CZECHOSLOVAKIA 



117 



display. The action of twenty-four thou- 

 sand feet is so synchronized that their 

 movement on the sand of the stadium is 

 like the lightning hiss of a serpent or the 

 sharp crunch of stones sucked seaward 

 on the shores of the Dead Sea. 



So graceful is the general effect that 

 one is surprised to find how awkward 

 some of the individuals are. The flat 

 chest of a mere youth is seen beside the 

 rounded waist of a man of fifty, yet the 

 effect is one of uniform strength and 

 virility. As runners and hurdlers, the 

 Czechs are distinctly inferior in form. 

 But as examples of perfect training and 

 organization, nothing in the world com- 

 pares with the great mass drills of the 

 men and women Sokols. 



A CITY OF ARCADES 



Prague is essentially a city for the 

 pedestrian wanderer. A sightseeing bus 

 or a lorgnette would chase away the 

 charm. Formal sights are disappointing 

 except to experts, but to him who likes 

 to loiter among medieval scenes, taking 

 pleasure in watching this old lady whose 

 worn umbrella shelters a slender stock of 

 fruit, or contemplating with leisurely de- 

 light the life that surges through the 

 covered passageways lining the cobbled 

 streets of the Mala Strana, few cities so 

 intrigue one's interest. 



The Czechs who emigrate to Cleveland 

 ought to feel at home there, for Prague 

 is also a city of arcades. Some of these 

 are low-arched passages that remind one 

 of an Old Chester whose cubist lines are 

 bent to graceful curves, or of the dimly 

 lighted souks that usher one into the 

 caravansaries of Bokhara. 



Others are great open halls that cut 

 their way through massive modern 

 blocks, their plate-glass walls placarded 

 with posters and pierced by entrances to 

 moving-picture shows and cabarets that 

 love the dark, with hair-dressers' win- 

 dows full of cheap perfume at high 

 prices, and with a postage-stamp dealer 

 or two. No modern arcade in Prague 

 would be complete without a postage- 

 stamp dealer whose windows are pock- 

 marked with treasures for the philatelist. 



In one of the arcades the visitor ad- 

 vances past the frankly informing photo- 

 graph of the newest dance queen to drop 



a coin in the slot and have some tasteless 

 fluid squirted into a glass by hidden 

 forces that earn for the place the name 

 of "Automat." In these days, when 

 paper lucre and uncanceled postage 

 stamps have driven out hard cash, an 

 automat whose vitals need the clink of 

 metal coin to stir them into action has 

 a hard time. 



Popular as canceled postage stamps are 

 in Bohemia, the favorite art production 

 nowadays is an American-made thousand- 

 crown note. This charming piece of art 

 has not, like its hundred-crown brother, 

 been counterfeited ; hence, the man who 

 receives one in change does not have to 

 break his neck while holding it between 

 him and the light to see whether it has a 

 waffle-pattern water-mark in it. 



Counterfeit money, however, does not 

 seem to bother any one, the holder least 

 of all ; for, although a Czech crown will 

 buy three or four Austrian crowns, no 

 one seems to have the slightest respect 

 for the money. Your waiter makes 

 change in the same way that the stage 

 hands in the small-town opera house 

 used to make a snowstorm, dropping one 

 piece of paper after another until his 

 arm was tired, and neither he nor the 

 recipient seems to care whether the sea- 

 son is one of a heavy fall or not. 



The computation runs into hundreds 

 of thousands, and when the traveler ar- 

 rives in a region where money still re- 

 tains a trace of its former "kick" — say 

 2.75 per cent — he thinks that somebody 

 is making him a present of his purchases 

 until, too late, he counts the cost. 



PRAGUE YIELDS TO FAULTS OF FRIFXDS 



Having resisted the determined forces 

 of Germanization, Prague is now yielding 

 to the more insidious faults of her 

 friends. America is represented by the 

 American bar and jazz. Great Britain by 

 Scotch whisky, and France by lotteries 

 and cabarets. 



With relief efforts still necessary to 

 prevent real suffering throughout the 

 land, one feels that too many reckless 

 souls in the capital are spending their eve- 

 nings "a la Sans Souci," with, the pop of 

 champagne corks and the one-two-three 

 kick of the stage houris as an accom- 

 paniment to their ragtime psalm of life. 



