Judge — December 1933 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

Judge Mustress Pepys’ Journal By Baird Leonard OVEMBER 1.—My husband, poor wretch, bawling “Of all the saints who from their labours rest” in his bath, did put me early in mind of this day on the Church calendar, and that I must go to service this afternoon, according to my unfailing annual custom. Lay late, meanwhile, pondering this and that, in especial how most women are flat- tered when told they have a sensitive skin, which is really a curse; the desir- ability of a law forbidding publishers to roll magazines for mailing purposes; why by-the-day seamstresses are always qualified by the adjective “little,” though they be Amazons, etc. Samuel in, telling me how in Buffalo night before last he had sat next a woman at dinner who had on a bustle-bow as broad and deep as the valence of my bedroom curtains. “I don’t know how they ever got her there,” he quoth, “unless they brought her in a horse van.” Finally up and girded myself in gray cheviot for a tour of the shops, an ordeal with which the ascent from Avernus compares favor- ably in my mind, for Lord! the cab drivers dart through the traffic as though they were playing polo against it, and the emporiums are so overheated that I am at some pains not to remove my jacket and carry i arm, a pro- ceeding which my ¢ er did teach me was on a par with a man’s going about in his shirt sleeves, But withal, I did brave at least a dozen millinery marts in search of a small black velvet model which I could get on my head before I did realize that getting a hat on one’s head is the last thing the de- signers wish a woman to do this season, the idea being to perch everything atop or on one ear, and when at last I did strike a turban which came down skimp- ingly over my temples, it was in a place where I was unknown and had no ac- count, and as I had barely cash in my purse for my cab home, I was on the verge of taking off my earrings and leaving one of them as a deposit when I spied the canopy of Sam’s club across the way and sent to borrow the ne sary sum from the doorman. A. few moments in St. Bartholomew's, and so home to tea, falling to the chaise-longue with Gene Fowler’s “Timber Line,” so fascinating a recital of western doings when the Denver Post was in the mak- ing that I was loath to surrender myself to Marie Nordseik when she came to wave my hair. To dinner at the Ban- nings, and just as we were about to be seated it did come over me with a ter- rible certainty that my new black velvet was on backwards, so, well recking the (Page 25, please) 9 comicbooks.com