Judge — October 1932 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

Judge Mastress Pepys’ Journal OOPERSTOW N. Y., September 8.—The air this morning nip- ping and eager, a connection which minded me of the report that the Danish government has been obliged to dig and mark a grave at Elsinore in order to satisfy the inquiries of Ame n tourists as to Hamlet’s burial ple and the association of ideas did recall Sidney Baldwin's reluctance to return to her native heath after graduating from Smith College forasmuch as nobody in Peoria cared whether Hamlet was mad or not. Did on my new black and white ensemble, knitted to order at the Ballston Spa mills for the negligible outlay of ten dollars and seventy-five cents, and so to the vil- lage hairdresser’s, where I was sud- denly struck with such a distaste for the neutrality of my tresses, that I did order a strong rinse of henna fter my shampoo, bidding the youny woman make | nst the pos- sibility of my changing my mind, for Lord! albeit it was nought to her but a bit of the day’s work, to me it was like switching to the Democratic party, or turning Baptist. Moreover, when I did emerge from her minis- trations looking somewhat like Mi tress 1 » Carter in m thought it were better to st my future lot amongst strangers than to return to the bosom of my family, who, howsoever kind of heart, have also lively tongues. A futile specula- tion, alas, since, albeit gamblers and kidnapers for whom the police of the entire civilized world are rehing. can vanish like the baseless fabric of a vision, leaving not a footprint or a monogrammed handkerchief be- hind, a simple-minded citizen like elf bent on disappearing could get no farther than Clinton’s Dam without being observed by at least < dozen busybodies with — roadn minds, So home, having the ill lu to find Samuel at work on his fishing tackle hard by my chaise-longue, but | did drop down on it nevertheless and began to croon as follows: Darling, I am growing old, Silver threads amongst the sold; Do you think that it would do If I put in my shampoo Henna or peroxide, dear? None will know it, never fear. Tell me, darling, do you care If I tint my golden hair? By Baird Leonard But the wretch paid me no heed, nor took any notice soever of my d locks, so that I was able to wash the stuff out after a fine fling t ctly one hour as a_ bronze hussy. By motor to Albany to meet Meg Millar from London, who did tell me that her husband's family is still in receipt of royalties from “Trilby” a “Peter Ibbetson,” wrote by his andfather Du Maurier. She did also confide the inside details of Mis- SIvira Barney’s arrest and trial for murder, a much spicier chronicle than apy din the journals. Dined tonight with Mistress McKim, and greatly taken with the conserve of fresh mint and melted brown sugar which accompanied the rack of lamb, and also with the ginger ale aspic which flanked the salad. Home betimes, reading until a late hour in “Murder Intended,” one of the best books of its kind that ever I read in my life, in spite of the wagyish character who d that it was so quiet in the City that you could hear the dividends passing, tress EPTEMBER 9.—The trunks up this morning, a more sinister sign of Summer's departure than Tosti’s falling leaves and fading flowe: when Wood nnounced would do my packing on Saturday, I 19 was at some pains not to burst into tears. Lord! I do dread to return to the clatter of the town, and the con- sideration of such petty matters as the butcher’s honesty and the im- minence of window cleaner: Sam more garrulous than usual during: my breakfast, swearing me never to paint my fingernails the dark red which he saw in such evidence at Saratoga, confiding that the Bran- dons’ butler looks lik bishop, and inquiring if L Ridgeway has a right to look her worst all the time. At my correspondence, rejoicing to send a refusal to the Ormsbee outing, forasmuch as it is beyond my com- prehension how persons in_ their right mind over twelv of age can enjoy eating their evening in the woods. Any sort of picnic, in fact, brings out the worst that is in me, and how the term ever came to be a synonym for pleasure is one of the etymological mysteries. This night a great birthday dinner for our host, not only did I fail to get one of the gold pieces in the cake, but I was feckless enough to swallow the thimble. Late to bed, after a gay evening with Restivo, the whistling accordion-player as master of the revels, reading in the new Wodehouse Omnibus, and was again delighted with Freddie Threepwood’s conviction that the new housemaid was a detective because he saw her sweeping under the bureau. I had ty borrow a pair from my wife—all of mine are in the wash.” comichooks,