Judge — February 11, 1922 — page 15: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Efficient By Wart Mason Illustrated by RavpH Barton T’S apparent to all thinkers, it is I sadly evident, that the world is full of tinkers who can't tinker worth acent. It is hard to find a sailor who can sail the briny suds, it is hard to find a tailor who can make us decent duds. I am always handing shillings to some workman who's a fake, which is why my rhythmic trillings have a sad and secret ache. In the high and learned professions, just as in the humbler trades, there are men whose chief possessions are the gall that never fades. Dr. Saw- bones comes to heal me when I'm sick and in despair, and he'll sit around and feel me, and he'll prod me here and there; and he'll say I’ve Texas fever and prescribe some liquid rot, but he’s surely a deceiver, and he doesn't hit the spot. Oh, my ailments are distress- ing, pink pains through my system whiz, and the docs, I know, are guess- ing, guessing what the trouble is. Then there comes the learned physi- cian who can banish all my aches, and I'm soon in such condition I could whip my weight in snakes. What a boon it is to find him, find the man who knows his job, with his trail of smoke behind him, bringing plaudits from the mob! The efficient men seem clinkers, they seem winners, safe and sane; for the world is full of tinkers and their tinking is in vain. I have heard the merchant princes say, with sorrow in their eyes, “In this weary world of quinces one good sales- man is a prize. Such a salesman is a treasure, built upon a noble plan; but we seldom have the pleasure of beholding such a man. There are salesmen by the million, but their thoughts are far away, on some dash- ing Maud or Lillian, on a dance or movie play; and they watch the hands proceeding round the face of yonder clock, and when they should be a-speed- Man ing, they show up a_ limping walk. Lead us to the salesman willing, who is anxious to advance, and he's sure to make a killing—we will give him every chance. He may rest on golden fleeces while he smokes our choice cigars, he may wed our aunts and nieces, he may use our motor cars. For we're tired of shiftless slinkers who to nothing have es- pired; all our world is full of tinkers and their tinking makes us tired.” All the busi- ness world is looking for the fine effi- cient man, and, beshrew- ing and gadzooking, it abhors the also-ran. There’s a light in every casement for the gent who’s full of pep, who comes upward from the basement with a bold and eager step. There are blacksmiths mending watches, there are plumbers making hats, there are surgeons making botches of our wishbones and our slats; there are farmers writing son- nets, there are poets raising oats, there are tinners making bonnets, and they all have lost their goats. It is fine to see the voter who has found his proper trade, fixing up a Henry motor, mixing non-kick lemon- 13 ade. Ina jerkin or a sweater, in an office or a store, doing something one bit better than it e’er was done before. All the world is looking, gazing, hunting for this Master Mind, for this prodigy amazing—who is mighty hard to find! WHAT THE LADY SAID Mrs. Smith's greatest ambition was to win recognition from her socially- prominent but discouragingly exclusive neighbor, Mrs. Browne-Jones. You can imagine Mrs. Smith's satis- faction, therefore, when one evening , her small son announced importantly, “Mrs. Browne-Jones spoke to me this afternoon.” “Why, Tommy, how nice!” beamed his mother. “What did she say to you?” “She said, ‘Take your hands off my hedge!’” OFFICE GOLF “What's the trouble in the office?” “Somebody threw away the chief's umbrella.” “Why, it was in shreds!” “No matter. He used it to illustrate golf strokes to his rich friends.”