Judge — September 1938 — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

ER intended for individual taxpayers. Inas- much as we happen to be sitting in the New York office of The Newfoundland Sand & Gravel Company, Inc., let's you and I consider its status as it affects your income tax. Now, as man to man, you are not, strictly speaking, in the sand and gravel business, are you?” “I certainly am,” he replied, in no uncertain terms. “Do you mean to sit there and tell me that you actually have a gravel bank up in Newfoundland, that a rock crusher and grader are in operation, that I, as a customer, could ‘phone your office, and say, ‘Mr. Burr, this is Mr. Lippin- cott. Please send over five truck loads of gravel. I'm building a cement side- walk'?” “Unfortunately,” Mr. Burr replied, “my company has not yet succeeded in locating a gravel bed in Newfoundland. So far, all we've got is a desk, a tele- phone and a stenographer. Therefore, if you were to call up and order five truck loads of gravel we would have to put you down on the books for future delivery.” “You've put a good many hun- dred thousand dollars into the gravel business, haven’t you, Mr. Burr?’ “Yes,” he replied, “it cost a lot of money to bring in a gravel bed.” “Particularly in Newfoundland,” I added, eyeing him closely. “Yes,” he agreed, never batting an eye, “gravel is scarce in Newfoundland. But, once you strike gravel, you've got something.” It was apparent to me that the most gravel Mr. Burr would ever find in Newfoundland would be in his shoe. But I couldn't prove it. From sand and gravel I launched into The Jamaica Ginger Exporting Com- pany, Ltd. “Mr. Burr,” I said, pulling a folder out of the conglomerate mess on the floor, and running my eye hastily over the tax returns of The Jamaica Ginger Exporting Company, Ltd., “what do you know about ginger?” “Strange as it may seem to you,” he replied, “I know very little about gin- ger. For a man who owns 100 percent of the capital stock of a ginger com- pany, I know practically nothing.” “Exactly what is ginger?” I asked him. Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “TIl tell you: Ginger, as you probably know, is a bitter extract which is used a great deal in the manufacture of gin- ger ale, It gives it that gingery flavor.” “Ts it a root extract or a sap?” “It's more of a berry,” he replied, THE JUDGE FOR thoughtfully. “It's the berry of the gin- ger bush. You see, the natives gather these berries and bring them to us to ex- port. As a matter of fact, Mr. Lippin- cott, I have not yet mastered the native tongue, I am ashamed to say, so it is practically impossible for me to inquire into the ramifications of ginger-berrv gathering.” “What is this item, 17C, on your tax blank, where you paid $300,000 to The Jamaica Ginger Exporting Company, Ltd., for a life insurance policy?” I in- quired, casually. “By George! I'm glad you asked me about that,” Mr. Burr replied. “You see, The Jamaica Ginger Exporting Company, Ltd., is really a life insurance company. Although we do export a certain amount of ginger, you could hardly call us a big ginger-exporting company. I would say, offhand, that 99 percent of our business is life insur- ance, and only 1 percent ginger.” “Just a slight dash of ginger,” I ven- tured—"just enough to keep your in- vestments in Jamaica where Uncle Sam can’t get at them.” “That's a matter of opinion,” Mr. Burr said, smiling complacently. That was enough of the ginger busi- ness for one day. Then I picked up a folder at random from the bunch on the floor, glanced through it, and said, “You've invested a lot of money in The Panama Holding Corporation, haven't you, Mr. Burr?” “Only about a million,” he replied, “What prompted you to form this little company in Panama?” “Hats,” he answered. “Hats!"" I exclaimed. “Yes, bats—Panama hats. Ever hear of "em?" “But this is a holding company,” I said. “All of the holding companies I ever heard of deal in securities.” “So do we,” Burr replied, “except we happen to hold hats on the side. Any objections?” “Yes; why don’t you weave your nats in Danbury, Connecticut?” I said, look- ing him straight in the eye. “Why doesn’t your grandmother raise broccoli!” he cracked, sarcastically. If there’s a law which prevents a RY “Mom said she'd furnish a line of home-made fudge, but I don’t want to expand till I know what the government is going to do!” SEPTEMBER comicbooks.com