Judge — March 13, 1926 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

Radio Dietetics \ Is business I am an important | executive. My desk has a glass I top and I have a little pad of memo- N ll d randum blanks neatly printed: “From atura ry referre the desk of—.". I press buttons and \b office boys dash to me. I am a | AMONG MEN who can well afford) any ciga- High Priest of Commerce, an Indus- . -y hs | a lace: rette they choose, there is a decided) preference But at home I am chambermaid : to a radio set. A delightful, enter- for Fatimas. They have learned that to pay taining, cantankerous, splendid set, ; the batteries of which run’ down less is to get less, to pay more, extravagance quicker than an eighty-nine-cent \ alarm clo An efficient, adorable wife has detailed me to keep these batteries always charged. Now be it known that every morn- ing from 10 to 10.20 a.m., from Sta- tion XYX, a culinary goddess of the vast ether, in the person of Miss Martha Heath, broadcasts household recipes. And one of her great radio | audience is the aforesaid, efficient, ador—well, you know what I mean, wife. Miss Heath will gurgle: “For luncheon to-day, dear friends, why not a dainty little cucumber salad and a bit of spinach, topped off with cup of cocoa. Then, my dear friends on the radio, when the weary men come home from their d work to-night, a nice lamb cutlet, green peas, graham bread, rice pudding and coffee will nourish and intrigue palates no doubt jaded by restaurant eating. Now, friends, get your nice little pencils ready and I'll give you a new recipe for what I call ‘Lord Fauntelroy Pudding.” A cup | of sugar, two oranges, three tea- spoonfuls of Thus what the culinary goddess of What a whale of a difference just a few cents make the vast ether has spilled out in the morning becomes my dinner, after a hard, tedious day of dictating office Kjouate be Mivias Taeanes 0s memos and taking buyers through the plant. Last night came. On the five- thirty-five, hungry as a bear, I reached home and bounced in, exu- berant and playful. “I'm ready for I shouted, “I'll just here's no supper here to-night,” answered the adorable wife, wiping tears from her checks, “and it’s your Here | anew paroxysm of tears started. “Sweetheart, darling, lambkins,” I | purre 1e petulantly started, “you didn't charge the batteries this week, and I couldn't hear Miss Heath this morning—” (here a new | outburst of tears temporarily silenced | her), “so I didn’t know what to make to-night for supper.” Hugh Wood Why hasn't anyone thought of this before? 21 comicbooks.com