Judge — May 21, 1932 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

Sea STER EET a JUDGE The Diary of Mrs. Pepys By Baird Leonard Am 29.—Reading the journals before my household we tir, so astonished to find Henry nes quoted in a news story that I did almost tumble out of bed, in especial when the excerpt was, “Never say that you know the last of any human heart,” and moved to write the Herald Tribune a commendation for allowing correspondent such a in a time when the expected to be concerned only with the devil and all his works. The piece was about Toscanini, the great maestro, come five thousand miles solely to conduct a benefit con- cert for destitute musicians, and my reaction to it minded me of the morn- ing long ago when I did begin to bawl at the following point in Grantland Rice’s account of a crucial world series game, “Only one man could do this thing. That man was Christy Mathewson, greatest of pitchers and grandest of veterans.” Nor is that wrote down as an anti- climax, neither. My husband, poor wretch, eventually about, struggling with his cravat and prattling his usual nonsense with such gusto that I did faintly wish to have wedded a man not so merry in the morning. but when he asked me forthrightly for my notion of the height of incon- gruity, | was weak enough to answer, “Walter Hampden ing down ban- ers,” an unfortunate instance, much as it prompted him to tell me again how his fath in a state- lier day, had resigned in disgust from the Players Club through having caught a young actor doing that very thing. Liz Peters to luncheon, and albeit I ave her sherry, hors d’oeuv panish omelette, and a fine pas she could not refrain from confiding that this country had come to a pretty pass when a respect- able, self-supporting woman was obliged to choose between paying her college club dues and buying a cas of gin. I do fear the counsel I g¢ her was not in accord with the finer traditions of our Alma Mater, but Lord! Liz is so gloomy by nature that I would unblushingly guide her “Oh thank you so much ....and now how about having a bite of lunch with me?” in the direction of any cheer what- soever, and nought would suit me better than to see her well grogged and singing in the highway. PRIL 30.—Lay late, mourning the lack of some device which would insure my sleeping only on the back of my head, so that both sides of my Marcel would maintain an equilib- rium of ondulation, and pondering whether to yet another permanent or to buy a wig. But before I could reach a decision, my black Katie did appear as a doleful herald of the window-cleaner, whom I did flatly re fuse admittance, finding it alwa inconvenient to have my panes scoured as to go to my dentist. In- veigled Katie, though, into some idle conversation, one of my chief de- lights largely because it is so evi- dently against her will, and in this morning's discourse it did develop that she does not know what cello- phane is, and I am resolved it is one thing which she will never learn from me. Jubilant, also, to discover that the hold I have over her has not lessened, which is my threat to have ground glass put in the kitchen window so that she cannot neglect her work to watch the doings in the street below. Sam does swear that he has at times heard her calling directions to the traftic from her lofty vantage point, but I have marked that he does not mention the matter in Katie’s presence. Luncheon at an odd and mighty unattractive publick which has become the fashion by featuring lager beer, and thence with Ann Andrews, the playactress, to “Of Thee I Sing,” a piece in which the satire is excellent but the melody so mediocre that were not George Gershwin’s name wrote on the pro- gram I would not credit him with having written the tunes. Home to find Lydia Loomis, avid for my opin- ‘ion of her latest swain, and fora much as Lydia in her near- dotage, become addicted to young men who look to me as though they would demand all their expenses in advance, I did give her a piece of my mind far different from her nper- ing expectations, sending her into a storm of tears from which it took three face towels and a glass of 1812 brandy to recover her. But she paid me off neatly on her departure by giving my new coiffeur a searching scrutiny and then remarking non- chalantly, “Only a very beautiful woman should ever part her hair in the middle.” comicbooks.com