Judge — July 27, 1929 — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE Hay Fever The mere mention of New York City conjures up visions of skyscrapers, subway crowds, traf- fie jams, tenement houses and horns that go da-de-da-d You out-of-towners would feel out of place in New York City carry- ing a scythe and a rake, wouldn't you? ... All right, Mac and I will take you to a spot in New York where you can reap a_har- vest of timothy, dressed in overalls. You can rake up a pile of hay and, leaning back in it, far from the madding crowd, listen to the droning of bees d dismal swamp lands. (Ya gotta are), and a reverberating frog pond... . Strangers would do well to bring a compass and an Indian guid . Mace and I got hopelessly lost for a time last Saturday. After shouting: “Help! Help! We're aw’ baw’ed up,” and notching trees, we finally ended up at Ben Riley's Arrowhead Inn, tired but happy. Mae checked his axe and compass. the haysced out of my hair and started to sneeze. We dined and danced on the open terrace until 2 A.M.... The hayfield, deep thickets, frog pond and ad are in Riverdale at th street, by heck !—and that’s in New York City proper, gosh durn it! Farmers and diversion suckers, get off at the end of the West-side subway and bear plenty left. xo where wi T brushed Publicity At noon I used to stroll up and down in front of Pierre’s on Park Avenue with a good looking [\ worm on my arm—both of us wearing a pair of John Ward's shoes—hoping against hope that the “J. W.” photographers would snap us. I now find, after read- ing the advertisements in the New Yorker, that the film boys have left en masse for the West- chester Biltmore Country Club, Southampton and points cast, and that the man who clicked at us last Monday was not grapher at all—he was a laborer snapping open his lunch box. ... From now on I'm going to wear sandals! Swank Mae and I have been admitted to the 400." They kicked out two chean skates who would only pay $19.50 for a bottle of White Rock at the Central Park Casino, Mac traded th head waiter the original Port- _ Jand Vase for a pint of White Rock and, for a = tip, I parted with a priceless autograph of Button Gwinnett. . .. White Rock bubble means nothing to us. If you're hungry and lost in this great city of ours, why not sit at the table in Childs’ t which sticks out into Times Square « and 46th strect like a sore retiring nature, myself, I'd rather take pot-luck atop the information booth in Grand Central—as far as seclusion is concerned, ... Who wants 3,000,- 000 New Yorkers looking on while you wrestle with an ear of corn? The first and last time Mac and I ate, thus exposed, a crowd of diversion suckers gathered outside and, as the peas rolled off Mac’s fork, a youthful wind mother; “What's he demonstrati: window r said to his , Mamma 2” Oyez! Oyez! Junior wants ideas from observant High-Hatters who are in the swim, Originality is all important. The subject matter should conform to the general type recorded under High-Hat. For ideas accepted, Junior will send fellow High- Hatters an origin itographed drawing executed by the inimitable Mac, just as it appeared in this column... Manuscripts and ideas not accepted will be ground into pulp and made into Lily Cups. ... None will be returned. Send your phenomenal data to Judge, Jr., and I will file it in my hoax chest. Jupor, Jn