The Charlotte News

Monday, August 18, 1941

FOUR EDITORIALS

Site Ed. Note: Somebody got up grumpy today at The News. They should have had a V-8. Or at least some tomato juice. Instead, they're carping about the V$.

The peer of the realm, round table film. The red flags on the corners, jaywalkers, funny furriners, foresters strong and mighty, charters long and flighty. Remember most of all the darters' mouthy lighty--at the corners.

There, now. You've had your V-8. From DeCate. Up at the candy store.

Tennis anyone?

Or is it football, today?

Though approved for oil on board, the Japanese maru left San Pedro without its cargo. Only the oily on board, says the editorial, could be got. For the Japanese had their assets frozen. Just as the German had it icey, too, their lot. Thus, you see, the protectionist policy for Iceland. Quite elementary.

And, we should say that Mr. Erwin's Milwaukee brave, bloody news route gave him to see quite a lot of tragic accidents for only a half million miles of driving. We must have been twice that many ourselves by now and never once saw the likes of any of it that he did. But some have that sort of fay following them down the wavy gray. So, though sad to read, poignant were their last words, as the wheels spun slowly to a stop from the silken road off blast-spurs. The golden tread spun no more upon this one, their distant shore, a glass dirge, as the plates fell off, the gull slid by, and the streaks screeched left on the tarway's grid ties, gave grief its fast-scratched eye. And yet another dolorous strap gave pay for gid's cry. Lost are ye? it said from the dark. Ghost are ye fed most? came the stark reply. Boast for ye? said the gasp of the ghostly sigh. And then we closed our eyes, blood still dripping. Dread not that from which you blednought, lest you get your whipping.

And, somebody on the editorial staff was more attentive to their Poe than their own recently departed Cash, we adjudge by the note.

Ah, ghostly isn't it? Gives ye to wonder, doesn't it? If you'd ever caught a rabbit in yer hat, you'd understand the difference between a teapot and a clay pigeon upon which you sat.