Judge — August 30, 1930 — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

Oh, That Dirty Photograph Business ! By S. J. Perelman Tiss morning, whilst teasing my beard in the Rose Room of Monti- cello, my summer home, with Bafiles, my man, at every beck and turn—ex- cellent fellow, Baffles, none better at taking care of my becks and turns, though he does steal my thunder now and then, I'm sure I caught him wip- ing his lips when I came in from hounds the other afternoon—perhaps I'd better begin this sentence over JUDGE again. As I say, this morning whilst meditating in the Blue- Room of my shooting-box in Scotland, I hap- pened to shake my head and a small object fell out of ny beard. On closer examination it turned out to be one of those fake photographs named “S. S. Leviathan, Showing Comparative Re- lation of This ating Palace to the Woolworth Building.” You prot have one of the damn things in right now while you're read this—no, you probably haven't got a trunk, or you wouldn't be sitting in a barber-shop over this journal; you'd be at home shaving yourself. Well, WHO LEFT THE TARTAR ON THAT TOOTH,DOPE ?RAGED THE DENTIST Run into the glossary like a good boy, Raphael, and bring mamma some highball glosses and a dish of pickled flaws. Provesson— 1 you please tell the class Mr. Durfee, it?)—“T'm absent today, sir.” Prorrssor- man nest to you answer the question then?” Stewep (stude, get Oh, excuse me; will the And now, if one of you gents in the audience has a sombrero, Ramon and Rosite Perelman will do an adagio on its brim. anyway, I fell to musing over this quaint old picture, sipping my glass of port and adj ppet, and my reverie me back to old days in the . when I was stationed at Gateau-sur-Marne—we were get ting out a paper called The Stars and Stripes then—and first thing I knew I woke up and looked in the Mirror, and who do you suppose I had turned into? Alexander Woollcott! Mercy me, here we are at the end of the first paragraph and we haven't even gotten down to biz. Tut, tat and Mr. Tutt. I think I can hear that arthur train whistling at the crossing already. Talk about street-grooms going out of business since horseless carri came in and corset-makers starving since corsets went out—they’re noth- ing. The men who paste together those seale pictures of steamers and skyscrapers haven't caten a square meal since 1913, Ino case you're thinking of putting up a let to these unsung heroes, the date is Sep tember 12th, 1913. On that day Har vey Gaffney, of the firm of Young, Stripling & Co., Seale Photographers. was called into Mr. Stripling’s. pri vate office. ‘Take off your hat. you're in a saloon?” greeted Mr. ripling. Gaffney reached into Mr Stripling’s vest pocket, selected a Havana and bit one end off. “You shouldn't talk to me that “he said mildly. “If I wanted Do you think to tell your wife how you and Miss Wetzel in the outer offic an Mr. “TI only “Never mind what you thought!” shouted Gaffney suddenly. “What do you want? What's the idea breaking into my afternoon nap with your storie “I—I just got a phone call from downtown,” stammered Mr. Stripling “They got a new building down there, Harvey called the Woolworth Building. I thought maybe you'd like to go down there and compare it with the Leviathan.” “Why don't you send down one of your cheap ‘twenty-dollar-a-week slobs?" bawled Gaffney. “J should drag myself down there——” “Harvey aid Mr. Stripling low, tempting voice, producing a Northern Spy apple from his desk, “Oh, Harvey! Look what I got. Harvey. I got one for you too, Har vey, if you go down and see that building. Hey, Harvey?” “What kind of a apple will mine (Continued on page 32) =e comicbooks.com