Judge — August 5, 1922 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

Pitiful Publicity (Continued from page 3) onic Napoleons of F re? At the very beginning of his career he may start out luncheon on the wrong foot— and he is done for! We have the word of the advertisements. The impeccable, well-bred president laughs in his face and the president's courteous daughter has him booted out the front door. The back door, to their elegant minds, would be much too good for him, as implying lessened publicity. He has automati- cally become as homeless a wanderer as the hole of a well-eaten doughnut. Business wil! have none of him. He is a pariah. From far and still farther, throngs flock to jeer at him. Excursions are run for that sole purpose. And in a week at most, stark above the desola- tion of his premature grave, rears a tottering, slovenly tombstone, inscribed for the warning of a shuddering world: ‘He Started Out Luncheon on the Wrong Foot!’ The advertisements have tri- umphed. “Inevitably in this class of admoni- tory publicity, there is a deal in the air. Exactly what sort of deal, we're not told—but evidently a great deal. And always the poor, blundering young man whose drawn, and poorly drawn, features we have come so thoroughly to know, is just missing out on the deal. Oh, for the very best and weightiest of reasons. of course! He fails to wear a white flower on Mothers’ Day, or a lemon on Fathers’ Day, or a black eye on Decoration Day He employs the wrong format of shaving brush, is ignorant of the necessity for celluloid heels, or sports shirt buttons not stamped with the proper name. He neglects to shave his head before inter- viewing a bald man, or to grow a beard before bearding a Methuselah. At a critical dinner he is unfami with the use of a mustache cup, or omits hiding his olive pits in the floral decors tions. Whatever he does, in his blun- dering, common-sense way, is horribly wrong—and horribly fatal!) The adve tisements are implacable. «© A ND yet,” mused the Skeptic smil- ingly, “I wonder! Of course it’s all undoubtedly true, since the adver- tisements s so, and yet— Did I 9 Her Rainbeau ever tell you of that artist friend of mine who accepted an invitation to a terrible, fifteen-cour: dinner in’ the hope of landing a portrait commission? A most lovable chap: charmin logi- cal, witty—but—well, it had never en- tered his head that the handle on a cup was the for anything other than decorative variet And so at the ve se beginning of things, he found his bouillon too hot—and the cup found the floor. Swiftly and ruthlessly gathered up all the china within r und sent it, piece after piece, to the shattered cup—with the remark that he’d never been able to endure those hideous, domestic patterns! And the extraordinary result? He was hailed as a true, temperamental artist to the fingertips. The entire family insisted on sitting for him. And he’s been painting the inexpressibly elect ever since—with both hand. “Speaking of the crime wave? Oh, yes. Well, I was merely wondering if the advertisements hadn’t _ possibly made a business career so complicated and terrif: that the more timid of us are taking to sandbags and _nitro- glycerin as the simpler solution!” comicbooks.com