"Names make news."' Last week the following names made the following news:

President Michael Hainisch of Austria celebrated his 70th birthday, last week at Eichberg, near Vienna, with his mother.

Amos Alonzo Stagg, University of Chicago coach, had a birthday, learned the significance of numbers. There are 11 men on a football team; 44 years ago he first donned moleskins at Yale; he was 66 last week.

Percy Hammond, dramatic critic of the New York Herald Tribune, wrote last week a brusque review of He Understood Women (see THEATRE). Then, late in the night, he got quickly into a waiting automobile, driven by his wife, and set off for the country. A car came up toward Percy Hammond at a great rate of speed, hit his auto and turned it over, causing bruises to Mrs. Hammond and more serious injuries to her husband, so that it would be necessary for him to carry his write arm in a sling. The driver of the car was an obscure character called William G. Dowrie.*

To Tom Mix, horse-riding cinemactor, one Will Morrissey, comedian, gibed: "Your horse Tony has a great future in the talkies. The horse can at least snort. But what can you do?" Tom Mix struck the giber on the jaw, knocked him down.

Antoine Cierplikowski is the most famed of all Parisian coiffeurs. His estate at Gravigny is spacious with lawns and leafy bowers. On it he has erected his own tomb, surmounted by the colossal marble figure of a man bending over the smaller figure of a woman and gazing at her shaved neck.

Paul Poiret, Parisian dressmaker, last week flayed the indecency of short skirts. Said he: "Parisian dressmakers are forced to admit they are in perfect accord with Pope Pius. . . . Women have lost by want of mystery. . . . Modern woman should wear skirts a trifle longer and more decent."

Time was when the world of Paris fashions would have trembled at such an edict from the powerful Poiret. But the maker of modes confessed himself outmoded when, a fortnight ago, he lamented: "I am no longer necessary. ... I shall leave the Paris which is no longer the Paris I have known. I shall solace myself in an old chateau surrounded by fairy-like gardens."

Marshal Josef Pilsudski, Dictator to Poles, announced last week that he will sail down the mighty river Danube--down and down about 570 miles--to an ancient Roman spa, The Baths of Hercules.

*In Zit's Theatrical Newspaper it was last week recorded that a large number of stage comedians were enraged against Percy Hammond because in a recent writing he had implied that clowns on the stage were often smutty. Said Zit's: "The comedians who feel hurt over the notice need not be named . . . dire threats are being heard."