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

Charles Michael Schwab arose at the American Institute of Steel Construction, in session in Mississippi, and said: "Boys, listen to the old steel master from Bethlehem. I am getting old . ... I have learned a lot since I started as a boy with Mr. Carnegie. I learned a lot about steel, but more important I learned a lot about life. Ah, that is the thing. Be happy. . . . When my time comes to die I do not want to be surrounded by granite and marble. I want to be amidst steel, beams and 'Ls' where I have been happy all my life. I will now leave you to go back to my business but I again will say--be good natured."

Mrs. Charles C. Goodrich, wife of the tire tycoon, traveled last week from York Village, Me., to Phoenix, Ariz., in a Pullman. The cost: $3,900. The reason: Mrs. Goodrich, long and seriously ill, needed the care of a doctor, nurses, and her husband, the privacy of a single Pullman, a swift trip without stopover or change.

Armand Tokatyan, tenor, bit Mario Basiola, baritone, on the ear, one evening last week. That was all right, for they were performing Cavalleria Rusticana at the Metropolitan Opera House and biting was in the stage directions. But Tenor Tokatyan bit the ear of Baritone Basiola so thoroughly that first-aid had to be performed at the end of the scene. Thereafter, Tenor Tokatyan explained that the unintended ferocity of his bite was caused by a nail which stuck up from his shoe into his foot.

William Gustafson, Metropolitan Opera basso, moved out of the La Rochelle

Apartments, Manhattan, last March, six months before his lease was up. The landlord brought suit to collect rent for the balance of the lease. Basso Gustafson, last week in court, thundered that he had two good reasons for moving out: 1) Killer Harry K. Thaw was his neighbor, 2) patrol wagons at the door and policemen riding in the apartment's elevators were annoying, especially when they came to arrest disorderly women. Mrs. Sinclair Lewis (nee Dorothy Thompson) last week accused Theodore (American Tragedy') Dreiser of plagiarism. She had written an able book entitled The New Russia, based on her despatches to the New York Evening Post. She was at that time the best U. S. newspaper correspondent in central and eastern Europe. Mr. Dreiser, too, had travelled in Russia and he came out a little later with a rambling book called Dreiser Looks at Russia.

In making her charge, Mrs. Lewis quoted, side by side, dozens and dozens of paragraphs and sentences from her book and Mr. Dreiser's, which were practically identical* But, said Mrs. Lewis: "I want to reiterate that Mr. Dreiser's book as a whole and mine as a whole have numerous important differences. We do not arrive at the same conclusions regarding the Soviet experiment. . . . What strikes me as peculiar in the whole affair is that the passages in question deal with precisely those things which I should have thought a novelist would wish to describe in his own words."

This was not the first time that Mr. Dreiser had been accused of plagiarism. George Ade shamed him in 1926; Columnist Franklin P. Adams of the New York World found remarkably similar passages in Mr. Dreiser's works and in Sherwood Anderson's earlier Winesburg, Ohio.

Rudyard Kipling, 63, amazed last week England's Royal Society of Medicine with an after-dinner speech. More amazing, however, was his practical prudence. What words he uttered, as he knows best, have a money value to him. So he carefully announced that publishing rights to his speech would revert to him after 48 hours. In England, the copyright law covers oral works.

Assistant Postmaster Ensley E. Rogers of Red Bank, N. J. sent Philatelist George V of England an issue of U. S. stamps commemorating the victory of General Washington over British General Clinton at Monmouth Court House, 1778. Last week, the King's private secretary courteously sent the stamps back.

Capt. Sir Arthur Rostron, commodore of the Cunard fleet, skipper of the Berengaria, was shaving, one morning, last week. He paid little attention to two U. S. customs officials who entered his suite on the Berengaria and began a search for liquor. First, they ransacked the lounge. Then they went into the bedroom, poked about in closets, put their hands into pockets of clothes hanging in the wardrobe, opened luggage. When they left, Sir Arthur laid down his razor, said to some friends: "Well, these are your customs and I suppose we will have to abide by them."

William Kissam Vanderbilt, with wife, scientists, servants and elaborate fishing tackle, sailed last week from Miami, Fla., on his famed yacht, Ara, on his first cruise around the world.

Arthur Train, newly elected president of the Authors' League of America, said, last week, in his inaugural address: "I believe that those members of the League who command the highest artistic respect should confer annually some distinction for the best work of that year in every branch of literature. An award of--let us say--the Literary Council of the Authors' League of America, composed of a group of the first literary talent in the country, would carry far greater weight than those of the judges of magazine contests or the literary eunuchs who now gratuitously presume to declare what is best of everything, or the self-constituted committees of busybodies and publicity-seekers who bestow birthday honors to the clatter of coffee cups and the tinkle of ice cream spoons."

John Early, 54. most obstreperous leper the government has ever tried to cure, cut one of his native North Carolina capers last week at the National Leper Home, Carville, La. Doctors had declared him cured by injection of chaulmoogra oil derivatives and were discharging him. Fellow inmates decked him joyously with flowers. His leprosy-scarred face beamed. Deems Taylor, famed composer of the King's Henchman went to see the Manhattan opening of a play called Hotbed. Just before the curtain he, resplendent in evening clothes, strode down the aisle to his seat near the front of the theatre. A noise ran through the audience something like a titter and something like a rumble. Soon Composer Taylor discovered to his amazement that around his neck was no collar, no tie.

*One example. Mrs. Lewis: "Here, too, one sees the ballerinas from the opera, often very pretty creatures ... in sleazy silk dresses which could be bought in America for $9 at a department store sale." Mr. Dreiser: "Also ballerinas from the Grand Opera House, exquisite creatures in sleazy silk dresses which could be bought in Fourteenth Street, New York, for $9. . . ."