to call up and get into a trap." AND while Wanda enlightened her excited "comrades" concerning her' experiences of the morning, Babe Garden had felt a revulsion toward the proposal of Nate Weiss as a way out of his difficulties. Every step added lead to the soles of his shoes and when he entered the fraternity house his chin was in his neck and he sat down at the little side table in the alcove without answering the cheery greetings of the brothers. The little table for two was provided for • just such occasions, when two men had matters of confidence between each other to discuss. Karl Boescher almost glided into the room. He looked somewhat ponderous, but he was agile. His naturally fair skin had a slightly yellowish tinge and his light hair was dry and receding from both sides of his bulging forehead. The inevitable heavy rimmed glasses circled his large blue eyes. His blue cheviot suit, although obviously of good material and made to measure, looked baggy and slack. He stood looking down at the bowed head of the football man, a smile of half contempt on his broad face. "It's a fine day for suicide, and suicide is all the rage, you know," he said in a deep, velvety voice. "Have you anything of the sort in mind?" "Well, after a fashion, you might call it that," Garden answered with a slight nod of his head toward the seat opposite. Their table was sufficiently separated from the main dining table so that they would not be overheard. "I have some very effective poisons that I am fairly itching to try out on some (Continued on page 22)