Judge — June 25, 1932 — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

rk to Mother. * I said, feeling pretty in- finite at the High Club “How are you on the life bucolic?” ” said Mac, “a Nature don't get on. Nature is full of earwigs, wet grass, squdgy grubs and early morning r The closest I ever get to earth is on weekend parties. I spend them in the cellar as barrel inspector.” I said, “Weekends are about to be abolished both by law and because nobody can afford to lay-in what it takes to keep the guests oiled and happy. There will be weekends if guests bring their own sandwiches and bathtub, but these’ll be sporadic. What I'm getting at is you'll soon have your chance to meet up with Mother Earth, like it not.”” “Don't be droo| said Mac, reaching for a blonde slipping by and missing her. “It’s this way. The golden age of 3 is thru. In a few years big will be as dead as the Union League Club during sta hour. Bond salesmen and instalment col- lectors will be extinct; Rotarians and Kiwanians will be stuffed in glass cases in Museums.” “Law Nature ers. \ CANT SLEEP UNLESS | HANE A CROONING BACKGRAND GF BOUNCING ASH-CANS| —WHEN FARMERS GET UP Lee IM QUST LEANING JUDGE “That,” sai all very well, but what about big cities, where they once held conferences. to name candy ba id such like?” pooh finis, my good man,” I said, flicking ¢ ette ashes in Mac's hair. “Everything must have an ending and as they now dig i y around the ruins of over Capitolines and », in a few thousand years they’ll be digging around the remains of New York and finding the Empire ate Tower, the Statue of Civic Virtue and the Art Wing of Frank & Jac “But what of the big city dwellers?” asked Mac intelligently. “You can’t grow groceries between flagstones. Everybody will go down to the country, get a little rm and live on homemade truck, pigs and clabber.” But Rome and dis I hate the count wept a “I get the country jitter: I get hay fever. I need the city’s clangor and bangor. I can’t sleep unless I have a crooning background of bouncing ans, riveting ma- chines and t b profanity. When farmers get up I'm just leaving Connie’s Inn. I’m not afraid of crossing Times Square against the lights but bulls lolling in meadows wither me. Crickets don’t stand in with the sound of a peanut whistle. Crooning cows, s what you will, don’t hold up with crooners at Paramount. I like pig with eggs at 4 a.m, at the Simplon Club and not underfoot. Besides wasps and punkin pie leave me cold!” “I'm with you chum. But we'll run things dif- ferently until we can adapt ourselves to bucoli- cism. I’ve thought it all out. We'll run our farm in the High Hat manner, taking an Airmail Aggie 20 1M AFRAID I'D WAPTA Te Him! WED DRESS ovr SCARECROWS AS PARK AVE. DORMEN! ing the ‘Growth of the rs Roebuck’s book until we get used to having hay in our hair,” I smoothed. “That’s an idea. crombie & Fitch farmers!” “Exactly. We'd keep mode of life at first. We'd sleep day and be busy nights. Instead of plow- ing in the sun we'll have midnight i in high hats and tails.” caught on Mac, “and we'll recrows as Park Ave- nue doormen and our hired men as the Four Yacht Club boy Milking would be by having the cows sit over empty Gordon bottles. We could visit each other in trees or up in the water tower if we want penthouse feelings. Your Oxford-Hahvahd ac- cent will have to give way to good old Connekticut twanging. One thing we'll agree on and that is not to raise spinach.” “You,” I said, “said it. But we'll have to get used to eating turnips, dandelion greens and potatoes.” “Turni asked Mac, “What are they?” “They’re a vegetable shaped like We'd be the same Aber- comicbooks.com