Judge — April 1933 — page 21: what you’re looking at

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

Judge HIGH 2 eae = A Letter to Uncle Murgatroyd EAR Uncle Murgatroyd :— I was looking thru the family rogues yallery last night and I came on a queer lan ape. It wv an old picture of a dense thicket thru which was peering a cow with large sad eyes. I showed the picture to Dad and he said, “Why, young man, that’s no cow, that’s your Uncle Murgatroyd. He is merely hiding behind his whiskers!” You can imagine how heartily we all laughed over my mistake. I hope you will enjoy it as much as we did. Anyway what I am writing you about, Unk, is that I think I have good news for you. You know how for years you have been making an old bore of yourself telling the world that it doesn’t know how to live any- more, that it moves too fast s too fast; works too much; marries too often; thinks too little; and drinks anything. You know how you have been putting people to sleep decrying this and that in letters to the Times? You know how you have been longing wistfully for beanbag, Sunday bicycling to Coney Island, a cool brew in a beer garden; a zaftig wench in whalebones (and fie on your modern skin and powder puff that calls herself a woman!) ; and sleigh rides moonlight; and Victor Herbert c and man- ners; and torchlight processions; and a lively waltz at Bustanoby’s? Well, all these things seem to be about to be realized again. ituation, I see things pro- gressing backwards. Unk, old codger, I think we are progressing b: wards at a lively clip. And if we keep up these crustacean antics we will probably find ourselves up to the good old '90s again, those happy haunting grounds you have always been so dull about. Take the women you see around you (and I under- stand you do quite a little of this). They have most decidedly stopped modelling themselves on the pattern ef the Chrysler Building. They have given over try- ing to match modernistic furniture, all angles coming to a point. Rather, they are puffing out their sleeves, fulling out their skirts and retreating their limbs into the great unknown. Their antiqulish hats perch jaunt- ily and pancakily on top their hair, the way they roosted on grandmaw’s, 1 understand they are doing what is known as “let- ting it grow” again. Soon the hair roberte those assasinators of a woman’s crowning glory will have to join the breadlines and the Danderine and Seven (Page 23, please)