Judge — February 28, 1931 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE JUST THE BEST TIME By Quentin Reynolds a nat’s that, madam? What's the name of the curly haired floor-walker over there? Pul-leeze, m—this is a stocking counter, a rimonial agency. Why, m, the very ideah! You better drift along before I lose my temper. Drift along, lady, drift along.” Mamie, ain't he good-looking 1 hardly blame that’ cus- tomer for falling for him like that, but what nerve, Mamie; what nerve. But let me tell you about the new floor- walker. Now the fact of the matter is that he was tossing me plenty of “I- can-b 1-dearie” glances thi M., but I sent him back plenty of i “What's the matter, Peache: asks, giving me that haughty yet tere: rested look. Nothing at all, earache, except that you are headed for a sock in the jaw at least,” I snaps very dignified. ‘Il see you later,” he grumbles. No matter how much later it is, it I coo at the lily will be all too soon,” valley. of the ants to know. hair-oil, disap- “Meaning scram, pear.” Now, Mamie, I wasn’t really sore at him, but after all you know there is only one heart-throb in. the world for me, and dees is my k and all other men are just so ma ripe olives to me, and there is nothing which I am so disinterested in as ripe olives. bp, Mamie, I must tell you. Oh, it will smother you, Mamie, but do you know what? I and Jack are engaged. Yes, last night he asked, and now we are engaged. Well, Mamie, not exactly engaged but prac- tically engaged. I'll tell you about it. You see, last night I and Jack went out and oh, Mamie, we had just the best time. He came around to the house, and, honest, Mamie, if he wasn't a dead ringer for Ronald Col- man, I hope to have lumps in my mashed potatoes, And what do you think he had with him? Two tickets for a wrestling match. Why, my dear, you could have bowled me over with a cream puff, “This is a woild’s champeenslip wrastling match,” Jack says very dig- nified when I laugh. “And I could sell these pasteboards for a saw buck a copy, but instead I want to take you.” Now, there was a picture up at the Flatbush, called “Aching Hearts,” which is a soulful drama of mother 24 love, intrigue and human _ perfidy which I had wanted to see, but as long as the wonder boy wanted to go to th: wrestling match, why it was okay with me, as I always believe in meeting people half way. You know that Jack is working at the Plumbers and Mechanics’ Bridg: and Whist Club, and yesterday after noon a gentleman came into the plac: and had a few. He turns out to be a party named Honeyboy McClain, and he is very moody. Axvuow this McClain turns out to be a gentleman who is the man- ager of a wrestler named Stanislaus Zirenko. Jack tries to ch “Brace up, pal,” says. nothing to worry about as long as they keep on making good beer. ‘There ari plenty of apples around in case a man loses his job. The restaurants arc full of good food and all a man has to do to keep prosperous is to keep his money out of the bank and his feet on the ground.” “Listen,” says Honeyboy McClain, “and I'll tell you why I feel bad. Last week my wrestler, Stanislaus Zirenko, who is a Russian, wrestled the champion. Now that ain’t exactly right, as my wrestler is not really a Russian and his real name is Louie Marino, but this year Russian wres tlers are drawing so I made a Russian out of him. Well, he is wrestling the champion and he is tossing that biz Greek all over the place. I have vi sions of making a million dollars. Th: two of them are all wound up in th: middle of the ring when suddenly my wrestler gives a yell and collapses The champion just pins his shoulders to the mat and it is all over. Am | mad? Say, I could crush a grape. You big bum,” I tell my man. “You had the championship right in your mitt and then you collapsed. What's the idea ‘T coutpy’t help it,” he says. “We was all wound up in a knot there on the mat, and I look up and right above me is a big thick ankle.” “Why didn’t you bite a chunk out I yell at him, I did,” he bellows, “but it was me of i ow “That's why I am disgusted with wrestling,” Mr. Honeyboy McClain tells my Jack. “Can you imagin man being so dumb that he bites (Continued on page 26) comicbooks.com