“Don’t let those men kid you. I have put up all the capital. My father is a rich man in South America. When it comes down to it, these fellows work for me and, though I don’t interfere much, naturally I would hate to see a girl that looks like you get left—” The madam talks once more. “I cannot go to dinner with you. I have been asked by the four other men. I might take a chance with the leading man because he’s half way young. Though everyone says he doesn’t count, if I had to eat dinner with someone I guess I’d pick out the youngest and let you ‘burned outs’ try your luck somewhere else. But I’m eating by myself tomorrow night.” Two or three camera men and some publicity agents possibly invited the lady out to dine, but the ones she seemed to remember began with the leading man and ended with the fellow who said he owned the bankroll that kept the company on the map. * * * * * Couldn’t Understand Bellboy—“Good mawnin’ Rastus. I’se done lost me job at the Langren Hotel and I can’t understan’ how come.” Rastus—“What’s you don, niggah, stole sumpin’?” Bellboy—“All I done was to go in the main dinin’ room and page a girl named Carrie Age.” _Cherubim of Hell_ _Reverend Morrill, the Whiz Bang’s fire-eating gospelite writer, is now touring the West Indies for this magazine. Remember the Martinique articles written after his recent tour to that sinful island for the Whiz Bang? His present trip presages some more hot sermons. In the April issue, Reverend Morrill’s story of Parisian life, “Midnight Madness,” will appear in the Whiz Bang. Later, during the summer months, he will deliver to our readers a carload of dynamite. Watch for his explosion!_ BY REV. “GOLIGHTLY” MORRILL. Pastor of the People’s Church, Minneapolis, Minn. Helen never raised more hell in Troy than the island of St. Lucia did in the West Indies. It is some 250 square miles, is volcanic, and has been in constant war-like upheaval. Our ship, the “Caraquet” has arrived here, where for 150 years the French and English have cut each others throats. From 1605, when English settlers landed in the “Oliph Blossome” from Barbadoes and were massacred in less than two months—others were smoked out by natives burning red pepper—to 1814, when the isle was finally ceded to Great Britain, St. Lucia has been seeded with hate and borne a harvest of death. In three years, from 1793 to 1796, England lost 80,000 soldiers, including 40,000 dead. This topped the loss of Wellington’s army from all causes during the Peninsular war. Add to this yellow fever, malaria, the deadly fer-de-lance snake, hurricanes, earthquakes, bush-bandits and runaway slaves the revolution set free (who kidnapped, ravished, maimed, burned and robbed) and St. Lucia’s cup of gall and gore is running over—as are the wasps, centipedes, tarantulas, mosquitoes and scorpions over the people.