Judge — April 20, 1929 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE \AIG W- A friend of mine went to a costume party last week and re- ported a very good time indeed. When he awoke nest’ day he glanced at his wrist watch. He immediately became pretty up- set. It was a strange wrist watch. I suppose things like that must happen! This same friend — recently took the Old Gold test. I handed a cigarette. After a few puffs it was t from him and he wa Then he asked for a ham se ughed. He was given three more cigarettes © more coffees. Then he was asked his opinion and he WE LookeD AT HIS WAIST WATCH AND Got Pretty vPseT! unhesitatingly exclaimed, “It is Alice Foote Mac- dougall Coffee!" Our Worst People continue to wiggle their hands high and gasp at the hard-riding Younger Genera tion. Personally, I am mad about the Y. G. when they are spoken of despairingly I go collar wilty. I was dining with an older couple, so set in their ways that they serve but one cocktail before dinner, ind the talk fell into a critical tirade against the Y.G. They spoke a good deal of logic and I much impressed. They yelled that the aver young couple on a larky evening violate a half dozen rules of the penal c crime enough to spend many months in jail if Mr. Whalen’s elfs weren't so lax, Buying a drink in a speak-easy, they si is a prison offense. (Yet—I was absolutely ce that the gin in my host's cock prohibition!) Necking in glass tion of public decency, they d, and such ¢ ditions were fl Most ight Clubs are a nui they tically howled. “Why,” said my hostess, “our daughter, nineteen, has never been in a Night Club!” How I held my tongue, I don’t know, but I'd [\ danced with her daughter twice one evening in the town's best- known WI rlor. She was a bad dancer, too. = “And our son,” said my host, “has pever touched spirits!” The son was dining with us and he gave a what-ho_ imper- sonation of Grand Canyon in the middle of a soft sunset. I have a. small blue spot on my shin where he subwayed me with a brogue. “Son and da rare spending the evening with my hostess said, pouter-pigeonly. med to myself. The dots mean the passing of five hours. ‘The time is one a.m. It is a small world. Iam keeping ppointment with a friend who is thinking of writing a play. Iam pushing the bell of an old ind dignified brownstone house in the inky Sevent It is the address of my appointment with the author, A trim maid answers the bell. She asks if I have a card to the place. I have none. I mention the author's name. He is there Tam ushered to his table in a dim corner of a tastefully substantial living room, The author explains the is called the Week-End Club—it is open only i Saturday and Sunday. Its members cannot be older than twenty-five. The establish ment is a carefully guarded secret. The Week-E Club is conducted with the sev There is dining, dancing, and the milder refresh- ments. It is the seat of the Younger Generation. It is most profitably operated by two of the Y. G The author asks if I'd like to meet these two. Yes. Iam introduced amid much gasping. ‘They the son and daughter of the older couple I had dined with t ne evening. Isn't ita small world? And will T ever get over the shock? Jer an est of decorum. comicbooks.com