Life — October 14, 1920 — page 28: what you’re looking at

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

Sanctum Talks “LJELLO, Lire! Got a moment?” “Well, I don’t know, Governor. There are so many more important things to do besides interviewing a presidential impossibility. And then—" “Go on. You can’t feaze me. Ohio newspaper man.” I was going to say that I am particular about the quality and character and dis- tinction of my callers: but, after all, may- he I'd better not say that.” “You're too polite.” “Don’t mention it : “And what do you think my chances are?” “Well; Governor, there are twenty-five million voters, and you're one of them.” “That's something.” “Yes, that’s a good deal.” “But you certainly like my stand, even if it is—" “Inherited? Yes, Governor. “And otherwise?” “Nice autumn weather we're having. Looks like a frost, doesti’t it?” “Um. Au revoir, Lire.” “ Adieu, Governor Cox—from O-h-i-o.” I'm an League I like th: Financial S this good soup, waiter? fond of soup.” “Yes, sir. Can recommend it highly, s “Well, bring me a couple of dollars’ worth.” I'm terribly very ~-LIFE- Addressing the Ball first addressed it with a brassic And words that would not shock a lassie. H And when he vainly swung his cl He merely showed a trace of pique. He spoke, while brandishing his niblick, In terms emphatic, terse and Biblic; And when he tried to use his lofter, His language wasn’t any softer. His phrases when he broke his mashie Were fit to turn your visage ashy; But when he foozled with his putter You tell "em what he said, 1 stutter Arthur Guiterman The First-Tee Fiends HERE is familiar type of morbidly curious person who frequents the first tee on every golf course. He or she, as the case may be (and often is), has noth- ing in life to do except sit on the club- house porch or, if that is too far away, on the tee itself, and indulge in horrid mirth at the expense of the poor duffers who step up to foozle their drives. Many a time and oft have I journeyed boldly to the links, full of hope,-with my best low, tan, wing-tipped brogue shoes and my herring-kone tweed knickers and my Shetland-wool sweater vest—secure in the knowledge that I was making a brave show; and, almost invariably, my deter- mination has been shattered before I could execute one stroke. (The word cute” is used advisedly.) The first-tee fiends have occult powers of divination. Even before I have started to address the ball, they seem to sense the fact that I, by my antics, am about to provide the sort of entertainment that they, with their distorted and astigmatic senses of humor, crave; and they nudge each other, and point to me, and murmur, “Get this; this is going to be rich.” And no doubt it is rich—for everyone but me. When IT miss the ball once, they start to snicker; when I miss it twice, they laugh out loud and beckon some friends over from the eighteenth green; and when I ultimately slice it into the rough, they roll about in gross and indecent mer} ment. With the result that, when next I appear at that particular course, I draw a record gallery. Some morning in the not (I trust) far- distant future, I shall wake up and find that, for some reason, I have suddenly become a better golfer Walter than “T SAY, CADDY, FETCH ME UP A DRIVER, LIKE A GOOD FELLOW” Hagen; then I shall stroll out to the first tee, wait until the crowd is gathered and properly expectant, and I shall swing with studied nonchalance and barely watch the ball as it lights on the green, three hundred and eleven yards away. I shall then turn to the awe-stricken multitude and say something smart and ironical. T haven't cuite decided what that will be. R. E. Sherwood. The Phlebotomous Flea who felt phlebotomous led a Hippopotamus ; The Hippo, he Sat on the Flea, And, goodness gracious! what a muss! comicbooks.co