Judge — June 1938 — page 11: what you’re looking at

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

YOU SOAP MY BACK DON'T know how it was I forgot l to lock the door. Or maybe I didn’t. Anyway, I was standing there in the shower, soaking the heat into that place between my shoulders at the base of the back of my neck, where it always seems to do the most good. Then somebody came in. I couldn't see out—the little shower cubby has a semi-opaque glass door—but I distinctly heard somebody come in. After a min- ute the water started running in the tub. “Don’t use quite so much of the hot, please. This tap is running cold, prac- tically.” It was a woman's voice, and I was pretty startled. “What?” I shouted, thinking perhaps she would realize that it wasn’t her sis- ter or whatever, and leave. “I said you're using all the hot water, and I can’t get any in the tub. Can you use it a little colder, please?” “All right,” I called back, wondering if my voice sounded like her husband's. I turned the water down quite a lot. I had been using a large amount of cold water mixed with all the hot that would come, in order to get enough pressure on the back of my neck. I was really getting pretty well saturated by this time, but I could hear her splashing around in the tub and was at a loss as to just what to do. So I just stood there and started soaping all over again. “You shouldn't use so much hot wa- ter so long,” she called to me. “It's bad for you.” “I've got a hangover,” I shouted back. “Well, you don’t have to yell at me. I'm not deaf,” she screamed over the splash of her bath water and the steady roar of mine. She didn’t sound mad— more as if she were reasoning with me. Then she started singing, loud and clear. Somebody else came in, whistling. “Hi, Mrs. Jetnik,” he said and began whistling along as she sang. “Hello, Mr. Gaenslein,” she said loudly. “Where did you say you got those clams?” His voice was younger than hers, although not especially young. “Way up on Amsterdam—an Italian named Baccigalupi.”” He started to brush his teeth, saying, just as he got started, “Hshfona prr lasek.” “He did, really?” Mrs. Jetnik called June, 1938 By Donald Morris out. “A big one?” stopped brushing. “Oh I don’t know., Not so big, I guess. Well! Hello, Ed, hello, Mrs. Swarthout.” Two more people had come in. “Hello, Harry,” said Ed. “Evalyn,” Mrs. Jetnik called, “have you seen the milk man?” “No, why?” “Well, there's the oddest thing writ- ten on my milk card, and I want to know what about it.” “He put down three cartons of matches on my card last month,” Mrs. Swarthout said. “He explained it, though—said he meant watches.” “Well, he'll have some explaining to do about mine. It's an indecent pro- posal or proposition or whatever they call it.” “T'll be hanged,” Mr. Gaenslein said. “Written in English?” “No, it was in Polish, and bad Polish at that.” Somebody was coming into the shower now, opening the door and walking in, looking out backward over Mr. Gaenslein his shoulder. When he said hello, I recognized Ed. He was a fairly thin man with no eyebrows and long arms. There wasn’t much room though. “Here,” he said. “I'll soap your back if you'll soap mine.” ‘I said all right. “Evalyn,” Ed shouted, “is that door open? There's an awful draft in here.” bb 'HAT’S a fine way to talk about a aq man, Ed,’ Mrs. Jetnik said, and everybody laughed. I laughed too, a little nervously. “I only know one man from Chi- cago,” Mrs. Swarthout said. How she knew I was from Chicago I don’t know. “And that is Oscar DePriest. He used to be the only Negro Congressman, I think.” She was brushing her teeth now, or else Gaenslein was brushing his again. “I met the nicest girl,” Gaenslein said. “She can’t read or write, and she works in Radio City somewhere.” I was soaping Mr. Swarthout’s back now. (Page 45, please) “ALL ON ONE CHECK, SIR?” comicbooks.com