Vagabond Editoriafs

(Continued from Page 6)

Little use to ask anyone what they think of present conditions. There isn't an opinion on earth worth two bits, because no opinion is founded on past experience. There has never been a time like this. We aie going through a vast depression, so we all say. In the old days depressions were apparently caused by great human need. Today the land overflows with plenty. ***'

There is a super-abundance of everything that life holds dear. fn our banks the savings deposits grow to mountain height. In our fields the crops over-supply our needs and uses. Wheat-the maker of the ..staff of life"_piles up in unwanted surplus, and begs for buyers. Cotton, cattle, coal, corn, the useful metals, the great building materials, pile high and wait for users. Fruit is in abundance. Vege_ tables likeilrise. In the Northwest such a salmon run ag has not been seen in a generation overwhelms the fish packers. It looks as though providence is providing with a more lavish hand than ever before within the .memory of man. Yet we are cast down with a business depression that threatens us with prostration. Strange, isn,t it?

Looks like just ever so small a Moses might lead us easily and quickly out d this Slough of Despona. But as yet the bullrushes have produced nothing but makers of folderol. Lacking leadership we are simply wearing this depression out. And one things is certain. Wtren it is over, none of our alleged financial, economic, or political wizards, will be able to say ..I told you so." Noi unless they are as pathological liars as that alleged New york business prophet who boasts blatantly that he predicted this present situation. Doesn't that sort of human buzzard give you the Willies?

Over in "H'England" there is a be-whiskered old Bol_ shevik named George Bernard Shaw. He's been getting a lot of publicity for the last few years. He sits "rorrrri with a dictionary, digs out all the trick words he can find,

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OUR SPECIALTY Klamatb Fallr works them into trick phrases, throws them together on the willy-nilly and helter-skelter plan, and announces that they refer to some particular thing. When he began doing that people read his stuff, couldn't make any sense out of it, and decided George Bernard rnust be a genius. ***

Other morons indorsed that opinion. So the story spread. Many of our great army of American boot-lickers went over and met him, kissed his thumb, listened to the peculiar sounds that filtered through his whiskers, and spread the news of this great, great man. Every now and then he made a mistake and tried to write about something that was understandable, and when he did the reader scarce knew which to admire most-his ,monumental ignorance, or his incomparable gall. He even tried critici zing pdze fights that were happening an ocean's width away, and succeeded in proving that what a pig trrows about prayer is stupendous compared with what that old whiskered fakir knew about his subject. ***

But George Bernard became a great fad. He,s a wily old bird. Finding that the so-called public is even as Barnum stated only more so, he has been trading on their credulity, and realizing big prices for a highly attenuated variety of wind pudding. He decided that since there is a sucker born every minute it was only proper that every now and then a slicker should appear to hanrest these suckers. The thinkless world swallowed his staccato series of sonorous pronouncements so enthusiastically that he finally decided that no concoction of his special brewing was too impossible for their appetites. So he decided to sell Mr. and Mrs. Gullible the Communist Idea. I believe that this time he has run to a fall. If he hasn't, then this long suffering old world should certainly be tapped for the sirnples. Fof the brew this old rascal has handed us with regard to these other Bolshevists does more than even strain the credulity of the most credulous-it insults the intelligence of even those dim wits who have shouted the praises of George Bernard.