Judge — August 2, 1930 — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

DERE -. nee An Open Letter to Mr. Burgin By S. J. Perelman D' an Mr. Beroin: About a week ago I was wrap- ping up a herring in a copy of the York Times—there’s practically nothing like the New York Times for wrapping up herrings, except possibly the editorial pages of the Merald Tribune —when 1 noticed a little letter of yours addressed to the edi- tor. IT was preparing to go right on wrapping the herring when one of my sudden dizzy spells overtook me, and when I came to, I found that I had read through your note. I hope you don't mind my explaining this quite carefully, [just want to make it clear that Vm hardly what 3 call a sucker for the letters in the New York Times. For the benefit of those who were fortunate enough to miss your smug little epistle—oh, if this wasn't a family magazine !—I only will extract one or two sentences, After An introductory gust of flatu- lence in which you refer to yourself ay the author of several novels, you go into your dance with some five- and-ten-cent store advice to youn, authors on how to “succeed.” Fol- lowing this you tell a short but inered- ibly dr ry anecdote; either you or the printer forgot to insert the point of the story, and I for one will lay money on the printer. ‘This y tle ancedote, you say, formed the germ a story you wrote later, called Puxter’s Little Maid.” I would like to read that story some time, Mr. Bur- xin, but I warn you in advance that if you think I'm going to w ny good herrings in it, you're ¢ But oh, that jeweled last mht “Don't” be rae discour: neglect or poverty; don’t debase your- self and your readers with unsavory sex problems, but try to write sweet, honest, helpful, and amusing sto That last sentence got me, George; I just had to lie down on the floor in front of my typewriter and get to Oddly enough, I found when I finished it that its name was “Tux- ter's Little Maid” also. Maybe you'd like to hear my little story, Mr. Bur- gin. Begin here, Mr. Burgin. Once upon a time there was a lady named Mr. and Mrs. Tuxter who had a little girl named Alice. She was so honest and kind that your head swam, not to mention a ringing in the ears. So one day Mrs. Tuxter said, “Alice, here is a plate and fifty cents. Go down to the grocer’s and get me a pound of butter.” Alice rushed off, beaming at the thought of being JUDGE mamma's little helper, About twenty Jater back hastened — little t you feel “re by know her already ?—and “Oh, mamma dear, L broke the | Of course Mrs. dt plat ininutes Alic ning Tuxter just smiled in- ntly and gave Alice another “Now do be careful, darling,” she told Alice. “Oh, yes, mummy,” replied Alice obediently, kissing her muvver, (At this point in the story I kad a. sh old watchdog nated Spee, Mr. Burgin, who loved Alice devotedly, but I had to t him out, as he made me feel slightly shooty.) (Continued on page 29) j__ KEEP YOUR EYES GLUED TO THIS GRATED THE GLASS EYE TYCOON If any of you have any good unsavory problems you'd like to discuss, the forum will be open next Tuesday—and please don’t throw ick From THE Cumguats No Dice: “Well, they’re not exactly flies, they're ticks.” I guess that's telling ’em, hey, fat lady? the towels on the floor. V time flies?” “Whaddye mean, comicbooks.com