Judge — June 18, 1932 — page 24: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE HIGH A Letter from Mac! D™ Junior: It is fast being considered bad form to peep about the Depression, but I think you will be interested in this terribly keen observation of mine. Last Sunday evening, flushed with dough, I took a taxi from Penn Sta- tion to my in the Fourflushing Fifties. Emitting myself from the cab, I absent-mindedly began fumb- ling for the fare, not realizing I was alone. Handing the driver half dollar I said, “How much?” *ifty cents,” he answered, “an’ thank you.” He started to bump away. trotted a few steps along the curb and yelled, “Don't cha wanna tip?” pop'eyedly. !" my eyes popping now. “Thanks, Buddy,” he said as I gave him a dime. Shot with: curiosity, | asked why no worry about a tip. He said, “People ain't tippin’ nowadays—that is, three out of four ain't tippin (The average will be a little more sked | ONCE AeouT IS¢ HELPING LAD GF CARS! Pole ew aes AA = from now on because I'm not going to tip either!) It’s little things like this that put bees in my old Knox. I hot- footed it to a snoot of a hotel on the cor- ner and said to the doorman, after salut- ing him of course. “How’s tipping these I was not nger to him be- e we'd exchanged salutes mornings on my jaunt to the Car- nation Cafeteria and back, so he obliged, as he glanced up and down the street look- ing for r-shots, “Lousey!—I guess I lift an average of eight ton of ladies out of cars and cabs a day and it used to mean at least fifteen cents for every two hundred pounds, but now I'm lucky if people even bother to ask about my health!” I sympathized a minute and then went across the street to a drug store. I thumped on a_ stool and ordered an orangeade, not too sweet. The check was twenty cents. I tinkled a arter on the marble and rted for the doo Your change, sir!” the dispenser crooned. I returned to my nickel, palmed it, and said, “I meant that for a tip!” “Pardon, sir, thank you!” beamed the soda boy. “We do not get tips a more, to speak of, and what we do get the management vets a split on!” I sympathized a minute and went across the street to the Carnation Cafeteria. As soon as I had pushed through the swinging doors, Hows HeenG? four bus-boys, two dish-washers, coffee chef and the omelette waved to me ‘midst cheery I knew what that meant—I should have known long before t meant I was a chronic tipper. I sat down tc the table with my coffee and dough- nut and, for twenty minutes saw no bus-boys, etc., tipped. Of course it isn’t the usual thing to tip in cafeterias, but when I start an in- vestigation I have fun and follow it to the end. Then I made my way to Broad- way and the Embassy newsreel the- atre. The place was crowded took the usherette some time to sea me and I save her a dime. turned her flashlight on the dime, then switched the light to my face and I felt silly. The light went out he dime is good, he answered, ertainly, t it’s the first tip this week and for : moment I was non-pluss After the newsreel I popped into Childs. 1 xed the wait about tipping. She was pretty—until I Fe d that and then her brows clashed and she said, with sparks, “It’s only nickels now—no matter what the check!” comicbooks.com