I can imagine nothing more superfluous than giving a dinner to Irvin Cobb, regarded from the viewpoints of nourishment, nutrition and waist measurement. If, however, there is some idea in the proceeding of giving the lie to the ancient calumny that no one loves a fat man, then the occasion may serve a useful purpose. If it goes still further and seeks to establish affirmatively that every one loves one particular fat man, I heartily endorse the undertaking. If this is the theory, a number of dinners should be given to Irvin Cobb, and I should be glad to attend every one of them. --_James S. Metcalfe_ * * * * * [Illustration: ME UND COBB BY CESARE] * * * * * I. S. C. I hate like the devil to drop into verse Because hardly a chap can do it much worse: Still prose sounds so dull when your mind lights on Cobb And the writer of verse has some chance with the job; For if ever a chap breathed forth sunlight and wit And could write and then talk as if they were nit And wooed you, and held you and made you first gulp And tighten the throat and made you like pulp Just to turn you to laughter until your sides ache,-- It’s Cobb: bless his heart and his wit: and I ask him to take This rotten attempt to bid him God-speed In taking the world and his wife in those paths Where laughter and smiles still hang on the trees And fun goes with sunshine, like the heart of a child! * * * * * Who wrote this? Oh, Lord: here’s the key to the lock, Just read Cobb’s name backward, and you can’t miss the dock.[A] [A] Edward Bok * * * * * Cobb’s ability as a football player should entitle him to speak at every Gridiron dinner. Cobb may require a sofa to sit down on, but, as an all-around star he stands alone. --_Walter Trumbull_ * * * * * [Illustration: BY JOHN T. McCUTCHEON] * * * * * To-night, as I look at Mr. Cobb, aglow with all that tailor, laundry, barber and friendship can do for man, I find it hard to realize that this is the same Mr. Cobb I saw one day last August in Belgium. Time had not dealt gently with him that day. The sun of his smile had set early in the forenoon. His beard was several days gone. His raiment was an affront to at least three of the five senses and all that was left of his spirit was the droop. He had eaten nothing for a long time, his feet were sore, and he was so chafed that he emanated sparks at every step. Even in a land as rich in ruins as Belgium, he stood out a conspicuous masterpiece of wreckage. The homeless Belgians pitied him! Late in the evening, after several hours of brooding silence, he gave utterance to the following statement: