Judge — June 18, 1932 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

JUDGE Mistress Pepys Journal By Baird Leonard ast, fruit, cherries, for me a fairer harbinger of this month than arbutus, or beribboned poles, or even soft shell crabs, which I have en no fewer than six times this past week as a guest, and thrice at my own table. Reading betimes in the publick prints, but soon laid them aside dispiritedly, being weary of orge Washington, Amelia Earhart, and May Walker, nor s there even anyone in the obituary list whom I knew. The telephone a- ringing, and it was Effie Watkins stating that her boat had just docked und she was at loose ends for a few hours, so there was nought to do but ask her to luncheon, albeit I was ily aware that she would want “You got a fine voice for television, Miss Smir to know my present philosophy cf life, or if 1 thought the pre-Raphael- ites had contributed aught to the de- velopment of art, or some such fol-de-rol, but it seems she has fallen in love, poor wretch, so did go no further than to demand my cone tion of woman's supremest felicity, confiding that her own idea of it was happy marriage with a monog- amous man (sic), and children who might, with a reasonable amount of training, be kept out of the reform schools. Whereupon I did tell her that woman’s highest moment really comes—and usually but once in a lifetime—when she can embark upon visit assured that all her under- slips match her frocks in length, and that she will not have to resort to safety-pins upon casually passing And I did add, for good e of counsel, that her lowest not at the loss of a lov good maidservant, which i. worse, but when, after laying out what she considered a suitable sum for an article of apparel, she does chance to see in a shop-window or an advertisement the selfsame thing at a lower price. Effie finally gone, and then Lisa Pillsbury in, looking rather grim, methought, nor was she long in confiding her suspicions of my ang- ling for her husband, having come to face me down with them, and I was so astonished that I daresay I looked a guilt I do not possess, nor am I at all assured that the tale is not all over town, forasmuch as Lisa, with any news to impart, is worse than Paul Revere. But I could not ay her fears as laughingly and bow her out, hoping that before nightfall she would get caught in a revolving door. or fa } ay 28.—Arrived early at West- bu for the holidays, and so straightway out for a walk with my dog Fafnir, who romped down the drive ahead of me at great speed, and when I did finally catch up with him I was astonished to see a neigh- bor's rdener picking him up, and was told, when I demanded whyfor, that the police were looking for a little brown dachshund which had strayed from Mr. Blank’s place, and that he was delighted to have found him forasmuch as now he would sret the si reward. Whereupon I told him to drop Faffy at once, or what he would get would be a clout over the pate from my stout walking- stick, and was somewhat sorry upon resuming my stroll that Faffy had not bitten him, albeit I ought not blame the poor zany for sharing my own conviction t there is only one little brown dog in the world. A great company for buffet luncheon, and I chose first an egg paté, and then a filet mignon surrounded by mushrooms with a slice of baked to- mato atop it, and some asparagus, after which I was so replete that I could not go the tomato aspic with celery mayonnaise which had taken my eye when I entered the room. Sat next Jimmie Cooley, the polo player and chronicler, whose dis- course is always sprightly and to the point, and on my other side was Sam’s cozen, Pete Bostwick, eating light against his steeplechase ride in the afternoon, and Pete told me that (Page 25, please) comicbooks.com