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 evenly between us—strengthened Hazel's resolve to strut her stuff and leave the ocean to its proper inhabitants, the fish. However, I came down to the sea to swim, a gift I was very agile at in my beauty-contest-winner days, two or three years ago.

Hazel by no means got hysterical with grief when I told her I was going to leave her flat and do a piece of bathing. She was busy dazzling the handsome lifeguard with her charms. So I waded bravely in, ducked under to get that first horrible chill over with and struck out boldly for the diving float, tethered some distance from the beach.

Then the fun began!

For some time I'd achieved the bulk of my swimming in a bath tub and with a wildly palpitating heart I soon discovered that I'd more than misjudged both my strength and the distance to the float. A treacherous undertow made things more thrilling and regardless of what the record may be, I know I was averaging fifty-five waves swallowed with each frightened gulp. I was satisfied that as a mermaid I was a first-class telephone operator and this was one time I'd have been double willing to change my name—to Annette Kellermann, for instance!

Thoroughly scared and as weak as seven days, I was seriously in need of one standard-sized, regulation full-blooded hero, when a young man filed his application.

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 At least, I thought thankfully, as I saw him dive gracefully off the float and swim towards me, if he wasn't a hero he'd certainly do till one came along!

Well, to prune a long story, it turned out that the stranger negotiated a wicked wave and he towed me to the diving platform in safety. Barring the laughing seagulls we were alone there and as soon as I got back my breath and my dignity, introductions were served.

My brave rescuer made a clean breast of being Thomas Brown, a newspaper man, and while he would never be mistaken for Valentino he had lots of stuff, really. He was a nice, clean-cut looking kid and I wasn't a bit burnt up when his searching, candidly admiring gaze swept my shivering and not exactly hidden form. Honestly, he was a pleasing change from those cake addicts at the St. Moe, who disrobe you with a glance! He had powder-blue eyes, a weakness of mine, and of course I didn't hold his dare-devil rescue of me against him, either.

"Well," I says, smiling sweetly on Thomas, "I'm certainly glad to check out of the bounding main! If it hadn't been for you, I might be down kidding Mr. Neptune, now. It was nice of you to go overboard for me and I won't forget it!"

"I've gone overboard for you in more ways than one!" says Thomas enthusiastically, "I think you're the prettiest girl I ever saw in my life and I've looked

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 at plenty! No fooling, you've got more curves than a French Horn and"

"That's out!" I interrupted severely, moving toward the edge of the float. "Be yourself, you're not at home now!"

"But I don't mean anything wrong," he says quickly. "I just like you and you're going to like me, too, when you know me better. Let's see—this is Monday, isn't it? Well, tonight we'll have dinner together and see a show, tcmorrow I'll take you to the ball game, Wednesday we'll go to the races and dance somewhere at night, Thursday we'll have tea at the Ritz, Friday we'll take a nice long auto ride, Saturday we'll watch a good movie and Sunday we can stay home in your parlor—because by that time, I'll be down to my last friend's last dime!"

Don't you love that?

"Tommy," I smiled. "You're all wet!"

But, really, that didn't even slow him up. I guess he thought my remark applied to his water-soaked bathing suit! He persisted in trying to build himself up with me for the next half hour or more and sold himself so successfully that at last I agreed to one dinner engagement. Ladies must eat!

When, apropos of nothing, I casually mentioned the fact that I was created at Bountiful, Utah, Thomas delightedly rose to remark that we were the same as

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 neighbors, as he first became a problem to his parents in the metropolis of Panquitch—a paltry three hundred miles away from my home town. According to Tommy's confession, he toiled and spun on the Panquitch Weekly Whine, till he found out that he, one of the outstanding members of the great white-collar class, was paying rent to a greasy laborer who got three dollars a day more than Thomas did. That discovery gave my new found friend the hibby jibbys. It likewise fired him with a burning ambition to leave the great open spaces where a man's a man and come to New York, where there's less landscape and more opportunity. No sooner said than done! Tom dashed into Manhattan a month before and had since been doing his stuff on the staff of the Evening Wow. But alas, ah me and alackaday! That newspaper was sheering off expenses and as my vis-à-vis was the last man to join the payroll, he's due to be the first to leave it.

As we delved further into the life and struggles of Thomas Brown, he told me he was madly infatuated with the newspaper game and also with food. For that reason, he wants to do everything else in the world but lose his job. Incidentally, the Evening Wow is for sale and Tommy is sure he'll be solid for life with whoever the buyer may be, if he can only excavate some exclusive news "beat" that will dumfound New York.

How to accomplish this difficult feat is beyond

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 Thomas at the moment. While I listened in sympathetic silence, he told me bitterly that when anything new or startling happens in Gotham, ten minutes later the story is about as exclusive as Central Park! Dramas, novels and movies to the contrary, says Thomas, cub reporters on metropolitan dailies get scant opportunities to save the day and likewise the paper by rushing in to the overjoyed city editor with the news beat of the year. His particular city editor happens to be a scandal hound, claiming that it's those kind of stories which sell the newspapers, so Tom has been trying manfully to dish up some dirt for Mr. Constant Reader. So far, however, the most important happening Thomas has been assigned to "cover" was the Ninety-Eighth Annual Banquet of the Surgeon's & Steamfitter's Union—and that, sighs Tommy, was postponed!

Well, really, me and Tom became so interested in each other that it took the combined efforts of a chill breeze, a rising, choppy tide and gathering dusk to—remind us that we were still on the float. I couldn't get Thomas to listen to the idea of me swimming ashore—he was already at the masterful and protective stage, you know. By some extremely unmodulated shouting and arm waving, my tête-à-tête managed to attract the attention of Hazel and her boy friend, the lifeguard, on the now uncrowded beach. They watched

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 us curiously at first and then in alarm. After a brief conference with Hazel, Mr. Lifeguard reluctantly broke out a boat and with Hazel acting as coxswain he rowed out to us and ferried us back. So that was that.

When me and Hazel got into our habitation that evening, she at once turned on the line I've learned to expect from her whenever a John sees me first.

"You're always bawling me out for my innocent flirtations" she says, "Yet the minute we hit that beach you jumped right into the ocean after a man!"

"Here kitty, kitty, kitty!" I says, proceeding calmly about the business of disrobing.

"I'm no more catty than you are!" says Hazel peevishly, "Speaking of mushrooms, what's that big blonde's racket?"

"He's a reporter" I told her, "And he's taking me out to dinner tomorrow night."

"A reporter, eh?" sneers Hazel, "What's he going to use for money?"

Honestly, I'm more sorry for Hazel than angry with her. Poor dear, she means well, but she just doesn't know! You see, the only kind of drawing rooms Hazel's ever been in were artists' studios, when she was once a model young lady—or a young lady model, I should say. However, she was pleasant enough to Tommy when he began haunting our apartment to call on me. She tried neither competition or sarcasm.

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 Mr. Thomas Brown swiftly became a daily obstruction at my switchboard in the St. Moe, to the great disgust and alarm of Jerry Murphy and Pete Kift.

"Who is 'at big egg which aces around here all the time?" growls Jerry one day, glaring at Tommy's disappearing back.

"That's as much of your business as Coolidge's diary is!" I says.

"Don't get sore" says Jerry, "I'm only lookin' out for your best interests, Cutey. What's he want?"

"We haven't taken that up yet" I snapped, "So long, Jerry—I'll see you in the comic supplement, Sunday!"

"Well, if 'at John gets giddy, tip me off" says Jerry, ignoring the compliment, "I'll smack him for a loop! How come these gils can get your kind attention day in and day out and you won't give me a tumble?"

"I'm no good at riddles, Jerry," I says, carelessly.

"I wish you'd come up to my flat with me sometime and meet my sister" says Jerry, wistfully, "She's first-class company and so am I and we'd have lots of giggles. Speakin' of entertainment, I got Siam on my radio last night and"

"And you got soup on your tie this morning!" I finished for him, "You better change that neckwear before the manager pegs you, or he'll about broadcast you out of here!"

That sent him scurrying.

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 Well, the Evening Wow was still on the market and as the proprietors were swinging the axe daily so the overhead would look attractive to prospective purchasers, Tommy Brown's job dangled by the thinnest of threads. The boy's earnestness and ambition had made a big hit with me—I wanted to see him smash over a fast one, really I did! So I made up my mind I'd furnish him with a scoop of the century for his paper, by ferreting out one if possible—if not, by creating a nation-wide sensation myself!

I commandeered Hazel, Jerry and Pete to assist me and although none of 'em went wild with eagerness at first, they all finally and as usual succumbed to my blandishments. I'm merely using that last word to show you I speak English, too. Each of my little playmates figured in some spectacular incident worthy of front page display in any man's newspaper and the details and photographs were given to Thomas Brown exclusively, by yours in the faith.

For example, I had Pete organize all the bellhops in the city into a union and then call a strike that tied up all the hotels. Believe me, those inns were fit to be tied when the boys walked out, don't think they weren't! Well, from this little incident, Tommy Brown got a colorful story for the Evening Wow of the guests carrying their own baggage, ice water, etc. and so forth. Jerry Murphy came nobly to bat next by

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 pinching forty-three sightseers in the St. Moe lobby in an enthusiastic drive against mashers. Hazel's effort was to be found bound and gagged in our flat by a couple of obliging coppers, ex-colleagues of Jerry's. Naturally, Hazel's twenty-five thousand-dollar diamond key ring was missing and of course the foul deed was did by a "mysterious masked man". Hazel photographs like a billion and Tommy's paper ate this hokum up hungrily. Really, he looked like a cinch for a lengthy stay on the Evening Wow. In fact, he boasted that one morning when he reported for the day's chores, the city editor actually nodded to him!

However, about the only successes in New York who can rest on their laurels and still rate attention from the populace are those who have been done in bronze and placed at park entrances and city squares. This was brought home hard to Thomas when the "beats" I furnished him had their brief flicker and died out. To have seriously upset Broadway's cynical calm, Colombus would have had to discover a new continent daily, perhaps two on Sundays. So one fatal day Tommy's city editor told him cold turkey that in two weeks Tom might be president of Porto Rico, Duke of Nebraska or head of the Steel Trust, but what he won't be is on the payroll of the Evening Wow!

Honestly, this unpleasant news disturbed me greatly and while I was cudgelling my brain for some scheme

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 to make the unfortunate youth a permanent attraction in Park Row, the way was clearly shown to me at my switchboard through a conversation I happened to eavesdrop over the wires.

Amongst the more or less guests at the St. Moe was John Temple Manning, also a newspaper man like Tommy Brown, only different. The difference between 'em was about ten million dollars. Manning owned the Morning Malaprop and a face containing two more wrinkles than there is in any prune that's come to my notice, really. As this greedy-eyed old fool never passed the switchboard without trying to arrange things with me, I liked him the same way I like appendicitis! I understood from Tommy that I shared this distaste for Monsieur Manning with the owners of the Evening Wow, which enterprising paper allowed no day to pass without lambasting him to a fare-thee-well. Manning, who's own news columns knew no brother, had recently printed in the Morning Malaprop a sensational story about a bosom friend of the Evening Wow's proprietors, hence the bad feeling.

One day Tommy Brown breezed into the St. Moe with an excited sparkle in his eye. He waited until I'd dealt out a bevy of numbers to the customers and then he leaned over close to me.

"What d'ye know about John T. Manning, Gladys?" he asks me, mysteriously.

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 "Nothing good!" I answered, promptly and truthfully.

"Ever hear of Jackson Young?" says Tommy.

"What am I being examined for?" I ask him, curiously, "Do you mean Jackson Young, the big oil man?"

"Absolutely!" says Tommy, "Big oil man is right! That baby's got an income of about half a million a year"

"Not counting tips" I butt in, impatiently, "Get to the point, Tommy, I've got a lot of hot wires this morning!"

"Well, listen heavy, then!" says Tommy, with serious features, "I've got the chance of a lifetime staring me right in the face! The story of the year is in my hands—if you'll throw in with me. There's a rumor floating around the Evening Wow office that John T. Manning is paying a little more than courteous attention to a relative of Jackson Young's by marriage—to put it plainly, his wife!"

"Torrid Rover!" I says, "A fool and his honey are soon parted, eh? But where do I come in on that newsy tidbit?"

"Gladys" says Thomas, "My paper would give its linotypes for proof that Manning and Young's wife are in love with each other but as no proofs are available, we can't print a hint about the impending scandal through fear of the great god Libel. However, Man-

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 ning lives at this hotel—he must make and receive telephone calls—eh—maybe you"

"That's enough" I cut him off, "Let me think!"

I knew, of course, what Tommy was driving at and there were certain—er—ethics to be considered, if you know what I mean. I've never done anything yet that smacks of sneakiness and I wasn't crazy about beginning then, Tommy or no Tommy! Still, this Manning was a married man and I thought him an unspeakable cur who should at least get slapped in the face for contemplating bounding off with another man's wife. He was as popular as a blizzard with me—why show him any favors? The more I thought it over the more I devoutly wished to see Manning punished and made to like it! In the well known and popular jiffy I decided to be the Miss Fix-It through which Manning would be foiled in trying to break up his own and another's home and Thomas Brown made eternally famous as a star reporter!

If Hades is paved with good intentions, then I'd be a knockout down there as a contractor, no kidding!

About ten days later I held Mr. Manning's fate in the hollow of what has been called my lily white hand. Jerry Murphy and his copper pals had shadowed Manning day and night, Pete Kift got chummy with the millionaire rotter's scofflaw chauffeur and under my

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 careful directions, Peter also engineered a little entertainment at which the talkative maid of the faithless Mrs. Jackson Young was the guest of honor. As for myself—well, the lady and gentleman were a bit reckless over the phone about their illegal affair of the heart. I had a cinch, really. All I had to do, was listen!

When matters were all set, I phoned Tommy Brown to simply hurl himself up to the St. Moe and gave him a slight inkling of why speed was necessary. Honestly, he arrived as if he'd been shot from a cannon!

"Well, what d'ye know?" he asks, breathlessly.

"A library full!" I whispered, "Manning and Jackson Young's wife are going to elope!"

"Leaping Tuna!" pants Thomas, "How did you"

"Shut up!" I hissed, "Time fugits! Manning's yacht is laid up and they're sailing for South America today on one of the little known steamship lines—Jerry Murphy will go with you and show you the pier. They're booked as 'Mr. and Mrs. Shields'. Now grab a taxi and do your worst!"

"I took a chance and brought a staff photographer along like you told me to" says Tommy, fairly foaming at the mouth with delight, "But I didn't tip them a thing at the office—I want to knock 'em dead with amazement. Creeping Mackerel! This will goal 'em!

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 Hating Manning's ears, my paper will pounce on this story of stories like puss pounces on little mousie. They'll smear it all over the sheet. I'll scoop the world and whoever does buy the Evening Wow will give me a life job at some delirious salary! I"

"Get in motion, will you?" I almost screamed, "They'll be off Sandy Hook before you"

But Thomas had shot through the lobby and out the revolving doors, scattering innocent bystanders hither and you in his mad flight.

There isn't much more to tell, but what there is will ruin you! Accompanied by his photographer, Tommy boarded the lugger on which John Temple Manning and Mrs. Jackson Young were starting their unlawful voyage. Tom spotted the pair hiding back of a life-boat and his camera man used his police lines badge to set up his camera on the ship's bridge, getting a peach of a picture showing Manning with his arm around Mrs. Young's slender waist. Tom's next imitation was to get a copy of the ship's register and scramble ashore, all without the guilty couple's knowledge. Our heroic reporter made no attempt to interview his victims, being more or less sensibly afraid that Manning would have him shanghaied or something to prevent the publication of that photo and story.

Once on dry land, Tommy rushed to the office of the Evening Wow and feverishly typed out his yarn for

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 his overjoyed city editor, just like they do in a book. Within the hour, newsboys were shouting the extras that trumpeted Manning's disgrace to an eager city. So far—perfect!

Still flushed with the lavish praise of his boss and the congratulations of an envious staff, Thomas came right back to me to try and express his heartfelt gratitude. He tossed an extra, hot off the press, in front of me.

"We've simply flayed Manning alive, Gladys!" he laughs, a bit hysterically, "I've stood this town on its head! The Evening Wow was to change hands today, but that makes no difference to me now. I'm sitting pretty! My city editor says that if the new owners keep him on I'll get boosted to seventy-five per and be turned loose on nothing but big stuff. Why, I've already been assigned to cover that million-dollar Maiden Lane robbery and"

"Wait—here's a call for you!" I interrupted.

"Probably my city editor," says Tommy, loftily, "I left word where I'd be. Something big must have broken, if he wants me!"

And he dashed smilingly into the booth I waved him to. Oh, Thomas Brown was a big fellow, right then!

I guess it was ten minutes later when Thomas Brown of the Evening Wow staggered out of that phone

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 booth. Honestly, his appearance almost stopped my wildly palpitating heart! His hair was all mussed up, his eyes bulged from his head and his face was the color of skimmed milk in a dairy where they make an art of skimming. He couldn't talk—he just panted and gulped at me!

"What on earth's the matter?" I gasped, "What's happened to you?"

"I—I've just been talking to a representative of the Evening Wow's new owners," he breathes, "It's—it was about that Manning story. . . ."

"Didn't they like it?" I asked, astounded.

Tommy gives me a ghastly grin.

"No, Gladys" he says, "They didn't like it!"

"Why the idea!" I says, angrily, "After all the trouble we went to—can you imagine that? I should think that no matter how conservative the new owners of the Evening Wow are, they should realize that it's those kind of stories that sell papers. You told me your city editor said that himself!"

"Listen!" says Thomas, leaning heavily on the switchboard, "You're a great kid—a wonderful girl and I like you. I hope we'll meet again sometime. Just now the panic is on! I've got to get out of this man's burg a little bit faster than swiftly. The Evening Wow was sold to John Temple Manning, just two hours before it got out that extra telling the world its

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 owner was eloping with another man's wife! My, God, just think—the only newspaper in town that printed it was the one he had just bought. That noise you hear is the laughter of the gods. Goodbye!"

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evening, a few weeks after the rise and fall of Thomas Brown I was gaily handing out wrong numbers, "don't answer" and "busy" signals, when a swell looking, snappy dressed young fellow of about twenty-five autumns bounds up to the board and asks for Whitehall 1483. When I get them, he says he would like to speak to Miss Fish.

"Be yourself, Harold!" I says, giving him a glance which would freeze two Eskimos, "Whitehall 1483 is the Aquarium. You want to speak to Miss Fish, eh? How do you get that way?"

Honestly, his kid face grew as red as a throwing tomato and his Alice-blue eyes took on the hurt look of a baby's when you refuse it a lollypop.

"Why—why—I beg your pardon," he stammered. "I didn't mean to be silly. I guess I've been kidded, myself! You see, I met a young lady last night and she gave me that as her name and phone number."

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 I could see from his face that he's telling the truth and I don't know why I feel sorry for him or sore that he should of met any young lady at all!

"Well, she gave you a pushing around," I says pleasantly. "Hereafter when you go out without your guardian don't pick up with every stranger that offers you candy—hundreds of children get kidnapped that way in New York every day."

He grins and pulls a blush on a complexion that I could do no more than tie myself.

"I don't blame you for laughing at me," he says. "But I would like to speak to that young lady because"

"Well, give me a good description of her," I butt in, "and I'll try and guess her phone number for you."

This time he laughs outright. Some giggle he's got, too—makes you warm right up to him whether you want to or not, if you know what I mean.

"Listen," he says, bending over real confidential, "I don't suppose you ever go out to dinner, do you?"

"Listen yourself!" I says. "You may be a fast worker, but mere speed will get you nothing here! I am no Miss Fish from the Aquarium! I never under no circumstances go out to dinner with male kiddies which I have just met. So run along back to school, I'm fearful busy. See you all of a sudden!"

With that I turn back to the switchboard and begin

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 doing my stuff with Mr. Bell's clever little invention. But the handsome city chap is no quitter.

"I won't bother you now if you're busy," he says, as serious as the Johnstown Flood. "But I'm coming back again with that dinner invitation, don't think I won't. I don't know how you feel about me, but I don't mind telling you that you've just about ruined my peace of mind!"

Cute, wasn't he? But of course I can't let him see it.

"You better get somebody to write you a new act," I says. "That stuff used to make Eve yawn! And now I don't wish to be rude, but—here comes the house detective."

"May I give you a ring tomorrow?" he asks, moving toward the door.

"This is so sudden," I smile. "And I don't even know you!"

"I mean a ring on the phone," he says, featuring that killing blush again.

"Go ahead, call up," I says. "I like a laugh as well as anyone."

I thought that was the end of him and I can't say that thought particularly tickled me. There was something about this boy that—that—well, you know what I mean! Most of these boobs are as standard types as nail files, Close your eyes and it could be any one

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 of a thousand of 'em trying to kid you—their approach doesn't vary two words. But this one gave me a mild thrill and even a mild thrill is interesting on a job as dreary as a hotel switchboard.

Well, to make a short story long, he phoned me every morning for the next week and made personal appearances every afternoon till Jerry Murphy had him pegged for a pickpocket and would have collared him on his third appearance if I hadn't interfered. I won't get near as many flowers when I'm dead and gone as I did the following week from the mysterious stranger and candy flowed like water. He also gave me a book of near poetry called "The Ruby Yacht of Omar Kyam" which I thought is a lot of apple sauce, but I tell him it's elegant as from the binding it must of cost plenty pennies.

Invitations to shows, auto rides, lunches, dinners, cabarets, ball games and requests to go to about everything else but murder trials were fairly showered on me by this dizzy youth and from the program he offered I could of gone out with him every day for the next ten years and never visited the same place twice! Still, I continue to plead a headache, as I am commencing to like this young and stalling is one way to keep their interest at fever heat. Then he made all his other moves look reasonable in comparison by moving right into the Hotel St. Moe.

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 With a room in the inn at which I am one of the features he was hard to laugh off, and finally one day I give up the one-sided battle and go to dinner with him. That's the start of the big romance and likewise the beginning of the young man's rise to fame and fortune. Funny, isn't it, how women can make fools out of men and men out of fools?

After a week of bounding around with him I begin to feel lost without him. He was different and no mistake! His name in even figures was Julius De Haven and I learned about Cupid from him!

Well, naturally in talking over this and that the subject of what Julius does far his coffee and cakes is bound to come up sooner or later. It came up sooner and Julius breaks down and confesses to being an actor. Now up to then I'd been actor-proof, but somehow the thought of Julius being ome kind of interests me strangely. With that handsome face of his, those thrilling eyes, that soothing voice, wavy hair and moving picture manner, why, I think the least he can be is a leading man. Probably another Jack Barrymore. So when he asks me to come and see his show, "The Girl from Betelgeuse," it's almost more than I can do to wait.

But it's a couple of more weeks before I can arrange my hours at the Hotel St. Moe switchboard to get off and catch Julius De Haven's frolic, which by

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 the way is one of the biggest musical comedy wows on Main Street, having entertained Broadway for better than a year. However, the big night finally arrives and I simply grab some Java and a club sandwich and rush home from the hotel, spending two hours in dolling up so's when my musical comedy star meets me after his labors that night he won't be ashamed of his girl friend. I haven't got a wardrobe like Peggy Joyce, but what little I have got is bonded stuff and when I'm set for the drama that night I figure I could go anywhere with Julius and not be a handicap to him, even if his friends was all from Wall Street.

The seat Julius stakes me to is so close to the stage that had it been a few inches farther towards the footlights I would have been given a horn or something like the rest of the orchestra. I'm so excited I don't know if I'm in New York or New Zealand and no wonder—I'm about to see my hero do his stuff! I flutter open that program like it was "The Sheik" and I'm reading it for the first time—I want to see Julius's name there and what he does and everything. But lo and behold as the Peruvians says, there is not the slightest mention of Julius in the "Cast of Characters!" I think there must be some serious mistake and I go over that program till I could stand up and repeat it backwards at the drop of a hat.

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 Finally something catches my feverish eye that nearly sends me rolling off my seat out into the aisle in a faint! It was this in the back of the program: "Gentlemen Of The Chorus: Julius De Haven, Georgie" But what difference does the names of the rest of them male chorus girls make? My Julius a chorus man! If that isn't the shark's elbow! You could of knocked me over with an aigrette and I must of made a couple of remarks to myself a little too loud, because out of the corner of my eyes I see the customers on each side of me gazing at me in alarm. But the curtain goes up just then and prevents me from being an opposition show myself.

I just sit there and cover my burning face with my hands. I don't wish to see that show or anything else and least of all do I crave to see Julius De Haven. Honestly I could have got a summons for what I am thinking about my boy friend right then! I have tossed away my heart to a thirty-dollar-a-week chorus man, can you imagine that? And since I been on this job I've turned down whole coveys of millionaires—at least they said they was!

Well, you know they say curiosity is a girl and I guess that's a fact because in a few minutes I simply got to look up and see what Julius is doing, although to me it's going to be like watching your grandfather hung or something, honestly it is! So I peep through

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 my fingers and my Gawd there he is prancing around with a lot of other young men which will never strike Dempsey and they're singing some rough longshoreman's chantey all about "Sweet June has arrived with all her graces!" Now I ask you, isn't that a swell way for a great, big husky man to cheat the almshouse? I just keep ducking my head so Julius won't see me, because if he'd ever waved to me I know I'd have died of shame right there in that theater!

Well, first I am going to rush right out and go home, but then I think it will be better to wait for Julius so's I can tell him just what I think of him for trying to make me love him when he's got a job like that. I not only want to warn him away from my switchboard, I want to warn him away from my life! So I sit through "The Girl from Betelgeuse," but, believe me, I couldn't tell you what it was all about if it was against the law not to know. All I can see or hear or think about is Julius De Haven!

He meets me in the lobby after the show and when I see him in citizen's clothes again and gaze on his thrilling features I nearly weaken and maybe I might of weakened, only he hums a couple of notes from one of the songs he sings in the chorus and that makes me merciless.

"Well, sweetness," he says, with that ruinous smile of his, "how did you like the show?"

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 The idea that he's trying to brazen things out gets me red-headed!

"I should think you'd be too ashamed to even speak to me!" I says, and every word is packed in ice. "Listen—I'm going to leave you flat right here in this lobby and I never wish to see you again! If you follow me out of here I'll call a cop and if you ever come near my switchboard I'll have the house detective step on your neck. I'm through with you! If it gives you any satisfaction, I'll admit you fooled me up till tonight, but it's different now. I'm claiming exemption. Good by and good luck!"

He gets first red and then white and then versa vice. His big blue eyes look at me as hurt and surprised as if I had slapped him in the face. Honest, I must admit I get a pain in my heart as I watch him. I like this big kid, there's no use saying I don't, and it murders me to think he should turn out to be a false alarm after all the hopes I had for—for both of us. Why, I can't understand him being a chorus man! He don't look like one, or act like one, or anything, if you know what I mean.

"Good heavens, Gladys, what have I done?" he gasps finally.

"Not a thing," I says coldly. "You're just a total loss, that's all! What do you mean by trying to promote yourself with me when you're a chorus man?

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 There's about three million girls in this town, why pick on me?"

He studies me for a minute without saying a word and then that hurt look slowly leaves his eyes—for which I am thankful, as it's commencing to hurt me too. When he speaks again, his face is hard as the side of Pike's Peak.

"I see," he says slowly. "All women are alike. No sportsmanship, no sense of fair play! I am condemned utterly without a chance to speak a word in my defence. But what interests me more is how a woman with your knowledge of life and the world can be so narrow as to think all chorus men, or let us say, a man temporarily in the chorus, can be degraded by the mere position, as you intimate."

"I don't wish to argue with you," I says. "I merely wish to leave you. Good night!"

With that I turned on my heel—and nearly turned on my ankle, as Julius grabs my arm in a very manly grasp. Afterwards it was black and blue.

"For God's sake, Gladys, don't send me away!" he says, in a voice which sends a thrill all through me. "You represent perhaps the only sincere emotion I ever had in my life and if you go whatever chance I have of getting anywhere will go with you. I will be a total loss, as you've just called me. With you, I can make good. Maybe that's a confession of weakness

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 that a real man would scorn to make, but it's also a statement of fact! Give me a chance to explain things to you—even a murderer gets a trial. You—you once said you loved me!"

"And I once did," I says, looking away. "But those days are over, Julius.Julius." [sic]

"Good heavens!" he busts out. "Can you switch love off and on as you would an electric light?"

I look at him and I'm lost.

"Go on, do your stuff and I'll listen," I says. "But don't let that give you the idea that you're twisting me around your finger!"

"The ideas I have about you, my dear, will never make you angry," he says, squeezing my arm. "Let's go some place where we can talk."

So we go to the Café Bordeaux where we can not only talk but eat, drink and be merry, as the saying is, and once we get a ringside table for the revue, Julius speaks his piece. It seems that after Julius gets sick and tired of Harvard he has his voice educated at home and abroad, being pointed by his parents for grand opera. He's also a bit fluerit at acting. But breaking into grand opera is about as easy as breaking into the vaults of the mint, so while waiting for an opening in the Metropolitan, Julius decides he'll get a job as star in a musical comedy. He figures that once Broadway hears him sing all by himself, why, they'll just go crazy

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 and roll off their seats and the noise will be heard by the opera directors and from then on $3,000 a night will be his minimum wage. However, eight months making the rounds along Broadway winds up Julius's bankroll and his parents' patience. The only way Julius can be starred is if he puts up the jack himself. That's asking the impossible, so he dives head first into the chorus of "The Girl from Betelgeuse," thinking his big chance will probably come sooner or later and he might as well be eating while waiting for it.

Well, they hear his voice while he's rehearsing with his frolic and they realize it's far from a jackal's wail, so they make him understudy to Charlemagne Rutledge, the leading man. This drives Julius wild with joy and why wouldn't it? Should any safes fall on the head of this big blah with the name like an apartment house and a collar, Julius will step into the leading part and knock Broadway silly. For one solid year he's been understudying Charlemagne and he's letter perfect in the part and musical numbers. Likewise, Julius is satisfied he's a better actor and a better tenor than Mister Leading Man. If he ever gets a chance to sink his teeth into this part just once—that's all he wants, just once—Julius swears he'll be the talk of New York. But Charlemagne Rutledge hasn't missed a single performance in the year the show has been

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 on the Big Street, and as it closes in ten days, why, it looks like Julius is another one of these roses which is born to blush unseen.

That's Julius—and I can take him or leave him.

I took him!

We go back on a pre-war basis after that night and I find I just can't get that boy's plight out of my mind. I want to help him—in fact, I'm determined to help him—but the thing is, how? Then the next day out of the usual clear sky I get the big idea that put Julius over and came near putting me in jail!

Hemingway Bryce, a five-minute egg, shared a suite on the tenth floor of the St. Moe with no less than Charlemagne Rutledge, my Julius's jinx. This Bryce is starring in "Coffee for Two" at the Rainier and he's just about pestered the life out of me trying to date me up ever since he parked himself at the hotel. I like him and poison the same way, and for all he knows the only English I speak is the adjective "No!" However, he's an actor and as this is a problem touching on the show business, I think maybe if I tell him about it, without using any names, he may make the one bright remark of his life and in that way I'll get the answer to the puzzle. So this day when he comes over to stall around I tossed him a bright smile. That nearly knocked his hat off and the way he floundered over to my side was comical to see!

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 "Well, girlie," he gushes—the big clown!—"when are we going to have that dinner together?"

I felt like saying, "When Niagara Falls starts running the other way!" But I want to straighten out Julius, so I throw the smile into high.

"I'll let you know later," I says. "I want to ask you something first."

"Anything!" he says, with his hand on his heart. He's one of these fellows which simply can't stop acting, on and off. "Anything I possess is yours, if"

"What could be sweeter than that?" I cut him off, still smiling. "But I just want to ask you a question. What would you do if you were an understudy and knew you were greater than the star, but couldn't get a chance to play the part and dumbfound the world?"

He looks a bit surprised and then he pretends to be giving the matter the same attention the U. S. Supreme Court gives a trust tangle, standing there with his chin in his hand and a frown puckering his noble forehead.

"Why," he says finally, "why, I'd have the star kidnapped for one performance and take my chances!"

And he laughs. A little bit later he was like the laughing hyena which died. He didn't have nothing to laugh it!

Well, I manage to get rid of Hemingway Bryce a few minutes afterwards and I can hardly keep from

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 yelling with joy, because I've got Julius all set. I know just what I'm going to do and just what he's going to do—that's if he wants to keep his little girl friend. So when we go to dinner that night I put all my cards on the table, face up.

"Julius," I says, "after some years of watching you boys perform and in that way getting a good line on the male sex, I made up my mind if I ever fell I'd fall for a great man. Being a shipping clerk's darling or a head bookkeeper's bride never has appealed to me and it don't now! The man I gamble my future with has got to mean something. He's got to either get his name in the electric lights or invent something brighter!"

Julius is looking at me like a drowning man would look at you if you turned a hose on him.

"But I thought we settled all" he begins.

"Don't interrupt teacher!" I shut him off. "As I was saying before you spoke out of turn, I always craved the affection of a really great man and swore I'd fall for no other. Unfortunately, Julius, you came along and you're far from great, but I fell for you nevertheless. There's no question about that part of it. Therefore I am going to make you famous, whether you want to be famous or not!"

"I'm afraid I don't understand," says Julius—and looks it.

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 "You want a chance to play the star part in 'The Girl from Betelgeuse' and show Broadway what you can do, don't you?" I says.

"Do I?" says Julius, grabbing my hands while his face lights up like a cathedral. "Why, say, sweetheart, if I ever get a crack at that part"

"Well, don't cry," I butt in. "You're going to get a crack at it tomorrow night!"

"What do you mean?" gasps Julius, trying to read my face. He can't and he sinks back in his chair. "Don't jest about that, Gladys, it's too near my heart," he says, kind of reproachful.

"If you think I'm kidding, you're crazy!" I smiles. "If Charlemagne Rutledge fails to appear tomorrow night you go on and play the lead, don't you?"

"Of course," says Julius. "But that's nonsense. He hasn't missed a performance since the infernal show opened a year ago."

"Well, he'll miss tomorrow night," I says, still smiling, "because we're going to kidnap him."

Julius laughs and pats my hand.

"You angel," he says, "I really believe you would do that for me! But"

"But nothing," I interrupted, the smile gone. "Kidnapping the leading man is the only way you'll ever get your chance. Well, we're going to do it. If you don't go through with this, I'm through with you!"

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 This time he must of read my face correctly.

"Good heavens, you can't be serious!" he exclaims. "Why the thing's unthinkable! I—why"

"I never was more serious in my life," I shut him off. "I've even laid out the details. Keep quiet a minute and I'll tell you how we'll work it."

"Why—why—Gladys—I—we'll be arrested! We" Julius is at the stuttering stage, as pale as a couple of ghosts.

"Suppose we do get arrested," I says. "Look what we're shooting at! If my scheme goes through you'll be a star, won't you?"

"But—but" He's all but speechless.

"Listen," I says, "cut out the buts. I'll be the goat in this little trifling matter and if you don't do your part you're canceled with me as sure as there's a Frenchman in Paris! Of course, if you're afraid you'll fall down if you do get the chance to play the lead, why"

"Fall down?" he butts in, banging the table with his fist. "Why, it will put me over!"

"Then let's go!" I says, banging the table myself. "It's all fun!"

When we part Julius weighs about ten pounds less than he did when we come in the restaurant, but he's agreed to my little kidnapping scheme. About all he touched of the dinner was the check.

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 The next night I get busy on my own little movie, written and produced by myself and called "The Kidnapped Leading Man." I know I'm never going to get away with this without something happening that won't do me a bit of good, but had I knew just exactly what was going to happen I almost think I would of allowed Julius to make good in his own way. Before things was over I felt like I had called for a drink of water and got hit by a tidal wave!

My first imitation was to interview Pete Kift. I simply asked Peter to lock Charlemagne Rutledge in his room that night, so that by no chance can Charlemagne get out till it's too late for him to get to the theater where "The Girl from Betelgeuse" is playing. The fire escape is two doors farther down the hall, as both Charlemagne and Hemingway Bryce, who rooms with him, had kicked against having a suite that opened out into one, claiming it poisoned the view from the windows. So if Charlemagne wants to jump, good for him—it's only ten stories to the pavement and that last story would have a most unhappy ending, now wouldn't it? I then arrange at the switchboard that no calls from that suite are to be answered. That prevents my captive from calling the desk or anybody else which might be weak-kneed enough to release him and deprive my Julius of his chance to play the lead in "The Girl from Betelgeuse." I know I am crazy

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 to do this, as the fellow remarked before slapping the lion in the face, but then you want to remember I am also in love!

At eight o'clock Pete Kift sidles up to the switchboard as mysterious as a Cuckoo Klan meeting. He looks to the right and left and then he bends over to me.

"All set, Cutey!" he says, in a hoarse whisper.

"You're sure he's locked tight—he can't get out?" I whispered back, and gee, I'm nervous!

"Say," says my noble Pete, at bozo couldn't get out of 'at room if his name was Houdini!"

So that was all settled.

Well, I'll never forget the night I put in at that board if I live to the ripe old age of a million. Phew! I got nothing to do but think of what will happen to me when Charlemagne Rutledge gets out of that room and realizes he has missed his show. I think and think and think and then every time I get about froze stiff with pure fright, why, the thought comes to me that Julius is out on that stage singing and acting his way to a roaring success. That thought kind of evens matters, for it fills me with a warm glow of pride and satisfaction. Anybody which got a right number from me that night got it by dumb luck and nothing else!

As the witching hour of midnight approaches and I

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 am thanking Heaven that I'm about to go off duty, Pete Kift again slinks up to the board and this time he's got the word "panic" wrote all over his face. He's as nervous as a frightened rabbit and a bit pale and sickly looking. What a swell villain he'd be, I think, but then it's the men who always weaken, isn't it?

"Cutey," whispers Pete, "I have got to let 'at baby out of his cell upstairs, I do for a fact. He's bellerin' and meowin' and kickin' on the door and he's went to work and busted a window on me! He's jazzed around up there so much he's got the people in the adjoinin' rooms all stirred up. All the neighbors' children and the like is outside lookin' up at the windows, and you know what  ' at will lead to. I'd like to go up and cuff some brains into him, but I got to let him out, kid, or the reserves'll be here!"

Well, I'm ready to faint because the grand finale is about to break, but tell Pete to go up and unfock the door. It's twelve o'clock now and by this time Julius must be the talk of Broadway. That being the case, I'm ready to take my medicine, because naturally enough I can't let poor Pete Kift be the goat for a frame-up I planned myself. Anyways, Pete springs for the elevator and is shot up to the tenth floor like a bullet. I'm pinning on my hat when the same elevator door opens and out of it almost falls—not Charlemagne Rutledge, leading man in "The Girl from

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 Betelgeuse," but Hemingway Bryce, his roommate and star in another play!

Heavens above, I have kidnapped the wrong leading man, ruined a perfectly good show and in no way helped my Julius to fame and fortune!

All this comes to me like a blow between the eyes with a mallet and I sink back against the switchboard just about ready for the undertaker. Hemingway Bryce comes rushing up to murder somebody for not answering his wild calls and one look at me seems to be enough for him.

"By the eternal!" he roars. "I see it all now! You asked me what I would do to give an understudy a chance to play the star's part. Oh, fool that I was! The irony of it. I told you I'd kidnap the leading man, little thinking I was that leading man myself! So you and my understudy did this damnable thing, did you? Well"

"Mr. Bryce—please!" I butt in faintly. "Please listen. You must listen! It has all been a terrible mistake. I—we—I didn't mean to kidnap you at all. It was"

"Not a word!" howls this dumbbell, prancing around, "I'll have you arrested! I'll sue this hotel for a million dollars damages and I'll collect, too! My reputation is gone forever. Boy, call an officer!"

At this critical minute the revolving doors revolve

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 and in rushes the cause of it all—Mr. Julius De Haven. He pushes the foaming Bryce aside and bounces over to me like there's nobody in the hotel, or in New York for that matter, but me and him.

"Oh, you wonderful girl!" he hollers. "I owe everything to you! Your blessed scheme succeeded beyond our wildest dreams. I played Prince Danilo in 'The Girl from Betelgeuse' tonight as he has never been played before. Why, sweetness, I got an ovation! I was forced to take a dozen curtain calls after my first act alone and—oh, it's too much to tell you all at once! Seligman came to my dressing room and offered me a starring contract for next season and—why, darling, what's the matter?"

The matter was that I had simply passed out! Things were coming entirely too fast for little Giadys. Here I have living raving evidence before me that I have kidnapped the wrong man, yet Julius says the scheme went through! Then who in—eh—then who in the name of Kansas City kidnapped the right leading man?

I come to with Julius fanning me and trying to force me to drink water. I will not be forced to drink water, so I straighten up in time to see Charlemagne Rutledge burst into the crowd around me and throw his arms about his dear old roommate, Hemingway Bryce.

"Thank God you are safe!" bawls Charlemagne.

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 "Safe?" yells Hemingway. "I'm ruined! This woman had me locked in my room tonight and I missed my performance!"

"Then she has saved your life!" says Charlemagne Rutledge. "Haven't you heard! They're crying the extras now. The roof of your theater collapsed, man, and hundreds were killed! The streets were closed by the police for blocks around. I couldn't get through their infernal fire lines until eleven o'clock and I missed my own performance. I don't know how my understudy got through with the part and"

"Ha, ha!" butts in Julius joyfully. "You'll know when you see the morning papers old dear!"

Hemingway Bryce has turned triple pale when he hears of his narrow escape. He's worse shook up than I am and that's a fact!

"I—I—forgive me," he stammers to me. "I—I owe you my life. I could kiss you!"

"Try it!" says Julius, the ex-gentle chorus man, "and'll murder you!" And he slides his arm around me.

But, honestly, I had nothing to do with the roof of that theater falling in. That was somebody else's idea, no fooling!

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text: Love and Learn (Witwer)

title: Love and Learn (Witwer)


text: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 1

title: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 1


text: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 2

title: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 2


text: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 3

title: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 3


text: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 4

title: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 4


text: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 5

title: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 5


text: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 6

title: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 6


text: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 7

title: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 7


text: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 8

title: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 8


text: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 9

title: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 9


text: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 10

title: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 10


text: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 11

title: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 11


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Page:Journal of the Straits Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society (IA journalofstra85861922roya).pdf/88

 The Tiger-breed families.

Among the peasant population of Jempul, a settlement of Malay villagers along a river of that name in the Kuala Pilah District of negri Sembilan, there is a belief that certain families in the local tribe (suku) of Tiga Batu have a mysterious connection with tigers. Report has it that this belief is not peculiar to Jempul, but extends over a wide area in the Nine States—Juasseh, Rembau, Tampin, Terachi, Gunong Pasir, Jelebu and Pantai. The writer however has not made a study of the belief in all these places, and this paper deals only with Jempul. For want of a better term I call the families in question "The tiger-breed families."

The belief is that members of the particular families become tigers after their death; a man becomes a tiger, and a woman a tigress. Thus, though the belief recalls the were-tiger and were-wolf stories which are widely known and believed in many parts of the world, it is not exactly the same: the one belief supposes the transformation to take place at will during life, and the other that it takes place only after death. In their life-time as human beings members of these families are said to be peculiarly related with certain tigers of the forest, whom they vaguely recognise as incarnations of dead relatives. These tiger "relatives" sometimes come to the compounds of their human kinsmen, protect their cattle from the attack of foreign tigers, their poultry from civet-cats (musang) and their paddy-fields or tapioca plantations from the ravages of wild-boars. The visitors are expected especially during the nights of Hari Raya, or when there is grave trouble in the family to which they belong. But it is seldom that many come together. Usually one or two represent the clan. Often a man will warn a friend belonging to one of these families, not to make mischief when he becomes a tiger. "When your turn comes to become a tiger" (i.e. when you die) he will say, "I trust you will still remain a friend to me, and not do me or my folk and cattle any harm. Otherwise I will shoot yon. If you require food, you are free to hunt your own fellows in the jungle. Why harm our human kind?" Sometimes such words are spoken jestingly, but more often in a tone of deadly earnestness.

All this sounds as absurd as it is interesting. But all the villagers living within circumference of the families tell the same tale. They say that when a member of one of these families is ill, there is always one tiger at least haunting the neighbourhood of the patient's house (as though there had been telepathic communication between the two). He comes closer and closer as night approaches, and at such a time nobody dares to go out of the house unaccompanied. The compound of the Malay villager's house is


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Page:Kelley v. Chicago Park District.pdf/15

 1 § 2.03[B]. A work is “fixed” in a tangible medium of expression “when its embodiment in a copy or phonorecord … is sufficiently permanent or stable to permit it to be perceived, reproduced, or otherwise communicated for a period of more than transitory duration.” 17 U.S.C. § 101. As William Patry explains: "Fixation serves two basic roles: (1) easing problems of proof of creation and infringement, and (2) providing the dividing line between state common law protection and protection under the federal Copyright Act, since works that are not fixed are ineligible for federal protection but may be protected under state law. The distinction between the intangible intellectual property (the work of authorship) and its fixation in a tangible medium of expression (the copy) is an old and fundamental and important one. The distinction may be understood by examples of multiple fixations of the same work: A musical composition may be embodied in sheet music, on an audio-tape, on a compact disc, on a computer hard drive or server, or as part of a motion picture soundtrack. In each of the fixations, the intangible property remains a musical composition."

2 § 3:22 (internal quotation marks omitted).

Finally, “authorship is an entirely human endeavor.” Id. § 3:19 (2010). Authors of copyrightable works must be human; works owing their form to the forces of nature cannot be copyrighted. Id. § 3:19 n. 1; see also, § 503.03(a) (“[A] work must be the product of human authorship” and not the forces of nature.) (1984); id. § 202.02(b).

Recognizing copyright in Wildflower Works presses too hard on these basic principles. We fully accept that the artistic community might classify Kelley’s garden as a work of postmodern conceptual art. We acknowledge as well that copyright’s prerequisites of authorship and fixation are broadly defined. But the law must have some limits; not all conceptual art may be copyrighted. In the ordinary copyright case, authorship and fixation are not contested; most works presented for copyright are unambiguously authored and unambiguously fixed. But this is not an ordinary case. A living garden like Wildflower Works is neither “authored” nor “fixed” in the senses required for copyright. See Toney v. L’Oreal USA, Inc., 406 F.3d 905, 910 (7th Cir.2005) (“A person’s likeness—her persona—is not authored and it is not fixed.”); see also Cronin, Dead on the Vine, 12 at 227–39.

Simply put, gardens are planted and cultivated, not authored. A garden’s constituent elements are alive and inherently changeable, not fixed. Most of what we see and experience in a garden—the colors, shapes, textures, and scents of the plants—originates in nature, not in the mind of the gardener. At any given moment in time, a garden owes most of its form and appearance to natural forces, though the gardener who plants and tends it obviously assists. All this is true of Wildflower Works, even though it was designed and planted by an artist.

Of course, a human “author”—whether an artist, a professional landscape designer, or an amateur backyard gardener—determines the initial arrangement of the plants in a garden. This is not the kind of authorship required for copyright. To the extent that seeds or seedlings can be considered a “medium of expression,” they originate in nature, and natural forces—not the intellect of the gardener—determine their form, growth, and appearance. Moreover, a garden is simply too


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 usually surrounded with scrub and patches of low-lying shrubs: it is in these that the tiger has his hiding place during those anxious moments of the patient's illness. If the illness is serious, or the patient is dying, the tiger will show signs of trouble and uneasiness. He groans, makes piteous noises and restlessly moves from one end of the compound to the other. Occasionally in his seeming anxiety for the patient's condition, he encounters the human visitors who pass with their torches to or from the patient's house. But he is harmless, though the people have their hearts in their mouths. The dying patient in the house seems no longer conscious of his or her identity as a human being. He losses about, grinds his teeth and looks wild. manifesting a hundred and one of the characteristics of a tiger, trying to force out a tail (mĕnghějan ekor) from the coccyx, and often giving unmistakable responses to the signals from his tiger-friend below. Very often more than one tiger will come and make circuits round the house. With the first peep of day the inmates of the jungle betake themselves to the nearest bushes, showing themselves at times, and making their presence felt all through the day. The following night brings them back to their sentinel routine. But they are not to be harmed nor do they do any harm. The patient breathes his last and then all is silent till the burial is over.

In ordinary cases the prospective tiger dies peacefully, and then becomes a tiger. No one has ever cared or dared to go and watch what really happens at the grave during the few nights following the burial. They say that some days after the burial, the white shroud (kain kapan) of the buried body is found lying besides the grave, torn and tattered: and a hole of the size of a man's body is found to have been made into the grave, while the footprints of tigers are seen everywhere. From this it is concluded that the tigers must take the corpse and bear it (usong) into the forest where the metamorphosis takes place in some inexplicable way. A tiger representing the dead person makes his appearance shortly afterwards. Even if the person dies in another country, he comes home to his native village in the shape of a tiger, and announces his arrival through a dream to the principal member of the family. Soon after the announcement, a new tiger appears in the neighbourhood. There are characteristic marks on the tiger answering to the marks on the person when alive as a man. If the person had a deformed leg, the new tiger also has a deformed leg. If the person was bald-headed, the tiger also is bald-headed. He is also distinguishable as the personification of such and such a member of the family by peculiar gait and bearing or general build which are those of the dead person. These tigers understand and respond when called by their human names. I cannot illustrate this better than by a personal story. One night, many years ago, my grand-mother was troubled by a herd of buffaloes breaking again and again into her poorly-fenced compound where vegetables and young fruit-trees were sprouting. The moon was overcast, and the night was cool and calm. Repeatedly the old lady


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 drove the intruders away, but as repeatedly they returned. It happened that she had an old friend named Faseh who had died about a year before and was believed to have become a tiger. In her impatience, the old lady shouted out: "O Faseh, my friend! If you really have become a tiger, please do me the favour of driving away these nasty buffaloes, and thus save my little garden from being destroyed." A few moments passed. Then all of a sudden, the buffaloes bellowed and rushed out of the compound helter-skelter for their life; while above the confusion rose the terrible roar of an angry tiger. We were panic-striken in the little hovel where we lived, and the old lady felt sorry for having called the tiger. But for the rest of the night and for many nights afterwards the buffaloes never returned.

Another incident of a different nature illustrates the superstition. A Malay woman named Ba'idah, belonging to one of these tiger-breed families, had a dead brother, believed to have turned into a tiger. One night she dreamt that this brother in the shape of a man returned home from a long journey, very badly wounded in his chest by an accidental shot from a spring-gun (bělantek usa). He came up the verandah (sĕrambi) and there lay groaning with agony and saying he was going to die. When she woke up in the morning she told her husband what she had seen in her dream. On opening the door leading from the main room to the verandah they found that all the verandah was besmeared with fresh blood. They suspected this was the blood of the wounded brother who had come home in the woman's dream. It seemed that the tiger had left the house only a short while ago. Calling their neighbours' who came with guns and spears, they followed the track of the blood and foot-prints into the forest. They did not go far when they came upon the carcase of a huge tiger. The distinctive marks they found on the carcase assured them that it was indeed the woman's brother. The mortal wound was exactly in the chest, and appeared to have been inflicted the very same night. Many similar incidents are known throughout Jempul. Time and again it is related these family-tigers visit their relatives' houses during the nights of holy festivities, such as Hari Raya. Sometimes they manage to make their way into the kitchen, and feast over some rĕbus kĕrbau or ikan pindang that may have been left on the hearth. Morning comes to tell the tale from the traces they leave behind and the clean-licked cooking pots and dishes. This would make an interesting counterpart to the well-known nursery tale of Santa Claus who comes on Christmas eve to bring presents for children.

There are many little graveyards throughout Jempul which are credited with having produced tigers out of human corpses. Two of them deserve special mention, and these are Kubor Nesan and Kubor Lĕban, situated in Kampong Tengah. These two are among many which have become highly revered by the ignorant masses. They pay their vows (niat) there, and propitiate the spirit of the place.


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 They say that all the tigers springing from these graves are saints (Harimau Kĕramat) under the more saintly lordship of the great Dato Paroï whose abode is Gunong Angsi, as opposed to Gunong Ledang which has its own army of tiger-warriors and settlers. Fancy and superstition have associated endless tales and legends with these two leading personalities—the Dato Paroï and Dato Gunong Ledang. Of them as of a few other tiger-tales I propose to speak in some future article.

Belief in were-tigers whose transformation takes place during life, is general all over the Peninsula. But, as a rule, the power is ascribed to people of the Korinchi tribe from Sumatra. The possession of the power by a person is said to be indicated by the absence of the furrow (alor) which ordinary men have on their upper lip immediately below the nose. Tigers of this sort are called harimau chěnaku, or harimau jadi-jadian. They change back into man just as the man changes into tiger. Sir Hugh Clifford in his book "The Further Side of Silence" relates a case of a Malay were-tiger.


text: Journal of the Straits Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society/Volume 85/The Tiger-breed families


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 The Ruddy Crake (Limnobaenus fuscus) which occurs regularly in the Malay Peninsula, is closely allied to and somewhat similar to Elwes' Crake but the latter inay be easily distinguished by the grey colour of the head, neck and breast, the Ruddy Crake being uniformly rufous.

There is, however, a slight possibility of a mistake having been made in attaching the original label, as a former Curator of the Raffles Museum obtained several specimens of birds and insects from the Eastern Himalayas and the Johore label may have been tied in error to one of this collection. There is no evidence to support this theory, and considering the habits of Rails there is nothing at all surprising in the bird having been found in Johore. The Indian records were made in the summer and our specimen may have migrated here for the winter.

It would, of course, be more satisfactory if this record could be supported by the capture of another specimen in the Malay Peninsula.

 A Tiger at Sea.

Instances of Tigers swimming across wide rivers or narrow straits are common enough. Tigers are still found occasionally on the island of Singapore where they have arrived from Johore after a swim of one to two miles across the Straits. The following note however of a much longer swim is perhaps worthy of record.

Mr. G. O. Dorrity of Trengganu, to whom I am indebted for the information, obtained the story from an old Malay fisherman in Kelantan some eight years ago. The local fishing fleet was proceeding out to the fishing grounds one night from the coast of Kelantan when a dark object was observed moving about on the surface of the water. The position given was midway between the Perhentian Islands and the mainland, i.e. about five miles from the mainland: the total distance between the mainland and the nearest island of the group is eleven miles. On a closer inspection the object was discovered to be a full grown tiger and evidently in some distress. A pukat (seine-net) was thrown over it and the animal, entangled in the mesh, was towed behind a boat until drowned.

It seems impossible to credit this tiger with the deliberate intention of swimming out ten miles to a small group of islands which he could hardly see from the mainland. Probably he was accidentally swept out to sea when attempting perhaps to cross a river at the mouth.


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  Meteorite in Malacca Straits.

On the morning of September 11th about 6.15 a.m., as I was lying in a berth on S. S. "Klang" facing the sea I suddenly saw a large ball of light, of dazzling brightness falling from the sky. Almost simultaneously there was a loud report resembling the firing of a large gun, as the meteorite struck the sea.

It could not have been more than 300 feet away.

The master, Captain MacDonald, stated that it would have sunk the ship had it struck her.

This occurrence took place when we were about one hour out of Port Swettenham on the voyage from Singapore.

 "Berkluat"—A Trengganu Custom.

The offence known is "Berkluat" is peculiar to the state of Trengganu alone in British Malaya. Should a man and woman be seen to exchange an affectionate glance, they may thereupon be arrested without warrant, charged with "Berkluat," and sentenced to as much as 3 months imprisonment. The giving of the "glad eye" is therefore a matter of some danger in Trengganu.

The local dignitaries, who are mostly of Arabic extraction are said to be opposed to the abolition of this charge, though it is a fruitful source of blackmail. As most of these magnates possess a plurality of wives, it is rather pedantic on their part to object to a little ogling between couples of humble origin.

Perhaps they have in mind

"Apa guna pasang pelita "Kalau tiada dengan sumbohnya? "Apa guna bermain mata "Jikalau tiada dengan sunggohnya?"


text: Template:Monthly Challenge listing/sandbox


text:
Module:Monthly Challenge listing/sandbox

require('strict')

--[=[ Module that provides "smart" updating of a monthly list of works for the Monthly Challenge.

All it needs is the data table at Monthly Challenge/data/YYYY and optionally Monthly Challenge/data/YYYY-1, and it will choose the right indexes to show and divide them into sections. ]=]

local p = {} --p stands for package local getArgs = require('Module:Arguments').getArgs local constructAuthorLink = require('Module:Author link').constructAuthorLink

local dataPrefix = 'Module:Monthly Challenge/data/' local shortThreshold = 50 -- pages local ageLimit = 3 -- months local yearsToLookBack = 1 -- years

local colors = { problematic = '#b0b0ff', -- blue proofread = '#ffa0a0', -- red validate = '#ffe867', --yellow done = '#90ff90' --green }

local function getAge(to, from_y, from_m)

local my = mw.text.split(to, '-', true)

if #my ~= 2 then error("Invalid first_month: " .. to) end

my[1] = tonumber(my[1]) my[2] = tonumber(my[2])

if my[1] == nil or my[2] == nil then error("Invalid first_month: " .. to) end

return (from_y * 12 + from_m) - (my[1] * 12 + my[2]) end

local function outputItem(frame, i)   local subject = table.concat(i.data.subject, ", ") local coverNum = tonumber(i.data.cover) -- avoid line breaks like Volume//1 local title = i.data.title:gsub("Volume (%d)", "Volume %1") local author = '' for k, v in pairs(i.data.author) do   	if k > 1 then if k < #i.data.author then author = author .. ", "	   	else author = author .. " and " end end author = author .. constructAuthorLink(v) end -- progress bars are very expensive - validated works dont _really_ need them -- so turn them off for now to give as a little headroom local no_prog_bar if i.data.work_status.final == 'validated' then no_prog_bar = 'yes' end

local args = { [1] = i.name, [2] = coverNum, [3] = title, [4] = i.data.year, [5] = author, [6] = subject, [7] = i.age, [8] = i.data.flag, page = i.data.page, no_progress_bar = no_prog_bar, }

if coverNum == nil then args.cover = i.data.cover end if i.highlight ~= nil then args.highlight = i.highlight end

return frame:expandTemplate{ title = 'MC-Cover', args = args } end

local function outputItems(frame, items) local out = '' if items ~= nil then for k, v in pairs(items) do           out = out .. outputItem(frame, v)       end end return out end

-- convert a string or array to an array of strings -- note, this copies the strings, so it doesn't matter if the source is read-only local function arrayify(stringOrArray) local out = {} if type(stringOrArray) == 'table' then for _, v2 in pairs(stringOrArray) do           table.insert(out, v2) end else table.insert(out, stringOrArray) end return out end

local function getSortTitle(t) if not t then return nil end t = t:gsub('^The (.*)$', '%1, The') t = t:gsub('^A (.*)$', '%1, A') t = t:gsub('^An (.*)$', '%1, An') return t end

local function getIndexesForYearData(data, year, month) local indexes = {} for age, works in pairs(data) do   	for index, v in pairs(works) do

local idx = { name = index, age = age, }

-- copy what we need from the read-only table idx.data = { title = v.title, sort_title = getSortTitle(v.title), cover = v.cover, author = arrayify(v.author), flag = v.flag, year = v.year, page = v.page, subject = arrayify(v.subject), short = v.short, work_status = v.status }           table.insert(indexes, idx) end end return indexes end

local function populateIndexData(indexes) for k, v in pairs(indexes) do		v.name = v.name:gsub('_', ' ') local d = v.data local file = mw.title.makeTitle('File', v.name) local index = mw.title.makeTitle('Index', v.name) -- expensive! local imgData = file.file

if d.short ~= nil then v.short = d.short elseif imgData ~= nil and imgData.pages then v.short = (#imgData.pages < shortThreshold) else v.short = false end

-- avoid storing content, it eats memory -- also check content == nil expensive call over index.exists local content = index:getContent end end

local function construct_header(frame, message, color) return frame:expandTemplate{ title = 'MC-Section/s', args = { text = message, ['background-color'] = colors[color] }   } end

local function getTimeInQueueMsg(months)

if months < 0 then return "no expiry" elseif months == 0 then return "new works this month" end

local m = "month" if months > 1 then m = m .. 's'   end

return "works added " .. months .. ' ' .. m .. ' ago' end

local function constructListingSection(frame, t, colour, msg) local out = ''

if t and #t > 0 then table.sort(t, function (a, b)	   	return a.data.sort_title < b.data.sort_title		    end) out = out .. construct_header(frame, msg, colour) out = out .. outputItems(frame, t)       out = out .. frame:expandTemplate{title='MC-Section/e'} end return out end

local function constructListing(frame, works) local out = '' out = out .. constructListingSection(frame, works.tofix, 'problematic', "To fix") out = out .. constructListingSection(frame, works.short.p, 'proofread', "Under 50 pages: to proofread") out = out .. constructListingSection(frame, works.normal.p[-1], 'proofread', "To proofread (" .. getTimeInQueueMsg(-1) .. ")")

for i = 0, ageLimit, 1 do       local msg = getTimeInQueueMsg(i) out = out .. constructListingSection(frame, works.normal.p[i], 'proofread', "To proofread (" .. msg .. ")")   end out = out .. constructListingSection(frame, works.short.v, 'validate', "Under 50 pages: to validate") out = out .. constructListingSection(frame, works.normal.v[-1], 'validate', "To validate (" .. getTimeInQueueMsg(-1) .. ")")

for i = 0, ageLimit, 1 do       local msg = getTimeInQueueMsg(i) out = out .. constructListingSection(frame, works.normal.v[i], 'validate', "To validate (" .. msg .. ")")   end

out = out .. constructListingSection(frame, works.done, 'done', "Completed works")

return out end

-- This loads up to yearsToLookBack + 1 data tables -- Then loads the content for each found index -- If this is an issue for limits, this could be done in two passes, local function getRelevantIndexes(year, month) local indexes = {}

local success, monthData = pcall(mw.loadData, dataPrefix .. string.format('%d-%02d', year, month)) if success and monthData and monthData.works then local monthIndexes = getIndexesForYearData(monthData.works, year, month) for _, v in ipairs(monthIndexes) do           table.insert(indexes, v)        end end return indexes end

local function latestStatus( idx ) return idx.data.work_status.final or idx.data.work_status.initial end

local function indexIsValidated( idx ) return latestStatus( idx ) == 'validated' end

local function indexIsProofread( idx ) return latestStatus( idx ) == 'proofread' end

local function findSprintWorks(indexes, sprint) local sprintIndexes = {} local excludeValidated = true if sprint ~= nil then local s = mw.ustring.lower(sprint) for _, v in pairs(indexes) do			for _, vs in pairs(v.data.subject) do				if s == mw.ustring.lower(vs) and not (excludeValidated and indexIsValidated(v) ) then table.insert(sprintIndexes, v)					break end end end end return sprintIndexes end

local function getChallengeWorks(year, month, sprint) local indexes = getRelevantIndexes(year, month) populateIndexData(indexes)

local works = { short = { v = {}, p = {}, },       normal = { v = {}, p = {}, },       done= {}, tofix= {}, sprint = findSprintWorks(indexes, sprint) }   -- highlight sprint works for _, v in pairs(works.sprint) do		v.highlight = sprint end

-- distribute into bins for display for k, v in pairs(indexes) do   	if sprint and v.highlight then table.insert(works.sprint, v)   	end

if indexIsValidated(v) then table.insert(works.done, v)       elseif latestStatus( v ) == 'tofix' then table.insert(works.tofix, v)       elseif v.short then -- short works are all together if indexIsProofread(v) then table.insert(works.short.v, v)           else table.insert(works.short.p, v)           end else -- this is a normal work, arrange by age local t;           if indexIsProofread(v) then t = works.normal.v           else t = works.normal.p           end

if t[v.age] == nil then t[v.age] = {} end table.insert(t[v.age], v)       end end

return works end

local function ymwFromArgs(argy, argm, argw)

local year = tonumber(argy) local month = tonumber(argm)

if year == nil or month == nil then error("Both month and year must be given") end local thisWeek = argw if thisWeek == nil then local dateNow = os.date("!*t") thisWeek = math.floor((dateNow.day - 1) / 7) + 1 end

return year, month, thisWeek end

--[=[ Function docs ]=] function p.listing(frame) local args = getArgs(frame)

local year, month = ymwFromArgs(args[1], args[2])

local works = getChallengeWorks(year, month, args.sprint)

--mw.logObject(works)

return constructListing(frame, works) end

local function metatableLength(t) local l = 0 for _,_ in pairs(t) do		l = l + 1 end return l end

local function getSprint(year, month, week)

local ok, thisYearData = pcall(mw.loadData, dataPrefix .. string.format('%d-%02d', year, month)) if not ok then return nil end local monthSprints = thisYearData.sprints local sprint = nil if monthSprints ~= nil then local maxWeek = metatableLength(monthSprints) if week > maxWeek then week = maxWeek end sprint = monthSprints[week] end return sprint end

--[=[ Return the relvant sprint for the given challenge ]=] function p.sprint(frame) local args = getArgs(frame) local year, month, week = ymwFromArgs(args.year, args.month, args.week) local sprint = getSprint(year, month, week) return sprint end

--[=[ Construct an HTML list of the works in the relevant challenge's sprint ]=] function p.sprintWorks(frame) local args = getArgs(frame) local year, month, week = ymwFromArgs(args.year, args.month, args.week) local sprint = getSprint(year, month, week) local links = {} if sprint == nil then table.insert(links, 'No sprint found') else -- load the works for the given challenge local indexes = getRelevantIndexes(year, month) populateIndexData(indexes) local sprintWorks = findSprintWorks(indexes, sprint) for k, v in pairs(sprintWorks) do local link =  .. v.data.title ..  table.insert(links, link) end end

ul = mw.html.create("ul")

for k, v in pairs(links) do		ul:tag('li') :wikitext(v) end

return ul end

local function make_list( lines ) local out = '' for i, v in pairs( lines ) do out = out .. '*' .. v .. '\n' end return out end

--[=[ Completed works in this month ]=] local function get_completed_works( year, month, stage ) local indexes = getRelevantIndexes(year, month) local completed_work_list = {} for _, v in pairs( indexes ) do		local status = v.data.work_status if status then if stage == 'validated' then if status.initial ~= 'validated' and status.final == 'validated' then table.insert( completed_work_list, v ) end elseif stage == 'proofread' then -- any work that stated out not proofread and ended validated if not ( status.initial == 'proofread' or status.initial == 'validated' ) and ( status.final == 'proofread' or status.final == 'validated' ) then table.insert( completed_work_list, v ) end end end end return completed_work_list end

function p.completed_works( frame ) local args = getArgs(frame) local year, month = ymwFromArgs(args[1], args[2]) local completed_work_list = get_completed_works(year, month, args.stage) lines = {} for k, v in pairs(completed_work_list) do		table.insert( lines, string.format( '%s', v.name, v.data.title ) ) end return make_list( lines ) end

function p.have_completed_works( frame ) local args = getArgs(frame) local year, month = ymwFromArgs(args[1], args[2], args.stage) local completed_work_list = get_completed_works(year, month, args.stage)

return (#completed_work_list > 0) and 'yes' or 'no' end

return p


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 Hindu Image from Sarawak.

Early in 1921 a very interesting discovery was made at Limbang, Sarawak, by workmen removing the top of a hill near the Residency. They unearthed a small stone image, in remarkably good preservation, of Ganesa, the elephant-headed god of Wisdom. Ganesa or Ganapati, as one of the sons of Siva and Parvati, is one of the most revered gods of the Hindus. In the Hindu Javanese religion he is Sang Yang Gana. He is the god of wisdom, the remover of obstacles. He is invoked at the beginning of a book and of important undertakings. He is a short fat figure, with protuberant belly, four hands, and the head of an elephant with only one tusk. In one hand he holds a shell, in another a discus, in the third a club or goad and in the fourth a water-lily. Sometimes he is depicted riding upon a rat or attended by one. His temples are numerous in the Dekhan. There are many legends accounting for his elephant head.

The Sarawak image (see illustration) shows the god sitting on the usual lotus cushion. The actual height of the image is 21 inches and the rough stone block on which it rests 12 inches. Mr. F. F. Boult, Resident of Limbang, sent it to the Sarawak Museum, Kuching.

Prof. Dr. N. J. Krom of Leiden University, to whom I showed photographs, when he was on his way through Singapore, tells me that similar images were found on Gunong Kombeng in South-East Borneo some ten years ago. They included a Ganesa, a Brahma and a Siva. He suggested that the Sarawak image was of more direct Hindu origin and therefore probably older (6th or 7th century) than these discovered in South-East Borneo, which were undoubtedly of Hindu origin. A list of all the Hindu images discovered in Dutch Borneo will be found in the "Encyclopaedie van Nederlandsch-Indie" (1919) vol. III, p. 198 under Oudheden.

Sir John Marshall, Director-General of Archaeology in India, kindly gives me the following interesting note, from which it will be seen that he suggests a later date for this Sarawak image.

The image appears to be very similar to the ordinary type of Ganesa in India. The chief distinguishing features of the latter are (a) the elephant's head, (b) three eyes, (c) four arms, the usual symbols in the hands being a bowl of sweets, a rosary, an are and the detached tusk of Ganesa himself, (d) a corpulent belly, (e) and a snake doing duty as the sacred thread. In the Borneo image we have the same large belly, the elephant's trunk and a snake for the yajnopavita.


text: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 12

title: Love and Learn (Witwer)/Chapter 12


text: Template:Monthly Challenge listing/testcases


text:
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 "Indian images of Ganesa are found seated in three different postures: (a) cross-legged, (b) one of the knees upraised and the other lying on the throne; (c) the right foot overhanging from the throne and resting on the ground and the left leg lying on the throne (sukhasana). In Archaeologisch Onderzoek of Java en Madura, Vol. II, Plates 40-42 are reproduced photographs of an image of Ganesa from Singasari in Java (now in the Ethnographical Museum of Leiden) which is seated with the right knee upraised and the left leg lying on the seat (surrounded by skulls). But in the Indian Museum there are two (Ja. 5 and 19) images of Ganesa from Java that are seated with the soles of the two feet joined. Photograph of Ja. 19 is enclosed herewith. This posture is un-Indian and appears to indicate a period of time when the Javanese image-makers had outlived the trammels of Indian tradition. In the photograph of the Borneo image the feet are not clear and probably mutilated. But there cannot be any doubt about the posture being the same as that of the two Javanese images of Ganesha in the Indian Museum. that is to say, seated with the soles of the two feet joined. The trunk (sunda) hangs down in a manner which suggests that, as in the Indian examples. it presumably rested on a bowl of sweets. The head-dress appears to be an elaborate conventional form of the jatā, the "matted locks" which Siva wears despite the incongruity in the case of Ganesha. If it is a Jatā, the image must represent Ganesha in an ascetic aspect, seated in meditation. This would explain the contemplative expression. But ascetic and contemplative Ganeshas are not known in India.

"The Javanese images are assignable to the thirteenth century A. D., the age of the Brahmanic temples of Brambanan and Singasari. The Borneo image, which in its posture seems to disclose Javanese influence, is probably to be assigned to about the same epoch but may be somewhat earlier. The earliest Brahmanic inscriptions found in Borneo (published by Vogel in a Dutch Journal of 1917 or 1918) are assigned to the fifth century A. D. This image of Ganesha shows that Brahmanic culture flourished in Borneo for a long period. For further particulars about the types of Ganesha images reference may be made to H. Krishna Sastri's South-Indian Images, pp. 165-176, and T. A. Gopinath Rao's Elements of Hindu Iconography, Vol. I, Part I, pp. 35-67."

The discovery of this image created great interest in Sarawak. Thousands flocked to the Sarawak Museum to see it. The Museum attendants had the time of their lives seeing that the god disposed of all the offerings made to it.

The accompanying illustration is from an enlarged photograph by Mrs. F. F. Boult, who tells me that she gave another one to the Sikhs in Kuching, at their request, for their Temple.


text: Page:Journal of the Straits Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society (IA journalofstra85861922roya).pdf/295


text: Journal of the Straits Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society/Volume 85/Hindu Image from Sarawak


text: Author:John Coney Moulton

title: Author:John Coney Moulton


text:
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 Notes.

 The Malayan Badger.

Dr. W. Docters van Leeuwen, Director of the Botanical Gardens, Buitenzorg contributes the following interesting notes on the Malayan Badger in Java:—

Buitenzorg, 20th May, 1921.

"With much interest I have read your article on the occurrence of the Malayan Badger in Borneo (Journ. Str. Br. Roy. Asiat. Soc. No. 83, 1921, pp. 112-116). This animal is very common in Java and I have seen it or smelt it on every mountain which I have visited. The lowest elevation at which I have seen this animal was 1000 feet on Mount Moeria in Java-central. The last time I saw it on Mount Pangerango, near Buitenzorg, was from an elevation of 4000 feet up to the summit, about 11,000 feet. There it is also common and very tame; in the vicinity of my mountain cabin it seeks the earthworms and insects under the thick moss-cover of the old crater valley. In the neighbourhood of our mountain laboratory at Tjibodas it is also very frequent and more than once we were awakened by the stink of this animal walking under our sleeping room.

"It will interest you perhaps that in this forest there is a kind of fern, which has the same smell as the badger though not so strong, and which is named by the natives the "pakoe sigoeng"; its scientific name is Didymochleena lunulata Desv.

"I have had some accidents meeting this animal but never have I felt any ill effect from the anal fluid though it is far from agreeable to be in contact with it. In some parts of Java, especially in the old sultanates it is said that a very weakened solution of the fluid is used as a perfume."

Buitenzorg, 2nd June, 1921.

"In the neighbourhood of Mount Goentoer near Garoet I had once built a small bamboo cabin, with walls of dried grass and about every evening a badger came and looked in one of my open rooms and every night as he walked near the cabin we were awakened by the smell. This stench he bears too, when not irritated, in his hairs, and also the path followed by this animal in the forest is recognisible [sic] by the stink. In the forest of Mount Pangerango I have seen the badger often in the first hours of the afternoon, but it is really a night-animal."


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Page:Journal of the Straits Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society (IA journalofstra85861922roya).pdf/273

 Since describing in this Journal the two Bornean skins as a new subspecies, Mydaus javanensis montanus, I have examined a third imperfect skin from the Sarawak Museum. It was obtained from the Kalabits of the ulu Baram and almost certainly comes from the same locality as the other two. Unfortunately the Kalabits have made it up as a seat-mat for their own use and consequently cut it down considerably; only the back remains, the head, legs and tail having been cut off. It measures 19 inches by 10 at the widest part. A comparison of the whitish dorsal marking shows that it must have been similar in size to the other two. The white streak is 3 inches across at the widest, then narrows abruptly and breaks off completely for 3 inches before continuing as a very thin line for another 4 inches, after which it widens to the extent of 2 inches across the lumbar region.

The length of the skin from the widest part of the dorsal streak between the shoulders to the root of the tail is 16 to 17 inches in all three skins.

The skin representing the Type of this new subspecies has been deposited in the British Museum. The second and third skins remain in the Raffles Museum, Singapore, and the Sarawak Museum respectively. No others are as yet known.

 A Rail New to the Malay Peninsula.

While arranging and naming the collection of Bird skins which have accumulated in the Raffles Museum during the last thirty years, an interesting discovery by which another species is added to the list of Birds known to occur in the Malay Peninsula was made by Mrs. Horton, who has already done much valuable work on the bird collections of this Museum. Among the mass of unidentified material stored away was the skin of a Rail bearing the following label: "Kotta Tinggi, Johore. Dec. 18th 1892. Sex female." This skin proved to be that of Elwes' Crake, (Porzona bicolor Walden).

This Crake was first procured by Captain Elwes in the interior of Sikkim at an elevation of 5,000 feet, in September 1870. Godwin-Austen found it in rice-fields about 5,000 feet up in the Khasi Hills in the month of June. Hume says he is sure he saw this species below Hoondoong at a height of 3,500 feet. It was obtained later by Collingwood Ingram in 1906 in the Lichiang Valley, West Yunnan, South China.


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Page:Agreement relating to Malaysia (1963).djvu/183

(3) paragraph (a) of subsection (2) shall not prevent a woman being treated as a permanent resident in a Borneo State at any time when she is married to a permanent resident in the State and is ordinarily resident there with him.

 * (4) In determining for the purposes of this section whether a person is or was at any time a permanent resident in a Borneo State no account shall be taken of any period of residence in the State while he is there by virtue of section 7 or 8; but a period of residence or of permanent residence shall not for purposes of this section be treated as interrupted or terminated—

 * (a) by a period of absence from the State of less than six months; or

 * (b) by a period of absence from the State for purposes of education of such kind, in such country and for such time as may from time to time be either generally or specially approved by the State authority; or

 * (c) by a period of absence from the State on duty in the service of the Federation or of any State, where the absence is not inconsistent with the essential continuity of the residence in the State; or

 * (d) by a period of absence from the State for any other cause allowed generally or specially by the State authority.

 * (5) A person who for purposes of the Immigration Ordinance, 1959, is for the time being treated under section 10 of this Act as a citizen of the Federation in respect of his being on Malaysia Day ordinarily resident in a Borneo State shall for purposes of section 6 be treated as belonging to that State.

 * (6) Any authority empowered under the Immigration Ordinance, 1959, in its operation as a special law for a Borneo State to issue Certificates of Status showing that a person belongs to that State shall (unless the authority is an authority of the State) notify the State authority of any application for the issue of such a Certificate, and if so required by the State authority consult with that authority before issuing the Certificate.

12. In this Part of this Act " State authority " means, for any purpose relating to a Borneo State, the Chief Minister of the State or such person holding office in the State as the Chief Minister may designate for that purpose by notification in the State Gazette.

13. (1) Subject to any exemption granted under section 55 of the Immigration Ordinance, 1959, every person entering Malaya or a Borneo State from a place in the Federation outside Malaya or outside that State, as the case may be, shall produce to the immigration officer either an internal travel document issued under section 14 or the like passport, or other travel document, having the like visa (if any), as


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