Life, 1920-01-15 · page 26 of 36
Life — January 15, 1920 — page 26: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
**"Limberfingers"** is a WWI-era poem celebrating a soldier unsuited for combat but invaluable for morale. Despite being clumsy with rifles and grenades, he possessed magical piano skills that emotionally sustained troops in trenches and ruined chateaux. The satire contrasts military utility (where he's useless) with human utility (where his music provides spiritual sustenance). The poem argues that not all wartime contributions are measured by combat effectiveness—this soldier's real service was helping men "know how to die" through art. **"The Book Market"** section uses financial market language to satirize novel sales, treating popular authors like commodities. It references rumors about English novelist Hugh Walpole, reports on stock-like trading in Harold Bell Wright's works, and notes how Prohibition-related news affects author sales. This treats literature as a speculative market where gossip, regulations, and trader sentiment move "shares" rather than actual securities—mocking both publishing and the financial sector simultaneously.
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Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
LF & ° Limberfingers E wasn't so good with a rifle, he couldn't throw hand- grenades much, And when in a fight, though his nerves was all right, He got in the other men’s way; t put him before a piano, believe me, the kid had the touch; He knew every note that had ever been wrote Oh, Buddy, that soldier could play! He'd make you feel classical music ‘way down to the tip of your spine. Your pulses would thrill and the heart of you fill With songs and with marches of war Or you would be swaying to ragtime that tingled and bubbl like wine, Till sudden you'd find that with tears you was blind, You didn’t know why or what for! He'd find an old battered piano somewhere in a ruined chiteau, With half the strings broke and the keyboard a joke And both of the pedals napoo But if the white keys wasn't present he'd play on the black ones, and so He'd pick out an air we could whistle to, ther« And say, but it cheered us, beaucoup! Vor some guys is best in the trenches, and others is best down “ . ON! ISN'T THAT BEAUTIFUL elviator: 11's MENUTIFUL ENOUGH, BUT AS AMATI OF PACT THEIR WINGS HAVEN'T ENOUGH SURFACE at Tours; But he done his bit with each key that he hit His fingers was magical things That wove us a spell of encha ent against all we — endure Federal rediscount rates to make call money more And gave us the heart to'go on with our part, will check the course of Wright. Tarkington was stead By tunes from a boxful of strings. so was Rinehart. The short interest is apparent in the . movements of Ihaiiez. He wasn't much use with a shovel, though willing and anxious enough : His hands wasn’t made for the ditch-digger’s t Bat they could dig down in your soul And bring up your dreams and your visions to make you { get life was tough Forget, for a time, all the muck and the slime Of some damned detestable hole No matter how weary or sleepless or worn with the march he might be, He'd coax from the keys any tune that you please If there was a box he could try And if 1 was passing out medals, I'd stip him the old D. S. ¢ The service he give was to help us to live And help us to know how to die! B.B The Book Market UMORS of the bagging of a new English novelist by the hunting expedition which left the United States last year caused nervous selling of Walpole and Merrick. Lack of confirmation near the close gave them a stronger undertone, and in the last half hour they showed a net ain for the day, which was shared by Archibald Marshall ilbert Cannan. News of further attacks on the Pro- ion amendment and a belicf in the possibility of a release of other intoxicants acted as a depressant on Her- gesheimer, who has been leading the list. Practically a runaway took place in Harold Bell Wright, who estab- lished a new high and a new record for shares traded in. . IN YE GOODE OLDE Days Professionals believe that nothing but another increase in YE HOUSEWIFE BUVETM FOUR SHILLYNGES’ WORTH OF MEAT comicbooks.com